#disturbingly large

[wikagirl]

I'll be honest the last time I saw buggy before the impel down arc was aaaaalllll the way back in 2009 after school during the first german airing of the first 300and something episodes which is also when I got introduced to one piece. (op didn't get a german dub til 2003 and also only very slowly until it picked up a following)

My school schedule changed then and I'd always come home way too late to catch any episodes of it until many years later when there was one day a week where I'd get home before 4pm and that happened to be just around the time when impel down was freshly done with german synchro and being broadcasted.

and uhhh it took me until today, my most recent rewatch of the show, to realize that buggy had indeed always had long hair and the blue tassles on his hat were just his friggin hair????

I'm not saying that my brain is kinda flat but it sure do be smooth like a vaseline dipped chicken breast considering how long it took me to get that.

[andthebeanstalk]

My first time watching Glass Onion it was obvious that Miles' speeches were bullshit, but I still searched for any hidden meaning there might be.

The second time is a different experience though because every time my brain starts to search for meaning, I feel like Benoit Blanc discovering that no, there is absolutely no hidden meaning.

It's bullshit it's all nothing nothing nothing! It is just how you end up talking when everyone reacts to your self-aggrandizing word vomit like it is actually wisdom.

Also, legit, when Miles gave his stupid bullshit speech about what the word 'disruptor' means to him, I shit you not I was like holy shit am I back in business school right now?!

Miles must have given speeches like that at 100 business school graduations, goddamn.

Like, the motherfuckers really do sound like this. We didn't have any billionaires come, but we had a lot of millionaire guest speakers in my classes, and they fucking talk like that.

They all think they're rugged capitalists, but they're just glass onions!

[catastrothy]

minthe cute. tummy

glad u agree

[bilbao-song]

we've been mutuals for 9 years and i think this is the first time we've spoken so HIIIII!!!!! ✨(۶•౪•)۶💗٩(•౪•٩)✨

boop for fun lol

dfhjshgjsg im so sorry you had to witness me in my larval state <3 but thank you for the booping

[buckets-of-dirt]

Mom cleaned out a bookshelf and has given me the supposedly easy task of trying to figure out which ones the local library book sale will accept as donations, so now I'm sitting on the floor surrounded by a pile of the weirdest assortment of old books trying to predict what the people of my hometown are likely to buy secondhand

[nyxi-pixie]

hate living in this city bc ugly buildings, bright lights, no stars, and no cow noises to fall asleep to

HOWEVER i have started amassing an army of squirrels pigeons crows and magpies bc they are soso friendly

[amisunderstoodgoddess]

The Hunt

(final part here)

Rating: Explicit +18

Summary: When the creature you fear so much manages to escape containment, will he show you any mercy or take you without any regret?

Author's note: I intend to make this story with just two chapters. This is the first, the second will soon be available. Hope you like it!

English is not my first language.

'ALERT: Specimen 375-6 is out of containment.

It's not training. All search and capture units were activated.

ALERT: Specimen 375-6 out of containment.'

You swallow hard as you read the warning message on your phone, the words falling over your body like a truck of bricks.

He had escaped.

The creature you knew and didn't know.

It was yet another top-secret government item, another non-human biological material captured and kept for research.

He stands out from the others, of course.

With his height, intimidating physique, and obvious intelligence, but you never actually approached his cell, only catching brief glimpses from afar as you did your job collecting and saving data from the scientists' research in the system.

But you always felt something strange in the rare moments you needed to approach the cell block he was in.

He kept to the back, using the shadows to stay hidden. And yet there was one thing that caught your attention, regardless of how dark the place was.

His eyes.

Two orange spheres, standing out like beacons in the night.

He remained basically the same every time you entered that part of the building. Sitting on the floor with his legs half bent and his wrists firmly restrained by chains resting on his knees, you couldn't make out the color of his scaly skin or his features in general, but the color of those eyes shone like neon lights in the darkness of the cell.

He looked at you, every time.

It was disturbingly intense. There were no blinking eyelids or shifting gazes, he stared at you with unwavering focus from the moment you entered the lab until the moment you left. His eyes…they shone with intelligence and superiority. Like he's just there because he wants to be there, not because he was captured. He owned everything he laid eyes on. The rational part of your brain screamed, 'Look away! Run away!' but those eyes seemed to want to capture your soul with each encounter.

All your co-workers had noticed the strange fixation that the creature seemed to have on you, but you always denied it, diverting the subject while saying it was just their imagination.

Deep down you knew it wasn't.

You saw the way his unsettling gaze settled on your form, felt the shiver run down your spine at his gaze and yet - even now, you could still feel that warm buzz inside at the memory of his burning gaze locked on you.

You could admit that it wasn't healthy to feel any level of curiosity towards a murderous monster who was obsessed with you. It was scary.

Your only consolation was that he was tightly contained with the best technologies the government could dispose of.

But he always seemed very calm to you, as if he were above all that. In a confident and almost arrogant way, in the way that only people who have a coldly calculated plan are.

Now he was free.

And you had a horrible feeling that you knew exactly who he was going after.

You quickly walk down the street towards your house. Your heart beats fast, the gentle breeze brushes your warm skin and your loose hair. The canopy of trees above and the few lights along the main path cast their shadow in the opposite direction as you walk faster and faster.

At the end of the street, your eyes notice movement, something large and slow, moving behind a row of parked cars. It's not completely unusual for pedestrians to be out so late - after all, you're here, right? - but your stomach drops a little, very consciously. Something instinctive warning you that it is smart to be afraid.

By the time your trajectory takes you past the line of dark vehicles, the street is once again empty and you allow the hairs on the back of your neck to rise with relief. It was probably just some insomniac suburbanite, taking out the trash or smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk.

Rows of closed windows stare at you blankly as you pass by, colonial houses with sagging porches and overgrown backyards, the residents of the peaceful neighborhood sleeping soundly within the comfort of their homes.

A noise breaks the silence: a loud, prolonged rumble, followed by an inhuman whine, an undeniably animal sound.

There's a single lamp behind you that puts an enormous silhouette into sharp relief, but you can still easily see his solid, dangerous structure.

Your knees threaten to give way, your throat burns as you try to take a deep breath, fear leaves you numb and clumsy in exactly the least desired way at the moment. You don't think, not really, you just act. Getting to the house across the street is like running a marathon, and raising your fists to knock on the door, swing the doorknob, requires a huge effort against the adrenaline that makes your hands shake uncontrollably. "Please help me!", your voice is hoarse, your throat is tight, it's not loud enough, no matter how much you want to scream - it's like you're trapped in a nightmare where no one can hear your screams for help. "Let me in, please, I-"

The door swings open under the weight of your fists, and you almost fall to your knees at the abrupt movement. You don't have time to think, to weigh whether this would be the smartest choice compared to the others, you don't know if he's clinging to your back or if there's still a safe distance between the two of you -

You just enter.

---

The realization of the terrible mistake you made dawns on you in the space of a few minutes of panting breaths.

The living room is empty, strangely enough, not that you really have time to think about it. A staircase appears in your field of vision, and your panicked animal brain sends you toward it, taking two steps at a time, crossing a long landing and climbing to a second floor, holding on to the railing like a wooden board salvation. "Someone please!" You manage to scream, "Please, someone! I'm being followed, call the police!"

The police couldn't help you, and if you were thinking clearly you would know that. No one, not even the army, could help you against this thing.

Yet there is no voice responding, no shuffling human movement, no clicking light. And then you see the paint cans, the tarp, the door off its hinges and against the opposite wall.

This house is under construction.

Nobody. No lights. Without help.

Spinning on your heel, you stagger back toward the stairs. But there is no more time. The door you left ajar in your moment of despair lets in a pale beam of moonlight through the unfinished wooden floor of the foyer, and you watch in mute horror as a shape fills it - huge, so tall that he has to lower his head past the doorframe, a brick wall of an alien assassin wearing a metallic mask. The soulless black holes of the visor, poor excuses for eyes, stare back at you.

Alone, in an empty and unfamiliar house. Your heart pounds in your chest, bile rising in your throat - you're trapped.

You know it. And he knows it too.

The creature walks with slow and determined steps towards the end of the stairs. You briefly, wildly consider waiting until he reaches the landing and then throwing yourself off the balcony. You can survive.

The thought makes you feel like a panicked rat, chewing on its own leg to get out of the trap.

Of course there's also the possibility that you'll break every bone in your body and die from sheer stupidity - which may be preferable to death by those sharp claws on his massive hands, but at least the latter you'll be able to escape. If you can keep your wits and your legs under you, you might be able to outwit the Predator. Evade the trap.

You almost want to laugh at your own delusions of salvation.

Your unsteady feet drag back without your eyes leaving him, but with every slow step you take back he takes one towards the stairs. The silver rays of the moon bathing his reptilian-looking skin, highlighting his entire body dyed in a singular tone of obsidian, with some lighter variations on the abdomen and in some internal points. Thick, long tendrils of 'hair' flow around the mask and over his broad shoulders, adorned with gold and silver metal beads. One of his hands - oh, huge and with long, sharp black claws - seems to want to reach out towards you, but the creature holds back for some reason, preferring to continue with the strange war of glances.

It seems that in his escape from the laboratory he recovered some of his things: in addition to the mask, he wore the wrist gauntlets, the net that covered his body, the strange piece of cloth wrapped around his hips decorated with bones and skulls, and the metallic protectors on the shins. The metallic chestplate and combi-stick weren't visible, you can't tell if he managed to recover it or not.

Regardless, he was infinitely more frightening now that you can see him outside of containment; big and broad, a solid wall of defined muscles. But it was his posture that unnerved you. The roll of his shoulders, the tension in his arms. The almost imperceptible flex of his calf muscles, as if he was preparing to jump - just waiting for a movement from you to attack.

He reaches out, this time to his own face, grabbing the metal there. Air pressure is released when the metal mask is removed.

You hold your breath.

His face was lighter than the rest of his body, a slightly grayish tone with some black streaks mixing with the dreadlock-like hair on his head, a few black barbs framing the sides of his face and along his elongated forehead. There were, of course, those flaming eyes you already knew. Instead of lips, he had four folded jaws with long teeth at the tip of each of them. Inside those jaws, you could see more of his teeth, smaller but more numerous and frighteningly sharp.

He moved his jaws as he climbed the stairs with purposeful slowness, his massive size making the stairs creak, strange clicks and rumbles emerging from his mouth.

You gasped in response to his face, shaky and scared, your backward steps continuing until your back hit the wall.

End of the line.

If you ran you would have to turn your back on him, and you couldn't do that. Never turn your back on a predator, everyone knew this rule.

It was as if you were in a horror movie or a nightmare, where you could only watch without any reaction as the monster approached. The predatory way he approached awakened the primitive instinct to flee, but your legs were shaking too much for that.

You pushed yourself further against the wall, even though there was no longer any space. It looked like he wouldn't stop walking, that he would simply knock you into the wall, but at the last second he pinned you against him and ice-cold wood at your back.

The air was knocked from you, hands flat against his chest instinctively as a way to get some distance. Even under the net, his skin was clearly much warmer and firmer than your own, smooth in some places and textured in others, the latter matching the gray patterns that spread across his extremities. He smelled mostly of moss and damp, like a forest after rain. But there was also a muffled current of pheromones, a slightly peppery scent that hit you like a tsunami.

In fact now that you felt it, it felt heavier and heavier by the second, as if he was exhaling on purpose. With each inhale, that smell seemed to make you a little more relaxed, a little more dizzy.

It took a few seconds for you to realize that he was even closer, hovering above you, his breath hot and wet, stirring your strands of hair. A gasp left your throat as his sharp jaws dove down, digging his nose or whatever it was into your hair to press into your neck - though you didn't know if that sound had been out of terror or something else. All you knew was that when he backed away, another low, animalistic growl resonated from deep in his chest, long and continuous and it took you a few awkward seconds to realize he was...purring? Purring like a cat? It was bizarre, but your own body began to uncoil, as if some force tied behind you sternum had pulled your back with him.

Your breathing is now labored for what seems like an entirely different reason. You can increasingly smell that intoxicating scent in the air and that, plus the mesmerizing purr, is making your eyes roll back slightly, a blurry haze taking over your thoughts. You can feel his sharp claws as they dig into your shirt and you, in turn, can't control the shudder in your body in response.

His scent is doing something to you, something that definitely shouldn't be happening. There's an overwhelming pressure blooming in your core, the beginnings of a dull ache that makes you clench your thighs to ease the tension. The saliva in your mouth comes down with difficulty as you swallow and lick your lips, stretching your neck to look into his eyes - god, you could barely reach the line below his chest with your head. What's happening with you? He is not human, he is not human. This is wrong.

"..." His jaws click and move, strange sounds fill the room with deep growls and hisses; he was talking, but you couldn't understand him. His eyes roam your face as he speaks his strange language, and his thumb gently wipes away a tear you hadn't even noticed falling from your eye.

You open your mouth to question, to scream for help, to beg for mercy, for anything...but nothing comes out.

His breath is hot as he bends his body until he's almost face to face with you, all predatory expression and clicking jaws, almost drooling on your skin. And then, as he forcing the words out of his depths, he says, “Mate.” He declares to you, slowly and gravely in a way that no human sound could ever be, but a little more understandable now.

You look at him in shock, not expecting a deep, English word to come out of his alien mouth. His inhuman eyes are bright enough that you clearly see the orange flames in the dim light of the night, slashed down the center with black, almost feline pupils that threaten to drag you inside.

Mate.

What the hell?

You blink slowly, the low rumble persisting as he purrs under your attention and you can tell he's trying very hard to appear less threatening to you. You bite your lip against a hysterical and completely untimely laugh that wants to escape, the tension of fear finally channeling into something different (something manic and traumatized) when he presses his broad forehead to yours in a frighteningly intimate gesture, tilting his head even further to rub your cheeks with those sharp jaws, snorting into your hair and sniffing at your neck.

The drag of the deadly fangs against your skin is exhilarating, in the worst way and you fear what is to come, a very animal and very instinctive part rooted in the most unconscious corner of your being, knows exactly what this creature is wanting from you. And the worst part, the most disturbing and embarrassing part of this realization, is that you don't know if you want to resist. Not with the way his scent and purrs are making your legs shaky and your mind fuzzy.

You're shaking, but it's not just from fear and perhaps the creature knows this, because he pulls back a little until he looks into your eyes - something very carnal and very primal vibrating almost visibly beneath that reptilian skin.

He slowly looks away from yours to fiddle with something on his wrist, and you feel like you can breathe once again without the oppressive weight of the orange orbs on you. He clicks the object on his arm for a few moments and then pulls a small metal disk out of it. It's no bigger than a small cell phone chip, and he balanced it on his fingertips.

Curious, you lean in a little. You just want to take a look at what he's doing; but before you even know what's happening, the giant puts his hand around your throat and pulls you towards him. You scream at the hostile action and try to fight him, but of course it's no use. With his strong hand, he can easily subdue you and move your head to the side, pressing the metal thing against the skin just behind your ear in a quick, burning blow.

You don't have time to react, much less to understand how he did that at that speed.

You just feel the effect.

It burns, like you're being branded, and you scream. Your whole head hurts, and for a second you wonder if he hit you against the wall in the process. It's a wrong and distorted feeling, like someone is tuning a radio inside your head, you hear screams and white noise echoing inside; so loud that you have to cover your ears with your hands, but that does little to decrease to the cacophony inside your mind.

When the alien releases you, you kneel on the ground, still writhing in discomfort and pain from the chaos in your head – and then, suddenly, everything stops. You're panting, your fingers covering your ears and your head between your knees, but when the noise quiets, you slowly look up. And although you are dizzy and a little disoriented, the presence of the creature hovering ominously above you is clear.

“W-what was that?” you mumble between quick breaths. "What the hell did you do to me!?"

The alien blinks slowly and tilts his head, jaws clicking before he responds. "Now we can talk."

Your eyes widen at the strange sound (but fluid and articulate, very different from just a few minutes ago), your stomach tightens and you pull your knees closer to your chest. “W-what?”

“It’s a translator,” he says. His voice is still very dark and booming, but his growls and clicks have somehow turned into words you can understand. “This allows your little ooman brain to understand my language.”

You swallow hard and feel the blood drain from your body. He was scary when you couldn't understand him, but he was even scarier when he could talk.

“Get up, little ooman,” he murmurs. “We should get to my ship. I don’t want to spend any more time on this miserable planet.”

You can't believe what you're hearing, everything is happening so fast. With shaky legs, you gape at him. “I…I don’t understand.”

The moment is interrupted by something when the alien turns his head towards the window of the house, the various dreads tubes rattling with the movement and his jaws opening in a low trill while a long, forked tongue at the tip comes out of his deadly-looking mouth. You gasp at the sight, but he doesn't look at you, using his own body in front of yours, as if he was instinctively hiding and protecting you from something you cannot see, feel or hear. The burgundy appendage is long and glistens with the moisture of his alien saliva, along its length there are some quivers and small barbs. He slowly waves the thing in the air, almost as if he's proving something. And then you understand.

He's smelling it.

Maybe he's even more snake-like than you thought, after all, catching scent particles in the air with his tongue.

The air is positively thick with eager anticipation, he's alert and ready and you feel it.

You don't have time to think about it too much, though. Because soon he is looking at you again, although there is no longer any sign of malice and hunger in his posture now. The way he lifts his colossal body until he's completely erect, swelling the already prominent muscles to appear more menacing, only speaks of a creature with a purpose.

"Oomans here. They must have some kind of tracker." He growls once more and clicks that gauntlet again, making you jerk back with a new wave of fear.

"Y-yes, all the containment units are after you now. It's only a matter of time before they find you and try to arrest you again. Y-you should go." You respond quietly and slowly, trying to make him understand every word.

"My ship is nearby." He grumbles sullenly. You try to control the wave of curiosity that the word 'ship' evokes in you. Seriously, how many humans have had the opportunity to see one up close? But of course you don't say anything, if you got out of this situation with your life it would be good enough. You would forget about this bizarre encounter and go on with your peaceful and boring life as if you had received the greatest gift of all.

But then he continues.

“You…” He covers your body with his once again, cornering you against the wall. Your eyes widen as he wraps a thick arm around your waist, pulling you into him. "You belong to me now, ooman. You'll come along."

You feel like you didn't get it right. “T-to space?”

He doesn't seem to want to entertain this conversation anymore and just grunts again.

It's like all the red flags go up in your mind at once.

"N-no! No, I can't, that's...I can't!"

But he doesn't listen to you, and you can't predict the sharp sting on your neck. It doesn't hurt like it used to, but he cradles your head with huge fingers almost tenderly as a sickening sensation wracks your body and makes you stagger. You feel weak, your body giving out as you babble out things that even you don't understand. Everything is getting dark and your little fingers are scratching his arms looking for support, your breathing is coming with difficulty and your eyes are unfocused.

"It's okay, mate, just give in...I'll take care of you..." He purrs, but you can barely hear him, your senses are fuzzy and lethargic and you know you're going to pass out.

The last thing you see before the darkness swallows you and the unknown can wrap its tentacles around you, are orange flames above you. Hot, consuming and scary.

And then there is nothing but emptiness.

[yuri-is-online]

The Quiet Part (Azul, Jade, and Trey x Yuu)

"Oh can I help you? You seem to be lost." You attempt to cheerfully ask the vaguely familiar looking person in front of you. As if he is deliberately trying to rub salt in your wounds, Crowley ignored your request to leave campus for NRC parents day and is instead making you and Grim run errands. The person in front of you, blissfully ignorant to your inner turmoil perks up at your attention.

"Forgive me for asking, but are you the magicless prefect?" You and Grim exchange a confused glance. "You've got to be right?" They're practically glowing with how happy they are to see you. " Oh I'm sorry, I've just heard so much about you!" Wait, what?

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, in-law fishing (Azul and Jade) vs sibling smack down (Trey), if you liked this please check my master list here.

Azul

"Well aren't you just darling!" You fold your clipboard just a bit closer to your chest, you don't think this excitable plump lady is intending to intimidate you but she is all up in your personal space. Her pearlescent hair frames her face perfectly, nicely complementing her large black hat that reminds you of a Victorian aristocrat on her way to the opera. She just lacks the fancy cigarette case.

"Hey lady back off my hench human! You're spooking 'em!" Grim pouts with his hands on his hips but only succeeds in changing her attention to him.

"And you must be the dire beast! Simply marvelous I didn't think Zuzu would let me have a chance to see you two at all." She sighs, clearly happy in a vaguely sinister way where her familiar looking smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Oh where are my manners? I'm-"

"Mother!" A very flusterd octopus runs, well more like flails, his way up the main street towards the woman your speaking with, but she doesn't do more than wave before returning to her conversation with you.

"-Mrs. Ashengrotto! Say darling are you free for a bit?" She's back to crowding you once again while Azul moves in between the two of you. "I have been so looking forward to meeting my poopsy's friends."

"Mother please, the prefect is extremely busy. There's no need for them to show you around campus, what sort of son would I be if I-"

"That's besides the point." Mrs. Ashengrotto's smile doesn't fade but the warmth of her voice most certainly does. Still Azul remains firm, extending an arm to keep you from moving towards his mother, or maybe to keep her from closing in on you? "You can't expect me to not be curious! You never have written such glowing things about-"

"That's enough mother." Grim yanks on your pant leg and points towards the path to Sam's shop.

"It is not poopsy you can't just ask for advice and then refuse every opportunity to use it." Mrs. Ashengrotto huffs in disappointment and elegantly shakes her finger as you and Grim begin to slowly inch away.

"I have no idea what it is you are talking about mother," Azul pushes his glasses further up his face, silently pleading with you to run faster "and I am certain the prefect doesn't either so please, allow me to escort you to the Monstro Lounge that you have been so eager to see." His mother pouts, pouts! At him puffing her cheeks up with air before finally looking behind him and realizing you aren't there.

"Oh absolutely not, I am not letting this fish out of my net." She mutters muscling her son out of the way. "Yoo hoo! Darling are you certain you can't at least stay for dinner?"

"Mother!"

"Or maybe forever?"

"MOTHER!"

Jade

"Well now, this is a surprise, watcha doin here Jade?" Grim asks as you step foot into the Pomefiore lounge. Normally asking Jade anything is akin to sticking your foot in your mouth but you have to admit, you are sort of curious why Jade and Vil, the two most composed people on campus, are standing awkwardly in the corner clearly a bit out of place while two men you assume are their father's seem to be having a grand time chatting it up on the couch. Disturbingly, Jade makes eye contact with you with a look you almost think is screaming for help.

"Yoooo!" The Leech father is tall, and the speed with which he snaps up off the couch and approaches you does not help at all with his naturally intimidating aura. "You've gotta be the prefect right? Mr. Leech!" He extends a hand and you look at Jade who just smiles at you as you gingerly take his father's hand and immediately regret it with how he nearly snaps your arm off with his hand shake.

"Um yes that's me, can I help you?" You wince and try to avoid rolling your wrist too much. Mr. Leech looks a bit confused.

"Mhm? Don't you have any folks visiting today?" You look at Jade who reluctantly draws attention to himself with a cough.

"Their situation is a bit unique father." You're thankful Jade doesn't say more than that

"Well why didn't you say that? Now I look like an ass." Mr. Leech claps the back of his head and mutters. "And here I had everything I wanted to say to the in laws planned out already, shit." He turns back to you with a smile and Vil's dad lets out an elegant laugh.

"From a certain point of view that makes your task easier no?" Vil's father says as Jade reluctantly moves out of the corner towards his father, clearly looking for an excuse to get him out of Vil's hair.

"If you are done saying hello to your friend, would you like to see some of the mountain lover's club projects?" Jade asks, already gently herding him towards the door as his father shrugs.

"Sure, you coming kid?" Why is he looking at you and why is Jade giving you that strange look again? "Jade's told his mom all about your hikes, gotta admit I don't really get the appeal myself but it sounds like you two have a grand old time with it."

"The headmage technically has me-" Mr. Leech wraps one arm around your shoulder and another around Jade's and resumes the march towards the door.

"Aww don't worry about that!" It's clear you aren't getting out of this with just how terrified Grim is, he's practically rooted to his spot as Mr. Leech loosens his grip to wave over his shoulder at Vil and his dad. "See ya next Sunday Eric!"

"Good luck! Don't scare them off!"

Trey

Two small children stare up at you with sharp eyes, judgmentally you think but you can't be too sure. "You are the prefect right?" Asks the little boy, definitely judgmentally. "I thought you would be prettier or at least more handsome."

"Hey!" snaps his sister, who doesn't hesitate to hit him in a display that you are sure would give her parents a headache. "Big brother never lies to us about stuff!" Her brother scowls and rubs his head.

"Big brother lies all the time, what else do you call those 'secret ingredients' of his?" He goes back to staring you down and you and Grim exchange a look.

"Yeah but not to us." The little girl crosses her arms and stares her brother down sternly. "He would never lie about something like that. Besides did you see how dopey he looks when he talks about them?" The little boy looks away from you with a pout, almost like you stole his toy or something while his sister rolls her eyes. "It is so obvious- you would absolutely know if you were a girl."

"That's got nothing to do with it! I'm just worried you know, it's important to make sure they pass the sniff test." He looks like he is questioning if he can get away with hitting his sister in front of you as you desperately look around for any sign of these kids' parents. "You would totally know if you were a boy."

"Uhhh hench human," Grim poorly whispers "you don't think these two are..." he doesn't finish his sentence but as you both examine the bickering duo you start to note all the little similarities between them and-

"Hey you two aren't causing problems on purpose are you?" Trey looks down sternly on the two kids who completely ignore his tone and jump on him immediately.

"TREY!"

"Are you gonna show us the hedgehogs?!" squeals the little girl.

"Forget that, I wanna see the Coliseum!" cheers the little boy. You breathe a sigh of relief, and wave to Trey getting ready to continue your patrol when the little girl looks after you confused.

"Aren't you gonna come?" She asks, so sweetly in comparison to the heat you're taking from her brother. Trey smiles at you, but he can't really bring himself to keep eye contact.

"The prefect's busy, I'm sure. They don't need to be running around after us all day." He sets them both down and starts herding them towards the mirror, shooting you a wink over his shoulder as he flicks his little brother on the forehead for sticking his tongue out at you. His sister sighs and you swear you hear her whine that-

"You just want to keep them to yourself. You can't keep me away forever, I swear I'll be a good wing woman, you're waaaay too lame to get a date yourself Trey!" You awkwardly look back down at your clipboard as Grim desperately tries to do the math in his head.

[normalenjoyer-png]

this is getting its own post cause i want more people to see my funny headcanons. look under the cut boy.

these are all my initial drawing ideas but all my beautiful dumb idiot brain could come up with is the meme above

dialogue 1

NM: (opening the door) this is the castle. (cut to vast empty expanse of void. room size (very large, VERY tall) indicated by light gray lines, implying no lighting except what's produced by the void) it is empty because i hate decorating and i hate you and want to see you miserable. goodbye. (trio left in various states of concern, shock, and anger)

dialogue 2

NM (much more silly+conniving personality): hey guys welcome to the castle! (he's holding open the door to an absolute dogshit shack held together by like 4 nails in the middle of a disturbingly drippy and muddy and sticky swamp. killer's tugging his foot out of a puddle with both hands.)

option 3

the exterior is the dogshit shack and horrible swamp and the inside is like some TARDIS bullshit where it is just impossibly massive and impeccably clean void. can be especially funny if nightmare gets really fucking mad at mud on the interior

[izvmimi]

cw: heavy angst, talk of children, childbirth and death, grief, bakugou is miserable tbh, izuku has an unnamed wife

a/n: sorry lol. also repost.

Izuku’s infant son looks disturbingly just like him, Bakugou realizes.

A bit small for age height-wise, but chubby nonetheless, with a shock of green wavy-curly hair. Large, green eyes. The freckles haven’t settled in yet, probably because he’s still too young, but the features are nearly the same. 

The kid also won’t stop kicking as Katsuki tries to fasten his diaper, and he’s getting a tiny bit frustrated. At least he’s not crying - thankfully, he doesn’t appear to have inherited the excessively soft disposition from his dad.

“You’re gonna have to be faster than that,” you joke from behind him. Bakugou finishes up securing the diaper, then glances at you and scowls. “Next time he’ll pee on ya!” you giggle while Bakugou gets the baby’s onesie back on then carries him so that he rests on his chest. He makes his way towards the bottle warmer - the baby isn’t crying now, but based on the guide Izuku’s wife gave him, this is about the time for his next feeding and he’s got a pair of lungs on him. It also doesn’t help that the toddler keeps nuzzling his face into his chest as though he’s trying to find a nipple to suck on. 

He does have to admit the little kiddo is cute.

“Did you check the temperature?”

You watch him carefully as he shakes warm milk onto the back of his hand, perched on the counter and swinging your feet gently. Bakugou doesn’t keep his eyes off of you as he checks, child cradled in his left arm.

“I know what I’m doing, princess,” he asserts. He has a little pout instead of a scowl instead, the one you’ve always thought was cute, where he communicates his disappointment that you’re underestimating his skill.

“Of course you do, love.” You smile widely, sweetly, as if you weren’t just micromanaging him. Not that he minds - when you hop off the counter and walk towards him, hands reaching upwards to caress his face gently, he can feel his face growing warm, even if your hands are disturbingly cool to the touch. 

You make your way to the couch first, nearly gliding along the linoleum that lines the kitchen, then along the impeccably clean wooden floorboards into the Midoriyas’ living room. It’s odd that you know this house so well, but you and Izuku’s wife had long been friends and spent many a night together in this very home when he and Izuku had been wrapped up in high grade missions and wouldn’t be home for days to weeks on end.

You flop onto the couch and point the remote to the television, even though it is already on, set to the news. Bakugou holds the baby in his lap as he sits down behind you and starts to feed him. You rest your head on his shoulder and to Katsuki, you are as light as a feather. 

“We haven’t had time together in a long while,” you whisper. 

Bakugou’s head tilts ever so slightly so that it rests against yours as well.

“You’re right. I’ve missed you,” he insists. There’s a quiet silence between you. It really has been a while that you’ve been able to sit together like this, despite being husband and wife.

“Are you fine with babysitting?” you ask. “Izuku was worried about asking you in the first place according to ___, and she had to convince him it was okay despite everything, insisting that it would be good for you-”

Katsuki interrupts your rambling with a kiss on your forehead.

“It’s fine,” he says, gruffly. Your lips pull into a sad smile.

“I’m sorry, Katsuki, I wish things had been different,” you say anyway.

Katsuki can feel his heart breaking, and instead focuses on the child in his lap, monitoring his progress on the bottle. He had wanted a child. He had wanted a child so badly, one that looked like him and you, and what had it brought him? 

The memory of you haunting him constantly, always there, but not really there.

When he looks back at you again, your form is starting to dissipate, as it does whenever he starts to remember you’re no longer on this plane of existence.

His hands are full so he can no longer cling to you - plus this has happened so many times before that he’s now nearly used to it - so instead he watches you go, numb, tears no longer falling from his eyes. After all, just for today, he has someone else to take care of, even if it’s for a short period of time. 

The kid is falling asleep in his lap now, and it’s just the two of them as Bakugou watches, but doesn’t really watch the shifting pictures in front of him. Being a godfather feels like an incomplete substitute for being a father at times, but it’s valuable all the same.

“Guess it’s just me and you, kid,” he whispers as he rises to put the baby to bed.

When the Midoriyas never return, and Bakugou signs the last of adoption papers, it rings again true.

The child laughs a little more now, unaware that his godfather now turned legal father sees three figures that aren’t really there instead of one now. Bakugou smiles as he throws the kid up in the air, realizing that misery might have helped him mourn you initially, but won’t keep the two of them safe.

“Guess it really is just me and you.”

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

this is a continuation of this and is an ongoing choose your own adventure story. If it goes well, I'll do it again!

[flowerandblood]

Brother, Lover, Son (Oneshot)

The Impossible Choice Series Special Chapter

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[description: Aemond is sent to Storm's End by his father to be trained in the nature of battle and warfare under Borros Baratheon eye, in preparation for his future role as commander of his brother's army. He is to choose one of his daughters as his future wife, but Borros only allows him to choose between four of them when his true desire is awakened by his fifth and youngest child.]

[warnings: sex content, virginity loss, fingering, masturbation, kissing, smut, angst, sexual tension, domination, violence, kind of incest but not actually]

This oneshot is an alternate reality from The Impossible Choice Series where, according to Aemond's words in Chapter 49, he is sent to Storm's End by his father when he is still just a child. It shows what would happen and how it would affect Aemond and Lady Baratheon, what his relationship with Borros, Royce and her other sisters would be like. This chapter stands apart from the main story and is a big, long "what if". This is very long oneshot (over 15.000 words).

Part two of this oneshot: To desire, to love, to care

Other oneshot form the same AU: Daugther, Lover, Sister

Brother, Lover, Son Inside Alphabet

Moodboards before you start reading and want feel the mood:

Aemond and Lady Baratheon • Storm's End Stronghold • Baratheon Family • Lady Baratheon Gowns • Aemond • Lady Baratheon Mother

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Main story and my other fics: Masterlist

______

He was unable to understand his father's decision. The night after their conversation, after the king had conveyed his will to him he had cried with rage, lying with his face pressed against his pillow, his barely healed scar from Luke's cut burning and itching more than usual.

"I've decided that you will spend a few years in Storm's End, preparing for your role as commander under the tutelage of Lord Borros Baratheon. After what has happened you need a change of environment, son. It'll do you good."

He wept quietly, remembering those words for the hundredth time. He thought with grief that what he needed was not a change of environment, but a father who would come in time, save him from his nephew's cut, support him later in front of everyone, hug him and comfort him.

Meanwhile, despite the fact that he had managed to tame the largest dragon that now walked the earth his father was getting rid of him. He thought that the lack of an eye made him now forever defiant in his eyes and he wanted to hide him somewhere far away from the world, condemning him to oblivion.

His mother begged his father to change his mind, but he said that his son was already eleven years old and would soon be a grown man, and she could visit him whenever she wanted.

Whether he wanted it or not, a week later he was standing in the courtyard wrapped in his crying mother's arms. Aegon yawned, looking around, Helaena was staring at her hands, thoughtful, and small Daeron sobbed loudly not understanding why he had to leave.

He only grunted, looking at them, not knowing what to say. He simply nodded, turned and walked away, not wanting to cry in front of everyone like a little child.

When he reached Storm's End on Vhagar a heavy rain was pouring down all around him, through which he could see very little. He struggled to land near the fortress, and travelled a long distance on foot before encountering guards who came out to meet him and led him straight into the great stone stronghold.

Frozen and with a pounding heart he stepped inside, the keep seemed huge and cold to him, his wet footsteps echoing loudly and disturbingly all around him.

He was led into a large circular hall and saw a tall, massive, bearded man before him. He was strongly built, his shoulder-length hair was as dark as his beard, his thick eyebrows furrowed in displeasure, which he recognised that he was the reason for.

"What is the meaning of this? Why haven't you given him dry clothes yet?" He almost roared at his guards, who only nodded, moving immediately back towards the corridor.

"Royce!" The man called out in a voice so tubular that it echoed loudly throughout the hall, making him swallow heavily. He tried to keep an indifferent face, but he could feel his legs trembling.

Suddenly, a boy, taller than him and reminding him a bit of Jace, ran into the hall through a side entrance. He had short, curly hair and big brown eyes.

"Lead Prince Aemond to his chamber. Let him rest, and then both of you come to the feast." He said in a firm, unobjectionable voice from which his heart trembled.

His father-king had never spoken like this and he did not know how to act.

Royce, however, did not seem at all bothered by his father's harsh tone. He approached him with a light step and bowed, looking at him curiously. He swallowed loudly.

"Follow me, My Prince." He said, and he simply moved behind him, snorting quietly with his nose.

They moved up the grand, richly carved stone staircase. Royce was walking so fast that it was hard to keep up with him. They turned into one of the main corridors, then Royce opened a wooden door and invited him inside.

He stepped into his chamber and realised to his surprise that this room was even bigger than the one he had lived in the Red Keep. There was already a fire in the fireplace, the warmth of the flames making him tremble a little less. Royce looked at him and opened the dresser, pulling out a chemise and trousers, glancing at him.

"Get changed. Unfortunately such fine weather here is normal. You'll have to get used to it. Dinner will be in an hour, father doesn't like anyone to be late. Make yourself comfortable." He said and patted him on the shoulder, stepping around him and walking out, leaving him with an embarrassed expression on his face.

No lord had ever touched him so brazenly or spoken to him so directly, but yet he felt some kind of relief after he had done so. He thought that perhaps such gestures were made between friends, brothers, and swallowed quietly.

This was not his family.

He had been sent here as if to some great stone prison.

After a few minutes or so, the servants brought trunks with his belongings, which had been brought in several carriages, and he changed into an attire he thought appropriate for supper. A plump, smiling woman then entered his chamber and informed him that she would be his servant and that he could ask her for anything he needed. He felt strange.

He knew they were kind to him because he was a prince. Because his father and Lord Baratheon had decided that he would one day marry one of his daughters. They could not offend or discourage him. He pressed his lips together at the thought and decided that he would not fall for this cheap pity.

He wondered for a moment how he was supposedly going to get to the hall where the feast would be, but a few minutes before the appointed time Royce knocked on his door asking if he was ready. They went there together.

They entered a great hall from the ceiling of which hung a huge candlestick, behind a long table stretched a fireplace from which a fire gushed, on an oak table spread a whole lot of dishes he had not seen before.

He noticed, surprised, that Lord Borros had already eaten, ignoring the fact that not everyone was yet at the table, nor that he, the prince, had yet to sit down. He swallowed quietly, sitting down in the seat Royce had indicated to him, the curious glances of his sisters made him lower his head, embarrassed.

They were looking at his eyepatch, at his scar.

He wanted to hide, to disappear.

Suddenly he heard a squeal from under the table that Royce had just ducked under and pulled out a little girl laughing so loudly he felt uncomfortable. She tried to pull away from her brother, but he held her tight and pinched her flushed cheek.

"This is where you hid, little rascal. I'm sorry, this is no longer your place, from now on Prince Aemond sits here." He explained to her, and she stopped squirming, looking at him with furrowed brows and tightened lips.

He glanced at her, thinking she was about to start crying as loudly as she laughed, but she glanced back at Royce.

"Fine. He can sit there, but you can't." She burbled, jabbing her brother in his arm with her finger, stepping under the table again and appearing on the other side, taking the empty seat next to her other sister, the only fair-haired girl, who sighed heavily as she looked at her.

"Sit down. Don't act like an animal." She said, correcting her on the seat, her younger sister looked at her resentfully but said nothing. "What do you want to eat?"

She asked her as if she were her mother, and the girl pointed her finger at the roast. Lord Borros' low, firm voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"Eat. Don't be shy. This is your home now." He said, glancing at him with his piercing brown eyes, putting some more meat on the platter beside him and handed it to him.

He swallowed, nodded and took a bit for his plate. Throughout the feast he had been frustrated by the attentiveness of Lord Borros' daughters, except perhaps the youngest, who was too savage to concentrate on anything.

He had hardly slept through the night, curling up in his bed, trying not to cry from sadness and longing. He wanted to return to King's Landing, to a place where the sun greeted him every day, not rain and clouds. Where there was his library to hide in, his garden, his mother and his heritage.

He felt lost, lonely, forsaken.

His maid brought him his breakfast in the morning, warm milk with a platter of rolls and vegetables he liked. He wondered how she knew this and whether Lord Borros had asked his mother about it before. Then Royce came into his chamber and said that in an hour he would be training with his father in the courtyard for hand-to-hand combat and he could join them if he wished.

He wasn't sure he wanted to.

He was afraid of humiliation.

However, he recognised that Lord Borros could not see him as a weak coward, so he went downstairs, having previously dressed in the clothes designed for training, entering the courtyard from the side, through the cloisters, and stopped, looking at the square in front of him in disbelief.

Indeed Lord Borros and Royce were practising, both of them with wooden swords in their hands, all sorts of targets and shields around them, on tables surrounding them weapons he had not even seen in King's Landing. What he did not understand, however, was what his youngest daughter was doing there with them.

"Stand firmer on your feet. Improve your posture." Borros shouted loudly at her as she pushed against Royce with vigour, her wooden sword even smaller than his, her dark hair tied up in a braid, determination and focus in her big, bright eyes.

Royce deflected her attack and with a single, powerful blow knocked her wooden sword out of her hand a few metres away. She immediately ran after him, picking it up off the ground.

"Are you holding that sword or not?" Asked frustrated Royce, throwing his sword over his shoulder. "You need to have a stronger grip, focus."

"I'm trying!" She called out, running back to him and stopped, spotting him standing in front of the fortress entrance.

"Prince Aemond is here!" She exclaimed joyfully, and he blushed and lowered his head, embarrassed, feeling as if he had been caught in the act, even though he had done nothing wrong.

Borros and Royce immediately turned their gazes towards him, Lord Baratheon running the hilt of his sword over the sand.

"Come here." He said in a commanding voice, without any further pleasantries. He pressed his lips together at the thought that Criston had always addressed him with respect, not forgetting his titles.

He swallowed loudly, walking towards them with his head lowered, pale, prepared for humiliation. Royce threw a wooden sword in his direction, which he caught in flight.

"Ready?" The boy asked him, and he nodded. Royce thrust at him suddenly, his blow swishing through the air, but he jumped back, spinning, trying to hit him from the side.

Royce blocked his blow and pushed him away, but he swished his sword once more, hitting him with all his strength on the shoulder. Royce hissed and recoiled, furrowing his brow, and he froze and stopped, swallowing loudly, looking at Lord Baratheon in horror. His daughter who stood beside him clapped her hands, a wide smile on her face. Borros nodded.

"Good. Royce, what did you do wrong?" His father asked, and Royce sighed heavily.

"I didn't dodge on my knees." He said resignedly, looking away, closing his eyes. His father hummed under his breath.

"Exactly. How many times do I have to tell you. Footwork is key! Again." He ordered, Royce sighed, the expression of displeasure gone from his face.

They had had several fights with each other, already more evenly matched, Lord Baratheon after each one giving them remarks or showing them what they were doing wrong. Aemond swallowed loudly as he turned to him.

"You have very good technique, but you are too tense in your shoulders. Relax them and your swing will be wider, you will be able to reach your enemy from a greater distance. Do you understand?" He asked and he nodded, unable to get the words out, his heart was beating like crazy.

His advice worked, he could feel in his hand that his sword was reaching farther, he hit Royce in the chest and he caught himself and hissed. Lord Borros came up and patted him firmly on the shoulder.

"Good. Just like that. Royce, legs." Borros said to him, and he felt his cheeks go red, his belly filled with some kind of pride he didn't want to feel.

When they had finished and Borros said they could go and rest he thought Royce would lurk somewhere in the middle of the fortress and beat him up for the warm words from his father. Aegon always took it out on him later when he won some sparring match organised by Cole saying that he had humiliated him in front of everyone.

Royce, however, seemed to have forgotten all about the training, hot and sweaty, saying he was thirsty and hungry. He told him they could go to the pantry together, and he nodded, although he'd never been in such a place before.

They went down into the underground, there were servants walking around them, but they didn't seem to pay any attention to them, as if Royce's presence was normal for everyone. Royce went into one of the rooms and took two apples for them, on the way one of the servants asked him if they preferred to eat something warm.

"No." Said Royce, throwing him the other apple, turning back. They ate as they walked down the long, stone-cold corridors. He wondered if he could ask him about it, he couldn't hold his curiosity any longer.

"Do you have a library here?" He asked feigning indifference, biting into the sweet flesh of the fruit. Only now did he feel the stress leave him, his stomach growling with hunger. Royce looked at him puzzled.

"Yes, but it's rarely used. I can show you where it is if you want."

As promised, Royce took him to a gigantic room made up of huge stone bookcases filled to the brim with dusty tomes. Indeed, the place looked as if no one had looked there for a long time.

He knew that Lord Borros could not read. However, he wondered if his children couldn't do it either. He glanced at Royce and wondered if it was appropriate for him to ask such things. So far Royce had been nice to him and was the only boy his age he could talk to about anything. He figured he'd phrase the question so as not to give himself away.

"Don't you like books?" He asked casually, eating further, strolling across the room with him. Royce shrugged his shoulders.

"I like books about the war, but they have a lot of difficult words that I don't understand. My mother explained to me that they were difficult books for adults and that I could try to go back to them when I was older." He said calmly, and he swallowed loudly, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

Their mother was dead, but he wouldn't dare ask what had happened to her.

He hummed under his breath at his words and nodded.

"Sometimes I take books from here to read to my sister before bed. The youngest one you saw in the square today." He said, taking one of the books from the shelf, looking through it without much concentration. He looked at him thoughtfully.

"Why is your little sister practising with you?" He asked, completely not understanding what she was doing there, having never seen any girl their age in King's Landing take an interest in such things before.

"And why not?" Royce replied with a question to question, shrugging his shoulders. He was surprised by this answer and did not know what to reply.

"She cried terribly when I didn't want to take her with me. She insisted on sword fighting and that's it. Didn't one of Aegon the Conqueror's sister-wives fight with a sword?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

He pressed his lips together, refraining from saying that the Targaryens were not like other people and not to compare them, but he decided it was rude and left the subject.

From then on, he found his asylum in the forgotten library of Storm's End, where he spent his afternoons after training with Royce and writing off his mother's letters.

Although he still felt lonely, Royce was good company, not imposing on him, having his barriers, respecting his space. He wasn't spiteful and didn't look down on girls the way Aegon did, didn't beat him surreptitiously when his father wasn't watching, didn't play silly jokes or mischief on him.

He was a good friend.

He liked to climb up to the small half-floor of the library from which he had a view of the whole place, settling in there with a few books and something to eat, spending long hours there.

One day, however, he heard, startled, as the door to the room opened, Borros's youngest daughter ran inside like a storm, approaching one of the bookcases. She struggled to pull some book off a shelf she couldn't reach, and he watched her efforts without a word. He wondered if he should help her, and then decided he didn't need to do anything for her.

The girl finally took the chair and stood on it, this time grabbing what she wanted. He blinked as she got off the chair and sat down on it, looking through some sort of large, colourful book, he could see from a distance how many illustrations it had.

He thought curiously that he would take it as soon as she had gone, however, she sat down comfortably and browsed further, wiggling her legs that did not reach the ground.

He sighed quietly and flipped the page of his book, discouraged, and she then lifted her head high and spotted him. He squeezed his eye shut when he heard her get up suddenly and run upstairs to him, he thought he could bid farewell to silence and peace.

"What are you reading about?!" She asked, sitting down next to him at the table above which her head barely protruded.

She unfolded a large but rather thin book in front of him, with an ornate red cover on which a dragon-like shape flashed before him. He didn't answer her question, pushing the book closer to himself, beginning to look through it quickly.

"Hey, I'm reading this!" She squealed in pain, wanting to take it from him, but he pushed her hand away.

"Be quiet." He growled, flicking through page after page, feeling his heart begin to pound.

Tales of the ancient Rulers of the Seven Kingdoms.

Beautifully illustrated scenes of nuptials, dragons, battles, his ancestors on gilded, coloured illuminations. In the Red Keep he had never seen such a book before. He flipped back to the beginning, wanting to start reading, but felt her hand tighten on his arm, her breathing uneven, as if she were about to cry.

"…I read it…." She mumbled, looking at him with big eyes full of tears, her face expressing as if she had never suffered so much in her life as she did in that moment.

"I'm reading it now. When I'm done I'll give it back to you." He said dryly, looking away.

He thought she was going to run off crying to complain to Royce or her father, and pressed his lips together at the thought, but she drew in a loud breath, trying to hold back the loud sobs that were pushing at her throat.

"− and can I − uh - can I sit next to − and you'd read to me, and I − I − I'd like to −" She spoke incoherently and with difficulty, and he clenched his eye knowing that she wouldn't leave him alone. He sighed heavily, pushed her chair closer to him and moved the book to the side so she could see something.

"Do you see anything?" He asked impatiently, looking at her, and she sat up on her knees to raise herself higher, looking at the open book curiously, her face completely changed its expression back to contented and gentle, although she was still red from tears.

"Yes."

He sighed heavily and began to read.

"Once upon a time there was a mysterious land called Valyria. It was known for its great sorcery and magic, and the most enchanted creatures of all had to be the almighty dragons, great flying reptiles breathing fire that resembled lizards in appearance. They had been invincible for thousands of years, sowing fear and confusion among humans who tried to tame them with prayers and gifts." He read in a calm voice and realised after a moment that she was listening to him as if enchanted, looking along with him at the text he was reading.

She glanced at him when he stopped reading, her gaze expressing joyful anticipation.

She really thought he was going to read the whole book to her now.

He didn't know how he felt about that thought. It frustrated him that he had to exert himself for her just on her whim, on the other hand she was just a child who wanted to listen to a story.

"Read on." She said softly, pleasantly, squirming in her lap in anticipation. "I really want to learn more about dragons."

He swallowed quietly at her words, lowering his head, looking blankly at the text in front of him. Even though her sisters were trying with all their might to make contact and conversation with him, he could see them trying to avoid looking at his eyepatch, afraid they would say the wrong thing or offend him.

He was tired of it.

Both he and they pretended all the time.

But she wanted nothing more than for him to continue reading a story that interested her.

So he read on.

✦ - ✦ - ✦ A few years later ✦ - ✦ - ✦

When his mother sent him a letter that Helaena had finally given birth, he flew to King's Landing for a few days to see his nephews. He was pleased, although he did not particularly show it, that his sister had endured the hardships of labour well, being able to get out of bed practically immediately despite giving birth to two children rather than one.

He stood over the two beautiful, ornate wooden cradles in which the two white-haired infants lay and pressed his lips together, knowing that these innocent creatures had just pushed him in line for the throne.

He had inherited nothing.

All he had was Vhagar.

He knew everyone thought so. As he walked the corridors of the Red Keep he felt the stares of the lords and ladies of the court, he knew they were whispering about him. He appeared in King's Landing infrequently and always aroused a general curiosity that made him want to return to Storm's End at once.

There he didn't feel like an intruder, he thought with pain.

Despite his mother's pleas for him to stay for a few weeks, he decided that he would return to Storm's End as planned, remembering his promise to Lord Baratheon to return to the fortress before his Name Day.

The last supper he spent in the Red Keep was quiet and peaceful, the only people at the table who had the strength to talk were his grandfather and his mother. Although the feast went on as usual, he could not get rid of the feeling that everyone around him was grey and dead, without energy or joy.

He recoiled from it.

Although he had always sought silence and solitude in Storm's End, dinners were full of loud conversations and laughter, usually through the banter between Borros, his son and his youngest child, sometimes joined by Ellyn.

Cassandra usually pressed her lips together, looking at him with shame, perpetually worried that he was unhappy or embarrassed, trying to mother everyone, much to his frustration.

Ellyn was sweet and kind, but everything frightened her, she was close to tears when he and Royce had fierce duels during which she almost begged them not to hurt each other.

Maris was withdrawn and immersed in her thoughts, paying no attention to him after he had growled at her several times not to enter his chamber in his absence.

Neither of them frustrated him as much as Floris did.

As he walked down the corridor she tried to catch him under his arm, turning his journey from point to point into a romantic stroll. She constantly asked his opinion when it came to choosing a gown for the feast, to which he didn't feel like answering, uninterested. Her approach tired him.

However, on the whole, he felt surprised and sad when he caught himself thinking that he was returning to Storm's End with relief. He felt like a stranger, like an intruder in his own home, his heritage, and he felt rage mixed with disappointment.

He returned on Vhagar to Storm's End late at night, flying in the middle of a terrible storm, entering the fortress all soaked.

He rolled his eye when he saw that Floris was waiting for him, dressed only in a slightly transparent night robe, holding some cloth in her hands.

"You're soaking wet, my prince, let me help you." She said, looking at him with big eyes.

"No need. Don't follow me." He said dryly, heading to his chamber and locking himself in to make sure she would definitely not come after him.

He changed into dry clothes and collapsed on his bed, falling asleep practically immediately, he heard the loud thunder outside his window.

He woke up as always before dawn, looking tiredly at the grey, overcast sky. He murmured under his breath seeing that it wasn't raining and rose, putting on his trousers, dressing his boots lazily.

He liked to practice in the morning, in solitude, before everyone else was up. Dueling with Royce was interesting and over the years they had formed a wordless, close bond, however he liked to train alone sometimes, wanting to surprise him later with an unexpected blow.

He stepped out into the courtyard and was immediately struck by the crisp, pleasant, refreshing air. He picked up one of the long swords and turned it around a few times in his hand, wanting to check that it lay well in his hand. He shuddered and almost fell over when he felt someone suddenly jump onto his back.

"Brother!" He heard a happy girlish squeal, someone's arms were embracing his neck from behind, her legs clenched around his waist.

"− fuck! − gods −" He hissed, feeling his heart pounding like a mad, looking back over his shoulder, although he knew perfectly well who he was going to see.

He felt her warm breath on his cheek, her pleasant floral scent filled his nose, her bright eyes shining with genuine joy at the sight of him, her cheeks warm and flushed from the cold. She giggled seeing the look on his face.

"Where is your vigilance?" She asked amused and he snorted.

"Get off." He growled in frustration and pushed her away so that she had to slide back off the ground.

He looked at her frustrated, his lips tightened into a straight line in shame.

"Can you finally stop doing that?" He said coolly, looking down at her, but she only smiled wider, putting her hands at her sides, not making anything of his words.

Only now did he realise that she too was wearing her training attire, tight black trousers, a buff white chemise, and over that an embroidered corset pleasantly hugging her slender waist, her long dark hair tied in a braid.

He swallowed loudly as he looked at her, wondering helplessly why he always lost his confidence in her presence.

She was driving him off balance.

"Forgive me. I couldn't help myself when I saw you." She said meekly, walking up to him with a light step, standing in front of him, her face gentle and happy.

She was glad to see him.

She was glad he was back.

He felt embarrassed at her words and looked away, pressing his lips together. She saw how tense he was and obviously felt remorse, because she lowered her gaze.

"I thought you'd come back last evening." She said softly, looking up at him again, her eyes big, sincere, warm.

She was always direct, always spoke straight from her heart, but there was no pressure or expectation of reciprocation, of an answer. Her sincerity straddled him and he usually didn't know what to make of it, embarrassed and confused by her words.

"Something kept me in King's Landing." He replied briefly and dryly, looking at the hilt of his sword, turning it steadily in his hand, pressing its tip to the ground.

"I hope the princess' delivery was quick and easy and that her children are healthy." She said softly, with genuine interest and concern.

"Mmm." That was the only thing that came out of his mouth. He felt an awkward silence ensue between them, as it always did, but she seemed to make nothing of it.

"Will it bother you if I practise archery next to you?" She finally asked politely, calmly, looking at him expectantly, shifting from foot to foot.

"Do what you want." He said dryly, turning the sword in his hand again and turning his back to her, striking one of the targets with his blade.

She answered him nothing to this, standing in silence for a moment, and then he heard her move as she approached one of the tables, taking from it the bow she always chose, given to her by her father. She positioned herself sideways to him, aiming at the shield from a long distance and hit the target immediately. They practised like this in silence until Royce finally joined them.

She and Royce formed a very strong bond between them, which manifested itself in their constant conversations and closeness. He watched from the side as Royce embraced her, picked her up, leaned against her while standing next to her and felt embarrassed, never having been this close to Helaena himself, and even if he had been, he would not have had the courage to show it to her in this way.

She knew she couldn't afford the same type of closeness to him and didn't even try. She circled around him with an amused, joyful expression though, her eyes shining brightly at the sight of him, making him feel a tightness in his throat. He could not stop the rapid beating of his heart and the heat that spread through his body when her hand lightly touched his arm when she asked him something or wanted to comfort him.

She loved to surprise him, appearing in front of him out of nowhere, almost giving him a heart attack, and walking away laughing out loud at his expression, leaving him overwhelmed with embarrassment. She repeated that his face was always stony and indifferent and that she was only testing how much she could get out of him.

The exchanges between them were usually unpredictable and chaotic, she never said what he expected of her and it made him perpetually tense in her presence. He didn't even know when she stopped being a child, changing just like him, the height difference between them even greater than before.

It seemed to him as if she were a small wildflower that bloomed day by day, her shapes becoming more and more girlish, embarrassingly pleasing to his eye. Unlike her sisters, she didn't try to look older than she was. She allowed herself to mature slowly, without unnecessary haste, without killing her innocence, joy and lightness.

Pretty soon he began to see with horror that looking at her from the side was working on his mind, drawing reactions from his body that he was ashamed of. He never lay with any woman, being like his mother a faithful follower of the Seven, believing that as a man he should be able to control himself and his desires completely.

He tried to avoid her, but at the same time he couldn't stop the squeeze of excitement in his stomach when she came to him in the library or during their joint training sessions. He never knew what she would do, what she would say, so he pretended to be indifferent, trying not to think about how hard his heart was pounding.

Nevertheless, he did not know what drove him to follow her one evening when, returning from the library, he saw that she was running down to underground crypts in nothing but her nightgown and robe tied loosely around her waist, a candle in her hand. He thought he'd go and scare her like she had done to him, to make her feel what it was like.

That he'll teach her a lesson.

He followed her quietly, watching his every step, feeling like a predator trying to stalk its prey. He saw the faint light of her candle right in front of him, saw her silhouette standing in front of one of the crypts, her head bowed in thought.

He didn't know what possessed him to grab her by her neck with his hand, embracing her waist with his arm and pull her to him so violently that her body slammed into his, a sudden, high-pitched squeal escaped her mouth.

"Fucking unpleasant, isn't it?" He hissed into her ear, feeling her whole body tremble, her breathing accelerated and terrified. His hand tightened on her neck, the closeness of her body made his manhood pulse hard in his trousers.

"I wanted to see if you are able to make other than a happy, laughing face." He whispered mischievously into her ear and felt a shiver run through her body, her hand tightening on his arm.

She turned her head towards him, her eyes big, terrified, red, full of something he couldn't describe, her lips parted slightly. They were both breathing unevenly, they had never stood so close to each other before, a silence fell between them that terrified him.

A silence full of tension.

Say something, he thought, say I'm a nasty bastard, hit me, push me away.

He swallowed loudly when he felt her put her hand on his, her skin soft and warm.

"Today it is ten years since my mother passed away." She whispered in a trembling, soft voice, looking down, and he felt his heart stop.

He lifted his gaze to the sarcophagus with the large stone statue standing on top of it and recognised in it the face of a woman holding a book in her hands. He felt an instant of shame, of guilt, of embarrassment wash over him.

He let go of her, pulling away from her, feeling his heart pounding like mad, terrified that he had gotten completely hard from their momentary closeness.

What was he doing?

He swallowed loudly, feeling like running away, sinking into the ground, disappearing, but he was unable to move.

"I come here often to pray to her to watch over us. Over our whole family. Over you too." She said at the end, and he swallowed silently, staring at the stone floor, unable to look at her, overpowered by shame.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'll never do it again." She whispered quietly and turned away, moving towards the stairs, leaving him with the burning candle.

Since then, she has never startled him again.

Lord Borros celebrated his Name Day sumptuously, inviting first his subordinate lords and vassals to a great feast in Storm's End, and then setting out with his entire retinue for several days hunting in the forest.

He and Royce entered the hall together through a side entrance on the side of their table, set perpendicular to the tables where the other minor lords and guests were seated.

"I'm sure old Lord Errol and Lord Seaworth will get into a fight again. The wine is bad for their minds and they get mad. I don't understand why Father always seats them so close together." Royce said amused, sitting down in his seat.

His face involuntarily stretched into a smirk at the memory of how Borros had to separate them when Lord Errol started slamming Lord Seaworth's head against the oak table, demanding an apology.

"Were they, by any chance, companions on one of Father's expeditions?" He asked indifferently as he sat down next to him and swallowed quietly noting how the word father had involuntarily slipped from his lips.

Not "our" father.

Not "your" father.

Just father, he reassured himself in his head.

It didn't mean anything.

"Yes, they were best friends, but you know how it is. When there's no war they get bored, so they create reasons for themselves to fight." He said with amusement, reaching for his wine-filled cup, taking a sip from it. He nodded his head.

He was unable to describe what kind of relationship he had with Royce. Royce never acted as if he was lower or higher than him, never let him feel his jealousy of his father, never took it out on him for his failures. Royce simply accepted his presence on the very first day he appeared in Storm's End, and this state of acceptance continued through the years.

He couldn't imagine spending time with Aegon in the way he did with Royce. Royce, unlike him, knew exactly how much he could drink and when he should tell himself enough. He did not read as much as he did, however, he was a man of intelligence, like his father often throwing in apt remarks. Royce was a good observer, better than him, so in a way they complemented each other on a daily basis.

He looked around the room, Lord Borros was discussing something with concern with his servant, apparently about the order in which the dishes were served or a problem with the wine, which, after all, could not be lacking in his house.

His gaze traveled further and he swallowed loudly, feeling his heart hit harder when he spotted his youngest daugther talking to Ellyn, a wide smile and joy on her face, she was laughing at something, her eyes glowing.

He noticed that she didn't wear gowns like her older sisters who followed fashion of King's Landing. The neckline of her gown did not begin until below her breasts, which were covered only by her undershirt, the sleeves of her gown buff and partly slit, tied with bows from under which the white material of her chemise shone through, her hair tied in an elaborate braid.

Her attire was so impressive to him because she usually dressed similarly to them whether she was training with them or attended her father's hunts. Lord Baratheon's other lords and vassals gave her paternal affection, often laughing that Borros had not one son, but three.

Comparisons to men, however, did not take away her confidence, for she seemed to subconsciously understand that all her femininity and girlhood was released when she laughed and smiled, her face always gentle and warm, surrounded usually by a long, complicated braid.

With frustration, he began to notice that men liked to make small talk with her, finding her an interesting and entertaining companion, unafraid of uncomfortable topics. She would occasionally meet his impatient, tense gaze and he would then turn away, tightening his lips, feeling like a fool.

He pretended not to feel relieved and satisfied when, usually after a while, she sat down next to him, turning to him with some question, her knee pressed against his.

He took a deep sip from his cup, looking away.

Lord Borros finally arose and began his speech, thanking those gathered for coming, mentioning some important battles and people, before formally inviting everyone to eat and dance. With music blaring around them, Royce handed him a plate of roast meat that had literally just appeared on the table in front of them.

He tried to pretend he didn't see young Lord Wylde approach Lord Baratheon's youngest daughter asking her to dance, to which she agreed with a soft, wide smile. He tried not to glance surreptitiously as they circled around each other in the dance, her movements nimble, gentle, innocent, her hand barely touching his.

He took another sip of wine, feeling the artery in his throat pulsate, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

He felt relieved when the dance was over and they bowed to each other. He tensed, however, clenching his hand into a fist as he noticed the young boy leaning over her, whispering something to her ear, and she smiled warmly at him, answering him something quickly.

He felt anger.

He felt frustration.

He felt tension.

He tried to reassure himself with the thought that she was innocent and naïve, and he was making sure nothing happened to her, like the good big brother he actually wasn't.

"What happened?" Royce asked, clearly seeing the tension painted on his face, and he grunted low.

"Young Lord Wylde seems to have taken a liking to your sister." He said offhandedly, feigning indifference, hoping Royce would take an interest in the matter for him. He, however, blinked, glancing at them, then shrugged his shoulders.

"My sister is wise, she can handle him if he's too insistent. Let her have her fun." He said lightly, taking a sip of wine, finishing off the leftover meat on his plate, and he averted his gaze, feeling a tightening in his stomach at his words.

When he saw out of the corner of his eye Floris standing up from her chair he also immediately stood up, knowing that she was going to torment him by talking about topics that he was completely uninterested in. Royce only laughed out loud when he told him he was going to go out into the fresh air for a while, knowing exactly who he was running from.

He went out a side entrance and heard Floris come up behind him, so he changed his plan and instead of the cloisters he headed for the library, knowing that she hadn't peeked in there and certainly wouldn't even stop to look.

He entered the dark room and climbed the stairs to the half-floor where he always sat when he was a child, sitting down on the ground against the wall, running his hand over his face.

He wondered what was actually happening to him, feeling tired and discouraged. He knew that eventually he would have to choose one of Borros' daughters to be his wife, but the Lord of Storm's End had let him know that he was to choose from four, not five.

"As I understand it, you will not consider her. She is still so young and childish, she would not do well in the Red Keep or as your wife. You know her nature, it's like locking a wild bird in a cage. For the rest, I am sure you are certainly interested in more mature women." He said and patted him on the shoulder, paternally, with some expression of masculine tenderness from which he felt a tightening in his throat, and nodded only, without looking him in the face.

He couldn't admit to him that thoughts of her invaded him at night, when he touched himself, when he fucked himself with his hand.

That he imagined she came to his chamber in the middle of the night, scared, innocent, warm, and he took her, slowly and tenderly, placing wet kisses full of desire and devotion on her soft face, listening to her sweet moans.

He squeezed his eye shut at the thought, swallowing loudly, feeling his member pulsate hard at the thought.

He jumped up terrified when he heard the quiet creak of the door and cursed in his mind thinking that it was Floris who had finally found his hiding place.

However, he saw in the faint light of the torch from the corridor that the figure who was looking up at him from below was wearing a completely different dress with large buff sleeves. He felt his heart begin to beat like mad, a cold sweat on the back of his neck.

"Brother? Everything all right?" He heard her quiet, worried voice, she spoke almost in a whisper, as if she was afraid someone would hear her. His voice caught in his throat.

He couldn't get anything out.

Go away, he thought pleadingly, but she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

She walked slowly upstairs, lifting her gown with her hands to avoid trampling on it, and knelt down next to him on the floor with a loud rustle, her scent immediately hitting his nostrils. He turned his head, terrified, feeling that he was already completely hard, his chest rising and falling anxiously.

"Are you unwell?" She asked uncertainly, glancing at him, but he didn't dare look at her. He shook his head slowly and heard her swallow quietly.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" She asked again after a moment, and he pressed his lips together, feeling that his whole body was fighting not to throw himself at her, his breathing quickened and anxious, his face stony. He didn't look at her.

He answered nothing.

"I missed you." She whispered at last, and he felt a squeeze in his heart, a pain as if someone had stuck a needle in his chest. "When you're gone something is missing. Royce too…"

"Stop it." He growled colder than he would have liked, frustrated and terrified.

"Why are you telling me this?" He asked impatiently, looking at her suddenly, breathing hard, his hand clenched into a fist as if he was about to hit her. He saw her frightened, warm gaze, saw that she couldn't understand him, what frustrated him and what pleased him. She swallowed loudly, surprised by his sudden outburst.

"You think I want to listen to this? I'm not your brother. Have you forgotten who I am already? Do you feel better when you forget that you should bow before me?" He exhaled in one breath, feeling the poison gathering in his heart fly out of him like a bloodthirsty wave, drowning everything around them, including her and him.

He felt a pang of remorse as he saw her face contort in pain, as if he had slapped her across the face, she blinked rapidly tightening her lips, pulling away from him slightly, raising her arms as if in a gesture of defence, her body breathless all over. She swallowed quietly, her mouth quivering as she spoke her next words.

"To me, you will always be my brother." She said in a trembling voice, and he felt anger and hopelessness at her words.

He did not want to be her brother.

Not when she wasn't a Targaryen.

Not when he wanted to fuck her.

She squealed loudly as his hand brutally clamped down on her hair and pulled her close with a sudden movement so that she literally slammed into his body, falling over, catching his arms to keep her balance, her terrified face millimetres from his. They both breathed loudly as they stared at each other for a long moment, he felt his head spin from the smell of her.

He felt a shudder pass through him as her hand touched his scarred cheek uncertainly, his member pulsed painfully hard, leaving him breathless. Shivers ran down the back of his neck as her fingers slid slowly down his skin to his lips, pulsating and swollen. He pulled her face closer, their foreheads touching.

He glanced at her lips, soft, pink, full, and then again at her eyes, warm, misty, surrounded by beautiful dark lashes like a veil. His hand inch by inch drew her closer and closer, he could feel her accelerated breath wrapping around his face. The tip of his nose ran over her soft cheek and they both trembled, a quiet, sweet sigh escaped her lips, her fingers ran down his cheek.

When his lips brushed hers they both froze, looking at each other with misty eyes, breathing loudly. He waited for her reaction, for her to pull away, to shake her head and tell him no. But she didn't move an inch, her whole body quivered, her mouth parted as if invitingly, encouragingly. He leaned towards her, his thirsty lips pressed against hers, soft, fleshy, wonderfully moist.

She whispered his name quietly, and he kissed her again, each time more surely, more deeply, drawing her closer, her hand tightening on his cheek. Their hot, swollen lips danced with each other with a sticky, wet click that sent shivers through him, his free arm hugging her waist and pulling her closer, forcing her to sit on his lap.

They both panted into each other's mouths feeling their hands travel uncertainly over their bodies, the pads of his fingertips touching her hair, her nape, her neck, her cheeks, her waist, repeating it all over again.

His manhood pulsed in his trousers so hard that once in a while a low, helpless groan of pleasure ripped from his throat straight into her mouth, her lips responding timidly to his caresses, her hand trailing through his hair and down his neck.

Aroused to the limit, with a pounding heart, he tentatively slipped the tip of his tongue into her parted lips as if to see how she would react, whether it would be too much. He felt her tremble all over and draw in a loud breath, her fingers clenching tighter on his hair.

He repeated the movement of his tongue and got the same wonderful reaction out of her. He moaned loudly when he felt tips of their tongues come into contact and lick, a strong shudder ran through his body, his hands tightening on the material of her gown.

They both flinched and pulled away immediately, looking at each other in horror when they heard someone grab the doorknob and then the door swung open with a loud creak. They both stood up, swallowing loudly, noticing Royce who was frowning through the lack of light and only saw them on the balcony a moment later.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, what are you doing here?" He asked surprised and amused, seeing their faces.

"I felt unwell. The wine made me sick." He choked out wearily, avoiding her, feeling like his heart was about to leap out of his chest, running down the stairs.

"I'm better now, let's go." He said, stepping out into the corridor, trying to stop his body shaking and the sights he saw before his eyes. He was glad his robe was long enough to cover what was going on in his trousers.

Her soft lips pressed against his, her hand in his hair, her flowery, fresh scent, her warm breath, the trembling of her body, her tongue licking his.

He swallowed loudly, stepping back into the great hall, immediately bombarded with questions from Floris as to where he had gone for so long. He didn't answer her, sidestepping her, sitting down in his seat, taking a few deep sips of wine to calm himself.

What had he done?

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What if she tells Royce? Or Father?

He ran his hand over his chin at that thought, feeling a tightening in his stomach, glancing nervously at the entrance.

He thought Borros would kill him if he found out.

A moment later, she and Royce also entered the room, her face pale, though she tried to smile, Royce telling her something amused.

She didn't tell him, he thought with relief.

Their gazes met and he immediately looked away, feeling her soft, wet tongue between his lips again, his member pulsed painfully in his trousers, demanding to be relieved at last.

Never before had he come so quickly fucking himself with his own hand as he had that evening. The loud, low moan of relief and delight that broke from his throat was silenced by the pillow into which he pressed his face, his body trembling in spasms. He involuntarily whispered her name as he slowly came down from his peak, his eye tightened, a quiet panting came from his mouth.

He was disgusted with himself and what he had done.

He was disgusted at how pleasant it felt.

She was so innocent.

In the morning he felt crushed by remorse, by the fact that he had frightened her, that she herself did not know what had happened between them. That she thought for certain he wanted to take advantage of her, to profit from the pleasure of her body and nothing more. He knew she would go hunting with them, she always went, helping Borros instead of his servants.

He did not know how he would look her in the face.

He decided he would try to go to Lord Borros and convince him somehow to let him stay in the fortress.

"This is time for you and your children." He said to him, Lord Borros' servant was just helping him put on a robe of thicker, warmer material designed for being outside in cold temperatures. Borros snorted at his words.

"My four daughters are staying and that I can understand, but you? Both my sons are to participate in the hunt." He said more commanding than stating. He looked at him, pretending to feel nothing at his words.

"I am not your son."

Borros pressed his lips together at his words. He waved his hand impatiently and ordered the servant to leave them alone. After a moment, the door closed behind him and a tense silence fell between them. He felt his heart pounding fast. Borros looked at him, wrinkling his wide, dark brows.

"You are not my son by blood, but I raised you. I made you a man. You and Royce are to come with me. Do you understand?" He asked low and clear, with the impatience characteristic of him when he was frustrated. He swallowed loudly and nodded his head.

You are not my son by blood, but I raised you.

I made you a man.

He did not want to admit to himself how much relief he felt at his words.

He no longer knew who he was and who he was not.

A dragon prince would never be an ordinary stag.

However, why was it that whenever Borros spoke in his presence he felt a respect and awe for him that made him unable to stand up to him? That he didn't remind him of who he was, how he should address him?

Part of him wanted to be Royce's brother, wanted to be Borros Baratheon's son.

But he also wanted something else.

Someone else.

He wondered, riding his mount beside Royce through the dense forest whether she would agree if he asked for her hand. Would she give up everything she loved for him and leave with him to the Red Keep, to the inheritance that was his by blood and law. He swallowed quietly, ashamed of the direction his thoughts were taking.

He was desperate.

When they arrived at the spot in the field where the large tents slowly floated he spotted her from afar talking quickly to his father about something and he lowered his head, terrified, dismounting from his horse, thinking only of what he had done the night before.

However, as Borros approached them in her company he began to talk about where they would be going and what they were hunting, his voice focused and pleased with the weather and the fact that it was not raining. He swallowed loudly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked away from him as soon as she noticed he was looking at her.

She didn't tell him, he thought with relief and regret at the same time.

Perhaps if he found out the truth and required an explanation, he would have the courage to take her for himself and demand her hand.

He was not surprised when Borros ordered that all three of them and a few companions from his old days would accompany him on a deer hunt. His youngest daughter was, as usual, armed with a bow, much to her father's delight hitting a partridge from long distances. Borros patted her firmly on the back so that she bent under the powerful strokes of his broad palm.

"Very good." He said lightly, walking on, ordering them to move north. He saw her give him a quick glance and then immediately turn her head away, tightening her lips, all red, and run after her father.

The hunt was a success and they returned to camp with enough meat to feed all comers. Large bonfires were lit in front of the tents, the cooks skinning and quartering the animals before his eyes. Royce and he sat down under one of the trees, exhausted.

Royce called out to his sister when he spotted her from afar to rest with them, and he felt a twist in his stomach, looking away, feigning indifference.

His younger sister approached them uncertainly, trying to converse lightly with her brother about something, her hands clenched in her lap. After a moment, Borros called out to his son from a distance, saying that he needed to help him move some things, and he got up at once and ran towards him, leaving them alone. They both turned their heads, unable to look at each other, a protracted, awkward silence all around them.

He looked at the sun setting in the distance which he could see between the trees, feeling his heart pounding. It seemed to him that what had happened between them earlier in the night was just a figment of his imagination.

"I will not disturb you, my prince." She said softly, quietly, pained, lifting herself from the grass, and he looked at her surprised, his jaw clenched in a held breath at her words as he watched her walk away.

My prince.

When Royce returned he told him he needed to drink some wine. He drank more than usual, watching her from afar like a predator, seeing her cast him an uncertain, frightened glance once in a while. He was frustrated and full of anger that he didn't know what to do with.

He decided to go to bed early, drunk, tired and discouraged. Royce urged him to stay up, that the campfires would burn late into the night, but he had neither the strength nor the desire to feast.

He moved towards his tent and went inside, slowly undoing the buckles of his jacket, pulling it off and throwing it indifferently on the grass beside his bed. He heard someone come inside and thought it was his servant, so he loudly dismissed him, but the person who had entered did not move from his place.

"− Brother −" He heard her quiet, uncertain voice and froze, his body went through a shiver. He turned slowly to her over his shoulder, his gaze expressing shock. He couldn't believe she had come, his heart was pounding like mad. His mind was foggy, he felt uncertain and helpless, his hands involuntarily clenched into fists.

"What are you doing here?" He asked coolly, low, coldly, and she swallowed loudly, her large, warm eyes full of terror and uncertainty, she was pale.

She opened and closed her mouth several times but nothing came out of her throat, she rubbed her fingers together in a nervous gesture.

"− I − what happened yesterday −" She mumbled out, but he interrupted her in mid-sentence afraid of what she wanted to say.

"− forget about it −" He replied, turning away from her, untying the binding of his trousers, wanting to get rid of them before lying down on his bed. "− something else? −"

She turned her head away, embarrassed and hurt by his words and what he was doing, swallowing loudly, her brow furrowed as if in pain.

"− I want you to know that I won't tell anyone about this − that's all −" She whispered turning away and walked out, leaving him with a pounding heart and a feeling of overwhelming shame.

He ran his hand over his face and, in a gesture of anger, threw all his dishes off the table, which fell to the ground with a loud clang of metal.

Why did it have to be her?

He put his palms on the table, leaning his head forward, unable to calm himself, breathing loudly through his mouth.

Why couldn't it be Ellyn?

She was sweet, pretty, modest, well-read, quiet.

So why?

He came out of his tent like a living fury and stormed aggressively into her tent, heard her squeal of surprise as she jumped up on her bed, covering herself with fur, sitting up in only her nightgown.

She looked up at him with her mouth gaping open and her eyes wide as he ripped the furs from her hands, revealing her body peeking out from under the thin white material in front of him, her breath caught in her throat as he lay down on top of her, pressing her body against the bedding, his member pulsing hard between her thighs.

"− brother − what are you −" She whispered terrified, shivering all over, clasping her hands on his chemise.

"− tell me to stop −" He breathed out grabbing her trembling thighs in his hands, lifting them slightly and spreading them out in front of him, panting along with her, looking at her face full of disbelief. "− tell me to stop or I'll take what I want −"

He said in a raspy voice, his tongue invading between her swollen lips bringing out a helpless, drawn-out, surprised moan, her hands still clenched on the material of his shirt. He ran his hard, throbbing manhood hidden under the material between her thighs and she trembled all over, whimpering into his mouth.

He pulled away from her with a loud, wet click, looking at her like a madman, panting loudly along with her, parting her lower lip with his thumb, his hips rubbing against her in a slow back and forth motion.

"− say it −" He whispered more weakly, looking down at her, her face flushed and red, her lips parted in a ragged breath, a quiet moan came from her mouth each time he pressed her womanhood again.

"− please, make me stop − please −" He growled out helplessly, but her lips only parted more at his words, her thighs spread wider in front of him, her hand running over his cheek.

He squeezed his eye shut, feeling her lower lip brush his, her hips tentatively began to respond to his movements, rubbing against him, driving him wild. He felt like he was about to explode.

"− please −" He panted into her mouth, the tips of their tongues licking each other, a sweet, lingering mewl came from her lips. His trembling hands slid from her thigh to her buttocks, squeezing them uncertainly, he sighed in delight feeling how soft she was.

"− please − please −" He sighed in a trembling voice, but her hands weaved into his hair and drew him closer, her fingers trailing down his neck, slipping under his chemise, running over his back, leaving goosebumps in the areas of her touch. They both began to moan quietly and pant into each other's mouths, their kisses messy and loud, wet, sticky from their saliva.

"− marry me −" He exclaimed helplessly, lifting her chemise higher, revealing to him the bare skin of her thigh and what lay between them. Slowly he slid his hand there, trembling along with her, her body quivering at his words, a loud sigh escaping her lips.

"− say you'll marry me −" He whispered, running his nose over her cheek, sliding down to her ear and then to her neck, placing slow, wet kisses on her skin. They both moaned helplessly as his fingers ran over her womanhood, so intimately hidden, so now exposed, her expression of complete trust in him.

He sighed wearily when he felt her juices on his fingers, wet and sticky, again and again running his hand over her entrance, her skin there hot, pulsing with heat. He felt her fingers tighten on his back, writhing beneath him each time his palm ran over the point hidden between her folds, a helpless sob escaping from her throat, her lips parted wide, droplets of sweat running down her skin.

"− Aemond −" She whimpered pleadingly, as if she were crying out to him for help, as if she were asking him to save her. He trembled all over at the sound of his name spoken so directly, so unashamedly, intimately, he felt as if his member would explode with arousal.

He began to deliberately massage her where his touch was driving her mad, his fingertips spreading her moisture all over her womanhood, his lips clinging to hers again, trying to silence her increasingly loud moans.

"− hush, my little one − someone will hear us − shhh −" He silenced her by sliding his tongue deep between her lips, almost to her throat, her hips began to move faster and faster towards his hand, searching for any source of friction.

"− Aemond − what are we doing −" She mumbled quietly between sticky kisses and the licking of their tongues, his fingers massaging around her pearl in a circular intense motion, running over her hot entrance once in a while. He tentatively slid the tip of his finger into her throbbing insides, and she trembled all over, drawing in air loudly.

"− what husband and wife do − what we're going to do every night −" He breathed out into her mouth and a quiet, sweet, surprised moan escaped her throat, he felt her wetness flowing from her entrance into his palm, he felt her body on edge, her thighs were quivering all under his hand, her hips pushing greedily against his fingers. He slid his finger into her with a wet click of her juices as his thumb continued to tease her pearl.

"− I − gods, it feels so warm − it tickles me so much inside −" She mewled, panting loudly, clearly feeling the tension gathering in her lower abdomen, and he thought with delight that she was about to come on his hand.

"− say you'll marry me −" He said in a raspy voice, watching as her body wriggled in front of him him in pleasure, her mouth wide open, her eyes looking at him in a way from which he felt like just throwing himself on top of her and sliding inside her.

"− I will − I will, please −" She cried out and suddenly froze, leaning back, pressing her cheek against the pillow.

An exasperated, pleading, startled moan erupted from her throat, she clenched her eyes shut as if what was just going through her body was too much. Waves of pleasure shook her body, and he watched the sight in disbelief, seeing female fulfilment for the first time in his life.

His hand involuntarily slid out from between her thighs and slid into his trousers, gripping his painfully hard manhood. He forced her to look up at him by clamping his hand over her cheeks and he pressed himself into her lips, panting along with her, massaging himself intensely and quickly. He felt his fulfilment approaching embarrassingly fast, her scent, the touch of her lips and what he saw was enough to keep him on edge.

"− my sweetest − gods − oh, fuck −" He growled out into her mouth panting hard as he felt his hot cum spill over his hand, a wonderful relief and pleasure filled his whole body and lower abdomen, he could hear her loud breathing, her hand gently stroking his hair and cheek, calming him, soothing him.

He collapsed on top of her at last, panting hard, not believing it had really happened. They lay like that, both of them breathing loudly, not saying a word, all around them the voices of drunken men arguing with each other and discussing loudly. He could feel their bodies trembling, hot with fulfilment. He pressed his face to her cheek, his lips against her ear.

"− Do you want me to leave? −" He asked in an uncertain, trembling voice, terrified of what he had done, what she would think of him now, what their father would think if he found out. He felt her small hands tightening on his chemise, her hand running through his hair.

"Stay with me."

So he stayed.

When he woke up, her warm body was snuggled against his chest, her fingers tightened on the material of his chemise as if she was afraid he would change his mind and leave her in the middle of the night.

He embraced her with his hands, his face snuggled into her hair, his nose filled with her wonderful scent.

He had never felt so fulfilled before.

So peaceful.

So safe.

He only gently disentangled himself from her sleeping embrace before dawn, not wanting anyone to see him leaving her tent and jump to hasty conclusions.

He also needed to speak to their father.

He had never before seen Lord Borros so furious as when he told him he had made his choice. His foster father prowled around the tent like an enraged animal as he sat in his chair, tense, playing with his fingers.

"She's just a child. I thought you had more sense." Borros hissed at him, and he threw him a cold, displeased look.

"She is no longer a child. Would you rather she married a stranger instead of giving her to me? To your son?" He asked, his voice trembling uncertainly at his last words. Borros looked at him furrowing his eyebrows, on his face was painted the struggle that had just been going on in his mind.

"I will not hurt her. She will be safe with me." He said calmly what he really thought. Borros snorted at his words.

"In King's Landing, between one fire-breathing dragon and another fighting for crown and power? I don't want to see my youngest child perish in the flames of Targaryen greed!" He exclaimed in a low breaking voice, and he felt a pain in his chest, swallowing loudly, taken completely by surprise by his words.

I don't want to see my youngest child perish in the flames of Targaryen greed.

"It's her or none, Father." He said coldly, clenching his hands into fists, not looking away even though he wanted to.

He heard Borros growl with rage, furiously turning to his servant to summon his youngest daughter at once.

He felt discomfort at the thought that perhaps she had changed her mind.

That she had only agreed under emotions, and now regretted it.

He was unable to look at her when he heard her enter the tent, Borros immediately turned to her, his voice raised and impatient.

"Prince Aemond asks for your hand, daughter. Did you know about this?" He asked menacingly, referring to all the confusion he had caused with his decision. He felt his heart pounding as he waited for her words, his hands clenched into fists.

"Yes. I...I have already agreed." She whispered so quietly that he barely heard. He swallowed loudly glancing at her finally, she was pale and frightened, looking at her father pleadingly, terrified of his anger.

"You have no idea what you agreed to, child." He said, half furious, half terrified, running his hand over his face, shaking his head, still pacing around the tent, unable to control himself.

"I do not want anyone else." She mumbled with difficulty, looking pleadingly at her father, on the verge of tears. He felt warm in his chest at her words and pressed his lips together.

I do not want anyone else.

Without opposition from his daughter, Borros really had no choice. When they confirmed several times that they knew what they were doing and that it was what they wanted, he gave up, heartbroken, and ordered to summon a scribe, wanting to send a letter to King's Landing.

Neither he nor she had the courage to tell anyone what had happened.

Word of his decision spread like wildfire, however, and he had to deal with a barrage of questions from Royce, shocked and unsure if he was doing the right thing.

"But why her, brother? She is so young. I mean…I was sure you'd choose Ellyn." He said, scratching his chin, just as embarrassed as he was by this conversation. Aemond didn't know what to say to him.

"I...when I looked at her... fuck. I think I knew it from the beginning." He muttered, running his hand over his face in shame, all tense, glancing at Royce, who stared at him in disbelief.

His reaction was nothing compared to the despair and bitterness that gripped his sisters.

Cassandra took it best, with dignity, though her face twisted in pain as their father informed them of his decision at the evening feast. Maris turned pale and pursed her lips, but said nothing. Ellyn let out a loud, breaking sob, got up and left, unable to look at him.

Floris asked if it was a joke.

He looked at his betrothed, pale and on the verge of tears, weighed down by what was happening around her, by what he had condemned her to.

"The king and queen have decided that the nuptials will take place in two months." Their father continued, ignoring his daughter's brazen questions. Floris interrupted him again.

"My prince, is it true? Did our father force you to make this decision?" She asked in disbelief, it was clearly beyond her mind that he could make such a decision of his own free will. He took a sip of wine from his goblet and set it down with a loud clang of metal.

"Quite the opposite. Your father tried to dissuade me from this decision, to no avail." He spoke low, coldly, his eye fixed on the one he desired, the one he chose. She looked at him, her eyes sad and terrified.

He pressed his lips greedily to hers, pinning her against the cool stone wall of the corridor as soon as they were alone, wiping tears from her face as they ran down her cheeks, absorbing her every silent sob.

"Tell me you haven't changed your mind." He gasped into her mouth, brushing them and caressing them with a loud, sticky click. She threw her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with such ferocity that he moaned low into her throat.

It was her answer.

To his relief, his betrothed wished their lives to go on as before. She didn't make him take romantic walks together on the cliff's edge, didn't expect flowers, letters, or other evidence of constant interest and love from him. Everything she wanted she could see in his gaze, which did not leave her for a moment.

Affection.

Thirst.

Desire.

He didn't have the courage to tell her how much he already wanted her all to himself, how much he wanted her to be the mother of his children.

He couldn't find the words to describe the heat and pride that overwhelmed him at the thought that she would be his wife, that he would be able to touch her shamelessly in front of everyone.

That he would be able to pick her up, embrace her, lean over her, touch her warm cheeks and hands the way Royce did.

No one but them knew that they both sneaked out of their chambers late at night and went to the library, shutting themselves up there, slowly discovering the pleasures and secrets of their bodies. He let her small hands slide his eyepatch off his head, let her place warm, tender kisses on his scar, holding her close.

They lay down on blankets and fabrics that they had scrupulously hidden under one of the shelves behind the books, finding lying on the stone floor very uncomfortable.

He did not dare to pull off her nightgown, wanting to show her respect and make her feel safe, but the mere sight of her naked body through the translucent fabric was enough to stimulate his senses completely and drive him mad.

He let himself kiss her soft, firm breasts through the thin material and she let out sweet sighs of delight, her hand stroking his hair as she pressed his face closer to her chest, signalling him not to stop.

He had no experience with women before her, so he wanted to understand exactly what gave her fulfillment, what touch and movement of his fingers made her spasm, what his words whispered in her ear made her suddenly come on his hand with a sweet sobs of pleasure.

He felt embarrassed and aroused when she whispered to him one night if she could touch him there.

Their lips connected and parted in sticky, lustful kisses as her trembling fingers untied the tie of his trousers, timidly slipping her hand underneath them. They both froze and inhaled loudly as her fingers traced againt his length, a low, helpless, guttural moan escaping his lips.

"− fuck −" He gasped into her mouth, surprised at how intense the sensation was, how pleasantly soft and gentle her hand felt.

He saw her timid gaze fixed on his face, her cheeks red with shame at what she was doing, at the feeling of his hard member under her fingers.

"− do you want me to stop? −" She asked softly between their tender, sweet kisses.

He responded by taking her hand gently in his, squeezing her fingers around his manhood, guiding her up and down, his member throbbing painfully hard in her embrace.

"− no −" He whispered in response, panting with her, his hips involuntarily moving to the rhythm of her hand, searching for any source of rubbing.

"− how will it look like − on our wedding night? −" She asked softly, her voice slightly trembling, looking at him with dreamy eyes, what she was doing apparently aroused her as much as him.

His member pulsed harder in her hand at her question, he licked his lips involuntarily, imagining what he would be able to do with her.

He didn't know how to describe it without scaring her.

"− I − ah − I'm going to touch you between your thighs − and then −" He gasped, pressing his lips together, feeling shivers all over his body, his hips moving faster and faster in her hand, which massaged him with a steady, intense motion.

"− fuck − and then I'll put this inside you −" He whispered in a shaky voice into her mouth as he pressed his forehead against hers, gripping his hand tighter over hers as she squeezed him.

He heard her draw in a sharp breath, she stared at him wide-eyed, unsure of what she thought of what she had just heard.

"− will it be painful? −" She asked softly with fear, and he kissed her again, slipping his tongue between her fleshy lips, drawing a soft moan from her. He broke away from her with a wet click, looking at her with his mouth slightly parted, feeling the heat and tension gathering in his lower abdomen.

"− no − I − I'll do anything to make you feel good −" He mumbled helplessly, their lips pressed together again in a lewd, sticky kiss, her breathing ragged and uneven.

"− can you − can you do it now? − just for a try −" She whispered softly and he froze, staring at her in disbelief, his heart pounding like crazy.

"− I − we shouldn't before our nuptials −" He muttered hesitantly, though his whole body was screaming for him to throw himself at her and just slide inside her. She swallowed loudly at his words.

"− I know − I just − I wish I knew what it felt like − so I wouldn't be afraid −" She mumbled helplessly and his heart clenched, a million of his thoughts fighting together at the same time in his head. He propped himself up precariously on one elbow, laying between her thighs, gripping the fabric of his trousers.

"− just for a moment − agreed? −" He said in a trembling voice, his whole body quivering. She nodded quickly, breathing heavily, trustingly allowing him to lift the fabric of her nightgown higher.

They both gasped loudly as he slid his trousers down enough to release his hard, throbbing manhood. He leaned over her soft, warm face, placing a gentle, tender kiss on her lips, directing the tip of his member to her wet, throbbing entrance.

"− spread your thighs wider − yes, just like that −" He praised her, brushing her lips again, terrified of what he was about to do, yet feeling like he was about to explode with lust and desire.

They both moaned in surprise as he pressed his length against her entrance and slid a little inside her, she was so tight and hot that he was out of breath. He saw her lips tighten as he pressed harder against her, her eyebrows arching in discomfort.

"− fuck − breathe deeply − relax − does it hurt a lot? −" He whispered in a trembling voice looking at her, with remnants of his free will refraining from any movements. She shook her head.

"− n-no − I mean − a little − just − you're so big −" She mumbled out, a blush of embarrassment on her cheeks, her gaze warm, her lips puffy and pink with emotion. He licked his lips involuntarily at her words, feeling pride and shame at the same time.

"− you did this to me − always make me so fucking hard −" He exhaled in a trembling voice, his hands sliding down between her thighs, gently parting folds of her entrance with his thumbs, trying to help himself and her. He felt her draw in a loud breath and clench her eyes shut.

He heard her swallow hard and begin to breathe loudly through her mouth, inhaling and exhaling, her body shivering all over under him. He felt her walls stop pressing down on him so panicky, and he pushed deeper into her, sighing loudly, her mouth parting wide at the feeling of so intense filling. Hearing no objection from her, he thrust his hips again, entering her all the way in with a loud groan.

He stared down at her, breathing hard, letting her get used to this strange, intense feeling, and then he pulled out slowly only to thrust into her again. They both gasped loudly as he began to move inside her, slowly, hesitantly, telling himself he would stop soon.

"− you're so warm −" He panted in a trembling voice, delighted at how amazing it felt to be squeezed from all sides by her hot, tight, fleshy wet walls, all sticky with her juices, feeling a woman's insides for the first time in his life.

Her mouth parted wide and she mewled loudly as slowly his hips began to accelerate, thrusting his member into her with a loud, sticky slap, a quivering, low gasp of pleasure emanating from his throat.

"− Aemond −" She mumbled helplessly, her body trembling with each of his thrusts, panting louder and louder with him, her hands clenching on his sides. He threw her legs over his back, wanting to feel her deeper, pushing her insides to the limit with his length. She sobbed loudly at the feeling, throwing her head back.

"− just a little longer −" He panted with difficulty, feeling only pleasure, only wonderful tension and her throbbing walls that brought him closer and closer to fulfillment.

He knew he should stop, but instead he fucked her harder and harder, feeling her walls clenching on him, sticky, wet sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the stone room, they both moaned embarrassingly loudly, he felt he was on the verge of fullfilment.

"− don't stop − please, don't pull it out −" He heard her whimpering underneath him from which his lips parted wide in shock, her body going into spasms each time he slid into her again pressing her upper wall, clearly giving her immense pleasure with these movements.

A helpless groan ripped from his throat at her words, he slid into her with a rapid, intense motion, clamping his hands tightly on the soft, sweaty skin of her hips. He felt a shudder run through him as her hips began to respond to his thrusts, coming up to meet him.

"− I have to, my little one − shhh, it's okay −" He whispered into her mouth sliding his tongue between her lips, licking their swollen, fleshy texture, the taste of her saliva spreading across his palate like the sweetest juice.

"− I − I'm about to −" She mumbled with difficulty, her thighs responding greedily to his every thrust, he panted loudly along with her, feeling her core begin to tighten and pulsate against him, he knew what that meant.

"− go on − come on my cock, sweet girl −" He cooed encouragingly, wanting nothing more than that, to see her fulfil, himself being on the edge, his thrusts messy and sloppy.

His words were enough to make her insides clench around his length tightly, then again and again, letting out of him an almost animalistic groan, her body leaning back as if trying to escape from him, he had to cover her mouth with his hand to silence her loud, high-pitched sobs.

"− you did so well − oh fuck, little one −" He growled out, with the remnants of his strong will sliding out of her, cuming hard on her nightgown, his warm semen spilling over her white transparent material while he was still massaging himself with his hand.

She stared at him with wide eyes, breathing heavily, her whole body trembled from the fulfilment and waves of pleasure that continued to flow through her. He swallowed loudly, looking down at her with misty eye, licking his lips.

"− did it hurt? −" He asked in a shaky, low voice, and she blinked and pursed her lips in embarrassment.

"− only − only at the beginning −" She mumbled softly and he hummed under his breath, proud to see that he had given her pleasure, that she enjoyed what they had done as much as he did, and tied his trousers back up. They both glanced sheepishly at the wet spot on her nightgown.

He leaned over her and brushed her lips gently, tenderly, her mouth swollen and wet with arousal. He ran his thumb over her cheek, looking at her with a pounding heart filled only with his affection for her.

Only with love.

"On our wedding night, not a drop will be wasted."

_____

Note from the author:

Lady Baratheon and Royce call Aemond brother, but this stems from their desire to shorten the distance between them. Calling him 'a prince' already seemed too staid at one point for them, and addressing him by his first name was unthinkable. However, it is only she and Royce who do this, their sisters still addressing him as 'my prince', not wanting to call "brother" their possibly future husband - which is why Aemond is so frustrated when Lady Baratheon calls him this, as if she is willfully rejecting him as a candidate for the role.

Aemond calls Borros "father" but does not see him as a replacement for Viserys. Viserys is his blood father, who has given him a legacy of which he is proud and with which he completely identifies. Borros, however, is a father figure to him, someone whose opinion Aemond counts with, whom he respects and values for what he has done for him over the years. Aemond has an affection for Borros that he was never able to develop towards Criston.

Despite Lady Baratheon and Royce's very close relationship, they did not relegate Aemond to the background or distance themselves from him. According to Lord Borros and his friends, they formed a trio. Royce was always where Aemond was, loving to watch his mischievous reactions to various events, and Lady Baratheon was always where Royce was, so they usually ended up together.

Aemond usually pretended he didn't care about their company, but the truth was that he got impatient when they disappeared from his sight for too long, simply getting bored without them.

Part two of this oneshot: To desire, to love, to care

Other oneshot form the same AU: Daugther, Lover, Sister

_____

I can't express my love for this reality, I could keep writing this oneshot but I would make a book! This is probably my most beloved fanfic baby. Leave it some love if you enjoyed it! I'm so curious what do you think. 💐

_____

Taglist

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[bilbao-song]

"jeffrey haters" is so funny to me even though i completely understand what you mean. im not in any elo groups so the most ive seen is Youtube Comment Discourse but they're always so dramatic

UGH you're so right. i generally don't engage with them but i go through phases of heavy lurking and let me just tell u there are some bafflingly insufferable people out there. some of the things they start collectively losing their minds over are so bizarrely out of touch with reality/sometimes just wildly insensitive (and as u have said, dramatic), that i just. idk it starts to feel like some kind of weird social experiment. like i'm not even exaggerating, 99% of the time it is the most petty shit ever and usually boils down to "major scandal!!!! local man is not okay with [thing most normal people would not be okay with]" but then they act like he was like, engaging in cannibalism or something. i would be so intrigued to see how these ppl react to actual problems within their own lives or perhaps just one of those bands/any given form of media at all where like half the people involved in making it were committing minor atrocities on a semi-regular basis

the only good thing about it tho is that it makes it really easy to identify people i probably will not like jhgsdgsd

[ellecdc]

Hello beautiful! I have a request that is kinda personal! Anyways o was wondering if you could whip something up about reader and (which ever marauder you think best fits) who kinda has big boobs(like f/h) and is kinda self conscious about it (plus her weight cuz she’s chubby) because they sag and not all cute and perky and such? I could just use the comfort of a marauder and your writing 💕 -thank you lovely

I feel like we must be twins or something; I too am a plus-sized H cup girlie 🙋🏻‍♀️ thanks so much for requesting dolly; we're in this together 💖

James Potter x plus size, busty fem!reader

CW: insecurities, body image issues, negative self-talk, mentions of sex but no smut

You could hear the panicky tone of your whine teetering towards hysterical, but you swallowed past the lump in your throat as you discarded another article of clothing. The top joined the growing number of other shirts, dresses, and pants littering the floor of your closet. You were disturbingly close to tears and knew if you turned around to see your sweet, handsome boyfriend who had the audacity to sit casually on your bed without a single care in the world, it’d push you over the edge.

Apparently, he did have at least one care in the world.

“You almost ready, lovie? We have to leave soon if we want to get to Marlene’s on time.” James asked from his place, laying back on your bed as he threw a small stress ball above him and caught it only to fling it upwards again and again. 

The worst part was how sweet he was about it; you’d never know from his gentle tone or word choice that he was basically accusing you of making the two of you late.

It would have been better if he’d been rude or snide, perhaps more overtly accusative – at least then you would have felt validated in how harsh your next words came out.

“I’m going as fast as I can, James.”

Though you didn’t turn away from your closet, you could tell he paused the ball throwing as he calculated your sudden mood change.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He started carefully, moving to a sitting position. “I just know how much you hate being late, is all. I didn’t mean to rush you.”

Your next exhale came out a little shaky, but from your place in your closet, James couldn’t pick up on it. 

“I know. I’m trying.” You said, working overtime to keep your voice even. He must have picked up on some of the tension anyways, as he rose from his place and came to stand behind you, hands moving to your shoulders instinctively. Unfortunately, with your current mindset – your shoulders immediately flew to your ears, effectively shaking him off of your body.

“Maybe you should go without me.” You admitted quietly. Suddenly, the idea of putting on anything except one of your oversized t-shirts and a pair of sweats felt like nothing short of torture. 

“You don’t want to go?” He murmured just as quietly.

It’s not that you didn’t want to go – although, at this point your answer was leaning heavily towards hell no I don’t. 

You loved Marlene; you were excited to celebrate her birthday, you got her a wonderful present you know she’ll be ecstatic over, and you always had fun with the group when you could all manage to get together. And besides, getting the whole group together was happening less and less now that you were all adults, living separately and working various jobs. 

So no, it’s not that you didn’t want to go.

What you didn’t want was to look at yourself in even one more piece of clothing that was either too tight, too frumpy, too lowcut, or showed off too much skin.

Who even bought these clothes? Why do you own them?

If you asked your mother, she would simply say you were ‘well-endowed’, which roughly translated to ‘you inherited your grandmothers dreadfully large breasts, darling, I’m sorry.’

Some may wonder what defines ‘dreadfully large breasts’. In your case, it was an H cup. 

Well-endowed could be used to describe one of those busty models in lingerie ads, not you.

Yours were large, and long, and marked with stretchmarks and not perky in the slightest. Nothing a good bra couldn’t fix though, right?

Wrong.

Bras that were big enough for breasts like yours were not at all cute. You had to special order them in most cases, and they were always beige or pink and they never did offer you as much lift you as much as you’d like.

If your boobs were the only part of your body causing you grief, you’d probably relent. But skinny girls don’t often have boobs this big, and it wasn’t just your tops that were bothering you.

Every pair of jeans and trousers you pulled over your hips felt too snug, too restrictive. You felt as if one wrong move and you’d pop right out of them like one of those Pillsbury biscuit containers.

James interrupted your mournful musings with a gentle “love?” and brushed the side of your wrist with his finger, clearly hesitant to touch you after you’d shaken him off earlier.

“I can’t find anything to wear.” You admitted.

James looked around at the clothing surrounding you before his bemused face turned back to yours. “What do you mean, love? It seems you’ve found a lot to wear.”

You rolled your eyes and felt the first tear fall. “James...” But he was already in problem solving mode.

“What about this?” He asked as he picked up a tank top you had discarded because the cut was too low, and the straps were too thin.

“I don’t have the right kind of bra for that.”

He looked between your bra covered form and the shirt, clearly not understanding what that meant but not willing to argue about it. 

“Okay...” He said as he dropped the offending shirt back onto the floor. “What about this?”

You didn’t even bother looking at the shirt he was holding. “If it’s on the floor, it’s a no.”

“But why is it a no?”

You looked over to see the button up shirt he was holding. “Because it makes me look...” fat, was going to be the negative ending of your sentence, but James’ face turned hard as he cut you off.

“Beautiful?”

You scoffed. “Sure James, I decided against the shirt because it made me look beautiful.”

“Okay.” James said far more sternly than you believe you’ve ever seen him. You turned and grabbed a t-shirt, so you at least weren’t being scolded by your boyfriend half-naked.

“Am I attractive?”

You reared your head back at his question – not at all where you thought this conversation was headed. “Uhm, yes? Yeah...of course.”

“I’ll forgive the hesitation on account of you being upset.” He said severely which caused you to snort a laugh as you wiped tears away from your eyes.

“Is Sirius attractive?”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you could tell by James’ eyes moving towards your nose that you were scrunching it up in confusion.

“This feels like a trick.”

“You can answer the question honestly.”

“Okay...yes, Sirius is attractive.”

“Okay. And Mary? Is she attractive?”

“Yes.”

James nodded curtly. “And would you say that the three of us have good taste?”

“Wha-”

“Just answer the question.”

“Sure, you guys have good taste, but I don’t see-”

“You want to know what the three of us have in common?”

You sighed and nodded, knowing he was going to tell you regardless. 

“We have nothing physically in common – yet you find all three of us attractive. Alternatively, all three of us have had a crush on you.”

You scoffed. “Shut up, James.”

“I’m not joking.” He said, and you noticed he was almost just as stern as he was when this conversation began. “Sirius said he’d never do anything about it – bro code and all...also he’s like, happy with Moony now or whatever. But Mary had no such qualms; she told me that if things don’t work out between the two of us that she’s throwing her hat in the ring. I made her promise not to tell you - in case you left me for her - but I figured this was a good moment to share.” 

You barked a surprise laugh that seemed to ease some of the tension from James’ frame.

“Now, I don’t like the way you were just talking about my girlfriend.” He said gently, opening his arms as an invitation; an invitation you quickly accepted as you moved into his embrace. 

“I’m sorry.” You murmured into his chest.

“You should be.” He murmured into the hair on your head. 

“I just hate my body sometimes.” You admitted quietly. He never faltered in his gentle strokes of your back but hummed in acknowledgement. 

“Well, I love it all of the time, so.” 

“I don’t see how.” You whined as you pulled back. “My boobs are saggy, my tummy juts out, I’m soft everywhere, I’m covered in stretchmarks.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re just listing some of my favourite things, sweets. Your boobs?” He said as he moved his firm grip to your clothed breasts. “Look at that! Can’t even fit them in one hand.” He murmured, eyes glazing as he took in the view of your boob pooling around his large hand. “If I want to give your tits the attention they deserve, I need to use both hands! And your tummy...”

He moved his hands down your abdomen, albeit with more consideration than he’d shown your breasts. “I have to admit, this is my favourite spot to lay my head when we’re watching movies, but what I love the most about your tummy?” He said with a low growl as he spun you around aggressively, pushing the front of his hard body up against the back of yours, grabbing roughly at your hips/stomach as he moved his lips to your ears. “Gives me something to hold onto when I’m pounding into you from behind, or better yet, as you ride the fuck out of me.” 

Your face was a furnace and you were sure James could feel the heat radiating from you as he spun you back to face him. 

“What else were you worried about? Stretchmarks?” He said as he pulled his shirt off in one swift movement, showcasing his demi-god body style. “I’ve got them too.” He stated simply as he pointed to marks lining his biceps and pecs, a few on his hips, and pulled his trousers down slightly so you could see them trailing towards his ass.

“I know you’ve seen all of these before too – you’re no stranger to my body.” He said with a salacious wink.

“James...” you moaned, not able to handle anymore sexual innuendos. 

“Okay, okay. I’m sure you get the idea.” He relented as he replaced his shirt. “My point is, you’ll look lovely in anything you put on, but I’d prefer you wear something you’ll be comfortable in. I can have my girl suffering in her head all night.” 

You rested your forehead against his chest, willing away the tension headache that was forcing its way forward after all you just put yourself (and admittedly, James) through.

“What’s wrong with the shirt you’re wearing now?” He asked kindly.

You looked down at the old band-tee, it had a few holes in it and paint stains.

“It has holes in it and paint stains.” You deadpanned.

“Sirius always said to make dishevelled look intentional. Do you have a leather jacket?” He asked, turning toward your closet without waiting for an answer.

Suddenly, James was pulling a leather jacket around your shoulders, and grabbing a pair of heels.

“Now the stains and holes will look intentional. I think you look bad ass.” 

You weren’t as optimistic, but you turned to observe yourself in the mirror. Even if you didn’t see much of a difference, the sight of James looking at you like you hung the moon was enough to convince you to go for it. Either way, you’d be comfortable.

You’re not sure if James had mentioned anything, but both Sirius and Mary made sure to compliment you on your ‘punk rock look’ when you arrived to Marlene’s party 30 minutes late. 

[clockwayswrites]

Didn't write the rest of this scene I've shared bits of or anything.

WC: 913, Masterpost Sometime after Danny meets Red Hood, before he plots.

Jason actually stopped on the stairs when he saw Danny. He was going down and Danny coming up, but the sight made Jason freeze rather than just stepping to the side like he normally would. Danny looked beyond exhausted. His usually perky hair was limp, the bags under his eyes were impressively dark, and he tripped over every step. Jason was half worried that while he had been away, Danny had gotten turned into a zombie.

Considering it was Gotham and the city already had Grundy (and Jason himself), it was a disturbingly valid concern.

“Midterms,” Danny mumbled several long moments after he had caught sight of Jason standing on the next landing up.

Okay, midterms made sense too.

(Nice not to have to clean up a zombie outbreak as soon as he was back in town.)

“Just starting, in the middle of, or over?”

“Over, thank the Ancients. Last paper turned in,” Danny said with a dramatic motion that made him wobble dangerously against the railing. Jason closed the gap between them nervously. “I’m gonna go… go… what’s the word?”

“Eat? Shower? Sleep?”

“That!” Danny snapped his fingers. “All of that. In some order, I guess.”

Jason reached out and gently took Danny’s arm. “Okay, Tuesday, I don’t know if I trust you not to slip in the shower and smash your pretty face in right now.”

“You think my face is pretty?”

Ignoring his blush, Jason moved past that fact quickly. “So how about you come up to my place. You can shower while I make you a snack and then you can lay down for a nap. When you wake up, I’ll have dinner ready.”

“Mm, dinner. I like dinner. I miss dinner,” Danny said dreamily.

Jason decided just to get them moving up the stairs. “When’s the last time you ate something more than granola bars and soup, Danny?”

“What day is it? Wait! I know this. Physics. T-R. Thursday!” Danny said. He was clearly very proud of himself.

“Food, Tuesday.”

“Yes please.”

Holding back a sigh, Jason carefully directed Danny up the stairs to the top floor. His things wouldn’t exactly fit Danny, but he was loathe to let the other out of his sight right then. He’d just make sure to grab sweats that had a drawstring on them. After Danny was asleep, he could make a quick run to the store to get some fresh things for dinner.

It was a bit of a juggle to keep a watchful arm around Danny and get his door unlocked and then relocked, but Jason managed before guiding Danny through the bedroom to the full bathroom.

“Stay.”

“Yes sir,” Danny quipped, words interrupted by the large yawn he took.

Once Jason was sure Danny would stay standing he pulled away to go dig out some clothing and a fresh towel, only to turn around and run into the dresser himself like he was the one sleep deprived. It was just that, well, Danny had started to strip and was already down to his boxers. It was a lot of skin on display and Jason couldn’t help but watch the play of freckles and scars across the shoulder blades.

That was… there were actually a concerning number of scars, for a civilian.

And the type of scars… a lot of those looked like burns and electrical scars. Several puncture wounds too. What was Danny getting into? Jason gripped tightened on the clothing in his hands. They needed to step up training.

“Clothing!” Danny cooed sleepily.

Jason shook himself out of his thoughts and delivered the clothing into Danny’s grabbing hands. “Be careful in the shower. I’ll be outside the door in case you fall.”

“I’m fine,” Danny said. “I’m not even bleeding!”

That really wasn’t reassuring.

“Still, be careful, Tuesday,” Jason said, making a quick exit as Danny started to pull down his boxers. He didn’t want Danny to remember all this after some food and sleep and feel like Jason had invaded his privacy or anything.

While the shower ran, Jason considered just what he could do for the snack. He thought he had some waffles he froze and he had to have some breakfast links in the freezer too, so pigs in blankets would be easy. No fresh fruit, but he had froze so a smoothie for vitamins and fluids. He might add some powdered mix to it also. Then he could tuck Danny in for a nap before he ran a quick trip to the grocery. A soup and some fresh bread would be nice and easy to keep warm for as long as Danny slept.

The shower shut off, Jason tried not to worry about the sounds of bumbling about, and then the door opened with a whoosh.

“Ta-da! I am still mostly alive!” Danny said triumphantly.

“I’m proud of you, Tuesday, a real accomplishment there.”

“Do I get a reward?” Danny asked, a hint of that feral smile that Jason had seen as Red Hood playing across his lips.

Jason cleared his throat. “Sure, you in a blanket, pigs in a blanket, and a smoothie.”

Danny hummed before nodding. “Deal.”

“So glad you agree,” Jason drawled as he deposited Danny on the couch and draped a red throw blanket around his shoulders. Jason leaned in a little to catch Danny’s eyes. “Now, stay.”

Danny wavered for a moment, leaning forward close enough to touch before he just slumped back into the couch with a wide yawn. “’Kay.”

-----

AN: I know you all have seen a few bits of this before, but finally got the rest of the parts done around it! There should prob be more after the last bit here, but wanted you all to finally have some Not!Writing again! Sorry for any issues, my fingers really are not doing what they should atm.

I no longer tag, but you can subscribe to the masterpost to be notified!

[rightfulcutsiepie]

Horror Sans when you take the lead.

- You found it endearing and cute when he suddenly got shy.

- "Don't be scared." You'd whisper close to his face. Your breath hitting him like a warm pillow on a cold night. He melts in your hands when you trail them up and down his body.

- He was the embodiment of fear. He was raised to be feared and be the one example of it.

- Yet, he couldn't help trembling and bouncing his knee when you got closer.

- You were so different.

- The disturbingly large Crack in his skull, his one red eye that never left your face. His silence.

- It never bothered you.

- You didn't mind taking his clothes off before taking off your own.

- You didn't mind crawling on top of him and initiating the kisses.

- You didn't mind praising him and taking your sweet, sweet time admiring his body and beauty.

- He felt like a little kid, frozen and not knowing what to do with his hands and where to put them.

- Then you put his hands on your waist and he just wouldn't let go from there.

- He especially didn't let go when you'd stick your tongue down his throat while taking all of his inches at the same time.

- Your pussy felt like a second home to him.

- so warm. So inviting. Controlling and wet.

- you'd suck him in and his eye would roll to the back of his head. He was ashamed of whimpering in your ear.

- your moans drove him up a wall, way more than raw screams of terror would.

- he wanted more and got more when he sank his teeth into your neck, a little blood coating his tongue.

- in that moment, he came, his hot load rushing into you.

- you came at the same time as him, your whines getting highers as your movements became more rushed and erratic.

- his hands dug into your waist and you didn't mind one bit.

- He wasn't ashamed of digging his face into your neck, wanting every bit of warmth you could offer.

- you'd tell him you wanted to shower because you felt icky and sweaty. He didn't care.

- he wanted to feel you close to him. And he did.

- he wanted to find a way to tell you that you should be his significant other. His sweet baby.

- but all that could fall off his tongue was "I'm gonna starve you in my basement so you can start depending on me more."

- Luckily, you got the gist. You agreed.