#poorly bellies

[youpoorthing]

Oooh my tummy

I think my tummy still wasn’t happy with everything I ate/drunk in the day.

And then I made dinner and ate wayyy too many Carbs

I feel so big and bloated and my tummy hurts so bad I need to lie down

God I wish I had someone to rub my belly right now

[conkreetmonkey]

I wanna make a Conky ref and lore sheet/bio, I'm really growing attached to that goober

[interruptingkau]

Wish I could explain my feelings about my body and being a woman and stuff. Like the closest comparison I can think of is dysphoria but obviously it's not like. Gender dysphoria. It's just. Something. For so so long I just felt like my body was intrinsically flawed, like it was Wrong and would never be right no matter what. I felt like a failed woman. I felt like an embarrassing mess. It made me want to tear myself to bits. I still feel it sometimes but much less often and with far less intensity but it's still There and I don't have a name for it and I wish I did.

[novelconcepts]

Female main character: I don’t date men

Same FMC: *lingers on shirtless asshole man*

Me: oh goddammit.

[swankpalanquin]

how is it possible to go from feeling pretty great only twenty four hours ago to feeling pretty terrible right now...

[bobo-bitchette]

Bo running through the stop to bring in that run was a show of skill and knowledge on his part but BOY did it stress me out

[soft-stoner-babe]

I’d love to hear your thoughts on possible positive representations of fatness in media. I’ve always dreamed about a queer romance with a fat lead actor

Yes!!! I hope we can get that kind of energy going big time, and shake up perceptions of what a beautiful “Hollywood” body can be!

See, the reason we don’t see a lot of authentically fat positive media is pretty much homousian; of the same stuff as the reasons why we need and preach fat politics in the first place. The same reasons we need more fat positivity in day-to-day life can (and should!!!) be just as easily transmitted to a medium like film and television. Not much I can add to that conversation that pretty much any of the recommended fat politics books and reading materials can explain better.

Where I’m interested in contributing comes from a strictly visual sense. While i’m pretty well-versed in pretty much any aspect of a production, i’m a visual person at heart, so my main interests go in the realm of cinematography and deliberate shot composition. And what i’ve found through that avenue is that because Hollywood on the whole never had a positive opinion towards fat people and fatness, cinematography and film language as concepts pretty much evolved to the present day never really figuring out how to make fat people look good.

So my natural question sort of became, well if a good writer can fix that problem by writing a fat-positive script, or if a good producer can help fix the issue by saying no to elaborate fat suits and find an actor already that size, what can the cinematographer do to make fatness look good, when 100+ years of filmmaking has only ever made it out to be ugly or lesser?

A good cinematographer, in collaboration with a good editor and a good director, can make you fall in love with what they’re showing you. I love fatness. I love fat people. And i wanna find a way to communicate my love for you all through this art form.

Good question!

[jamiesfootball]

@thetarttfuldickhead

Jamie just really likes Sam’s shoulders 

[viandede-porque]

Bro, I'm not sure you're allowed to steal these Dynamo children for Zvezda

[buckyalpine]

Imagine feeling needy and sad when Bucky pays more attention to your very round, pregnant tummy instead of you. I mean he doesn't actually. You're his entire world and you come first no matter what but currently, you feel like the little super soldier you're carrying is getting much more love than you.

"How's my little plum" Bucky cooed, peppering kisses all over your tummy, snuggling against your skin after coming back from a mission. 2 weeks had never felt longer and you were craving your husband more than ever. As soon as you heard the rumble of the jet, you waddled from your room as best as you could, panting out of breath by the time you reached the living room.

You couldn't wait to have your Bucky safe in your arms again, giggling at the way he tossed his bag and jacket to the side haphazardly, running straight to you. You braced yourself for an attack and flurry of hugs and kisses he always greeted you with but it never came.

You squeaked as he picked you up and set you on the couch, lifting your shirt up to curl up with your belly, sighing contently as his scruffy cheek pressed against your warm skin. You brought your hand down to play with his soft cropped hair, longing to feel his arms hold you, his warm lips all over your face, his sweet words of how much he missed you and how happy he was to be back home with you again. Instead, the tiny soldier in your belly was hogging up all the time with his daddy.

Of course it was ridiculous. You knew Bucky loved you more than anything else in the world; he doted on you all the time, you were the most precious thing in this life. He adored you more than ever, worshipping your every being and ever since you'd told him he was going to be a father, he'd fallen in love with you more. You were giving him the family he dreamed of with his dream girl, you trusted him, you were carrying his little baby.

You will always be everything to him.

Yet you couldn't help but feel a little left out of the welcome party, your throat feeling tight, eyes starting to fill with tears. You missed him soo much and he was still busy nuzzling into your tummy, but not busy enough to miss the whimper that slipped past your lips.

"Baby?" Bucky's head shot up as soon as he heard what sounded like a cry but it couldn't be. His eyes filled with worry when he saw your sweet fallen face, indeed crying and poorly hiding it. "Why are you crying angel, what happened, is everything okay?"

His mind started to run a hundred miles a minute, ready to swoop you away to the med wing when shook your head, another wave of tears pooling when he reached out to wipe your cheeks.

"It's silly" You shrug with a sniffle but Bucky isn't having it.

"Tell me what's wrong baby" his baby blues pled with you, waiting to fix what was wrong because why was his perfect angel sad.

"I didn't get a hello kiss" You say with a pout and Bucky found himself stuck between wanting to cry and loving you more.

"I'm sorry, mama" Bucky coos, scooping you right up into his arms, cupping your cheek and placing a kiss onto your nose. Then your forehead. "M'sorry" He places a gently kiss to your still pouted lips, repeatedly peppering kisses till he hears you giggle. "You deserve all the hello kisses angel"

"I thought you didn't miss me" You whisper with your face pressed against his neck, breathing in his scent, all the anxiety you felt with him gone washing away in an instant.

"I missed you more than you know, baby" His lips move against your hair, "How could I not miss the pretty girl I fell so in love with, you're it for me"

He kept you in his arms, his hand slipping up your shirt to rub your back, the simple action nearly lulling you to sleep. He picks you up with ease, deciding to run a bath because he doesn't want to be away from your side for another minute and he keeps himself glued to you the entire time. Your back is against his chest, his hands coming up to massage your tense shoulders, kissing down your neck. He doesn't let go when it's time to rinse off, standing with both hands over your tummy as the hot water cascades over you both. He gets you dried off with a nice fluff towel before taking you to bed to sleep, frowning when you shuffled around in discomfort.

"I think your little plum misses you" You giggled between a squeak as baby Bucky kicked in your tummy, refusing to sleep until he heard his daddy's voice say goodnight. You gave him a pointed look as Bucky grinned, shimmying down the bed to rest between your legs at eyelevel with your belly. "Come talk to your son please"

"Quit kicking your ma" Bucky whispered, his metal hand patting the area where his baby boys tiny feet caused a ruckus, "time to let mommy rest, plum"

"Unbelievable" you huffed as the kicking stopped immediately, your little one settling contently while you also got comfortable against Bucky's chest. "So in love with his daddy"

"He gets it from you" Bucky smiled down at your content form, already half asleep, snug in his arms, "Pretty angel"

[rotclaw]

it took almost two years to paint claysire because i got intimidated

claysire

[mattybsgroupie]

movies | matt sturniolo

contents: established relationship; handjob (m receiving); boob sucking/nipple play (f receiving); semi-public; sub!matt

notes: hello my darlings!!! SUB MATT IS BACK!!! nothing much to tell about this one, it's super short and super simple, just jerking him off at the movies lmao. not proofread but hope you enjoy anyways! thank you for almost 1,7K i dont deserve all of this love, yall are just fantastic.

- ♡ -

when matt and i first started dating, the movie theater was our favorite place. it was dark, comfortable, and no one would disturb us. as we grew into our relationship, date nights were no longer a priority, but we both knew how much we missed it. the innocence, the butterflies in my stomach, the nervousness about holding his hand, the giggly kisses and the awkward confessions.

“are we really doing this again?” matt asked me with the biggest smile on his face, adjusting his sweater. i nodded, glad that i was able to convince him to go out.

“we want… whatever’s next” he said to the cashier as he interlocked his fingers with mine, raising his free hand to his pockets, looking for his wallet. “yeah, this one” he nodded and grabbed the tickets, leading us to our assigned seats.

- ♡ -

i didn’t know how long it had been since the movie started. i would often lose myself on matt’s blue eyes, his skin reflecting the red colors of the big screen, his poorly done beard emphasizing his sharp features. i couldn’t resist placing a few kisses on his jaw, receiving chuckles and a squeeze on my hand, almost as if he was warning me to behave because he was actually interested in whatever we were watching. 

until the scenery changed. the lights turned warmer, the music slower and suddenly it was hard to breathe. i felt my chest raising on its own as the sensual atmosphere took over the room, matt’s grip on my hands tightening, silently asking me to take my eyes off of him and pay attention to the erotic scene in front of me. 

we didn’t expect such an explicit act. the actress had removed her bra, flashing her bare breasts to the few people at the movie theater. matt’s mouth fell open in surprise and i audibly gasped, quickly raising my palm to cover my sudden noise.

both of us turned our heads to each other, widening our eyes as we tried to hold back our laughs. “i promise i’m not looking” matt joked, pretending to block his view.

“you can look” i giggled, adjusting myself on the chair and getting closer to matt, letting my hand rest on his thigh. “i know how much you like boobs”

“well” he stopped for a second. “you’re right, but i’d rather look at yours” matt checked me out from head to toe, a grin appearing on his face as if i was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

i decided to be bold. my free hand moved to the hem of my sweater, pulling the cloth upwards and revealing just a bit of skin - enough to get him excited. i mentally thanked him for always choosing the back row, giving us privacy to our heated makeout sessions back then.

“please?” matt whispered, his digits reaching for my exposed tummy. “wanna see your boobs, please”. 

it was definitely risky, but i couldn’t resist his pleading blue eyes, the way his top teeth bit his bottom lip, how his fingers caressed my belly. what seemed like nothing to others was already too much for us, along with the adrenaline of doing the same silly things we did years ago as teenagers in love. i had blew him at that same seat several times, but it was different now. as if we weren’t supposed to be acting that way. and it felt too fucking good to ignore.

i finally gave in, pulling my sweater and revealing my breasts. i wasn’t wearing a bra, making this way easier for matt, who immediately shoved his face in between them, muffling a “thank you” i was only able to hear because it was a habit. he would always thank me for anything i gave, even my boobs. 

his beard tickled my skin as he moved downwards, resting his cheek just above my left tit. he wasn’t going to speak, too busy sticking his tongue out to tease my nipple before latching his lips around it. matt sucked so hard i left out a sigh, bringing my fingers to his hair, caressing his brown locks as i whispered how much of a good boy he was, which certainly didn’t help his impatient self. matt squirmed around on his chair, trying to get comfortable and ignore the growing tent inside his pants.

“need help, baby?” i asked, brushing my digits over his boner. matt nodded desperately, not letting go of boobs until i wrapped my knuckles around his covered length, making him gasp from the sudden contact. “what’s got you like that, hm? was it the movie or me?”

“you” he said, hiding his face on the crook of my neck. “always you”.

“such a good boy for me” i praised, receiving a muffled whine in response.  “nuh uh, keep it down. you don’t want them to hear us, do you?” matt denied with his head, jointing his hips forward, silently asking for me to actually jerk him off. i knew it had hit him too. the nostalgia, the excitement, the risk of doing something we shouldn’t. 

matt dragged his lips across my chest as i finally got a grip of his cock, placing my hand inside his pants and slowly pumping his shaft. he placed his tongue on my nipple once again, sucking it at the same pace i would stroke him. with long minutes of a lazy and steady handjob, matt was far gone — he couldn’t care less about the movie, frantically chasing for his orgasm.

i could feel his chest panting as i heard the heavy sighs coming from the back of his throat. matt was trying so hard to stay quiet and yet, he failed, letting out a cracked moan when i brought my thumb to his leaking tip, rubbing his slit as i tightened the grip on his throbbing cock.

“cum” he whispered to me, not opening his eyes. i pretended i didn’t hear it, my eyes glued to the big screen in front of me. “please, wan’ cum” matt spoke again, replacing the lips on my boobs with his hands, massaging my flesh.

he wasn’t getting what he wanted — my attention and permission. “princess, please” he pleaded, now covering my neck in kisses as he mimicked on my nipples the same movements i did on his slit. i savored the moment for a bit, hanging my mouth open as his kisses turned into love bites.

“hold it” i said, loosening my fist. matt whined at the loss of contact, throwing his head back in frustration. “you look so pathetic, baby” i cooed, running my fingers through his hair before cupping his cheeks. he looked so, so fucked out. “such a needy boy, aren’t you?”

“no” he pouted, blue eyes covered in desperation. “i’m good, i promise i’m your good boy!” matt said, moving his hips upwards, trying to get some relief to his aching cock.

“you’re gonna have to wait until a really loud scene comes up” i told him. “we don’t want anyone to hear this good boy cumming all over himself hm?” i asked with faux sympathy, feeling his length twitching against my hand. he wasn’t gonna be able to hold much longer.

“boobs” matt practically begged. “i will keep my mouth on them and i won’t make any noises” he said, more to himself than to me.

“yeah? you wanna cum sucking my boobs?” i teased matt, who vigorously nodded while adjusting himself one last time. he spread his legs open, waiting for my cue. “go ahead” i encouraged him and he immediately latched his lips around my nipple again, muffling his needy sounds as i jerked him off, my fingers pumping his swollen length rapidly enough for matt to cum seconds later.

matt’s whines turned to whimpers as he reached his high, releasing the sticky spurt over my hand. i couldn’t see it, but i knew the inside of his pants looked like a mess. he panted heavily as he slowly came back from his orgasm, thighs still trembling after holding it for so long.

i kissed the top of his head as i finally removed my palm from him, raising it near my mouth and licking his cum. “don’t do this to me” he said as he watched me, pulling my sweater down. “i’m gonna get hard again”

“good thing we have the whole movie left” i smirked before sealing our lips together in a passionate, hungry kiss. 

after all these years, we were still the same kids who started dating at the back row of the movie theater.

- ♡ -

taglist (drop a 🌸!): @thepubeburgler @mommykinks4matt @pearlzier @mattsfavbitchhh @her-favorite @bugeyedgrl @sturncakez @riowritesitall @joemamaaa42069 @mattsturnswife @sturnsmia @sturnthepot @mattscoquette @conspiracy-ash @ilovemattsturn @lizzymacdonald06 @blahbel668 @fratbrochrisgf @bagsbyclair0 @sturnobsessedwh0re @cayleeuhithinknot @sturniolo04 @1c3b4th @mattsfavbigtitties @bellassturniolo @sturnsxplr-25

i haven’t updated this in a while so if if you want to get in/out let me know! mwah!

- ♡ -

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: GETO

A/N: Suguru is a patient, kind, wonderful, completely out-of-his-mind-insane man. I just had to capture it on paper. (The Yuuta installment is up next, this one was just crawling out of me lol)

C/W: Voyeurism (the real Shibuya incident 🤭) Mature, 18+

Suguru should stop.

He really should fucking stop.

You two are friends. Innocent. Platonic. The very best of friends.

And yet, here he is. Watching a live feed of you walking through your apartment door.

Keys to the left.

Heels kicked off to the right. You’ll come back to those later.

He drapes the bath towel around his neck. Catching the last few almond water droplets from his thick, near waist length hair. He’ll be at your place later; he wouldn’t forgive himself if he was the reason you caught a cold.

And capital punishment for anyone who rouses a single strand of hair on your head.

6:38 PM. A little late today. But it’s a Wednesday and there’s a farmers market in the town square. You always stop for chocolate croissants too late on Wednesdays. The vendor leaves before you’re out of work.

There are four of them on low heat in his oven right now.

Because Suguru now knows the vendor on a first name basis. He’s paid him well over asking price to have 4 chocolate croissants (made 2 batches later than what he sells during the day) be delivered to his place every Wednesday.

Because you’re his friend.

His best friend. And he can’t stand the thought of you going a second without anything you want in this lifetime.

Oh fucking hell.

Your (his) favorite blazer is off. As is the demure mint silk button up that it was covering. Both now wistfully draped over the corner of the kitchen island. He finds the way you throw your things around haphazardly so adorable.

But that doesn’t matter right now.

Like clockwork, Suguru’s left hand drags down his sweatpants, just enough to let his overgrown, painfully hard cock free. It bounces well past his belly button, like a fresh wire spring.

And with cinematic timing, you lean over your kitchen island. In nothing but your lacy bra and snug little pencil shirt. Mindlessly catching up on your social media.

The way your plush, pouty rose lips hang slightly open. And your fucking perfect tits spill over the top of your slightly undersized bra. The lazy S curve from your petite shoulders…tapered down to your waist…back out to the swell of your hips.

“Fuck,” a king cobra hiss escapes his lips.

You’re dizzying. Utterly fucking intoxicating.

Suguru’s chest rises and falls. The pace of his hand around his cock crescendos. Almost angrily.

How could you do this to him?

You’re his best friend for fucks sake.

Precum slicks from his thick, blunt tip. Squelching around his knuckles.

Your back arches into a mini crescent moon. And Suguru might as well have swallowed a blow torch.

“Nnnhhgh fuck, g-god…so…” Sharp drags of air mix with his poorly choked down moans.

His hand grips harder. Hips now rutting up off his desk chair. Hungry. Needy. Imprecise pumps into the slick ring of his fingers. Chasing another high he so desperately wishes you could personally give.

Because the way he feels right now?

The sheer malevolence in his mind. The depravity. You trust him completely and he can’t trust himself with you at all.

Beautiful, enchanting girl.

You reduce him to a perverted, bird brained slave to his desires.

You make him want to violate you. To fuck a cock-shaped hole through the back of your skirt to your cervix.

He wants to pick you up and bounce you along all 10 inches of his length and watch himself bludgeon through to your stomach.

He wants to pin you down and use your pretty little throat as his personal cocksleeve. And watch you garble and cry and drool around his invading length while you struggle for air. And listen to the melodic sounds of you gasping and muffled around his dick when he makes you apologize.

Apologize for being so goddamn irresistible. For bringing this depraved shell of a human being out of him.

Electricity runs the length of his manhood. His breaths are jagged, tendrils of wavey hair matted to his forehead.

The sound of your ringtone slices through the static in his brain. Tethering him back out of his criminal spiral.

“H-hey, pretty.” Suguru forces his baritone to level out. Hand still stroking his length.

Your wispy, girly giggle almost finishes him instantly.

“You’ve gotta stop with the pet names, Suguru! The trail of women in your wake hate me enough as it is.”

“Ha-I c-couldn’t care less.” Talking is harder than breathing for him.

You lean up from the counter and start twirling your hair in a way that makes him want to carve out another galaxy for you. Just for you. Anything for you.

“Movie night? I’ve been wanting to—“

“Yes.” Suguru is almost embarrassed at how quickly he cut you off. Like a fucking dog.

You laugh again and stroll to your refrigerator. He knows you’re lamenting the missed croissants. And he knows you know there’s a 99.99% chance he’s already gotten them for you. Because he is silly putty for you. He crumbles to stardust in your hands.

Because he’s your best friend.

“I got them.” Suguru rasps out. Hands moving so fast up his shaft, precum surging out his tip. He’s so close. So fucking—

“God I love you.”

And he snaps. Hot, thick ropes of his cum splay everywhere. Suguru draws metallic from his bottom lip, clenching down so hard not to give himself away.

You said it so innocently. So platonically. And it shifted his entire world on its axis.

His best fucking friend.

“Love you too, I’ll be there at 8.”

PART. II

[luveline]

hey! i wanted to request r with a best friend!marauder, and she feels guilty for being a clingy/touchy bsf? eg. always holds hands and loops arms together and loves hugs. but said marauder comforts her? thank you jadey

The steps off of the bus feel especially steep on just four hours sleep. You’re not dizzy, but when James offers his hand from the ground, you accept it. Much less scary to know he could catch you if you slipped. 

“I’m surprised we weren’t holding hands already,” he says, giving yours a squeeze as you land, and pulling you to the side where the already departed rugby team and their family members wait for their luggage to be retrieved from the bus’ belly.

“Oh, I know,” you say. There’s an odd awkwardness to it that you’re trying to bury. 

James is used to you. Your hand in his is casual, perhaps a little too much for company, but it’s just hand-holding. You like feeling that he’s near, the slight chill of British summer more readily suffered with his palm against yours. He runs hot. 

He lets your joined hands swing gently with the wait, doesn’t bother letting it go until the luggage is all out. James grabs his duffel bag and your suitcase, and everyone makes their way to the hotel. It’s late —the team were expecting to be here much sooner but there had been a punctured tire, and then an accident on the M4. James will have to play the game tomorrow with less hours of sleep than intended, but he’ll play well. 

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet,” James says a little later, when you’ve shoved your suitcase under the double bed. He turns off the big light. 

“That is an uncharacteristically large word.” 

“Loser,” he says, pushing down the blankets to sit next to you. He rubs his mouth and nose, then he turns to you, all business. “You are quiet, though. What’s the matter? Still feel poorly?” 

“I feel fine.” 

“You look awful.” He winces at his own harshness. “You look upset, sorry. And you still have sleep in your eyes, let me–”

You sigh and tilt your head up for him to scratch the sleep from your eye. For a moment, it’s quiet, just your face in his hand, his fingernail against the delicate inside of your eye. “Do you ever think we’re too close?” 

“Not really. Sometimes when you kick me in your sleep, maybe.” He takes back his hands. 

“You don’t care that I’m, like, constantly on you? I don’t know, like earlier, when you helped me off of the bus. Most friends wouldn’t keep holding on to each other after, but we do.” 

“Most friends wouldn’t take a nine hour bus just to see me play an away game, so…” James gives you a little poke in the ribs. “But we aren’t friends, we’re best friends. So what if we want to hold hands? That’s our business.” 

You frown. “You really don’t care? Even when I’m harassing you for hugs and stuff?” Nausea sits in your chest, waiting for him to say, Yeah, actually, the hugging is a bit much. 

“Babe, I love you,” James says, his glasses slipping down his nose as he gives a shake of the head. His eyebrows are pinched in confusion, but his mouth is softening. “How long have you been thinking about this?” 

“I just don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You’re never a burden.” He opens his arms. 

You crawl into his embrace, reassured by his chin where it digs into your forehead, and his warm voice. 

“You don’t bother me. We bother each other, right? We fight like kids. I love it, I wouldn’t trade our friendship for anything.” He pauses. Hums. “‘Cept a Big Mac. I’m starving, I can’t believe we got stuck on the motorway like that.” 

“You’d trade me for a Big Mac?” 

“In a moment of weakness.” 

His smile curves against your head. His arms settle on your back. It’s the same as every other hug you’ve shared, warm and easy. “I wouldn’t,” he murmurs, “I don’t know why you’re worried about being too much, but don’t bother. You’re touchy, I’m touchy, we’re affectionate people.” 

“I spent too long on that stupid bus,” you say, dropping your flushed face into his shoulder. 

“You definitely did. Why would I care about you hugging me too much?” His hand moves gently up and down. “You give the best hugs around.” 

[alnilaem]

so true @altissiia. neighbour/butcher simon is but a matted cat that would charitably leave mice at your door if that wasn’t so off-putting

-

It’s eight in the morning, and there’s coffee all over your work blouse. Burning through the canopy of your shirt, sticking your skin. 

You had loudly cursed as your foot got caught behind an innominate object, propelling you face first—and coffee first—into the corridor. Surely, the whole flat heard it. The tight yelp you released, the thunder of your nose colliding with the floor. 

You don’t care about the coffee blotches congealing in the hallway. The carpet has enough cryptic stains, ones that management isn’t bothered to fix, so you look away and throw a cursory glance over your shoulder—to see the cause of your fall—and grimace without conscious control.

It’s a bag of meat on your doormat. 

Wrapped in a plastic, sitting in a puddle of fresh blood. 

A few drops of dew glaze the bag by means of moisture. It hides its contents, hindering you from recognising anything inside. You poke it with your shoe, cringing at the cartilage and meat and marrow beneath the sole of your foot. It tumbles over in the clear film, revealing its gory underbelly and a sticky-note. 

The note is dog-eared, crumpled, and damp. Covered in writing written by a slap-happy hand. Sorry for being too loud last night with my mates. Guess I’m a hypocrite. Here’s some meat please accept, is what it reads. The tail-end features a poorly-drawn smiley face and a signature. Simon.  

He was being noisy last night. You were just too skittish to slap the drywall dividing you, or to knock on his door and ask him to keep it down. There was an overlap of voices, an undercurrent of accents, and the charm of beer cans persistently snapped open.

As you peel the note off the bag, the door beside you swings open. Simon stumbles out, sweatpants low on his hips, medical mask obscuring the lower shell of his face. By the looks of it, he just floundered out of the shower. His curls are still dripping with opalescent water drops. He’s shirtless, his chest hairs so blonde they’re almost glass-like. Tousled and wispy.

A few scars distort the skin of his ribcage and makes you wince. He’s breathing heavily, distending them, puffing out his chest.

“You alright?” He asks. “Heard you fall.” 

You realise you’re still on the floor. Simon looks cosmic from this angle—colossal—hauling with him disciplined muscles eclipsed by a soft belly. 

You meekly nod, rising to your feet. “‘m fine.”

Simon’s eyes flutter down to your chest. A hot-flash pools under your skin, sticky, messy, leaving you preening under his gaze, until, of course, you belatedly remember your spilled coffee. How your shirt sticks to your skin, revealing the barest hint of your breasts. You don’t cross your arms.

“You’ve something there,” Simon sniffs. He gestures to your chest.

“Um, yeah. I know.”

A whisper of discomfort marinates between you. Discomfort that Simon doesn’t seem to notice—or doesn’t seem to care about—as he keeps staring at you. 

He grunts. “I got you meat.”

“Thank you!” You chuckle. “It was a… sweet gift.” 

It takes you by surprise when Simon tucks his chin into his chest, grumbling. His crows feet crimp together like knife-edges as if he’s barely smiling. 

“Wait here,” he mumbles, then spins on his heel. You assume he’s going to put on some clothes, or bring you some more meat, but when Simon returns, he outstretches towards you a threadbare jersey, waiting expectantly.

“Stained your blouse,” he snorts. “Wear this.”

Owlishly, you blink. It’s your work blouse that’s stained. You can’t go in a Manchester United shirt.

“Um. I wouldn’t–”

Simon shoves it in your chest. At this point, he reminds you of a wet dog. Dripping wet, gratified of his gift-giving. Leaving raw meat that stinks of ammonia at your doorstep, handing you a shirt too-many-sizes too big for you. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging.

His hand is still extended. Above his mask, Simon’s eyebrows pucker as if he’s pouting. Like a kicked mutt, confused, and a little ratty. You feel awkward indebtedness eddying through you, so you snatch the jersey from him and slip it on jointly. It smells heavily of nicotine and pomade, slightly impairing you.

Satisfied, he nods. You think he’s going to say something else—there’s a little stifle between the flicker of his eyes and his jaw—but he doesn’t. Simon turns around and slams his door shut in your face. 

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴛ ʏ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴛ ⸻

Pairing: Yandere HOTD x Targaryen Reader Part 3

Summary: Alicent was pregnant and now you have a brother... Great between this mess now you have to deal with a child.

Warning: Y/n herself is a warning.

Notes: English is not my first language. Gifs don't belong to me, credit to the owner. Hope you enjoy!

The corridors of the Red Keep felt more stifling than usual as Y/n made her way toward Alicent’s chambers, her father’s summons echoing in her mind. It was laughable, truly. After all, why would she, of all people, care to see this child—a replacement, a crude shadow of what should have been her true brother, born to her beloved mother?

When she arrived, Rhaenyra was already there, standing near the bed where Alicent lay cradling the newborn. Rhaenyra’s face twisted briefly as she took in the sight, her discomfort poorly veiled. Y/n caught her sister’s eye just before Rhaenyra turned and, with a cold glance, left the room, practically fleeing. Smart, Y/n thought, suppressing a smile. She could almost admire her sister’s decisiveness. She, however, would stay. There was something strangely… satisfying in seeing Alicent lying there, pale and weak, her hair clinging to her forehead with sweat, her whole appearance a fragile mess. She look miserable.

“Y/n, my daughter,” her father’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Won’t you come closer?”

She looked up at him, feeling that familiar pang of resentment, but she crossed the room slowly, each step heavy with her reluctance. Alicent looked at her with a forced smile, and Y/n barely resisted rolling her eyes. Her father gestured for her to approach even closer.

“Come,” he said, a faint hint of warmth in his tone. “Look at your brother.”

Y/n’s face twisted involuntarily, her lips pulling back in thinly veiled disgust. Brother? She didn’t see any reason to indulge in this charade. But, as her father’s eyes settled on her, full of an expectation she knew she couldn’t ignore, she sighed and leaned in to peer at the squirming bundle in Alicent’s arms.

The first sight of the child made her flinch. What… in all the Seven Hells is this? The baby’s face was scrunched and red, his tiny hands wriggling pathetically. She could barely suppress her grimace as she looked down at him. Why is it so… ugly? Is this actually what babies look like? Or is it just… this one? She felt a shudder run down her spine, her lips curling as though she’d just seen something grotesque.

“Well?” her father asked, watching her closely. Y/n looked up at him, raising an eyebrow in exasperation, unable to mask her distaste.

Viserys chuckled softly, clearly amused by her reaction. “I thought you’d be excited,” he said, his tone mild but firm. “You always used to talk about naming your little brother, remember?”

"Y/n, what would you name him if he were a boy?" her mother asked, her voice light and playful, a smile dancing on her lips.

Y/n’s face lit up instantly. “Aegon,” she replied, no hesitation.

Aemma’s laughter was a gentle chime, full of love, as she tilted her head back, clearly charmed. "Aegon, hmm?" she repeated, her voice tender and a little amused. “A strong name—he would grow into it, I think.”

The response made Y/n puff up with pride. She let her hand rest over Aemma’s belly, pressing gently as though she could feel the baby within, envisioning a strong little boy who would one day grow up by her side, someone she would protect fiercely. In that moment, she felt certain she would love him more than anyone else.

Aemma leaned down and kissed Y/n’s forehead, stroking her cheek with soft fingers. “I think he would love you very much,” she murmured, her voice filled with a sweetness that warmed Y/n’s heart. “He would look up to you, my little girl.”

He was supposed to be my brother, Mother’s son… Not this. Not this… thing.

Her throat tightened, the painful memory clashing with the reality in front of her. Swallowing, she whispered, almost to herself, “…Aegon.” The name hung in the air, soft and sorrowful. She barely noticed as the baby’s eyes blinked open at the sound, a pair of startlingly bright, clear eyes—like polished jewels, unexpectedly beautiful in the midst of his otherwise unimpressive appearance.

But she felt nothing, no stir of affection or tenderness. The past had stayed buried until now, and she would not dig it up for this stranger. She pulled back, letting the revulsion return to harden her expression.

“Well, congratulations, Father,” she said, her voice back to its usual detached tone. She cast a long, deliberate glance at Alicent, her lips twitching with barely concealed disdain, before turning and striding toward the door.

As she left the room, she could still feel the ghostly twinge of her mother’s memory, lingering like a bad taste. Aegon, she thought bitterly, her fingers twitching in irritation. She could still feel the faint ache of holding onto that name, the name meant for a brother she had wanted.

Once she was back in her own chambers, she called for Elira. “Prepare me a bath,” she ordered, brushing a faint trace of blood from her fingers. “I need to wash off… whatever that was.” The sight of that child had left her feeling unclean, tainted by the memory and the reality. She sank into the hot water a moment later, letting the heat and steam blur the remnants of the day’s distaste.

As she sank deeper into the bath, she sighed, watching the water ripple around her. But no amount of scrubbing would erase that memory or the sour feeling twisting in her chest.

Y/n walked through the Red Keep's sunlit corridors, her pale skirts sweeping the stone floors, the soft chittering of her monkey filling the silence. The little creature perched on her shoulder, its curious eyes darting around, occasionally reaching out to tug on a stray strand of her silver hair. She reached up absently to scratch behind its ear, murmuring, “You’re a clever little thing, aren’t you?”

The monkey blinked at her, tilting its head as though in agreement. Y/n allowed herself a small smile. A gift from Daemon. Her uncle’s face flickered in her mind, sharp and knowing. He’d always had a knack for giving her things that felt… personal, even if she doubted it at times. Where is he now? she wondered, a pang of curiosity laced with longing. He had always been unpredictable, always vanishing just when she began to feel comfortable. I hope he’s well… or at least happy with himself.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a faint tug on her skirt. She stopped mid-step, frowning, and glanced down. There it was: that ugly thing. looked up at her with wide, unsteady eyes, his chubby hands still gripping the fabric of her dress.

“What do you want now?” she muttered, pulling her skirt away sharply. She stepped forward, expecting him to let go, but he didn’t. Instead, he tottered after her, his tiny legs wobbling as he reached for her again.

“Ya—Ya—” he babbled, his mouth struggling to form the syllables of her name.

She rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, “Annoying little pest.” She continued walking, but he followed, his persistent baby babble echoing down the hall. His voice softened slightly, and then, clear as the bells of the Sept, she heard it:

“S-Sis…ter.”

She froze in place, her foot hovering above the first step of the grand staircase. Slowly, she turned to look down at him. His face was lit up with a bright, toothy smile, his tiny hands reaching for her skirt again as he repeated, “Sis...t-ter!”

Her eyes widened. Did he just say that? Her heart fluttered in an unfamiliar way, something small and sharp lodging itself deep in her chest. She stared at him, stunned, as he laughed again, his babyish giggles bubbling up like spring water.

“Do you want to ride on Syrax with me, sister?”

“Can you stay, sister? I feel lonely…”

“Don't worry sister, I will never leave you.”

“I love you, sister.”

Her throat tightened. The warmth of those memories twisted into something cold, a painful ache she could neither name nor shake. She felt herself soften, just slightly, as she gazed down at Aegon. So small, so innocent. A smile, faint and almost tender, touched her lips. “Aww,” she cooed softly, crouching down to his level. “You called me sister…”

Her hand reached out, gently brushing against his silver hair. He giggled again, his tiny hands batting at her fingers. For a moment, the warmth lingered, a fragile thread of something like affection.

She stared down at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. What a silly cute rat.

Before she could stop herself—before she even wanted to—she pushed him.

Aegon’s tiny body flew forward, tumbling down the stairs. His small arms flailed helplessly, his head bouncing off the stone steps with a sickening crack. His body twisted and rolled, limp and lifeless, until he finally hit the bottom with a heavy thud.

Y/n stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the bloody mess below.

She tilted her head, a smile slowly spreading across her face. Is he dead? She wasn’t sure. Didn’t really care. The blood pooled around his little head, and for a moment, she thought he might be.

She didn’t move. Just stood there, watching. It was… amusing. Like watching a bug squirm after being squashed.

After a moment, she began to walk down the steps, her footsteps slow and deliberate. When she reached the bottom, she crouched beside his crumpled form, her eyes scanning the blood and the broken limbs. He wasn’t moving. His little chest wasn’t rising.

She leaned in close, her face hovering just above his.

“Are you still alive?” she whispered, her tone almost curious. She poked at his arm, but there was no response.

She smiled. Oh, well. If he was dead, he was dead. If not… well, that didn’t matter either.

Just as she was about to stand, she noticed a faint, shallow breath escape his lips.

“Oh, you’re alive,” she murmured, sounding more bored than surprised.

She stood up, dusting off her dress as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the hall. The maids rushed over, their faces pale with horror as they saw Aegon’s broken body lying at the foot of the stairs.

“Oh gods, what happened?” one of them gasped, falling to her knees beside him. “Someone fetch the maester!”

Y/n just watched, her expression flat. One of the maids glanced up at her, her eyes wide with shock.

“He fell, nothing to be worry about.” Y/n said simply, her voice devoid of any emotion. She could be careless.

Y/n stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. She watched, her expression soft, as they lifted him and hurried away, calling for the maesters.

As they disappeared down the corridor, she turned away, a slight smile curling her lips. So much fuss over a little fall.

She turned and walked in the opposite direction, her mind already moving on to something else.

Aegon was just a pest. A nuisance. A stray animal that had wandered into her path.

Whether he lived or died, it didn’t matter.

It never mattered.

Y/n sat in her chamber, the evening sunlight streaming in through the large arched windows, illuminating her collection of jewelry spread out across her vanity. Rings, necklaces, and bracelets, all glittering in gold and adorned with rubies and emeralds, caught her eye as she lazily picked one up after another, holding them against her neck to see how they looked. She glanced at her reflection, tilting her head slightly, her pale hair cascading over her shoulders. Perfect as always, she thought, fastening a necklace with a smirk.

Her peaceful vanity session was interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps outside her chamber, followed by a sharp knock on the door. She sighed. What now?

“Princess,” a servant called from the other side. “The king has summoned you.”

Her smirk faded, replaced by a slight scowl. This better be good.

When Y/n entered the room, the tension was palpable. Alicent stood to the side, her face streaked with tears. Otto loomed next to her, his expression dark and accusing. Rhaenyra was there too, standing stiffly, her eyes flicking between their father and Alicent. Maids huddled in the background, visibly uncomfortable, whispering among themselves. Her father, Viserys, was pacing, his face red with anger. Ah it's about that thing isn't it?

The second he saw her, his finger shot out, trembling with rage. “Y/n!” he barked. “Did you push your brother down the stairs?!”

Y/n blinked, her expression one of calculated confusion. “What?” she said, her voice calm but laced with just enough disbelief. “What are you talking about?”

Viserys stepped closer, his hand clenching into a fist. “Don’t play games with me, girl! Aegon was found at the bottom of the stairs, and you were seen leaving the scene! Did you do it?!”

For a moment, Y/n simply stared at him, her face blank, before she let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she said smoothly. “I didn’t even know Aegon fell.”

Before Viserys could respond, Alicent burst into tears, her voice shrill and filled with accusation. “You did it! I know you did! You just want to see me suffer! You hate me, and that’s why you hurt my son!”

Y/n slowly turned her head toward Alicent, her expression shifting to one of pure disdain. She raised a brow, letting the silence hang for a moment before speaking, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “First,” she began, “I had completely forgotten your son even existed until now. So, congratulations, I suppose, for reminding me of his presence.” She folded her arms, her lip curling slightly. “And second, do you think you’re so important that I would go out of my way to hurt a child just to make you suffer? Who do you think I am?”

“Enough!” Viserys roared, his voice echoing through the chamber. He glared at Y/n, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Just answer the question! Did you push Aegon or not?”

Y/n sighed dramatically, her gaze flicking to Rhaenyra. “Why would I do that?” she said, her tone exasperated. “If anything, Rhaenyra has far more reason to harm him than I do. After all, he’s a danger to her claim to the throne.”

Rhaenyra’s head snapped up, her expression furious. “How dare you—”

“Enough!” Otto interrupted, stepping forward. “The maids saw you, princess. They’ve spoken. They said they saw you push him.”

They wouldn't dare.

Y/n's eyes narrowed slightly, but her face betrayed no fear. Instead, she turned her head slowly toward the maids, her gaze icy. “Is that so?” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “Well, it’s not good to lie. So go on. Tell everyone exactly what you saw.” Her lips curved into a small, taunting smile. “After all, I have nothing to hide.”

The maid who had spoken out visibly paled, her hands trembling as she clutched the hem of her apron. “I-I…” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I saw n-nothing… I saw… nothing.”

Y/n’s smirk widened as she turned back to Alicent, her expression one of triumph. Alicent’s mouth opened as if to argue, but no words came out. Instead, she stood there, shaking with anger, her tears falling faster.

“Well,” Y/n said, turning her attention back to Viserys. “It seems I’ve been falsely accused. Again.” She tilted her head, her voice softening as she spoke to her father.

Viserys pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly trying to maintain his composure. “Y/n…” he began, but she cut him off, her tone turning earnest.

“Father,” she said, her voice softening just enough to sound genuine, “I may not like his mother, but Aegon is my brother. My blood. A Targaryen. I would never do anything to harm our house or you. Surely you know that.”

Viserys stared at her for a long moment, his anger slowly fading into something more weary. He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a deep sigh. “Go,” he said finally, waving her off. “Just… go.”

Y/n inclined her head, a polite yet triumphant gesture, and turned to leave. As she walked away, the faintest hint of a smile played on her lips.

She can hardly believe what she's hearing. Marriage? Her father, has finally gathered enough balls to declare that she, the most stunning creature in all the Seven Kingdoms, the one every man pines for, is to marry? And to whom, of all people? Jason Lannister. That smug, rotund swine who fancies himself fit to marry a dragon. He’s nothing more than a pig draped in Lannister red, prancing around as if his golden hair and his family's wealth could mask the stench of his arrogance.

Her lips curl with disgust as she eyes Jason standing beside her father, his bloated face gleaming with that ridiculous self-satisfied grin. Jason Lannister? Really? Her mind races. Does father think so lowly of me?

No, this cannot be. She will not be shackled to some pompous, fat fool with no fire in his veins, who has neither her wit nor her beauty. A thousand thoughts swarm her mind like angry hornets. She's a Targaryen—she deserves a dragon, a man with strength and fire, not some Lannister sheep dressed in silk. And, gods be damned, she should have a say in this. Am I not his daughter? Does he think me some meek lamb ready to be led to slaughter?

“I at least deserve a choice,” she spits out, her voice sharp as Valyrian steel, her violet eyes flashing as she meets her father's gaze. “I will not be sold off like some common whore to the highest bidder, to that... thing.” Her voice drips with contempt as she gestures toward Jason, whose smugness falters for a moment.

Viserys sighs, rubbing his temples, clearly exasperated by her defiance. She has rejected every man he's thrown her way, each one sent packing with his tail between his legs. None of them were worthy, none of them could hold her interest for longer than a passing glance.

“It’s time for you to marry,” Viserys says, his tone dangerously low, trying to assert his failing authority. “You’ve already rejected enough suitors. You cannot delay this any longer.”

She laughs, a sharp, mocking sound that fills the room. “And why him? Are there not better men out there, father? Men with some beauty? Perhaps Ser Criston Cole.” she said smirking as her eyes flicking to the knight who stands at the door, his eyes were avoiding her “I would gladly marry him.”

“He’s a knight!” Viesrys snapped, his voice tight with disbelief. “He has vows. He cannot marry you!”

She rolled her eyes, the barely suppressed anger on her tongue, tasting sharp and venomous. “So? That’s not my fault. I don’t care about his vows!” She said it with a defiant sneer, feeling some sort of satisfaction as his shock deepened, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Good.

“Y/n—” Viserys begins, but she cuts him off, her words coming in a flood. “I’m to marry, fine! But to this creature?” Her voice rises with each word. “I deserve a man who looks like a god, who can make my blood run hot—”

“Enough!” Viserys roars, his face red with fury. She pauses, her mouth half-open, momentarily stunned into silence. He breathes heavily, trying to regain control. “You want a choice?” he hisses, and for a fleeting moment, hope blooms in her chest.

“Then choose. Jason Lannister… or your brother Aegon.” His next words strike her like a knife.

What? For a moment, she cannot process it. Did he just say...? Her brother, Aegon? Her mind stutters to a halt. The room seems to grow cold, the air thickening. She stands there, staring at her father, trying to comprehend the madness he just uttered.

Did she hear that right? Her brother Aegon? The boy who’s barely old enough to walk, let alone… marry? For a moment, she’s stunned into silence, the rare taste of shock on her tongue. It’s almost laughable, really. As if those are her only options? As if her father thinks she would actually choose between a lecherous pig and a babe still sucking on his wet nurse's tits?

The room seems to close in, the walls pressing tight around her. She watches Viserys and Jason turn to each other, discussing plans as if she’s no longer even present. As if she’s already chosen Jason. The bastard thinks he has her cornered, that her vanity will force her to choose the Lannister rather than bind herself to a boy not even out of his childhood.

“She’s strong-willed,” Viserys mutters, not bothering to lower his voice. “But with time, she’ll come to appreciate the stability you can offer her.”

Jason snorts, and she wants to claw his eyes out for daring to speak of her as though she’s a horse to be broken. “Oh, I’m sure she’ll learn her place soon enough,” he says, his voice dripping with smug confidence. “A Lannister knows how to handle a fiery wife.”

The audacity. She can barely restrain herself from lunging at him, tearing that pompous grin off his face. But no, she won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her rage. Instead, she lets it simmer inside, her mind racing.

But then it hits her—this is perfect. The corners of her lips twitch into a sly smile.

“Fine,” she says, her voice cutting through their conversation like a knife through flesh. Both men turn to her, blinking as if they’ve forgotten she’s there. She stands tall, her chin lifted, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. “I will marry Aegon.”

The look on Viserys’ face is priceless. His expression falls as if she’s slapped him. “What did you just say?” he asks, his voice low, incredulous.

“I said I will marry my brother Aegon,” she repeats, her tone mocking, triumphant. “Are you deaf, father?” She enjoys the way his face crumples, the way Jason's smug smile evaporates into a confused grimace. They did not expect this. They thought her pride, her vanity, would force her to pick Jason.

Did you really think you could corner me, father? she thinks, her eyes gleaming with triumph. You should know better by now.

Jason's face turns red with fury, the realization sinking in that he’s lost his prize. He looks like he’s about to argue, but she cuts him off with a sweet, sickly smile. “It seems you won’t be wedding me, after all, Jason. I suppose you’ll have to settle for some lesser creature.”

And with that, she turns on her heel and sweeps out of the room, leaving her father and that Lannister pig scrambling to piece together what just happened.

Part 1. Part 2.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ