#and i love YOU dearly what a coincidence

[sexynetra]

14, 24, 28, 32 for the ask game !! ✨

14. what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

I want to take a solo trip someday! I’ve gone to meet people and I’ve traveled with groups and with family but I want to go somewhere just me someday :)

24. What's one thing you're proud of yourself for?

I am proud of myself for making an effort to broaden my horizons and really allowing myself to actually start envisioning a future for myself outside of just staying alive :)

28. do you collect anything?

Yeah i collect shitty meme oversized t-shirts and stuffed animals :) Both collections are obscenely large and will be with me until I am in the grave. Also books I guess I have so many books

32. how many tabs do you have open right now?

on my computer? 7. On my phone? thousands :)

[ghoulphile]

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | part 01

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 3.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap, hair pulling, teasing, making out, mutual pining, lipstick kink, stockings, frottage, porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --” ➥ notes | i'm so sorry this is later than it should be. i am unfortunately a corporate slave and this fic just did not want to cooperate 🫠 there are a lot more things planned and this fic is turning into a bit of a beast (20+ pages and counting rip lmao) so i've decided to split it into two parts to make it more manageable for myself mostly un-beta'd atm a special thanks to @corinthianism for all her lovely help ❤️!!

feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

One of the ugliest things in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say. At least when he was a Marine, they told him where to point his gun, where to aim; nameless threats vanishing with a quick squeeze of the trigger.

Here, these ‘enemies’ aren’t enemies — not really.

It’d be easier if they were.

Worse still, they have names he holds as dearly as his own. There’s Barb, whip smart and always so clever. Then Janey, the light of his life and so sweet his teeth ache.

Once upon a time, life was sweeter than apple pie on Sundays.

Then came the separation.

Afterwards, he finds it hard to look at what’s left of his family without losing breath like a horse kick to the chest. Their absence rips open a hole inside him ten miles wide, its edges jagged and wrong.

And when he can’t take the silence anymore, fingers of malt liquor help dull the ache, though it’ll never be enough to mend what’s broken.

See, war’s something he understands.

But these domestic battlefields where he sits across from his ex-wife while lawyers barter this weekend and that holiday?

How he struggles to meet his daughter’s eye every time she asks if he’s coming home?

When Barb keeps the house and the money while he keeps the scrapbooks and the dog?

He doesn’t — can't — refuses to comprehend.

Because in what world can you reconcile looking down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman you love staring back, finger on the trigger? Left out to hang as Vault-Tec orchestrates his downfall.

The true depth of their involvement is unknown, but it’s no coincidence his bank accounts dried up faster than the Mojave in June. The ink still wet when the media snapped up the story of his failed marriage.

Thus, his reputation (rather what’s left of it) unraveled faster than a spool of thread.

Knocked on his ass and kept there by a boot heel crushing his windpipe. Whose? He hasn’t got a fucking clue.

But whoever they are, they’re making sure he stays a washed up nobody who struggles to land a call back, much less pay his monthly alimony on time.

See what we can do? You were America’s favorite gunslinger - now look at you. Mind your place.

Hell, millions used to scream his name.

Nowadays people whisper it behind their hands like a dirty secret, “Oh, did you hear? Cooper Howard…” as they dissect pieces of his life into bite-sized Before’s and After’s. “Hah! Serves him right. Y’know, I never liked him much.”

While he grits his teeth and swallows his bitterness with a smile, he hates how he can’t protect Janey from snide reporters and nosy strangers. Juggling actor-father-divorcé with fumbling hands.

It’s only been six months; a heartbeat, a lifetime, and already he’s scraped thin like butter over too much bread.

Something’s gotta give.

After all, he’s only one man.

But just when it's bleakest, the clouds part.

A young woman moves in next door, the first bright thing that’s come his way in a long, long while.

At first, he kept his distance.

Exchanged vague hello’s and how-are-you’s. Then Janey took a shine; always so friendly and eager to talk about her latest books.

Any reservations he might’ve had died when he saw how enamored you are with her.

Only made sense that over time small pleasantries turned into playdates. Then those playdates turned into sleepovers.

Before long, you’re watching her when a gig runs late.

Rustling up grub and tucking her into bed more often than not these days. And when he slinks in through the door, knees aching and stripped to the bone, there you are with a shy smile and a warm meal.

So what if he takes himself in hand after you leave, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress?

Imagines the wide stretch of your ruby lips as you swallow him down, lipstick smeared an awful mess?

Cums hard to the fantasy of your teary eyes and hiccupy breaths as you choke?

What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

After all, he’s a gentleman... he promises to keep his hands to himself.

“All right, Sugar Bomb, it’s bedtime.”

Bundled in navy bedding up to her nose, Janey’s wide brown eyes peer up at you from beneath a riot of frizzy curls. Roosevelt, her ever faithful companion, plasters himself to her side. The tip of his tail swishes once, twice before falling limp.

“Ah, c’mon guys. Don’t look at me like that.” You sigh with a fond shake of the head, hip popping out to rest against the doorframe. “I don’t make the rules, I just follow ‘em.”

A muffled response sounds from the lump of little girl, “Nmfhm.”

Squinting, you dip your head and tap the side of your ear, "Pardon?"

“Mnhfmmmm.”

“Ye—eah… Didn’t catch that, Mumbler.”

Janey tugs down the blanket, her mouth pursed in a moue of displeasure. “I said,” she crosses her arms with a huff, “not until Dad gets home.”

Shit.

“M’sorry, baby. He’s still gonna be a while.” Walking across the room, you stop beside the bed and motion your hand back and forth. “Scooch over.”

Gangly limbs fumble as Janey wiggles into the middle of the mattress, her feet tangling in the blankets. Roosevelt takes a toe to the nose during the transition, but flops across her knees all the same.

Together they settle with a bounce of springs.

In the open space, you slide in.

The bed sinks under your weight, a plume of rich cologne tickling your nose; mint-spiced citrus. Cooper. Your stomach swoops, and your heart trips.

“I didn’t see him at breakfast — or lunch!” A pout tugs at her mouth. “Not even dinner. I gotta go home tomorrow. So when am I gonna see him?”

“Oh, bug.” You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbow. “Your dad’s been real busy at work. And I know that’s been hard for you, but I promise to make sure he’s here for breakfast tomorrow.”

“D’you mean it?” Her cold nose digs into your skin. “Me and Roosevelt miss him so much.”

Cuddled into your chest, Janey tosses an arm around your back. Her fuzzy head rests in the crook of your arm, springy curls tickling your skin.

You squeeze her tight and trace your fingertips over her forehead.

“I can do you one better,” you say, bopping the tip of her nose just to hear her giggle - a soft sound that sits warm and gooey in your chest. “I pinkie-promise.”

Her finger loops around yours, so small and fragile.

“I’ll even make pancakes. How’s that sound for a promise?”

“Oh, yes, please! I think Dad will like that,” a wide yawn cuts her off mid-sentence. “He’s sad, but he always smiles when you make food.”

Janey’s words — unexpected as they are sudden — cut so deep it steals the breath from your lungs. You flounder, your heart a throbbing bruise in your chest.

“... Then pancakes it is.”

As if nothing happened at all, she asks, “Do I have to go to bed now?”

“Afraid so, little miss.” Your responding chuckle sounds stilted even to your own ears. “Just you wait. When you wake up, Dad’ll be home.”

“Fi—ine, but I want extra pancakes.” Janey pauses, considers you with narrow eyes, then adds, “With syrup!”

“Whatever you want,” you say with an indulgent smile. “Now... time to sleep. It’s really past your bedtime.”

She gives you one last squeeze then lets you tuck her in nice and tight, blankets pulled up to her chin. You drop a kiss on her forehead while Roosevelt re-settles on the pillow beside her after a quick scratch behind the ears. 

Everything in order, you turn to go only for a little hand to stop you.

“Yes?” you reply, glancing at her from over your shoulder.

“... can you put on one of Dad's movies?”

The tremble in her voice - like she’s about to get scolded - breaks your heart clean down the middle. Stitching on a soft smile, you nod and walk to the darkened TV set in the room's corner.

After fiddling with the nobs, static flashes to life.

“The Man from Deadhorse okay?”

The holotape sliding into the track swallows the sound of her tiny “Yeah.” Starting up with a whirl of machinery, the second-hand Radiation King flickers to life in black-and-white.

A vast plain and bright sky stretches across the screen.

Then Sugarfoot creeps into frame with the one and only Cooper Howard sitting astride the noble steed. The sheriff’s badge on his chest glints in the sun.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, already half-way to sleep.

“Anything for you, baby. Sleep tight.”

Flicking off the lights, you leave the door cracked. Walk away pretending like hearing her whisper goodnight to the TV doesn’t lance through you like lightning.

The desire to whisk her into your arms and soothe all of her ails is almost impossible to ignore.

Somehow, you distract yourself by wiping up the table, then by fixing a plate of dinner for whenever Cooper rolls in. Though all the while, how brokenhearted Janey sounded sits in the back of your mind like a leaden weight.

When Cooper stumbles into the living room, it’s half past midnight.

You’d gotten up to greet him, curled as you were in an armchair reading, when something about the stern line of his mouth gave you pause.

Where the usual lighthearted greetings lingered, a pensive stillness trembled to life.

Tension crackles through the air; a held breath of agitation. By the faraway gaze and defeated slump of his broad shoulders, it’s plain to see the night didn’t go as intended. And no matter how much you long to soothe, you can’t.

After all, he’s not yours to touch.

Instead, you offer a sympathetic smile and ask, “Rough night, huh?”

Cooper ignores the prompt, squeezing past with a brief touch to your elbow as he makes a beeline for the dry bar. The heat of his body is there and gone in a flash, his cologne teasing your senses. He says, “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Your heart flutters in your throat. “Ah,” you lick your lips, “well, I was going to finish my chapter first.”

Humming, he turns his back to you and fiddles with high balls and decanters. The tink of crystal glassware fills the air as he speculates which alcohol goes best with his mood. 

“Thanks again for watching Janey.” He nods in approval and fixes his whiskey neat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Howard.” You shrug. “She’s a sweetheart.”

He shoots you a dry look from over his shoulder, stirring the dark amber of his drink with a forefinger. When he sucks his skin clean with a soft pop - a flash of a pink tongue taunting, teasing - your stomach swoops.

God, I wonder what else his mouth can do.

Flustered, you clear your throat and stare at a spot on the wall.

“How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Coop?” he says, digging through some drawers until he finds what he’s searching for: a lighter. “It must be a million and one by now.”

Flint sparks as flames jump, eating away at the end of a cigarette. Cooper inhales in short little puffs, pulling on the filter. His cheeks hollow, the shadows enhancing the cut of his jaw before the tip catches alight.

“Well,” he exhales, his gaze catching yours through a plume of smoke as he turns, brow raised. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” you chuckle.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smirk. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks back the last finger of whiskey before refilling with gin.

Springs groan in protest when he drops to the couch, settling in with an outstretched arm and wide spread thighs.

“It’s been a long fucking day,” he rasps.

Gulping, you try to ignore the space at his feet.

The stirrings of desire provoked by the urge to sink to your knees and fill it with your body, to ease tension from those shoulders with your hands, your mouth, your cunt — if he’d let you.

“You heading home?” Nursing the fresh drink, he swallows a mouthful, only to hiss low through his teeth at the chemical burn. His throat bobs, framed by the open collar of his shirt. “Whew! Goddamn, that’s strong.”

“No, I can stay for a while.” A bird on a wire, you perch on the cushion beside him. “Got nothing else planned for tonight, anyhow.”

Cooper snorts. “I doubt that very much. A sweet young thing like you,” he motions towards you with his glass, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of fellas calling, especially on a Friday night. Don’t waste your time with me.”

“That’s not why I--” you stop yourself short.

Save for the bustling LA avenue right outside the complex, the apartment itself is stone silent for several heartbeats. Words hover on the back of your tongue, catching in the bend of your throat molasses thick.

Meanwhile, Cooper continues to swirl the alcohol in his glass.

Maybe in a different life, you wouldn’t hesitate to express yourself.

But here — with him — you shouldn’t.

Christ sake, he’s a grieving divorcé, you chastise yourself. The last thing he needs is me trying to lay one on him.

When you speak, his name glides off your lips for the first time, clementine sweet, “... Cooper, I’m not wasting my time. I enjoy spending it with Janey - and you.”

“Well,” he husks, hooded eyes dragging down your visage in a slow once-over, “you’re the first one in a long while to feel that way, sweetheart.”

Dripping like honey whiskey from Cooper’s lips, the simple phrase burns its way down-down-down until it blooms like liquid fire in your belly. Warms you all the way to your toes as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“I mean it.” Your knuckles twist in the pleats of your sundress, bolts of blue fabric bunched around your knees. “Everything I do is because I want to.”

The flash of red nails plucking at the sheer nylon of your stockings snaps up his attention, his gaze snagging - staying as he chases the curve of your exposed leg, hungry.

He wets his lips, and tenses his jaw when he spots how the soft fat of your thigh dimples in because of your garter. “That’s awful sweet of you to say.”

You tremble beneath the intensity of his attention.

Greedy.

Little kisses of awareness spark bright along the path his eyes carve like the caress of shy fingertips.

However, before you’re able to confront him about his interest, the heat leaches from his expression, grows mute and cold like a muzzled dog. 

Readjusting the waistband of his slacks with a tug, he says, “I know you got better things to do than keep an old man company.”

Irritation sparks. “Cooper--”

“If this is about paying you for tonight,” his lips quirk into a sheepish smile, “I won’t be able to yet.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble peppered along his jaw. “The gig tonight didn’t… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, that’s not what I --”

He plows on, “Anyway, the one I’ve got tomorrow should be enough. How about I stop by around seven o’clock? I’ll treat you to dinner as an apology.”

Frustration bubbles beneath the surface of your skin, antagonism thrumming through your veins. Your hands shake almost as much as your voice. “Cooper!”

“I… uh, yes?” He blinks.

Your brows furrow. “You don’t get it,” you say. “I mean, you truly don’t know?”

“I’m afraid there’s a lot I don’t get. You’re gonna have to be more particular.”

Maybe not said in so many words (or at all) but actions speak far louder.

Otherwise, why else would you spend most of your time in his apartment, fill every spare moment with Janey, and reserve evenings for his company?

Hell, you even cook and clean!

Almost scream your interest from the rooftops, and it’s obvious to everyone but him, it seems.

Here you are thinking he was preserving your dignity whenever he ignored a passing comment or lingering touch when, in fact, he’d been oblivious to their existence to begin with.

How a man can be so obtuse when you’re throwing yourself at him is beyond you.

If he wasn’t so captivating…

“Are you kidding me,” you ask, mindful of your tone, “how could you not know?” You throw your hands in the air. “I’ve been — for months!”

“Well, I don’t have a goddamn clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” he snarks, setting his glass on the table. “Care to enlighten me?”

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play, let’s play.

When he moves to take another drag from his cigarette, you strike, fingers locking around his wrist mid-lift. And although his glassy eyes narrow, he keeps his hand still.

Waiting to see what you'll do.

Tucking your knee under you for balance, you bend forward and watch his face from beneath your lashes. When your lips wrap around the filter, a dark hunger bleeds into his expression, his pulse a steady thud against the pad of your thumb.

Inhaling, the cherry lights up, a flashbang in the dim overhead light.

Cooper’s breath hitches, and then you’re pulling away with a lungful of smoke; the taste of ash heavy on your tongue.

He tracks your movements with greed, gaze flicking for the briefest of moments past your chin before refocusing on the ring of red lipstick staining white paper.

“If you wanted one,” he chokes, gripping the back of the couch with white knuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

With a coquettish grin, you exhale to the side and stare at him with hooded eyes. “Is that so?” Plucking the cigarette out of his limp hold, you stub it out in the ashtray. “What if I wanted to ask for something else, Mr. Howard?”

The next moment finds you deposited in his lap, his hands shooting out to grab at your waist only to freeze before they make contact.

“Woah! I--”

“Tell me something.”

Your lips caress the shell of his ear, sharing breath - sharing space as you plaster yourself to his front, arms looped over his shoulders. He jolts, body trembling with restraint.

“Would you give me what I wanted if I said please?”

The distance between you snaps taut with anticipation. “C-Coop,” he stutters. “Call me Coop.”

You hum. “Well, Coop, would you?”

“That depends almost entirely on what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”

Red nails skate along the back of his neck, play in the downy soft hair of his nape just to feel him shiver. And then you’re leaning back with your hands braced on his knees, your legs falling open in invitation.

The hem of your dress bunches around your waist, exposing the soft cotton of your underwear, and the darkened patch of slick soaking through.

“I think you know exactly what I want,” you purr. “Because you want it too. Don’t you?”

He bites down on a strangled moan when your hips arch forward, rocking the soft plush of your ass against the heavy weight of his thickening cock. The zipper digs into your skin as he tents the front of his slacks.

Mouth dropping open, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips - a slick circle of temptation that makes you clench. “I, uh, I don’t…”

Reaching between your splayed thighs, you hook a finger beneath your panties and pull the fabric aside. He jerks forward, exhaling hard at the flash of your soaked cunt and twitching clit.

“C’mon, be honest.”

With a sigh, you gather your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

Cooper’s gaze is a heavy weight pinning you in place as you pretend it’s him dragging his knuckles over the top of your mond. Him dragging calloused fingers up along sticky folds to play with your sensitive clit, ripping soft little mewls from your lips.

“Can’t you see what you do to me, Coop?” you say, pulling your hand away to show the webs of slick stretching between your fingers. “I’m so wet. Please, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

His hips rock against your ass in an aborted thrust. “Shit - shit!” Eyes slamming shut, he grits his teeth and digs his fingers into your sides hard enough to bruise. “We really, uh, shouldn’t - oh fuck, you look --”

“Why not?” Your hand brushes over his groin. “I can feel how hard you are.”

“It isn’t right, that’s why.” He stutters, stumbles over his words, “Besides, Janey…”

“I can be quiet,” you say, lips trembling. “I promise.”

“Goddamnit, you can’t say things like that and expect me not to --” Cutting himself off, strong fingers seize your chin and tilt until you’re met with Cooper’s severe expression, his scorching gaze. “You need to tell me now: are you sure this is what you want?”

There’s no hesitation, “Yes.”

In what world would you refuse?

The words barely pass your lips before Cooper’s bowing his dark head, mouth ravenous as it captures yours in a slick glide of bruising lips and hungry tongues.

He steals your breath, licks into your mouth and traces along the sensitive inside of your lip.

Pulse jump starting, your toes curl over the edge of the cushion and your thighs squeeze the barrel of his chest, kneecaps digging into his ribs.

“Oh,” a moan punches itself out of your throat - a breathy little thing swallowed up by his lips. “That’s--”

Anticipation swells, simmers between you like a band before it snaps. A strong forearm locks around your waist, tugging you into the cradle of his chest until you’re plastered from stem to stern.

Too hungry for tenderness as his free hand slips up to cup the back of your head, fingers catching in the briar of your hair and tugging at the roots.

You claw at his shoulders while sparks of pain ricochet down your neck, sufficing into a prickly flush that heats your blood. “Hnn, Cooper,” you gasp.

He murmurs your name through languid flicks of his tongue and sharp little nips of skin that leave your mouth tender and swollen. When he pulls away to survey his handiwork, his eyes are dark. Fathomless.

"I never thought I'd get the chance to kiss you like this," he says, wicking his thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip. "You taste as good as I imagined."

Dragging your nails across his scalp, you plead, “No more teasing - I can't take it.”

"Well," he grunts, fingers twisting up in your dress, “If that’s how you feel, then you better put those hips to good use and work for it, sweetheart."

part 2 dropping soon

[endless-ineffabilities]

I will never say that I am in love (18+)

{ alternate title: you are the love of my life }

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

When the one-eyed prince falls, the realisation comes to him in the scent of flowers. In his nephew's laughter. In his dreams.

themes/warnings : just pure sweetness, our emotionally constipated and repressed Aemond Targaryen, he thinks some *impure* thoughts in this one (how dare he!!!), he does NOT want to even think about falling in love (what a stupid distraction, he is not weak, you all should know) - also, he is DOWN BAD for the reader.

all my other works

a/n : this is the first fic I'm writing completely in the male lead's, in this case Aemond's perspective. Complete train-of-thought type of storytelling. (also, this is not in my scheduled works, the idea came to me after watching the new promo clips for s2... never in a million eons did I ever think I would hear Ewan Mitchell utter the word "cheugy" but oh well) - Enjoy! 🖤

{ I. flowers ▪︎ II. innocence ▪︎ III. dreams }

I.

Aemond decides that he finds pleasure in your scent.

The thought comes to him as he strolls through the halls of the Red Keep. Not a strong one, not a revelation by any means. A mere inkling of something he favours.

It is innocent. It is nothing.

He had spied some flowers peeking from just beneath a window. Roses, peonies, or some other, he did not bother to truly look. He glanced them out of the corner of his eye.

And he thought of you.

You smell something rather akin to those flowers - blooming and enticing and sweet.

A simple observation, rising to him now from his memory.

That is all.

Your scent reminds him of springtime in the gardens. You are pleasant, there is no doubt, but that very sweetness can only be construed as sickly if divulged in for far too long, too often.

Besides, his icy disposition does not really take well to flowers in the spring. They are more like to whittle under his boot, and shrivel from the coldness in his gaze.

You are not for him. No.

Flowers. Sweet things. The gentleness in your voice when you call him 'my prince'. Aemond scoffs at himself as he walks on.

It is no transgression to be distracted. It is a natural thing.

You are a distraction, and Aemond decides to think of you no more.

II.

Aemond comes to Helaena's chambers to visit with his niece and nephews. It is only by coincidence that you are almost always there too.

"Prince Aemond." Your voice resembles a song in greeting him. "Queen Helaena has just left to speak with Lady Alicent, but she should return shortly."

"Hmm." You are not a lady-in-waiting to Helaena, but more of a companion, a friend. Yet you do not mind looking after Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor when their mother is indisposed.

This is where Aemond finds you, most mornings. Were it anyone else, he might have sent them away, so that he can spend time alone with the children.

But he lets you stay, because, of course, Helaena would prefer it so. She dotes on you so dearly, Aemond has noticed.

In these instances, he lets you stay only because it is what Helaena would want. Why else?

He settles on an upholstered stool and beckons to the children. They eagerly waddle their way over to their beloved uncle.

You watch the interaction with a smile, as you always do. With your legs curled underneath you, comfortably seated on the floor a few feet in front of him.

Aemond used to pay you no mind, but increasingly it has been nagging at him that you are observing, taking him in.

It is inane to be self-conscious; there is no reason to be. He is the Prince - being perceived has been a constant all his life.

He is the Prince, and you are merely a lady companion.

But when you say things like, "They are very fortunate to have you as their uncle, my prince," it makes him feel a sense of pride. Like it is some accomplishment to be complimented by you.

He knows this. He knows he is a good uncle.

Perhaps it is just that. Vanity.

You pointing it out has nothing to do with anything.

Jaehaerys crosses the many strides it takes for him to reach you again, and he pulls at your hand.

"Come," he giggles.

"Where, sweet boy?"

"Come, come here, come here," he mumbles mostly to himself, grunting when you are unmoving and his three-year old form is unable to magically transport you as he wishes.

"Okay," you laugh once, getting on your feet with your body bent to his level, and you let him pull you to where he wants.

Which is... right next to his dearest uncle Aemond.

"There." Jaehaerys claps his hands in glee, as you curl up on the floor beside Aemond's outstretched legs.

"He has a sense of humour, that one," you grin, looking up at Aemond.

Aemond sees your expression up close and you look okay. Comely. Fine. You are not bad-looking, by any means.

You are the most beautiful lady in the court.

You are fine, just fine.

Aemond would not mind seeing your face everyday; he already sees it every night in his dreams.

And it is just fine.

"Is something the matter, my prince?"

Call him that. Do it again. Or better yet, replace prince with his name. Call him 'my Aemond'.

Aemond desires nothing more than to hear it.

Because... because he is vain. Nothing more than that. It would take a high degree of devotion for someone to utter the words 'my Aemond' to him. And who would not want to be at the end of such idolatry.

Perceive him. Worship him. Consume him.

You already consume him.

Aemond stands abruptly, and you scramble to follow suit.

"Aem... Aemond," you stammer. "I mean, forgive me... my prince, what is wrong?"

Aemond looks down. Your delicate hand is gripping his arm, the sleeve of his tunic doing nothing to mask the heat of your skin.

He is of dragon, he is of fire.

But your touch burns.

The clacking of wooden toy horses ring in the background, the children lost in their imagination.

"Nothing," Aemond clears his throat, and folds his arms behind him so your hand falls. "I am alright. I must go."

The smell of sweetness lingers in his nostrils. Your sweetness. He is growing weak.

He steps away, "I bid you farewell, my lady."

"My prince."

Call him Aemond. Call him by his name, title be damned. By the gods, call him yours.

Aemond nearly rushes out of the chambers, his gait sure and his footsteps heavy.

Tonight, in his dreams, he will finally release his foolish desires and that will be the end of it.

Behind his eyes, he will touch you and taste you and watch you crumble underneath him.

And he will be your Aemond.

That will be the climax of this passing fantasy.

III.*

Aemond has stripped down to his undergarments, supine above the silk sheets of his bed. He runs a hand over his face, and he sees you.

All the better for it, he supposes, that he gets rid of it now before it ruins him further.

It is a memory, from only one moon ago, but he sees it clear as day.

You had let your hair down that day, and it flowed freely, following the gentle breeze. Nestled in what Aemond found out to be your favourite spot in the gardens, needle and thread in your dainty fingers, you tell him that you are embroidering a veil for your dear mother.

You request for him to sit with you, and Aemond obeys.

Pleasantries are exchanged, about the weather, your duties, his training. All the while Aemond watches the contour of your lips, how it stretches back to reveal your smile when he says something that could not be the farthest from amusing, but you find it amusing anyway.

He stares you down questioningly.

You blush then, turning your focus back to your work, "Apologies, but I... I admire the way you speak, my prince. As if every word is deliberate, carefully chosen. You are intelligent, and you care what you say."

"Hmm," he said then, but now...

In his mind, he lets you know just what he wants, "Have you ever been bedded, my lady?"

You look at him in shock, of course you do. Those rosy lips part, and Aemond wonders whether your lips below possess the same shade.

In his grand chambers, Aemond lets his hand drift down, down from the planes of his stomach, to his hardened cock. He licks his lips, and imagines the softness of your own. He strokes the leaking tip with his thumb. The picture continues.

"Do you not ever wonder about the deed?" Aemond asks.

"M-my prince...I do not... I - "

"You must," he sneers. "You must, as I do, and when I do, it is you who floods my very thoughts, and consumes my very being."

"I do not know what to say."

"Say you want to kiss me."

His grip tightens, drawing down and up his cock, covering it with the milky white that has leaked from his tip. He is pained, teeth pressing down on his lower lip. He imagines your hands on him, your dress undone as you watch him come undone.

"We mustn't," you look down in shame. Your legs clench together to keep in the warmth.

"Come here, my sweetness," he leads you to sit atop him, and your work clatters to the ground.

You try to look away, try to hide just how much he is affecting you.

"Kiss me," Aemond pleads.

You comply. He slips his tongue past your lips.

Faster, wetter, he gets harder and it is unbearable. His hands are not enough, he wishes to plunge his aching member right into your soaking folds. Wishes to watch beads of his sweat fall on to you as he pounds you without mercy, his cock squelching deep inside your cunny until it is sore. If only you will ache as he does. Come as he comes.

Aemond lifts you up and the two of you end up stumbling down on the grass. He does not relent. His fingers make quick work of the strings and ribbons holding you together. Your breasts come free and he latches his mouth on one, his tongue swirling against the nipple.

"Oh Aemond!" you moan, and it is a scandal. It is everything unholy. It is every dirty thought nestled in his mind.

Soon he has you bare, your skin practically glowing under daylight. You are perfect, and you are his.

"Take me," you say, practically begging. "I want you to fill me with your cock. Fill me with your seed, my dragon prince. Please."

"My sweetness," Aemond reveals himself to you, undoing his breeches and slipping out of his tunic. How could he resist?

"Do you want me?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I want you, my prince," you affirm, squirming under him, you hips bucking up with desire, hopelessly attempting to rub your cunny against his skin.

"My Aemond," he corrects you. "Say it."

"I want you," you say, "my Aemond."

Aemond rubs his cock faster and faster, the thick green veins in his hand and arms straining angrily under his skin. He feels you, he sees you in his mind so clear. You are his, and he is your Aemond.

He plunges his cock inside you, and you are left mewling and writhing as he quickens his assault.

He groans loudly. The lewd squelching of his cock turning sloppy, hasty, mindless. A few more strokes and he comes all over himself, hot white streaks decorating his torso. His silver hair in disarray on the pillows, like a broken halo. Beads of sweat falling from his temple. His mouth parted as he whispers your name.

He gives himself a few more tugs, emptying out. You would do him so much better. Touch him so well.

In his mind, he still sees it. Fragments of his memory bleeding through his fantasies. He does not know anymore what is real and what is not.

He cleans himself up with warm cloth afterward, feeling shame at his actions.

This is enough. Now he has released you from his being. The desire he holds so closely to his chest must have dissipated along with the lewd act he just committed.

"My Aemond," you whisper from behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

Enough. No more of such useless musings.

"I love you, Aemond."

I love you too.

🌸🌸🌸

* In III, reality is fully italicized, and his memories + fantasies are typed as normal.

this was meant to have more sections ( IV to VII )... maybe I'll come around to it eventually.

Let me know what you think of this sort of writing from Aemond's perspective!

To be tagged in Aemond or Daemon fics, comment on this post !

[crustyfloor]

Till's point of view on his and Ivan's relationship - An (personal) analysis of Till's side of things leading up to Round 7.

As kids, IvanTill's relationship was tulmotious, to say the least.

Ivan would do things to rile Till up as a means of getting closer to Till when they were just starting out, and Till would fall for it.

Ivan would steal Till's things and turn around and give it back like some evil Christmas gift as a means of trying to get closer to Till, and Till would fall for that too, for some time.

But we all know Till isn't stupid. Till must've noticed after some time that the constant disappearance of his stuff only to be coincidentally found by Ivan every time wasn't actually a coincidence. And Till, being handled roughly his whole life by aliens naturally wouldn't have been so fond of the way Ivan would constantly instigate fights with him. All of these things that Ivan did, they did irritate Till. In any normal case they would've given all the more reason to avoid Ivan. So why did Till let him linger?

Well, I think Till actually considered Ivan at least a good friend, At least at the start. Ivan was strange, mean, and annoying but he was one of the only people who actually made an effort to stay and get close to Till. To have someone in a world like this would mean a lot to a kid like Till, even though Till and Ivan had their moments he was still the closest person to Till.

Other than that, Till is a high-spirited, compassionate, and emotional character. it's shown in a comic where Ivan and Till spot a crushed flower and Till tells it to cheer up out of sympathy, it's shown in the way Till cares about others around him even if he holds a cold exterior that keeps him from showing his heart often.

This isn't to say Till regarded Ivan because he felt bad for him, he didn't know the first thing about what went on in Ivan's mind. Till allowed Ivan around him because he cared about him enough to look past those aspects, Till is observant enough, so he was able to see that Ivan was just a kid trying. Till indulged Ivan, allowed him to stay because he cared.

And then we have the meteor shower scene. (pain&suffering.exe)

Ivan, motivated by his strong love tries to get Till to escape with him at the perfect moment. Keyword tries. Because they couldn't get far before Till stopped in his tracks and went right back to Anakt Garden, why? fear of the unknown? Of course. But it's because Till wouldn't have been able to live with himself knowing he left behind a person he loved so very dearly, Mizi. He couldn't possibly leave her there, aware of these deep feelings he had for her. He cared too much to leave.

Till probably felt guilty, going back to Anakt garden because it was all in wrong timing, probably felt guilty knowing he disappointed Ivan back there. But imagine just how much guiltier he felt seeing Ivan the next day. He followed Till back knowing there was no way he'd get the chance to escape again. And so this was the first thread of their relationship that was frayed.

After this point, Ivan was under the full assumption that he had been wrong about how he thought Till saw him so he gradually started to distance himself too, Ivan's antics seemed to have mellowed out, as they grew more distant but he still messed with Till, remained in his life in the shadows, and cared about him, becoming gentle when Till was unaware because even then he couldn’t force himself to leave Till’s world even if Till wanted to leave him in favor of a more bright, beautiful paint that permeated Till's dull canvas, that was so much different from his own bland, dark existence.

Till noticed their distance, and Till thought Ivan hated him for leaving him behind, so as a last effort to bring Ivan back to him and fix his relationship with his friend, to let Ivan know he wanted him near, he left him a message on graduation.

"You were the one who stole my pencil at that time right?"

That was in response to Ivan's "I hope you'll remember me" message.

Till's response sounds pretty straightforward, by design. but I read it as an indirect pointing to a direct message; "I know it was you, of course, I'll remember you. I'm not even mad at you for all of it...So come back?" unfortunately for Till, Ivan didn't read it like this because Ivan isn't a simple person, he needed more than Till could give him. So most likely instead Ivan ended up reading the message as Till still not caring this only motivated him to distance them more until they weren't even talking anymore.

And so after everything, round 6 comes. Till has to compete and win against Ivan.

Till went into round 6 with the full intent to kill himself on that stage and let Ivan win. He couldn't continue to live in a world he hated, in a world where he was tormented, was used, and had nothing else to live for. he couldn't continue to live in a world knowing Mizi, his only shining light and goddess was gone, most likely dead.

It's eerie just how close he was to succeeding, but his plan was thrown off as Ivan realized what Till was doing when he stopped singing and interfered before it was too late.

Ivan kisses Till, selfishly furious with emotions, and sentiments that haven't been addressed for years, but gentle in the message Ivan was trying to get across. Ivan chokes Till for the final blow. Till doesn't understand any of it, it's all too fast and it confuses him. it's hard to say what exactly Till was feeling in that moment, but Till doesn't fight back properly because he doesn't want to, he can't bring himself to show that spirit he had anymore, not the one Ivan saw in him when they were kids, that's been drained out of him because of years of the trauma, the torture, the pain, everything. He's tired. He's lost Mizi, and he's lost everything. If he's just meant to be lamb to the slaughter then why should he delay the inevitable fighting for a life he didn't want? So if Ivan was going to kill him in that moment, so be it. He was going to let him.

Only that's not how it goes, as soon as Ivan's hands leave him Till is disoriented. and then he is shocked, confused, worried? because he didn't expect, nor want this either, he didn't ask for this, he didn't ask for Ivan to take away that one thing he wanted. That expression on Ivan's face, he doesn't get it. But it hits him, that this was all a plan.

And at the end of the day, Ivan is dead, and Till is left staring at his peaceful corpse on the ground, with his blood staining his shoes like Ivan's actions are staining, permeating his perspective, giving him more questions and less answers. All while knowing that he is truly alone in this world now. He has been abandoned.

(I go over pencil.exe a little more in another post of mine if anyone is interested in reading keke)

[bailadeluna]

there’s something so brilliant in cooper howard’s costume design - it’s so much more than just a simple blue and gold cowboy fit.

at the beginning of the show, before the bombs dropped, cooper howard was a good person - always kind to others despite the circumstances or how he was feeling in the moment.

you could say… he was exemplifying the golden rule.

this is evident in his costuming - cooper is decked out in gold even when the bombs dropped. the golden rule is still so close to his heart - i mean come on - look at how tight that bandana is around his neck.

even in certain lighting, his hat looks gold.

cooper howard being a good person and living by the golden rule is what barb probably fell in love with (she has her own interesting character analysis and thought process which i would love to discuss later). because this trait is so admired by her and those around cooper, she probably saw him as who she would hope future generations would become as they grow up in the vaults. people like him are the better future she envisions - so it’s no coincidence that the vault suit is in his colors.

what does the blue symbolize?

well, to me, i think it’s the corporate presence in the world. there’s more blue in the suit than there is gold - hinting at vaultech’s corporate greed, capitalism, and evil machinations. (there was also blue in his old cowboy costume - i.e. the presence of the studio and how they use cooper to push a mccarthyism narrative. kinda in the same way vaultech will use him)

the blue in the suit - symbolizing vaultech’s overwhelming presence and the reason for such a bleak and cruel world - does not swallow up the gold - the small semblance of humanity’s capacity to do and be good. it’s the small hint at barb’s intentions (analogous to the road to hell being paved with good intentions).

yet the man who was an inspiration for vaultech’s workers - the man who they all wished they could be like, the man who symbolized all the “do good” ideas they pass down to their children but in the end have no intention of following them (wink wink, looking at you, hank) - was in the end stripped of all his humanity by the world vaultech created (wow, would you look at that? another analogy for capitalism!)

this man, once rich in morals now robbed of them all, wanders the wasteland a ghoul. everything has been taken from him - symbolized being devoid of layers of skin.

now, he’s nothing but the ghost of the man he once was - haunted by what has been done. everything he wears as the ghoul is frayed, tattered, and dark - symbolizing that cooper howard, that kind and caring man before the bombs is dead.

but wait - is that…

you don’t see it? Ok, i’ll zoom in some more

GOLD? (perhaps even the same shirt he was wearing during the bomb drop??)

perhaps the golden rule, those values that he once held so dearly, are still there just dormant - waiting to be awaken again.

maybe cooper howard can come back… that just maybe there’s still hope for the good in humanity…

[pretzel-box]

STREAMER AU MASTERLIST HERE

CHAPTER 6: I AM RIGHT AND I HAVE WON

tags: I don't know how to tag this? Painter exposes Allison?

words: 4k

authors note: I am not happy with how I wrote it, I blame the lack of a laptop.

In the span of three weeks, moved five individual people in five individual places.

Sebastian was the first,

After Allison had exposed his roommate a week ago, he was confused, angry and somewhat surprised. The man found himself glancing at everything that was connected to you, the bedroom door, the empty work desk, the chinese takeout shop and most importantly the second helmet for his bike.

This particular helmet wasn't really yours but you wore it so much in the past that it was basically owned by you.

Those little things conflicted him dearly, since he was sure, even with your weird love-hate friendship, did you both co-existed pretty well.

Yet, even as those small reminders tugged at him, Allison's words kept looping in his mind.

They set you up, you know that, right? she had said, her voice laced with feigned concern. All this time, they’ve been playing you—just so they could stay close to Solace. You're just a pawn.

Sebastian couldn't shake it off. The idea that you, the person who had shared his space and a fragile, weird friendship with him, might have been using him gnawed at him. He hated how much it made sense. Allison had laid it out perfectly—too perfectly, in hindsight—but in the chaos of everything, it sounded believable.

The constant replay of that accusation left him uneasy, and now every memory was tainted with doubt. The late-night laughs, the casual banter, even the tension that always bubbled beneath the surface. Was all of that staged? Was your connection to him just a ploy? He didn’t want to believe it, but Allison’s words had already planted the seed.

And then there was the part that unsettled him the most.

According to Allison, you loved him, in a way that bordered on obsession. She had claimed that every time you looked at him, it was with a deeper attachment than he’d realized—something beyond friendship, beyond even the regular crush. It was an unhealthy fixation. He was the center of your world, and it had all been hidden behind the mask of your chaotic yet comfortable interactions.

Sebastian felt conflicted. He hadn't noticed anything like that before. Sure, you had your quirks, but it never crossed his mind that it went that deep. Maybe he missed it because he'd never seen you in that light.

But that’s where the real problem lay—what he didn’t know was that Allison’s words were a lie, carefully crafted to make him doubt everything. You didn’t love him in that unhealthy way, and you’d never set him up. But the damage was done. The seed of doubt had been planted, and Sebastian was starting to wonder if everything between you had been a game all along.

Sebastian only found comfort in a single person right now, his best friend.

He swung his leg over his bike, secured his helmet, and drove off to visit his friend once more.

The second was Mama Solace.

Sebastian’s mother had finally found the time and money for a much-needed vacation, and it just so happened to be close to her son. A coincidence? Perhaps not. She loved Sebastian fiercely, more than life itself, and it was time once again to remind him of that with one of her unexpected, affectionate visits.

The last time she had dropped by was when you first moved in, becoming Sebastian’s roommate.

Oh, how she adored you from the moment she laid eyes on you. You had all the qualities she dreamed of in a partner for her son—sweet, caring, and just the right amount of fierce. She saw the connection between you two right away, even if Sebastian refused to acknowledge it. In her mind, you were already the perfect match for her precious boy. You had no idea just how often she'd drop hints, trying to nudge Sebastian toward you, much to his exasperation.

But that was Mama Solace—she loved to meddle in the most loving way possible. This visit would be no different.

She sat in the comfort of the plane, ready to depart from her home country to meet you two again.

The third person was Allison.

She darted around a local clothing store, her father’s credit card clutched in her manicured fingers like it was a divine gift. Her gel nails clicked against the plastic as she browsed the racks, the shopping spree a temporary balm for the simmering rage she felt toward you. Her irritation with you had long passed the point of tolerable, and only the thrill of buying something new could calm her nerves.

How dare you disrupt her carefully laid plans? All you had to do was stay in your lane, accept your role, and everything would have gone smoothly. But no—you had to get in the way, threatening the perfect web of control she thought she had spun. The plan had been flawless, but now, with every step you took, you were messing it all up.

Sebastian, thankfully, was still in the dark about everything. He was too distracted, too wrapped up in his own confusion to see the truth right in front of him. But that was fine with her. Allison believed she held all the cards. She had you, Sebastian, and the whole situation under her control—or so she thought.

She smiled to herself, picking up a striking red dress—perfect for her next date with Sebastian. The fabric would hug her in all the right places, showing off her figure. In her mind, it was only a matter of time before he saw her the way she pretended to see him, and this dress would be another step toward that.

As she stepped up to the cash register, her confidence faltered when the cashier swiped her card and it declined. Her father was still furious with her, apparently. She gritted her teeth in frustration, but quickly smoothed over her expression. She wasn't about to let this minor inconvenience ruin her day.

Without missing a beat, Allison pulled out her phone, her fingers dancing across the screen like it was second nature. She knew exactly how to handle this.

"Hey, handsome," she texted, her words dripping with flirtation. "Mind helping your favorite girl out?~"

It was easy—too easy, in fact. She had gotten used to manipulating situations to her advantage, and she was confident Sebastian would give her money. He always did.

Then there was Painter.

While Allison paid with Sebastian’s help and strolled out of the shop, Painter quietly entered his own—at the other end of the city center. Today, the usual sleek black suit made from expensive cotton was left in the closet. Instead, he wore a casual outfit: thrifted brown pants, a simple white shirt, and a green checkered vest that his mother had picked out for him years ago. He never liked it at first, but eventually, he came to admit—green was definitely his color.

Dressed like this, Painter looked like any other trendy, laid-back guy. You'd never guess he was the heir to Urbanshade, one of the most powerful companies around. His father had been grooming him for years to take over, especially after Painter managed to graduate from Yale with top honors. He was the pride of the family—a model Ivy League student, exactly as his parents had always hoped for.

But unlike his friend Sebastian, who lived by his own chaotic set of rules, Painter was always one of those people who excelled in everything, effortlessly. To the outside world, he was the golden child, the genius destined for greatness.

Yet for Painter, it was all a curse. His intelligence, his success—it only weighed him down, shackling him to a future he didn’t want. His heart was never in the world of business, but his family couldn't see that. To them, he was the prodigy who would continue the legacy. To him, it was a prison. The more success he achieved, the more trapped he felt.

It was why he enjoyed days like this—disappearing into the city, blending into the crowd where nobody knew or expected anything from him. Just for a little while, he could pretend to be someone else, a simple tech shop owner that tries to raise his own money to open up a small art studio instead.

While he worked, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the keys of his laptop, his thoughts inevitably drifted to you. He had seen you a few times with Sebastian in the city, always from a distance. Yet, despite never formally meeting you, he knew more about you than you could have imagined. Sebastian had talked about you often, and though Painter stayed in the shadows of your life, observing from afar, something stirred in his chest whenever he thought of you.

It was ironic, really. He was so familiar with the details of your existence, while you didn’t even know he existed. You were unaware of the person quietly watching your story unfold, aching from the sidelines. There was something about you that captivated him—perhaps it was the way you seemed to bring a kind of life to those around you, or maybe it was simply how you existed in Sebastian’s orbit.

But there was one thing that bothered him more than anything: Allison.

It pained him to know how she had manipulated your life, how she had sunk her claws into Sebastian’s world and, by extension, yours. Painter had known for some time what Allison was up to, and unlike Sebastian, he could see right through her facade.

Just like Allison, Painter had developed his own plan.

But his wasn't born out of selfishness or jealousy. It was something else—something more complex. While he hated to admit it, he wanted to find a way to cross paths with you, to help you in a way that would loosen the hold Allison had over you. And maybe, just maybe, he'd get closer to you in the process.

Though Painter’s mind was sharp, his heart was tangled in emotions he didn’t yet fully understand.

The last person who could understand Painter’s feelings was you.

You were navigating the city streets, your hands busily typing on your phone, trying to figure out where exactly you needed to go. With your streaming account temporarily banned, you had decided to get your laptop fixed—the keys were loose, and the screen was slightly cracked. The device had been with you for years, but it was clearly on its last legs. Maybe it was time for a new one, but for now, fixing it seemed like the easier option.

Eventually, you spotted it: a neat little shop with good reviews online. It seemed like the right place, and with a deep breath, you stepped inside.

Immediately, the smell of coffee greeted you. The shop had a warm, comfortable atmosphere, far cozier than you’d expected for a tech repair spot. There were shelves lined with new devices, a small selection of popular games, and a table for waiting customers. Despite the welcoming vibe, the place seemed empty—except for a young man at the counter.

He caught your eye right away, dressed in a casual yet stylish outfit that seemed effortless. His name tag drew your attention next, and you noticed something curious: an elegant name had been crossed out with a dry black marker, replaced with a word scribbled hastily over it—"Painter."

You weren’t sure what to make of him, but something about him seemed different. And without knowing it, the moment you stepped into the shop, you had walked into his world.

"Uhm, hi?" you greeted, your voice breaking the silence.

The young man behind the counter stared at you, caught off guard as if you had walked in at the worst possible moment. His eyes lingered on you for just a second too long, making the situation feel a bit awkward. There was something about the way he looked at you—almost like you had thrown him off balance. The way his gaze fixed on you, wide and a little too intense, made you wonder if you’d interrupted something.

"Oh, h-hello! Welcome, greetings. How can I help you today?" he stammered, clearly flustered. His response was a mix of polite and awkward, as though he hadn’t expected anyone to walk in. Maybe he wasn’t used to customers, or perhaps he was just an intern still getting the hang of things. Either way, he seemed utterly unprepared.

You smiled politely, deciding not to dwell on his awkwardness. "I’m here to get my laptop fixed," you explained, pulling the device from your bag and setting it on the counter. "It's been acting up—some of the keys are loose, and the screen's a bit cracked."

He nodded, though you noticed his hands were a bit shaky as he reached for the laptop. "Right, of course. I’ll take a look."

As he started inspecting the device, you took a moment to glance around the shop again, feeling oddly comfortable despite the rocky start to the conversation. There was something about him, though—his nervous energy, the way he seemed to be trying so hard to maintain a professional front. It was endearing in its own way.

What you didn’t know was that Painter wasn’t usually like this. Normally, he was calm and collected, able to handle even the most difficult situations. But the moment you walked in, something shifted. He had seen you before, from a distance, but never this close, and he wasn’t prepared for the rush of feelings he hadn’t even realized were there.

A small, unspoken crush had quietly crept up on him. He didn’t know why, but there was something about you that drew him in. And now, standing there with your laptop in his hands, he was doing his best to keep it together.

"I can take a look at it later. I’d say you can pick it back up… in like a week?" Painter offered, casting a polite smile your way. His expression was calm and professional, but beneath that exterior, his heart was racing.

You nodded, accepting his answer. After settling some details, you left your beloved laptop in his care, trusting him with the task. It felt strange to part with it, but the shop seemed reliable enough, and Painter—despite his awkwardness—seemed competent.

As you exited the store, you had no idea what you’d just set in motion.

For Painter, this wasn’t just a simple repair job. When you left your laptop with him, you unknowingly handed him exactly what he needed—the tools to execute the plan he’d been carefully crafting. Allison had been manipulating both you and Sebastian for far too long, and now Painter had the opportunity to expose her for what she truly was.

Your laptop would be the key to unraveling her schemes, and he was determined to set everything right, even if it meant crossing a few lines along the way.

Five people had already been moved. Now, it was Painter's turn to move them again, or at least some of them.

He had you exactly where he wanted. You left the shop, your laptop in his possession. That was step one. Now, he had to breach your digital privacy. He’d never done anything like this before, and the thought of doing what Allison had once done left a heavy weight in his gut. Yet, as soon as you left, he got to work. The laptop was old, practically ancient, but logging into your profile was easy—there wasn’t even a password. Your naivety was almost charming.

Everything was there—passwords, emails, data, and every digital memory. It was essentially Jelly’s—no, your—entire identity, captured in one place. He could call Sebastian, expose the laptop, and reveal his nasty girlfriend’s secrets. But no, Painter was above that. He preferred to play god.

His personality was usually against it but he will gladly bend the rules for his best friend…and his own potential crush.

Step two was breaching the streaming website to reclaim your account. A task simple enough for a Yale student with the right tools. Allison thought she'd been 'Jellycatfished,' but now it was Painter in control.

The account was exactly as you and Allison had left it. He couldn’t resist clicking on one of the stream recaps, your voice filling the room through the laptop speakers. There it was—undeniably yours.

He snatched his phone off the counter and dialed a number.

“‘Delia, bring the camera and the good microphone. We’re shooting something at the shop.” Cordelia, another worker in the store and a small-time content streamer, was known for her quirky charm. He knew she was the perfect partner for what he had in mind.

“Painter? For what?” she asked.

“We’re about to make someone a star.”

Cordelia didn’t hesitate. She was on her way, gathering the equipment for a hidden camera setup along with a quality microphone."

Next, it was Painter's turn to text Allison. He still remembered her number from when he’d seen it on Sebastian’s phone. A plan began to form in his mind, one that required precision and just the right touch of manipulation.

'Hey, Allison, right? Sebastian left a gift for you here. Here’s the address.'

He included the shop’s address, carefully typing it out before hitting send. He imagined the moment her phone would buzz, her eyes narrowing at the unexpected message. Would she hesitate, wondering if it was real? Or would her curiosity get the best of her?

Painter smiled to himself. Everything was falling into place. He wasn’t just setting a trap—he was weaving a performance, a story in which Allison would play a crucial role. Now, all he had to do was wait for the show to begin.

It was evening, and the store had long since closed, lights were out, though Painter had left the door unlocked. Everything was meticulously arranged—candles flickered softly, casting a warm glow around the room; a bouquet of red roses sat elegantly on the counter. But the centerpiece was Painter himself, dressed in an expensive, perfectly tailored cotton suit. He had spent hours preparing, adjusting his tie, combing his hair, making sure every detail was flawless. As he caught his reflection in the window, he almost didn’t recognize himself. He had never looked better.

Then, the door creaked open, and Allison stepped in. She wore a tight red dress that clung to her in all the right places, her hair perfectly styled. She carried herself with an air of confidence, as if she expected something grand—but her eyes betrayed her surprise as they scanned the room. The soft candlelight, the roses, and finally, they settled on Painter.

For a moment, there was silence as their gazes met.

"Let me introduce myself," Painter began, his voice calm and formal, though inside, the sweetness of his own tone made him sick. He forced a charming smile, the kind that was too perfect, too practiced. "I’m Painter—it’s a nickname," he added with a soft chuckle, as if trying to break the ice. "And I’m the heir to Urbanshade Corp."

He let the weight of his words linger, watching her reaction. He could see the curiosity in her eyes, the slight confusion.

"You’re probably wondering why you’re here," he continued, his voice smooth and rehearsed, like this was a well-orchestrated play.

This wasn’t just a conversation—it was a performance, and she had walked right into his scene.

"Painter? What’s going on? Where’s Sebastian?" Allison asked, her voice laced with surprise, though Painter could see she was already caught in his web.

"He’s not here. Sorry, I lied," Painter admitted, his tone smooth, but with a playful hint. He took a slow step toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. "Can you really blame me for wanting to be alone with someone so beautiful?"

He took another step, closing the distance between them.

"So... funny."

He was closer now, almost brushing against her.

"And intelligent?" His voice dropped to a whisper as he stood chest to chest with her, his breath warm against her ear.

Allison's eyes flickered with realization. The heir to Urbanshade Corp, standing so close, so eager—was he asking her out? Maybe it wasn’t so crazy to consider. A man of his status, his wealth... she could have a little fun on the side. A side fling wouldn’t hurt, right?

She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the crisp fabric of his suit under her fingers, catching the scent of his expensive aftershave. "You’re quite charming yourself," she said, her voice laced with a fake giggle designed to make men fall at her feet. But Painter played along, his smile widening.

"Oh?" he murmured, his voice dripping with charm. "Maybe you’d like to show me just how much?"

Allison leaned in, rising onto her toes to meet his height, her lips brushing close to his own, not touching yet. The tension between them was thick, charged with unspoken possibilities. For a brief moment, Painter thought he had her, that she was playing into his hands.

But then she stopped.

His lips hovered just shy of her skin as he whispered, "How much... you’re lying."

The playful edge in his tone had vanished, replaced by cold calculation. He would love to slap her, simply for cheating on his best friend. But now was hardly the time, not like this.

“You are not supposed to be his girlfriend. You are not Jelly and you don't deserve him.” His words caught her in surprise before she seemed to laugh.

“What do you know? They stole my identity! Ask Sebastian! I am the victim!” It was a poor try to defend herself.

“A victim? Another brilliant lie, congratulations. You officially make me sick.” The words were enough to set off her rage and she raised a hand to hit him, a hand that he caught in the middle of the action. “Don't you dare.”

“You know what? Fine, to hell with you. I am NOT them but it doesn't matter because everyone believes me anyways. I HAVE PLAYED YOU ALL. I GOT THE ACCOUNT BANNED. FUCK YOU, EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU STUPID IDIOTS. SEBASTIAN IS MINE AND I WON. I AM RIGHT AND I HAVE WON. I STOLE THEIR IDENTITY AND BECAME JELLYCATFISHED.”

Suddenly, the ceiling lights blazed to life, flooding the store in harsh white light. Allison blinked, momentarily blinded, as Cordelia stepped out from behind the shadows, a sly grin on her face.

"And that’s a wrap!" Cordelia announced, her voice dripping with amusement. "Great work, everyone. So authentic, Painter." She shot her boss a playful wink.

Allison’s eyes darted from Cordelia to Painter, confusion overtaking her. A second ago, she had been in control—or so she thought. But now, the anger and seduction drained from her face, replaced by a wide-eyed, flabbergasted look. She felt like a deer caught in headlights, utterly lost.

"You see," Painter began, his voice smooth but laced with triumph, "43 thousand people just witnessed your grand confession. Live and in full HD." He let the weight of his words sink in, a twisted smile forming as he saw the realization dawn in her eyes. "You’re a star now, Allison. Just like you always wanted to be."

Cordelia had filmed it all—the near-cheating, the manipulation, the confession—and streamed it live on Jellycatfished, the very platform that had become Allison’s downfall.

Painter took a step back, admiring his work. His plan had come together beautifully, every detail falling into place like a carefully painted masterpiece. He couldn’t help but applaud himself mentally for the sheer brilliance of it all. Soon enough, the lawsuit would hit Allison—public shame was only the beginning.

Outside the store, Sebastian stood frozen, just out of sight but close enough to hear everything. His phone was clenched tightly in his hand, his knuckles white with the pressure. He had seen the signs but ignored them, convinced he knew the truth. But now, as the reality of what had unfolded hit him, it was clear.

He had been wrong. And he had lost.

[harrysdaydream-tpwk]

“I’m just an arrogant son of a bitch- H.S”

summary: Harry and you argue after his show at Wembley and he gets jealous and pissy. Angst ensues

warnings: arguments, swearing, angst with a happy ending

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The door slammed shut behind him, his footsteps heavy, even on the carpeted floor. You sighed, tired and weary. It had been a long night and by the looks of it, it was about to get even longer.

Harry huffed, taking off his shoes with more force than necessary, throwing them in the general direction of his open suitcase. He wasn’t wearing the colourful outfit anymore, looking much more like yours in the black nike shorts and worn-out t-shirt you’ve seen far too many times on him. You stood in the doorway between the ensuite bathroom and the bedroom, watching him quietly as he ran his fingers through his brown hair repeatedly-noting it had get even longer since the last time you saw him.

He looked up at you finally, his eyes stormy and half-lidded. He was mad, furious even and you weren’t totally sure why. You hadn’t seen him for three weeks, the tour taking a toll on your relationship and you had hoped this night would’ve at least be a change to your boring office life, a moment with the man you loved so dearly.

“What is your problem?”, you said demanding, sounding harsher than intended. Your arms were crossed in front of your chest, you yourself still dressed in the outfit you had chosen for tonight’s show. A pink, puffy dress, matching cowboy boots and hat. Hell, you had even put on a boa, going all out.

“My-“, he breathed out, before getting louder, “My problem? What the hell is your problem? We haven’t seen each other in almost a month and you already go around flirting with other guys? At my own damn show nonetheless?” He stood up from where he was sat on the king sized bed, taking a step closer to you.

“What?”, you sputtered unbelievingly. “What the fuck are you even talking about? All I did was talk to your mum and your sister, I haven’t seen either of them since Christmas and you just accuse me of things that didn’t even happen? Fuck you.” Tears gathered in your eyes and he noticed, faltering slightly.

“I saw you”, he started, pointing his finger at you,” Talking to him. I don’t know who he was, I don’t even care. I just know you were laughing pretty hard at his jokes or whatever he was telling you. A little too much to just be friendly.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Ryan-“

He interrupted you before you could even finish. “Oh, Ryan”, he mocked, “Is that his name? Gotta be careful you don’t start moaning his name the next time we fuck.”

He was getting really worked up now, the vain on his forehead popping and you were getting angrier by the minute too. He had always been jealous, even a little possessive, and it was getting on your nerves.

“Ryan is an old friend from school, you asshole. You know him, I invited him to my birthday party two years ago. He’s gay, Harry, so he’s not interested in me and I’m not interested in him. It’s just a coincidence, he told me you were really nice to him when he met you and that he wanted to support you. Although, I don’t expect him to think so highly of you if he knew what you’re throwing at me right now.” You took a deep breath in, the tears finally breaching free. You couldn’t keep them in any longer.

You were exhausted, travelling from home to see him at Wembley, his concert of two hours and then this argument on top of it. The weak and selfish part of you just wanted him to hold you, while the bigger part just wanted to yell at him some more. You missed him and he was treating you so unfairly.

“I missed you”, you whispered, “I just wanted to spend the night with you peacefully, you’re my home, Harry. Why don’t you ever make me feel like I’m yours too?” You let out a sob, slapping your hand over your mouth defeated.

“Oh. Oh, Y/N.” His eyes were soft now, staring at you unnervingly. “Here, sit down, my love. You look like you’ll fall over any minute.” He guided you to a chair nearby, pushing you down gently.

“I’m so sorry”, he whispered, kneeling before you. His face was illuminated by the lights of London outside the big hotel window. “This tour has taken a toll on me, I missed you so much more, Y/N, you have to believe me. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I just got so upset over the thought of you with someone else. I’m so selfish, I wish I could have you by my side everyday, you know? I love you and I never want to hurt you, not like this. Not over something I have so obviously perceived wrongly.”

You laughed wetly, your make-up probably smudged, making you look like a hot mess. “You know, I’m starting to think that you were right when you sang that you were just an arrogant son of a bitch who can’t admit that he’s sorry.” He chuckled quietly, wiping a tear from your cheek.

“I forgive you”, you said, kissing his palm, which was still holding your face gently, “But never say something like this to me again. I’d never cheat on you, not in a million chances. You’re my everything.”

“And you’re mine. We’ve got to figure out a way to see each other more, even when I’m touring and you’re working. I can’t go a day without you, without missing your beautiful face.”

You smiled softly, leaning down and he took the invitation to press a gentle, closed- mouthed kiss to your lips, a promise you understood, you accepted.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

lmk what you think<3 haven’t written in a while so i’m a bit rusty! i’m also working on a larger project that should hopefully be up in a few weeks. until then i’ll try my luck with smaller blurbs and one shots. enjoy!<3

[lymericslimerick]

How much I love you, How much I need you | Neuvillette

The second great flood of Fontaine left many confused and scared in its wake. What had caused this?

warnings .ᐟ vomit (just stated, vomit not described in detail), fully insane Neuvillette, blood, yandere, mental breakdown, flood imagery, short fic on what happens after this

800~ ish words. she/her pronouns

Agony. Pure agony courses through his veins and makes him wail out, knees burnt against the rug of his office as he hunches into himself like a lesser being, a puny insect waiting to be crushed by the weight of a much higher power. It was mere moments after His Life’s Blood, His Dearly beloved (y/n), up and left him. He had let her leave, shell shocked beyond belief at how quickly heaven was ripped from beneath  his feet. He hadn’t stopped her from leaving, but he didn’t even feel he could. Neuvillette concentrated all of his panicked mind into detecting anything, any trace of hydro in all of Fontaine if only one of them would whisper her location to him so he could return to her side. 

Nothing came up. It was as if she vanished without a trace, reclaimed by either the frigid earth or the horizonless sky. The Hydro Sovereign, the supreme authority over Hydro, completely powerless to stop a being made of flesh and blood and water, from leaving. This made him vomit into the rug, the force staggering him beyond belief. Outside, the rain had turned into bullets of water raining down on the city, screaming citizens and panicked guards soundtracking the breaking of Neuvillette’s mind and very being. 

He can’t do anything. He was useless. He couldn’t see her, he couldn’t feel her. She was gone. She was gone. 

He blames himself, Him and his stupid, worthless vessel. This body he was born into wasn’t the best repository for blood, tuned to keep anything from maiming the divine flesh that lay below his holy skin. His body didn’t want to become wholly Hers, not like how his heart wanted. Had it been up to Neuvillette, he would’ve disembowelled himself for her to enjoy, if only to earn a kiss in return. 

A kiss… The very thought sent him spiralling, a shaky unstable smile making its way onto his face as he remembered what happened before his very world was shattered. Yes..! She kissed him! She took from him! His love, his affection, his blood, his mind, his draconic beating heart, she took it all! He wasn’t going to be whole ever again, and Oh, what bliss it was to be a cake with slices taken out. What bliss it was to provide for her!

Outside, the weather had stopped being so ferocious, a light drizzle with the clouds dispersing ever so slightly. Some celebrated the respite from the storm, some kept their eyes on the sky, knowing all too well this was the calm. 

Neuvillette’s elation was short lived, as a realisation came to him. One that dropped the smile on his face completely, one that made his entire being shake. He had denied her. He felt his hands go up to scratch at his face in pure horror, clawed fingers digging into his cheeks. He had rejected her, pushed her knife out. And she left. To look for someone more willing, someone more obedient. To make up for how disappointing he was, how weak he was. 

Neuvillette felt himself hyperventilate as  his breaking mind tried to piece the conclusion together, form the sword that would pierce his mind and break it beyond belief. She had told him how much she hated disappointments, told him how bored she was of her court reporter job, told him how the walls of the Palais Mermonia were too sterile white, too constricting. This coincides with the previous evidence of him disappointing her, him boring her to tears and causing her to leave. Thus, with all the evidence presented in the decaying, insane court of his mind, a judgement is decided. 

He, Iudex Neuvillette of Fontaine, had committed a cardinal sin: He has disappointed (y/n) (l/n). 

It practically flooded from the skies, rain droplets falling with such intensity they poked holes in the glass. Gardemeks were swept up in the water as the city’s lower streets were completely engulfed, the citizens of Fontaine suddenly dropped underwater in an instance. Screams and yells of help came from foreigners who weren’t blessed with water fairing abilities, thrashing and writhing for a respite. Some particularly unlucky foreigners were poised to sink deep into the flood, until a visage of an Oceanid appeared above them and caused them to shoot out of the water onto their feet, attended to by three hydro servants. One by one, more and more people were helped to stand on top of the water, both by the hydro servants and by the citizens of Fontaine who had pushed them to the top. Center stage, in the middle of the waterlogged street, stood Furina de Fontaine with her gaze at the Palais Mermonia, A look of concern and utter fear written all over her face. 

Oh Neuvillette, what has happened to you? 

__

“A new inmate?” 

“No. A new member of staff. Head researcher of.. something. The Palais itself sent her to us, official letter and all.” 

“Hmph. The Duke won’t take too lightly to the court installing some random researcher in his domain.” 

“I dunno.. Something tells me this (y/n)(l/n) person seems like she’d be worth The Duke’s time.” 

__

[floydira]

I saw your request rules and I was wondering if you could do yandere Velvet? If not that's perfectly fine, take as much time as you need!

₊˚﹒✶﹒trolls headcanons .ᐟ

yandere velvet headcanon.

warning ; yandere behavior, mention of killing, obsessive behavior, all that jazz

her obsession with you started when she first met you. you are close with the two superstar siblings, velvet and veneer.

you had something that other people didn't have. that is, you could be straightforward and blunt with her without sugarcoating anything.

sure, she absolutely HATES criticism but coming from you, you just have something that makes it easier to tolerate for her.

after finishing her performance, she always comes to you to ask for your thoughts.

"how was it? I was amazing, wasn't I?" velvet would come to you with her smug tone.

if you give her praises and compliments, best believe she's going to be remembering that shit for life until she dies. hearing a compliment from you makes her kick her feet and giggle like a fangirl despite her being the superstar.

of course since you're close with the siblings, you talk to veneer a lot too. she loathed that. it's visible on her face too.

as much as she liked her brother(not much...), she'd rather he disappear just so she could hoard all your attention to herself.

she'll threaten veneer to stay away from you. knowing him, he'll definitely back off.

noticing veneer's distance from you, you wanted to come up to ask him why he's distancing himself from you or what's wrong, but velvet stopped you before you could.

"why are you going to him? don't you want to hangout with me?"

she'll give you her biggest puppy eyes.

she'll do all kinds of manipulative tactics to keep you by her side at all times.

she'd gaslight you into thinking you only need her.

"I have all the fame, money and love that you need, darling. can't you see that I'm the only one who cares for you? I take care of you, I keep you safe and love you dearly. who else would do that for you?"

once her manipulative tactics work, she'll grin evilly in front of the mirror.

"oh how I love being me!"

she has eyes on you, always. If you're going out with someone, talking to someone or just doing something in general, she'll know.

she'll pay professional paparazzis to secretly take photos of you. she'll threaten them if they ever try to tell anyone about her doing.

sometimes she'll pop out of nowhere and come up to you, especially if you're hanging out with someone else, as if she ended up meeting you by coincidence.

"oh! how nice to see you here, sweetie! who's...that imbecile little speck of dust?" she'll cheerily greet you before glaring at the person with you and looking them up and down with disgust on her face.

"why didn't you invite me along? don't tell me...is it because you're starting to hate me?!" she'll act like she's hurt and upset dramatically to guilt trip you.

spoils you a LOT. anything you want, she'll give it to you. "anything for you, dearie." she'll say with a lovesick look in her eyes.

if you come to watch her performances, she'll stare at you so obviously through the crowd. her eyes are all on you. as if her reason to perform is you, yourself. as if the performance itself is made for you.

she sees you as like a treasure, she needs you. she'll do anything to get you wrapped around her finger.

she's touchy, super touchy. she'll subtly put her hand around your waist, sit on your lap, lay her head on you, whatever she can to have a sense of your touch with hers.

she'll plan her way of asking you out, extravagantly. once she does, you're going to be swept off your feet. there is no way you're able to say no.

once you're official, she's all up on you. way more than she used to be. quite literally trapping you in her arms.

she has punishments for you if you do something she doesn't like.

"how unfortunate of you, sweetie...it's too bad you got too close with them. I'll have to punish you."

her punishments include some sharp carvings on your skin, mostly her name carved onto your skin.

overall, she's deathly obsessed with you and will kill you and herself included, if you ever try to leave her.

"I love you, I love you, oh I love you so much! you won't ever leave me right? don't ever leave me."

[mayasaurusss]

pls pls pls more warewolf lottie i beg🙏

Slice of life: werewolf Lottie headcanons

Warnings: fluff, crack fic treated seriously, one sexy hint, not very long and not proofread (did this pretty quickly) and probably bad grammar sometimes.

At first, she hides from you, too preoccupied with looking like a monster, but as time passes and you show her compassion and understanding, she starts to open up to you more.

Lottie gets angry whenever you try to hang out with her during full moon, but she makes it up to you by taking you out as soon as she can.

Not all the times that there's a full moon Lottie becomes a werewolf: the transformation seems to occur only when she's in immense distress and under the influence of the moon. Most times she remains her normal self but she becomes grumpy. God forbid if the full moon coincides with her period...

One night, as you were hanging out togheter in the forest -one of the last few places Lottie feels comfortable in- you spot a beautiful purple flower growing on the side of the path. Lottie grews interested as soon as you point her to it. When you get closer and Lottie reaches to the flower, a red hue starts to spread on her fingertips. From then on, Lottie was always very careful around wolfsbane.

Music bothers her now: something that she loved very dearly once has become annoying. If you hum a song it's fine but the problems come around whenever you play loud music, or, even worse, when your noisy neighbors party through the night.

Once, Lottie and you were having a sleepover. The neighbors had decided to loudly interrupt your dreams with their awful music, waking both you and Lottie up. It lasted for 20 minutes before Lottie furiously stomped down the hallway. After 2 minutes, you heard the music and voices stop. Lottie walked back in your appartment with their smashed stereo in her hands.

Music does bother her, but loud noises don't stop her from trying to howl with the dogs at night. Whenever she's in her wolf form, be it at her house, yours or at the forest, if she hears dogs howl, she'll join them. She wouldn't dare to tell you, but she feels the need to howl even when she hears them in her human form. But she wouldn't ever do something like that, her pride is too precious to her. If you ever saw her do something like that, you would be a tease, and she knows it.

Lottie is smart, and she knows for a fact that she can use her newfound wolf form to get away with all she wants. Killed a rabbit? It's not her fault, she's not in control! Ate one too much leftovers? It's not her fault, she's just too hungry! Made a 'nest' with your clothes and now they're covered in fur? She was just so cold, and your clothes are so comfy!

Lottie has a hard time coming to college now. It's not that the sun hurts her in any way, she just feels too uncomfortable to be walking down the hallways. It almost feels like she doesn't belong here anymore. So, she continues to follow the lessons, but she's not as present on campus as she was once. She mostly hangs out at night, gazing at the moon. Sometimes sadness overcames her when she remebers that she won't be able to look at the full moon in her human form, ever again.

When she does feel like begin alone though, she volountarily steps out in the night and allows her emotions to take hold of her, to make her a monster once again. She will run to the forest and gaze at the moon in it's full form with longing.

Lottie has never been too fond of chocolate, but she does enjoy it from time to time. One night, as she was eating some chocolate, there was a full moon. As it reached it's peak, Lottie started to feel very, very uncomfortable. Her stomach gurgled and before she could understand what was happening, she threw up all she had eaten. As she came to know in the hours after, dogs really shouldn't eat chocolate...

As the years go by, Lottie's werewolf form gets slightly skinnier and the fur looses it's colours; but remains fulffier as ever.

The pull of the hunt beckons her, so sometimes, you won't find Lottie in the bed with you. She will disappears fror days and return at night, her mouth caked with blood.

She grew more calm as time went on. Now, during full moon, the symptoms of lycantropy have lessened, thankfully; but has gained an almost scary libido...

She will spend hours researching ancient lycantropy studies to better understand how it works and if there's somebody like her somewhere.

Her favorite activities are gazing at the nightsky and watching horror movies with you, which, are usually about werewolves. She has remained a tease, and often insists on watching those kinds of movies; almost as if she wants to see how you'd react near her. Whenever the werewolf kills somebody though, her eyes would get watery and she'd take and kiss your hand, whispering "You know I'd never do that... right?".

Something you have noticed ever since the first transformation, is that Lottie's body has become stronger. There's almost not one trace of fat in her muscles, despite the amout of meat she'd eat during full moons.

When you see her laying on your shared bed, reading with those -nerdy- glasses of her on, you almost want to jump her right there, but foreplay is important.

Life with Lottie ever since the change has been interesting to say the least.

You smile contentendly as you lie in the arms of your lover, with the moon's rays glowing dimly on you.

[mxlktxa]

ʜᴇᴀᴅʟɪɴᴇꜱ

ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ!ᴀᴜ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴄᴇʟᴇʙ!ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ; ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ*, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡᴇʀꜱ

ᴄᴡ; ɪɴᴠᴀꜱɪᴠᴇ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ꜱᴛʀᴀᴘ-ᴏɴ ᴜꜱᴇ (ʀ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ), ᴛᴇᴀꜱɪɴɢ/ᴘʀᴀɪꜱɪɴɢ, ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ/ᴘᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ

ᴡᴄ; 1.1ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ, 6.0ᴋ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ

‘Famous singer/songwriter and artist, Ellie Williams seen with famous actress and singer/songwriter Y/N’

‘Songwriter Ellie Williams, leaving the studio with Y/N? Is this the internet's new favorite couple?’

“So, as you know, we’ve seen some things about you and Y/N. Is there anything you’d like to share about the two of you with your fans?”

“I wish there was something to share. We’re just good friends. I’m just trying to see if I actually want to get into the acting industry. She’s my—, like… I don’t know, she’s my decoy. My practice, if you wanna put it like that.”

“Look, we know this isn’t a very appropriate question and it’s been asked a lot. Y’all are fuckin’?”

“Who?”

“C’mon, Ellie! You and Y/N, of course! We gotta know. Give us the scoop, man.”

“Jesus, no. I’ve got my eyes set on somebody else anyways, she’s just a good friend.”

“You two, Y/N and you, have been spotted together a whole bunch lately. Is there any reason or coincidence to it?”

“I mean, no. Other than just she brings me with her to check out what the acting industry is really like. It’s… It’s crazy, honestly. Props to her for having the courage for that, she’s a fucking… She’s super fucking strong.”

Blah, blah, fucking-blah. I hated all these stupid fucking articles and interviews with the same dumbass questions. Why did people have to know my relationship status with someone else? Why did they care so much? Why is it a problem for people who don’t know either of us? Just let us live our fucking lives, good-fucking-god. Can I just live my life the way that I want to without being harassed about my love life?

Y/N and I had met at an award ceremony, both fairly new to the respective careers we had gotten ourselves into. We were both assigned to open the show and also seated next to each other. She's such a lovely girl, super chill and respectful. She also minds her business when she's supposed to and never bothers anyone. But her fanbase? I don't know how or why she deals with any of the men she's attracted, but good on her.

I couldn't even be mad at the people asking such invasive questions because here I was, in a hotel room with her, burying my strap deep into her, face contorting into such a wonderful face that I needed to be engraved into my mind. She was so sweet and delicate, a wonderful view to just gaze upon. She sat on my lap as I used my hands to guide her hips down and push my hips up into her. The drool slipping from her lips, hanging from the corner let me know just how much she was really enjoying our time together.

"Fuck, Ellie, I can't do this anymore, I can't take it," a rich whimper came from the gorgeous figure above me, hands gripping onto my shoulders like crazy. A smirk grazed my face as her teary eyes came to meet mine, begging for us to come to an end. I couldn't help but lift her ever-so-slightly so she would offer me yet another cry from those beautiful lips of hers.

I couldn't respond to her. No way, no how. I tilted my head to glance down at the mess she was making on my lap, chuckling at how crazy it was. One hand slid up to her slightly parted lips, thumb slipping in to press down on her tongue. Those lovely moans were now muffled, hips grinding on mine to create that friction she had loved so dearly, starting to now shake at the euphoric sensation she had been receiving for the past hour and a half.

"Oh, but you're taking me so well, princess. How many times have you finished, hm? It's a fucking disaster down there, y'know."

As much as she wanted to respond to me, we both knew she couldn't. She was sucking on my thumb at this point, those delicious sobs still detectable. Chuckling at her attempts, my arms wrapped around her waist as I shoved my face into her chest to lick from her sternum to just below her neck while my thumb had left her oral cavity.

"You're so cruel, Els."

"I'm cruel? You really think so?"

"Mhm. I can't take this. It's too much, I'm so shaky."

She was not kidding about that. She was shaking like a little chihuahua, holding onto me for dear life. I hummed at her situation, peeling away so sluggishly.

"My sweet girl," I whispered, "I'll let you lay down next time. I promise."

"You said that last time and had me against a wall for a full forty-five minutes."

"You looked so angelic. What was I supposed to do? Give you what you want?"

"Yes!" She pouted, though there was a slight smile in that pout she gave me. I shook my head at her, helping her up from my lap as she tried not to fall over and eat shit. I should really give her a break but... She's all good. I know she is.

“I wish we didn’t have to hide this shit anymore,” her face rose up only to hide in the crook of my neck, sighing softly as she ran her hands up and down my arm, “if only people could mind their own fucking business.”

“We could always just say fuck it and go public. I don’t care anymore, they already know.”

Y/N’s eyes popped up, all wide and happy, a lovely smile taking over the pout I knew she had set up just seconds ago. I nodded to her, sitting her in the chair I was in, grabbing her a damp rag and her clothes that had been dumped on the bed.

“But that’s only if you’re willing to answer some questions people ask.”

“I don’t care. As long as you’re okay with it then I am too.”

Shrugging, I cleaned her up, taking my time when I came to run the rag over her still hardened nipples and her cunt which still was glistening in the dim lights. Her chuckle brought me back to looking at her, speeding up the process before kissing her forehead.

“So,” I chuckled, “that song we recorded is getting released at midnight and you are going on tour with me. You think that’s enough confirmation from the both of us?”

“Oh definitely. If they need more, sucks to be them.”

“Okay, fair enough.”

“What are we gonna do? Put out a sex tape?”

“I mean…” I smirked softly, glancing at our phones on the bed, “we—,”

“Shut up, Ellie,” a giggle cut me off while her hand beckoned me over, “you get an hour and a half. Go crazy,” her legs spread open, the heaven’s calling my name as I stared down at her glistening core.

“You know me so well.”

[m1kad00]

Cyberpunk 2077 random headcannons!!

Characters included: Viktor Vektor, Muamar Reyes (El Capitán)

Reader: AFAB

TW: Age-gap relationship, reader is a mercenary (so violence ig), my horrible grammar, pregnancy, NSFW (at least I tried)

(Possible spoilers for Muamars gig)

Viktor Vektor

SFW Headcannons

-he probably didn't actually think about having a relationship with you... at first

-because you were out of his age range

-but of course, you managed to capture this old mans heart anyways

-I mean.. if you weren't on a mission, you were hanging around his clinic or Mistys shop

-Misty did play a big part to make this relationship work in the first place... she played her role as a cupid very well to say the least

-after you two finally got into a relationship, your visits at the clinic became even more frequent.. which made Jackie and V some people a little bit suspicious

-Misty was the first to know, obviously (she's the mastermind behind this anyways)

-Vik did not make your relationship offical immediately

-he loves you of course! Dearly. But he's not as loud about relationships as others would be.

-he's not big on PDA, but he wouldn't mind holding hands or small kisses.. just not making out or something like that

-the first time you both showed each other affection infront of others was a few weeks into your relatonship (Jackie and V were very surprised)

-his loves reciving gifts from you (have you guys seen those cute little 'waving cats' in his clinic? (idk what they're actually called I'm sorry))

-so he loves collecting little things you give him

-he doesn't care about the expense.. as long as it's from you he'll cherish it!

-jewlery, shiny stones, trinkets from one of your missions. It does not matter, he will hold onto it for eternity!

-Vik wouldv'e loved to have kids.. (let's be real that ain't happening anymore)

-but if it actually would be possible he'd be sosososo happy!!

-the chances he'd actually be able to have children of his own were slim

-I headcannon him to be around 60 (so he's Gen Alpha lol (he was maybe born around 2017))

-however he would be super worried that you would have a miscarriage or an accident or something like that, so he made sure you would be well rested in those 9 moths

-no more missions or hard work

-he made you spend your time mostly in his clinic, at Misty's or at home (not in a bossy and toxic way, but in a caring and sweet way)

-with the pregnancy, Vik also made you settle down for the time being

-being a merc with a toddler is not the best idea

-but he is a very caring person and an incredible father, so he was there when you needed him

-morning sickness? He definetly has a trick up his sleeve for that matter!

(I hate kids lowkey so I won't proceed.. for now)

NSFW Headcannons

-this man is very, very, very experienced

-he was a pro boxer after all.. he knows what he's doing!

-I'm sure this man was a bit freaky in his younger years

-so whatever you're into, he's into

-exept causing you pain, that's a turn off for him

-also he's more of a dom, but for you he'd also be more subissive

-he also loves breeding (absolutely not because I'm into that)

-holding you in a chokehold while doggy is just perfecton

Muamar Reyes (El Capitán)

-realtalk, no one talks about my pookie

-he might have a goofy bowl-cut but he's precious

-not even pinterest had a picture of him :((

-someone has to write for him at some point

SFW Headcannons

-you two probably met because of V

-you both went on one of his missions together, that's when he first saw you

-he instantly was head over heels

-he (smoothly) asked for your number, because he "might have some gigs for you in the future".

-not even one day later he got a gig for you.. what a coincidence!

-which was basically just you driving him around.. I mean you're getting paid! Who are you to complain?

-it turns out you both were indeed very compatible

-you both got along great (and he was lowkey flirty)

-after that day you got gigs from him constantly

-not only to chauffeur him anywhere he wants but also quick simple gigs like stealing cars for him

-Muamar would always ask how you are after gigs (in a playful way, so his intentions weren't as obvious)

-at some point he asked you out anyways

-he invited you to dinner

-after that he drove you both to his spot, where you can see Santo Domingo clearly

-there he would tell you how much he loves you

-Muamar is actually very open about his relationship

-so he's very into PDA

-some guy gets to close to you for his liking? He'll personally confront him about how he's too close to his lovely girlfriend.

-he needs to touch you 24/7. He's driving? Hand on your thigh. You two are walking? Hand holding. No matter where you both are going, people will know you are his.

-Muamar would want kids of his own, but would also be open for adoption

-they would grow up in Santo Domingo, but under diffrent circumstances

-since he hired V to steal that Arasaka medical truck, he wanted to make sure the people of Santo Domingo would not live in fear

-he would want his children to grow up without any health issiues caused by a simple cup of water, unlike him

-he would adore his kids, seriously

-even tho he looks like the villain from Minions, he still has an awesome style (so will his kids)

-would do anything to be a good dad

-he'd go all out to make the house/apartment super save for your kids

-once they'd grow up he would play with them in the backyard

-super corny dad jokes

-I LOVE HIM SMMMM

NSFW Headcannons

-just like Vik, he's experienced

-I can't imagine someone from NC to not be experienced

-average size, nothing to complain about

-he's more of a dom

-loves loves LOVES you on top of him

-his favorite positions are doggy and cowgirl

-car sex.

-you riding him in the back of his car while he's guiding you, holding your waist

Author Note

I am sorry for writing such bad NSFW HC's. I tried my best, I just needed some content of my favorite Night City legends on here. Especally of Muamar. I hope more people will appreciate him. Thank you for reading this by the way <33

[moirindeclermont]

Daily thread about BridgertonS3: I'm in a "mood" today so... Let's do carriage scene vs mirror scene, what do you think?

To be clear this is not about putting one against the other. I love them both dearly. This is just a fun game (and an excuse to go and rewatch them both, let's be honest)

First of all, the parallels. I've seen a post of both scene side by side and so many actions and details are the same... Too much to think it's a coincidence, maybe they were both choreographed in a similar way? It's like those scenes are mirroring (aha!) each other.

Secondly, the carriage scene is all about urgent and desires that come to life. Everything is a rush, and you notice because Pen is not as shy and reserved like in the mirror scene. It's all about the moment and they'd definitely would go all the way in if the carriage didn't stop.

The mirror scene is all about intimacy, a reaffirm of their connection. It's slower and, of course, there is the additional level of being naked in front of each other and taking the next steps in that journey. Being less urgent, nerves and shyness crept in but they are handled in the best way possible.

Things that make me go insane each time in both scenes: the explicit consent (I'll do a thread about this tomorrow I think), their giggle at the end, their facial expressions, the sounds (yeah, I know I'm basically saying everything... Bear with me)

I love the progressione of all scenes (including the last one) as a tool to also understand their dynamic in the relationship. While Pen never is without agency, by the end she is the one guiding their intimacy. It's a discover of self through intimacy and love and it's so beautiful to see.

Lastly, it's endearing and gorgeous the way they are "Both connected to the moment of each other. To love. And as I have suggested before in this class, art is love made public." (Sense8, S2e01)

Gif: @polinsated

[adorenaisha]

angst, g. satoru

you stood there looking through the telescope of the now destroyed astronomy tower filled with dead bodies, ignoring the awful smell of blood while observing the bright stars in the sky. it would be such a lie if you were to say that the stars weren't beautiful. but there was always one star that stood out the most.

he stood still behind you, breathing heavily. his white hair now had splatters of blood over it, so does his outfit, blood of the innocent people that you killed.

he should kill you. he needs to kill you. but why hasn't he? was it perhaps that he cannot bear the loss of another loved one in his life? he has lost suguru after all, and now he has to loose you.

"hey y/n, what's the answer to number 4?" gojo whispers not very quietly, seeking to find the answer from you. "gojo didn't i tell you to study?" you sigh out.

he lets out an awkward smile, you knew that face. "i was busy!" he responded back to you while you just roll your eyes at him. "you know, the results of these astrology quizzes are gonna be like..50% of our grade?"

his eyes suddenly widen a little. "oh fuck. are you serious?–"

"do i look like i'm joking right now?" you deadpan.

"are there going to be remedials? oh gosh." he asks you in a hurry. "i don't know." you said blankly, focusing back on your paper. "y/n, help a friend out maybe??"

you groan quietly. "okay, look. i can help you study later at the library for the next upcoming quizzes?" his lips curl up in his signature smile as he thanks you.

is it a coincidence how you both got so close because of you offering to tutor him about astrology? he isn't sure. but when he blinks out of his thought you were still searching for the one star.

why were you taking so long? he asked himself. although, you have never told him what your favorite star was. ever.

suddenly when he was spacing out again he saw you turn around, your figure now facing his. "how long are you gonna wait?" you ask him, your voice echoing through the tower. "as long as you want me to."

his voice sounded tired while his face was covered up in bruises, from your doings. "did you find your favorite star?" he says softly while his gaze was focused at you, admiring you for the last time. a small smile slowly lifting from your lips as he got his cursed technique ready.

"i did."

a single tear ran down through your cheeks before you got obliterated, your blood raining down everywhere.

gojo stood there with a blank expression as he got drenched in more blood, your blood. the blood of someone whom he loved so dearly, who he cherished, who he never got to say goodbye to.

if only he knew that it was him.

he's the one who shines the most amongst other stars. the one who shined the light into your life.

gojo satoru was truly your favorite star.

[hexname]

Foreshadowing on point

(spoilers: S2)

as a tarot reader, I would like to explain how in these cards, there was everything about Viktor's future. I rewatched some scenes from S1 and, indeed, found some signs that could indicate what would happen in S2, so let me tell you about this one!

It's important to point out these scenes are just a second apart. While Sevika is reading Tarot (or gambling with Tarot cards?), they still show Viktor's future, quite well actually

Death

An obvious assumption would be that Death card simply means dying, and yes, in this case, it was literal, since Viktor indeed died.

BUT, Death also symbolises an ending and a new beginning, which is, you guessed it, Viktor's Glorious Evolution that he talks about so dearly. He saw it as the end of people's suffering, and beginning of a new, better world.

The card and the atmosphere also remind me of Viktor's "higher form" as I would say, since I really don't know how to call it. But, yeah, like a soul that parted ways with a body (which makes sense, considering Viktor here is a soul and can take bodies of his followers).

The magician

The magician is someone who has stuff under their control, and Viktor has... well, whole timeline under his control, multiple timelines, even. At least he thought so. But the fact still remains: he used magic to control own body, modify it, and modify the bodies of others. He used magic as his tool, just as magician would.

Not to mention, that being on the card looks like Viktor himself, even has a third arm.

At first, I thought that the symbol on the tarot card could have been some kind of a rune, but it's not, as far as I know from my research. Still, that white circle looks similar to one Viktor has behind his head.

In any case, I think it's save to say that this foreshadowing was great.

Now, about the initials at the bottom left corner

I honestly, see M, V and J here, but I don't have a proper argument nor any theory that would make sense, except that these might be initials, as I said (Mel, Viktor, Jayce, perhaps). But again, I'm not sure what they could mean. Perhaps it's just a coincidence and I am looking way too into it because I love the complicated triangle between those three...

But yeah, that's all. I just wanted to share what I have noticed, and what I think I could have explained well. Do share your thoughts about it, though!

[ep2nd]

If you had the choice to and anything In lmk

What would you and in any category.

Character, back story, episode adding, style, anything you want!

I'm gonna guess the ands mean "Add"

Also why did I not post this????

So if I were to add anything, I'd add the other 2 Celestial Primates- no contest, I have like page notes and essays for them, I love em dearly I want them here:(

I'd also add for some episode ideas- A snow day, Monkey Kings staff gets broken, if the other 2 Primates were here- all 4 would get their powers mixed up, and if not just switch Macaque and Wukong, Wukongs birthday, them traveling to the Underworld(great opportunity to see past Wukong enemies and maybe dead characters, for the spider gang fans), a day with Guanyin, a three-legged race but Yin and Jin took control and forced people who don't get along to team up, more about the Dragon Clans, Subhodi, thats it, and an episode where Macaque discovers his creator(s), also one with Nuwa and Wukong BECAUSE WE WERRE ROBBED

For style, everything's fine, for Back story- definitely more about Macaque and Wukongs history, because some things don't coincide with JTTW timeline, also their ages cause I'm still confused, like something said 1,000 apart but like how would macaque and wukong live together?? (That's a topic for another day). OH AND ALSO PIF DEPARTURE FROM THE CELESTIAL REALMS COME ON WE NEED THE TEA. And also Erlang and Wukongs relationship, because if the Jade Emperor ended the fight, did they ever face off?? (I hope)

Continue for Episode adding- I would like to see more episodes, but the pace is good for its show, better than Ninjago in former seasons where it felt repetitive and just more screentime. Lmk uses its screentime wisely and effectively, though sometimes it does feel rushed. I'd like more fun episodes where they just time together.

Anything extra- You know what I'm going to say- ADD MORE CHARACTERS. SHOUTOUT TO ERLANG, GUANYIN, OTHER 2 CELESTIAL PRIMATES, AND GOLD STAR.

Also maybe a Celestial Villain, instead of a Demon villain, mix things up

Also Fuxi, Nuwas brother or husband, or both, depending on the Myth

I wanna know who created Wukongs Staff

More of Chang'e she's fun

Just more Mei and MK time, I miss em:(

MORE MO MONETS I LOVE THAT CAT

Always enjoy JTTW references!!!

Bring back the Female Nation and pregnancy water you COWARDS

SANDY. PERIOD.

The Mayor- let him steal ALL the kneecaps

Bai He to officially come back, JUST FOR AN EPISODE PLEASE. AND TO FINNALY CANOMINZE HER NAME CAUSE IM PRETTY SURE BAI HE IS FANON

That'd all for now sorry for waiting so long, kinda forgot to post it:(, sorryyy