#Not all women are interested in being warm protectors

[immediatebreakfast]

Well, the consequences for Jonathan's disobedience were quite terrifying, on top of destroying an aspect of Jonathan's beliefs as a character.

We already have seen plus noticed how Jonathan identifies with what femininity, and women represented in the 19th century. He is a male character that expresses so much love for the ideas of safety, and comfort that the feminine entails without the narrative trying to paint this in a derogative light anywhere.

So, it's not wonder that the visit from the Weird Sisters (a.k.a. the speculated brides, and housemates of Dracula) left him totally traumatized. Nothing that Dracula has done so far has gained such huge reaction from Jonathan.

Great God! merciful God! Let me be calm, for out of that way lies madness indeed.  ... for now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shock had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering accurately must help to soothe me.

In his journey as a gothic heroine as he is trapped in the castle, Jonathan has been surviving by employing the same ideas used by fictional heroines he admires and looks up to in dire times, and he has comforted himself with Mina's memory, and his undefying love for her. Everything that Dracula represents regarding masculinity means danger for Jonathan, he is scared how the power that the Count holds over him; not as a man towards another man, but as a man towards a conceptual woman within Jonathan's mind that is part of his being.

All of this concludes in Jonathan taking a nap in the ladies' chamber room, away from Dracula's aggresive masculinity in his tainted designated room, and inside what he now deems a safe space because women lived there.

Then the Weird Sisters appear in their ethereal, beautiful glory, and as Jonathan recalls the incident in his diary, the feeling of angry loosing sanity is written with an underline tone of pure defeated betrayal. It feels as if Jonathan keeps asking himself "why did they do that to me? Aren't they in the same position as me?"

The feeling of what Jonathan calls repulsion cut through the sexually charged scene like a knife. All of the soft adjectives to describe the Sisters' appearance, Jonathan's attraction to them as he shames himself for thinking like that because of Mina, the emphasis of voluptuos charm laced with danger, all of it gets cut when Jonathan realizes what the Weird Sisters are planning to do.

There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal.

The ladies that he thought were a dream at first are there to use him the same way that Dracula has been doing... the only difference is that the vampire ladies made very clear that they will kill him. So out it goes the kind language to describe women, and what enters is the language that Jonathan uses to describe the Count.

The femininity that Jonathan felt comfort in to shield himself from the horrors he has seen is now fractured to incorporate the monsterhood of the Weird Sisters. It's a realization that shatters him, not all women are soft, and kind, these women would have killed him if not the Count arriving, and if Jonathan cannot go to the Weird Sisters for safety against Dracula, then it means that the only being who stands between his death and life is the Count himself.

The man who is keeping Jonathan as a prisoner in everything but name is who he has to run to if Jonathan wants to keep living... What a nightmare indeed.

[imagine--if]

hii i saw that requests for alice in borderland were open and i rann 🏃🏻‍♀️

could you do a scenario where chishiya and banda have a crush/interested in the same s/o?? how tense would that be, especially in the solitary confinement game?? 👀👀👀

A/N: Oooo this is an awesome scenario idea, thanks for your request!! I'm still open for AIB requests until the 15th, so if you're interested then send some in!! A particular ask has caught my attention for after this... jealous Chishiya 😵😍 Little obvious disclaimer that the GIFs aren't mine- but look at Chishiya's, he's staring RiGhT aT uSsS 😭

Chishiya and Banda Both Crushing On You Includes...

💛• How'd you even manage to get the attention of both these guys?!??! I'm jealous 🥲 because the way these two fall for someone, combined, is basically the most intense and warm and crazy hot experience you'll have in quite a while. Let's say that this all starts in the Jack of Hearts game:

💛• With Chishiya, he's drawn to the little, unnoticeable things that interest him, like being a lot smarter than you look, or making a good decision that surprises, or even outwits him somewhat. There's not much of that in the borderlands, apart from Arisu's selflessness that absolutely confuses him until he starts admiring it, and the deadliness of the games, everyone looks like they're going to die. Except you. So he'll most likely start following you around - very subtly - observing your way of doing things and interacting with other players, until he properly approaches you. Probably asking you for his symbol on his collar, and asks you if you want yours. If you turn him down but give him his or something, he'll actually be taken aback... in a good way, because now he's obsessed with wanting to know how your mind works. So, basically, you've got yourself a new partner.

💛• With Banda, however, subtly and patience are not his things. All it takes is one minute of eye contact, or hearing something a little psycho come from you, anything that's potentially original and beautiful to him, and suddenly he's right in front of you with that dark smirk, giving you a twisted but flattering compliment. That's it. Now you've got a new protector who grows oddly possessive and obsessive over the first few rounds, pulling you back when you think about joining the others' big group. You don't need them. You've got him.

💛• So when the two ultimately end up bumping into each other when they both go to talk to you or something, there's just a moment of stretched, painfully strong silence as Banda eyes up this new 'distraction' to your attention, and Chishiya takes him in with that annoyingly indifferent, and kind of smug, look, before his brown eyes meet yours. Banda looks in your direction too. No pressure 😅

💛• I mean, Chishiya tolerates pretty much everyone, but Banda lurking around and infecting your brain with his sadistic ideas of entertainment and advice on how to win every game like he has, is something he's apprehensive of. He'll see how you react to it at first before jumping in, but overall, Chishiya thinks you're the first truly curious and inspiring person that's caught his attention in the Borderlands, and that's something he doesn't want to let slip as soon as he's found it.

💛• Banda has little to no empathy or care for anyone except what you're happy and unhappy with, so he's gonna be pretty forward with Chishiya and give him one of his hushed, intimidating, close-up threats to move along and find someone else to play with. When Chishiya retorts smugly with a comment about how the last women he hung around with suddenly made it onto the murder section of the newspapers, he'll get a deathly glare in his eyes, and basically the only thing stopping him from snapping at that moment is the rule of the game being that you can't outrightly hurt anyone.

💛• They let it go for now, but neither one of them is put off from hanging around with you. The rest of the players in the big group find it odd how you're just sitting there at a table, and within a few moments, Chishiya comes striding in offering his snack with you, sitting beside you on the table, all the while Banda's unblinking gaze is fixed on you from the other side of the cafeteria, where he sits on the floor against the wall. The Jack probably notices it too, but doesn't say anything, since no one really wants to see Banda Sunato get angry.

💛• Once the game has gone on and it's over, Banda has some 'business' to attend to with Jack, and probably makes you wear a tracker or something so he knows how to come and find you when he's done and figuring out how he can have more, or all, control over the lands. Cocky psycho even tries to kiss you goodbye too, and whether you let him go for it and leave you flustered after an intense few moments, or push him away gently with a blush is your choice. Either way, he'll still respond with one of his smirks and a wink before he causally pulls out his pocket weapon and goes into one of the cells after Jack.

💛• That just leaves you with Chishiya, who Banda has 'trusted' to keep you safe while he's gone. Since Chishiya figured it all out with him and survived the round in a pretty impressive way, Banda doesn't misjudge his intelligence and capabilites, even though he seems a little too relaxed when entering these life-or-death games. Still, you'll end up leaving with Chishiya wandering by your side and making small talk about who you are as a person as you go for the next game, or to meet his gang from the Beach, like Arisu. He's surprisingly talkative in his own way as he uncovers more about you and listens to every word you say, but when the questions are reflected back at him, the answers are simple and short - at first, anyway. It's not all because he's reclusive, but mostly because he didn't really like his life, or have much of one, in his opinion, before the Borderlands. But now, maybe he does. Intelligent and nice to look at. He'll stick around for sure 😉

💛• Elsewhere, Banda basically pulls up every file and piece of information on you instead of outrightly asking. It's safe to say that he's an obsessive and possessive crusher/lover, and he'll make that known once he's sorted things out and comes to find you again. And he will come and find you again 😏

[chubbyheadquarters]

Monkey King Reborn

Genre: Romantic

Pronouns: Gender-Neutral

TW/CW: None

Character(s): Sun Wukong-Monkey King

Just some headcanons that I wrote way last year that I never got around to posting. Oops-

So-👀 My little dumb brain is like-what if, in the movie, since Sandy has his knowledge, Wukong is the muscle and speed and Tripitaka is the center of the group-Why not have a healer/protector?

You, a seemingly normal child, who was bullied for their weight and told that you'd never make it anywhere, awaken your powers when helping a merchant passing by your village. They got hurt, and with your caring nature and panic at the moment, awakened the power within you. People in your village raved about you, sweeping all the bullying and harassment they did to you under the rug and begging for your help.

You agreed for a price. After all, in this cruel world, you only had yourself. Very quickly, people got greedy and even wanted to marry you off since your children had the chance to inherent your powers, which disgusted you. At one point, you just got up and left, never wanting to return. These people weren't savable, nor did you want to help them.

After leaving and wandering on your own, you meet the gang. Tang Sanzang, who had just started his journey and needed another human around, was happy to have you on board, ready to teach you what he knows. The bond you two build is one of siblings. He, the strict yet gullible brother, and you, the more realistic but still kind sibling.

Of course, you meet the others. Sandy, the cute and wholesome water demon. He'll tell you all about the books he has, from myths and stories to demon knowledge. It's adorable how invested he is, and he's happy that you listen. Nerdy friend + supportive bff. You also think it's cute when he's excited or shocked and a bubble leaves his mouth.

Pigsy, the perverted and cocky pig demon. Of course, he sees you and he's drooling. Trying to flirt but quickly getting rejected by you. Every once in a while, he pulls through, which you appreciate, but your relationship with him is aquantices at best.

And then, there's Wukong. He sees you and, like the other beings he's encountered, doesn't really notice you. I mean, you're different from all the women he's seen before his entrapment, being more curvy, and you've got a warm aura, but that's about it? He doesn't really get why you're traveling with them. You just seem...so defenseless? Weak? Way too kind to just be kind.

He's got his eye on you. Thinking that he's gonna catch you doing something bad and call you out. But as time goes by, he realizes that you're...just a nice person, much to his shock. You never ask for anything in return, and you're always happy to help them out.

Let's say that he takes an interest, say when you use your powers. Whether to protect him from an attack with your barriers or when you heal a bad wound of his. He hasn't seen many with your abilities, what with everyone usually just fighting it out. It's a bit interesting, but he still thinks you could learn some self defense.

Your kindness towards him is...strange. He's so used to everyone blowing him off, throwing insults and hate his way, cursing his birth. But you cheer for him when he kicks ass. Compliment him when he finds food and water. And when the others, really just Zhu Bajie, start throwing him under the bus, you're there to defend him. You do scold him, but definitely not as much as everyone else, and when you do, you always do so as calmly as you can and tell him that you're worried about him.

He does notice that, for as kind as you are, you are a bit...distrustful towards people, keeping them at a distance until proven to be an ally or a good being. If they know about your powers, you keep a greater distance from them. It baffles him because you're on good terms with everyone on the team.

When you tell him about your past, since he's a nosy motherfucker, he starts to understand WHY. People have taken advantage of your powers, your kindness and belief that not everyone will use you, but you've pretty much been proven wrong. So when you say that you're thankful to have met them, and that they're the closest thing you've ever had to friends, he's...touched. The fact that you consider him a friend and never try to hide it makes him feel...less alone in the world.

If he ever finds out about the bullying and the people who did it, especially because of your weight, he'll keep it in his mind for later. 'You're pretty wtf???''Well, sucks for them, they missed out on a hot s/o'. He thinks in his mind. He'll visit them and teach them a lesson. Will he ever tell you? Hell no. That's a secret for him and only him to know.

In battle, you two become an absolute unit. You heal, he takes care of the enemies and you defend each other. He really likes the synergy you've built, like you can read each other's movements and just...flow with one another. He knows that if anything, you'll have his back, like he'll have yours.

When he compliments you, you know you're getting closer. He doesn't compliment just anyone, and is only directed that those he REALLY cares about. So even if it doesn't sound super cheerful or cheesy, know that him complimenting you means he likes you. "Not bad. I've never seen something like that." "Thanks Wukong!" Cue blushing monkey.

He'll unknowingly get soft for you, sitting a bit closer, sharing some of his water or food, keeping a closer eye on you in case danger appeared. It isn't until one of the members, maybe Sha Wujing or Zhu Bajie point it out, that he actually starts to think about it. My man starts going through the stages of grief.

Denial is his strongest stage. Why!? He's Sun Wukong! The strongest demon to exist! He doesn't need love! Then he'll start getting angry at himself for getting "soft". He's a demon for heaven's sake! He doesn't FEEL! At one point, he'll start bargaining with himself about how maybe it's the QUALITIES you hold.

The depression be hitting hard when he finds out it's YOU he likes. Don't get him wrong! It's not that there's anything wrong with you, it's just-he's used to being alone. He's never loved anyone, especially like this! Love is seen as a weakness, and now that he WAS IN LOVE-He was worried. He was scared for you-Not that he'd ever admit it. It doesn't help that he's immortal and you're not. Eventually, he half-accepts it. He just needs to be 1000% sure.

When y'all arrive at the Temple and he finds out about the manfruit-Say goodbye to your human years, cause you're gonna eat it. No ifs, ands or buts. He'll feed it to you if he has to. Don't test him. He's not taking no for an answer. In his mind, he's accepted that he enjoys your company, mainly because you take his side and you're literally the light of his life. He still doesn't want to admit how soft he's gone for you. He's such a tsundere I swear to god-

BDJSBSJBSJSNSBSJ-

When Yuandi is released and you're traveling with Fruitie, he sees your bond with the Qi Energy as...kinda cute. Fruitie seems so comfortable around you and you let them talk away, asking questions every once in a while. And you save Wukong the trouble of getting pissed on.

Imagine when you're all fighting against the demons, Wukong is worried about you, looking to see if you're alright every second he can. He knows you're capable, but he's...he's scared to lose you. But it gets even worse when Yuandi-When this dude roles up and starts tossing y'all around-

Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing are killed, and both you and Wukong are the only thing between him and Fruitie. You're doing everything you can to protect them, using all your energy to keep them safe. You don't want to lose anyone else-you can't-BUT THEN YOU'RE KILLED WITHOUT MERCY AND- 😢😭

Wukong, weak and close to passing out, takes your hand in his. Feeling the warmth leave it breaks his fuCKING HEART OML THIS MAN IS WEEPING FOR YOU- 💔 It isn't until you and the others are revived and next to him that he's truly okay, and without any hesitation, sweeps you into his arms and doesn't let go. You and the others are surprised by the open affection, but you return it none the less.

It isn't until you guys have said your goodbyes to Fruitie and arrived at a safe place to take a breather that he just confesses his feelings for you. It's randomly thrown out there, with the only indication of it happening being the small hue of red on his cheeks and refusal to look you in the eyes.

If you have self confidence issues and ask him if he's sure, he's looking at you, questioning if you heard what he just said. Of course he's sure! He spent all this time making sure, and now that he's accepted it, he's giving you his heart! Not just anyone can do that! It just proves how special you are! But after talking it out, you two eventually get together.

Gifts? Honey, good luck with that-He's so fucking clueless about it that it's kinda cute at times. He's a monkey. He's been surrounded by monkeys. Yeah, he's been around humans, but he's not asking them about human courting and gift giving. If he knew that he was gonna meet you, he would have asked a few questions, but that's about it.

The best he can do right now is flowers and small trinkets he finds along the way that he thinks you'll like. The fact that you enjoy them even though it's another simple flower or trinket, it makes his heart skip a beat. Zhu Bajie had the audacity to question why one day, but your sweet answer saved the pig demon from a beating. "It's BECAUSE they're from him. He's doing his best, and that's all I could ever ask for." Cue blush.

Hug this man! Give him pets and cuddles please this grumpy monkey needs it-😭 Hold his hand when he starts getting mad, it calms him down and he'll hold it back once he's cooled off. Hug him when he's done something good! Pet him when he's tired or bored, that'll get him purring and falling asleep in no time. Of course, this man is a tsundere, so he'll prefer it with just the two of you and without the teasing. You get it though, and always ask for consent, which he highly appreciates. So when it's just you two, he's all over you and adamantly refuses to let go.

If anyone even THINKS to flirt with you-Meet him out back, hands are up and he's ready to throw them for you. If anyone actually DOES, he'll give them the dirtiest glare. And people run away, never to be seen around you again. NOW-If a fool has the guts to actively flirt with you after that-oh boy 😔 They better have their funeral set up cause he's putting them in it.

But if anyone even dares to insult you and call you names. 👁👄👁 They have reached their expiration date on life and are now on their way to the Netherworld. They will not be spared and will not be forgiven, even if YOU forgive them. You deserve respect-after all, you're his queen, and as your king, it's his duty to protect you.

[claymoresword]

The Queen And Her Knight | Chp: 3

Alicent Hightower x Knight Fem!Reader

Summary: Alicent Hightower against her better judgement, falls in love with her sworn protector. Can she bear to fight her feelings or will she finally just give in?

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Reader

Wordcount: 3.6k

Warnings: fluff, harsh language, aegon ii targaryen, reader is a total simp for alicent

Note: "An incredibly closeted young woman who will do anything for hugs" -Olivia Cooke

just to clarify this version of aegon ii isn't an abuser he treats women just fine but he is still a loser !

i hope u enjoy this one let me know what u think! <3

not my gifs btw

"Drink it."

"No."

You sat the cup down, firmly crossing your arms as you sit back in the chair.

"Come on! We are celebrating!" The prince exclaims, pushing the rim of his own cup to your lips.

"Forgive my daftness my Prince but what exactly are we celebrating?" You swiftly grabbed his hand to still his movements.

"Your return, ofcourse!" Aegon nearly scoffs, acting as if you were being obtuse on purpose.

"Mother has been utterly morose without you here."

"The Queen tries her best to hide it but only ends up being disagreeable. Which would be fine if I were not always on the receiving end of her moods."

You throw the Prince a look, admittedly stunned at his words.

Alicent was truly that miserable when you were gone? Even Aegon, someone so imperious and self interested, could see it.

Aegon smirks knowingly, he has said the right thing to convince you.

He raises his cup and gestures for you to do the same.

"To Lady y/n, for returning to my mother's aide and in turn, my own. I do not know where we would be without you, my dear friend."

The platinum haired Prince places a quick hand on your shoulder as a gesture of gratitude before chugging his ale.

You followed his lead, too late to back out now.

--

The room had begun to spin, you definitely needed to stop drinking if you wanted to report for duty in the morrow.

The prince has long dissappeared into the back rooms. He had bought himself a suitable whore, or five to be precised, satisfying his needs for the night.

You had half a mind to get up and leave Aegon to his deeds but a part of you felt obligated. For Alicent, you needed to make sure her son is escorted back to the castle safely.

Your mind rarely ever strayed too far from the Queen. She occupied your entire headspace, you are intoxicated in her presence and grieve her when you are apart. You have lived this way since the first moment you met.

Naturally, you began to recall the incident that occurred in your chambers earlier that night. You started to feel something familiar stir in the pit of your stomach. You found yourself wondering how far the two of you would have gone if the Prince hadn't interrupted.

You are broken out of your thoughts when you hear giggling coming from across the room. You glance over and spot a group of women, evidently workers of that brothel.

Each of them whispering and throwing sheepish glances your way.

"Gods, she's a Greyjoy?"

You hear one of them say as she brings her thumb up to her mouth gnawing at it slightly, hiding a blush.

You throw the woman a warm smile as a good gesture. A terrible mistake you soon realised, as you watched her make her way towards you.

The woman took advantage of your unoccupied lap and situated herself on it. Her hand finding the back of your neck as she turns towards you. She is entirely too close for your liking, you can smell the ale on her breath.

"Hello gorgeous, why are you here all alone?" She leans in to whisper in your ear.

You give her an uncomfortable smile this time unsure of how to approach the situation.

"I am awaiting someone. He went into the back rooms."

The woman lets out a sudden laugh, loud and obnoxious enough to make you grimace.

"You are waiting for the Prince? Then you will be waiting all night sweetheart."

You didn't appreciate her condescension.

"You look terribly lonely my lady, allow me to take care of you."

The woman breathes out as she move her hand to your chest, slipping it under your shirt, her intentions were clear.

You grabbed her hand abruptly stopping her from touching you any further.

"I have no interest in being taken care of, thank you." You respond curtly, no longer meeting the woman's gaze you only wanted her to get off your lap.

"Am I not to your liking, my lady? Perhaps you'd prefer one of the maidens instead?" Her thumb grazes your jaw forcing you to glance at the other ladies sat across the room.

They did look young, way too young to be in a place like this.

"No, I assure you it's quite alright." You repeated sternly.

The woman removes her hand from your neck and slumps backwards. Her back resting agaisnt the edge of the table.

Your hand finds her waist reflexively, to keep her from falling off your lap completely.

"Alright then. If you ever wish to know what it feels like to be properly satisfied, you know where to find me."

With that, she finally leaves you alone. You took a large swig of your drink. You were never one to reject a woman's advances but you realised that you were no longer in the Iron Islands. It was already of poor standing for the Queen's sworn knight to be seen in a place like this. You decide to not push it any further.

Above all, the truth was you no longer had any desire to lay with anybody who wasn't Alicent. The queen has completely ruined you for other women.

--

Alicent is awoken by the sun streaming in through her curtains. She is shocked at how well rested she feels this morning. Her mind immediately turns to you and she's greeted by a warmth in her chest. You kissed last night but the guilt she once felt is no longer. She does not recognise the feeling stirring inside her but she would imagine it is as close as she will ever get to peace.

Like clockwork, she hears a knock at her door. Her handmaiden, come to dress her for the day.

"Come!"

Talya walks in, curtseys and makes her way to the windows. Pulling the curtains open the morning sun now illuminating the entirety of the Queen's chambers.

Alicent stands and allows her handmaiden to fix up her bedding, their usual routine. The queen puts on her robe and moves to stand by her window, she spots Aemond walking across the field in his riding attire he must be on his way to the dragon pit. A fond smile forms across her face, her darling boy.

She suddenly notices she could no longer hear the ruffling of pillows. Talya is stood behind the Queen, her gaze fixed on the ground as she fiddles with her fingers nervously.

The auburn haired woman turns her attention to her handmaiden. Her face contorts in genuine concern.

"Talya, what is it?" Alicent breaks the silence.

"Your Grace, there are rumours concerning Lady y/n's conduct. I figured that it would be better for you to hear these claims from me first."

Alicent feels the wind get knocked out of her. She clasps her hands over her abdomen at an attempt to stay composed. Did somebody see them last night? How could that be when they were in the privacy of y/n's chambers?

"Go on, what are these rumours you speak of?"

"The lady y/n had been spotted engaging in activities unbeffiting of a lady of her status."

"Activities? Please, speak plainly Talya." Alicent commands.

"She was seen in a brothel during the hour of the ghosts, with the young Prince Aegon."

Alicent no longer feels warm. Only the nausea emanating from deep inside her belly, a result of her disgust.

She brings her hand up to her throat rubbing at it soothingly.

Talya continues despite the Queen's obvious discomfort.

"She was seen with another woman, it is said that they were engaging in certain acts that should only ever include a man and a woman."

Alicent winces involuntarily, her handmaiden notices and looks down at the ground once more.

The Queen suppresses the sob threatening to come out of her lips before speaking again.

"Very well Talya, thank you for telling me."

Alicent feels as if she had just been struck in the chest, hard.

Her sadness quickly dissipating and she now only feels anger. How could y/n do this to her? Especially after the events of last night, why would you risk sullying your reputation? She needed to confront you about this. She wanted the truth.

"Help me dress now, I must attend to the King."

--

You open your eyes and right away feeling an all too familiar pounding in your head.

You lift your hand up to cover your face, the room was just too bright.

"Seven hells." You grumble as you reach for water just to realise you weren't in your own chambers.

Opening your eyes slowly you brace yourself for the sight of the woman from the brothel. In your drunken state you must have taken her to bed afterall.

To your horror, you quickly recognised the interior of the chambers to be Prince Aegon's.

You feel movement next to you and quickly turn your head, you are inches away from the Prince's face the both of you now only noticing each other for the first time.

Your eyes widen and you both let out a yell, he mirrors your expression as he pulls the covers closer to his bare chest.

You recoil moving further back away from him resulting in you falling off the bed, landing harshly on the ground.

"Fuck." You let out a groan. What the hell happened last night?

You looked down inspecting your attire. Your clothes were still on, everything was intact except for your sword and footwear which was strewn across the floor to your right. You sighed in relief. Atleast the worst didn't happen.

You stand up, your eyes meeting Aegon's worried expression.

"We did not.. do anything last night, did we?" Aegon asks and you feel the urge to fling your shoe at him for even suggesting it.

"You did things I am sure of it but definitely not with me. I am fully clothed." You state, putting on your shoes. You look up at him again.

"I am asking this to simply satisfy my curiosity my Prince but why exactly are you naked?" You watch as Aegon clutches the white sheet over his body holding onto it for dear life.

"I found that I rest much better unclothed, force of habit I suppose."

You found yourself staring at him bewildered for a few moments before you speak again.

"I should go now."

"Yes, best not to mention this to anyone." The prince warns.

"Aye, no one." You assure.

You pick up your sword and turn to make your way out of his chambers but you are stopped in your tracks by the sight before you.

"Your Grace." You coughed out.

The queen stood by the door, her hands by her sides. You watched as she balls her fists before relaxing them. It looked as if she was suppressing the urge to lunge at you. The expression on her face was otherwise a dead giveaway, she was furious.

Her eyes flitted to her son, she scans his appearance before scowling.

This is bad. This is really very bad.

"Your Grace, it truly is not what it looks like. Please allow me to explain."

Alicent lifts her hand up, you stop speaking immediately.

You have been face to face with actual dragons and in this moment she is more intimidating than any of them.

"My chambers. Now." She stares at you and you knew better than to challenge her.

You nod and follow the Queen swiftly to her rooms.

--

Alicent slammed the door to her chambers, promptly making her way towards you. Her hands coming into contact with your chest she shoves you hard, you lose your balance slightly but otherwise do not budge. Tears well up in her eyes and your heart shatters at the sight.

You've hurt her.

The queen shoves you again, this time she is repeatedly hitting your chest with her fists, being considerably stronger than she is you barely flinch. You stood your ground allowing her to take it out on you. Alicent needed to let her anger show once in awhile.

You hear her sob and you bring your hands up to pull her into an embrace. She fights you for a moment before giving in, she clings onto you and you feel her shoulders rapidly rise and fall as she cries into your chest.

"What are you doing to me" Alicent's voice breaks and you only hold her tighter.

"I do not wish to cause you pain Alicent, I am truly sorry. Nothing happened between me and the Prince, you must believe me."

Alicent stays silent and you continue.

"I came along with the sole purpose of keeping an eye on him. I admit I had too much to drink last night but I swear to you that is the worst of it."

You can feel her breathing become even, she is no longer sobbing.

She lifts her head and looks at you through glistening eyes. A tear falls down her cheek as she blinks and you move your hand gently wiping it away with your thumb. You take the opportunity to hold her face in your hand for a moment and she allows you to.

Alicent takes a step back, you are no longer holding her but you are still close enough to feel her breath against your skin.

"And what of the woman at the brothel? You took her to bed did you not?"

You were wounded at the accusation, although you could not entirely blame Alicent for it. You had a reputation before coming to King's Landing, most people knew you had an avid interest in sleeping around. However, that was back in the Iron Islands, before you met the Queen. Thinking back on it now it seems like a lifetime ago.

You gaze softens, you shake your head before grabbing Alicent's hand.

"I have not laid with any other since being back here." You admit, bringing the Queen's hand up to your lips, you place a tender kiss against it.

You noticed as Alicent lets out a breath of relief. You step closer, planting another kiss on her arm.

You lift the Queen's hand up to place it on your chest, right above your heart.

"I have no desire for anybody else, Your Grace." Your hand firmly on top of hers, you know she can feel your heartbeat. It is steady and calm, as you only speak the truth.

"I am yours, if you want me. It has always been you, Alicent." You whisper, your gaze now fixed on the Queen's lips.

You watch as her lips part for a moment. She fails to say anything and you take the opportunity to lean in, kissing her deeply. Alicent reciprocates before settling her hand on your shoulder as you end the kiss.

"You admit these things to me truthfully?" The older woman breathes against your lips.

"I only ever want to tell you the truth, my Queen." You respond.

Alicent leans forward once again, this time she pulls you into a kiss.

"I believe you."

A smile forms on your lips but it quickly falls when the Queen flashes you a stern look.

"You are so lucky I do not have a dragon of my own." Alicent jests and you let out a laugh.

"You'd feed me to a dragon?" You gasp, hand over your chest feigning offence.

"If you infuriate me enough, yes I would." A smirk on your face, this time you don't try to suppress it.

"Ah, baseless threats Alicent. I know you despise those beasts." You say, absentmindedly rubbing the Queen's arm.

Alicent giggles and you stomach flutters at the sight. She is just so beautiful.

"Speaking of Dragons, Princess Rhaenyra has arrived from Dragonstone I must make my way over to greet her. I will see you later."

Alicent moves to walk away but you grab her hand stopping her.

"Your Grace, I shall come with. I am your sworn knight afterall."

The Queen shakes her head at you before speaking.

"Take the morning off y/n, I am sure the events of last night has left you depleted. This morning's a long and tedious one."

"I will be listening in on petitions for the Driftmark succession." Alicent explains and she is right that does not sound like something you wanted to sit through.

"I have arranged for Ser Criston to escort me. You will resume your post later today."

You nodded, protesting no further. Alicent places a quick kiss on your cheek before giving you a genuine smile, making her way towards the door. You follow behind her but turning in the opposite direction once you have reached the hallway, you walked to your own chambers.

--

"Her children are bastards!" Lord Vaemond shouts for the entire throne room to hear.

Alicent shifts her gaze to Viserys, how foolish of him to lose his temper before the King. There will only be dire consequences.

"And she is a whore." The auburn haired woman eyes widen, she could not believe this was happening.

"I will have your tongue, for that." Viserys wheezes, pulling out his dagger.

Alicent hears gasps all across the room and in one swift motion Prince Daemon swings Dark Sister, cutting Vaemond's head clean in half.

She flinches at the horrific sight and immediately turns to Heleana, her only instinct in the moment was to protect her daughter.

"Disarm him!" The guards surround the rogue prince, forcing him to yield his sword.

Viserys can be heard groaning in pain and the Queen rushes over to him, catching him in her arms. All of his weight on her she struggles to hold her husband up. He was too weak to stand on his own feet.

"My love, please you must take something for the pain." She insists before one of the guards helps lift the King back onto his seat escorting him to his rooms.

--

Alicent places the empty cup by Viserys' bedside. The king, finally asleep. She lifts the blanket further up to his chest before standing up to make her way out of his apartments.

The entire walk back to her chambers Alicent can merely focus on how exhausted she was. The day is not close to being over. She still had to sit through dinner with Rhaenyra and her husband.

--

You were stood posted outside the Queen's rooms for awhile now awaiting her return. Feeling better after a bath and a decent meal you were ready to properly resume your duties.

Footsteps can be heard approaching and you catch a glimpse of the auburn haired beauty you were expecting to see. Though the expression on her face looks less than thrilled. She looks utterly defeated.

Being Queen of the seven kingdoms you highly doubted the existence of a simple day. You do not envy her.

"Was it dreadful?" You ask once she gets close enough to hear you.

Alicent sighs before answering.

"Abysmal."

The queen looks around to make sure nobody was near before reaching to open the door to her chambers. You move out of her way but she quickly grabs your arm pulling you inside with her.

In the privacy of her rooms she wraps your arm around her own waist, gesturing for you to hug her. You do so without a moment's thought and Alicent melts into your embrace.

You hold her for a few moments, placing a quick kiss on her forehead. You could really get used to this.

Alicent lets out another sigh and you rub her back at an attempt to soothe her.

"My love, what's happened?" You ask, still rubbing small circles onto her back.

"Vaemond Velaryon was beheaded in the throne room infront of everybody." The older woman merely states, exasperated.

"What?" You exclaim in disbelief, moving back slightly to meet Alicent's gaze.

"By the King's orders?"

Alicent shakes her head before leaning into you once again.

"It was Daemon, he took justice into his own hands."

"Ah, I see. I know Prince Daemon. I had the displeasure of fighting alongside him in the stepstones all those years ago." You admitted. The Rogue Prince every bit lived up to his name. You do not miss his company one bit.

"The King ordered a family supper tonight. I want nothing more than to miss it."

"Though I suppose I will have to settle with only having a quick nap beforehand." Alicent says lifting her head and you release her from your embrace.

The Queen walks over to her bed and you nod your head at her before turning to leave.

"Where are you going?"

An amused expression flashes across your face.

"I thought you wanted to rest, Alicent."

"I do." The Queen says now sitting on her bed, she extends her hand out for you to grab.

You walk up to her, your hand now in hers, she pulls you closer and eventually you had no choice but to land on the bed next to her.

Alicent lays her head on the pillow, her back towards you. It now became clear that she wanted you to spoon her.

You oblige gladly, quickly unclasping your sword from your side you carefully set it by her bed. Moving closer to her your hand finds her waist and Alicent grabs your arm quickly wrapping it around herself until your hand was against her abdomen.

You listen as Alicent's breathing becomes shallow as she rapidly falls into a deep slumber.

You can feel your chest constricting, an unfathomable amount of love for the Queen. You truly would do anything to ensure her happiness. Right now holding her as she slept, you were certain you never wanted to let go.

[weltraum-vaquero]

You could have it all (my empire of dirt)

3. when the last light warms the rocks (and the rattlesnakes unfold)

[Chapter 1] ↠ [Chapter 2] ↠ [Chapter 3] ↠ [Chapter 4] ↠ [Chapter 5] (coming soon)

[AO3 link]

Western AU

18+

Jayce Talis x GN AFAB Reader

Word count: 17.5k+

Synopsis: Jayce’s relationship with you changes — for the better, and for the worse.

Tags/warnings: cowboys in love, anal fingering, Jayce being head over heels but also an anxious mess, angst, crying after sex, reader being emotionally constipated

Notes: Hi. This is what I've been pouring my heart and soul into for the past 6 months. Rest assured that we've still got a long way to go, and that this is NOT the final chapter of this fic. We're only about halfway there. Strap in, strap on, and get ready for porn town, and also pain town. As always, a huge thanks to @valaruakars and @heraldeez for helping me polish this bad boy. It wouldn't be here without you :].

“What has got you smiling through the meatloaf you usually despise so deeply, Jayce?”

Swallowing an unchewed bite of the meatloaf he usually despises so deeply, Jayce straightens up in his chair, glancing Cassandra’s way. The sound his throat makes when he swallows is almost cartoonish — he wants to curl in on himself then and there. Instead, he clears his throat, his smile now long gone.

She watches him intently, like a cat on the prowl, while she awaits her prey — his reply. 

“I wasn’t—“ Jayce manages a nervous, dumb little laugh. He’s screwed. “I mean… was I? I don’t think I was.”

“I think you mean who’s got him smiling,” Cait chimes in. As she shifts in her seat, Jayce realizes she’s tucked her legs under her chair specifically so that they’d be far out of his kicking range. 

God, he hates when she does this.

“Oh?” Cassandra’s brows raise with interest, and she sets her fork down on the fine china gracefully before her gaze rests on him, icy blue and downright relentless. “Is that so?”

His stomach seems to physically sink while he scrambles for words and finds none. Bounty hunter, protector, hardened outdoorsman, and yet both of the Kiramman women can outdo him in a handful of sentences or less.

Tobias gives him a sympathetic smile, like he pities him already, and like he knows what he’s about to go through all too well.

Being at the mercy of Kiramman women does evoke a certain sense of camaraderie. 

“I, uh–” Jayce clears his throat to stall for time; he reaches for the wine glass he hadn’t touched throughout the whole dinner so far. “Sort of.”

“It would be wonderful to meet them sometime,” Cassandra says.

Jayce has never taken a bigger gulp of anything in his whole life than this godawful wine. Caitlyn muffles a laugh into her napkin. 

It tastes horrendous. He still fails to understand what exactly Cassandra loves about this expensive, bitter vintage and hates about the sweet cheap bottles he buys at the general store. He swallows it down even though it scratches at his throat and weighs heavy on his tongue. He realizes that all his stalling counted for nothing, because he still has no idea what to say.

“I’m not, uhm–”

“Look at him, he’s redder than a steamed lobster. Let the poor boy be,” Mr Kiramman interrupts. He tops up his wife’s wine glass — a peace offering of sorts, before he claps his hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you, Jayce ”

“We all are.” Cassandra pauses briefly, and though her voice has gone soft, Jayce can feel her scrutiny weighing down on him. She’d love to know more, he can tell, but much like her daughter, she knows that information takes patience to obtain. Unfortunately for him, she has it in spades. “As a matter of fact, Tobias and I were starting to wonder how much longer bounty hunting and tinkering with guns would keep you busy.”

“Oh.” Jayce swallows thickly. “I-I’m still… very much focused on my job. This is, really, it’s nothing… serious,” he lies. 

Because it is, now.

Has been for longer than he’d like to admit. He’s been hung up and restless and devoted, even while he was still waiting for you to return to Piltover for your tent.

(And for him, god, hopefully for him too.)

He’d ridden up to that spot under that weeping willow, and spent the afternoon waiting and wondering and ignoring the leaden feeling in his stomach that maybe you wouldn't show. What’s an outlaw’s promise worth, after all?

But you had.

He’d spotted you, possibly before you’d even spotted him from under the drooping branches. Your hand had clutched tight at the strap of your rifle, ready to unshoulder it, while you’d been cautiously approaching the riverside.

It was only then he’d realized how much of your previously held power you’d relinquished simply by returning.

There were ways he could have used this against you — ways he could’ve set up an ambush. A few of Marcus’ men tucked under the ridge you’d pushed him off of, another one perched up on a tree in the not so distant forest with a scoping rifle, and you’d have been done for. 

And Jayce had wondered how naïve, how trusting and gullible and utterly unaware he had to be, to not have had that thought cross his mind even once until now.

But that lasted just until you spotted him, and your hand had fallen loosely from the strap of your rifle to your hip.

You’d still approached slowly, not skittish in any way, but merely cautious. You’d tried to be subtle when you had briefly glanced towardthe riverbank (in the search of footprints that didn’t belong to him, Jayce could only assume), then met his gaze with sinking shoulders and an unclenching jaw.

He’d not been sure if he should’ve felt insulted that you’d thought he’d have used this opportunity to catch you, or flattered at the fact that you’d still taken a chance on him and returned anyway.

There wasn’t much to see much of your face, not until you’d raised your chin and met his gaze, one brow quirked expectantly, an amused little smile growing ever wider as you’d watched and waited. Waited for him, he’d realized, nearly choking on his spit. All the words inside his head had seemed to form a sticky, stupid mass he hadn’t been able pluck anything coherent out of.

“I, uh, hello.” Jayce had swallowed thickly, awkwardly, before he realized he’d curled in on himself, and rushed to straighten out his posture. If your growing smile had been anything to go by, you’d noticed. But you had the decency to not point it out — or maybe you were saving it for later.

“Howdy.” You’d cleared your throat, and though the way you’d set your hand on your hip could have seemed relaxed, practiced, Jayce could tell you were practically gripping it with how the leather of your black glove creased deep with the pressure. Your posture had seemed unusually… stiff.

“I, uh…brought your tent.” Jayce had gestured to the gear tucked under his arm, before mentally cursing himself for being such a conversationalist. 

“Thank you kindly,” you’d replied, significantly less suave than you’d been the last night he’d seen you, yet significantly suaver than anything he could ever muster up. Reluctantly, you’d shifted your weight off one foot onto the other before you’d looked at him with a small, but still oh-so-winning smile and told him: “I’ve brought you something, too.”

Jayce had found the amorphous mass of words to have tangled and turned even stickier, just like his throat, tight with surprise, anticipation and anxiety.

You’d brought him something?

You’d thought of him, in the weeks you’d spent apart, you’d picked something out for him, you’d–

You’d likely done this just to get him into your bed. Well, sleeping bag, probably, but there had been no other plausible explanation, had there? You’d never seemed the kind of person to pay mind to such… sentimental matters, unless there was something to gain.

If Caitlyn would’ve been there with him, she would’ve told him to give you your gear and leave. And perhaps he should’ve brought her, to keep him from doing something as stupid as accepting a gift from an outlaw, but he hadn’t. 

“Here,” you’d encouraged, stepping closer and holding it out to him. “I hope it suits you just as much as I thought it would.”

And how could he have said no to that?

Jayce’s hands had almost been shaking when he’d taken it from you, driven only by willful ignorance and curiosity as he slowly cupped his hands around the fabric you’d dropped in them, swallowing though his mouth had gone dry the moment the weight pressed against his palms.

He’d risked a glance back at you and had found not malicious expectancy, didn’t find you looking at him like he was prey about to fall into your trap, but with genuine excitement. 

So Jayce had pushed the foreboding feelings to the back of his head and then pushed the fabric in his hands apart with his thumbs to peek at what was wrapped within.

A pendant. Dark golden gemstone, no bigger than the tip of his index, wrapped in delicate wire to hang onto a leather cord just long enough to reach around his neck.

“The woman that sold me this,” you’d told him, “didn’t speak a word of English. But I saw this pretty little thing with the rest of her wares, I knew I had to have it. All golden and pretty, it looked just like your eyes shining by the campfire that last night I saw you.  And when I pointed at it and asked what it was, do you know what she told me?”

Jayce had taken it from the fabric to inspect it in a shaky hand, half-confident in what he could still remember from all the books on gemstones he’d consumed in his youth.

And it had looked… like citrine, most likely. It was common enough to be readily available and not cost too much, and he knew for a fact it couldn’t be amber after he pressed his fingernail against it and found it to be rigid.

Jayce’s heart plunged all the way into his stomach then bounced back up into his throat with excitement when he realized — could this be Topaz?

No. Considering its price range, absolutely not. It was not cheap or even readily available gemstone, especially not in a shade this dark. It had to be citrine. Most definitely.

“Topacio,” you’d answered, like you’d followed every step of his thought process and were eager to turn it all belly-up with just one word.

“I, wh— Topaz?” Jayce had blurted, feeling very much like you’d cracked his skull open and peeked at his thoughts. The prospect of having been gifted something so rare and expensive — it… well, he had liked to consider himself a man above materialism, to believe himself not so easily swayed by an expensive little gift, because it wasn’t like he lacked the money to buy himself pretty gemstones, it was just…

Different when you did it. 

“What do you think?”

He hadn’t dared saying it, but he’d remembered that first night at the saloon, when you’d set your eyes on him and figured out everything he needed and wanted to hear with just one glance. 

Didn’t dare telling you it had felt like you’d been there, when his mother had put her knobby, laundry-soap-cracked hands over his and thunked the heavy mineralogy book shut and told him that there were other things, more important things, that needed his focus. That this useless passion was not something he could indulge in right now, with his father gone so soon. Not with so many new responsibilities waiting to lay heavy on the shoulders of the new man of the house.

He hadn’t let go right away. Had still fallen asleep on his books after a day spent shoveling shit and herding cattle and unearthing vegetables and shooting practice. But it had become increasingly obvious over the years that all his gemstones and books best belonged under his bed in his childhood home. 

You’d found and pulled them out — though metaphorically — without the slightest idea they even existed in the first place.

Jayce had been downright terrified of how little you knew about him, and yet how much you’d already seemed to understand.

“I can’t accept this,” he’d said, though he wanted nothing more than to stroke his thumb over the uneven ridges of the gemstone in his hand over and over until they were etched into his fingertips. “I— this must’ve cost quite a pretty penny.”

You’d winked.

“Not nearly as pretty as you.” Hadn’t given him the chance to insist before you changed the subject. “‘S your stallion’s name, too, ain’t it?”

And Jayce hadn’t quite fathomed that such a detail mattered to you enough to not only recall, but bring up. 

“Yes,” Jayce had confirmed, overwhelmed with a passion he’d long buried and forgotten because it just wasn’t something he could afford to indulge in, now reawakened by you. “I didn’t… Didn’t think you’d remember. It’s been a few weeks.” 

You’d offered up a smile unlike your usual ones. It was warmer, more genuine, but didn’t lack an ounce of your usual smugness. 

“I did say I would be missing you fondly, didn’t I?” 

You say it like it’s plain and simple. Like Jayce could’ve easily anticipated you buying this for him, regardless of the price — because topaz is by miles pricier than citrine — all because it had reminded you of his eyes. 

Over the past weeks, he’d held and stared at and touched each and every curved letter in the note you’d left him, like it meant touching you, seeing you. But he’d be lying if he said it hadn’t crossed his mind that you might’ve lied when you said you would be missing him just to get another fuck out of him when you’d be returning.

(He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about letting you.)

“I just–” You’d shrugged, suddenly stumbling in the sweet talk that used to come so enviously easily to you. Not that it had been obvious. It never was, not when it came to you; he’d suspected you’d long outgrown anything more insecure than faltering in your words. “I knew it had to be yours. Do you like it?”

To have you looking for reassurance had made his face run hot and his chest run hotter. His throat had started to close and — oh, those were tears clouding his vision, of course they were. He’d rushed to push them down with a thorough exhale, but of course his throat had started whistling with its growing tightness. Perfect.

“Yes,” Jayce had spoken through the tears he hadn’t yet managed to swallow wholly. “Yes. Will— help me put it on?”

“Of course.”

You’d rushed to, literally. Had closed what little space there was between the two of you in the blink of an eye, hands coming up to tie both strings behind his neck, forearms resting against his shoulders in something that desperately wanted to be a hug, but didn’t dare to.

And you’d been quick to finish, too. Nimble hands had tied a sturdy knot before you’d retreated, hands lingering on his shoulders, running down his arms, barely ghosting over his palms before you stepped back. 

The gemstone had laid heavy and cold against his collarbone, like a promise. 

“I can’t thank you enough,” Jayce had said. “It’s— it’s wonderful.”

Possibly the most wonderful gift he��d ever gotten. 

And how much sadder that thought would’ve sounded had it left the confines of his brain. The most meaningful gift he’d ever received — coming from an outlaw who’d fucked and tricked him not once but twice. Laughable, pathetic, but most of all simply sad.

He’d spent the rest of the night worrying when you’d demand something in return for your gift, because he’d been well aware keeping and returning a tent could not compare to a gemstone so pricey. 

But you hadn’t. You’d left it at that. Had spent the rest of the night simply talking to him, telling him of little things that had happened to you in your weeks away, and he’d clung onto every word, had offered some of his own, which had been revered equally. 

That was that. You hadn’t kissed him, hadn’t touched more than what you had when you’d put the necklace on him. Once dawn had broken through the clouds and he’d caught himself yawning through his sentences, you’d dragged yourself up to your feet. And you’d told him that you’d best get going, you had places to be by next week, places he hadn’t dared asking about. If this was going to be the last time he’d see you, Jayce had figured you might as well linger in his memory fondly, and that he’d rather not worry about who you’d rob and where you’d strike next. 

This — you bathed in the early morning light — would have been a much nicer way to remember you. The outlaw who fucked him once, fooled him twice, and treated him fairly, gently at the very end in spite of it all.

But you’d said, right after you’d swung your leg over your stallion’s back and Jayce had started staring at the tips of his boots to hide budding tears, that you would be passing through Piltover again in a few weeks' time. Had told him you’d be here, shall he want to see you.

And then you’d left.

He’d spent the whole night and the following week holding back tears whenever he’d remembered the pendant – which had been often, given how unfamiliar it felt, hanging above his collarbone, steadily soaking up his body’s ecstatic heat. A new part of him now, a constant reminder of you.

And that you’d be coming back.

By the third time you’d stopped by to see him – and Jayce had started suspecting you were taking unnecessary detours specifically to pass through Piltover – you’d started sending letters. Small things – just a few affectionate words, pressed leaves or petals (or sea glass, when you’d spent some weeks in Bilgewater). But you hadn’t kissed him for months on end. Not once in all the times you’d come to visit him.

He’d had to ask for it. 

Even though your nose had been nudging his after he’d leaned in with laughter from a particularly corny joke of yours, Jayce had to close his eyes to gather his courage and swallow his beating heart before he could get out the words, just a mere whisper: “Please kiss me.”

They’d weighed so heavy for a moment; he’d wondered why he’d had to ask in the first place, when you’d been so brazen when you first met him. Did you not want to anymore, or had you just been waiting for him to ask?

You’d confirmed the latter when you’d dived into it like you’d restrained yourself for months. You’d licked into his mouth, starved, had sucked on his lips and charted out the taste and texture of his tongue like it was something to be savored. Like you’d been aching to rediscover it – rediscover him, but do it properly this time.

Which you had.

One thing had lead to another, touches had lingered, kisses had dipped lower, teeth had scraped sensitive skin, lips had followed suit to soothe. And your lips always soothed, always known where to latch on and how to coax him right where you wanted him – panting and spent and boneless and wrung absolutely dry–

Jayce startles when Cassandra clears her throat and leans in her seat with a knowing smile.

“Well, if it does get… serious, I simply hope that special someone won’t distract you from your duties – you’re still in your prime, you know. Retiring now would be a shame.” She smiles over the rim of her wine glass. 

Jayce can only nod, although the seed has been planted. 

“It would be,” he agrees, but the thought of settling down with you lingers in his mind from then on, and grows stronger every time he wakes up next to you, knowing you will have to bid your goodbyes come noon.

It’s during one of those late mornings after a long night spent with you that it dawns on him. He wants to taste your kiss – still bitter from sleep and coffee – every single morning for the rest of his life. He wants to hold you every night before he drifts off to sleep, wants to cook every meal with two people in mind, and wants your scents to mingle until they become indistinguishable, present in every room of the house, unidentifiable to either of you.

He wants to spend his life with you.

And he’s downright terrified of asking for that.

–

“This better be worth it, darlin’.”

“Have I ever let you down before?” He says it in a light tone, like he knows the answer to it without needing to hear it, and yet he finds his own shoulders slouching and gaze dropping to the tips of his boots and the tree roots below them.

It’s a question he’d rather not know the genuine answer to. It worries him more than he’d like to admit that one day, without warning, you will stop returning to Piltover. Stop replying to his letters. That he won’t even know where to send them, because you never stay in one place for too long, and you always have to tell him which post office to send them to before you go, or in a letter you send his way first.

He shouldn’t be having those thoughts, not when you’ve been accommodating him these past months, with the number of your visits steadily increasing, and your letters becoming more frequent. There is nothing to worry about, there should be nothing to worry about, especially not right now.

He chooses to draw in a steadying breath and chase those thoughts from his mind, which is made easy when you catch up to him and brush your gloved hand against his.

“Never,” you reply. He wants to believe that. 

“Besides,” Jayce changes the subject, “if you could endure the ride from Bandle City all the way back here, you can endure a short hike, can’t you?”

“How short are we talkin’?” you ask. Your pinky threads around his index, and when you lean in, your voice is warm, leaves him shivering with the first brush of your cheek against his own. Your breath is humid and warm at his earlobe and your voice reverberates in the nerves of his spine, leaving his brain a pliant mush. “Because I’ve got something of my own planned for you, too.”

You’re sporting a grin that’s practically dripping with desire to consume when you pull away; reminiscent, although only briefly, of the first night you’d spent together all those months ago. He knows you’re not that same person anymore – not towards him, at least. He doesn’t know how you make a living outside of Piltover these days, and frankly he’d rather not think about it. 

It shouldn’t matter. You’re— you’re not harming him, or the Kirammans, or anyone else in Piltover, for that matter, and that’s as far as his duty extends anyway. It should be easy to ignore that part of you when you’re here, with him. What you do and who you are outside of your relationship should be packed into a box and shoved away like his embarrassing rock collection from when he was fourteen. Out of sight, out of mind.

Except for when he’s listening to the sounds of the night and staring at the high ceiling of his room in the Kiramman estate or at the inside of his tent and wondering whose blood you might have on your hands at that moment. When he kisses and sucks on the fingers of those same hands, when he shivers at their touch, Jayce wonders how much of that blood has rubbed off on him.

And yet all that blood becomes trivial when your hand, metaphorically bloodied as it is, squeezes his own, and he finds himself quite content with the warmth. 

“Oh, ain’t this the place that pretty little Pilt offshoot flows through?” You ask, focused little frown on your face. Once Jayce manages to stop listening to his beating heart (and self-doubt), he realizes you must have picked up on the faint sound of the river nearby.

“It is,” and it hits him now that there’s a good chance his surprise might fall flat if— “you’ve been here before?”

You shake your head. Thank god.

“Much further upstream,” you clarify, “though it’s perfect. We’ll need to take a quick dip tonight.”

“We will?” Jayce questions, head tilting with confusion. Oh, god, he doesn’t— sure, he’s been working up a slight sweat riding out and about through the morning and noon heat, sure, but he bathed just last night, it can’t be that bad.

“To properly enjoy my present for you, we’ll probably have to, yes.”

Oh.

Which opens up about another ten questions and piques his curiosity with a confusing mix of anxiety and anticipation. Your expression is as impenetrably smug as always; a practiced poker face he’s more than envious of. Jayce settles for finding out the answers later, and gives your hand a squeeze instead.

You reply with a squeeze of your own, walking with him in silence until you stop in your tracks, eyes wide, and he realizes that his plan for this rendezvous did not fail him.

You’re bolting like a freshly shot bullet, hand gripping his wrist tight as you drag him with you until he regains his footing and keeps pace.

You don’t stop until you make it to the edge of the forest, field of bluebells is laid out in front of you, as far as the eye can see, blue as the late afternoon sky, dense enough to blur the line of the horizon and make it seem like there is no limit between the very ground you’re standing on and the vastness above. Just as he remembers.

Now, for the second doubt he’d had about tonight — will it disappoint?

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” You ask, and for a moment he tries to sniff out any kind of concealed let-down between your words, although he knows he’s vastly untrained for that. 

“Yeah,” he says, cautious. Careful. Resists the urge to ask if you like it here, or if you think it’s boring. In retrospect, he should’ve come up with something better. Maybe he should’ve brought his six-string to play you a song, or his gramophone to teach you another high society dance for you to make fun of, maybe he should’ve just bit the bullet and rented a boat for a ride down Pilt.

In retrospect, the idea of taking you — seasoned outlaw, well-traveled saddle tramp — on a picnic to a flower field is just bound to fall flat.

You notice. Jayce is not one for monosyllabic replies unless he’s anxious.

“It’s gorgeous, sweetheart,” you assure, because you know he has an affinity for that word by now. 

Oh. Maybe he’d been too quick to jump to conclusions.

The tension fades from his shoulders, and Jayce gently twists his wrist out of your grip, until his hand slides into yours and you intertwine your fingers. You crouch down to pick one of the blue flowers at your feet, inspecting it for a moment, before your face turns smug. Not the teasing kind; rather the kind that seeks to diffuse and reassure through humor. “Aw, did you bring me here to make me flip bluebells with you?”

“I— uh… no.” Jayce frowns, though his curiosity is piqued. “Why would we do that?”

“Oh, come on, there ain’t no way you didn’t do that with other kids way back when you was little.”

Jayce resists the urge to tell you that there were not a lot of friends to speak of, in his childhood  (or even now, really. It’s not like that department has seen a vast improvement once he’s hit adulthood, all things considered). An unfortunate combination between the remoteness of his childhood home and the simple fact that he’d just been awkward as hell.

Still is, Jayce realizes when you stare at him expectantly, a little confused with his prolonged silence.

“Uh, show me,” he says instead.

“Well,” you begin, plucking a bluebell off the stem of the flower, “it’s simple. Not so different from  loves me, loves me not, really. You just flip a bluebell inside out, like so. If it don’t rip, it’s supposed to mean you’ll, uh, what was it? Win the one you love over, I believe.”

Jayce huffs as he glances down at the flipped flower in your hands, which you proudly present a moment later. 

He can’t hold back a smile before he looks back up to you, and recognizes the hunger you’re watching him with instantly. Ravenous, just waiting for approval. An approval he’s itching to give. “I’d say that’s gone pretty well.” 

You slide your index under his chin as you lean in, and tuck what remains of the flower behind his ear with the other. Your lips brush his own with your words, dripping down his spine and clinging at his lower belly sweet and warm like molten honey. 

“I’d say so, too.”

—

“Lower your head for me.”

Jayce eagerly complies, closes his eyes while you wrap the string of braided flowers around the crown of his head, and find that it’s still too short.

“One more should do it,” you mumble. “Maybe two.” 

“Take your time, we’ve got plenty of it.” And maybe that’s only half the truth; the other being the fact that there is something he just loves about watching you work — intense, focused, silent. To emphasize his point, he leans back on his elbows, briefly regretful about all the flowers he’s crushed under his forearms. When you don’t offer up a reply, he glances back to you, questioning. “Don’t we?” 

There’s been times when you’d promised you’d stay, only to leave after one night or less. And it’s been months since that’s last happened, sure, but he can’t help the uncertainty.

“We do. But you’d wish I wouldn’t take my time if you knew what I had in store for you.” You glance up at him from under the rim of your hat, wink at him so briefly he wonders if he’s imagined it, before you switch your focus back to your work in progress.

Tease.

Curious, Jayce turns to flop on his stomach to be granted a better glimpse of your expression, but finds it as mischievously indecipherable as ever. So he does what he’s realized he does best: glances up at you with a convincing little smile and makes sure to bat his lashes the way you like.

“Can I at least get a little hint?”

Your mean smile answers before you do.

“Nah. Patience, sweetheart,” you coo, in all your teasing hypocrisy. Your hand finds the back of his head a moment later, scratches gently at his nape before easing his head to rest on your thigh. And Jayce can’t find it in him to refute, not when he gets to rub his clean shaven cheek against the coarse material of your jeans and bask in your scent like a cat in the afternoon sun. He’s quite content to simply watch your hands work away and your frown return when the flowers don’t cooperate with what you have in mind.

Your handiwork is sloppy, stems braided together messily, but when you flip the chain right side up, there’s just the smallest hint at the mess below. The twined, tangled stems hide well enough  behind the blue flowers. Not that it matters — he’d wear it even if it were horrendously ugly, just because you’d made it. Because you’d told him less than ten minutes ago that there was something about his skin and his eyes that simply harmonized with the vivid blue you’d tucked behind his ear, and you’d asked him if he knew how to make a flower crown, and if he could show you.

Jayce knows that sort of… tenderness doesn’t come easily to you. So he treasures it when it does come his way —  even like this, in crumbs. He clings to them, because without those, he has nothing of substance.

You’re yet to say those three words he’s all too eager to blurt with every opportunity and has to bite down on before they leave his mouth. He’s said them before, three times. Right after you’d made him cum for the first time since… well, since things had become serious. Another time, in a letter. And a third, with his head on your lap while you’d hummed songs from your home region to him. 

You’d never said it back. Had always rushed to distract him with a kiss or saccharine words, neither as sweet as reciprocation, and he’d made do with just that at the time. 

When you flip the crown to check the other side, one of the blooms drops to your lap, so close to Jayce’s face he sees it doubled. He carefully plucks it off your jeans with two fingers, gives his gentlest attempt at flipping over.

And tries to ignore how it rips.

Swallowing an unwanted and unwarranted knot in his throat, he flicks it into the grass.

Whatever. Whatever.

“This should do.” Jayce turns to look your way instead of depressively where the ripped bloom disappeared in a sea of blue and green. “Sit up?”

Frankly, he’d rather keep seeking comfort in the warmth positively radiating off of you, but above all that, Jayce wants to please. So he raises his head up off your lap, but doesn’t turn over to sit, just leans on his elbows, pressing his hips into the ground to raise his head to a comfortable height for you.

You’re quick to tie the flower crown around his head securely. Before Jayce gets to ask how it looks, he finds two hands cupping his face on either side, raising it until your lips brush his. 

He hums with delight at the taste of your tongue, but doesn’t get the chance to revel in how you suckle at his bottom lip, because you move on dizzyingly fast. To the corner of lips, to the apple of his cheek, to his closed eyelids, and finally, to the spot between his brows.

“Gorgeous,” you whisper, and he finds himself pressing his face into your hands, into your lips, desperate for more. More warmth, more praise, more love. The next of your words are squished against his forehead, but not lost on him regardless. “My pretty flower princess.”

Choking on his own heart and surprise, he pulls back just enough to glance up at you. The word’s still ringing in his head, new and strange, and before he knows it, he’s blurting it out as if to taste it.

“Princess?” Jayce’s voice pitches up embarrassingly high with uncertainty at the end of his question. There’s the impulse to hide his blush beneath your palms, still cradling his cheeks, but judging by how your thumb rubs at them suddenly, you’ve picked up on the heat already.

“Yeah.” You laugh is the kind that diffuses and soothes, and when you ask, you do so genuinely: “Too much?” 

And Jayce finds he feels the opposite. 

“I wouldn’t… mind hearing it again.”

Your expression goes from uncertain to devious stomach-flippingly fast. “You will,” you promise, sealing it with one final kiss that lingers and nibbles at his bottom lip. Not enough to leave him dazed, more than enough to leave him wanting. “I believe my surprise might help with that.”

Your surprise. He’d pushed that notion to the back of his head to avoid dying of curiosity, but it becomes irresistible when you dangle it in front of him like that.

“How?”

The look you shoot him tells him he’ll have to bite through a lot more impatience before he gets the sweet relief of knowledge.

At this rate, he’s going to explode. God, he’s going to explode.

“We should bathe first,” you decide, hands running down his face, his neck, stopping at his shoulders, where they give a pat-and-squeeze at his deltoid. Though Jayce still burns with curiosity, there’s no part of him that minds stepping into a cold river with you and being forced to rub against you for warmth while you wash his back. “Did you bring your city boy soap, or are we using mine today?”

Jayce frowns. “What’s wrong with my lavender soap?”

“Nothing wrong with it, city boy.”

—

He hasn’t got the slightest clue how, but Jayce’s skin is set on fire with anticipation in spite of being dripping goddamn wet while he watches you sort through your satchel. 

How you can make even that painfully erotic (though, you are naked and sopping wet yourself, so there’s a definitive advantage) is beyond him, but he’s not about to complain if he gets to watch your hardened nipples and perfect ass and what’s left of the water you’d left minutes ago still dripping down between your muscles. He’s holding his hat atop his slowly hardening cock — which might’ve gone harder even sooner, if it hadn’t been for the positively freezing river and the chilly summer night wind.

Waiting, he shifts his weight from one foot on the other, making an awkward step to the side when his balls stick to the inside of his left thigh. Which is the wrong move, apparently, because next thing he knows there’s the edge of a rock under his foot, making his entire frame wobble with it. He winces, barely remembering to not drop the hat, then looks your way to check if you’ve noticed – and you have. You look at him briefly, questioningly, but he waves you off, so you continue pawing through your bag, and he goes back to waiting dutifully.

“Come here.” Your voice is overflowing with barely masked excitement as you’re slowly pulling something out of your bag. Jayce nearly makes a run for it.

Whatever surprise you’ve brought him will not disappoint — not only because he will love almost anything you’d give him, but because you have him figured out more thoroughly than he has himself figured out. He trusts your choice, whatever it is.

Even if it’s…

“Leather… straps?”

You nod, glance up at him through your wet lashes, before you take them — four leather hoops bound together by one triangular piece, adorned with some kind of… ring. 

Jayce feels stupid for briefly assuming it might be some sort of strange belt.

“Not just any kind of straps,” you say, spreading the hoops with your hands. Almost giddy with excitement, you demonstratively hold his… gift over your hips. Visual aid aside, he still cannot, for the life of him, figure out what it’s supposed to be.

“These,” you say, pointing at the first set of leather straps, “would go over here,” your index traces above the notch of your pelvic bone. “And these, down here,” you point at the second set, then around your thighs, under the swell of your ass. 

And Jayce still has no idea what the hell that’s supposed to do. But his cock twitches with interest, so he can’t help but feel like he’ll definitely be into whatever that is.

“And, uh, what…” He clears his throat, desperately trying to understand what this sort of…harness is supposed to even do. The center piece seems like it would settle right above his cock, which, frankly, seems uncomfortable. 

Maybe that’s the point?

Or maybe he’s just being a sad, horny pervert because this is the first time you’ve come to see him this month, and just minutes ago, your naked bodies were smushed against each other while he tried to not be desperate and focus on lathering himself in soap, had tried to focus on not grinding himself off on your thigh like a stupid mutt when your fingers had dipped between his asscheeks and rubbed at his hole—

Holy shit.

As if you’d figured out that the cogs in his head had finally, finally turned enough to generate one coherent thought, you grin up at him, set the leather straps down, before you pick up a piece of linen that is obviously wrapped around… something. 

“They hold this in place.” You’re eager when you unwrap it, stepping closer to sate his curiosity as he leans in to peek at what’s in your hands.

Wood, most certainly, but it’s shaped… like a cock. Has roughly the size of it, too, while it seems to be smooth and lacquered, flaring at the base. 

A glance back to the harness — to the circle on the main piece, to the smaller, daintier straps he realizes are obviously meant to secure the circle into place, it… it has to be—

“Go ahead,” you encourage, holding out the leather for him to take. 

So he does, gingerly lifts it from your hands, and finds that the leather is soft, malleable, but undoubtedly sturdy — of very good quality. The smaller loops that hold the circle flush to the triangular plate of leather come undone with a little bit of fidgeting, and Jayce looks to the cock one last time, to confirm his burning suspicion (and hopes). The ring was definitely made to hold the cock in place. But what for? He has— it’s not like he has any need to wear this. Sure, he knows his size is not the most impressive there is, but, surely, this isn’t… it has to be… for you.

“Will you… be the one wearing this?”

You nod.

“Unless there’s anyone else you’d like to fuck you full of wooden dick, yes.”

Jayce is not proud of how he chokes on his spit. 

Or of how you have to pat the space between his shoulder blades while he tries to calm himself down and straighten himself back up, before he realizes it’s quite difficult to hold your gaze now.

“How did you know?”

Your smile grows wide now, cracks into a self-satisfied little grin. Damn you. Goddamn you; you have him figured out down to his barest, most depraved thoughts. Have had him figured out since you’d first set eyes on him, in that saloon.

“When… I was touching you one night a few weeks ago, you said you would like it if I… were the one who fucked you. You told me you wanted me to take you. Do you remember?”

There’s nobody on this big, green earth who gets him the way you do. Jayce wonders if he’s dreaming, because there’s no— 

There’s no way a thing like this even exists. This has to be some conjuring up of his imagination, a product of his naked, shameful, deluded desire. There just isn’t any way that someone not only made a cock you could fuck him with, but that you’d found and bought it.

You grab his shaky hand, bring it up next to the one that’s still clutching the linen around the wooden cock. “This — along with that harness I just showed you — would let me do that. If you still wanted me to.”

If he still wanted to? Like he hadn’t fantasized about… your fingers massaging at his insides, about you doing to him what only he can do to you, like he hadn’t spent months suppressing those thoughts and only had one slip through, once. Like he hadn’t rushed to sweep it under a rug of shame, even then, when you’d looked at him with invigorated interest. And yet you’d caught onto it, you’d found and bought this thing which he had never fathomed could even exist. And you’re asking him if he wants to, like the answer isn’t fucking obvious.

“Would you?” You ask again, in a rare moment of uncertainty caused by his prolonged, panicked, delighted, disbelieving silence. “Want me to? We don’t have to, Jayce, if it’s not—”

“I would— yes.” He realizes he sounds uncertain. Which he’s— he’s not. He wants this, god, he still has to wrap his head around the fact that it’s even possible. But there is not a chance he’s turning down you fucking him. “I would love… for you to be inside me. I’ve wanted you to for… so long, now.” He says, glancing down at the wooden cock with reluctant eyes.

He lifts his hand, but he lacks the courage to just… reach out and take it. So his hand awkwardly hovers between your chests, fingers clenching and unclenching like he’s preparing himself to touch the hot end of a branding iron and not a piece of wood. 

“Go on,” you encourage, and he realizes there is no challenge to brave through. But there are discoveries to be made, and he does not shy away from those.

Slowly, he wraps his hand around the linen, fingers dipping the give of it until they prod at the hardness of the wood.

It’s not heavy. And when he strokes his thumb over the lacquered part that peeks out from the fabric, he realizes it’s smooth to the touch in a silky way, that it doesn't catch on his skin. Like it was made to feel pleasant — which it is.

“It’s just— god. How did you even— where did you find— how—“

You laugh, but it’s not mocking. It’s delighted, the sweet and light kind of giggle that used to be rare from you, but which has grown so abundant over these past few months that it makes his heart full.

“I’m glad you like it.” You say, lean in to kiss his cheek, and along with his brain, his heart seems to burst, too. “It was a bit of a hassle to find a well-made one. I wanted something proper. Well-sanded wood, quality lacquer, comfortable leather. I did have to do some shopping around, but…” You shrug like you’re stating a simple truth. “Only the best for you.”

How is he supposed to not swoon at that? How is he supposed to not sit in a puddle of his own overjoyed tears while he sobs about how much he loves you?

“Here,” you thankfully interrupt his thoughts — and his oncoming tears. 

Jayce gulps when you slide the wood out of the linen, realizing that it’s— well, it’s not necessarily an intimidating size in and of itself, but… it is intimidating for a first attempt.

You must’ve caught on, because your hand is at the hollow of his cheek, stroking slowly, gently.

“I remember you told me you hadn’t done this before,” you don’t say it like it’s a fact or an observation, but rather, reassurance. “Way back then, when you’d mentioned wanting me to fuck you that night. Have you, since then?”

Jayce shakes his head, shaken with the question. He wonders how you ask it so easily, like he’d let just about anyone touch him the way you do.

“You know there’s no one else I’d—“

“I know,” you interrupt. “I meant, by yourself. Have you… fingered yourself, since then?”

Ah. Of course that’s what you’d meant.

Jayce swallows thickly. “I wanted to,” he admits. “Often. But I— I always wanted to let you… do it to me, first.”

The way you stop breathing briefly, then rush to fill your lungs with a shaky inhale through your nose tells him all he needs to know.

“I would love to be the first one to do this to you,” you say, and though your words are paced, your voice comes out dry, elated. “Even if it’s just with my fingers. We don’t have to use the cock tonight.”

And he’s not sure what to say, because on one hand, he wants you to fuck him into the dirt right here and now, but on the other, he’d be lying if he said the prospect of it didn’t scare him a bit.

“We should start slow, work you up to it,” you add, seemingly having read his mind, “until you feel ready — be that tonight or in a month.”

“Okay,” he says, sucking in a tense breath. That sounds good. Just a taste for now, more to look forward to later. He’s sold. Has been already, if he’s honest, but your reassurance seals the deal. “Okay. I’d like that.”

“Now?”

“Now. Please.”

You grin, sliding a hand over the back of his head to pull him close, closer than before, to press an ecstatic kiss at the corner of his lips. “God, you’re more excited for this than I’d ever dreamt you’d be. Fucking perfect, that’s what you are.”

Jayce bites back on the urge to say he loves you — he doesn’t want to risk ruining anything with it, not right now. It’d be stupid to spoil this moment, just because he can’t swallow his feelings and because you’re probably going to resort to some method of not reciprocating them the way he wants them to be reciprocated. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. 

He resorts to letting you settle him down on the bedroll, and briefly prays it won’t rain tonight. Neither of you have bothered setting up a tent.

Your other hand slides up his leg, to the middle of his thigh, where it pushes gently. Though he hasn’t felt this tense since the first time you’d stripped him naked all those months ago, it comes more easily to follow your commands, silent as they are now.

You must’ve figured your words would be much better spent on coos of reassurance or smug purrs; and you’d been right. Right now, though, there is no room for the latter, and you can tell. He knows, which is why he lets his legs fall open for you to crawl between them, even though he’s so nervous he can feel his heart pounding all the way up to the bottom of his Adam’s apple with every anxious beat.

“Easy, princess,” you repeat the nickname half-jokingly; though it does tremendous things for his confidence. And for his dick. “I just wanna make you feel good.”

It’s not that Jayce needs reminding that the person settling between his legs and petting his thighs is the very same one who hugs him in cold rivers and braids him flower crowns. But it still helps.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, burying his nose in your hair and inhaling the familiar scent of you. Jayce only realizes his legs have fallen open further apart when you give a little laugh. He doesn’t get to bask in it, not when you muffle it against the side of his neck, where his pulse hammers hard, quick, and icy-hot. 

You put your weight into seaming your body against his, focusing not on his pulsing half-hard cock tucked between the two of you, but on covering as much of his skin with your own as your anatomy allows. Jayce lets you use your weight to guide him until he’s pressed into the bedroll, delightfully crushed between you and the ground below.

At your mercy is a wonderful place to be.

“That's it, lay all the way back for me,” you breathe into the skin below his jaw. Jayce suppresses a shiver, badly. The hand you dont brace beside his head for support comes brushing at his naked back, like you’re trying to soothe him, while your tongue does the very opposite — drawing circles into his pulse point that shoot down his spine like electricity.

Your hand slips further down his spine to cup at his ass, then under his thigh, the callused skin of your fingers catching against his own, dry with the thoroughness of the soap you’d used. And Jayce realizes there might be a problem. A big one.

“I, uh—“ he swallows nervously, squirms under your weight and hand. “There’s no— don’t you, I mean, shouldn’t we use… oil?”

He can feel your grin at his neck, sharp teeth pricking his pulse point.

“Did you really think I’d flip Runeterra upside down to find a cock to fuck you with but forget to bring oil, Jayce?” 

Oh.

Jayce can’t help a smile, winding one thick arm around your shoulders. He doesn’t know why he’s ever doubted you. You, always so thoughtful of his wants, always so thorough when it comes to him, to his pleasure, so gentle and passionate and perfect—

He can’t help it, that you pull away so fast it leaves him dazed and confused and empty, and that his knee jerk reaction is to whine about it. But once Jayce cracks his eyes open and sees you’ve tucked your hand into your satchel with a searching expression, he understands.

You notice, though, how he suffers for the momentary loss.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, even though it’s obvious. And it helps, even though it’s obvious. 

You uncork the bottle of oil differently than how you uncork bottles of moonshine. You don’t thumb at the wood til it’s sent flying; you pluck at it carefully, set it somewhere to the side, before you position your hand above his cock and pour. 

Whatever oil comes dripping off your palm trickles down onto his dick, and though he twitches for it and for more, you choose not to comment on it. He has to resist grabbing his cock and fucking into his fist just from this – from being ignored. Something, Jayce thinks, is most definitely wrong with him.

You set the bottle somewhere near where you’d put the cork, then slide your dry hand under his knee, easing it up onto your shoulder. Pliant, soft, Jayce simply lets you, his breath catching with excitement.

He’s never felt more spread open and vulnerable than now, and mind you, you’ve spread his legs quite a few times now. He’s felt the cold air, has felt your tongue lapping at his taint, has felt your hands, squeezing at his thighs and forcing them apart after he’d come once already and was writhing with the post orgasm pleasure-pain. But knowing what’s to come now — it’s different, new, has him tensing. 

You notice.

“I’m just gonna touch you for now.” Your voice comes out less methodical, more soft when you speak again, breath tickling the curls on his inner thigh. A kind kiss pressed to the meat of it follows your reassurance, reinforces it enough for Jayce to rush to obey your following command. “Relax. You know I’d never hurt you, sweetheart.”

Attempting to sync his breath to your own, Jayce finds himself at a lack of air when your fingers prod at his taint, smearing it with oil. You work off the pleasurable and familiar, circling his perineum in a way that draws out sparks — the kind that burns into an easy, comfortable heat in his stomach. Jayce finds his hips tilting up to meet more of your touch. 

“There you are, good boy, so eager for me,” you breathe. Thumb still rubbing circles at his taint, your other slick fingers dip lower, lower, until Jayce chokes on his own breath because he has to focus on not kicking out the leg on your shoulder with surprise. 

“Hey, look at me,” you breathe, not a command but a gentle instruction. He does, and you meet his gaze with reverence, the kind that tells him he’s in good hands — in your hands. “Keep looking. I want to see your face, sweetheart, want to hear you when I touch you.”

Jayce nods, hands clutching at the bedroll while your fingers slide back down again. You rub in slow, careful circles at his rim, cooing with delight when he makes a barely-contained little noise. He’s fantasized about your touch… there. Had maybe let one of his hands drift there, sometimes, while he rubbed himself into completion, but he’d lacked the courage to… well, to do what you’re about to do.

“How does it feel?” You ask.

“Mm-hm,” he stammers stupidly. “Yes, good. Mh-more, please.”

The heel of your palm grinds against his taint while your middle and index finger rub at his slick hole, and Jayce’s hips tilt for it. Whatever touching he’d attempted there, he’d done shyly, just barely, hadn’t– hadn’t focused on it like you do now, and it’s different. It’s not the thing he does to himself when he’s teetering over the edge to push himself into completion, not the usual spark of electric warmth up his spine, no, it’s ebbing with tension in his tummy, the unfamiliar but pleasant kind that has him squeezing his eyes shut and muscles clenching. Your expression shifts from focus to interest, and your smile is wicked with your new discovery. “Aw, you like that, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” he replies, “feels— s-so good when you touch me, baby.”

And to encourage you to do so, Jayce grabs the leg that isn’t on your shoulder and hugs it tight against his chest.

The way your breath catches, your eyes go wide, fixated on him – you look like you’re about to faint. Only for a second, because the next, you’re moaning and biting his thigh hard enough to leave the red imprints of your teeth, all the way back to your molars, like you want to devour him. When you’re pulling away from his saliva-matted fuzzy thighs with a string of spit, you lick your lips hungrily.

“God, you’re so perfect, princess,” you groan, “so delicate and pretty, presenting your hole like you’re begging me to fuckin’… ruin you.”

It makes him shiver, your words reverberate up his spine, in his brain, then shoot all the way down to his cock again. Jayce feels himself dripping, doesn’t even need to look down at himself to feel the tingle of a drop of precum dripping off his cockhead and onto his tummy.

You do, though, mesmerized and utterly fucking ravenous.

“You’ve been aching to hear that, haven’t you?”

Damn you for reading him so well. For knowing exactly what he needs to be told.

“Yes. Please do it, please fuck me… full,” he says, like his body hasn’t been screaming it at you. Almost as if to bask in his words, in how he yearns for you, you stop, breathing him in, before you speak.

“I will, baby, you’re so fucking leaky for it, leaky for me.” Your fingers don't grant reprieve, tips circling at his hole and palm rubbing at his perineum. “I can’t believe this is all it takes. What’ll you do when I finally fuck you open on my fingers, sweetheart? Are you gonna cum then and there?”

As you say it, your index dips just so, tip hooking into his hole to rub at the inside of his rim, massaging him open. He finds his body acting on its own accord, pulsing around what little you’ve fed into him as if to say more, please. You don’t give it to him yet.

Jayce sucks in a shallow breath that comes out shaky, slow. 

“I can feel you clenching,” you say, and it’s obvious how your gentleness is slipping, replaced with ecstatic obsession, “like it’s trying to pull my fingers inside, holy fuck. Tell me when I can fill you up—”

“More oil,” Jayce rasps, even though he doesn’t necessarily feel the need for it; just in case. As much as he wants this, he also just wants to avoid any unnecessary pain – at least for now. You comply, gently pulling at his rim with your fingertip, and pour the oil straight into him and—

He finds himself clenching his eyes shut and wincing, trying not to focus on how weird it feels, cold and slippery and just seeping up into what feels like his guts.

Definitely not his favorite part.

Your finger retracts, slick hand resting on his asscheek and squeezing absentmindedly. Worried, almost, you focus on his face, and Jayce swears he can feel himself melting under the attention a little bit. “Everythin’ alright?”

“Yeah. Just felt a little weird — uh, cold. Sorry. You can— you can go ahead.”

He must not have sounded very convincing, because your frown deepens. “We can always stop for a bit — or altogether. Jayce, you know that.”

And he does, by now, truly, but— “That’s the last thing I wanna do right now.”

You go silent for a moment, awe-struck.

Then there’s a near painful stretch at the back of his thighs as you lean over him aggressively, pressing both his knees to his pecs. You brace one hand beside his head on the ground, while the other, now tucked between your bodies, still works his slick rim slowly, gently.

Your lips press at his collarbone feverishly, your breath comes out hot against his neck, like he’s struck something inside of you that made your restraint crack. You inhale at his neck, shivering with a moan that makes him feel much like a delightful meal about to be devoured.

“I want to make you cum until you go dry,” your voice comes out wrecked, breathless, “until there’s nothing you can give me anymore.”

Jayce feels his entire spine rattle with your words. All he manages is a punched out whine, and he wishes he could hug you, if it weren’t for his thighs being in the way. He settles for clenching around your fingertip, tilting his hips into your palm, swallowing a mouthful of saliva before he speaks, heated and raspy.

“Please, please.” 

“Tell me,” you say, voice shaky with adoration and excitement, “if it hurts, or you need me to go slower, or— anything. Anything.”

And, well, since you said anything…

“Kiss me.”

It’s near terrifying, how voraciously you dive for it, not quite hitting the mark with your rabid enthusiasm; kissing and licking at the corner of his lips before Jayce turns his head to accommodate you. You take his demand seriously, deliver what you’ve denied so far. And you deliver it tenfold, tongue tracing over his teeth, sucking at his lips, before Jayce remembers he can do more than just breathlessly sit and take what you’re giving and smooths his tongue against yours, earning himself a salacious moan.

“Mmf, you taste so good,” you mumble against his lips, and though he angles his head to chase another kiss, you’re long gone, nipping at his jaw and neck while you talk. “Can’t wait to open you up on both ends, stuff you… stuff you fuckin’ full of everything I can give you. Fingers, tongue, cock, anything, sweetheart, anything you want.”

Jayce briefly wonders what the fuck is wrong with him when he finds himself wanting that — being full of you — along with being suffocated by you. He wants you everywhere; inside, outside, taking, stifling, enveloping, swallowing. You, all of you—

“Need all of it,” he says, because he’s afraid of even trying to verbalize the rest of his blurry, foggy thoughts.

“Yeah?” Your index and middle finger both dip into just his rim — he finds himself clenching around the intrusion, shivering when you scissor them apart and tug him open. “Now?”

He nods. Begs for it, too.

“Okay,” you say, almost as if to calm yourself down, too. You breathe in, deep, before your weight lifts off him, and he finds you sitting back on your knees, both his thighs resting on either of your shoulders loosely, boneless. Jayce tries not to be disappointed with the loss of contact, with how cold and plain the air he breathes in suddenly feels without your scent thickening in every inhale, without you pressed against his body.

The other hand, the one you’d used to brace yourself against the ground before, now grabs a firm handful of his asscheek and spreads. 

The way you positively purr with delight has him squirming.

“Oh, look at you, so pink and pretty,” you croon, eyes lidded and fixated on where his rim flutters around your warm fingers. “I’m gonna start pushing in, yeah? If it hurts, tell me.”

You don’t start until Jayce gives an affirmative hum, and even then, it takes him a second to realize that you’ve started pushing in. Your fingers don’t relent in massaging at his walls, and it’s enjoyable enough to be distracting until they must have sunk in down to maybe the first half.

Although you go slow, painstakingly slow, the intrusion is palpable now. Jayce finds himself clenching around it, gripping your slick fingers, while he comes to grips with the new sensation of something inside him. He knows it’s small, realistically, it is just two fingers, after all, but he can’t shake the feeling of it feeling like it’s much deeper, almost touching at the back of his bellybutton, which is– it’s stupid. He’s just being paranoid, he knows he is.

That’s when it pinches, just barely, an amount of pain that Jayce would shrug off, normally, but now it’s… inside him and it’s different and he finds himself wanting to close his legs and tilting his hips away and—

“Hey, hey, breathe.” You inhale audibly, demonstratively, and Jayce instinctively follows you, your pace, slow and deep. That helps; the thoroughness of the inhale, the fact that all he has to do is focus on your lead and let his lungs go full, then empty. The pain subsides, but the unfamiliar sensation of having something inside him doesn’t, and he hates that it overpowers the pleasure he’d so been looking forward to. “Good,” you assure. “Don’t forget to breathe, sweetheart. How does it feel?”

You haven’t pushed in all the way, Jayce can tell, because your palm hasn’t settled against his taint yet. Your fingers don’t move — not into him, not out of him, not apart. You seem content to just wait, and when Jayce opens his eyes to glance your way, he finds you looking at his face already. Focused, but gentle, present, and waiting for an answer. 

“Weird. Uuh, not… not the bad kind, but,” he swallows, uncertain, shrugs in the most unsuccessful attempt at nonchalance he’s managed in a long time. “It’s just new.”

“That’s alright, sweetheart.” Soft lips brush at the inside of his thigh with a kiss. “Take your time, ‘n let me know when I can move.”

“Okay.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and you occupy it by petting at his fuzzy stomach with your free hand, nuzzling his thighs with delighted little hums.

He wishes there could be… more of that. More of you, touching him all over, than just inside him.

“I would—“ he swallows, looking away once he realizes he’s already started saying what’s on his mind. But you cock your head attentively, squeeze at the pudge right above his hips as if to say I’m listening. So he continues. “I would like it if you could… hold me.”

You go silent for a beat, gears visibly turning in your head while you chew on the inside of your cheek. It’s obvious when you do figure out how you want to go about it, and he already burns with the anticipation for more contact, more of you.

“We can arrange that. I’m gonna pull out, okay?” Your warning is appreciated, though Jayce is not exactly sure how to prepare for it — when you do it feels weird, and he doesn’t know how to keep himself from squeezing your fingers on their entire way out. It’s a sensation that tingles all the way up his body, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but intense and strange enough to leave him squirmy.

Too caught up in the unfamiliarity of it, Jayce doesn’t even notice you settle down next to him, not until your chest is pressed firmly to his shoulder, and your arm slips under the back of his neck, cradling his head.

Fingernails scratch at his scalp, and Jayce can’t do much but watch through dreamy, lidded eyes as you lean over to kiss his hairline. 

He’s never felt safer than now. More cherished than now.

“Better, princess?” Your words come out smushed against his hair. Jayce nods gently, as to not knock his skull against your teeth, and suddenly finds himself smiling so hard it hurts his cheeks a little.

“Yes,” he sighs, tucking his face against your neck. There you are. If he could’ve smelled your warmth and scent throughout all of this, he doubts he would’ve needed a reminder to breathe. “Thank you.”

“I’ve got you.” Your still slick hand trails down between his legs again, doesn’t stop to rub at his half-hard cock (though he kind of wishes you would) and instead, prods at his hole once again, rubbing at the rim. “I’m gonna put them back in, okay?”

“Please.”

It’s different this time. The entry is marginally smoother, and when your finger slips back in, just one, then two, the positioning is… better. Jayce can’t figure out what exactly it is that does it for him this time — your warmth, the kisses you press to the side of his face, the heel of your palm pressing to his taint, or your fingers slowly sinking into him, waiting, before you start to draw them out. But you don’t do it all the way this time, you do it purposefully, searchingly, almost. They curl towards his tummy, fingerpads pressing, rubbing, circling—

“Ah-hnn!”

With the first brush of your fingers at some certain spot he had no idea even existed, sparks erupt, and though Jayce doesn’t know where, they prickle all the way across his entire body, licking with heat at his spine and brainstem and stomach and holy fucking shit, you’re doing it again. And again and again and again and you want him gone, you must want him broken and useless and dead if you keep going. How his body is capable of producing, and of holding so, so much… pleasure is beyond him. Beyond his brain, rendered a mess of goo and broken synapses.

“Gh-god, fuck, ah-mmh,” he mewls, mouth falling open the next second. You don’t miss a beat, you never do, licking at the inside of his open mouth while his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

“There it is,” you purr, like you aren’t making his brain melt and disintegrate and break and boil just with— with the steady, unrelenting circling of your fingertips. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” you say, and he believes you. You’ve got him, you always have, always so considerate, everything he’s ever wanted and yearned for in this world is you, and you’re inside him, and it’s too much. “Just let me make you feel good.”

It’s going to break him. He’s sure of it now, the closer you get to rubbing him into completion, and he’s getting closer, closer steadily, he thinks it’ll be the last thing he’ll be feeling. Exploding ecstasy, so vehement that all that’s left of him will be shaky, soulless, brainless, whimpering, useless. He’s terrified and he wants it so, so very badly.

“Don’t— don’t stop,” he sobs, “please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, sweetheart,” you promise, and you could tell him anything right now in that saccharine tone and he’d believe it, he’d take it as gospel. Jayce realizes what he’s saying only after he’s been repeating it over and over and over for god knows how long and holding onto you while he mutters it like they’re the only two words he knows.

Thank you.

Except that they’re not, there’s two more, but by some miracle he has the presence of mind not to blurt them out now. 

“You’re gorgeous, princess,” you whisper, kissing at his forehead, then at his shut eyelids once he can’t be bothered to keep them open anymore. The hand that had been scratching at his scalp comes up to cradle his head, keeps him still enough to kiss further — down the bridge of his nose, over his cupid’s bow, before you smooth your mouth over his and swallow his moans like they’re feeding you. Like you want to keep each and every one of them somewhere inside your lungs to cherish forever.

When you pull back, it’s with a wet, pleasant sound. You lick your lips like you’ve savored each and every one of his mewls, before you lean in close to his ear, and shush him.

The mere sound of it floods him with warmth and goosebumps; you’re shushing him. You hold him like he’s fragile, Jayce clings to you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered — and you are, you are, and he loves you. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

“I— hah, nnnh… I love—“

You lips are back on his in an instant, eating up the only words he wishes you wouldn’t, or at least wishes you could spit them back into his mouth once you’re done chewing on them, wishes you would accept them. 

You don’t; but when you pull back and look at him so reverently, Jayce settles for it. It’s enough, it’s entirely enough that you’re doing all this for him, that you’re spoiling him like this, that you’re holding him and kissing him and sucking the tear that pearls down his cheek between your lips. That you’re taking care of him.

It’s enough.

It has to be enough.

“Almost there, sweetheart, ain’t you?”

Jayce nods, wants to tell you so, but finds that he’s entirely incapable of it without moaning like a well-fucked whore.

“I can tell.” Meaningfully, you glance down at his tummy, where he realizes his red, swollen cock has drooled, holy fuck, what looks like an entire puddle of something clearer, runnier than his own cum into the groove of his bellybutton. “Look at you, getting so wet and messy for me.”

Something about the mere fact that his body had reacted like this for you, that you’ve made him leaky, it does something tremendous for his fucked-out brain. It flips a switch that has his dick visibly convulsing, feeling like it’s going to explode with an orgasm that’s built up so high but can’t, won’t tip over in spite of how dangerously it teeters.

The ridge at the underside of his cockhead aches for the slightest touch. Just a brush of something, anything, please, would probably do him in.

But Jayce is nothing, if not obedient, even as his fists clench into the meat of his thighs.

“C-can I— let me touch m-my cock— please. Please.”

You hum, as if deep in thought, though Jayce knows the answer without even looking at you, just based on the mean and playful tone of your sound. You decide, cruelly: “No.”

Jayce gasps for breath, just about ready to debase himself any way you’d want him to, just to reach that unattainable, terrifying high. 

“I want you to cum from my fingers inside you, sweetheart.” But you’re gentle. And you love him, you have to, because your tone softens, spoken encouragingly right against his temple, and his skull rattles with your words in spite of their gentleness. “Just a little longer. Try for me, focus on my fingers, focus on how it feels.” 

Your hand stops thrusting for a moment, simply rubs at where his prostate swells. “Clench,” you instruct, so he does.

Your grin nips at the corner of his lips while you practically purr at him with delight. “Yeah, that’s exactly it, so warm and soft, pulling me in… you needed this, didn’t you?” Jayce nods, desperately, and thank god, you’re pounding his prostate again, pounding it so hard it fucks all the way up into his emtpy, dumb brain. “Needed to be fucked full. ‘M gonna give you… gonna give you everything you can take, gonna use my fingers and then my cock on you until you shoot nothin’ but blanks for me.” 

Jayce’s abdomen goes concave at the very thought of that — of being wrung so dry there’s nothing in him left, of being ruined so thoroughly. Ruined by you.

The pressure behind his cock becomes unbearable; he fears, briefly, that he’s gonna explode with it. But there’s no place for fear when you start fucking him with your fingers in earnest now, pummeling that spot inside with every push, palm settling against his slick taint with wet slaps, over and over and over. All there’s left — all his body can even carry anymore — is pure fucking extasy. The overwhelming kind that renders him so stupid he can’t even moan anymore, simply whining out little ah’s with every hit at his prostate.

It starts at the edges, in spite of what he’s used to. His orgasm was something localized, heat gathered in his tummy, his cock, his balls, but this is something else. It’s not in waves — it’s one big wave, growing, fizzling at his extremities, inching closer and closer to his core, at first just warmth, then heat, then pressure. It overpowers his eardrums with the rush of his own blood, makes the backs of his eyes spot with white even though they’re clenched shut, drowns out the world until there’s nothing left in it but you. 

You, kissing him senseless, you, fucking him into oblivion with nothing but your fingers, you, cradling his head. He buries his face against you, doesn’t manage to find a spot that allows it, that isn’t in that awkward, hard place between your collarbone, chest and shoulder, but then your hand is at his face, coaxing him away, and you’re cooing at him.

“No, no, don’t hide from me.” Your breath brushes warm and humid against his cupid’s bow, the tip of your nose grazes his own, your forehead settled against his. “I wanna see you. Let me see you.”

It’s with great difficulty that Jayce manages to open his eyes, and once they’re open that he finds himself gazing deep into your eyes, sharing your mouthful, tasting your breath. You half purr, half gasp with just the sight of him, and it makes his heart full.

“There you are.” Reverent, your palm cups his cheek like you’re holding the only thing that’s ever mattered — him.  Tears glisten at your waterline before you swallow them back down, as if the sight of him is too precious to be soiled with their fog. “There you are, oh, gorgeous. Look at me, wanna see you when you cum, Jayce.”

“Y-yes,” he gasps, trying to lick at your lips through his moans, succeeding at just grazing the tip of his tongue over the sharp edge of your upper teeth. Your pace increases, knocks against his prostate with every shove of your wrist. Jayce fights against letting his lashes flutter or his eyes roll back, stares at you with determination while he writhes and mewls and takes everything you’re giving him. “Yes, I— ah, I will, baby, I will, I promise.”

You’ve always loved him, from the moment you’d first set your eyes on him and decided you were going to devour him, you’ve loved him with every letter, loved him with every flower you’d braided into his long forgotten crown, loved him with every push and pull of pleasure you’d spoiled him with. You’re holding and fucking and kissing and cherishing him, you love him, he knows it, in how your lips ghost over his cheeks and in how you whisper lovesick nothings to him, you love him, you love him, you love him. 

Just the thought of it, reinforced by the way you hold him, the way you make his body bend to your will like he’s glowing hot glass molding into whatever you want, hot iron being hammered into what you need, he’s always been yours, just waiting to he claimed, remade into what he was meant to be.

He loves you.

The sound he makes is embarrassingly high, feminine almost, though he finds himself quite content with it, rather than ashamed. You kiss the front of his throat like you’re thankful for it.

“I think I’m-mh…”

“I know, baby boy, I know.” And he believes you. How could anyone else know how ruined he is, except for the one person tearing him apart. He feels himself go taut like a bowstring, feels the muscles at the root of his cock flex and twitch until they’re painfully rigid. “Let go.”

So he does.

And it’s like diving underwater. There’s not much he remembers — except for the pleasure that swallows him and seems to chew through him like he’s nothing but meat, that spits him out reborn. He remembers the pressure, blooming behind his eyelids, exploding in the rest of him, remembers the soreness in his throat, but doesn’t remember his sounds, doesn’t remember how he ends up holding onto your arm for dear life, doesn’t remember when hot tears started spilling down his cheeks.

He remembers your chuckle — the first thing he hears once his muscles go limp and useless and his hearing returns. He swallows a mouthful of thick saliva, but breathing doesn’t feel any easier. Jayce wonders if it ever will again, when the reminder of how good it felt to go breathless for you is soaked in his lungs now. Why would he ever want to breathe comfortably anymore, when he could let you wring it out of him instead until he’s left gasping for it?

“Oh, look at you.” Jayce finds that’s the last thing he wants to do, when he could be looking at you instead. He inhales another cold lungful, forcing his eyes open even though they’re heavier than anything he’s had to carry in a long time. “My pretty boy. The prettiest.”

He squeezes your hand, wants to say something, anything, but with his brain drained of thoughts and his vocal chords used and raw like his prostate, there’s little he can say. 

“That was so good, Jayce, so very good. I knew you could cum for me, but… this is more than I could have asked for.” Your thumb (of the hand you’d used to support his head) comes to swipe at his chin. “You messy little thing,” you joke, bringing your finger, now slick, up to your lips to suck it clean. “Shot your load all the way up to here. Not to mention you’ve been leaking for me all over yourself, you’re unbelievable.”

So that’s where his brain went.

“Wha… huh, I…I did?”

In disbelief, he looks down at himself, and can’t believe the sight below. Cum streaks his collarbone, his chest, pools of it across his stomach, matted into his dark body hair. The first thing — the only thing — he can do is laugh in disbelief.

“I’ve never… not this much,” he confesses with a raspy voice, “not even in two loads. Jesus. Jesus Christ.”

“Tends to happen with this kind of… stimulation,” you assure, drinking in the sight of him before you continue. “God, you look good enough to eat, all covered in it.” You gently knock your fingers against his prostate, and his entire being both sings and recoils with it, and you’re gigglimg when he writhes and shivers and his cock drools out even more, somehow. It feels good just as much as it feels ruining. Jayce considers asking for more before you say, “I’m gonna take ‘em out, alright?”

He’s not so sure how to feel about the prospect of emptiness, now that he’s realized just how good being full can be. But he doesn’t get to worry about it long. Slow, reverent, you pull out your fingers, ghost them up his perineum, smearing his cum over himself, watching the swirls of your own fingers raptly. “Beautiful. If I could keep you like this forever, all to myself, I would.”

He shivers with your words. “I’d let you.”

“I know,” you purr, licking up his torso, lapping up his cum. He watches you intently, mouth already watering at the prospect of what he already knows you’ll do – either spit his spend into his mouth, or feed it to him with a kiss.

It’s with delight that he accepts the latter as you brace one hand beside his head, licking at the seam of his lips just halfway before he eagerly parts them, and lets you lick into his mouth with a groan. One wobbly, orgasm-numb arm raises to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close like he needs it. And he does, especially now, after the new experience, Jayce finds comfort in the familiar. He lets you massage your tongue against his until he’s somehow even more lightheaded, drunk off the lack of oxygen, and follows your kiss even as you pull back.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper against his mouth, cupping at his cheek to ease him away.

Still, you press one last peck to his lips before you stand, taking a rag with you, trotting down to the riverside. Jayce is content to simply watch you crouch beside the water, smile when he sees you wobbling and wincing when you step on the gravel at the riverside. 

And it’s only now that your warmth is gone that Jayce realizes just how cold the night is, now that you’re not whispering to him when he realizes how loud the crickets are. And it’s now that you’re not at his side when he realizes how drained he is, in every sense of the word. It’s the good kind of exhausted, though. The kind that’ll knock him out quick and easy the moment you get back beside him.

He closes his eyes and savors it, boneless and happy. The crickets chirping away, the rush of the river, the gravel under your steps, getting louder, closer.

“This’ll be a little cold,” you warn once you’ve reached his side, kneeling beside him on the bedroll. It doesn’t really help – Jayce still flinches and sucks in a breath with the first contact, feels all the content exhaustion practically jump out of his muscles.

“Aw, sorry, princess.” You grin as you run the rag down his heated, sticky tits, down his tummy. “Let me kiss it better?”

Jayce hums, and, a moment’s consideration later, pushes himself up on his elbows and presents himself in the hopes of egging you on. With a laugh, he wiggles his eyebrows at you. The laugh he earns is priceless. “If you insist.”

You spend minutes like that. Indulging in the cold wetness of his now clean skin, the fluttering of his muscles under your lips. Sucking at licking at his nipples, lavishing his tummy and sensitive hips with attention until you’ve had your fill.

And then you settle beside him, brushing your hand through his damp hair, over the scar at his cheekbone, as if he himself is something utterly delectable to look at, to touch, to love.

“You were wonderful,” you tell him. “I wish you could’ve seen yourself when you came, sweetheart. So bright, I coulda sworn the stars paled for you.”

Jayce doesn’t want to choke on fresh tears. He doesn’t want to be too much, doesn’t want to bury his head in your chest and let you coo at him, doesn’t want to say he loves you. But he aches with it, it’s bubbling out of him.

“Oh, don’t cry, Jayce.”

He sobs, and the only thing he can think of doing is hiding his face against the heat of your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says. And he is — sorry for the tears he’s wiping on your skin, sorry for the way he’s reacting to your words, sorry for what he’s about to say. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You sweet thing. Don’t be.” Your hand cups at the back of his head, pulls him impossibly closer, while you kiss the top of his head. “There is nothing in this world you oughta be sorry for.”

He wants to believe you’ve read his mind. Wants to believe you know what he means, because you always do, you know him so intimately he sometimes wonder if you don’t crack his skull open to peek inside every so often. And maybe you mean it, maybe you do mean it, that he shouldn’t be sorry he loves you so vehemently when you’re not there yet. 

Maybe now you will be.

“I love you,” he mutters, a fourth in all these months he’s been seeing you, but no less truthful than the three previous times. You kiss at the top of his head again, squeeze him tight. 

But you’re wordless.

Fuck, you’re wordless, and he’s been too much again, when things had been just right so shortly before.

All in due time, he rationalizes, swallowing his disappointment like bitter medicine. You’ve waited on him, too, in other ways. Waited for him to decide when and if you would ever get to kiss or touch him like this again, waited for him to grow comfortable with you, waited until your touch was associated with comfort just as much as it was with excitement. Maybe it was only fair that he had to do some waiting now, too, Jayce thinks while he lets you lick between his lips and brush his tongue with your own.

He pulls back soon enough, doesn’t quite feel like letting you kiss him after… that.

“Do you, um,” he swallows his disappointment, tries to mimic your characteristic, gentle smoothness. “Do you want me to do something for you, too?”

You shake your head. “Trust me, sweetheart, getting to be the first one to fuck your ass is enough to think about for the rest of my days. I could die happily now, but—“ you glance to where the wooden cock and strap lay, forgotten for tonight, “we have more to look forward to. Don’t we?”

And that’s enough to stifle the pit in his chest, for now. Jayce grins, pulls you into another kiss, one that he eases out of once his breath comes out short, letting his head fall against your chest. You’re right. You do. And you’re not going anywhere.

“How much longer will you be staying?” He asks, trying to make a mental estimate of how much… getting used to this it’d take him until you can actually use the cock you’ve bought.

The way you go tense, not visibly, but palpably, your chest going rigid with a held breath under his cheek—

Oh, no.

Your silence answers for you. He can hear it reverberate in your chest, how you swallow then sigh. He knows what you’re going to say before you even say it — but that doesn’t make it sting any less.

“I’ll have to leave by Wednesday evening. I’m sorry, sweetheart, I am.” You sigh. He thinks you’re going to leave it at that — it’s a silent pact by now, the fact that you don’t talk about your jobs, the fact that he doesn’t talk about his.

It’s obvious that you hesitate, that you dread the silence. You play with his hair nervously now, focused on distracting yourself rather than making it pleasurable for him, unlike the way you usually touch him. Jayce listens to your heartbeat, how it speeds up, before he loses track of it as your voice covers it up so suddenly he almost startles.

“There’s this job — a big one, in Ionia. I have to make it.” 

Jayce lifts his head from the safety of your arms, looks to your face, but finds nothing other than the warm underside of your jaw. You’re looking away, he feels your throat bob under his cheekbone when you swallow.

He’s not sure he wants to know, but… you’re letting him in, and that, in and of itself, means more to him than anything else, so he hums, to let you know he’s listening. Even though he wishes he wouldn’t.

You find the resolve to continue.

“If I pull it off right — and I should, because the people I’m working with, they know what they’re doing, I know them, and it’s… it’ll be huge. Jayce, I could live comfortably for months.”

The way you talk about it so longingly, it emboldens him. Stupidly. He’d decided, somewhere in the back of his head, that he wouldn’t bring it up, not tonight. But he can’t, not that he now knows you want it. That you long for the idea of comfort, of not having to spend your days worrying about where you’ll sleep next, what you’ll eat. 

Because he can change that for you. He wants to change that for you — and the only missing piece is you.

“I… have a better idea.” His voice is already weak and hushed; the fact that it’s muffled against your skin doesn’t help. Your arms around him slacken just enough so you can pull away, and look at him now, properly. 

God, he’s doing this. 

Alright. He’s doing this.

“A way you could live comfortably… for years,” Jayce continues. “For as long as you want to.”

First, you laugh in disbelief. A short little snort, like you think he’s made an attempt at a bad joke, but then you glance down at him, intrigued and confused all at once.

“What?”

Oh, god. No backing out now.

As he looks back at you, Jayce wonders, briefly, if what he’s going to ask you has even crossed your mind.

He swallows thickly, can’t stomach to look you in the eye when he blurts out the rest of it. “Before I became a bounty hunter, my parents… we had a cattle farm — a big ranch, it’s not… it’s not too far from here. Just a little further downstream. It’s abandoned now.”

Your brows shoot up, clearly surprised with the implication, before they furrow, confused. You’re either hiding from his implication because it scares you, or because you want to hear him say it. “What about it?”

You want to hear it.

Fine. He can say it.

He’s going to say it. If there’s even a chance at a future with you, even if it involves a gamble (and Jayce has always fucking sucked at poker, if he’s being honest), he’s going all in.

“I’ve been thinking that we could…” Jayce’s voice falters, but he presses on, even though it’s shaking, barely above a whisper. “Over the years I’ve worked for the Kirammans as a bodyguard, and for all the bounties I’ve brought in at the sheriff’s, I’ve saved up… enough to sustain two people for… a decade, probably. Possibly even more, maybe even… the rest of our lives, if I go back to herding cattle, if we… if we grow our own produce. The land there is… very fertile, perfect for it, and it’s desolate, really, we could… if you wanted to…”

You’re silent for a beat. He internally begs for a yes, a nod, even a stinging little ‘I’ll think about it’. Anything but a no.

“What?”

There’s fear, actual, genuine fear that flashes in your eyes before you regain yourself. You’ve even pulled away as he’d been saying it, the hand at the back of his head had fallen to his shoulder, and there’s a slight tremor to it now.

And then you laugh, the meek and nervous kind that he’s only ever really heard from himself, never from you.

“Jayce, I…”

You don’t even look him in the eye.

It’s the desperate thing to do, he knows it is, but he reaches out for your face, slides his index under your chin, as if to beg, please look at me. You grab his wrist before he gets to.

“It’s very remote,” he tries again, like that’s going to change anything, “if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s the last place anyone would expect you to be.”

You shake your head. And he forces your grip, until he does get to touch your face and cup your cheek, but you’re still not looking at him. You’re still not fucking looking at him.

“You’d be… you’d be safe.” His thumb rubs at the dip of your cheekbone as if to remind you, I love you, as if to beg you to give him a chance. Let him make it good for you, please. “I’d make sure of it. You wouldn’t have to run anymore. I could— take care of you. Of us. You could take care of me, we could, we could…”

But it’s all for nothing when you stare off into the distance, cold and wordless and Jayce can feel his windpipe being tied into a deft knot that’s not coming undone anytime soon. 

“Please.” He hates how desperate he sounds, how downright fucking pathetic — begging to be loved. Begging you to love him, or to let yourself be loved at the very least. If you won’t give him what he needs, let him at least give you what he’s overflowing with so abundantly.

It feels like fucking forever until you speak again. 

“I can’t do that.”  Your thumb rubs a circle at his arm, like that’s going to dampen the blow of some of the most hurtful words he’s had to hear. “I’m not made for this kind of life. You know that.”

“I still thought you might try. I thought I was— I thought we were—” He sighs again, but it sounds significantly less like a sigh and more like a whimper as it passes through the knot in his throat and past his quivering vocal chords. 

Jayce swallows back tears that still overflow in spite of it all. He looks down as he lets his hand fall from your cheek and instead wipes at the annoying tear that’s rolling down his face.

He understands, then.

You’ve been avoiding his love down for months, and he’d been a fucking idiot to think that would change now. He’d been a fucking idiot to think you would change now, just because he’d let you be the first person to finger him open and just because you’d talked sweet about it.

Had you even meant it?

“Jayce,” you say, in a way that’s both soft — laden with pity, and chastising all at once, like it’s his fault for thinking you’d even want this. “It’s not about trying. You can’t just ask me to leave everything I know behind for, for—“

“For me?”

Jayce freezes with his own question, and realizes that, above all else, he’s scared of your answer.

You don’t deny it. That hurts more than anything you could’ve hurled at him. He’s not enough for you, and you didn’t even need to say it to make it ring in his head loud and clear.

“Jayce, that’s not what this is about…” You try.

Not what this is about his ass. He’s not stupid.

You don’t want him. Not like this. You want him when he’s pliant and stupid and horny, you don’t want him when he’s thinking of more. You don’t want him when he’s in love. You don’t want him when he lays his heart and the rest of what he has at your feet.

“Forget it,” he spits. “It was such a stupid thing to ask. Such a stupid thing to think you’d even want to.”

It aches how it makes him so briefly hopeful, how it’s almost a balm on his pain and still making it hurt tenfold, when your eyes go wide, flashing with the very real fear of losing him.

You do care about him, in some halfhearted way. But just not enough, Jayce realizes. He’d been clinging to just the crumbs of it, the taste of your affection, hoping there’d be more, someday, some way, somehow. But there never was. Never would be.

Are you even capable of something as devoted, as genuine as loving? Were you ever?

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you try to rectify.

He never thought you’d had the audacity to lie to his face again. But you did.

“It’s just that you don’t love me.” He bites back, hoping so very desperately for a rebuttal. A genuine, tear filled but oh, Jayce, I do, I love you, I could just never work up the courage to tell you, but there’s none of that. There’s none of that. Never was. Everything he’s ever thought there was had been in his head. He’d been aching to be loved so bad he’d conjured it up in his imagination. God, he’s pathetic.

“Jayce, I— When have I said I don’t love you?”

“When have you ever said you do?”

And you can’t argue with that. You can’t say it, not even now, when he looks at you for a beat, clinging to some deluded hope.

Of course you don’t.

God, he’s fucking stupid. 

Jayce bows his head, standing abruptly. He kicks pebbles into the campfire, doesn’t look at you even when you call out his name. He picks up his clothes, slipping on his pants, not bothering to button his shirt, slapping on his hat.

You call out his name a few times. He doesn’t register it. Doesn’t want to. The same way you don’t want him, not when he asks for more than sex and a few letters every month, not when he asks for more. He struggles to breathe through his tears without wheezing, and he manages, he manages even as he shoves his feet into his boots, he managed like a fucking champ even while he turns to leave.

But when you call him sweetheart, it bounces around in his brain like a punch straight to the eye socket.

Jayce looks to you for a moment, searching, through the warm fog of his tears, for your face, searching for some truth on it. 

Had you ever even meant it, calling him that? Had he ever even been something as precious as a sweetheart to you? Or had it just been another way to keep him under your boot, buttered up with just enough affection to keep him eager and dumb? Just another way to get in his pants?

“Sweetheart,” you try again, because of course you’ve realized it’s worked in making him stall, making him falter, worked in getting through to him, “please.”

Fucking liar.

“Don’t call me that.” He wishes there were less hurt and more venom in his voice. But how could there be anything but hurt as he’s trying to hide his hot, bitter tears under the brim of his hat? When the campfire smoke stings in his eyes, his lungs, or is it his chest aching with the realization that all the love he’d basked in had been his depraved delusion and a part of your toying with him concocted into something dizzying enough to make him think he’d been loved.

God, he’s fucking stupid.

The entirety of his body recoils as you approach, like a spooked animal looking for a way out. And he nearly does it, nearly makes a run for the trees, but then your fingers are wrapping around his wrist, holding firm.

How dare you?

“Please, don’t hide from me. Look at me, Jayce, let me see you. Talk to me.” 

How fucking dare you use the echo of the words he’d swallowed up like honey mere minutes ago? It’s a potent weapon, because it nearly has him sobbing then and there, to think where you’d had him less than an hour ago, all vulnerable and eager and yours. And now you have the gall to act like you’re in any position to tell him what to do. Like you have the right to touch him.

His wrist seems to burn, just the way it had the morning after he’d rubbed it raw against the rope in the bed you’d shared, where you’d left him robbed of dignity, robbed of affection. 

Just like now.

You’d never changed your intentions. You’d just changed your methods.

“Don’t touch me.” And oh, there it is, the venom that’s been boiling surfacing. It feels so satisfying in some wrong, horrid way, amidst all of the pain, to spit it out at you. He rips his hand from your grasp. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

This is the first time it truly gets to you, the realty of the situation. You’d been scared, yes, but now, the corners of your mouth twitch downward, and that squint — he knows that squint. Not on you, but on himself, the attempt to hold back tears. 

“You’re being unfair.”

You’ve never sounded this meek.

It doesn’t suit you.

“I’m being unfair?” Jayce’s blood boils with the accusation. “I’m being unfair, for letting you get away scot free after everything you did, for loving you, for offering you a home, for offering to give up everything so we could— sure, I’m being unfair.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” You don’t scream it, you don’t grit it out through tears. You say it like an afterthought, like it doesn’t even matter anymore.

And you’re right, it doesn’t matter anymore.

He would have given you everything. All you had to do was take it, and you couldn’t even do that. It makes him want to scream.

You don’t say anything. Not that Jayce thinks there even would be anything on this green earth you could say that could make him change his mind now. There’s nothing else for him here. Never was, except for a waste of his love, his time, his hope.

He swallows his heartful of tears when he looks you dead in the eye.

“Don’t write me any letters.” He decides, and he means it. The tone he takes on is familiar, he’s used it countless of times on his bounties, but never on you, and that alone makes it fit like a glove that’s one size too small and won’t bend around the fingers. But he uses it regardless, heavyhandedly, hoping it fucking hurts you just as much as it hurts him. “If you come back to Piltover, I am having you arrested, one way or another.”

He hates that he doesn’t even believe himself. But he turns away, because even though leaving you behind is the last thing he wants to do, it’s the one thing he owes himself. 

[dreadfutures]

apropos of nothing here's something I wrote for an original fiction project aka first original IP thing I've written in. years.

"Tane," she says, and his hands fall still on his sword.

In the polished steel, she looks down at him with brown eyes so warm they would surely catch fire at the slightest prompting. There is a brittleness there, too; he can feel how she has hollowed herself, carved up her insides to muster the emotion with which she spoke his name.

His name. A most precious secret, and, he now knows, a potentially deadly one. She could bind him with that name or command him to demonstrate his godhood on her enemies.

Enemies she does not have.

He does not worry that she will use his name for such profane acts, nor does he worry much that through her his name will fall into the wrong hands. Even now, he does not doubt that he was right to tell her his truest name, though she has no way of knowing the weight it carries.

To her, Tane is her assigned protector, a fixture of her life furnished by the Temple just as much as the table she studies at or the bed she sleeps in. Tane is an unknowable, alien presence in her mind; he can feel the shape of himself in her thoughts and in her heart, and it is like a gift to him--this precious knowledge she has, that no other god or creature ever before possessed.

The god disguised as a boy turns his face up to the Kindled Girl as the flower does to the sun. He does not smile, but he blinks slowly, basking in her attention. Whatever has preoccupied her so much to bring her out of bed at this hour is serious, but nevertheless it has brought her to him, and he is more pleased than he wanted to admit to have her by his side.

"What stirs you, Ember?" he asks.

She looks away briefly, her nose scrunching with annoyance, then looks back at him with a blush rising to her fair cheeks. "I cannot stop thinking of those stories," she says. "Of what happens to all the maidens like me."

His interest mounts. "The stories from other lands?"

She nods and fists her hands in her nightgown. Her lip is clutched a moment between her teeth, and that moment lasts longer in his memory than it should. He settles his eyes responsibility on hers instead.

"I know they are allegories, but. I need to know," she says hesitantly. "Why...that? How many layers of allegory are there to their fates, before it is simply a fact of the world that we--that they--are simply devices to be used and acted upon?"

"Do you feel so disenfranchised?" he asks. He is curious to know if it is empathy for the girls in his stories that has moved her, or if she has awakened to the prison walls around her at last. The Greeks, the Romans, and countles others held their women in two opposing hands: the sacred, the sullied--all sacrificed, just as she would be one day. He told her the stories because they were entertaining, and she had asked for stories of adventure in the world outside. But he had also told her the stories because she was in so many of them.

She is still chewing her lip. It is chapped, snd soon it will bleed if she does not relent.

"How could I be?" she shrugs, snd suddenly turns her face away. "No cruel god will come to ravish me out of some jealousy for my lover's heroism and glory. And I know that any would-be conquerer would hardly make it past your blade long enough to lay eyes upon me, let alone touch me. I will never have a lover, and I will be the one to deliver myself to the pyre...as you know."

Her voice has quickened, a tinge of sarcasm bleeding in as she tried to mask her embarrassment, and Tane wonders for a moment if the security he has given her by being her Protector has actually strengtheners the walls of her cage rather than poke holes in it.

But then she glances at him, and there is s strange kind of panic in her eye.

"What I mean to ask... What happens to them... The act itself. The way they are claimed...? It is something many people do, and the need has driven men to madness and women to desiring despair, but..." She is wringing her dress now in both hands, wrinkling it irreparably; her cheeks are so red he could nearly feel their heat. "Is it always a violent conquest? A domination and an acquiescence?" She seems to grow more troubled with each spoken word, and she grimaces, bracing herself for her final question. "Does the world think claiming a woman brings them power, and status, and...? Is that all my life would be good for, if it were not my fate to burn?"

To burn, to bring power and status to a greedy soul? Tane thought wryly. But he also thought, with a sudden blinding warmth: Your life will be good for much more than that, when it is directed by your own hand. It is a promise burning in me, and one day it shall warm you.

Instead, Tane says, gently: "Oh, Ember."

He lays his sword aside and stands, and it saddens him some how she deflates in his presence.

"To some, to a not insignificant number of men, the answer is yes," he says, still gentle in voice and mein. "But 'tis not always so. The act itself can bring true pleasure between kind partners, giving to one another as united equals. Love is as real a force in the world outside as it is here."

Her lips part, breathless as his words envelop her. When she looks up at him, there is both fear and awe in her gaze.

"Is... is there love here?" she asks hoarsely, a voice barely above a whisper.

The question grieves him more than he expected it to, but he immediately knows the answer. God he may be, but to a god, knowing the depths of his unfathomable self is a trivial thing. The very moment he considers it, he knows the truth.

He loves her. More than any mortal could comprehend.

Tane raises a hand to her face, tucking a strand of hair that had come loose in her restless slumber behind her ear. Then he allows himself to cup her round cheek fully in his palm, and he marvels at the softness of her skin as he brushes his thumb near the corner of her mouth.

She hardly seems to breathe as she stares up at him. The fear has grown in her face with every moment that she waits for his answer.

But he has a question of his own, now. He had not cared to ask it before this moment, for he had not realized that the strength of his affection was not merely due to proximity and familiarity. Now, however, he is interested. Has the precocious crush of her childhood grown beyond the yearnings of adolescence?

"Do you love me, Ember?" he asks.

How can she know if she loves him?

"I don't know what love is, I think," she whispers as unshed tears burn in her eyes. "Tane... I... If you were... Would you show me?"

He considers her wide-eyed countenance a moment, how she trembles beneath his touch

Perhaps he had been showing her all along. But of course, she did not know what she was truly asking.

Tane bends, a flame pushed by unseen winds, and rests his forehead against hers for a moment. She is scalding hot, from her skin to her breath against his face, and he is hopelessly drawn to be closer and closer to her.

"I would like to, if that is your wish," he murmurs, and before she can voice her reply, he closes the last distance between their lips in a kiss.

She does not know how to respond at first, though she grips his wrist and his shirt tightly to make sure he doesn't pull away. He has all the time in the universe to wait, and he hardly needs to breathe, and the taste of her lips is sustenance enough that an eternity sipping at them would be quite acceptable. Sip he does, lips parted just enough to invite her closer, to taste, not simply to feel.

His eyes are closed, but his other senses have ignited.

The moment he touches his lips to hers, he feels every inch a god, but not in the haughty way he has so often carried himself. No, this kiss has nothing to do with power or superiority or even experience. It is about domain, responsibility, kinship--an indelible bond between devotee and their focus, mirrored across a veil of Belief.

He believes in her, and he knows he will die if she does not believe in him. In love, in freedom, in choice, in pleasure.

[walkingwiththegods1]

Gods, Goddesses; Demigods, Demigoddesses and Humans, than belongs to The LGBTQIA+'s Community. (My post, celebrating The LGBTQIA+ Pride's Month!)

Hello, Lovely Souls!... This is a post I was thinking in make, since I readed somewhere online; than there is LGBTQIA+'s characters in Myths and Legends, but somehow... Those Myths and Legends are ignored, or intentionally shunned... Well, this post was made; for two reasons:

Than all than didn't knew this stories, become at least inform than they exists, and/or do their own research; (If you feel inclined to do so) and tell them to any person interested and tolerant, so we could ended the disinformation about LGBTQIA+'s in Mythology and Legend. Also, so any person of The LGBTQIA+'s Community; felt happy to being seen visible and represented, by powerful beings of ''The Myth and Legend's Era'', which... Some of them, are followed today. AND...

Because I notice than some of my followers, are of the LGBTQIA+'s Community... This post is my ''Thank You So Much, Card!'', for all of you: I hope you like this gift, than I send to all of you from the distance, gives you warm and light; makes you smile... And you kept it as a gift, in your heart! ♥

I hope than any person than find this post, enjoy to read it; as much I enjoyed to write it: Have a nice reading day, Everybody!

LGBTQIA+'s African Characters

The Akan people of Ghana, have personifications of Celestial Bodies; where Abrao (Jupiter), Aku (Mercury) and Awo (The Moon); manifest as Androgynus, or Transgender.

LGBTQIA+'s Aztec/Mayan Characters

Tezcatlipoca: He turned into a woman, and slept with the last king of The Toltecs; Huemac.

LGBTQIA+'s Chinese Characters

Lan Caihe: Is one of The Eight Immortals., whose gender... Is unknown.

Tu'er Shen: A man than, after being ordered to be killed; is turned into a God of Homosexuality and Protector of Homosexual Affections, as a way to repair his unfair death.

LGBTQIA+'s Diasporic African Diasporic Characters

Inle and Abbata: As result of being isolated and lonely, after been banished for their mother; they eventually become lovers, and being able to communicate by empathy. (Inle was mute, and Abbata; deaf... That's the reason they have to communicate between them, in this unique way.)

LGBTQIA+'s Greek Characters

Admetus: King of Pherae, was one of Apollo's lovers.

Adonis: One version stated than, the beautiful young man was beloved by both; Aphrodite and Apollo.

Amazons: They capture men once or twice in an year, only for reproduction; and the rest of the year... These admirable warrior women daughters of Ares, have deep and romantic relations within them.

Ameinias: A young man than fell in love of Narcissus, but... That didn't ended well, for the poor Ameinias!

Aphrodite: I readed in an extint online Encyclopedia, about a legend of the Goddess using a beard; and seducing maidens of a greek island, which results in pregnancy. (Plus: Their is an aspect of Aphrodite, called Aphroditus; where she have female and masculine physical traits.)

Apollo: He had lovers of both sexes, being the most famous: Hyacinth, The Muses (Yes... THE NINE OF THEM!); Cyniras, Cyrene, Hymenaios, Coronis; Phorbas of Thesaly, Hecuba, Admetus, and many others.

Achilles: His reaction to Patroclus's Death, during The Trojan War... Is of someone than losed to the Love of his Life.

Ares: It was said than Alectryon, was a lover of The God of War.

Artemis: She vowed to remain an virgin, and have nymphs as her companions in her hunting trips. Also, she defended fiercesly her chastity; so we can assume she is asexual. (Or... An Asexual Lesbian, maybe?)

Athena: She loved to Myrmex, an Athenian young woman known for her purity and intelligence... Until she said than she invented The Plough, (One of Athena's inventions) and Athena; turned to the insolent girl into an ant, ending forever her only romance. (And closing her divine heart to Love, forever.)

Caeneus: A woman than, according the first versions of the myth; after being with Poseidon, asked to be turn into a man.

Callisto: Zeus, transformed in Artemis; and Callisto slept with him, believing than he was Artemis. (Obviously... She was a lesbian, because she had sex with somebody than looked like the Goddess; thinking than Artemis herself, returned to the same feelings/atraction/desire!)

Dionysus: It is said than Dionysus, was The God of Intersex and Trans People, (Probably for his custome of sometimes dressing in woman's clothes, when drunk) and; he had romances with various men, including the Satyr Ampelus, and the handsome Adonis.

Helen of Troy: When Aphrodite went to talked to her, to convince her to continue to be with Paris... Her heart raced in her chest, by only seeing to The Goddess of Love; in front of her!

Helenus of Troy: The Trojan Prince, was a son of Priam and Hecuba... And Apollo's Lover.

Heracles: The symbol of Masculinity in The Ancient World, had adventures with women, BUT... Had closer relations with men, too: 11 of them in total, been Iolaus; Hylas, Admetus, Sostratus, Abderus and Nestor, as the most famous of Hercules's Male Lovers. (I don't know why, but... The idea of Hercules having boyfriends, sounds charming to me!)

Hermaphroditus: Was turn forever in a being of both sexes, after the nymph Salamcis; hugged to the young and prayed to The Gods, they will never being apart.

Hermes: He is accounted in mythology, to have relations with both; women are men. And... That he had some liaison, with the mythic hero... Perseus!

Hypnos: There is a tale, where Endymion; instead of being Selene's Love, was loved by... Hypnos: The God of Sleep and Dreams.

Iphis: A child being borne female, than was transformed into a man; so he could married with the woman he loved.

Kalamos and Karpo: Two young men, whose tragic end; is the origin of the water reed and the fruit of the fields than dies and revives every year.

Leucippus: A girl that was turn into a boy, to avoid his father's anger.

Poseidon: He loved to men too, including to the prince of Pisa, Pelops; and Nerites.

Orestes: It was said than, he had a romance with a young man; called Pylades.

Orpheus: An account said than he loved to a man, (Calais, a young Argonaut) before to fall in love to his wife, Eurydice.

Siproetes: A man than saw Artemis bathing, and Artemis turned him in a woman.

Thamyris: According to Mythology, is the first man to have loved; to another man.

Tiresias: The Seer, spended 7 years as a woman; for killing a female serpent while it was mating. (So... Now all you know: Killing mating snakes, turns you into a person of the opposite sex!)

Zephirus: He fell in love with Hyacinthus, (But... Hyacinthus choosed to Apollo, in the end.)

Zeus: The prince Ganymedes, so beautiful and charming; than Zeus tricked him and taked him to Olympus, where the prince became the Cup Bearer of The Mighty Ones; and Lover of Zeus, and; as far as I know... The only lover of Zeus, to be made IMMORTAL. (...End of The Story!)

LGBTQIA+'s Japanese Characters

Inari: Kami of Agriculture, than is draw as of various genders.

Kitsune: Trickster-Fox Spirit, than disguise as women; hiding their true identity (and gender); so they could trick men into sleep with them.

LGBTQIA+'s Native American Characters

Xochipilli: Mexica Deity, than has been interpreted, as The Patron God of Homosexuality.

LGBTQIA+'s Nordic Characters

Freyr: May have been followed, by Homosexual and/or Effeminate Priests.

Loki: Just in case you don't know, why he is in this list... I'll made a little resume: Crossdresing many times, being capable to change of sex many times; he had relations with both sexes, and... Let's not forget than he gave birth to some of his children. (Conclusion: Loki is not ashamed of his sexuality, and...Why he should be?! He is marvelous and perfect, and we love him just like that!)

LGBTQIA+'s Oceanic Characters

Ungud: An Creator Snake-God of Australia and associated with rainbows, than is sometimes male; sometimes female, AND... Sometimes, androgynous.

LGBTQIA+'s Sumerian Characters

Gilgamesh: His relation with Enkidu, was so intimate and close... Than is strange than is depicted today, as only Friendship in The Media.

LGBTQIA+'s Taino Characters

Sexless Creatures from the Trees: Is a VERY WEIRD MYTH, but... As the Americans said, 'To make a long story, short...'' One day, one of the man named Guahayona; took all the women and their kids to other lands, promising to the men than he will returned for them... Which never happened: The kids were abandoned near a river crying, till they were turned in tiny frogs; and the women were left in an island where it was said than even today, only women lived there. After a while, the men needed of female company... Found to beings with long hair, but with slippery skin and than wasn't men; or women. The Cacique, (Chieftain) called for men with thick skin than grabbed four of the beings; and after thinking, ''How the heck can we turned this weird beings, into women?!...'' they used a Inriri (A Caribbean's Woodpecker), and... Let's said, than it was ''The first operation of change of sex, in Myths'' (...As far as I know!...)

Now all you know: LGBTQIA+' People, has many representatios in Ancient Myths and Legends; which shows than our Ancestors were more tolerant and acepting in general, of all the people than we kindly calls Humanity.

That's all in this post: To all my followers, and to all the people than belongs to the LGBTQIA+'s; Community: Happy Pride's Month, Everybody! (Never give up... And fight for your happiness, 'cause only the ones than fight for their rights; will receive what their hearts desires the most!)

Than The Deities protects you always in each step you make, and helps you to arrived soon to that beautiful and peaceful future life in Earth; where you are loved and accepted, as a whole and wonderful human being... So Be It!

[lightningandfireinmybones]

i have read so many many aemond/rhaenyra’s daughter fics and yours just works the best because of so many many reasons.

1. valaena actually has a personality that doesn’t revolve around being aemond’s love interest so kudos to your for actually inventing a new character & giving her so much depth.

2. aemond is not this soft little boy who just acts like a poor puppy in love but he is fierce, obsessed, possessive, murderous, violent, vengeful & only lets valaena access to his true heart so it doesn’t feel like you’re reading about a character that is different from f&b it totally feels so true to his f&b personality.

3. valaena has deep bonds with people who aren’t aemond. jace her elder brother, her protector, the person she trusts & loves unconditionally, the best person she’s ever known & her soulmate. lucerys the other half of her soul, they understand each other in a way no one else can. her mother who she will never stop fighting for. (hate in fics when they make rhaenyra’s daughter switch sides to support aegon’ cause because no child of rhaenyra’s would do that). her mother who she would gladly die for. daemon who she’s so similar to. and i love that you didn’t villanize daemon because he’s not just a hero or this dark villain he’s a complex character who will do unspeakable things for his family & his favorite child is definitely valaena. he loves her so much that he even slowly starts to accept aemond because he knows that her husband makes his little girl happy.

4. valaena and aemond the darker daemyra. repeating their patterns but with so much more intensity. they are gods amongs mortals. they burn together or don’t burn at all (the reference hehehe) they will engulf each other in their flames but they also keep each other warm with those same flames. and the sex ooh oof.

just wanted to say that your fic is so beyond beyond excellent & i hope you become a really successful author because i have read your fic at least 6 times by now & have enjoyed it every single time. the whole fandom worships you.

Hi bestie I don’t even know how to say thank you bc this is so thorough and nice I’m blushing at my desk rn

It was super important to me for Valaena to be real and flawed!! We need more women unapologetically flawed and I’m so glad you liked it🥹 and the bonds!! Can’t believe she loves aemond if you don’t see all the factors that come together to contribute to that love!!! Like her family and the tension and push and pull within a dysfunctional family that does love each other but is caught in the trap of generational trauma

AND LET AEMOND BE MURDEROUS!! I don’t want him better I want him sluttier

alternative title: GENERATIONAL TRAUMA AND THE DOOM OF REPEATING YOUR PARENT’S MISTAKES BUT WORSE

In conclusion thank you I literally read this like six times bc I am a sucker for feedback and it means a lot to me that you took the time to write this all out🥹 may your pillows always be cold and your crops always watered

[the-atlas-sister]

Protector (Batsis Reader)

(This is from a chapter of my original story but I quirked the character to be the reader. The reader can teleport and turn invisible and your hero name is Viper. You're also part of the Teen Titan's and Connor Kent is your love interest, although it's not too evident in this chapter. Alexandra and Alex are original characters in the Titans based on my two friends. If you like this chapter and you want me to publish the book, let me know. I would make the original character the reader)

Y/N's POV

"I'm going on a walk!" I announced, opening the Wayne manor door.

"Alone?" Alfred asked, walking towards me.

"Yeah," I shrugged.

"You may want to have one of your brothers accompany you," Alfred said. "Or Ace. You are the daughter of the infamous Bruce Wayne. And you're injured."

"I'm also the Teen Titan Viper," I chuckled. "I can take care of myself, Alfred. But thank you."

"Do be careful," Alfred said as I walked out of the large mansion.

I looked around as soon as I was outside before teleporting into the city. I teleported to an alleyway next to Gotham City Park. I swiped a strand of hair from my face before walking into the park. I smiled at the kids laughing and playing on the playground, remembering when Dick would bring my brother and I there when our parents and Bruce were working.

That's when I heard the scream. I spun my head to see two men with penguin masks grab a kid and pull him into an alley, his parents and all other adults apparently oblivious to the kidnapping.

"Hey!" I yelled, running toward the child and his kidnappers. I stopped at the alley, noticing that the child and the men were gone. I furrowed my brows, walking further into the alley. "Hello!"

"Help!" the child's voice echoed through the alley. I continued walking, ignoring the fact that the echo was unnatural, due to the fact there was no building covering the alley or stopping the sun from shining down. "Help!" I noticed that I had found the end of the alleyway. "Help!" I looked down to see a doll, the size of a small child, it's mouth open.

"Oh no-"

"You Y/L/N," a voice said from behind me. "So quick to save the day." Before I could turn around, I felt a slight prick in my neck. I turned around to see the familiar plump and long-nosed figure of Oswald Cobblepot or the Penguin, as well as the men from before standing next to him.

"Cobblepot," I mumbled, feeling drowsy.

"Careful there," Penguin said as I stumbled towards him. "Maybe you should just... relax."

I reached back and pulled out the thing that had pricked me. It was a small tranquilizer dart. I threw it to the ground as I fell to my knees. Dad, I thought before everything went dark.

***

"Wake up!"

I groaned, fluttering my eyes open. I tried to move my hands, only to feel a coarse rope around them. My eyes shot open at that realization. I sat upright, trying to move my legs, only to find them each tied to the leg of the chair I was sitting in. I looked around, to find myself in what looked like an abandoned penguin exhibit. I sat on a makeshift iceberg above freezing water, I let out a breath, noticing it come out in a puff of mist.

"Good, you're awake." I looked up to see the Penguin, in his top hat, monocle, and usual penguin tux. He held a raw fish, biting off it's head. He leaned casually on his lethal umbrella, a blade sticking out from the bottom.

I stayed stoic. First thing Bruce taught me in a kidnapping. "Why am I here Cobblepot?" I asked.

"Just a playing card," Penguin shrugged, some of the fish spitting from his mouth.

"So you want my father's money?" I scoffed. "Spend all of your family's fortune on that disgusting fish or buying this run-down zoo?"

"We both know Bruce Wayne isn't your father," Penguin said. "Your father blew up." He pointed the fish at me some of it's gut splattering on my face. "But yes."

"Why do you need Bruce Wayne's money?" I asked, pressing the Titan's distress button on my bracelet.

"Why do any of really need money?" Penguin sighed. "I need to rebuild the Iceberg Lounge."

"You really think people would go to a club owned by a former villain and current psychopath?" I scoffed. "Built off of stolen money?" Penguin growled and slapped me across the face with the half fish, splattering more guts and blood across my face. I spit out the few that got in my mouth.

"Some people don't matter who owns the club as long as they can spend their money on booze and beautiful women," he said, swallowing the rest of his fish. "Now let's notify Bruce that we have his dear little girl here, shall we?"

Penguin pulled out a phone and typed in Bruce's number and turned on the speaker. I tensed as the ringing began.

"Hello?" Bruce's voice rang through.

"Oh hello Bruce," Penguin said into the phone.

"Cobblepot," Bruce said. "What-"

"I just wanted to let you know that I have your dear daughter here with me," Penguin said. "Here Y/N, say hello." He held the speaker towards me, but I stayed silent. I felt one of his henchmen, grab my hair and yank, making me let out an involuntary yelp. He used his free hand to press a gun under my chin.

"Cobblepot, don't hurt her," Bruce said.

"Bruce, I'll be fine don't'-" I let out a strangled scream as Penguin stabbed my bicep with his umbrella.

"Y/N-"

"Now Bruce, she'll survive, as long as you get 4 million dollars to the Gotham Zoo, by noon," Penguin said, his blade still in my arm. I glanced at the clock on the phone, seeing that was ten minutes to noon. "If not then..." He twisted the blade, making me bite my lip to keep in a scream, but a small whimper arose. He then hung up.

"You won't kill me," I said through pained whimpers.

"I won't." Penguin agreed, pulling the blade out of my arm hard, making me yell again. I felt thick, warm blood drip down my arm quickly, and heavily. "But he might." The gun was pressed harder against my chin.

I swear Alexandra if you don't hurry-

My thoughts were cut off by Penguin being thrown off the makeshift iceberg. I held back a smile upon seeing Alex fully costumed, standing in front of me. She grinned at me.

I heard a loud crash and felt the sun shine on my back before left my chin. I watched as the man was thrown into the cement wall.

"Are you okay?" I heard Alexandra ask from behind me.

"I've been through worse," I said. I turned to see Jaime shoot another henchman into the wall with his scarab's laser.

"Superboy, get Y/N free," Raven said, flying above me. She created a magic cage around Penguin.

I felt something hot between my wrists before feeling the ropes snap. "You sure, you're okay?" Connor asked, flying in front of me.

"Totally," I shrugged, placing a hand on my bicep to stop the blood. Connor looked unsure but quickly laser-eyed the ropes around my ankles. I stood up and turned around to see Alexandra toss another henchman into a pile she had created and Alex ran around them, tying them up quickly.

"How'd you super twits get here?" Penguin asked.

"Shut up," Alex said, making faces at him.

"We're just here to help any citizen in danger," Alexandra said, placing a hand on Alex's shoulder.

"Raven, get him to GPD," Jaime said. Raven nodded before flying out of the hole they had created coming in, the caged Penguin behind her. "And Superboy-"

That was when Bruce appeared. He dropped dramatically in front of me, Dick and Damian following close behind. All fully suited up.

"Guess they beat us to it," Nightwing said, grinning at the Titans. "Nice job team."

Robin rushed to me, pulling my hand from my arm. He glared at me as he noticed the gushing blood. He pulled out a bandage roll and wrapped my arm. I winced at the roughness of his wrapping skills. "This is why you don't go on walks alone," he said, flicking my forehead.

"Thanks for the love," I said, rubbing my forehead.

"Robin's right," Bruce said, narrowing his eyes at me. "You could've gotten killed and worse, you could've gotten out of this by using your powers."

"I couldn't have given myself away," I said. "They could have connected me to Viper, then to you and to Robin and Nightwing!"

"Your safety is more important than our identities," Bruce said sternly. "I don't want you to leave the manor this week."

"Are you grounding me?" I scoffed. "Over something that wasn't my fault?"

"Busted," Alex mumbled.

"Bats, that's not fair," Connor said, walking forward. Bruce sent him a classic Bat glare, a mix of intimidation and Dad guilt. Connor stopped. "Or you know, whatever. Your kid."

"You can't-"

"I am your father, Y/N Wayne," Bruce said. "We're going back to the manor and I forbid you from leaving."

First part 2 on my masterlist: https://mooskey.tumblr.com/post/661991989629304832/%F0%9D%9A%83%F0%9D%99%B7%F0%9D%99%B4-%F0%9D%9A%84%F0%9D%99%BB%F0%9D%9A%83%F0%9D%99%B8%F0%9D%99%BC%F0%9D%99%B0%F0%9D%9A%83%F0%9D%99%B4-%F0%9D%99%B2%F0%9D%99%BE%F0%9D%9A%82%F0%9D%99%BC%F0%9D%99%B8%F0%9D%99%B2-%F0%9D%99%BF%F0%9D%99%BE%F0%9D%9A%86%F0%9D%99%B4%F0%9D%9A%81-%F0%9D%99%BC%F0%9D%9A%A2-%F0%9D%99%BC%F0%9D%9A%8A%F0%9D%9A%9C%F0%9D%9A%9D%F0%9D%9A%8E%F0%9D%9A%9B%F0%9D%9A%95%F0%9D%9A%92%F0%9D%9A%9C%F0%9D%9A%9D

[its-an-obsession]

His Protector

OBX Masterlist | Full Masterlist

Summary: You and Pope were an interesting duo: you being more confident whereas Pope was a little more reserved. Some people expected you to be with JJ, but you loved being with Pope given his sweet and calm natured side. To him, seeing you protect him was something he loved about you.

Notes:

Y/N/N: Your Nick Name

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

Warnings:

Language

Fighting, blood, injuries, etc...

Rafe Cameron being a complete asshole

Pope Heyward x-reader

The bright sun beat down on me, making me warm as time passed. I tossed the crab crate over the side of the dock. I couldn't wait to hop in the water after my shift was over. My mother - owner of Y/L/N Tackle - stood on the porch, monitoring me as I did my job. She motioned me to the three crates behind me.

I gave her a thumbs up and twisted around to retrieve them. She nodded before stepping through the double doors. My mom had owned Y/L/N Tackle when my grandfather passed away about two years ago.

Both her and my dad had taken the responsibility, knowing that the store would be torn down for some Kook's house. Instead of taking that risk, they decided to keep it in the family so that I would inherit the bait & tackle shop some day.

Beads of sweat began to trickle down the sides of my face. I wiped it away with the collar of my shirt. The porch door was cracked open, a rock stopping it from closing. I walked up the stairs and sighed when the AC hit me. My mother looked over her shoulder with a smile directed towards me.

"How do the crates look?" my father questioned, appearing from the back room. He held a box of some fishing books. His hair was tucked away by his favorite baseball cap. "Good. I made sure that they're all secured," I replied. My father pat me on the head. He handed me the box of books.

"What! I've finished my shift," I spoke with my brows raised. "You can do that," my dad pointed to the box, "and then you can leave." He set a kiss on my forehead. I sighed and followed his order.

Within just a few minutes, all ten books were organized near the front counter. My dad gave me the 'okay' and I quickly made my way towards my car, praying that my parents wouldn't instruct me to do something else. I had planned to meet up with my boyfriend and friends at the chateau, John B's house. I threw my bag in the passenger seat.

I pulled out of the parking lot and decided to stop by the convenient store on the way to John B's. It wasn't too crowded, but enough to struggle for a parking spot. I finally found a spot closest to the side of the store. Sarah texted me a list of things the boys wanted, including some of her and Kiara's favorite snacks.

The cashier smiled kindly as I set the groceries onto the counter. She began scanning each item, dropping them into the reusable grocery bags. Kiara had lectured to me that using reusable bags were the way to go, and since then that's all I've used. "Your total is $35.28," the blonde women read from the screen. I nodded and handed her the money.

She set the cash into the register then handed me the printed receipt. I thanked her - her responding with a smile - then walked down the front steps of the store. My Y/E/C eyes caught sight of Rafe Cameron leaning up against the side of my beat up light blue truck, something I had received from my grandfather before he passed.

"Awe shit," I muttered.

Just when I thought I could get to my friend's quicker, there was the king of douche bags himself. I kept my head high and continued to walk down the steps like I didn't notice him. Rafe cleared his throat to gain my attention. "So, Y/L/N, how's that boyfriend of yours?" the Kook asked.

I opened the passenger side of my truck and set the groceries on the seat. Rafe rounded the back of the old car, smirking mischievously. I went to step forward, but was stopped by Rafe firmly grabbing my arm. His grip on me tightened when I looked up to meet his eyes. "Y/N, how's Pope doing?" Rafe repeated the question in a different way.

He pushed me against the side of my car, keeping an arm on my neck. I gritted my teeth when he pressed harder. "I knew Pope was a sad motherfucker, but I didn't know his girlfriend was one too," he remarked. I gained enough energy to bring a leg up to knee him in the stomach.

My knees were met with the pebbled driveway, gasping for air. Rafe chuckled as he sat on all fours. I hopped up from the ground but Rafe wrapped his hand around my ankle, bringing me down to the ground. A groan escaped my lips as I felt my chin collide with the parking lot. I got up on my knees and began crawling towards my truck to escape inside.

"So, you can do two things," Rafe wiped his lower lip, "You can agree that Pope is a lifeless nobody who I should've killed at that golf course."

Rafe paused to kick me in the side. I fell once more with my fingers digging into the pebbles. I winced as I could feel them getting stuck underneath my nails. Rafe strolled towards me when I had made it to the back right tire.

"Or, I could beat you to a bloody pulp," he added. Without him noticing, I was able to pick up a rock and launch it at his head. I stumbled up from the ground and ran towards the drivers seat. My hands shook when putting the keys into the ignition. Fortunately, I was able to flee the store and head towards my house.

_______

(A little bit later)

I sat in front of my vanity mirror, doing my best at patching myself up. After getting home from the little bickerment, I had messaged my friends that I wasn't feeling too great. Of course Pope being Pope, he insisted that he come over to help bring me back to health.

So, now I was trying to figure out how I was going to tell him what happened. Usually it wasn't this bad. A knock from the front door interrupted my thoughts. I quickly washed my hands before walking down the hall to the door.

Pope stood on the other side with a grocery bag in hand, wearing one of my favorite shirts of his. He broke into smile when he saw me through the window. Once I opened the door, his expression dropped at the sight of my busted lip and bruised neck.

"What the hell?"

"Nice to see you too."

I stepped aside so he could walk in. He hadn't taken his eyes off of my state when I opened the door wider. Pope set a hand on the side of my face to turn me towards him. He brought an arm out and closed the door. "Rafe?" he questioned. I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek.

He dropped the grocery bag and gave me a hug. I felt him lightly kiss the side of my neck. "You really gotta stop stepping up for me, Y/N," Pope said. "I can't. You know I can't," I responded. He carefully threw an arm around my shoulders. Pope led me back to my room. I sat on the edge of my bed, watching as my wonderful boyfriend helped clean up the room.

Shortly after that, Pope came back with the grocery bag of goodies as well as the first aid kit. He held up the kit and sat down beside me. "You did a shitty job at patching yourself up," he commented. I shook my head in amusement, the corners of my lips turning. "Why thank you, Popesicle," I stated.

He ignored the nickname I've called him since elementary school. Pope dabbed the cut on my chin. A few minutes passed and he had finished tending to the injuries. "I brought Finding Nemo and The Maze Runner," he held up two DVD's, "I know those are two different types of movies, but Kiara recommended Nemo and JJ the runner movie; something about how Dylan O'Brien is his man crush."

I smiled despite the cut on my lower lip prohibiting me from grinning. Pope kissed my forehead and set one of the DVD's into the side of my laptop. He rested the computer on a pillow and leaned back with open arms. "Thanks," I set my head on his chest. "Anytime, squirt," Pope replied, putting an arm around me so I couldn't comment on the silly nickname.

Taglist: @kasidy709 @soflties @elliecool123 @ramaalkayyali

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

I'm reading too many fanfics and today I want something more cute than romantic, so I would like Stella with an S/o to be her personal butler who took care of her during her childhood and adolescence (bonus if S/o used to sing to Stella when she was a kid) . obviously the S / o must have a great preparation to be worthy of taking care of the daughter of the parents who were certainly one of the causes of Stella to be like this

Stella's personal Servant and S/O

You had spent years in preparation for when you would meet your mistress.

It was a common practice amongst the nobility.

You take a child from a lower house, train and raising them to become the personal servant to a child from a higher noble family.

You were of lower stock, your family heavily reliant on Stella's family, and being the youngest of your line, you found yourself chosen to be her servant.

Although the agreement basically surrendered one of there own to a life of servitude, it also brought prestige to there household, while also placing one of there own at the right hand of the next head of a powerful household.

Despite your years of training, you were still increadibly nervous upon meeting her, terrified you'd do something wrong and screw it up.

But much to your surprise, she wasn't some terrifying ice queen who could vapourise you with a glare.

She was just a girl. A young, normal looking noble girl. Seemingly not much older than you.

Your meeting was somewhat awkward, you being unsure how you should interact with her outside of the cold formalities you were taught.

Your relationship was an unusual one.

As while, yes you were her servant, you were also expected to be her closest allie and truest friend.

You were expected to take on every burden she had, to carry and guard them to the death.

A concept that hadn't fully registered in your young mind yet, but despite your age, you quickly acclimated to your new responsibilities.

You had, of course, been give training for your new duty, but much of it was learnt in the field.

You found yourself working into a schedule; wake up before her, get clean, have breakfast before waking her up at 7:30 sharp.

From there you would help her dress, something you were quite flustered about the first time around. Then you accompanied her to breakfast, then to her first lesson of the day.

You were often dismissed during her lessons, returning to her room to tidy up, or have her clothes cleaned.

It took time but eventually you were just as capable at cleaning and serving as any veteran servant of the household.

Now, initially Stella was quite... cold towards you. Treating you not much better than any other servant of the home.

But she did eventually warm to you, starting the night you heard her having a nightmare.

Much to her annoyance you had been moved into the room besides her, giving her 24 hour access to you, and you to her.

So you were easily capable of hearing her toss and turn in bed, her whimpers getting louder and louder. Until she awoke, with a scream.

You instantly shot into action, sliding into her room and pulled her into your embrace.

Holding her to your chest, you did your best to sooth her. Barely being a boy yourself you were quite inexperience with such things.

So you did the only thing you could, you sang to her.

You sung her the song your wet nurse used to sing you when you had a bad dream. Holding her for what felt like hours, gently singing to her until she fell back to sleep.

The next morning she insisted you call her Stella, unlike before when she demand the customary 'Lady' or 'Mistress'.

Not long after that she began addressing you by name. The two of you seeming to enter a level of mutual respect.

Similar events would happen several more times during your youth, each time you sang her the same song, holding her close and soothing her.

You brought up the nightmares to her parents, the two seemingly didn't care. Her parents just coldlt telling you 'They were something she needed to get over herself.'

And her parents weren't the warmest family, both her parents seemed obsessed with there appearances, placing politics over the well bing of there own daughter.

So you made her well-being your top priority, always asking if she was OK or if she wanted to talk.

In preparation for you new duties you had already received extensive training in everything from cleaning to first aid.

But as the the two of you grew, you began getting lessons in far more hands on fields.

As you were expected to be her faithful guardian. You were trained in various forms of combat, with everything from knives, to assault rifles.

Followed by several specialised first aid courses, each one dedicated to a different field of medicine.

You excelled through each course, taking the role as both servant and protector as your own.

Despite being younger then your charge, your mentality quickly matured beyond your years, willing and prepared to fight to the death for your charge.

You fully embraced you postion, putting aside everything you were and giving yourself to your new role, absolutely.

As the two of you grew older, you also grew closer and closer. And due to your special status as her personal servant, having less limitations put on you then a regular servant of the house, you could act as more of a friend to the girl. Acting as a trusted confidant for the girls troubles.

As you matured your skills, both physically and mentally, you learned to better dedicat your new skills to what would most efficiently aid your liege.

While you excelled in your training dedicating your self to the task before you, the main problem you faced was, Stella.

It may seem petty, but Stella being of a higher and more powerful cast meant she grew to tower over you by at least a foot.

Something she was sure to rub in your face.

And it may not seem like that big of a deal, but protecting someone much taller then you, was a constant struggle. As they were far more visible then yourself and could be targeted from angles you weren't able to see.

But you did your absolute best, going above and beyond as her steadfast companion, hapily waiting on her hand a foot.

It seemed like a blink if an eye and the beautiful young lady you once served had grown into a beautiful young woman.

And much to your shame, over the years spent together, you had developed a deep affection for her, an affection that went far beyond friendship.

Of course you would never publicly admit such a thing, your years of training alloweing you to keep such your feelings suppressed. Only allowing your affection to show through in what would be expected of a typical platonic relationship.

When Stella came to the age of 17, her parents decided to send her to an academy famous for its education of young noble women.

The problem was, it was an all girls academy. And you being her private servant, and right hand, the two of you could not be sepperated for such a long period of time.

It took a fair bit of political manoeuvring and more then a few favours to get you in, but by the end of it, you found yourself enrolled right besides her.

You were to attend every class as well as share quarters with Stella. You were not to leave her side unless absolutely necessary.

You were far from the only servant to accompany there mistress.

You found a variety of them, from Imps to hellhounds. You even saw a few succubus amongst them.

But the thing that really stood out, was that you were the only male, even amongst the staff.

Initially life at the academy went fantastic.

Stella, with her confident nature and families status thrived at the academy, easily rising the social ranks, making friends and allies.

The whole thing bringing a great sense of warmth to your black heart.

You stood back and proudly watched as she excelled amongst her peers, only having to step in to aid her in her day to day.

But unfortunately, problems did arise. And much to your shame, they were spawned from you.

Now, you had already received a fair amount of attention from the Student; Stares, love letters, lustful gazes. But you were there for Stella, the affects of there attention quickly dissipated as you focused on Stella.

Now you being a fairly attractive young man, in exceptional shape from years of work and being the only male in a school of a few hundred young hormonal women.

But initially, being Stella's servant stopped anyone from pursuing you, as relations with someone below them was punished severely by both the school and there families.

Unfortunately the question of who you were was quickly raised, Stella without much concern or thought, told them all about your special status as both a noble and a servant.

And that's were the problems really began.

You see, sleeping with another family's servant, was an excellent way to get yourself disowned by your family.

But a fling with a servant, whom was also a fellow noble... that could be tolerated.

You were greatly surprised to find just how tolerant the school was of such behaviour.

It would seem that despite there rather strict policy on student/Staff relations, that being pubished severely.

But the school was unwilling to take serious action against noble children for have relations amongst themselves.

It seemed they allowed the students to let out there rebellious phase in small ways, perhaps a method to help make them into proper nobles.

Needless to say, you had never been so happy you were Stella's servant.

You'd heard how some of them talked about you, and if Stella wasn't your mistress, your quite certain you'd be used as a tool for political gain, regardless how you felt about it.

Ironically, you found Stella becoming far more possessive of you, especially whenever someone began to show interest in you.

Now she had always been possessive of you to a degree, snapping at anyone who dared to treat you poorly or acted like you were supposed to serve them, something that happened quite often amongst nobility.

You liked to think it was her way of marking her territory, all the while showing you that she had your back. And with all the attention you were getting, it only made sense for her to be a bit more possessive.

Adding to your growing shame, seeing Stella becoming such a strong, confident woman had only strengthened your feelings for her.

In your mind, you had kept your feeling for Stella perfectly hidden. Only allowing your affection to show, through your friendly and platonic behaviour.

Apparently you were wrong.

Parties were surprisingly common on the school grounds, with a major party seemingly occurring at least once a month.

Stella being ever the socialite, was of course invited. The young lady flirtaciously telling you were invited as well. Following her to the party, you found a small herd of teens sipping wine from plastic cups, talking amongst themselves.

Playing nobility.

It was fun for the most part.

Everyone was dancing and drinking. And much to your surprise Stella was quite lax when it came to alcohol, drinking more than her fair share.

A little tipsy, she found you, demanding you dance with her.

Now you, on the other hand, did not party. You did not drink, you did not fraternise and you most certainly didn't dance.

You were her guardian, you were supposed to watch over her, not get drunk with her in some random dormroom.

But Stella ordered you, not having the will to refuse her, you complied.

You danced and drank and partied. And for the first time in your life, you let yourself he a teenager.

And you enjoyed it. You enjoyed being with Stella.

The mood quickly soured when, as Stella left to get a drink, some random girl grabbed you by the collar and rather aggressively tried to kiss you.

You were able to hold her back of course, even inebriated you were still strong enough to hold back a drunk teenage girl.

You were freaking out, unable to think of what to do, only for Stella to appear and violently rip her off you, beating the crap out of the her right there infront of all the other party goers.

She screamed at the girl, telling her to never touch what belonged to her again. Before without saying a word, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the party.

She dragged you into a nearby allyway, ranting and raving about how dare someone touch you, you belonged to her and she was sick of having to remind people.

Her words becoming progressively more possessive, you just half drunkenly stumbling your much taller mistress.

Raising the question of her increasingly possessive language, you saw her entire body shift.

Walking up to you, she pressed her body up against yours, effortlessly pinning you to the wall.

It was pointless to struggle, as even with all your training she was still stronger.

With eyes you had never seen before, she stared into your own and asked if you liked her.

You were both shocked and terrified, you were so sure you had been careful.

You sputtered something out, trying to hide your feelings before she cut you off with a passionate kiss.

She held you close as she told you all about how she knew you liked her, about how she knew you always held yourself back.

But she understood why.

You were left stunned when she told you the reason she knew why, was because she'd been doing the same. She confessed she had fallen for you, but like you, she had kept her feeling secret because such a relationshi wouldn't be "proper"!

But she didn't care anymore.

She was sick of keeping her feelings for you a secret, sick of watching other women get to speak and act freely while she was forced to hold her tongue.

She wanted you and she was going to have you, no matter what anyone thought.

She dragged you back to your dormroom, although it was more like a small apartment before dragging you to her bed.

Sitting above you she asked if you wanted this, unable to think of the right words you just gave her another passionate kiss.

The two of you spent the night together.

Your relationship was kept a secret for the rest of her time in the academy. The two of you agreeing it would be best and with Your position already giving you the best possible excuse to be close together.

Once you both graduated, Stella's parents tried to have an arranged marriage set up for her, hoping to achieve greater prestige for the family.

But much to your surprise, she blatantly refused.

Instead she using her new-found political connections and usurped her parents, taking the family name and the role of head of household as her own.

Her first act, openly declaring your relationship.

You were deeply relieved the outcry was very minimal, contained to only a few already outspoke critics that apposing her anyways.

And so you stood by her ever since. As bother her loyal protector and faithful lover.

Hey hey, this one was a challenge, but I still enjoyed it. If any of you have a request or want to submit a prompt, go right ahead. Check out my master list for what I won't write and go for it. Thank you all for reading.

[spacecasewriter13]

When the Lights Go on Again by Space Case Writer 13

Story Summary: It is May of 1946, over a year after his fall from the Hydra train and losing his left arm, and James "Bucky" Barnes is struggling to adjust. Working as an analyst at the New York City SSR branch, Bucky tries to put the war and all of its sorted memories behind him. However, try as he might he is plagued by thoughts of Magdalene "Maggie" Ramirez, a Women's Army Corps (WAC) Corporal he met in London and hasn't spoken to since before his fall in January of 1945. Little does he know that Maggie, in her struggle to put the war behind her, has moved to the city and looking for a job with the New York Bell Telephone Company as a switchboard operator. Now, by sheer dumb luck, they are reunited as they both fight come to terms with what they were to one another during the war, and work to figure out how to move forward in a world that was unprepared to deal with the consequences of war in the unsteady peace.

Chapter 4: An Unexpected Meeting

Summary: Maggie remembers a first meeting between her and James Barnes, just in time to be sent on an errand to the bullpen on the other side of the wall. While on her errand she runs into someone she least expects, putting her in a tail spin.

Excerpt:

Maggie had arrived early and found the restaurant to be something of a nice little café with outdoor seating. Sitting down at one of the outdoor tables, she kept one eye on her surroundings while the other worked on the calculus problem of the week. Emilia—well, all of them really had decided to make it weekly rather than daily to ration out the book longer.

Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t focus, her mind instead wandering to the Sergeant from the night before, her champion (or protector depending on your generosity), the same man who’d invited her to join him for breakfast.

She’d debated about if she should accept his invitation. Even now, she had the overwhelming urge to flee. How many times had this tall, handsome, dashing Sergeant had occasion to extend such an invitation? How often had he invited women to breakfast with him? Was this a regular spot? Or was she somehow special?

Special? Ha!

She wasn’t so green that she had any such romantic notions. No. She’d had more than her fair share of unwanted attention stateside when she and the girls would go out in the evenings after training. Soldiers were soldiers, and she had no intention of letting just anyone sweep her off her feet.

‘Oh goodness, no wonder Baker accuses me of being unromantic.’

Not everyone could afford to be as romantic as Emilia Baker, nor was she willing to give any sort of life to all the nasty rumors about WAC girls. Not that she was unwilling to be wooed, she was human so far as she was aware, but she was also not without standards. And she didn’t want to be anyone’s last ‘hurrah,’ least of all for a handsy soldier boy thinking about his girl back home.

However, Maggie was also not without a heart. She knew why things were so urgent. It was the reason all of them were here. Many of these boys were going over to the front. How many would return remained to be seen. So naturally, they were interested in one more warm memory with any woman who’d give them a chance. She knew why, and although sympathetic to their situation, she was not about to oblige on that basis alone. It was a matter of self-preservation, not just of reputation but of mind and body as well.

Yet here she was. Waiting for the man who’d swooped in, taken her in his arms, and pulled her from the jaws of—trouble.

The breakfast invitation intrigued her. An invitation for breakfast without any of the nocturnal activities such an invitation might invoke was…unusual and certainly gave a chance for any passions from the dance floor to cool considerably.

To Maggie’s mind, it was oddly measured, not simply the passion of the moment. It was part of the reason she’d resolve to fulfill his invitation. She also hoped to uncover the source of his apparent selfless intervention and to thank him for coming to her rescue properly. After all, he’d been chivalrous enough to extract her from the clutches of that handsy private and further kind enough to offer to deliver her back to base when she’d announced her intentions to leave.

Had her heart not been pounding and her head threatening to split in two from a headache, she might have taken him up on that drink, if only to see if the earnest expression was a permanent feature or the façade hiding an over-eager school boy. There had been enough of a mischievous spark in his eye when she’d asked about “Peggy” for it to be the latter, while his measured response had hinted toward the former.

Either way, she was curious about the Sergeant and, dare she admit it, a little nervous about their breakfast meeting.

“You’re early, Corporal.”

Maggie looked up to see none other than the Sergeant from the night before. Only now, in the daylight, was she able to get the full measure of the man. He towered over her across the table from her. His cover cocked in a jaunty disposition over his chestnut hair, his eyes a bright piercing blue surveyed her with an edge of concern, his expression cautious as if weighing if he should approach her at all.

TO Continue Reading visit Ao3:

[watermelonlovershigh]

Single Dad Harry & His Daughter Rose (journey through life)

This was requested by this anon (instead of the daughter being just one of the ages you suggested, i decided to just incorporate all the ages, like a timeline of her life.)

AN: from now on, i think i'm going to use a random name generator for child names in my fics (like i did with this one). that way the name is random and with no thought. unless someone requests a name to be used.

This story contains: completely narration, no dialog, dad goals

{ dad!harry - singledad!harry - became a dad at 17 years old }

word count: 1320

Harry's journey of taking care and raising his daughter Rose as a single father.

Ever since Harry became a single dad, his life had been anything but easy. When his daughter Rose (named after his rose tattoo) was a baby, her mum completely left them, saying she didn't want to be a mother yet and it was a mistake to have not used protection. Especially when it was a one-night stand and that person was a celebrity. She had Rose (not finding it in her to go through with an abortion) and days later gave her baby to Harry, and that was the last time Rose ever saw her mother and Harry ever saw his baby's mama.

When Rose was a baby, Harry was the one that got up at all hours of the night to make her bottles, beings she had no way of breastfeeding. Most of the time on the One Direction tour bus because that's where he and his bandmates stayed while on the road touring. He'd also burp her and change her dirty diapers. Rub her little tummy when it ached. The rest of One Direction didn't always like being woken up to a crying baby, but at the end of the day, knew how special Rose was to Harry and supported him through everything.

His bandmates would often babysit Rose when Harry had to go into the recording booth and record his parts of their songs. Louis was the one who acted as a mother figure in her life (beings he grew up taking care of his younger sisters), like doing nightly feedings when Harry was sleep deprived. Or give Rose a bath in the little baby tub they bought for the bus when Harry was just busy in general. Niall being the silly guy, loved to make Rose laugh when she was being a bit moody. And Zayn and Liam were the protectors and kept Rose out from harms way.

When One Direction went on hiatus, Harry didn't have all the help he once had when living with four other people. At that point, Rose was three so it wasn't as hard to take care of her as it was when she was a baby, but still quite difficult for him being a single dad. She was potty trained and eating all regular foods. Though she'd sometimes still wanted a bottle of warm milk to help her fall asleep at night.

Harry would make Rose breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the two of them each day. He'd give her baths and washed her curly hair, sometimes making a soap Mohawk from the shampoo just to make her laugh. He'd read Rose bedtime stories and sing her lullabies. And though Harry tried to enforce Rose to sleep in her own bed like a big girl, he'd always cave in when she gave her daddy puppy dog eyes and a wobbly lip, as though she was about to cry. So often Rose ended up in her daddy's bed and Harry held her close, loving the feeling of knowing his daughter was safe and sound in his embrace.

Years went by and Harry sent Rose to kindergarten. Much to his disliking because he'd miss being with her through-out the day. He'd get up with her every morning and styled her hair to the best of his abilities. Sometimes not being able to accomplish what Rose requested and feeling terrible. Times like that was when he wished Rose had a mother or mother figure. Harry would pack Rose a lunch to take to school and help her with her homework when she got home at the end of each day.

Harry went to every school play Rose was in (she loved preforming just like her daddy) and every PTA meeting the school held. Though he juggled being a international popstar, Harry always put his daughter first no matter what. He helped her with any school projects she'd have and Harry even went and chatted to the principle when Rose complained that some kids were being mean to her. He was a super dad, doing it all.

When Rose turned ten, Harry decided she was old enough to go on tour with him. He hadn't properly toured since One Directions last tour (just doing local gigs here and there) and that had been years from that point in their lives. Harry wanted to wait a few years and give Rose somewhat of a normal childhood with stability, hence why she attended public school in her adolescents.

Harry hired an on-the-road teacher to have as Roses homeschooling teacher that'd stay on his tour bus as they traveled. His number one priority was making sure she got her education over anything else. Harry paid for extra security guards to protect Rose when she went out, beings some fans went a little crazy. Harry had his assistant watch her when he was busy in the studio or doing interviews. Life was hard at times and yes Harry wished Rose still had a mother, but wouldn't have traded his life experiences of being a single dad for nothing. It truly helped him mature faster and appreciate live to the fullest.

Two years later at age twelve, Rose became a women. Well she started her period and matured like a women. Because all she'd ever known was living with her dad and not really having many women figures in her life, telling Harry she started her period wasn't that bad. Rose was fortunately home when her period had started and walked into the living room where her dad was sipping a glass of wine and informed him she was menstruating.

In the twelve years of Roses life, Harry knew that that day was coming. The day she'd start her period. He was only regretting that day because his little girl wouldn't be so little anymore, but wasn't hoping that day wouldn't ever come because he knew how important it was for a women to have one. Harry grew up with a house full of women so periods were a natural and easy topic to discuss. He hugged Rose, congratulated her, and immediately drove her to the local pharmacy to purchase some pads and tampon (and chocolate + a heating pad).

Between the ages of twelve and Roses current age of sixteen, life went as well as it could have gone for Harry and her. Unlike most teenage girls, Harry raised a good and respectful young lady. Rose doesn't like to go out and party like some of her friends do. She'd much rather stay at home and spend time with her dad. She's a daddies girl after all. Rightfully so because to her, her dad was the only one who truly loved her and cared for her, unlike her dead-beat mother.

As for Harry, he's still single. He's had a few flings through-out the years and a couple one-night stands, but he hasn't meet anyone that felt like a keeper. Or someone who he felt would love his daughter the way she deserved to be loved and treated. Harry doesn't tour as much anymore because of his age (not due to fan loss because he still has millions of fans. fans that love to call Harry a dilf.) and Rose is back attending a public school in London. They often visit her dad's ex bandmates and Rose loves them all dearly. They helped raise her as a baby and feel like secondary father figures to her.

Sometimes Rose wishes she still had a mum. A women in her life that she could have womanly conversations with and chat about her love interest to. Even just to say she had a mum because when her friends chat about their mums, she feels left out and sad. But truth be told, she almost thinks her life was meant to turn out like it did. Her and her dad Harry make a great father/daughter duo and she wouldn't trade the connection they have for anything in this world. Even if it was for a mum that loved her.

Masterlist (regular smut, fluff & sicfics)

My Favorite Harry Styles Fics MASTERLIST

Harry Styles Series One Shots Masterlist (for my one shots that go with a series universe)

Harry Styles blurbs, concepts, & short stories Masterlist- (short writing with little to no dialog)

[dathen]

One of the things that gets lost in all the “all the women in TMA hate Jon!” jokes is the chance to analyze Jon’s relationships with the women of the show in the context of him being an ace man.

Years and years ago, I wrote an essay about the fandom trope of “The Ace Misogynist.”  At the time, there weren’t really any canon asexual characters to talk about, so you had your handful of characters popularly interpreted that way--Sheldon, Sherlock, etc.  The clues people would pick up on to support the asexual interpretation were often misogynistic; this “I have no use for women” attitude common with nerdy or cerebral male characters in fiction.  I don’t have the essay anymore, but the sexist and acephobic aspects of “if I’m not sexually attracted to women I have no use for them” are plain to see.  

I cannot express enough how much I love that Jon is written as the complete opposite of this.  Setting aside the “all women hate Jon” jokes for a second, let’s look at how his relationships with the women in TMA actually develop:

Sasha got along with Jon better than any of the other assistants, felt comfortable teasing and badgering him.  Between their banter in TMA 24 and her statement in TMA 26, it’s heavily implied that she’s on a similar wavelength as him and gets him in a way the others don’t.  Despite starting out on the team with a lot of baggage between them, she warmed up quickly.

Georgie was out of contact with Jon for years, but it’s plain to see the easy dynamic they fell into as soon as he showed up again.  She seemed completely comfortable with the idea of him staying in her house.

Basira grew comfortable with Jon so quickly it flat-out shocked Daisy.  Basira started out investigating Jon for murder, but quickly grew fond of him, thought he was funny, and even began taking risks to help him.  Season 4 developments aside, Basira took to Jon so quickly that Daisy suspected there were supernatural elements at play.

And then Daisy!  As soon as monster hunter mode took a backseat, they fell into one of the best friendships in the entire show in an instant.  She became his friend and protector without hesitation, shares her interests with him, looks forward to spending time with him.

In discussions I’ve had with a lot of fellow TMA fans, many have noted that the quick comfort the women in the show (aside from Melanie) have with Jon resembles their interactions with their male asexual friends.  The things brought up most often are an undercurrent of comfort, an overall feeling of safety, and skipping past that initial phase of “can we be friends or does he think this is Going Somewhere.”  Of course this is all anecdotal, and there could be plenty of people whose experiences don’t line up with this, but it was enough that some fans were getting ~ace vibes~ from Jon long before the confirmation in TMA 106.  In addition to this are the perspectives I’ve read over the years from ace men about relationships in general.  I won’t go into too much detail here without actual articles to link, but a common theme comes up over and over: how central hypersexual heterosexuality is in social expectations for male friendships, and how much that hindered developing those friendships in their lives.

How much of this was intentional in Jon’s writing is anyone’s guess.  He was planned to be asexual all the way back in season 1, but the addition and increased importance of so many female characters was in response to Sasha’s voice actor leaving, Basira’s popularity with fans, Fay’s compelling portrayal of Daisy, etc.  Whatever led to it, though, it’s wonderful to see a canonically asexual male main protagonist be so opposite to the Ace Misogynist Trope I railed against so many years ago.  Writing an asexual character extends beyond just their relationship to sex, and it’s fun to pick out other details like this that ring true.

[jeynearrynofthevale]

Sansa Stark is a lesbian and here’s why:

So, in honor of sapphicsansafest, I’m making a meta master post about why I believe Sansa is a lesbian. This will include a few quotes and I’m going to separate it into a few sections.

Sansa’s descriptions of other women:

“The queen was drinking heavily, but the wine only seemed to make her more beautiful; her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes had a bright, feverish heat to them as she looked down over the hall. Eyes of wildfire, Sansa thought.”

Even when Sansa hates Cersei, her descriptions of her are always focused around her beauty. The way she describes her eyes and cheeks is also similar to the way the men that are attracted to Cersei describe her.

“Twenty mules awaited them within the waycastle, along with two mule-walkers and the Lady Myranda Royce. Lord Nestor’s daughter proved to be a short, fleshy woman, of an age with Mya Stone, but where Mya was slim and sinewy, Myranda was soft-bodied and sweet-smelling, broad of hip, thick of waist, and extremely buxom. Her thick chestnut curls framed round red cheeks, a small mouth, and a pair of lively brown eyes.”

Similarly, her description of Myranda is very focused around her looks and specific details like her being “sweet smelling” and “extremely buxom” seem to point towards Sansa being attracted to Margaery. Once again Sansa’s descriptions of women mimic the way straight men describe them. Sansa’s interactions with Myranda are something I'll comment on later.

“Sansa had never been this close to the Dornishwoman before. She is not truly beautiful, she thought, but something about her draws the eye.”

Her description of Ellaria is also interesting as it helps show that the way Sansa thinks about women isn’t solely an aesthetic appreciation. She also enjoys the way unconventionally attractive women look.

“Slim and sinewy, Mya looked as tough as the old riding leathers she wore beneath her silvery ringmail shirt. Her hair was black as a raven's wing, so short and shaggy that Alayne suspected that she cut it with a dagger. Mya's eyes were her best feature, big and blue. She could be pretty, if she would dress up like a girl. Alayne found herself wondering whether Ser Lothor liked her best in her iron and leather, or dreamed of her gowned in lace and silk.”

This might be the best example of Sansa’s attraction to women. She once again thinks about the beauty of a woman who isn’t conventionally attractive and she even comments on her eyes. She then contextualizes her attraction by convincing herself that she’s thinking from a man’s perspective. In reality though she’s thinking about how Mya looks her best to her and is unable to really think of that because it's not considered proper.

“When Margaery Tyrell smiled, she looked very like her brother Loras.”

This one is pretty self explanatory. She thinks of how lovely Margaery looks repeatedly and when Margaery is admirable and happy, she once again contextualizes her attraction by bringing a man into the picture.

My thoughts on her “crushes” on men:

Now, her 3 real crushes in the books are Joffrey Baratheon, Loras Tyrell, and Waymar Royce. They all follow a very similar template. Men straight out of the songs and stories that Sansa loves.

“Sansa did not really know Joffrey yet, but she was already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be, tall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold.”

And

“Joffrey smiled and kissed her hand, handsome and gallant as any prince in the songs.”

Joffrey is someone Sansa likes because he’s the prince out of songs, the idealized prince in the stories. And Sansa loves songs and stories so she thinks she loves Joffrey. When she comments on Joffrey’s beauty, it’s almost always in the context of songs or stories. He’s also the easiest crush, her betrothed who she has to learn to love.

“Ser Gregor was the monster and Ser Loras the true hero who would slay him. He even looked a true hero, so slim and beautiful, with golden roses around his slender waist and his rich brown hair tumbling down into his eyes.”

And

“Wed to Ser Loras, oh . . . Sansa's breath caught in her throat. She remembered Ser Loras in his sparkling sapphire armor, tossing her a rose. Ser Loras in white silk, so pure, innocent, beautiful.”

Loras is also an ideal out of the songs. Sansa says it herself. He’s the hero she wants. She always thinks of him in that context. It makes sense that she crushes on him. He’s a safe easy crush. It’s like the asoiaf equivalent of crushing on some guy in a boyband.

Sansa’s interactions with Margaery

“You will love Highgarden as I do, I know it.” Margaery brushed back a loose strand of Sansa’s hair. “Once you see it, you’ll never want to leave. And perhaps you won’t have to.”

The way Margaery tries to appeal to Sansa and talk to her almost echoes a flirtation. Pushing a strand of hair behind someone’s ear is a textbook romantic move. And the persuasion relies on Sansa liking Margaery and is all about finding love.

“”Margaery’s kindness had been unfailing, and her presence changed everything.”

The way Sansa thinks of Margaery is quite striking and loving. It is as though Margaery was this big important force in Sansa’s life.

“Margaery was different, though. Sweet and gentle, yet there was a little of her grandmother in her, too. The day before last she’d taken Sansa hawking.”

Sansa also goes on what pretty much amounts to dates with Margaery. And the sentiment of Margaery being different is very similar to Arya’s thoughts on Gendry: “Only Gendry was different” and their relationship is often considered to have romantic undertones. It’s also interesting that gentle is used to describe Margaery when that is one of the words Ned used to describe Sansa’s future romance.

“She is so brave, Sansa thought, galloping after her.”

Sansa clearly admires Margaery immensely and her thoughts are always complimentary. She clearly crushes on her.

Sansa’s interactions with Myranda:

And you must be the Lord Protector’s daughter,” she added, as the bucket went rattling back up to the Eyrie. “I had heard that you were beautiful. I see that it is true.”

Alayne curtsied. “My lady is kind to say so.”

“Kind?” The older girl gave a laugh. “How boring that would be. I aspire to be wicked. You must tell me all your secrets on the ride down. May I call you Alayne?”

The complimenting of Sansa’s beauty is another common trope in flirtation. And the way she interacts is very sexual and ostentatious. It’s flirty. And asking to call someone by their first name is also a romantic trope.

“Randa. It seems a hundred years since I was four-and-ten. How innocent I was. Are you still innocent, Alayne?”

She blushed. “You should not ... yes, of course.”

Sansa is nervous around Myranda in a way she’s not around men. She even blushes. Myranda is also directly questioning Sansa about her sexual experience.

“Despite herself, Alayne found herself warming to the older girl.”

She starts developing a crush.

“She is trying to make me blush again.

Lady Myranda must have heard her thoughts. “You do turn such a pretty shade of pink. When I blush I look quite like an apple. I have not blushed for years, though.” She leaned closer.”

Once again, this is super flirty and seductive. She’s complimenting Sansa on her blush and implying her own experience. This whole conversation is ripe with that stuff.

“She ate with Mya and Myranda. “So you’re brave as well as beautiful,” Myranda said to her.

“No.” The compliment made her blush. “I’m not. I was so scared. I don’t think I could have crossed without Lord Robert.”

Once again Sansa blushes at Myranda’s comments.

“By the time they finally reached her father’s castle, Lady Myranda was drowsing too, and Alayne was dreaming of her bed.”

This is some interesting word play. It might not be intentional but ships like Braime have similar lines.

And a few miscellaneous/bonus things:

“Septa Mordane said all men are beautiful, find his beauty, try.”

This is how Sansa thinks about Tyrion. She’s a child forcibly married to him so she’d probably judge him harshly regardless but this phrasing struck me. It’s very similar to the way lgbtq people are often told to try to love another gender even if they cannot. And the way Septa Mordane taught Sansa about attraction and gender obviously has a huge influence on her perception of her own sexuality.

“When a serving girl brought her supper, she almost kissed her.”

And this is Sansa thinking about kissing a girl.

“I am coming for you, Lady Sansa, she thought as she rode into the darkness. Be not afraid. I shall not rest until I've found you.”

The fact that the true knight Sansa wishes for, the hero out of the stories, the romantic trope is Brienne, a woman, has some awesome queer implications. Even if her relationship with Brienne isn’t really a romantic one, it certainly fits the idea of courtly love.

[spotofimagines]

Rivals Last ~ Jadon Sancho

A/N: So I had this in my drafts before he signed with man united but that's fine, we move, we adapt. A third piece for the @footballffbarbiex summer challenge. Hope you enjoy it :)

Warnings: none - reader is female

Summary: You love both your brothers dearly, but being in the football world with them can make some things a little complicated.

gif by @archivesbvb - gif by @ermuellert - gif by @italynt

Being a footballer meant living in a special world. Being in a footballing family meant living in a special world too. Being the younger sister of Lucas and Theo Hernandez meant living in a really special world. But nobody told you just how crazy it would be for all three of those things to apply to you.

You truly love watching your older brothers play football. They teach you something new during every match you see; even though you play as a striker, their movements and handling of the ball always inspire you to play better. After all, it was their defensive skills that helped you become a good goal scorer growing up since they never let a tackle go unchallenged in the park and you had to find out how to manoeuvre around them. A lot easier said than done.

Currently Lucas is signed with Bayern Munich. In his time there so far, he has learnt the heritage, history, and importance of wearing the badge and defending its honour in every match they play, especially derbies. Having supported Lucas, it quickly became easy for you to support Bayern Munich too and celebrate their victories like it was your own team. You'd always managed to do it with the clubs both your brothers played for, letting the atmosphere of the fanbase carry you away.

You have just finished your second season in England with Manchester City women's team. You'd settled in nicely now, having learnt a lot of the English language and culture already. The experience was made so much easier because of the help given by your welcoming teammates and the staff that translated things into French and Spanish during your first months there.

Fans were a little disappointed during the 2019 summer transfer window when it was confirmed all three Hernandez siblings would be leaving Spain to play separately in England, Germany and Italy, joking that no one could know what might happen with you all so far away. However, to you, it made things easier, as Lucas and Theo would stop making so many awful jokes about each other's clubs, only to join forces to diss your club even more afterward. Now the only connection you have to the clubs you all play for is the want for your sibling to win with them. And it is a great feeling. A welcome change of pace.

But no new change to your life felt as good as your blossoming "relationship", situationship, whatevership, you have with Jadon Sancho.

It all started with you flirting back and forth on social media, which turned itself into countless hours of DMs no one else could see. You congratulated his goals and he congratulated your wins. All the light-hearted teasing and the warm-hearted compliments stayed in your own little bubble. The only thing peeking out was your silly inside rule that if you were going to comment on a post, it had to be emojis only, stretching to a few words if you really couldn't help yourself - but it would earn you taunts from the other for the rest of the night.

Some eagle-eyed fans noticed how you'd been liking each other's posts every time they appeared for a while now, but it just added to the fun and thrill you got from flirting with him so much.

You weren't meant to be forming a bond with Jadon. He played for your brother’s rival. He was supposed to be the enemy. Someone you should dislike with a snap of your fingers. Certainly not a boy to fall for like you have.

You couldn't help yourself. Lucas and Theo had helped you since you moved to England by being the steady rocks they always were, cheering you on from afar. Your new teammates had helped you since you moved to England by introducing fun things for you all to do together and taking you under their wings. But Jadon had helped you in a different kind of way. He gave you a new kind of comfort and reassurance when you talked. He became someone to turn to with all your interesting news and your curious problems. He told you the good places to visit around the city that he remembered from his time there and taught you English slang to make your teammates laugh. You spoke three languages to varying degrees now, and you'd managed to pick up more German vicariously through Lucas in two years faster than Jadon had done living in Germany in four years, so you'd clue him into rude German phrases you had asked Lucas about, alongside the French and Spanish swear words he used more often than English ones now when you text. 

Even though a language barrier comes up once in a while, you have both learnt behaviours from each other and crave the contact you share. Jadon was starting to drop everything to send replies to you, a change his teammates have noticed and jokingly mock him for. Little did they know the unknown girl they joke he is smitten over is the sister of their rival.

Theo is the one in your family you usually tell about the boys you go out with; boyfriends and dates have been shared with him since you were 13 and doting on your first crush. He does the same with his girlfriends; asking advice and telling you more than you need to know at times. So, when you all went home for a bit of family time around Christmas, nothing could stop him from noticing the tell-tale signs that you had something going on. He already figured out through persistence that it was another player you were getting involved with, and his insistent questioning hasn't stopped in his search for who the player is.

But you keep it hidden from Lucas, and you don't know when you'll tell him. He has been your protector since you were kids, comforting you on sad nights when no one else was there, teaching you little secrets about how to navigate through the world, he even punched a boy who teased you once at school. The idea of telling him you were chatting romantically to another player would be trouble enough, but telling him it was a Dortmund player might just end up in another schoolground incident. You hadn't wanted Theo to know for fear he'd go dishing your dirt to Lucas, but he discovered it on his own and there was nothing you could do.

Who knows what might become of this thing you have with Jadon, and lord knows your eldest brother owns a hard as nails death stare that just might do Jadon in, but for now you actually quite like having the secret. A little mystery tucked away up your sleeve.

The rush you always get when Lucas calls your phone as you're typing a text to the Englishman,  feeling as though the first words from the other end will be shouts of how he knows everything and he'll never speak to you again for keeping it a secret, fills you with dread at times. But it never is the reason he calls, and it turns out he is just making plans or has something funny to tell you. But the way your heart thumps as you go back to texting Jadon, that is part of the chase you have to admit you enjoy.

Hardcore fans online have noticed the past few months that when you do interviews in English, the odd slang term comes up during jokes - terms you hadn't used before and stem more from London boroughs than northen towns - so speculation of how you'd learnt these things easily coincided with dating rumors.

Lucas had seen the speculation online; seen fans trying to put your interactions with the Dortmund player together through both your instagram stories and comments and the tweets you both had liked about the other. Lucas had even grown suspicious of the little questions you asked him about Germany, German phrases and his lifestyle there, not knowing why you would need nor want to know those things. But Lucas doesn't believe it. He knows that you know better to mix with a Dortmund boy.

Sometimes an older brother just doesn't get it quite right…

Soon, the chance will come to really see if your connection is something you can build on. Jadon's new signing with Manchester United has been confirmed and he will be moving back to England. It is a great opportunity to get to see him more often, rather than the odd rendezvous point or clandestine trip during small breaks in the season. You'll spend more time face to face instead of over the phone. You'll get to wake up in his bed and him in yours, without needing to sneak away from hotel rooms afterwards. You'll maybe even get to go on a proper date, just the two of you, where you can flirt across the table your joined hands rest upon. Hanging out with Jadon won't be the first time you've spent time together in person. However, getting a full day with only the two of you where you won't have to pretend you hardly know who he is, and you won't have to pretend your eyes aren't meeting across the group of people you're in - it fills your stomach with knots and butterflies.

A certain pressure has fallen off you now Jadon has no growing rivalry with Lucas, but not completely. You won't be able to take back the way their teams made the other feel in the past, but the fact there won't be more of it next season comforts you a little. The biggest thing that will hold you back from going public before the new season starts will be the media, but that is an issue you can't even begin to worry about yet. You are too caught up in the excitement of being in the same town as Jadon to care. Rumours are spinning crazier than ever about you two as some of your liked tweets about his move got reposted by sports pages and fan blogs - now joking about him being your rival instead of your brother's - and yet it didn't stop you, no longer all that bothered about keeping a low profile now you both will be living away from Lucas. If he gets mad, all he will be able to do is shout down the phone, and whilst you never want that to happen, you know the time to flourish with Jadon and capitalise on the foundation you have already built is better than ever, brothers be damned.

There are big changes coming for the both of you, yet one thing will remain the same no matter the outcome of your relationship. You can't quite stop being football rivals.