#((ask away))

☆Love language would be a mix of physical touch, quality time and gift giving.

☆He would be very touchy with you, whether you’re together or not. He’s just happy to have someone to hug and hold hands with. Because back at the circus…they don’t do all that.

☆If you’re not big on physical affection, he’d try his HARDEST not to get too touchy. You can blame him, he loves you. He’d get all giddy, excited and sometimes nervous when you DO touch him back. No one’s really touched him gently or with kindness before.

☆For quality time, it could be anything. But mainly it’s just trailing behind you like your shadow. Silently. Or sitting there and listening to you talk or rant. Just nodding along with a stupid grin on his face/mask.

☆Gift giving, obviously he’d give you roses and flowers and such. But he’d also bake for you. Give him your favorite sweet treat, and he’ll make it in 10 minutes. Probably 5 minutes.

☆He’d purr. You can’t change my mind. His purr would be quiet because he doesn’t talk often. BUT. BUT. When you two are alone, or he’s really happy his purrs are loud and deep.

☆I’d like to think his horns are very sensitive, especially around the base of them. So if you manage to convince him to take his hat off, he’d be nervous to let you touch them. But will MELT and whimper when you do touch them.

☆VERY protective of you. You’re the only person that shows him true kindness and love, so he’s protective. Harlequins around? He’s taking you and leaving. If he can’t do that? He’s glaring daggers at Harlequin, tense, ready to make a move if Harlequin gets to be too much.

☆He enjoys the size difference between you two. He’s a monster, he’s bound to be taller than you. So it always makes him feel good about himself knowing he’s bigger than you, can protect you.

☆Bouncing off that, I feel like he’d like to pick you up and carry you around. Especially when the circus is closed, he likes to carry you around. Worried Harlequin or Jester might take you to their tent or kick you out. He also just likes having you close and safe.

☆Has routine check ins on whether you’re eating and drinking. Will get really worried when you don’t eat or drink for a while and will cooking something for you. When you don’t eat it, or politely decline. He’ll be really worried and drag you to Doctor. Worried you’re broken.

☆On his break days, which he rarely has, or days where the Circus members just all need a break. He likes to hang around your work and watch. Or come on your balcony till you let him in, just wanting to be around you.

☆He has scars. All on his body. Mainly his back, from the abuse and whips from the previous circus he was at. They give him bad memories, flashbacks. So…He likes when you trace them. Calms him down. On some occasions he falls asleep on you.

☆On top of that, he doesn’t really get a lot of sleep at the circus. Harlequin with the fools, Jester with his demands and commands. So Pierrot WILL fall asleep on you. Whether it be stand up leaning against him. Or fully on top of you.

☆Masterlist☆

Tags: Idk...

Baelor sighed as he settled down behind his desk, reaching over and pouring wine first in Maekar's cup, then his own. His brother grunted in thanks, grabbing the cup then leaning back in his seat with a groan, one leg crossing over the other.

Both of them looked a little weary, tired from their separate lives and happy to have this moment of peace under the guise of discussing governing matters. Baelor slowly drank the wine, enjoying the sweetness of the Dornish red, the distinct taste of home, he liked to believe. Maekar too was happy with his cup, humming in pleasure and draining half the cup in one go.

"Tired, then?" Baelor asked quietly, smiling at his younger brother who grunted and raised an eyebrow a little as he scoffed and nodded.

"Not a moment of fucking peace in this place," Maekar grumbled, taking another sip from his mug as he looked over Baelor's desk.

"Hm," Baelor nodded, pursing his lips, and neither realised that images which were far too similar flashed in their heads.

"Needy cunts," Maekar said, voice low and gruff and grumbling once more. And again, neither realised that immensely similar images flashed through their heads. Because though it sounded like Maekar was speaking about the vultures that descended on the royal family, the lords and ladies who wished to better their lot by means of flattery, both of their minds went to the very literal sense of the word.

Baelor thought of you, sitting at his feet, pawing at his legs, your wide glassy eyes blinking up at him. He thought of you, mouth sucking his finger like the most delectable treat as you moved yourself on his cock, aided only by his hand at your waist, your huffing and puffing whines. He thought of you, of your needy cunt, of the slick and the warmth and the way he could not quite get himself to think right in the presence of it.

Maekar thought of you draping yourself all over him, not a thought as to what propriety dictated. He thought of you bent over his lap, moaning and gasping as he smacked his hand against your ass, the bucks of your hips as you desperately chased him. He thought of your hands caressing his beard, you pressing your lips to his like a man traversing the desert having his first sip of water. He thought of your cunt, wet and hot and painted in his own seed.

Both men adjusted in their seats, their eyes lost to the memories of women who had whirled so unexpectedly into their lives and then into their beds. Of women who had taken their sanities firmly in their grasps and would now not let go...

There was a knock at the door, a few raps, then before either of them could tell the person on the other end to 'please come back later- fuck off!' the door opened and in whirled a girl in a dress of black and red. Maekar turned in his seat to face the door and Baelor watched his eyes begin to blaze. His frown turned into something of agitation and desire, as if he was already burning with rage merely at the sight of her.

Baelor smiled as the girl came forward, her own beaming smile aimed at him first.

"Your grace," she greeted politely, curtseying low and elegant, accepting his nod and smile before setting her eyes on her father-in-law.

Baelor liked Aerion's wife. She was chatty, sweet, a little girlish and always walking the line of propriety, but she made up for it with her pretty face and personality. He had never had cause to dislike her, though he knew Maekar had become fed up with her constant complaints and mission to seek him out for whatever petty reasons she found. Baelor could empathise with that, his own daughter-in-law had become clingy in such a way, though he had no cause to complain now...

"Father," she called, walking over to Maekar's side, gripping the armrest in both hands and getting down on her knees beside his chair so she could look up at him.

Baelor stared at the scene, a lump forming in his throat and a sudden tightness to the clothes around him. You called him the same thing, used that same breathy-intense tone that was both aggravating and endearing. Had this become a new custom he was unaware of? Did all young, promiscuous, women of Westeros make it their mission to torment their father-in-law's? He watched Maekar's hands tighten on the armrest and the cup, his eyes flitting down to look at her as his frown deepened.

"What is it?" He asked, gruff as always, and she just smiled up at him, placing her hands under her chin and blinking so sweetly that Maekar knew some absurd request was coming.

"Could I perhaps go into the city to visit the fabric market? I hear a convoy from Dorne has arrived with a new blend of fabrics that is said to be the most beautiful material! I would like to see it for myself." She was smiling so prettily up at Maekar that Baelor knew the man must have felt it in his chest. "Aerion says I cannot go because it would be 'stupid' and 'below my station' but it is only a quick trip, and I am sure we can spare one or two of the King's Guard for me. Ser Roland Crakehall has already said he would be happy to accompany me."

Maekar's scowl deepened, his cup being set down with a 'thump!' as he twisted his upper body to look right down at you.

"Yes, I'm sure Ser Roland would be more than happy to accompany you," his voice coloured with that angry sarcasm so characteristic of him. "I bet he dreams of accompanying you," Maekar spat, jaw tight with rage. He was glaring down at you, hands tense in his lap. "And for once in his life, that idiot of a boy is right. You cannot go galavanting into the city simply to see some fancy fucking fabric. Have you lost your wits?"

She pouted, brows furrowing as she leaned even closer to him, placing her chin on the armrest and clasping her hands tight together and placing them on his lap.

"Father!" She huffed, indignant. "The city is safe now, because of you and Prince Baelor!" She glanced toward Baelor, the barest gleam of a smile in her eyes. "And the King's Guard will protect me from whatever other possible dangers may lay ahead." And then her eyes brightened a little, her pout smoothing out just so as she raised her face even closer to Maekar's. "I wished to buy some and make a dress in red to match the one I wore that evening when you punish-"

"Enough!" Maekar had turned fully red, his beard shining stark and white against his skin. "Cease this at once." And he reached forward and gripped her chin tightly, between his thumb and forefinger, craning her head up until the back of her neck began to protest and she gasped. Her eyes were bright. "You are in the presence of a prince and the future king, and I will hear no more of this. Return to your chambers and test my patience no longer." Then he abruptly let her go, turning away and reaching for his cup of wine, finishing it off in one swoop before gesturing at Baelor to hand over the jug.

Baelor had raised his own cup to his lips, eyes wide and intensely focused on the scene in front of him. His mouth was parted just behind the cup, shock coursing through him. The girl stayed on her knees in front of Maekar for a few moments longer, simply staring up at him with bright eyes and parted lips before she pouted again, huffed, stood, and stomped out of the room without a farewell.

Baelor looked at his brother, his face finally turning a shade lighter as the flush faded. His eyebrows were furrowed and the anger still blazed in his eyes, his body rigid. Maekar had finished another cup of wine before he slumped in his seat, pressing one hand to his forehead and shaking his head. He glanced up to Baelor who had his eyebrows raised, a look of questioning and simultaneous knowing on his features.

"Do not. Say. Anything." Maekar grumbled, bringing his cup to his lap and twirling it between his hands, his head still shaking a little.

"She is..." Baelor began despite his brother's warning, but he could not find the words to finish his sentence.

"Insolent, demanding, improper, a brat to rival Aerion?" Maekar supplied, one eyebrow raising as he looked at his brother. Baelor chuckled, nodding and taking a big gulp of his wine.

"Yes, and..."

"Fucking irresistible," Maekar huffed under his breath, staring into his cup. Again Baelor's eyebrows raised, something dawning on him, and he adjusted himself in his seat, sitting up a little.

"Brother-" And before he could finish what he was going to say, there was a knock at the door.

"Father, may I come in?" And for a moment Maekar believed it was you returning. But when Baelor tensed a little in his seat, his eyes suddenly gaining an intense quality, he furrowed his brow and turned to look at the door as Baelor called out for the person to enter.

It seemed both daughter-in-law's were playing a game of tag. One of Maekar's brows raised as he watched Valarr's wife enter the room, closing the door softly behind her as she stepped daintily in. She was beautiful, like his own girl, but her fashions were a touch more modest (though she too seemed to favour the off-the-shoulder sleeves).

He had not known that she too called Baelor father, that she too was apparently a thorn in the side. Maekar glanced in Baelor's direction then back to her.

"My Prince," she first curtseyed to Maekar, then turned to her father in law.

"What is it, my girl?" Baelor asked, his face softening as he noted the gentle upturn of her lips and the crinkle of a smile at her eyes. Maekar's eyes glanced between them both, his mouth parting a little as the tension crawled over his skin. What the fuck was going on here? What was going on between Baelor and 'his girl'?

"I..." she trailed off, pursing her lips to suppress her smile before stepping forward casually, her dress swishing around her legs. "I have a request, and I fear you will be annoyed with me, but I must ask."

Baelor raised an eyebrow, and Maekar adjusted himself in his seat so he could lean further back, so he could get a better view of the two of you. There was something about this interaction that made him feel as though he was watching the most enticing performance curated by the most talented of playwrights. He sipped from his wine.

"Is it related to what your good-sister has just come to ask my brother about?" Baelor smirked, leaning back in his seat a little as the girl stepped forward again, her smile widening as she nodded, moving around the desk to stand closer to him.

"Yes," she dragged out the word, reaching down to grasp his hand in both of hers, running her fingers along the veins and the backs of his fingers.

Maekar's eyebrows shot up, a smirk pulling at his own lips as he watched the scene. Hm, perhaps he had misjudged Baelor all these years...

"We only wish to go straight to the market and back. We will go in the wheelhouse, and the King's Guard has men to spare." Her voice was soft, so immensely sultry that Maekar too felt his neck go hot as he watched her.

Maekar did not know Valarr's wife well, had only met her in passing at her wedding feast and she had smiled gracefully, kindly, accepted the hand he pressed to the top of her head and curtseyed low. This was not a side he had expected.

"You must know my brother has denied his good-daughter from embarking on this task," Baelor told her, allowing her to fiddle with his fingers. He watched her nod, watched her twist back and forth a little at the waist like a bashful girl.

"Yes," she dragged out the word again, averting her gaze to his hand instead of his eyes. "But... I suppose we thought, if we asked you, perhaps you could convince the prince. Or perhaps, you might be more willing," and Baelor huffed a chuckle at that as Maekar scoffed, rolling his eyes and taking a long drink from his cup.

"You thought wrong, my girl," Baelor told her, grasping one of her hands and tugging a little to force her attention to return to his face. "I agree with my brother, it is foolish and unnecessary. Send word to the merchants and have them attend you both in the Keep. I believe that is an acceptable compromise?" Baelor reached up and cupped her cheek, running the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone.

Maekar watched this all from where he was slumped in his seat, his eyes following each little movement. He could see the girl preening under Baelor's attention, could see the fire in her eyes as she stared right into Baelor's. He felt as if he was intruding, as if she would jump on Baelor given another moment. Instead she nodded, licking her lips before turning her head and pressing a chaste kiss to the pad of Baelor's thumb.

Again, Maekar's eyes widened, eyebrows raising, mouth dropping open a little as he watched Baelor's figure tense, his eyes going hard. The girl giggled, leaning down and pressing a similar kiss to Baelor's cheek.

She whispered something in Baelor's ear but Maekar only caught the words "very grateful" and the way Baelor's eyes fluttered, his hands tensing on hers and the sudden shift in him. Then she slipped from his grasp, curtseying in farewell to Maekar and rushing from the room, allowing the door to slam closed behind her.

Baelor stayed frozen for a moment staring after her before his eyes finally landed on Maekar. The younger brother slowly began to chuckle, a deep sound right from his chest as he shut his eyes and shook his head. He slapped his knee once then leaned forward and poured a generous amount of wine first into Baelor's cup, then his own.

"I see now you are faced with the same problem as I, dear brother," Maekar told him, catching his breath and wiping at the corner of his eye where a tear had escaped.

"Tis a stubborn one indeed," Baelor sighed, though he had relaxed again, smiling as he slumped in his seat and drank from his cup, the wine finally beginning to have its effect, the warmth, the tingling under the skin, the haze in the brain only just settling.

"It seems insolence is bred into the young women of Westeros," Maekar grumbled, but Baelor just smiled and shook his head.

"No, brother, I do not think so. I think our house has been blessed with two very special maidens who have found a place to their advantage. I do not believe there is another out there to their likeness."

"To that I can agree," Maekar nodded, smiling a little as he thought of your fucked out dazedness, at the satisfaction that coursed through you when he put his eyes fully on you and answered your whims with sharp retorts.

Baelor thought of the way you softened around him, like a cat who began with the intention to scratch and instead curled up at one's feet, purred with pleasure and laved with love.

"But for fuck's sake, I am far too old to be keeping up."

"Seven hells, my back cannot take it. This is ten times as difficult as the Blackfyre Rebellion."

"...insatiable. No end to their desires and lust."

"...and she cannot breathe but she will still tell me to keep going..."

"...cannot hear a complaint and not go fucking mental now...so fucking annoying but so enticing..."

"...so obedient sometimes, yet so insolent others... one's head spins trying to keep up..."

...fades to black...