dann-iiela

[dollfacefantasy]

PRETTY AS A PRINCESS ♡

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: you and logan have to work on halloween, but on the bright side, that means you get to dress up. and even better, you get to give him a little preview of the costume you've chosen.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, ddlg, slight dumbification

wc: 3.2k

a/n: reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated <33

kinktober slot: day 29 - ddlg

"You sure you don't need my help in there?" Logan calls to you.

"I got it. Just gimme a second," your voice responds, slightly muffled from the walk-in closet door separating the two of you, "So impatient."

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, a smile rising to his lips. Normally, that comment would get you a small swat on the ass, but he decides to let it go for now.  You were in a particularly good mood today. The two of you had been assigned a mission next week that fell on Halloween. At first, you'd been unhappy about that, but then the professor informed you that it meant you were going undercover at a Halloween party - which meant you got to dress up.

For the past couple weeks, you'd been thinking about this costume choice as if it was the most important decision you'll ever make in your life. There were just so many options as you'd put it. So many colors and cuts. 

He knew you, so he knew it'd be something cute. But thus far, you hadn't actually shown him what you picked. Today it arrived in the mail, which is why tonight, you made a big deal of revealing it to him.

"Are you ready?" you finally ask.

"I've been ready. Let's see it."

The closet door creaks open. Before you exit, you peak your head out, flashing him a quick smile. Your excitement oozes from every pore on your body, flooding the room as you finally step out from behind the mahogany.

His prediction had been right - you look very cute. You strut out to him in what seems to be a princess costume. A tight corset wraps around your waist while frills and lace compliments your bust. The skirt goes down to your mid thigh, flowy and sweet while teasing enough flesh to be seductive. A sparkling tiara rests atop your head, and long, smooth gloves cover you fingertip to elbow. 

Skipping over, you stop in front of him. "So... what do you think?" you ask with a coy cock of your head.

His eyes scan you up and down, but of course, his mind has been made.

"Do you really have to ask?" he teases, "You look beautiful."

A bright smile spreads over your face when the inevitable answer hits your ears.

He chuckles at the reaction and reaches out to grab your waist. He really does adore this little get-up. It suits you just right, and on top of that, he can already tell how it makes you feel.

From the beginning of your relationship, Logan had a suspicion you'd be into this kind of thing. The whole princess thing. And along with that, the whole daddy thing. 

While you could be fierce in the field, sharp and quick, there was another side to you. A side that liked things soft and gentle, that yearned to be taken care of. It was the same part of you that came out when he sat you on his lap, running the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. The part that made your head go fuzzy and your eyes glossy when he'd speak in a lower tone or call you a sweet name.

Over the course of knowing you, he'd found there were more triggers than delicate touches and tender words though. It was easier for you to slip into this dreamier headspace when you were tired or sad. You also liked when he took over simple tasks for you. But another one was definitely when you felt pretty. That always seemed to bring the d-word out from between those plush lips.

He found it a little odd at first, but he loved you. He could roll with you calling him daddy if that's what you wanted. And after a while, it didn't seem so strange anymore. He found himself craving your voice ringing out those two syllables, calling for only him when you felt your most vulnerable.

He spins you around between his thighs and kisses the warm back of your neck. The zipper on your dress hadn't been pulled all the way up. His fingers find the small metal piece to tug, pulling on it a little to tease before fixing the garment.

"Were you gonna wear it like this to the party, babydoll?" he asks, voice slipping into that lovingly condescending tone, "Give everybody there a nice show?"

A giggle bursts from you. Vibrates up your sternum through your throat and from your mouth. With how close he is to you, he can feel each bit.

"No," you say as if it's obvious. From your cadence alone, he can tell his set of suspicions was correct. You're starting to slip.

"So you need daddy's help then?" he mocks, dropping his voice. His teeth nip at the shell of your ear, tugging a little and beckoning more laughter from you.

"I guess..."

"You could've just said that then. I know my little girl can't be expected to do everything on her own."

You hum with petulant agreement. Your head tilts back to rest on his shoulder at the same time the back of your dress closes up. He kisses up your spine, the metal teeth chasing his lips.

"There we go," he says with a small pat to your hip.

You turn around to face him again. The fabric of your skirt flies up a little with the mini twirl. He smooths it back down for you before gazing at those eyes glimmering with admiration.

"Could you help me with my socks and shoes too? I accidentally forgot them out here."

"Did you now?" he smirks. He knows your games. If he doesn't offer to do things for you, then you make sure to create a situation in which the chances of that happening increase.

"Mhm," you say, nodding up and down in big bobs.

"Well go get them, and bring 'em here."

Obeying the command like it's a second nature, you pad over to the chair by the closet and dig inside the package to get the matching pieces to this outfit. He watches you pull out ivory thigh highs with little bows at the meshy hems and a pair of dainty heels. 

The items swing back and forth at your sides as you waltz to him. He takes them from you and sets them on the mattress. Standing up, his form rises above your own. He guides you so that your positions are reversed. Your thighs press against the blankets before he guides you down to sit.

"Be a good girl and sit still for me now. We'll get you all dolled up," he directs.

In a move no one else besides you ever sees, he crouches down before you. He gets on his knee and grabs one of the socks off the bed. The material stretches under his careful fingers as he prepares it for you. One of his hands takes your ankle, boosting your leg up.

The thin, white fabric slides over your foot first. Just as he did with the zipper, he kisses your ankle, then your calve, your knee and then your thigh. He feels your pupils lock on him. He doesn't even have to look up. His mind knows the way they’re dilating while set upon him.

He shimmies the sleeve around your leg, making sure the little bow sits at the front. "That look right?" Now his eyes look up at your own.

The two small spheres look as he'd imagined, blown-out and ultra-focused on him. Your bottom lip is between your teeth too. "Mhm. Thank you, daddy," you answer softly.

"No problem, baby."

Now, he moves to your other limb. He repeats the process. Smooches land on your skin, flowing along the path the sock follows. That one gets put in the proper place too. He pushes your legs together, looking at the pair next to each other. The bows sit there staring back at him. He didn't know how he was supposed to focus on whatever you were actually going to this halloween party for when you looked like this.

"Cute, huh?" he asks.

You nod and smile.

After seeing your legs closed, the only natural next move would be to spread them apart. His thumbs hook against your inner thighs, the rest of his digits curling over the rest of the doughy flesh. He pushes them away from each other. The growing distance causes the silky skirt to ride up and allows him to see what you wear beneath your pretty dress.

Matching panties. The same kind of lace that framed your collar fans across your pelvis. It's fashioned in the same style and color as the rest of what you're wearing. He can feel heat pooling between his legs just from a quick glance.

"Are these new too?" he asks, tugging you to the edge of the mattress and pushing your skirt away.

"Yeah... Do you like them?" you check.

"You're smarter than that, baby," he says. He leans in and presses a kiss to your cunt over the fabric. The gesture's so chaste, but you feel your tummy flutter with the first beat of arousal.

"I just wanna make sure since I got them for you," you tell him.

"All for me? Never knew you could be so thoughtful, sweetheart."

You scoff and pout at him from above. "Yes you did."

He laughs softly at that and pecks your inner thigh a few times as penance. "Maybe. I guess you can be sweet when you wanna."

His tongue flicks out to lick back up to the new panties. The scent of your desire grows more prevalent. He knows you're getting wet for him. Bringing one finger up, he traces over the cloth, from where your slit is to your cute little clit. He does that a few times before hooking around the entire section and pulling it aside. Like he expected, your folds glisten for him.

"Poor baby. Is daddy getting you all messy?" he coos with a smug look.

"Yeah," you whimper. The shudder you'd been repressing washes over your body.

"It's only right I clean my pretty princess up then, hm?" he asks, still mocking you with his eyes.

You nod again, your confirmation wordless this time.

He brings his face to your center and lays a more passionate kiss upon the slick skin. His lips engulf your sex, his tongue dancing against your clit teasingly. Instantly, you whine and dig your gloved fingers into the sheets. Your legs find their places on his shoulders, convincing him to lean deeper into the junction of your thighs.

His tongue flattens, lapping your pussy with a nearly feral lust. It's no secret that Logan loves your taste. Not a drop of you goes to waste if he can spare it. He feels your thighs quivering against each side of his head and brings his free hand to rest on top of one. The security of him holding you there settles you slightly. But the position also gives him leverage to keep you close.

He sucks on your clit and then fucks his tongue into you. You try to writhe. Your hips buck at the onslaught of pleasure flaring up at your core, but he has an inhumane grip on you. You haven't cum yet, but you're gushing onto his face all the same.

"Daddy," you mewl, barely able to get the word out, "You're gonna ruin the underwear."

He's rock hard now at the whiny sound of your voice. You always get that way when you're near the edge. Your lip starts to wobble. Your voice gets pitchy as your demands grow needy. The look in your eyes just makes everything you say sound like begging.

Not one to normally be interrupted, he twirls the tip of his tongue around your bundle of nerves. But the words you spoke begin to register in his brain, and he reluctantly pulls back. His eyelids droop down with lust. Your fluids coat his chin and make some of his facial hair shimmer from the wetness.

"That's true, baby. Can't get these all soaked and destroyed before the party."

He rises to his feet again, pulling your panties all the way off simultaneously. Then his hands drop to his pants. He rids himself of his belt and undoes his fly.

"Plus, I think I have another way I can show you how much I like this new dress."

Taking his cock out, he tugs on it a few times. A few pearls of precum bead at the tip. His favorite part about getting his dick out is watching your reaction to it. No matter how many times you've seen it, you still seem so in awe. You marvel at the size and the way it flushes. Your eyes track the veins sprawling over it and sneak a glance at the heavy set of balls hanging below his shaft. He doesn't think you could look any more longing if you tried.

You're already soaked, so all he has to do is line up and slide in. Whining as he pounds himself into the hilt, your eyes start to go starry. He gets a firm grip on the swell of your hips in order to drag himself back and then pump himself forward again.

"Daddy... slow down," you pout, "s'too big."

He chuckles at your performance and slams in again just as hard. "No, no. C'mon, baby. Daddy needs this. He's gotta show you what you do to him in this little dress. And I know you can take it."

His hips continue to bump your ass as he thrusts back and forth. It's easy for him to find the rhythm you like. He settles into it and rocks in and out of your tight cunt. It feels like pure, concentrated bliss for him; always does. Your velvety walls, spasming and sucking on his cock. Silently crying 'more more more.'

"Pretty girl... we're gonna be doing this at the party too if you're not careful," he grunts.

You babble and squirm on the bed, lazily nodding at the sound of his voice. It's so cute, he thinks. The way you go dumb so quick and easy.

"Mhm. You're gonna drive me crazy. Might have to pull you into one of the bathrooms and bend you over the counter. See how cute this outfit looks from the back," he continues.

Your back arches off the plush surface. A physical stamp of approval on his plan.

"Gonna have you screaming so loud everyone there hears and knows what a good girl you are for your daddy," he breathes.

Leaning down, he removes a hand from your hip and brings it to cup your jaw. The pads of his fingers dig into your fleshy cheeks. Your lips puff out a little, begging for a kiss. He gives you a quick peck but never stops the ricocheting of his pelvis.

"You're so precious," he murmurs against your skin.

Meanwhile, his hips seem like their mission is to obliterate you down below. They ram forward and back, jostling your body on the bed. You can barely find the will to choke out "Daddy, daddy, daddy. Can I cum? Please."

Your voice is wrecked, even pitchier than before. He bobbles your head into a little nod with his hand. Your glassy eyes stay on him the whole time though. 

"Yeah, you can," he agrees.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," you babble and fling your arms around him to keep him close. Not that he was going anywhere. He stays balls deep in you through the sensation of you tightening up and gushing all over him. Your walls flutter and squeeze. You writhe like you're possessed, and your eyes give that same impression as they roll back. Half-words spill from your lips begging, "Da- Plea- oh fuck-"

"Language, baby," he chides mockingly, his own tone growing strained.

You respond with total sincerity though. "'m sorry, daddy. Just- hnnngh- just feels so good."

"I know it does. Too much for you to handle, hm?"

You shake your head but the motion is so wild, it barely comes across as a declaration of disagreement.

"Use your big girl words, sweetheart," he coos. His desire tightens between his hips. He feels the familiar pressure and the way his balls draw up with the need to spill inside you.

"I can do it- ah!" you squeal, "I can take it. Just want daddy to finish inside."

His face falls down to rest in the crook of your neck. "If that's what you want, princess."

They're the last words he gets out before a groan rumbles in his chest. His release fires out with fervor. Spills into you in strong ropes. You sigh, eyes rolling back as warm satisfaction fizzles in your belly. The sensation melts you down from the whiny mess you had been into a boneless, whimpering puddle.

He pants against your skin. Hot puffs of air hit your neck as he starts coming down. Slowly, his cock slides out of you, popping out with a squelch. Two thick fingers find your hole and fuck the cum that was leaking out of you back in. You whimper at the intrusion to your sensitive cunt, but he smirks at you.

"Shh, shh, shh. It's ok, baby. We don't want any of this getting on your pretty dress, do we? Can't make a mess of it yet."

Your head bobbles in lazy agreement. He continues pumping his fingers into your soaked entrance while placing gentle kisses all over your face. 

When he finishes, he pulls your panties and his pants back up and then recedes to his knees again. He takes the heels from the bed and slides your feet into them. Taking care to make sure the strap is in place, he fastens the buckle on each and then lets them fall to the floor.

"Think you can walk in those still? Or did daddy get you too dizzy?" he asks.

"I can," you huff.

Pushing yourself off the bed, your legs wobble like those of a baby deer. You move across the bedroom, swaying a little but not enough to topple over and crash to the ground. He can tell you're waddling slightly, probably from the cum slowly seeping out of you again.

The costume looks gorgeous as ever with all the pieces put together. You readjust the tiara on your head and do a little spin for him before heading back over to the chair you initially pulled this dress from. You fish out what seems to be a basic wolf mask and show it to him.

"I got this for you," you beam.

His eyebrows raise incredulously. "I'm not wearing that."

You give him a look of your own, seconds away from stamping your foot. "Yes you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"Am not."

"Are too! You have to dress up, Charles already said!" you insist and bring the mask to him, "Plus don't you wanna match? It's like beauty and the beast."

He barks out a laugh. "Is that what I am to you? A beast?" he teases, pulling you close again.

"Well yeah, but in a good way," you grin.

"Hm. We'll see. I'll think about it," he says.

You're about to whine out a please, but he stops you with a kiss. He knows he'll be hearing tons of that for the next few weeks.

[entitled-fangirl]

Staying warm.

Jace Velaryon x Dornish wife!reader

SMUT

Summary: the reader is feeling homesick, the sunlight in Dragonstone doing nothing compared to the kind she had in Dorne. Jace notices her chill and yearns to warm her.

Warnings: p in v, fingering, light breast play, overstimulation

A/n: my homegirl @princessvelaryon helped me come up with the dragon part!! You should follow her, she's fantastic🤭

Masterlist

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Jace's heart dropped when he walked into their shared chambers to see his wife gone. 

She was adventurous, that much was true. But usually when leaving like this, he would be the first to know. 

It was quite unusual indeed. 

The worry was both relieved and heightened at the sight of her riding boots. If she wasn't out riding…?

He ran from their chambers and down the corridor, almost tripping down the multitude of stairs as he did so. Jace was not a runner per se, but he made quick work of getting down to his mother's solar. No doubt would she know of something.

He threw open the door, not waiting for the guards nor being polite. 

Rhaenyra gasped, then relaxed. "Gods, Jace."

"Have you seen my wife?" He urgently panted.

The Queen raised a brow at the sight of her boy almost sweating. 

"She told me just this morning that she'd be there until I fetch her for the afternoon. And she's gone."

Rhaenyra tilted her head with an almost smirk. "Have you looked for her beyond your room?"

"I-" Jace paused. "No."

His mother held back a playful scoff. "Go look around. I'm sure you'll find her."

"You're not as worried as you should be," he pointed out.

"No. No, I'm not."

Jace kept his disdain inside as he turned to look across Dragonstone.

…

After scanning all of her favorite spots in Dragonstone, Jace was beginning to grow frantic. He resorted to ease his panic by stepping out onto a balcony to catch fresh air. 

Ah. There she was.

He saw his precious wife out in the grass outside of the walls. She laid in the sun with her eyes closed, and he swore she was glowing. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" He yelled out.

He saw her eyes snap open and her body sits up to look over her shoulder at the sound. "WHAT?"

"WHAT ARE Y-" He stopped himself with a laugh and ran back inside to join her. 

She waited patiently for him to walk through the door, but to her surprise, he was running. He ran all the way to her, practically tripping onto the ground next to her. "My sweet wife," he hummed and kissed her deeply. "I was worried."

"Worried?" She pecked at his lips again. "Why?"

He cupped her face with an intense look of admiration, as if memorizing her face. "You weren't in our room when you said you'd be."

"I-" Her eyes widened. "Is it that time already? I've been out here longer than I thought."

He chuckled openly at that. "Very much so." His thumb brushed her cheekbone. "What warranted such a trip outdoors?"

She sighed and turned her head to kiss his palm. "I've been getting less and less sun on the balcony to our chambers. Today, I looked out and… the sun looked so soothing out here in the open. I'm sorry for startling you. I only planned to be here for a few minutes."

"The sun is dangerous in large amounts, my love. Surely we should take you indoors."

She shook her head and kissed his palm again. "In Dorne, I practically lived in the sun."

While to her it was a happy proclamation, it made Jace's heart twist with guilt. "I see." He moved his hand down to pinch her chin. "Do you grow cold here?"

Her smile faltered a bit. She shook her head insistently.

"Love," Jace persisted. He titled his head down a bit and his stare intensified. 

"Maybe a bit," she quietly remarked.

"A bit?" He asked. "I'd say more than a bit. You're out here basking in the sun like a dragon." He chuckled at the thought. "Perhaps you're more dragon than I."

She felt a laugh rise from her throat and she playfully pushed him back, resulting in him resting in the grass.

He sat up and grabbed her hips then laid back down with her next to him. She laid her head on his chest. 

Jace's eyes had to squint to look up at the sky, but she was entirely content. 

"Nice, isn't it?" She hummed.

It wasn't his favorite. "Yes. Yes, it's wonderful," he agreed. "Tell me though how I can help you in the future. More cloaks? The greatest furs and blankets? Why does my best girl wish for?"

She hummed out a no. "Don't do anything on my behalf. I'll be fine."

His hand on her hip squeezed her. "I'll do what I wish. I'm the future king, and if my queen wishes for even the most outlandish thing, I'll grant it to her."

She squirmed, flipping herself onto her stomach to look at him. "What if I wish for nothing?"

"That is the goal, isn't it? To have my wife wish for nothing. But we must work to get to that point, hm? Tell me what you want. What will ease your mind, my love?"

She considers his question. She leans on one elbow to use her free hand to play with his doublet. "When I think of something, you'll be the first to know."

He vowed then and there to figure it out anyway.

…

Jace had stayed true to his vow, making excuses to take her to various places and do various activities to keep her warm.

"I understand your excitement, Jace, but I truly shouldn't-"

"-Nonsense. Vermax has been lonely as of late. You know how much he adores you."

That part was true. Jace sometimes believed that Vermax truly did like the girl more than him.

They entered the dragon pit and she basked in the warmth that radiated through the caves from the dragon fire. Jace tugged on her hand, "C'mon. He'll be waiting."

The dragon neared them with the help of the handlers. Jace nodded in appreciation and approached the large beast like greeting a friend. 

The dragon nuzzled into his hand and gave a purr. 

Y/n stayed behind Jace in waiting for the dragon to notice her presence, and of course, it did. 

Vermax snapped playfully at her and she ignored the dragon's hot breath moving across her skin.

"I think he's ready to stretch his wings for a bit. Think you can handle that?" He grinned and held his hand out to her. 

Once her hand was firmly grasped in his, Jace pulled her to Vermax's side, helping hoist her up onto the dragon's back. She grabbed onto the saddle with an iron grip. 

Jace climbed on quickly and settled behind her. He brought his hands around her hips, feeling a shiver move up her body. "Settled, then?" He purred into her ear.

"Jace," she whispered. She could feel his breath against the back of her neck. The warmth from his body was intoxicating. She blamed it on his dragon-blood.

He let out a breathy chuckle. "I'll take that as a yes."

The dragon was led out of the pit and into the sunlight. It let out a content growl. 

Jace grabbed the reigns.

"Sōvēs!" (Fly)

The dragon's wings stretched out and began to push air down, lifting its legs off the ground. 

She shrieked and held the saddle so tightly her knuckles turned white. She could feel Jace's chest pulse with a laugh. 

Once Vermax evened out in the sky, she relaxed a bit. Her hands still held on but her heart was slightly eased. 

Jace's nose nuzzled at her neck.

"Jace," she tutted. 

He continued his movements with a cheeky grin. "Thought you liked my touch."

"I-I do, but…" She watched one of his hands let go of the reigns and began to run up her thigh. 

"But?" He teased.

She took in a deep breath. "Is this safe?"

He kissed her neck. "Most likely. Hold this."

She mindlessly takes what he asks then realized she was holding the reins in her hands. Vermax seemed to either not notice, or just not care.

Both of her husband's hands were now on her thighs. "This is a bad idea, Jace."

"Shhh. Don't let negative thoughts persuade you." He kissed and nipped at her neck. "Do you like this?"

She leaned against his chest and slowly nodded. 

"Now," Jace tutted. "I'll keep you warm, you lovely girl."

Her eyes closed in comfort and let out a satisfied groan.

"Easy, love. You're steering Vermax."

Her eyes shot open to keep watch.

Jace's hands wandered up her legs and up her stomach, then moved back down. The feeling of his hands on her always caused her to run hot, but this was something else entirely.

His hands never moved further than that, just wandering back and forth over her body. He grinned cheekily each time she shivered or took a sharp breath. 

"Enjoying yourself?"

She nodded absentmindedly. 

"Good." He kissed at her neck again.

…

A few days passed until Jace saw another opportunity to warm her again. 

She sat at the window with a book, halfway keeping Jace company as he slaved over his work.

The second goosebumps erupted on her skin, Jace practically threw his work to the side. 

He stepped to her and kissed her deeply. 

She let out a surprised yelp that Jace all but swallowed down. 

When he pulled away, she hummed. "What was that for?"

He admired the flush that came to her cheeks. "Just caring for you is all."

She laughed and kissed at his cheek. "I want you to do it again."

"Easily done."

He cupped her cheeks and kissed her again, groaning when she began to tug at his doublet. Her fingers pulled at the buttons with earnest.

Jace smiled against her lips and picked her up, walking her to the bed and setting her on to it gently without breaking the kiss. 

Her tongue licked at his bottom lip, and his grin only grew. 

Her hands pulled managed to pull his doublet off and was now pulling his tunic up, her fingers brushing over his stomach. It made Jace gasp. 

He cupped the back of her neck to bring her closer to him, as if that was possible, and let her explore his mouth. 

A low growl sounded from his throat. The feeling of her was all-consuming, warm and soft. 

He pulled away to let her tug his tunic over his head, but as soon as he was free, he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He sucked at the skin with a fervor that she was sure would leave marks. 

"You're an awfully convincing man," she giggled. 

He kissed her cheek. "I only aim to please. And I plan to do it well."

She pulled on his hair to tilt his head up at her, and she kissed him again. 

Now his hands began to undress her. He started slowly, but as the kiss progressed, he was getting desperate. Once he got to her shift, he gripped the neckline and tore it all the way down. Any complaint she made was lost in translation against his lips. 

He pulled away to sit up and tug his pants off and join her in the nude. 

She admired the sight of his pretty skin, trailing her eyes down from his chest to enjoy any sliver of skin he presented to her. He was perfect. 

He grinned at the sight of her delight. "So do I?"

She forced her eyes back up to his face. "Do you what?"

His hand moved down to her hip bone, rubbing it soothingly back and forth. His eyes made a sweeping pattern over her entire body. "Please you?"

Her breath hitched. He was consuming her every thought, and she found that she couldn't think of any words to say. 

His hands touched her hips and then moved up her body achingly slow before they rested on her cheeks. She shivered as he did so, the feeling tickling and yet starting a fire in her. "Cold?"

She only whined. 

"Don't worry, love." He pecked her lips. "I plan to warm you the rest of the day and into the morrow."

He brushed some of her hair back from her forehead as his other hand wandered lower to circle her clit lightly. 

She whined again, her hips jerking away out of instinct. 

"Feel the heat rising in your body?" He whispered into her ear. "The warmth that radiates when you get what you want."

"J-Jace-"

His eyes studied her earnestly. "Trust me?"

Breath escaped her. "Yes."

The hand on her clit began to move faster, the heat of her body contrasting with the cold metal of the ring on his finger. His other hand journeyed to her breast, brushing over it with his thumb and enjoying her small noises of content. 

He continued to do so, getting braver with each sweeping pass until he finally circled the nipple and watched her suck in a breath. 

"I- I'm-"

"I know," he tutted lightly.

One hand tugged at his hair, the other moved down his bicep and squeezed, bordering pain for Jace. 

Her backed arched slightly off of the sheets with a moan before slumping back down and panting.

Jace stopped when he noticed she was becoming overstimulated. "Feel good? Feel warm?"

She hummed. 

Jace chuckled. "I don't know if that's good enough for me, beautiful."

His fingers moved down to her slit and slowly pushed a finger in. She soaked him in easily. He cursed under his breath and added a second one with a slight stretch. He eased up when she whined again. His two fingers sunk into her and he began to pull them out, only to repeat the process. It was a slow and steady thrust, getting her properly prepared. 

Her eyes closed in bliss. He let out a breathy chuckle and took her hand with his, making her fingers brush over the other hand that was currently busying itself within her. 

The feeling felt right, and yet, downright sinful. Jace was like an angel that was cursed to the earth for being too perfect. 

There was never fear with him. He was steadfast in his loyalty. It made things like this easy. 

"I need more," she panted. "I want more of you."

"More?" He chuckled.

"Anything you give me, I'll take, Jace. Just pl-" She whined when he spread his fingers. 

"I'll give you all of me, my girl. Just be patient."

Jace pulled his fingers out, admiring the glaze that covered them and using it to ready his cock. He shifted comfortably onto her, alining himself. "You make my blood run quite hot, you know that?"

She giggled and brushed his curls away from his cheek. "And you with mine."

He pushed his hips forward, his jaw dropping in a hearty groan as he watched her body take him. 

…

Jace's words rang true, their bodies both overstimulated and dripping with sweat by the morning.

...........................................

[consciouscarrot]

day 29 - squirting [e.munson]

eddie munson x fem!reader

content warnings; squirting, vaginal fingering, p in v, creampie, handcuffs

notes; (as always) mdni, blank blogs get blocked and any/all feedback is much appreciated <3:) also i think i switched tenses a little bit at the end

kinktober/flufftober masterlist

—————

hands locked in handcuffs that were attached to the battered headboard, you were lying in eddies bed, previously neatly arranged pillows a mess behind you, head tilted back with a drawn out moan.

it had started with him reading something in a magazine, he’d spend a few days wondering if he could make you do it, if you were even willing to try. he’d ended up with a few awkward boners at the mere thought, head fogged with images of fluid spilling from your cunt as your body shook beneath him.

you’d noticed that he’d being quieter than usual, asking if he was okay with a furrowed brow. he’d immediately caved and asked you, hands gripped at your hips as he plead with you to let him.

you’d agreed, barely thinking anything of it as you already knew that you definitely couldn’t do it. you’d tried by yourself a couple of years ago after your friends had been talking about it, raving on about how great it felt, urging you to try, saying it would ‘change your life for the better’.

you’d spend nearly an hour trying, only to end up disappointed and overstimulated, and had never bothered to give it another go. you’d told him as much, but he was adamant that he tried, saying that he was sure could do it.

now, your hands wriggled within their constraints, yearning to reach out and touch him, to cling to his body and hair. eddie had already made you cum countless times, thighs now constantly trembling as he held them back with his forearm.

his head tilted as he watched his fingers pump in and out of your soaked cunt rapidly, slick coated fingertips hitting that sweet spot deep inside you repeatedly, making your head swim and back arch off the bed.

you gasped as you fell over the edge again, hands clenching into a fist, chest heaving as you panted through it, whining and moaning when he didn’t bother slowing his movements, fucking you through the overstimulation.

you felt lightheaded with pleasure, trying to say anything to get him to give you a break, heartbeat pounding in your ears, face scrunched up and whimpering.

“c’mon baby, you’re so close, i can feel it. you can do it, sweet thing,”

you shook your head, completely blissed out but still not believing that you’d be able to, eyes pressed tightly shut.

“yes you can, i’m not stopping until you allow it to happen,” eddie barked out a laugh, digits somehow moving even quicker.

your mouth gaped open, constant strings of moans tumbling out. if you’d been any more lucid, you’d have been embarrassed by the loud, wet squelching emanating from your cunt, so loud even with your pathetic whining echoing around eddie’s bedroom.

your eyes shot open, gasping in panic as a strange, new sensation started in your stomach, feeling eerily similar to needing to pee. you writhed about, desperately trying to hold back, tears falling down your face in humiliation as the feeling worsened, and you were certain you were going to ruin his bed.

he shushed you, stroking soothing motions over your thigh, “it’s okay, let it happen, just let go f’me.”

he pushed his palm down on your lower belly, and with one last cry, you finally let go, fluid squirting out around his still moving fingers, covering both him and the bed.

you’d never felt this good in your life, entire body locking up before you shook violently, bed frame creaking from your convulsions. your cunt pulsed and clenched sporadically, head pushing back against the pillows as you screamed out, unable to care about any of his neighbours hearing you, too caught up in the ecstasy.

eddie groaned at the sight of you, unable to hold back and wait for you come down, he flung your legs over his shoulders, pushing his twitching cock straight into you, your cunt still throbbing with the last remnants of your orgasm, poor hole overstimulated and oh so sensitive.

he wasted no time in pounding into you, tugging on your lip with his teeth as you wailed, squirming beneath him the best you could with him pinning you down into the mattress, wrists rubbed raw from the metal still encasing them.

your feet dangled over his shoulders, onyx curls tickling your sweaty skin, chest heaving as you pathetically tried to push him off, unable to do anything but try and take it, uncontrollable moans and screams barely muffled as he pressed his mouth against yours, lips stretching into a smug grin at your rapture.

you both reached the edge quickly, hips stuttering as his balls drew up before shooting out sticky ropes of pearlescent cum from his tip, painting your quivering walls white.

through his high, he tried to keep you grounded as you gushed around him, body writhing as you blacked out briefly from the sheer amount of pleasure your body had been wracked with in such a short amount of time, salt stained cheeks stretching as you couldn’t help but scream, cloudy liquid spraying out of your cunt again.

you panted, whimpering from empty feeling as he pulled out, eyes glazed over as your head tipped back, going limp in his arms, legs still shaking forcibly.

“fucking hell,” eddie exhaled slowly, before reaching up to finally unlock the handcuffs, rubbing gently at your sore wrists and grinning down at the empty headed look on your face, completely speechless and about thirty seconds away from passing out again.

“i told you you could do it, baby. you know i’m never wrong.”

[ghouljams]

missing witch and fae!price hope they r doing good n fuckign nasty and intimate this halloween

Price is going to breed her on purpose. (tw for me calling price "John" lol, sorry everyone)

“John,” you gasp-moan, your fingers working over your clit, “God, yes, John, please.”

Your pretty voice echoes through the room. Echoes in his head. You know exactly what you’re doing. 

You’re doing exactly what he said, you’re staying where he left you.

Your hips are in the air, your back is arched, your face is pressed in the pillow. The only difference is now you’re using the come that drips out of your hole, the come he left, to get off. And you’re making sure he knows it. 

Price settles his chin against his palm, his fingers curling over his lips as he pushes his other hand hard against his erection. Christ the things you do to him. That he’s going to do to you. He could smell the heat on you, the need. It itched at his skin.

That damn tattoo he stuck on you…

Whatever he agreed to for the magic to work it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

“John,” The whine in your voice, drawn out and hiccuped, you’re torturing him, “I need it, please.”

You’re saying his name, knowing it’ll tug at him, knowing he’ll hear your pleas. Knowing he can’t do anything about it. 

The fall fae at the end of the table drones on about preventing a hunt this year. Something about human casualties and keeping a low profile. The big fucker radiates malice across from him, and growls when asked his opinion. A new trait he must have picked up, normally he'd dive straight into eating people.

It’s truly boring to pretend any of them are civilized. That they aren't all yearning for a hunt, feeling the pull of the wild in their veins, the hunger... Price knows as well as anyone that they’ll do the same thing they do every year: pick a battlefield and hunt the soldiers that will never go home to their families. A familiar song and dance, an unnecessary step in their own pointless bureaucracy.

His chest burns, threads tugged hot between your fingers. Rolled against your already heated skin, gods he can feel the sweat that clings to them. Damn witch.

Price closes his eyes to focus on the feeling, on the way the magic slips and slides, pulls and releases. Almost wet. Christ you’re doing something to it, something you shouldn’t. His shoulders twitch, unused muscles beating with your finger’s tugging. He catalogues the feeling, the sound of your panting breath, each whimper growing softer as your voice fades, only to be brought back to the forefront when his name drips off your lips. Wet with your spit, probably drooling against the pillow, naughty thing.

It's a blessing that the so called "King" decides now is the time to lunge across the room at his fellow fall fae. Price jumps to his feet, vaguely registers Ghost's bored shuffle to his feet, and snaps his finger. His smoke is almost as excited as he is, jumping and shivering as it implodes around him and places him right back where he should have been all along. Behind you.

And your devious fingers, pulling tethers to rub the golden threads between your folds. Naughty indeed.

Price hooks his fingers in the threads that slip beside your fingers and pulls, leaning down to lick the slick that drips from them. If magic had a taste it would be this, heady with the soft musk that clings to your sweat.

"I told you," He tries to keep his voice even, "You have to wait."

"And I told you," Cheeky, you're always so cheeky, "to breed me."

Christ it's like he never left. Your slick drips onto the sheets, his come rubbed into your skin such that he can barely find a trace of it, your hips wiggle and your face is pressed into the pillow. The only difference now is the way you turn your head to pout at him. Pretty lips pursed and your eyes watery, God-

He nearly breaks his belt buckle with how hard he tugs at the thing. "Fine," He growls, "You want it so badly, I'll make sure it sticks this time."

Oh it's worth the red tape he'll have to wade through for leaving the meeting early for the absolute pleasure of pushing into your tight wet heat. You cunt wrapping around him like pure ecstasy as you mewl into the pillow. You're so fucking wet, loosened by your own fingers, and taking him to the base in one thrust. Fuck. You're so good for him, taking him without a complaint, letting him stuff your pretty little cunt full.

Your hand reaches back to claw at his hip, grabbing his ass to hold his hips in place as you grind back onto his cock.

"Tha's it," He breathes, "nice and deep sweet'eart."

You whine, your hips twitching when he grinds right back. He can feel the way you clench around him when he hits that aching spot in the back of your cunt, the flicker of muscle that tightens your stomach and pulls him in. Such a pretty thing.

Price slides his hand over your hip and around over your stomach to wedge itself between your legs and rub your clit. Warm, like you'd been rubbing it raw. Well, he can certainly help with that, rolling the tight bud between his finger as he gives a shallow thrust into your tight cunt. Rubbing it makes shivers run up your spine, pinching makes you jolt, Christ you whine so pretty for him when he pulls out, like you really can't bear to lose even a centimeter of his cock.

He thrusts into you hard, lets you clench, trying to suck him back in as he pulls out again, setting a steady rhythm for you. Lovely to feel your hand drop from his hip, to see the way your back arches and you curl your fingers in to the sheets. Your moans pushed from your chest with each punch of his cock, your shoulders drawing up as you try to meet his thrusts.

You'll be so pretty when you're fat with his baby. He'll have to come up with new positions, make sure you're comfortable, that he can still fuck you the way you need.

"Jo-ohn," You squeal, and he releases your clit to grip your hips, pushing them up when you try wiggle out of position. None of that now.

"What sweet'eart?" He patronizes, cooing at you like you're a child, "what can I do for you?" He knows damn well you won't answer him.

His hands knead at your ass, the soft fleshy globes pulled apart by his fingers so he can watch the way your cunt swallows his cock. He spits, lets it land on your ass and drip down, only to be caught in the piston of his cock and mixed with your slick. More of him mixing with you, but not the important part.

That comes when you tighten like a vice around his cock, all your muscles seizing as your breath locks tight in your chest. You shake apart on the next thrust, your voice streaming out of you in a scream of moans and pleas. Price grits his teeth and pulls your hips tight against his, blanketing your body as he leans over you.

There's something desperate, animal, about the way he fucks you then. No steady pace, no rhythm, just the needy in and out of a man that can't hold himself back. Chasing his own orgasm as it pulls in his chest and warms his body. Your little whimpers spur him on, make him sink his teeth into your shoulder, make his ears ring with the soft whispered encouragements you murmur.

"Come on baby," You whisper, your voice like rain against windowpanes, "come for me, give me what I want."

He always will. Especially when you ask so nicely.

And if he settles his hand low on your stomach afterwards, pumps a little piece of magic into the scarred swirls of the tree that had carved his name into your womb, then that's really just an assurance that you get exactly what you asked for.

[joicecubes]

hey guess who’s absolutely losing it over the stan twins again (spoiler alert its me)

so i was innocently scrolling tiktok when i was introduced to this DIABOLICAL au idea: firstly, what if ford really had shot stan with his crossbow when stan first showed up at the shack? and secondly, what if ford tried to bring him back to life frankenstein-style? (full credit to tiktok user @44boora for this idea, go check their account for some gut-wrenching art) (also… full post below the cut this got long)

but like i was thinking about this, ford bringing stan back to life specifically, and how dependent the concept is on this specific time in his life. i just feel like any other time and under any other circumstance, ford would have been able to, eventually, accept stan’s death. we see it at the end of weirdmageddon, where ford is ready to accept that the stan they all know and love is gone now that his memory has been erased. he tells mabel as much, and only realizes there’s hope for him when mabel is determined enough to push back against ford’s logic. ford believes very intensely in his own perception of the world. he believes in science. theoretically, he believes death is death, and there’s nothing he can do to change that.

but then, think of ford after he’s been betrayed by bill. this ford is at his absolute lowest. he can’t trust his own perception of the world anymore. he’s seen the truth of what their relationship was and the horrors he was so close to unleashing on their universe. he is desperate to right his wrongs. he’s losing sleep, his body is abused every time he closes his eyes, and the end of the world as he knows it is iminent if he doesn’t succeed in making the portal as secure and unusable as possible without dismantling it entirely. the only person he believes he can trust after everything that’s happened is stan. so he contacts him for help, and in his time waiting for him to arrive, cannot stop thinking of the worst-case scenario: that bill could still be coming for him. so when he opens the door to stan, his high-strung, paranoid brain doesn’t see stan, and he shoots.

he shoots his own brother with a crossbow and kills him.

ford is not usually one to blatantly ignore a scientific fact. again, death is death, and there’s nothing he can do about that. and yet, in a state of such intense grief, when his entire world is already close to crumbling around him and he’s holding his dead brother in his arms, there’s nothing else he can feasibly do but deny. so he does.

he lives in denial of a lot of things. that stan’s death is final, obviously, but also his reasonings for attempting to do the impossible and revive him. ford likes to believe he operates purely on logic, so he tells himself he’s doing this because he has to. without stan, he can’t prevent bill from entering their universe. he’s still the only person ford can trust, so reviving him is another step in his ultimate goal of stopping bill and saving the world. it doesn’t matter that its never been done before, ford will do it anyway. and he believes that he can, because as much as he thinks he’s moved on from his hubris, he’s still acting off the assumption that he’s special. he’s so far ahead of everybody else, so naturally, if anybody could accomplish the impossible and bring stan back from the dead, its ford.

and so he denies that the real reason he’s trying to save stan is not a logical one. he denies that he’s running entirely on emotions. it would be foolish to try something so risky and impossible and time-consuming if he were only doing it because of his crushing guilt and decade-long yearning, so he tells himself there’s so much more to it than that. he can’t just be doing this because he loves him, right? he’s not that shallow. he’s not that desperate.

and yet, he is. because as much as ford wants to deny it, he can’t live without stan. he can’t live with the knowledge that he was responsible for stan’s death. if he didn’t succeed, his grief would surely kill him.

[seancekitsch]

The Sword and the Quill: Chapter One

Pairing: Gwayne Hightower x Reader

In the weeks leading up to little Daeron's departure to Oldtown, Queen Alicent finds herself trying to entertain the unmarried ladies of court. As one of her ladies in waiting, you agree to an anonymous penpal in one of the men at court, and end up spilling your heart to him. He is your perfect match, your equal. The only issue? The Queen's brother Gwayne Hightower will not stop teasing you as you try to uncover who responds to your letters.

“Do you really have to give him to that brute?” you ask Alicent, bouncing the toddler Daeron on your knee. He’s much too old to be amused by a game this simple, yet he plays along, giggling and grabbing at your sleeves. You scrunch your nose at him, prompting even more laughter

“Now I’ve heard my brother called many names, but a brute is not one of them,” The Queen quips, sipping her tea as she wiggles her fingers for Daeron to take, “besides, Oldtown is beautiful.”

“Well I may be selfish,” you admit, “I want another of your little blonde angels to spoil.”

Alicent has to laugh at that, covering her mouth with her teacup. Angel was not the word most would use for her children. Aegon, while beautiful, is already an outspoken handful, a child of eight and already flirting with grown women; Helaena, sweet Helaena, is shy and gentle, seldom seen; Aemond barely can read yet, but is more studious than half the kingdom, already strong willed and stoic for a child; and Daeron, well, mayhaps Daeron can be raised without the proverbial crown and sword dangled above his pretty head. Despite this, you love to take them on walks and read to them and give them sweets or breads that their parents do not allow them regularly. 

“The boy will be plenty spoiled in Oldtown, I assure you.”

Alicent lays a hand on your arm gently, and you stop bouncing the toddler. He looks up at you, mumbling in protest. She looks down at him, and then you, her face betraying a deep worry and sadness.

“I want to give him something other than what we have, and the other children are already in too deep,” she says, and you understand her perfectly. The Red Keep is beautiful, decadent and indulgent, yet at the same time dreary and often times suffocating. You’d been here for almost a decade now, chosen as one of Alicent’s ladies in waiting when Rhaenyra and the young queen fell out with one another. The Hand had told you that his daughter needed a friend as a young queen, and that it would be your duty to be that for her. Luckily, when Alicent is not praying, she is easy to love and converse with. You care not for the devout practices in the keep, but understand her efforts to cling to something to believe in. Your lord father had even sent your dowry here with you, knowing the crown would probably arrange a match for you instead of himself. There is every wine you could taste, every book you could read, every hue you could paint; and yet you are kept out of reach of anything beyond this place. Daeron is getting an opportunity not to be trapped here, like his siblings and his mother and you are. 

“Yes, My Queen.”

Alicent pushes a tea cup towards you, leaning down to the window. It overlooks the training yards, where young knights take up sword and young ladies of the court watch if they’ve nothing else to attend to. 

You lean over as well, bringing Daeron up to view the training yards too. You see most of the kingsgaurd and gold cloaks there, as well as the queen’s brother. He flips auburn hair arrogantly as he beckons another man over. Careless bravado, if one were to ask you. Women fawn over the sight, pointing and cheering for various men and their swords and skills. You don’t care to join them, not one for tourneys or sport or even the hunt that’s held for each of Alicent’s little ones. Travel, however, is something you’ve always cared for. The travel to and from a hunt, the travel that brought you here; cherished memories you’d yearn for more of. It’s something the men, even the tiny princes, take for granted. You suppose, one day, you’ll travel when you are finally betrothed, however you’re comfortable by Alicent’s side for now.

“How are you with written word?” She asks you suddenly, as if the thought just occurred to her.

“Had I been born a man, I could have been a writer,” you jest, looking down at Daeron thoughtfully. His hair already curls at the ends, like Aegon and their mother. He could be a writer, or a poet, or anything he wants. You cast a suspicious glance at the Queen, however, as she knows this. The Queen has been in your chambers, has seen the writing desk and extensive journals filled with poems and stories and notes.

“Pardon me for speaking out of turn, but what are you up to?” you ask. The Queen allows you frank words the King would probably have you sent away for, but there is always a chance that goodwill will run out. You aren’t exactly sure why Alicent allows you to speak so freely, but if you had to guess you’d think it would have something to do with her personal loss of the princess as her previous confidant.

Alicent sighs again, and looks away from you. You do not like the look of that.

“The King has requested I entertain the ladies of court in some way,” she reveals, and you have to wonder where her apprehension comes from.

“Like the ladies court Alysanne created?” you ask. She picks at her thumb, and it takes everything in you not to swat her nails away from her hand. It hurts, to think that she causes herself pain to relieve whatever concerns her.

“No,” she frowns, “Nothing serious, I was told. I think…”

She pauses, and looks down at the courtyard again before continuing.

“Have you noticed what’s taken place the last few feasts Viserys held?” she asks, her eyes no doubt following her brother’s sparring. A lot of nothing, if you were being honest. The same three dances, the same cliques talking in hushed voices. You would not consider the recent feasts to be an entertaining occasion.

“You mean nothing?” you snort as you lean back in your chair.

“Exactly.”

“Are you planning on playing children’s games to get people out of their seats? Or line dancing lessons so the lords stop stepping on my feet?” you are only half jesting when you say this, your poor pinky toe bruised and stiff for a week after the last feast.

“No, darling,” Alicent lets a rare laugh slip through her voice as she speaks.

You look between the side of her head, and towards the training yard below. Suddenly, you have an odd feeling about this.

“I have devised a letter writing system. I think it would be nice if people could speak freely without their pretenses, so the letters will all be anonymous,” she pauses thoughtfully, chewing on her bottom lip, “I hope that if the lords and ladies know there is someone else at court with something in common with them, they will be more willing to be open. Maybe… I don’t know.”

Alicent falters, unsure of herself. You can tell this is the first time she’s talked through this plan with another person, completely unsure of it. But, it’s not a bad idea.

“Maybe…” you pick up where she left off, “Maybe it will help us find entertainment within these walls.”

Alicent beams at your words, nodding. There is truth in her idea, you realize. That perhaps even you are part of the problem. So easily had you just now even dismissed the women watching the men spar in the courtyard. It is important to have a queen who thinks of these kinds of things.

“Exactly right,” she continues, “I fear that I will be seen as a bad queen if I do not try to bring some life to this place.”

You try to comfort her, to reach out and clasp her hand in yours in a silent reassurance, but sweet little Daeron beats you to it, giggling as he yanks on one of her auburn curls.

“Will you help me?” she asks, and it is a double sided question, both with her plan and with the immense strength of a toddlers fist when they have something they want.

“Yes, My Queen,” you huff out a laugh as you give Daeron your index finger to grab instead, “I’ll write my first letter tonight.”

News spreads quickly of Queen Alicent’s idea, and already the Red Keep seemed more lively than it had since before Aemond’s birth. Everyone’s eyes seemed to be searching, every other unmarried person of the court their potential penpal. Who was yours? Alicent was already working on having Larys Strong organize each match.  You could only hope it wasn’t someone like dull Jason Lannister or contemptible Gwayne Hightower; maybe it would be someone who likes travel and could show you maps and take you away from here at least periodically to see the rest of Westeros. Though truly, you know that you will make a puzzle out of this. To be surprised is not your favorite feeling. Maybe, you think with a small sigh of laughter, you will try to trick the men of court to show you a writing sample so you can compare it to the letters you will receive. 

Your eyes shift as you hear loud voices from around the corner, men’s laughter carrying and bouncing off the walls. Immediately, you know it’s the men from the training yard. Already cringing internally, you attempt to steel yourself and ignore the banter. 

The men boast of the women watching in on the training, pointing out how the lady of House Something would want to give favor to the Knight of So-and-So. They joke about the blush upon women’s cheeks, about the way they speak in hushed tones. What a joke, you think, that they can freely jape at the way that women express themselves. You’d read as a child how knights are supposed to be the most gentlemanly and gallant men in all the lands, about their deeds and generosity and kindness. Now as a woman you realize why those stories were considered a fantasy. You look down at your hands, twisting your rings as you attempt to pass the men without their attention or greeting, but then a voice cuts through the noise. Gwayne Hightower himself. 

“Is cream the color of a maiden’s underdress or her sheets?” He laughs, gloved had pushing his auburn hair back.

“Neither, if you are skilled, I say.”

You balk at his words, loud enough that the knights do not care that a passing lady can hear. Your shock turns to a scowl quickly, ready to burst the bubble of chauvinistic confidence the green knight displays. Surely, you’re not unaware of the way that the knights and lords speak of women, King Viserys himself has said wildly offensive things even about Alicent while she is in the room while she must grin and bear it. But the fact that it is him, so handsome and confident and seemingly flawless, him who paints himself as the picture of chivalry and the epitome of a gentleman knight; him that says it so flippantly as if women- maidens- are but another tourney game to him that has your blood boiling.

“Ser Gwayne!” you call, not hiding the anger that seems like ichor from your tone. For a quick moment, you realize that as one of Alicent’s ladies, you should not be shouting at men in public, but you must follow through with what you started, you cannot bring yourself to back down. Gwayne, surprised, break away from the other men and turns, taking a few curious steps towards you as the other knights continue down the hall. You know what they must think, and blood rushes beneath your skin. Though the sun has gone down, it is still too hot. 

“Does it not disgust you?” you exclaim as you cross the hallway towards him, unable to keep the thought to yourself, “The way you speak of women? And what if your sister were to hear?”

You stop as you land in front of him, not at all hiding the anger in your face. 

Gwayne smirks, face twisting arrogantly, and leans in close. Not too close that it’s improper, but close enough that the conversation does not walk. 

“Then it is good it is not my pious sister, yes? Just her pretty, aggravating little shadow with a free tongue.”

He leans back, as if to mark a victory against you. The sunlight wanes, its setting orange casting a glow that seems to make the sweat upon his brow shimmer. You do not scoff at his words, for in truth the jester has said far worse. To scoff or show anger would be to let him win. But he is wrong perhaps, as his sister 

“Aye, and I’m sure everyone would be the better if yours were sewn in place, Ser.”

He winks, and starts to walk back towards his fellow knights. 

“I am sure you would do it for me!” he calls over his shoulder, a far enough distance that you cannot respond. Effectively, gaining the last word. You cannot believe that Alicent would send her youngest son to live with… that. 

You curse under your breath, your smile not at all reaching your eyes as you keep walking. Anything to put space between you and over confident knights. The stone floors clack under your low heels, echoing in now silent halls as you reach your chamber. They are not far from the royal chambers, so in case that Alicent would like to call upon you easier. This was also the doing of her father The Hand. You look to the ornate doors down the hall from your own, and sigh deeply. Perhaps it is the young queen’s loneliness that makes your desire to leave all the more remarkable. You do not envy her, you think, despite her children you love dearly; And you push open your own door, to the lovely apartments you’ve been given. For a cage, you do like the way this one’s been gilded. Lush velvets and fresh flowers and bookshelves full of knick knacks and lots of natural light to ordain your space. 

You debate throwing yourself down upon your bed, collapsing into the plush down and drifting off to dreams that do not include Gwayne Hightower under the same roof as you. But, you had made a promise. Instead you kick your shoes off and change into something comfy before settling down to your writing desk. 

Dear Ser Lord

Dear Lord

Dear 

You crumple the paper under your fist, not even letting the ink fully dry. The paper gets tossed carelessly behind you, another piece of parchment ready to go. You think to yourself, how to start this without knowing it’s intended? You tap the quill against your chin, staring out the window at the city below.  You get an idea.

My Unfamiliar,

You begin, and yes, that feels right. You don’t know if he’s a Ser or a Lord, and you’d hate to miscategorize. You’d hate to sound too affectionate, or too cold. Him on the other end being your stranger feels a bit more… playful, a bit more unserious without insulting anyone. 

How does the summer treat you? I would ask how you are spending it, though I fear that maybe that would be too forward. I understand these letters to be anonymous, and I would hate to ask you for clues as to your identity too quickly. Though, if you offer, I will accept them gladly. 

I feel that this is an odd pretense to meet, or meet again, in this way. However, I cannot help but find the idea thrilling. I must introduce myself to you in a way that I have not before, in a way that does not immediately give away my identity. Perhaps, you may know me even better than

Your hand hovers for a moment, your hand having been ready to write ‘My Queen’ next. 

my closest companions. I am a maiden of noble birth, as you already know. Yet, that is hardly all I am. I love my studies, reading and charting courses on maps. My hearts truest desire is to see the world I read about, to see more than the Red Keep, my homeland, and the site of a hunt. I wish to ride horseback through mountain ranges and by ship to Pentos or Essos. I wish to experience the food I read about in historical journals, even see some of the more exotic and unseemly experiences there are to travel. Amongst all this beauty, it almost feels wrong to want to see the world warts and all, but I feel I need to. I hope that you are a man that understands this desire, or possibly has seen some of this world and can tell me about it. Have you traveled? Do you travel often? Is the world as vibrant as I imagine? 

I am a woman who enjoys the arts, tapestry weaving and writing of my own, though I will admit I find myself quite terrible at making music. I may dance to it, but I cannot create it. 

And what of you, My Stranger? What are the things within you that you are able to share with me?

I apologize for the haste of this letter, however this concept is new of me. I am certain that within more time, my letters will grow in length as we get to know one another. 

Sincerely, 

Your Unfamiliar

You look over the letter, once, twice, three times, four; Finally, you decide that it will not be better written than this. Just the right amount of information, interest in your receiver, and you seal it. 

You walk to your door, almost shaking, nervous as you peek your head out into the hallway. Luckily, Keely, one of Alicent’s dressers is in the hall. She accepts the letter easily, though you gift her an extra few silver anyway to ensure it gets to its destination safely. 

Now, you wait. 

[taissaswifelowkey]

farmhand reader and jackie WHEN???

a/n: farmhand characters will forever be my favourite trope. i think this one’s going to be read as afab, gender neutral reader

warnings: a few implications and suggestive themes. sort of like yearning. lots of yearning. gay jokes and gay.

like imagine she lives in a farmhouse with her parents. alright, cool. and they need help with the cattle and the land.

jackie is so bored out of her life. sure she has perfect parents, lives more than decently and has an amazing boyfriend (we’ll get into this more later once everything is properly organised) but it feels too perfect. all too perfect. like she wants to live for her and not for others

let’s say you’re in need of cash cause you have to repair your pickup truck. also your best friend, van chose to tag along cause she needed to buy a nice gift for taissa! such a gentleman. and it’s a great summer job that pays.

jackie’s parents just give you two the list of things that needs to be done. and when she’s told that ppl are going to help with the farm she wasn’t expecting you two. maybe older people. not someone who can make simple tank tops and flannel shirts look good (WHO SAID THAT?)

jackie watches you work. listens to the way you mutter curses, the sound of your laughter when you joke around with van and watches the way you tilt your head back against the apple tree when you’re on your lunch break.

she thinks she’s being slick watching you from the curtain of her windows but can catches on to her behaviour and nudges you

“dude, the taylors' daughter is staring at you.”

“huh?”

“like she has been ogling you for a good set of five minutes. i counted it, too. it would have been closer to another minute if i didn’t caught her.”

yeah it’s safe to say that after this embarrassing episode jackie stays at home everyday. goes out with friends when she can but ngl she wishes classes would come sooner. she still has the memory of you waving confusedly before she shut the curtains. now you must probably think she’s a creep. great.

but she gets herself together and tries to bake you cookies as an official “greeting” considering she has been ogling silent more than speaking. they’re a bit salty but it’s the thought that counts.

“i’m sorry for being weird. i was just looking at you because i was interested in what it’s like to be a farmer.”

van tries to stifle back a laugh under the disguise of a polite smile, already planning to tell everything to taissa but you understand what’s happening, silencing her with a glance before turning back to the nervous blonde. and instead of stopping to think of a proper sentence and tone structure, you ended up blurting words that will forever be registered in history of failed interactions.

“pretty girls like you want to get dirty?”

the words leave your mouth so quickly and van downright cries from laughter, having to step outside for some fresh air. you two are such awkward messes it’s insane. to be fair, it was the first time you’ve seen her face to face.

from then on you avoid contact for a week. just saying hi and bye when you can. sometimes she’d offer you lemonade and van would say somegthing like “you know what they say about cowgirls right. i think jackie’s got a thing for them.” or “damn i’m pretty sure if it were just me i’d get a glass of water. not that i’m complaining. keep on making more than heart eyes on who knows we might just be invited to dinner.” and you’re just too embarrassed to say anything, too stunned to tell her to shut up. and your reaction time is and bc jackie was not that far from you.

jackie who, eventually gathers her courage to watch you work up close. gets a bit bold though. and you’re too surprised to say anything but it’s pleasant to see her go from shy to confident. can go from brushing against your body when there’s clearly enough space between you to whispering bye as you leave. we love a versatile girlie

also, something about seeing you in a flannel shirt with suspenders when you have rare evening shifts drives her wild. like yeah the wind is chilly but forget about that. flannels and suspenders. you’re wearing a hat? van was probably on to something

and from there it’ll be a build up. trust i have ideas. :( sad ones yes with maybe a hopeful ending 😎‼️‼️

[whateverisbeautiful]

Part of the epic reunion in TWOL was driven by after almost 8 years apart, Rick nor Michonne moved on and the yearning for their soulmate persisted despite all the barriers. Are there scenarios that you could imagine where both experiment with intimacy or a different type of connection and still find their way back to one another? I’m not imagining a love triangle but something like Siddiq and Michonne having a brief moment (instead of what played out with him and Rosita) deeper than great friendship ? Other thoughts?

Thank you for asking. 😊 While I think there isn't much that could stop Rick and Michonne from finding their way back to each other, I can't imagine a scenario where they try to briefly experiment with intimacy with other people. And I am super super glad that they didn’t enter into anything romantic with anyone else. To me, Rick and Michonne not moving on with anyone else in any way was the absolute right choice for those characters.

By spending all those years yearning only for each other, it really hammered home how profound Rick and Michonne’s connection is. To the point that even when they had to seriously consider that they may never see each other again they still wanted to spend the rest of their life committed to and in love with one another. I love that they both waited for each other for years and operated every day like they were still actively married.  

It also feels so full circle that both of them stayed so loyal to each other after their experiences with their past partners. They were let down immensely by Mike and Lori while they were away for a far briefer time. Michonne went on a run and Mike couldn’t keep their son alive when she was away. And Rick was in a coma for a few months and Lori had already fallen for and got pregnant by Shane. So it means a lot that now, even with their prolonged distance, Rick and Michonne get to see just how special they are to their partner and how loyal their partner wants to be to them, even when the time spent apart is not just a run or a few months, but nearly a decade.

I have pictured a scenario where during the post-Rick era of TWD, Judith asks Michonne if she’d ever date or let a new man in and she basically tells Judith that the few years with her dad were better than a lifetime with anyone else. I feel like that was both Rick and Michonne’s mentality. 

But while I would not have wanted to watch either Rick or Michonne explore new romantic relationships even if brief, it would have been interesting to see others take an interest in them. Because as beautiful as they are inside and out it’s just realistic that people would be interested in them, even tho they'd all get turned down. I think more men should have and would have tried to pursue Michonne during those six or seven years. And I just know that around the CRM, Rick was known as the hot man who doesn't talk to anybody. In TOWL, I did want to see how both Michonne and Rick would react to some guy in the CRM hitting on Dana.

Overall tho I’m just really grateful for how TOWL confirmed that what Richonne has is no ordinary love. I think they both knew any connection with someone new would greatly pale in comparison to what they found with each other because Rick and Michonne’s irreplaceable connection really is the epitome of deeply intertwined soulmates.

[hheaven-sentt]

blood and bone (II)

summary: you want to open him up like the bodies you're used to, and he wants to keep himself at an arm's length | leon kennedy x gn!reader

word count: 5k

warnings: gore, violence, language, panic attacks, child death, a bit of cringe, angst if you squint, death and dying, yearning and pining, probably incorrect medical happenings (again, everyone say thank you google)

notes: i thought i was done after this one but there's more i promise. i have written closer to 15k now, so be ready | ao3

one

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s almost two weeks before you see Leon again. He left your apartment sometime before you woke up that night, probably escaping before it could get awkward. You pretend that you haven’t thought about it almost every second since, and he pretends it never happened. Both of you seem content with that.

“Hey, when you get a chance, can you see if Leon’s found anything about the mystery virus?” Rebecca asks one morning, spinning in her chair to look at you. You narrow your eyes in confusion.

“Why can’t you do it?” you ask. She smiles at you like she knows something you don’t.

“Don’t pretend like I haven’t noticed you’ve been avoiding each other,” she says, grinning. “One second he’s like your personal guard dog, and the next, you’re pretending he doesn’t exist,”

“He has his own job to attend to,” you say by way of explanation. Rebecca narrows her eyes at you. “He’s not my guard dog,”

“Just see if he’ll send us whatever he’s found,” she says. “He’ll be on site tomorrow,”

“Why?”

“Probably using it as an excuse to make sure you’re still breathing,” she teases. You hate the way your face heats up at the comment. 

“I’m sure he has better things to do than check on me,” you say, but you’re not as confident in that anymore. Whatever he was doing that night, work related or otherwise, was pushed aside to make sure you were okay. The entire interaction gnaws at your stomach.

Easier that way, he had said. What did that even mean? How could it be easier to pretend to dislike someone? You always found it easier to be on people’s good side, not make them assume you hate them. The thought makes you frown.

Sure enough, you catch Leon in the hallway chatting to someone the next day. He looks good, comfortable. Whether you intend to or not, you fix your hair a bit before approaching.

“Got a second?” you ask, interrupting the conversation. The woman looks at you with a narrowed glare, but you keep your focus on Leon. He glances between you and the woman before nodding.

He follows you to your office, where he shuts the door behind him. You can’t tell why that makes you nervous. It isn’t often that you’re alone with Leon, and the last time you were, you felt far too giddy about it.

“Rebecca wanted me to ask if you’ve found anything on our mystery virus,” you say, wringing your hands together. “I’m sure you would’ve sent it to us already if you had,”

He shrugs. “A few leads here and there. I’ve sent most of it your way,”

You frown, your eyebrows bunching together. “Then why would she..?”

Oh. Curse Rebecca and her cunning nature. Your frown deepens. Leon seems to put the pieces together too, given the way he’s looking at you.

“Sorry to waste your time, then,” you say, looking at your shoes. “I’m sure your conversation with that woman was far more riveting,”

The words come out clipped even though you didn’t mean for them to. Your tone confuses you, like your brain is operating on its own accord.

“We were just chatting,” Leon says, taking a step forward. Your heart leaps into your throat. “Am I not allowed to do that?”

He’s smiling when you look up at him. It’s lopsided and teasing, and it makes your heart rate tick up.

“You’re allowed to do whatever you please,” you say, tone betraying you once again. So what if he pretends like you don’t exist, but then talks and laughs with a woman you’ve never seen before like they’re old friends? It has nothing to do with you.

“Are you…jealous?” he asks. The word comes out of his mouth like he’s mocking you, but you’re not sure he is. You scowl.

“No,” you say, though you’re unsure of how true that is. “Just apologizing for stealing you away for nothing,”

He’s full on grinning now. It makes your cheeks heat up and your insides churn. You hate whatever sickness he’s given you. Maybe you’ll call in sick tomorrow, just to be sure you don’t have a mystery virus of your own.

“I wouldn’t say it was nothing,” he says. “No harm in speaking to each other,”

You think there’s a lot of harm in speaking to him. Something’s changed about you when you’re around him. You’re unable to form coherent thoughts, unable to speak, and unable to act like he doesn’t affect you. You despise it, and despise him for making you this way. Maybe you caught a bug, a cold or something. That would explain away your symptoms.

“No, there’s not,” you say. “I have some work to do, but you’re welcome to wait around for Rebecca. I’m sure she’d have better questions for you,”

He nods, and takes a seat on top of a desk. He folds his legs under him. Your fingers twitch with the urge to reach out to him, but you refrain, and return to your work.

Leon makes it much harder to focus. He’s not even doing anything objectively annoying, unless you count his existence as annoying. Though you might; it’s definitely starting to feel that way. You can’t get through half a report without cutting a glance at him. Every now and then, he picks up a knick knack that’s made its home on your desk, inspects it thoroughly, and then returns it to its place. He does this several times, like he’s trying to dissect your brain without speaking to you. At one point, he picks up a picture of your family.

“Am I allowed to ask, or is that off limits?” he says, looking up at you for the first time since he sat down. You blink at him.

“I haven’t seen them in a few years,” you say. “They live in Oregon,”

He hums, inspecting the picture further. “You have a sister,”

“She’s two years younger than me,” you say, turning your chair to face him. “She’s got this big house and a husband, two kids and one on the way last I heard,”

“And where do they think you are?” he asks. Your breath hitches in your throat.

“They think I’m in Nicaragua right now, doing research on medicinal plants,” you say. There’s a distinct pain in your chest that radiates outwards towards your limbs. “I don’t have cell service there, so I haven’t spoken to them in almost a year,”

Leon frowns, setting the picture back down on your desk. “I’m sorry. That must be hard,”

You nod. “It is,” you say. “But it’s something we all have to do. It’s important to keep them at an arm’s length,”

“I know,” he says. “That doesn’t make it easier,”

“No, it doesn’t,”

The silence returns, but it’s strangely more comfortable. An itch blooms across your skin as you watch Leon. There’s something different about him, has been since you returned home. Sometimes, you find yourself thinking about the way his arms felt around you, and you almost wish he would do it again. For some reason, you think he would if you asked. It’s a working theory, one that has yet to be tested, but you’re nothing if not dedicated to science.

“I lost my parents when I was young,” he says, voice quiet even if you’re the only two in the room. “It’s not something I think about anymore, but I know how hard that could be,”

You feel like your heart freezes in your chest. Leon just told you something about himself, something that has no bearing on his wellbeing or the situation at hand. He’s being open, honest. You want to fling your arms around him and kiss him senseless.

“I’m sorry,” you say instead, your last bit of decorum holding you with two hands. “That must have been hard for you,”

He shrugs. “It was. But you learn to live with it,”

You nod. He’s watching you carefully, an emotion present on his face that you can’t discern. There’s a tension in the air, one that makes you nervous. You really want to reach out to him. You wonder about the way his skin might feel against yours. He’s all calloused palms, rough edges, and stunningly beautiful features. You didn’t even know people could be made this beautiful.

Rebecca cuts through the tension with her entrance. “Good, you’re both here,”

You blink away the interaction, hoping that it didn’t look as intense as it felt. “You need both of us?”

“Not really,” she says. “But it certainly makes my life easier,”

Rebecca bustles through the room, spreading a few pictures out on the desk in front of you. They’re all of ugly, mangled bodies. You wish she would’ve warned you before forcing you to look at them. All the bodies look more or less the same, and you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference if it weren’t for a few defining features on each of them. They look eerily similar to the one you dissected a few weeks ago. Missing fingers, toes, noses, jaws. Skin simply falling off their bones and collecting into a sinewy pool beneath them. It makes your stomach churn.

“These are all bodies collected at different sites,” Rebecca says. “See how they’re all in more or less the same condition? We think this might be our mystery virus,”

You nod, inspecting the pictures a bit closer. Leon looms over you to see, too, invading your space. You’re almost never this close to him, and when you are, he definitely doesn’t smell this good. You wrinkle your nose.

“Do we happen to have samples?” you ask, keeping your focus on the images. “I’d really like to cross examine them,”

“Way ahead of you,” Rebecca says. “They’re in the lab right now,”

You hum.

“When and where are these from?” Leon asks, turning the picture in front of you more towards him.

Rebecca moves in between you. “This one is from a few days ago, found only a few miles out from where you guys were. This one is from about a week before that, and it was found about a day’s walk out,”

You furrow your brows as you take in her information. Those two are definitely from the same site, and one could’ve wandered off.

“And this one?” you ask, pointing to the decidedly grosser one of the three.

“That’s just the thing,” Rebecca says. “This one was found here,”

“Here?” you ask, spinning to face her. “Like, here here?”

She shakes her head. “It was found out in New York. Still too close for comfort, though,”

You nod, taking a closer look at the picture.

“What are you thinking?” Leon asks in a hushed voice. You hate the way it crawls across your skin.

“I’m thinking that we need to take a trip to New York,” you say, locking your gaze with him. He grins at you like you’re sharing a secret. You feel your heart hammer in your ears.

“I’ll give Hunnigan a call,” he says, keeping his eyes on you. You finally return his grin.

With that, he’s up and out of the room quickly, bustling past Rebecca, who turns her gaze to follow him out of the room.

“What was that?” she asks, pinning you with a look. You shrug.

“Just excited about a lead,” you say, though you know there’s more to it. You try your best not to let it show on your face.

You return to your reports as best you can. Your brain is still swimming with the prospect of traveling to New York. Before, you’d been out in the middle of Iowa, but now you’re much closer. Although you feel like you’re onto something finally, the thought of it being on this side of the Mississippi frightens you. You try to shake the nerves. Rebecca keeps a watchful eye on you as you hammer through as many reports as you can. You’re certain she can feel your giddiness rolling off you in waves.

Leon wants to go with you. For the first time since you met him, he doesn’t seem completely disgusted with the idea of working with you. It makes you smile.

“I know you don’t have a lovesick grin on your face right now,” Rebecca says, bringing you back to the real world. You wipe the smile from your face.

“I don’t have a lovesick anything,” you say, cheeks growing warm. “The only sick I am is sick of you,”

Rebecca laughs, full and wide, and you know she’s just teasing. It makes you feel like a child. You remember how you felt in grade school when you’d liked one of the boys in your class. He was funny and smart, and he never made you feel outcasted by your interests. Obviously nothing came of it; you’ve always been timid and reserved. But you remember those feelings fondly. They’re akin to what you feel now.

The thought is sobering.

“Oh my God,” you say aloud, mostly to yourself. Rebecca eyes you as you turn to face her. “I have a fucking crush on Leon Kennedy,”

Rebecca sets her mouth into a line, attempting in earnest to withhold a laugh. “I could’ve told you that,”

You put your face in your hands to save yourself the shame of bearing your burning cheeks. You can even feel the spark of heat in the tips of your ears. Suddenly, you feel pathetic, weak.

“This is so embarrassing,” you mumble. You’re not even sure Rebecca can hear you through the muffling of your hands. “I might just have to quit. Run away and start a new life. Fake my death,”

This time, Rebecca does laugh. She stands and puts her hands on your shoulders, and says, “There’s no need to do all that,”

“What other option is there?”

“Everyone has a little workplace crush,” she says, giving your shoulders a squeeze. “It happens to the best of us,”

You fold your arms on your desk and plop your head into the middle of them. You can’t bear to look Rebecca in the eye right now. “I hate this,”

With a pat, she says, “You’ll grow to love it,”

You’re back in the building two days later, bag slung over your shoulders as you wait on the helipad for Leon. You’re bouncing on your heels and shifting your weight between your feet as you anxiously await his arrival. You haven’t seen him since your little revelation, and the thought of spending who knows how much time alone with him is making you nervous. You smooth a hand over your hair.

You’re an adult, act like one, you think, gnawing on your lower lip. This is your worst nightmare. Whatever hell awaits you in New York is nothing compared to the churning of your stomach now.

Leon bursts through the door to the roof, jogging to meet you at the helicopter. “Sorry, I was running a bit behind,”

“You’re lucky we didn’t leave without you,” you quip, the corners of your mouth turning upward slightly.

“Good luck with that,” he says.

It’s only a few minutes until you’re up in the air. You’re hyper aware of the way your shoulder brushes his every few seconds with each jostle of the vehicle. You’re also aware of your breathing. Is it too fast? Too slow? Are you inhaling often enough? You feel like you’re pretending to be a person and this is your first day on the job. You wish you could go back to the cold indifference of before.

It’s almost two hours later when you finally touch down. In that time, you could’ve watched a movie and maybe started another one. Instead, you spent the time holding your breath and giving clipped responses whenever Leon asked if you were okay. The nerves are definitely getting to you. You feel your eye twitch.

You’re at another makeshift pop-up site. There’s a few tents scattered around, a lone porta-potty that makes you cringe, and a group of people awaiting your arrival.

“Listen,” Leon says, hand circling your elbow to keep you rooted in place. “I know you’re used to doing the grunt work, but you’re our star player right now. They’re going to want to talk to you,”

You frown. “Can’t you do it for me?”

Leon grins at you. “I don’t have that brain of yours,”

With a sigh, you nod. He releases your arm, and you sling your bag over your shoulder. The group contains four men and one woman, all of which look equally as intimidating. You feel out of place. These people are former cops, ex-military, and trained to shoot with their eyes closed. You just happened to know how to stitch people closed and read too much about medicine in your free time. The playing field was anything but level, and you were the one going uphill.

You approach them carefully, paying attention to how they react to you. They don’t move much, save for their eyes watching the way you shift on the balls of your feet as you come to stand in front of them.

“Glad you could make it,” the woman says. “We’ve been falling over ourselves trying to figure this out. We hope you can help us,”

You nod. “I intend to,”

There’s not much conversation after that. They lead you to a small tent that’s been set up. Your own workstation. You’ve never had one like this before. Usually, you pick a spot that’s been unclaimed until your arrival, and you only ever use it for injuries. Now, though, you were going to do real work. It almost excited you.

“I’m sure it’s probably different from what you’re used to,” the woman says, having followed you into the tent. You turn to consider her.

“Not really, honestly,” you say, shrugging. “It is nice to have my own space, though,”

She smiles. “We’ve been told you’re not usually ahead on cases, so I hope you know what you’re doing,”

You tilt your chin up a bit higher when you say, “I’m more than capable of handling it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have accepted my help,”

The woman nods, then leaves you to your devices. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. She’s right, you’re not used to being a frontrunner on cases, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t figure it out. You shake the interaction from your bones as you begin setting up.

When Leon finds you later, he seems tired. You feel grateful that he did, in fact, do most of the talking, but you’re sure he’s exhausted from it. He settles down into a chair that’s been left askew in your set up process.

“I’d like to try to find one,” you say, not knowing how else to broach the subject. When you turn to look at him, Leon’s eyes are so wide that you’re worried they’ll fall out of his skull.

“No way,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s too dangerous,”

“I need to see how they operate,” you say. “We’ll never learn anything by studying their remains,”

He frowns. “You’ve learned a lot so far,”

“Not enough,” you huff, wringing your hands together. “I need to know what they do, what they eat, how long they live. I’ll never get that from a corpse,”

Leon grumbles, mulling the idea over in his brain. “There’s a thousand ways for this to go wrong,”

You smile. “You won’t let it,”

Leon comes to collect you the next morning. You’re clad in a pair of boots, an old pair of jeans, and a loose fitting t-shirt. You hope it’s good enough for whatever awaits you. Leon looks less than pleased to be bringing you along. He hasn’t given up his sour mood from the night before. You try to ignore it and the way it makes you feel.

You walk for most of the journey. You’re tailing behind Leon as he scouts the area, watching for anything that moves with ill intent. You’re not sure why. There’s nothing more than rabbits and deer where you are. It isn’t until you happen upon the ruins of what was once a small city that you begin to feel anxious. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, but there’s definitely no going back now.

Buildings crumble around you. You can smell the smoke of fires that you can’t see, and the rotten stench of bodies isn’t making it any better. What was once asphalt is now gravel beneath your feet. It crunches under your weight with each step. It’s dystopian. There’s not a single sign of life, not even the chirp of a bird, for miles. Something lurches in your stomach.

You follow Leon towards the city’s center. There isn’t much happening, but there’s an air of apprehension. You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. You gnaw on your bottom lip.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see movement. Leon sees it too, reaching around to push you further behind him. It’s a person, with jerky and inconsistent movements, hobbling along the broken road. Your breath catches in your throat. Leon ushers you behind a piece of broken concrete, giving you the perfect view of your subject.

It’s covered in blood. You’re not sure of its origin, but you don’t think you want to find out. It’s in a similar condition to the bodies you’ve seen: missing fingers and nose, a jaw that’s clinging to cheek, and skin seems to just roll off the muscle with each staggering step. 

“I need to get closer,” you whisper. Leon looks like you’ve just told him you’re going to shoot yourself.

“Absolutely not,” he says. “You’re lucky we’re as close as we are,”

“I need to see it,” you say. Whatever pleading look is in your eye somehow works. You see some of the tension ease off of him. “Just..cover me, or whatever,”

With a curt nod, he shuffles back a step. You begin your crawl towards the creature. If it notices your movement, it doesn’t react. It continues its stumbling trek to whatever destination. You rise a bit as you approach, and this time, it turns towards you. You almost gasp, but manage to keep it within your lungs. It doesn’t have any eyes, just gaping, bloody holes where eyes should be. It’s wearing the pieces of a tattered dress. You hold your breath as it turns what should be its nose towards the sky like a dog. There’s a scent in the air that it catches. It moves with more ferocity in the direction of whatever it smells.

You turn back to Leon, who beckons you with his hand. You move to follow the creature. You wish you didn’t once you see what it’s after. The mangled corpse of a child stares up at you, unblinking. Her arms are twisted above her head, half eaten. She’s missing so much of herself. Your eyes turn watery as you turn and vomit on the concrete below you.

In your sputtering, you don’t notice the creature has now turned its sights on you. It approaches much quicker than you’ve seen it move, and you scurry backwards until your back connects with a piece of fallen debris. Your heart hammers in your chest as you try to collect your breathing. You hope it can’t hear your racing pulse or the quickness of your breath. Blood roars in your ears as it draws nearer, emitting a sound so inhuman that it makes you want to vomit again.

Two loud pops, and it collapses on top of your legs. In a panic, you kick it away, curling in on yourself once it’s been removed. You claw at your hair, breathing so quickly now that you’re sure you’ll pass out.

Leon’s in front of you seconds later, scanning you for injuries. You can’t breathe. You can’t do anything but stare at the creature and remember the corpse of that girl.

“Stop,” Leon says, pulling your hair free of your rigid fingers. “Stop. You’ll hurt yourself,”

You can’t even speak. You need something to grab. You grip onto Leon’s forearms with all your might. You’re definitely going to black out.

“You’re not going to black out,” he says, voice too calm for what you’re feeling and thinking. “That would be a real pain in my ass,”

Your breathing finally begins to slow, a pain in your chest radiating out towards your limbs. You look Leon in the eyes for the first time, and you feel instantly calmer. He’s here, he kept you safe, he’s helping you now.

“That’s right,” he says, voice low enough to be secretive. “I’m here. I’m here,”

You nod, mouth feeling dry. You’re babbling, thoughts coming out in words that you don’t even recognize. Your racing thoughts begin to slow. You blink hard a few times, trying to refocus. You can’t stop thinking about that creature.

“Eyes,” you say, voice hoarse like you’ve been screaming. Maybe you have.

“Eyes?”

“It didn’t have any eyes,” you say. Leon’s brow furrows in confusion. “Leon, it didn’t have any eyes,”

“Okay?” he says.

“Soft tissue,” you mumble, thinking. “The infection goes for soft tissues first,”

At this, Leon breaks out into a grin. “Good thing this trip wasn’t for nothing,”

“Bring it back with us,” you say, beginning to stand. Leon helps you to your feet. You don’t take your eyes off the collapsed body near you. “It was going to eat. It needs fuel. Not for the body, though. For the virus,”

Leon drags the body behind him. You’re not too concerned. It’s already so tattered and torn that any additional damage won’t matter much. It’s just too fresh to lose.

You arrive back at your site and lead Leon into your tent. He sets the body up on a table as you pull on a pair of gloves. You’re covered in dirt, so you’re not sure why you bother, but the thought of rooting around in the body with no additional layer makes you sick to your stomach. You get to work quickly, searching the body.

“I can’t believe I didn’t look for this earlier,” you mumble. Leon watches you carefully, like you’ll break at any moment.

“Look for what?” he asks. His voice is delicate and sweet. If it weren’t for the anxiety clenching your heart and the circumstances, you would kiss him.

“The stomach,” you say, cracking a few ribs. The sound is gentle, and the bones give way with little force.

You find the stomach after peeling back a few layers of muscle that have been reduced to almost nothing. It’s so thin and flimsy that you’re not even sure you could touch it without it disintegrating in your fingers. The innermost layers have been completely eaten away. The sight makes you giddy. A laugh bubbles up in your throat and a smile cracks across your dry lips.

The virus goes for soft tissues first. It eats them away. This explains the missing fingers and toes. It explains the jaws clinging onto life. Connective tissues are being corroded, which is causing the skin to slough off the bodies in pools.

“Oh my God,” you laugh, grinning so wide that your cheeks hurt. “Oh my God!”

Leon looks at you like you’re crazy, which you can’t blame him for. You’re clutching a half decomposed stomach in your hand and laughing like someone just told you the funniest joke. You’re certain you look crazy.

“I sure hope you figured something out,” Leon says, a teasing tone etched into the words. You laugh again.

“I think I did,” you say. “Let me close this up, and then I’ll fill you in,”

You make quick work of the clean up. You shuffle into a new pair of clothes after wiping the dirt from your skin as best you can. You find Leon, clean and comfortable, sitting in a chair in your tent. Your skin sizzles under his gaze, and you try to remember the events of the day. They’re tinged pink by his presence.

“Gonna tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours?” he asks, smiling slightly at you. “Or do I have to guess?”

You roll your eyes, sitting across from him. “I was getting there,”

You pull a few files out of a box from under the work table. You dig through them for a minute before handing them to Leon.

“What are these?” he asks, looking at you through his lashes. You grin, feeling giddy from your knowledge and his stare.

“Our virus,” you say, breathless.

Leon furrows his brows and begins flipping through the files. When he’s finished reading, he looks up at you, grinning like you’ve told him the greatest news in the world. He stands, rereading the file and pacing. You stand, too, mostly because you can’t sit anymore.

“You’re a genius,” he says, softly, sweetly. Your heart hammers in your chest.

“I knew I’d seen something like this before,” you say, voice a bit far off. “It’s been modified somehow, but that’s our virus,”

Leon discards the file on top of a cabinet. There’s a tension in the room now, one that makes you feel a bit smaller. You’re drunk on his praise. You want him to think you’re smart and funny and kind. And you want him to tell you so.

He approaches you quietly, soft steps entering your orbit. Your breath catches in your throat.

“Thank you,” you say. “For earlier,”

“Don’t thank me,” he returns, studying you. “But don’t ever do that to me again,”

Your cheeks heat up. You wonder, for a moment, if he’s going to kiss you. You want him to. You really want him to. You think you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything. Gently, far more gentle than you’ve ever beheld, he takes one of your hands in his. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, sending a shiver down your spine. You fight the urge to look away from him.

“Please don’t ever do that to me again,” he says. His voice is so soft, like he’s sharing a secret with you. Maybe he is.

“I’ll try not to,” you say, equally as quiet.

For a moment, there is nothing else around you. No stark white tent, no decaying corpses, no danger. Just him. He smells like cedar and smoke. His skin is so smooth up close, so perfectly crafted. His delicate features are so beautiful; soft lips, dimpled chin, round cheekbones.

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but hesitates. Instead, he gives  your hand a squeeze and takes a step away from you. You feel a stutter in your heartbeat.

Easier that way.

Easier at an arm’s length.

You’re not sure you want easy anymore.

[loverboy-cc]

I keep seeing ppl make web weaves so I figured I’d try to make one for Charlie except I don’t have any good screenshots of him to include lmao (I kinda went on a really depressing ramble in the tags btw so uh, keep that in mind if you read them)

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: death mention / family death mention / ]

Mhmm I sure love thinking of the reality where we did get more time to really know Karai and her dynamics with the bros. Losing her hit hard in the finale, but it would’ve hit much, much harder had we known Karai longer and really saw her relationships develop with everyone.

I especially would have been interested in her dynamic with Leo, as past iterations often have the two of them clash in ideals and the like while still sharing many characteristics. Two sides of the same coin, and all that. Her specifically being the bros’ Gram-Gram also adds a whole new dynamic as well.

Imagine how interesting it would be, to have Karai start off on Leo’s side for once, showing wholly just how alike the two are at their cores and bonding as family without the worry of betrayal or animosity that other iterations suffer through, only to have Karai die anyway. Their parting hug and the desperate look of horror Leo wears later on would have hit that much harder, I feel.

[mydream-synopsis]

chapter 152 spoilers

endo............the yearning in his eyes.....for once can i hold him in my arms and tell him he's loved (even though i know he'll only ever feel alright if chika did so)

[ouroborosorder]

it’s 2 AM again. Time for my regularly scheduled “feel emotions about Void Stranger” hour.

[feline-evil]

Hiding my shirt that says 'i am not normal about narratives that imply an inanimate inhabited structure is a living breathing organism' as i walk into a board room and pitch my idea that we should make more horror revolving around living architecture

[mad-hunts]

starting off this sunday with a sad fact, and that is often whenever barton smells this cinnamon, but as a part of a specific blend with... something else he can't quite identify? barton is reminded of marcy because she used to wear a perfume that had that sort of scent to it.

[scrawlingskribbles]

not me blearily waking up at 5:30am almost in tears bc I had a dream that Ian had apparently been making more little OK KO shorts on the side and the utter joy I was feeling as dream!me was scrambling to find & watch them only to wake up before I could........ :((((