#*my boy is becoming an entrepreneur* | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

m1ckeyb3rry · 6 months ago

Note

Hello,

I have a writing prompt for Michael Kaiser (Blue Lock): Kaiser gets into a pr relationship with an actress and they eventually bond and fall in love.

I think he would have a hard time because of his feelings of worthlessness, but this guy has so much potential, I swear, I love him so much.

If you want to go for a "dark side of Hollywood" type of concept, imagine: a young girl who was raised under the pressure of becoming "the perfect star" and surrounded by the chaos of the industry (Idk, the movie Black Swan comes to mind, or the typical representation of Marilyn's life, something along the lines). I think he could bond with someone who is in a similar mind space as him, but who externalizes it differently, remaining kind and such. He definitely needs someone who is empathetic and can see through his insecurities, and I really like the concept of two characters who are hurt helping each other heal.

If you don't want that much drama, scratch the idea of a hurt oc. Think about someone with an "entrepreneur" mindset: someone ambitious, confident, and level headed, who (again) is empathetic and would call him out and help him grow (I'm thinking about sae, but emotionally competent lol).

You don't really have to go for any of this though, it's just meant to get you inspired to write something for my boy Kaiser. I hope it's not too much. Also, there's no rush at all!!

Thank you in advance. I hope you have a good day 🩷

── THE INSTRUMENT

Synopsis: Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.8k

Content Warnings: fake dating trope, implied/referenced abuse, call me tabito karasu the way i assassinate kaiser’s character in this, open ending, relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…

A/N: hiiii anon ty for requesting!! i hope that i wrote kaiser in a somewhat satisfactory way 😫 this is my first time writing for him so idk if i got him right 😓 also i have NO idea why but for some reason i decided to write this in the present tense which i literally have never done?? so if it sounds off that’s why 💔 i’m so sorry i really don’t know what possessed me SKDJFSHKL

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

It’s hot and like a bruise, your first phone call with Michael Kaiser. He’s that brand of aggravating and just shy of painful to speak with; morbidly, you wish for the conversation to manifest as some kind of actual injury, perhaps on your upper arm, so you can poke at it until it is tender and blooming. But of course, that sort of thing isn’t possible, so you amuse yourself by tapping your fingers against the counter and considering what you might eat for dinner.

“Did you hear me?” he snaps when you do not respond to his proposition immediately. He speaks with an accent, clipped and short, lending severity to his words even when he’s saying nothing of note. “Miss L/N. It’s in both of our best interests to cooperate.”

He’s not wrong about this. It’s the only reason you’ve stayed on the call for as long as you have — it’s in your best interest. It’s the same for him, too, and the thought almost makes you laugh, because who would’ve expected your interests and his to ever align?

“Of course I heard you,” you say, twisting open your bottle of water, taking a sip and idly wondering if he can hear an accent when you speak, too. It’s difficult for you to notice your own, but maybe to him, you sound as odd as he does to you. “You should learn patience, Mr. Kaiser. Such a heavy request you’re making of me, and yet you demand my answer immediately?”

He huffs. “It’s not something you need to dwell on.”

“It might be,” you say, though it’s not at all. Your mind was made up the moment he asked; everything after that has been nothing more than a ploy to irritate him. You’re good at that, at irritating people. Michael Kaiser is not an exception.

“Miss L/N,” he says again, something like a darker version of pleading creeping into his tone. “Your answer. Now.”

“Well, you already knew before you asked, didn’t you? Naturally, I’ll do it,” you say. “It’s a mutually beneficial partnership. Though I expect you to really try your best, Mr. Kaiser, or else it’ll all be for naught.”

“I could say the same to you,” he says.

“Between the two of us, who is the actress?” you say, chuckling when he is silent. “I am sure that I will be convincing. It’s you who I worry for. Hiding your true feelings has never been one of your strengths, has it? Or you wouldn’t be speaking to me at all.”

“Shut up,” he says after a moment has passed. “I doubt your acting skills are anything to brag about.”

“I know you’ve watched my movies,” you say, and when he doesn’t refute this, you beam. “Have you really?”

“Only because someone I know suggested I should,” he says. “If I want to love you, then I have to understand you. That’s what he told me.”

“And what did you think?” you say.

“I thought that I don’t plan to love you at all, and then I told him as much,” he says, the force of his eye roll transmitting even over the phone. You’re not sure if he’s acting deliberately obtuse or if he really thinks you care about this inane conversation he’s describing, but either way you sigh, because his answer is so telling of his personality.

“I was talking about my movies,” you say.

“I don’t prefer the genre,” he says, and then he’s hanging up with a promise to call you later, if he is so inclined. He doesn’t tell you not to call him, but you feel like he implies it, so you vow to set your phone aside and pay him no mind for the rest of your evening.

I’m dating Michael Kaiser, you type in the body of your email to your manager, who you are certain will be so delighted by this news that he will combust spontaneously upon hearing it. You want to type it again, this unbelievable turn of events, so you do. I’m dating Michael Kaiser. Then you delete the repetition, reverting it once again into a formal email, instead of a giddy celebration over an event which should not prompt giddiness or anything resembling it.

It’s a relationship meant to salvage his ruined reputation and boost your career in one fell swoop, and so it’s a relationship that can only work if it’s formed between you two in particular. He, who is a foul-mouthed soccer prodigy, known better for his crass treatment of others than any actual skills he may possess, and you, a rising star who will do anything to be famous and are already of a serviceable status to be seen with him.

Despite your burst of excitement, the prospect of dating Michael Kaiser isn’t actually a thrilling one. The rumors of his horrid demeanor aren’t rumors, and you know this well, albeit through secondhand accounts. Cruelty is the way that he operates, his so-to-speak basal mode, and because it is so intrinsic to his being, you do not fancy that he will deviate from that malicious rule, even for you.

But you are accustomed to a false existence. Donning a facade and masquerading as a person who you are not is the only thing you are good at, are good for, and this time is no different than every other. You will put on the mask of a woman who is loved by Michael Kaiser, who has tamed that mad emperor and turned him into her sweet pet, and you will once again fool the world into believing you.

He’s doing an interview today. You’re only aware because he texts you right before and tells you to turn on the TV to a channel you’d never choose if you had a say in the matter. But you’re intrigued and he refuses to explain further, so you do as he commands and find yourself watching as he reclines back in a leather armchair and smirks at the host, who’s clearly nervous.

She’s pretty, her hands shaking but her expression serious. You’ve never seen her before, which means she’s new. Of course, that’s not a surprise; only someone very inexperienced or very stupid would invite Michael Kaiser to their show, and she does not seem to be particularly stupid, so her affliction is the first.

“Um, Mr. Kaiser, it’s a pleasure to have you with us,” she says, like she cannot quite believe that he is actually there, or like she is afraid of what he might take offense at, or some combination of the two.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he says, all roguish and self-assured, which is such a contrast to his typically surly demeanor that you have to commend the girl for keeping her composure.

They speak at length about his soccer career, throwing around words you do not understand and do not care to. It’s so boring you almost power down the television and tell him you think as much, but then the girl clears her throat, her face turning a comical shade of red as her fists clench the paper she’s been reading off of.

“This last question is from our viewers, but it’s personal, so if you don’t want to answer, then it’s not a problem,” she says, squirming in her chair, probably hoping he does not humiliate her. It will be bad for her career if he does, even if by now everyone knows what kind of person he is.

“Go on, then. I feel like we’ve built a rapport here, so I don’t mind it as much if it’s from you,” he says. It’s a perfectly packaged sentiment. His PR team must have tortured him into this new persona. You try to imagine it — it’s definitely a humorous thought, picturing the Bastard München representative slamming Michael Kaiser’s face into a bowl of water for every snarky comment he makes. Unrealistic, though. They would never risk compromising his performance like that.

“There’s rumors that you’re seeing Y/N L/N, the actress. A source who claims to be close to you both mentioned it online, and people can’t stop talking about the possibility. Neither you nor Miss L/N have addressed it, though, and our viewers were hoping you might…?” She cringes back, already preparing for one of his tirades, but he only smiles genially and winks at the camera. You remind yourself to tell him later that he’s laying it on too thick, even if you are enjoying this new character that he’s playing up for the sake of it.

“Y/N L/N? I’m shocked that you think I’m handsome enough to date someone like her,” he says. Your phone buzzes — it’s your manager, crowing about how impressed he is with your ‘boyfriend’ and his presence of mind.

“So it’s a no?” the interviewer says, almost hopefully. He’s mysterious when he shrugs, mysterious and more than a little coy, as if she’s flattering him and he’s too shy to accept the praise.

“If Miss L/N ever deems me to be worthy of her, then it’s a yes in a heartbeat,” he says. It’s an excellent setup for his redemption, and the girl plays into it so beautifully that you tell your manager to send her flowers or some chocolate at the earliest possible opportunity.

“I think that you’ve shown yourself to be an excellent candidate today,” she says.

“Have I? I’ve really been trying to prove myself,” he says. Dreamy sighs ripple through the live studio audience. Someone whistles. It’s all very romantic and fairy-tale-esque, although he is far from being any kind of prince.

“You’re doing great,” the girl assures him. “I’m sure that, if Miss L/N is watching, she’ll have no choice but to be smitten.”

“If she’s watching? Oh, the thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. You shouldn’t have doubted him and his audacity; he’s fallen into the role as if he were born to play it. “How embarrassing. I’ve just confessed to her on live television without even knowing if she’s interested…”

He’s actually blushing. You are doubly awed — he’s a natural-born talent. It’s a shame that he’s devoted to soccer; he could make it out like a bandit in the acting industry.

“No, no, don’t be embarrassed. How could she ever reject someone like you?” she assures him. How, indeed! At the moment, you are so pleased that you could kiss him. He’s better than any co-star you’ve ever had to work with, in that he is making your job exponentially easier instead of exponentially more difficult.

“If she really is watching, then I can only pray she heard you say that part,” he says, waving in greeting, presumably at you. “Hello, Miss L/N. I really admire you, so if you find me at all agreeable, then I would quite like it if you would say yes to the date I’m going to ask you on.”

He’s made the world swoon and your social media mentions triple. People are begging you to say yes, to give him a chance, to see how he has changed. They want to live through you, and you will let them.

When he calls you, you tell him you were thrilled by his performance. This causes him to shoot back that he finds you insufferable and condescending, to which you say that it’s what makes you and him such a perfect pair. Then you recite an address, and he asks you what you’re going on about. You answer that it is the place where you will have your first date, and then you hang up before he can respond, just so that you can deny him the chance to do it to you first.

Cameras flash in your faces as you enter the restaurant your manager has booked a reservation at. Michael Kaiser’s arm is wrapped around your waist, and it’s nauseatingly domestic, the kind of scene that would be the cover for one of those coming-of-age movies your agent loves booking for you. You wait for the frantic sound of camera shutters to slow, and then you tug on his sleeve.

“What is it?” he says. It’s quiet enough that no one else can hear, which is why it’s devoid of any warmth, but you are unruffled.

“Your tie,” you say. “It’s not crooked, but we will pretend that it is, and I’ll fix it so that there is something sweet to accompany the tabloid articles that will come out tomorrow.”

Your hands reach for his neck, and he does something you do not comprehend — flinching back, he shakes his head. When he realizes he’s done this, he grits his teeth, like the anger can make up for the temporary weakness. You do not press the issue, merely furrowing your brow and gazing up at him, doing your best to ensure that your eyes remain soft, so that the exchange is not misinterpreted by the parasites around you.

“No,” he says. “Do something else, but leave my tie alone.”

“Alright,” you say. It’s not sensible for you to argue, and anyways it doesn’t matter much what you are doing, as long as you are doing something. Humming to yourself, you adjust the lapels of his jacket. The cameras go off again. You pretend like you do not notice, like the world consists of only you two, and then you interlace your fingers with his, allowing him to drag you into the restaurant behind him.

It’s your turn to be interviewed. You’re wearing a dress, your legs crossed at the ankles — it’s demure and practical and prevents anyone from leering at you, so it’s been a habit of yours for quite a while. The interviewer is female, though, which calms you a bit. She’s older, around your mother’s age, and the wrinkles on her forehead remind you that you should call your parents and arrange for them to meet your doting boyfriend.

“Miss L/N, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to finally meet you!” the woman says. You think her name may be Anne, but she hasn’t introduced herself to you yet, so you’re not certain.

“You are too kind. If anything, it’s an honor for me to be here,” you say. The audience really likes that, when you are humble and shy and so darling. It’s palatable and easy for them to digest, or that’s what your manager tells you.

“Tell us about your upcoming projects,” she says after giving you the appropriate amount of praise for your charming personality.

“I’m currently shooting a new romantic comedy, but I’m afraid it’s all very hush-hush, so I can’t say too much about it. I think you all will really enjoy it, though, and I’m looking forward to the day that we can discuss it at length,” you say.

The conversation goes on like that for a bit, but you know she’s going through the motions because she has to, not because she wants to. There’s only one question she cares to ask, but if she just talks to you about your boyfriend and not your own accomplishments, then she’ll be blasted online as an anti-feminist. You hear quite frequently that this is akin to suicide in the world of marketing, so you can’t blame her.

That doesn’t stop you from having some fun. When she’s exhausted every possible avenue of questioning you about your future plans and past successes, you make as if you’re going to stand up and leave. Panic leaps across her face, and you snicker.

“We’ve spoken at such length about my acting career. You can’t possibly have any more questions about it, hm? You probably know more than my manager does!” Your attitude is balanced out by the joke. The audience laughs. It’s a fine line that you walk, but if you do not have the chance to act sharper every now and again, you believe you will die — internally if not externally — so you take such risks when you can justify them to yourself.

“You’re dating Michael Kaiser now, aren’t you?” she says. It’s a rancid curiosity she hides with a motherly type of concern. You brush off your legs, recross them, and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I am,” you say. You don’t have to play the games that he did; you both are established now. Official. A bona-fide couple. Anyways, it’s more appealing if you are outright with it.

“How has that been? You’ve really made a difference in that young man’s life, it seems,” she says.

The best way to lie is to tell the truth. “Yes, I suppose I have, but he has made an equal difference in mine. He is as good for me as I am for him; truly, I never understood what it meant when my parents called each other their ‘better halves’ until we met.”

In an hour, there will be thousands of posts online about this. If Y/N and Michael break up, then I don’t believe in love anymore! Maybe soulmates are real! Couple goals! These are the kinds of captions you are anticipating. The two of you will send screenshots to one another and laugh about how gullible the world is, and then you will strategically plan which comments to like and posts to favorite so that your message goes through. That’s the extent of your relationship with him, really, at least when the two of you are alone. The detachedness makes things much easier than they otherwise would be.

“There’s a popular theory going around that the two of you have had a secret wedding already. Is it true? Am I speaking to Mrs. Kaiser at the moment?” she says, eyes glittering like a vulture’s. She’s ready to pounce on any hesitation, any brief indecision that you might show, but you have spent more time in the spotlight than in your own parents’ home, so you don’t even waver.

“Marriage! I think we’re a bit too early in our relationship to be considering such things, and a bit too early in our lives to be rushing into major decisions like that,” you say. “If and when the time comes, you’ll be the first to know, but it won’t be for a while.”

It won’t be at all, actually. This relationship is not going to last for more than another month. Once the buzz surrounding you two dies, you and he will quietly split. It’ll be as if you never met in the first place.

Your phone rings as you’re leaving the studio. The caller ID says that it is Michael Kaiser, and the thought that he was watching your interview in the same way you watched his makes you feel odd.

“Hello?” you say.

“I’m not gonna marry you. Never-fucking-ever. If you’re expecting a ring, then put it out of your mind.”

“I wasn’t,” you say. “How else would you have liked me to answer that question?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Neither of you hang up on the other — you don’t think you can summon the wherewithal to, which is out of character for him but typical for you — though you both also don’t speak any further. He stays on the line while you drive home, breathing softly like he is sleeping, but you are sure that he is not. The point of it is lost on you, but then you drive into a tunnel and the call ends on its own, so it’s moot anyways.

Your parents are excited to meet Michael Kaiser. They’ve read up on him extensively, watched all his interviews and even his game highlights. Your mother calls you the night before just so she can gush to you about how handsome he is, how you’ve really done well for yourself this time around. Her approval is nice to have, though superfluous, like a luxury soap or perfume.

Your father is the one who suggests you all go golfing. You don’t know how to play, and neither does your mother, but you recognize it’s his attempt at connecting with who he thinks is your boyfriend, so you accept. You’re not sure if Michael Kaiser knows how to play golf, or really anything besides soccer, but he is game enough to come that you suppose he must.

It’s warm out, the sun beating down on your father’s brow as he lines up the ball with his club. Michael Kaiser stands on his left, and you think he’s somehow beautiful in this lighting. Not beautiful how your many attractive coworkers are, but in a manner which is distinctly him and therefore utterly irreproducible. His body is lean and graceful, his hair shaggy and gold, though he’s dyed the tips blue in what you’re sure is a statement. The shade matches his eyes, and also the inked roses on his neck. You have long ago come to the conclusion that the flowers are also a part of that same statement, but you have yet to discover what that statement might be.

“He’s an improvement from that last boyfriend of yours,” your mother says, leaning back so that she can pour the last few drops of soda from her empty can into her throat. You and her are sitting together in the golf cart, seeking refuge in the shade of its plastic roof, sharing the drinks that your father had bought for himself and forgotten about the instant he stepped onto the golf course.

“He is,” you say. That’s not an exaggeration, nor is it something incredible. Your last boyfriend was an old classmate of yours who loved your celebrity more than he loved you. Michael Kaiser doesn’t love you, either, but he is honest about it, and you do not love him back, so there is no resentment between you and him.

“I like the way he looks at you,” your mother says. There’s a hiss as she opens a new can of soda. It’s a vice, but whenever you remind her of it, she dismisses you. She wants to have fun while she’s on this earth, apparently. Maybe drinking five cans of soda in one sitting means her life will be shorter, but life without soda isn’t worth living anyways, or something like that. The reasoning is stupid, but you know she is loyal to it, so you have to accept it. “It’s refreshing. So gentle. You’ll be talking to someone else, and he’ll just be staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re his.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” you say.

Your mother is about to say something else, but she is interrupted by a loud whoop. Michael Kaiser has hit a hole-in-one, and before you can tell him to stop embarrassing himself, your father is cheering, throwing his arms around him and calling him son.

“Your father likes him, too,” your mother said.

“Oh, he needs to stop that! I can’t believe he’s making things so awkward,” you say, getting up to reprimand him before realizing that there is an entirely foreign sheen to Michael Kaiser’s eyes as he rests his chin on your father’s shoulder. He is not quite smiling, but it is a close approximation of the expression, and when your father ruffles his hair and says that it may have been beginner’s luck but he’s proud regardless, the curve of his lips becomes deeper.

You don’t understand, but you don’t need to. You may have facilitated it, but the moment belongs to him, and your presence is as unwanted as it is unnecessary.

You sit back down and take a sip of your mother’s soda. She grins knowingly and says that you look like you are in love, too. You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you hum noncommittally and say that you might be.

You are growing fond of Michael Kaiser. It isn’t a slow realization — actually, it hits you very suddenly one day. He hands you a bouquet of flowers before opening the passenger door of his car for you. You ask him why he’s brought you peonies instead of roses, and he says it’s because he despises roses. It’s such an absurd answer and he says it with such a straight face that you have to cough in order to disguise your choked laughter.

“Those must be some other kind of flower, then,” you say, pointing at but not touching his tattoos, at the delicate petals which fold over his pulse, azure and bright and silky.

“No, those are roses,” he says, his knuckles growing white on the steering wheel. Normally, you wouldn’t ask further, but today you want to prod at his bruise of an existence, so you turn the music down and hug the peonies to your chest.

“But you despise roses,” you say.

“It’s a good reminder,” he says. “No flower lies quite as well as a rose does.”

That is when you are certain that you are partial to him. It is an unavoidable fact and also a treacherous one, but true notwithstanding.

You put the peonies in a vase of water when you get home that night and hope they never die, although you know that they will be gone within the week. It’s how time works. The peonies will die and you two will break up and you’ll have nothing but a bare kitchen counter and thoughts of his intricacies to remember him by.

There are no paparazzi around on the night when he wraps your hands around his throat. You are alone with him, sequestered away in the living room of his mansion, a bowl of popcorn shoved between the two of you while a movie plays in the background. This seclusion defeats the original purpose of the relationship entirely, but you sense that that original purpose is no longer fully applicable, so you do not refuse when he calls you and demands you come.

There’s a blanket tossed over your legs, the brilliant colors of his soccer club’s emblem faded from repeated washes. It’s warm, and if you were not busily eating most of the popcorn, you’d pull it up around your shoulders. As for Michael Kaiser, he’s facing the screen, his hair tied back in a knot, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and reflecting the visage of the lead actress as she laughs. You observe him as you snack. You’ve seen this movie before and didn’t really like it, so you’re not missing much. He’s more interesting by far.

“I know that woman,” you say, so that he has to acknowledge you.

“Hm,” he says.

“She’s a jerk,” you say.

“Sounds like your kind of company,” he says. You scoff, because he’s not wrong. He keeps watching the movie, and you keep watching him, until a thought occurs to you.

“Can I call you Michael? Even when it’s just us two,” you ask. He purses his lips. The actress screams. Her character has just died, but the scene is poorly shot and even more poorly acted, so it’s not as heart-wrenching as it should be. You would’ve done better, but your agent doesn’t want you taking any gory roles, and your manager agrees. In his professional opinion, it’ll ruin the doll-like persona you’ve spent so long cultivating. He’s probably right. It’s hard to adore a doll once you’ve watched it die so gruesomely.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, swallowing another mouthful of popcorn, the salt lingering on your tongue long after the popcorn itself is gone. “Michael.”

“Yes?” he says.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just wanted to say your name.”

“Okay,” he says. “Y/N?”

He’s never called you that in private. Of course, when you’re out and about, he must refer to you with such familiarity, but in private you’ve never been anything but Miss L/N. It’s a change but a good one. You don’t want to ever be Miss L/N again. Not to him.

“Yes?” you say.

“I’m trying to watch this movie,” he says. “It has high ratings, so be quiet and allow me to finish.”

“It’s shitty,” you say, yawning and leaning back against the mountain of pillows you’ve created for yourself. “Overly gratuitous with its use of fake blood.”

“Right, because that’s a cardinal sin,” he says dryly.

“Sorry, but it’s hard to enjoy films when you know how they’re made,” you say. He picks up the remote and pauses the movie. You blink, because that’s about the last thing you expected from him. Then he turns the TV off entirely and you realize you’ll probably never be able to predict what he does next, so you should stop trying already.

“I know how movies are made,” he says.

“Did you have a secret acting career you never told me about?” you say. It’s a joke, but you also wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. He’s taken to performing like a fish takes to water, and every day you tell him he should quit soccer and devote his life to cinema because of this uncanny skill.

“Not me, but my mother was an actress, and my father was a director,” he says.

“Was?” you say.

“Maybe they still are,” he says. “I don’t know. We’re not on speaking terms.”

“Why not?” you say. He takes your hands in between his, and you can make out immediately that his instinct is to hurt you, to press his fingertips into your wrists so hard that they leave marks. It’s to his credit that he fights back the urge, fights it back and arranges your palms against his carotid arteries. His jaw clenches and his pupils dilate as he waits for you to realize; when you do, you rip your hands away for fear of wounding him further.

“Don’t pity me,” he instructs you, unpausing the movie like nothing happened. “And don’t ever bring it up again.”

Now that you have his permission to refer to him only by his name, you develop a strange fascination with saying it. He’s amused by your new fixation, answering you in a lilting tone every time you call for him.

According to him, you are like a small nightingale, always warbling, always happy, fluttering around beside him and changing his mood for the better. Well, if you are like a nightingale, then he is like a dog, and you tell him as much when you are sitting across from him at a coffee shop.

“A dog?” he repeats, his face pinching. He’s just taken a swig of the black coffee he always orders, but you know his disgusted expression isn’t a symptom of the beverage’s bitterness. “Take that back.”

“Not in a bad way,” you say. Your own drink is sweet, so you sip on it slowly to prevent a stomach ache. “I’m not calling you pathetic. I just mean that you are amiable and lively. It’s a compliment.”

“It’s not who I really am,” he says. “Have I deceived even you? Amiable? Lively? Remember why this entire scam began in the first place — because I am neither of those things.”

“Right,” you say. “A peacock, then. Terribly vain and entirely alluring.”

He relaxes and raises his cup to his mouth again. He’ll be up late tonight, he always is when he has coffee, but it never stops him from drinking it. “That’s better.”

The reminder that whatever you have with him is not real stings more than it should. You throw away your drink almost untouched, which does cause him to raise an eyebrow, but thankfully he refrains from commenting. It’s a relief, because you don’t even know how to explain it to yourself, let alone him.

He walks you to your front porch and waits with crossed arms as you fish for the key in your purse, shoving it in the lock once you have it in your grasp. His farewell when you open the door is stilted and abnormal, so you stop him with a hand on his arm before he can go.

“Michael,” you say. You’ve never said his name like this before. It comes from a place raw and deep within you, a place that you are certain is purple and black like a wound. You say it like you love him, and you think it must be because you do.

“Yes?” he says. It’s the way he always responds to you, his voice like a song, a small smile on his ordinarily strict face — though today, he is not smiling. Instead, he is frowning, like he has come to an understanding that he would have rather not reached.

“Never mind,” you say. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he says. He drives away, his car disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing alone in the still-open doorway and wondering how you will survive the day when he disappears permanently.

You’re not sure what it is about him that makes pretending difficult, but suddenly, it’s a struggle for you to maintain your aloof front. You find it disconcerting, that he has taken this aspect of your identity and rendered it entirely null and void; it’s even more disconcerting that he has done it unwittingly and unsympathetically. If you loved him any less, you would hate him, because he has stolen who you are and left you blind and fumbling, but you fell for him, and the way you landed broke something fundamental, so that it is impossible for you to get back up.

“I think that I love you,” you say. You are on his couch again, and there is a movie playing again, which is all too similar to a past scenario that you think about when you are lonely. Tonight, it’s some soccer documentary that you find so tedious you are driven to irrationality.

He drops the glass of water in his hands; you reach out and catch it before it can spill, setting it on the table in front of you.

“What?” he says. You shrug.

“I love you,” you say again, and you’re flippant about it because you’re not telling him in the hopes he loves you, too. In fact, you know that he does not, so you are using him as a confessional; after all, the minimum he owes you is sharing the burden of this sin.

“There’s no one around,” he says. “You don’t have to lie. It won’t gain us anything.”

“It hasn’t gained us anything in a long while,” you say. It’s true — your relationship isn’t trending anymore, and most of your dates are in locations where you will not be recognized.

He stands up. The documentary continues as he paces, and a referee blows a whistle while he tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls. You stay on the couch, your eyes following his erratic movements, your hands folded in your lap.

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I don’t what?” you say.

“You don’t love me,” he says. He wants to sound callous, you are sure of it, but the effect is lost on you. He sounds more lost than anything.

“But I do,” you respond. “Who are you to tell me I don’t?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Stop it. This instant.”

You laugh incredulously. “Do you think it’s that easy? I wouldn’t feel like this in the first place if it was.”

“Why?” he says. He’s still pacing. It’s like watching a tiger in a zoo. You want to study him, but he demands your attention in a different way. “Y/N. Why me? Why at all?”

“The reasons don’t matter, do they? I can tell you, but they won’t change anything,” you say, shrugging. “If you find yourself in the kitchen, bring water back for me. I’m thirsty.”

“Drink mine,” he says, pointing at the cup you had narrowly saved from disaster. “And quit your avoidance. Tell it to me plainly. Why?”

“Because you are you,” you say once you have drained half of his glass and your tongue is not quite as papery. “It’s a series of things; there’s not just one concrete reason. You hate roses and only drink black coffee. My mother thinks you’re handsome and my father is convinced you’re a golfing genius. You are a dog but also a peacock and then again an emperor. Don’t ask ridiculous questions and expect me to answer them when I cannot.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says. “I’ll hurt you, Y/N, and I don’t — I don’t want to. You’re the only one who I don’t want to hurt, so just give up. It’s for the better if you do.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I don’t think you can.”

“Of course I can,” he says. “It’s the one thing I’m capable of. The only way I know how to love someone is by hurting them. I’ll do the same to you if you let me, and if you’re telling the truth, then you will let me.”

“Because I love you?” you say. “You think I’ll let you hurt me because I love you? For shame, Michael. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Please,” he says. It’s a word he’s never said, not to you and not in his life. Its weight hangs before you, pulsating in the air like it’s tangible. “If I love you, I’ll destroy you. And then you’ll leave, and it’ll destroy me.”

It’s a selfless desire that he’s disguising as a selfish one. You’re good at pretending, but you’re not good at telling when others are. That much is obvious, because if you had any talent at the latter then you would’ve seen that he’s loved you for as long as you have loved him, maybe longer. He loves you and so he’s urging you to flee, to destroy him before he can do it to you first.

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, huh?” you say, exhaling and finishing off the rest of his water. “Listen to me.”

“No,” he says. His obstinance is endearing, but you throw a pillow at him instead of cooing like you want to. He catches it and tosses it back. It lands beside you with a thump. You pat it for emphasis.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you.”

He plugs his ears with his fingers. “Nope.”

“I love you, I love you — hey, I know you can hear me!” you say.

“La la la,” he shouts over your voice, sticking his tongue out petulantly. “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you!”

“You’re cruel,” you say. “I won’t deny it. I know who you really are, Michael Kaiser. You possess cruelty in spades, but it’s in the way that a rose does. You have grown malice like thorns so that no one may come near your heart, and you think these thorns will tear me apart when I extend my hand past them. What you aren’t accounting for is that I have done so already. I have reached your heart and still I am intact. Now, what is there to cause me harm — a mere flower? But a flower can’t cause anyone harm, least of all a person such as myself. You can’t, or more importantly you won’t. I believe that you won’t.”

He stares at you. The soccer team in the documentary still playing behind him scores, and the crowd roars in approval. You stare back at him and wait.

“I hate roses,” he finally says. “I hate them a lot. They’re the worst kind of flower.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I quite fancy them.”

“They prick your fingers,” he says.

“Not if you are gentle,” you say. “Not if you understand them.”

He buries his face in his hands. “Go home, Y/N.”

You do as you are told, flagging a taxi and shivering while you wait for it. You wish for things to be different, but the amount of unfulfilled wishes you’ve made outnumber the stars in the sky, so you add this one to the list and vow to move on.

You have no desire to leave your bed the next morning, but you are also hungry, and your hunger wins out over your despair. You muster up the energy to roll out of your sheets and trudge downstairs, but you are miserable as you do so. You are utterly miserable, and the fact that you are only worsens the feeling, trapping you in an endless kind of loop.

When you enter your kitchen, you are surprised to see a pot of flowers sitting innocently on your counter. You didn’t put them there, so you should feel afraid, but they’re roses, and they’re the same arresting shade as the sky, so you don’t. You only grin, slowly and then all at once as you begin to giggle helplessly.

There isn’t a card or an explanation provided, but you don’t need either. You already know who they are from.

#kaiser x reader #kaiser x y/n #kaiser x you #michael kaiser #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #fake dating #m1ckeyb3rry milestone #m1ckeyb3rry writes

168 notes · View notes

writteninlunarlight-years · 4 months ago

Text

@literallurker gave me this idea, and I wanted to share my headcanons on what I think everyone's MBTI is and why I believe that.

Charlie -ESFJ (Consul)

I mean, come on, this is so Charlie-coded. She loves helping people and putting a smile on their faces. She gets enjoyment and fulfillment from helping her people and those who lean on her the most. She is extroverted, in touch with her emotions, and in touch with others' emotions as well.

Vaggie -ISTJ (Logistician)

Vaggie respects how things should be run; look at how she reacts to Lucifer's appearance. She, however, is undeniably loyal and follows her heart when it comes to the one she cares about the most. She is quiet and reserved, only stepping up to the plate when it involves backing up Charlie.

Lucifer -ENTP (Debater)

Let's look at Lucifer's past, present, and seeming future. In the past, Lucifer questioned many things and wanted to know why and find out why things were how they were. Lucifer is a good leader when he is not depressed, he also shows pretty normal Extrovert traits he is just awkward cause he dedicated so much of his life to one person not the collective. We saw at the end of the show his true kingly and debater personality show where he agreed to help stick it to the angels and help Charlie.

Alastor - ESTP (Entrepreneur)

This man is a business tycoon, can we all agree? He has thousands of souls. He is a smooth talker and great at making deals. He has to be extroverted for that. On top of that, the only time we see this man dwell on his past is when he talks about his contract at the very end. Besides that, he is rooted in how he can benefit himself right here, right now. He also knows how to manipulate the situations he is in to benefit himself, something the Entrepreneur type is known for.

Angel Dust - INFP (Mediator)

Okay, hear me out, Angel is an actor; the Angel we see 90% of the time is not the real true him. When we see him in his raw form, he is really quiet and calm. He spoke of dreams and ideas he once had. Angel is forced to look extroverted when, in reality, he is the happiest in a small group of close people. He is happy making his friends happy. He loves helping even if he covers it up with his 'need' for sex and drugs.

Husk - INFJ (Advocate)

Okay, controversial, I know, but let me cook. Husk in the show fits this so well. He is compassionate towards Angel and the others, he is wanting to rebel against the contract system, he doesn't care about being powerful anymore now that he has lost all power. He is just a boy who loves his spider and friends. He has no issues helping Charlie the minute he finds out he was summoned for her, not Al.

Sir Pentious -INTP (Logician)

Man is socially awkward and inventing stuff left, right, and sideways. He is always curious to build the next best thing to make him the next powerful being. He never falters from his passion, either. He is passionate about the tasks he is given, which explains his displeasure in failing the Vees. Yet when Charlie gives him a new task, and he can excel at that, he is as happy as ever.

Niffty - ISTP (Virtuoso)

We have literally seen Niffty create the most horrid and cutest things out of her bugs. She is very attached to those she is close to, and she always has something going on in her mind. I think Niffty is a prime example of if it is in my head, I will be doing it, no questions asked.

Cherri Bomb - ENFP (Campaigner)

Cherri is the definition of a free spirit and a kind heart. She loves Angel deeply and would do anything to help cheer up her best friend. On top of that, she also has a no fucks filter and kicks ass to protect those she cares about. She is open and honest about her life style and her energy. Ready to take on the world one day at a time the best way she can.

Sera - INTJ (Architect)

Sera follows the rules and becomes the best she can be. She was given the directive of being the head angel and ran with it. She will do anything to keep her power and knowledge of the world. She is very smart and analytical when it comes to situations. Though she is in a powerful position, she is naturally introverted, often letting Emily take on more people-centric roles while she stands back and takes on more law and order roles.

Emily - ENTJ (Commander)

All right, this is more of what I just hope Emily becomes. In the span of minutes, we watched Emily completely turn her back on fellow Angels, all because she had learned what was really happening in hell. She would fight for the right cause and rally the troops for it. She is an energetic and open character who fights for what she believes is right. Seeing Pentious get redeemed, you bet she will be fighting for Charlie's plans.

Lute - ISFJ (Defender)

Okay, another may be controversial, but let me cook, please. Lute is super caring and concerned for her people, whether that is Adam, the exorcists, or angels as a whole. Yes, she looks like a big bad villain in the show because, well, she is. However, step into Lutes' shoes, and she is just trying to protect the peace of her people and family.

Adam - ENFJ (Protagonist)

He is another person who hear me out please needs to be looked at from his perspective. Adam is, by all means, the main protagonist in the Bible and in the world of heaven. He does what he believes is right and fights for what he believes is right. Even if he is an asshole, look at him from a different perspective than just through the eyes of Charlie, our narrator, through Hazbin Hotel. Adam believes his greatest purpose in life is to be the first man everyone has to look up to.

Vox -ESFP (Entertainer)

I mean, this is like writing itself; Vox is charismatic, has silver tongues, and is good with people. He can use his voice and charisma to woo people, and only then, if that fails, does he use his hypnotic powers. Vox enjoys entertaining by playing many roles in all his shows and assisting Vel and Val in any issue that seems to come up.

Valentino - ESTJ (Executive)

Hear me out, let me cook; we learn in should have stayed gone that Vox is pretty much powerless without the other Vee. It is also alluded to a few times that Val has been there the longest out of all the Vees. To be in the position of power Val is in, he needs to be an extrovert and have a way with words to lure people in. You may be thinking, but how does this tie into the executive role. I ask you to take a step back, like with the angels, and look at Val from the perspective of the Vees, not from Charlie and the narrators. He is set in his ways, expects perfection from his soul, and utilizes his power position as a form of mentorship for Vox and Vel so they can gain more notoriety.

Velvette - ISFP (Adventurer)

But she is a famous designer and sinstagram star. Yeah, and do you know how many influencers and social media people are actually introverts but come off as extroverted cause they are talking to a camera, not people directly. She is also suuuuper creative, and many fashion designers, just like other artists, have a hard time relating to people face to face and prefer to talk through their art mediums. I mean, look at how Velvette handled Val's tantrum. She called Vox cause she didn't know how to handle that situation.

134 notes · View notes

suckerforprettyboys · 11 months ago

Text

illicit affairs- g.hawthorne

in which a simple interview starts fierce rumors of a secret romance.

wc: 1.3K

my inbox is open for requests! xoxo

The backstage room was cloaked in an awkward silence, broken only by the distant echoes of the camera and make-up crew doing their last minute touches. You, a well known and respected interviewer, were sitting patiently waiting for your interviewee to enter the room. You had your papers neatly stacked, hair perfectly set how you liked it, and a bright smile ready.

Interviews were nothing new for you, it was quite literally your job, but today’s interview would be rather difficult in comparison to the usual interviews. You were interviewing a well known businessman and entrepreneur, the heir to the Hawthorne fortune: Grayson Davenport Hawthorne.

Your mind is sucked from your thoughts as the door swings open, a rather annoyed and stoic looking Grayson straightening up his suit. He walks over, sticking out his hand for a handshake.

“Grayson Hawthorne, pleased to meet you,” he introduces himself, not even cracking a smile.

You introduce yourself as well, presenting a sweet smile to go along with your words. He just stares at you, unimpressed, almost looking bored.

“Oh boy, he seems like a joy” you think to yourself, not letting the negativity of your thoughts slip into your kind and warm demeanor.

As the two of you settle into the interview space, the atmosphere grows increasingly frosty and tense. Grayson was clearly not in the mood to answer any hard hitting questions today, answering with the most vague responses possible. This left you to navigate through a maze of one-worded answers and dismissive gestures.

It soon became evident that this interview would be a test of your ability to crack the enigma that was Grayson Hawthorne.

The minutes ticked by slowly, and you pressed on, determined to unravel the layers of the unyielding celebrity. Little did they know, this encounter would become a battle of wits, a dance between an interviewer seeking to break through his icy demeanor and a stubborn man determined to maintain his impenetrable facade.

Despite the obvious tension in the room, you continue on with your hard hitting questions, determined to get something out of Grayson Hawthorne. The air hung heavy, each question met with unspoken challenges and calculated responses. Grayson wasn’t a lot in your eyes, but the bastard was good.

In a subtle shift, you decide to take a less business approach to the questions and quite beating around the bush.

“So,” You smile sneakily, leaning forward as you fold your hands in your lap. “The Heiress, Ms. Grambs. Any comments on her you would like the world to know, or are you gonna shut this topic down too?” You smirk to yourself as you see a slight glimmer in his eye from your boldness. Maybe it was just the set lights that hit his perfect face just right, but you knew damn well he had something to say from the way he brightened up ever so slightly.

“No comment.” He says coldly, shifting in his chair. He crossed one leg of the other in your direction, body language indicating his slight interest in your approach to the questioning.

He didn’t trust you, but he was opening up. Ever so slightly.

You smile warmly, laughing softly to try and clear the atmosphere. “Well folks, there’s your answer.” You turn back towards Grayson, looking him straight in the eyes as if willing him to give you something, anything. “Not to sound too forward, but you are a very handsome and wealthy young man. You have stated in previous interviews that, and I quote, ‘dating is not your thing, never has been and won’t be for the foreseeable future if you can help it,” You smile sneakily once again.

“Does that still apply, or has a special someone changed your perspective on that?”

Grayson goes slightly stiff at your words. You take note of this, deciding that this would be that last romance question in an attempt to get him to feel comfortable.

“I stand by the previous statements made regarding that particular topic.” He says, unfazed and bored.

You lean back in your seat, uncrossing you legs and sighing, “Mr. Hawthorne, you are one tough cookie to crack.” You laugh, smiling sweetly at him. “I assume privacy is one of the things you value most?”

“Yes, it is.” He nods, but gives no other indication of emotions.

Bingo. You’ve gotten him to talk. And you are running with it.

You smile, locking eyes with him again, “And is there any particular situation that made that choice set in stone? Or has that just been something you’ve always lived by?” You watch his eyes flicker with something, but you aren’t sure what.

“I grew up watching what the media had done to family members and the little bit they showed the press and chose to just steer clear indefinitely. It is better to avoid a burning building and wonder what would have happened then to walk in and burn.” He folds his hands in his lap, re-cuffing the sleeves.

You smile from ear to ear, overjoyed that he had gotten out more than a few words. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”

“You never had to.” Grayson cuts in, expression cold. It was clear this was a sensitive topic, so you decide not to push any farther.

“I suppose I never did, my sympathy to those who found out the hard way.” You nod. Then, as if nothing had happened, your bright smile is back.

“Alright, Mr. Hawthorne. I believe that is all the questions I have for today.” You shake his hand again, thanking him for coming out and saying goodbye to your audience. Grayson gets up immediately, looking as if he was fighting to leave the room.

You choose to ignore it, speaking with the camera crew and production team as the wrap up.

---

Less than a half hour later you are walking back to your dressing room, a nagging feeling in your cut. You feel guilty, not sure for what, but the feeling is there non the less.

“Fuck it,” You think to yourself, heading towards the guest dressing room.

You knock on the door. No response.

“Hello?” You call out, only to be met with no response once again. You continue to knock for a few more minutes, ear pressed to the door for any indication of life on the other side of the door.

Eventually, a staff member finds you looking like a creep with your ear pressed to the door. She tells you that Grayson was on his way to his limo and he was quite grumpy. At this news your stomach drops, concerned that you had been the root of his unhappiness.

You weren’t sure why that particular fact bothered you.

You intercept him outside on the way to his car, hand waving in the air to catch his attention.

“Mr. Hawthorne!” You yell, causing him to turn. His eyes narrow, brows furrowing as he looks down at you.

“Hi,” You smile, slightly out of breath from chasing him down. “Can I speak with you for a quick second?”

Grayson glances back at his bodyguard, giving a silent signal in the form of a nod. He steps off to the side, nodding at you stiffly.

“Quickly.” He spits out rather rudely.

“I wanted to apologize.” You say softly, eyes locked on his to show your genuine intention.

This catches Grayson off guard, “Apologize for what exactly?” He slightly quirks a brow, still peering down at you.

“For overstepping the boundaries of the interview. The description of the question I sent your agent had nothing to do with personal life or romance and it was inappropriate of me to ask such things of a total stranger.” You ramble, talking with your hands, the complete opposite from your shiny and perfect interviewer persona.

Grayson just nods stiffly at you once again, offering no answer as you continue on.

“I’ll have the production team cut anything other than strictly business conversation or we can cut the interview entirely if you wish.”

“No need.” He says quietly. “Just cut the things not described in the papers sent to my agent and myself.”

You let out a sigh of relief, smiling at him “Thank you so much, Mr. Hawthorne”

“Grayson.” He cuts you off. “Just Grayson is ok. Mr. Hawthorne makes me sound old.” He says curtly, turning to leave.

You just stand there as he gets in the limo, waving stiffly at you. Your eyes follow the limo as it leaves, confused as to what had just happened.

The picks up, causing you to shiver slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself. The shutter of a camera catches your attention in the distance. A group of maybe 3 paparazzi were huddled behind a group of bushes, holding their cameras in your direction.

You offer a sweet and warm smile, waving at them as they flick a few more pictures before walking off. You simply shrug, heading back inside for the warmth of the building.

Weird.

---

Later that evening, you were finishing up with the production team getting the right clips in the right order and making everything look amazing.

“Ok, guys. Looks great!” You smile proudly, thanking your team for all their great work throughout the day. The sound of your name being called catches your attention, causing you to turn.

Your eyes land on your agent, peeking her head through the door and asking to speak with you outside. You nod, slightly confused, and follow her into the small hallway.

She looks at you with an odd look, “How are we gonna clean this up?” She says.

“Clean up what?” You laugh nervously, “What happened?”

She quirks an eyebrow at you, telling you to check your phone. You furrow your brows in confusion, pulling out your phone.

The second you laid eyes on it the screen glows with an endless amount of notifications: texts, dm’s, emails, and missed phone calls. Out of curiosity you click on one of the emails, leading you to an article link.

Hawthorne Heir Apparent and Heart-throb Grayson Hawthorne Spotted with Well-Known Interviewer and Possible New Girlfriend, and the cover was a picture of you and Grayson speaking in the parking lot.

Your stomach drops, “Shit.”

#grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne #the inheritance games #the hawthorne brothers #fanfic #taylor swift

162 notes · View notes

sgiandubh · 7 months ago

Note

Good morning to you...as always, this person is very indignant and enraged.

https://www.tumblr.com/maximumwobblerbanditdonut/748583730081333248/the-unexpected-guests?source=share

Dear (returning) Mythomaniac Anon,

Sorry for the delay and see below why. Well, then: how was that, at their end of the rope, across the street?

I know, I am quoting BIF (that petty, nasty, condescending woman), their Main Intellectual Luminary (LOL for years), but see how easy it is to boomerang anything?

And I will even suit myself and quote her some more, lookie here:

I am not even sorry. Karma is a bitch, like that and it seems to have backfired badly on BIF's comadre, 'Max'. You see, I can immediately tell when people who have NO idea about what LAW really is, start talking about it. They will always be oh so damn literal and oh so damn mechanical in their 'reasonings'. I mean, if law were to be read as is, why would we even bother going to law school, right? Why not have AI sort it out, literally and mechanically, too (and boy does 'Max' sound like an android when she starts droning her maximum wobbling bullshit)? You see, in law, it's never enough to copy/paste something, because this is about people, money and interests, being those individual or collective. Timelines are important (and indispensable in any legal approach), but never enough: what makes the difference is always the particular context and the interpretation of facts - that is, by the way, called jurisprudence, when it becomes a legally binding precedent (not our modest case, here), in common law system countries (the UK, the US) or a complementary source of law, like in Roman/Civil law systems, such as the French and Romanian ones, which I know best. There is a technical distinction between those two concepts (legally binding precedent and complementary source of law) and I once passed a whole year written exam in Public French Law with honors, picking this exact topic, but I won't bother you with it, Anon. In a nutshell, tread carefully when you open that droning mouth and leave no stone unturned, if possible. Otherwise, you'd make a fool out of yourself, with bullshit like this:

There is no Midhope Distillery Company Ltd, you fool. There once was the Midhope Castle Distillery Ltd, as I have abundantly shown in not one, but two posts. It did not 'change its name' in 2023, it was dissolved by voluntary write-off (third time might be a charm, across the street, maybe the coin would drop?). And one more time, for you Mordor people in the back: there is no way to know who the shareholders of a given company are, based on the Company House records, nor the amount of their participation. This is confidential information, as shown also in the Planning Proposal - once more, I repost the screenshot:

' The Business Plan, submitted (...) under Private and Confidential cover, provides background information on the applicant'. Including, but not limited to, the existing investors/shareholders - it is essential to show the local authorities your business project is not a whim or a dream.

She also writes confidently stuff like:

That is simply not true. As I have also shown in my last post, Outlander is explicitly mentioned in both the first and the revised Planning Proposals, as a strong argument for the entire business project. It may serve to remember that one of the elements justifying it was to provide the 20k seasonal visitors of the Midhope Castle Grounds an opportunity to access the (vastly) improved interior of the castle, along with a whisky related experience/discovery activity, accommodation and high-end dining opportunity. Again, I repost the screenshot, because those people are mendacious by nature and it is perhaps the only way to show them some facts (not useless factoids):

That being said, we can speculate and deduct a simple correlation between a company actively looking for investors to support their now vastly revised, ten-year project and an actor-cum-entrepreneur who might be interested/already involved in that project. Unless he'd make a formal announcement himself, at some point in time, there is no way to confirm. 'Max' should perhaps learn to water down her confident tone, sometimes, especially when it is obvious she did not look at the documents herself, used only Google in the arrogant and foolish hope 'those tinhat shippers are stupid' and has 0 (zero) legal expertise.

This whole thing might be pending approval, but let's not forget the first Planning Statement was approved back in 2020 (which is a good starting point), that they have secured a business partnership with the owner of the land, Lord Hope (the 4th Marquess of Linlithgow) and that as far as I could read during those past two days, all the reports seem ok, at least up until this point in time. I see no reason why they wouldn't meet and talk about it: on which planet is that such a big deal and on which planet could that be construed as 'conflict of interest' (another one of 'Max's' arguments), given the organic link between OL and Midhope, since 2013?

I also have made a hasty mistake, in my previous post, when dealing with Ken Robertson's participation to the project. He continued to be involved, as my penned timeline shows, in both Hopetoun Estate Distillery Ltd and Hopetoun Estate Whiskies Ltd, as a Director, continuously from May 2017 until their dissolution, in December 2022. Again, it's all on the timeline - see what I just did, here? LOL for a century and a half.

And for Marple's 'Sorry' clip, I have the perfect reply. Especially the chorus, of course - ignore the rest, it's about some Seventies playboy, quite an Alternate Universe from hers:

youtube

I will stop now, Anon. With the MPC Gala just round the corner, all the eyes will be on that one. This drama will probably draw to a fizzled denouement, as they always do, in this fandom. But I will follow that business project and report from time to time. I bet the farm we'll have news, rather sooner than later.

#anon #fandom #shitshow #boozewars

79 notes · View notes

distantlaughter · 1 year ago

Text

THE SECRET NICO ROSBERG (IN HIS KARTING DAYS) TOLD BY DINO CHIESA

originally written by Luca Barnaba for TKART magazine 5 March 2022 (x)

The 2016 F1 world champion as you've never seen him before. Through the anecdotes (which are about destroyed hotel rooms, prostitutes and much more!) of those who knew him well, before he became a star.

After winning the Formula 1 world championship in 2016 and retiring from racing at the end of that same season, Nico Rosberg has shed his driver's shoes to take on those of an entrepreneur-influencer. In recent years, the former Mercedes driver has been involved in a variety of areas, such as promoting projects aimed at environmental sustainability, creating teams that participate in international electric racing series (such as the Rosberg X Racing team in Extreme E), and posting vlogs, track analyses, and stories on social media and about his life and memories. In short… About what Nico Rosberg is today, one really knows or can know everything.

But to know who Nico Rosberg was before F1, world triumph and fame, one has to rely on the stories of the people who saw him grow up and take his first steps in karting, people who know him well, like few others. Dino Chiesa is one of them. A prominent figure in the world of karting, founder of Kart Republic, over the years he has been manager and mentor to some of the promising, later to become undisputed stars, in karting and beyond, including: Alex Zanardi, Vitantonio Liuzzi, Lewis Hamilton and… Nico Rosberg himself.

Of Nico's karting period there are several "stories," especially about the emergence of the friendship-rivalry with Lewis Hamilton (another phenomenon of that generation), but very little is said about who (and how) young Nico was.

It is Dino Chiesa himself who reveals: "I remember him as a child, perhaps smaller than others his age. In the sense that he was more innocent than other peers: 'mannered,' polite." Kids, you know, at 10 to 12 years old begin to develop their character, on and off the track. And, basically, they divide into two groups: those who are less…mischievous and those who…are a little more so. If of Nico we can safely say that he fell into the former, his friend and teammate at the time, Lewis Hamilton, just as quietly we can say that he was part of the latter: "I have an episode that explains how Nico was, even compared to Lewis. I picked them up at the airport. When we arrived in Padua, before dropping them off at the hotel, we passed through a street where there are several prostitutes. Nico, naively, asked me 'What are those women doing there'. And I, considering that he was only 13 years old, replied 'They are waiting for the bus.' Nico did not reply. After a few seconds, however, Lewis said 'Can I take the bus tonight?'"

The genuineness of Nico's era, goes hand in hand with his goodness, which, according to the manager, could also be a flaw, especially when it related to races and competitions, although "Like all good people," Dino Chiesa recounts, "he later bursts."

"And he goes further, erring twice. The first time because out of his goodness he suffered. The second time because by blurting out he then overreacts."

If the portrait of little Rosberg you are getting from these stories looks a lot like a blond angel, know that it is not so. Even Nico - as a teenager - had a chance to show himself reckless: "One morning," Chiesa says, "he comes to the track before the race, makes me promise not to say anything to anyone, and shows me a wound on his foot. I ask him, 'How did you do that?' He said, 'Lewis started hitting me with pillows last night. I responded and we ended up throwing mattresses at each other outside the window of our hotel room. To avoid getting caught by my father and you we went to get them back only to climb over a net…I cut my foot!' I couldn't bring myself to scold him!"

A "naughty" little boy, like many others, then. Unlike many, however, Nico had to handle an unusual challenge early on, that of carrying a "heavy" last name on his shoulders: "Certainly having a father like Keke must not always have been easy. Every time, especially as a child, the comparison was automatically triggered, even though Nico was someone who never abused his surname and did not seek advantages just because he was famous.

"Indeed, as I know him, he is someone who would even go and sleep in a 2-star hotel without necessarily needing to have the suite. Also because, to be honest… He is someone who is very careful about spending."

His distinguishing features over the years have not changed: "For me he is still Nico, the kart guy. He hasn't changed. As he was then he is now, so much so that we talk very often by text or phone. And I for him, in my opinion, am still the one in the kart, his boss. So much so that he still calls me 'boss' today." Also because in his interpersonal relationships he has always maintained that good dose of genuineness: "He's not one of those people who has to have his friends who are soccer players or who are stars. If there is a need to go for a bike ride to train, he even goes with his neighbour."

Impossible, however, to talk about Nico Rosberg without putting his innate talent under the magnifying glass: "I put him among the best in the dry lap! In behaviour, however, he is a gentleman. One of those who does no improprieties, never over the top. Fast, but correct. Not a common thing." But his strong point was undoubtedly working on the kart and finding the best set-up: "He was The Best. In the sense that he was the first to do the dirty work, to prepare the material, to do whatever was necessary to develop chassis and engines."

#nico rosberg #nicology

193 notes · View notes

therealslimshakespeare · 1 year ago

Note

IM SORRY DID U SAY YOURE WORKING ON A FIC ABOUT “COP BIG DADDY ELVIS”?!?- please tell us more because this sounds like the greatest thing ever 😭

I did, Mon ami, I did indeed…welcome to the demented 2009, sweaty and non famous cop AU that @eliseinmemphis and myself cooked up in our feral yearnings one night.

Edit: it’s here

Allow me to lay a bit of the setting for us all, and maybe even throw in a few lines from the draft below.

Life is insular when you’ve been born and raised in a trailer park. A little El Paso suburb was never a thriving metropolis, what with its gas stations and dollar stores on the way to nothingness in the desert, but the recession didn’t help none. Your dreams of buying a car that might actually make it above 120 mph and not guzzle your wages in gas is a far off dream when you learn from officer Presley that your entrepreneuring father has been incarnated for racketeering across in Juarez. It’s a shame, a damn shame but it hardly throws a wrench in your life, you were already used to making it however you could. When workin’ at the trucker’s club turns into something a lil more illegal and Elvis has his morning waffle ruined by Joe Esposito yacking about the powers of your pink tongue…he feels a little responsible for leaving you without a father figure. He’s got top notch swamp coolers in his trailer, plenty of food and tiger figurines out front -and he’s got an interest in fast things, just like you.

You could do worse than shack up with such a fella; not that he’s offerin’ but you can tell by the flicker in his eye and the smirk of his lips that he’s as susceptible as the next guy watching you on the pole. Except this sweet, world weary cynic just might screw your gooey insides up worse than any threat or ogle from another man.

Snippet:

“Well, well officer Presley, finally got persnickety about laws, have ya?” you observed to yourself with a grin as you watched the handsome man swagger towards you along the white line in your side mirror, tugging at his pants as he neared, trying to shimmy the article of clothing a little higher but is impeded by his belt, stopped by his sizable belly, his holster and buckle sitting under the bulge of it.

Your mouth watered. It had been a year or two since you saw him last. He was always built, intimidating to all the stupid rascals he keeps in line along the border, but now he had become outright fat and his khaki shirt pulled apart between each button. Yet when he came up to your window, that little boy grin was still gracing one of the most exquisite faces known to man, and his voice was tender and playful when he greeted you, just as you once recalled. You could see his sweaty hair, matted on his chest and belly between the gaps, his underarms had massive pit stains, doubly apparent thanks to the light color of his police uniform.

Your smile had something of the she-wolf in it as you greeted him, sniffing the air in hopes of catching a whiff as he leaned on your window frame, nearly crowding you from outside. “Hey Miss Sweet Cheeks,” he greets, “you know why ya been pulled over?”

“Haven't got a clue, officer.” You stated the truth and enjoyed the way his title rolled off your tongue in a bantering way. It was easy.

Officer, officer. Somebody important and authoritative. No sir, yes sir, Officer.

His left eyebrow quirked and you wondered what he looked like at twenty five, how devastating that expression would have been before his wound and his meds and the water retention. Whatever power it may have once held, it holds nothing to this slightly bemused, slightly cynical world weariness that shows in his every expression now, that had a twitch of an eyebrow making you feel a fool. “You’re goin’ seventy in a forty five, Miss.” his tone was patient even as his face suggested he’d like to tan your hide for being so reckless. “Reckless endangerment of others, and yourself,” he quoted sternly, “it ain’t no small matter and I don’t countenance it on my highway.”

Gosh, you just loved it when he laid claim to government property like highways and interstates. It helped you smile meekly at him and nod.

“Sorry officer, I got lax.” You purred, batting your eyes and you could see the heavy flap of their coal coated weight in your periphery. “I’ve seen you lettin’ me flyby on the interstate. I guess I thought…”

#Elvis blurbs #trash magic #TM asks #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #blurbs #my blurbs #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fic #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fan fic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presely smut

169 notes · View notes

formosusiniquis · 2 years ago

Text

A Steddie / Buckingham comedy of errors of sorts. It goes like this.

Robin thinks Chrissy Cunningham might be her non platonic soulmate. She's smart, a little goofy, observant, seems like a great listener, and after what the rumor mill is saying was a pretty intense summer has really come into her own. It's a shame she went straight from dating Jason to Eddie Munson.

"She said she's working on herself," Steve claims, more in tune with the gossip than she is, "pretty hypocritical of you to say guys and girls can't be friends."

Which is pretty hypocritical of him when she knows he only cares cause he's already planning his wedding to Chrissy's new boyfriend; he needs Eddie to be single otherwise he's pining away for his perfect co-babysitter for nothing.

But it doesn't matter if they are dating or if they aren't or if Chrissy Cunningham with her perfect strawberry blonde ponytail is her soulmate, because her parents keep trying to set her up with some friend of a friend. She needs to do something quick before disaster strikes.

Melissa and Richard Buckley still know how to tie one on, when the occasion strikes. They're parents now, they've settled down some. Given in to the picket fence life, keep their yard mowed so Gayle Collins down the way stops glaring. They haven't done anything really crazy since that weekend they left Robin with Minerva and went to see what that whole Woodstock thing was about. Now they mostly just stick to getting as high as they can and stargazing on the weekends that Robin is off with Steve, a sweet boy kind of a square but the brownie recipe he gave them makes the best edibles.

Melissa can tell her daughter is lonely, she notices a lot of things about Robin that she won't tell them. Richard has noticed that their dealer Eddie has started bringing a friend along with him. Eddie is a sweet boy too, raised well respects his elders something they care about now that they've become them, he is also obviously and fantastically gay. Like all the parents in Hawkins, Richard and Melissa have heard how Wayne Munson has taken in that Cunningham girl after she came back from her trip out of state. Melissa remembers being a vaguely out of control youth and knows that a trip out of state is code for one of two things, and Chrissy doesn't look like she's ever been pregnant. Chrissy seems like a girl who might like their daughter.

Steve would die before he denies Robin just about anything. She is the platonic love of his life, they nearly died together, they've come out together. He's pretty sure as long as he has Robin and his kids he'd be content for the rest of his life, romance be damned.

A sentiment Robin seems to agree with since she wants him to fake being her boyfriend. Obviously, he says yes. Steve is a good boyfriend, he's always been a good boyfriend. He's attentive, great with parents, knows when to keep the pda to a minimum but also knows when to put on a show. He used to be pretty sure that Mr. and Mrs. Buckley liked him. So he's not really sure why they pulled him aside before movie night.

"Your parents hate me."

"There isn't a parent in Hawkins who hates you."

"You mom just asked me if I didn't think it might be better if I found someone more suited to me."

"What does that even mean?"

"It's basically mom code for I think your the worst person my daughter could have brought home. If I had the choice I'd kill you so why don't you do us both a favor and fuck off."

"I don't think that's right."

"Rob, I love you but conversational nuance isn't exactly your thing."

Eddie likes his job. Sure it's technically not honest work, but who knows maybe down the line they'll legalize it. He's getting in on the ground floor, an entrepreneur. Hawkins is surprisingly pro-weed and Eddie is just fine sticking to that after this summer. His favorite customers are the old folks. Like Miss Brenda at the library or the Buckleys. He always brings Chrissy along when he goes out these days, she feels weird staying in the trailer by herself and he likes having her nearby. She puts people at ease.

Except the Buckleys, who seem strangely obsessed with her. They ask her pointed questions about Dorothy, and surely they mean an actual Dorothy, surely the nice middle aged couple aren't trying to figure out if Chrissy is queer. Sure he got some vibes off of Buckley the younger, but that was before she started dating the love of his life. Now he's starting to think his whole gaydar has gone to shit.

Chrissy, a baby gay who has just broken free of the nastiest case of comp het Eddie has ever seen, answer honestly. She doesn't know a Dorothy, is that one of Robin's band friends? How is Robin, she is so sweet. Chrissy just wishes she had more time in the day so they could see each other more. She's dating Steve right, they make just the cutest couple, don't they think?

Eddie can tell Melissa doesn't. A surprise when even Wayne likes Steve Harrington, thinks he's the bees knees. Loaned him a screwdriver or some shit when the guy was over fixing something at the Mayfield place. She smiles though and agrees that Steve is quite sweet, in a tone that Eddie is far more used to hearing used when people are talking about him than about Steve Harrington. He blinks and the next thing he knows Chrissy is agreeing for them both that dinner on Friday sounds lovely; she'll bring a dessert.

Like she's ever baked in her life.

Chrissy Cunningham has had a rough couple of months, but she's settled now. Sure, she had a breakdown so bad in Eddie's trailer that she ended up having to get professional help; but she got that help and a new support system for herself. Really, the only way life could be much better is if she were dating Robin Buckley.

Eddie likes to tease her, calls her a baby gay like she's a wobbly legged deer still figuring things out. She's had eyes on Robin since the fifth grade, when she got her hair cut short to her shoulders the first time and her teeth still had a gap before her braces went on. Steve is a great guy, she's seen him with the group of freshmen that follow him around like ducklings; she's also watching him now and he's spent most of dinner making moon eyes at Eddie instead of his girlfriend.

She doesn't understand how, Robin is a vision. Full of spit and vinegar, she is firecracker mad glaring at her parents across the table. "You really brought him here? I'm dating Steve, can you not accept that?"

A lot happens at once, Chrissy isn't entirely sure what is going on but it feels a lot like a pot boiling over, something left too long unattended.

"We aren't trying to set you up with our dealer," Mr. Buckley said. "You're not exactly his type."

"Chrissy is such a nice girl." Mrs. Buckley tries.

"You said you stopped that," Steve to Eddie, a lethal pout on his lips and downturned eyes.

"Well, I stopped with the kids," Eddie tries, "I gotta pay the bills somehow, sweetheart."

"Chrissy?" If Robin was a vision in her sharp eyed rage, she's radiant in her pink cheeked surprise.

Once the shock, surprise, and comedy wear off Chrissy thinks there will be tears. Robin's parents seem nice. They seem like the kind of parents you confide in and who hold you tight. She thinks about her mom doing something thoughtful, thinks of her quietly accepting who she is and who she loves; and when she can't do that she thinks of Wayne and Eddie and knows she'd cry once they were alone and the theater of it all was over. So she thinks she might need to make the most of her moment while it's there. "I don't want to be a homewrecker," she jokes, something she's picked up from Eddie, "but I think your boyfriend has his eyes other places."

"Boyfriend, what boyfriend?"

"They're showing Clue at The Hawk this weekend, if you want to go with me?"

Robin can't nod her head fast enough.

"Stevie, I noticed you find yourself newly single," Eddie says, sorrow so fake he should rethink his decision to go within 10 feet of the drama department. "If you could bear it, would you want to crash their date make it a double?"

Steve agrees so fast a bit of hair escapes his coif, it falls in a curl at his forehead.

Robin's parents both seem pleased, pleasant smiles that chrissy is becoming more accustomed to seeing on adults now that she resides in the Munson place. "They'll be smug about this forever," Robin confides. Her smile betrays her lack of real dismay.

Chrissy got her girl and her best friend got his boy, so she thinks it's all's well that ends well.

#steddie #steddie fic #buckingham #buckingham st #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #robin x chrissy #steve harrington #steve and robin #platonic stobin #platonic hellcheer #robin buckley's parents #am i using comedy of errors correctly? the world may never know #listen somebody deserves good adult authority figures in their life and this time it gets to be eddie and robin #inspired by rebel robin in which its revealed that robins parents are like hippies #i havent read it but ive seen that go around so i have adopted it #fear of coming out still exists even if your parents are chill #no one wants to learn the hardway that that was their line in the sand you know

467 notes · View notes

melanieph321 · 9 months ago

Text

Dusan Vlahovic x Reader - Boss Me Around Part 1/6

I'm so excited for this one!🤭

Reader is a former yacht girl now newly moved to Turin, Italy for her job as a real-estate accountant. There she meets Dusan Vlahovic, a former client of hers, a client she never thought to see again. However, with Dusan being Readers new boss their past becomes a liability. Nevertheless the spark between them still lives. This story is a romcom with both His and Her POV!

Enjoy!

Miami did get a little crazy in the summer, thankfully it was your last year being a yacht girl. Yupp, you were keeping your promise. Once you were out of college you were putting your flip flops on a shelf and stuffing your bikini in the back of your pantie drawer. It was time to grow up and stop treating life like a circus. It was time to get a real job.

"But you'll still visit me when you move to Italy, won't you?" Izzy said, as the two of you shared a scooter on your way to the marina.

"Are you kidding? With my new salary I'm flying you out to visit me. We'll have so much fun together in Turin."

Although it was considered a job, you had formed many great friendships through yachting. Izzy was your best friend in the game, the one you never road without. If it hadn't been for Izzy teaching you the ways of the yachting game, you might as well have ended up in some really bad situations that a lot a girls do whilst seeking the fast way to earn some cash. It was important not to get too in awe of the experience. Izzy had tought you that. Izzy had also taught you that the biggest mistake girls in yachting did was fall in love with a client, a mistake you were thankful you had avoided throughout your career. Although college boys never realky gained your interest either.

"So who's this guy anyway?" You asked. "A nepo baby looking to party?"

"More like a self made billionaire. Raul says he owns like half of Serbia when it comes to real-estate."

"Impressive." You nodded. Your last job as as a yacht girl would be a breezer. It was easier to deal with rich entrepreneurs than spoiled nepo babies who believed to rule the world.

Or so you thought.

********************************************

"I think they're here." Alex said, looking over the boat deck, keeping an eye out for the girls. Once he spotted them Dusan rose from his taning bed, on his way to alert the crew to prepare the boat for departure.

"There's only two of them." Alex said, looking displeased as he returned from the deck, approaching his friend.

"Yes, one for you and one for me." Dusan said, pointing between the two of them.

"Man, you really have gone soft." Alex sighed. He was already suprised to be invited for a fun day out on his friend's new yacht, only to find the vessel empty of people if you excluded the crew members. "What happened to the old Dusan?" He said. "The one that likes to party. The one that taught me that the more the merrier, huh?"

Dusan chuckled. "I guess he's retired."

"At twenty four? How sad."

"Look, we can still have a good time. The girls said that they were up for anything."

"Yeah, but if I know you you're probably gonna ask them to watch you take a nap."

Dusan shook his head, a smile in his lips.

"When did you get so boring man, is that what a billion dollar empire does to you?"

Dusan opened his mouth to get back at his friend but that's when they heard voices below.

"Hello, anybody home?"

"Up hear!" Dusan shouted, a minute passing before they heard footsteps climbing the stairs. Two girls emerged, dressed in nothing but strips of fabric, bikini's barley covering enough.

"Hi, I heard you guys were looking to party." The blond one said. Her hair was cut short with several tattoos covering her arms.

"Yeah, that's us." Alex grinned.

"Well, the party has arrived." She cheered.

Dusan had nothing against girls with short and bleached hair, but tattoos never did it for him.

"Great. How would you girls like your martinis?"

"Dry." The blond girl was quick to make clear. "And no olives."

"Got it, dry and no olives. How about your friend?"

All eyes turned to the second girl who's presence hadn't been as notisble as her friend. But now that he had his eyes in her, Dusan found it almost impossible to diverge his attention from her.

"Y/N?"

"Huh?" The girl seemed distracted, her gaze having stuck to a point below Dusan's chin. He wasn't wearing a shirt, only swimming trunks. Perhaps she found it rude, him introducing himself half naked. Not that she was any better.

"What drink do you want?" Her friend asked, in a bit if a rush to get the party started. The crew was heard above their heads, the yacht would set sail at any minute now.

"S...ame as you." The girl stuttered. Her voice was unique. It was quite deep but in a very feminine way.

"No olives?" Her friend confirmed.

"No olives." The girl nodded. Her friend then followed Alex downstairs to the bar, leaving Dusan with no trail of thought in the presence of the girl which his eyes had yet diverge from.

"You have a very nice boat." She said, trying to somther the rise of an awkward silence.

"Um, thank you." Dusan said, clearing his throat. "It's new actually."

"I can see that." She seemed fairly fascinated, as she dared approach the boats railing, admiring the view of Miami Beach.

"Yeah, how so?" Dusan asked, joining her side. But instead of admiring the view, he couldn't help but to admire her. She had eyes that sparked something within him, a sudden thrill.

"What do you mean?" A frown ruined her face.

Dusan felt the need to make himself clear. "You said that you could tell that my yacht is brand new, how so?"

"Oh." She turned for her back to rest against the railing, her eyes now wandering across the newly swiped deck. "Well, it's every billionaires dream to own a boat and put it on display in Miami, or am I wrong?"

"I don't know." Dusan smiled. He was quite entertained. "I've never heard of this fenomenon. Surley the expert is you considering your experience with billionaires and boats."

The girl's eyebrow rose with interest, however Dusan's slik comment did not seem to have insulted her.

"Perhaps it's not every billionaires dream." She said, turning her head to face him. Again, her eyes sparked a thrill within Dusan, a thrill he was more than excited to explore. "But it sure is every newly crowned billionaires dream."

He wrinkled his nose.

The girl had a twinkle in her eyes. "My friend googled your net worth on our way here."

"I see." Dusan nodded. "Fair enough. I may or might not have bought this yacht in honor of my business flourishing this past year. However I'm not planning on docking it in Miami for display."

"Your gonna sail it across the seven seas?"

Dusan snorted, unintentionally of course. How did she make him do that? Her comment caught him of gaurd. "Not really." He said, collecting himself. "I'll have a friend of mine bring it home for me. He's more of a professional."

"Yeah, that's probably a better idea. Sailing a boat through pirate infested waters can be tricky without experience."

Again, the girl made him chuckled. It was pathetic how tipsy he came across. The girl must smell the glass of champagne he had earlier on his breath and think he's one of those creeps to invite yacht girls on their boats just to get them drunk. He had to assure her that he wasn't like that. He had to assure her that she could feel safe with him.

"We got martinis!"

Just as he was about to ensure her safety, the girl's friend showed up, followed by Alex who carried a tray of filled glasses. "Let's get this party started!" He said, handing out the drinks, making sure everyone had a glass in their hand for a toast. "To a lovely day, spent with two lovely girls." He said, as cheesy as ever.

"Cheers to that!" The blond girl said, rasing her glass.

Before downing his drink Dusan turned to her friend, making sure that she looked to be having a good time as well. He was suprised to find her smiling at him, an empty martini glass in her hand. "Drink up." She winked.

Dusan did exactly that. He would do whatever she asked him to, whatever.

#fanfiction #football imagine #dusan vlahovic imagine #dusan vlahovic x reader #dusan vlahovic #juventus #italy #italia #turin

54 notes · View notes

eddiemunsons-missingnipple · 2 years ago

Text

Mr. Munson

Pairings: Older! Eddie Munson x younger fem!reader

Summary: You made a new friend at work, and she invites you over to spend the weekend with her. Her father takes a liking to you, and you find yourself giving him a helping hand late one night.

Warnings Eddie is in his 40s. The reader is in her 20s. Unprotected sex. Back riding (Is that a thing? idk I'm needy)

Not proof read ignore any mistakes

18+ minors do not enter.

Eddie and his daughter have always been close it was just the two of them since she was just a few days old. Her mother, who was also his fiancé decided to pack up in the middle of the night and leave them. There was no explanation why or how to fix things. He tried being the best dad he could for Chelsea. He worked hard, and sometimes he'd even have to bring her with him some days.

Eddie was determined to give his daughter a struggle free life. He was going to become successful no matter what he had to do to get there. Eventually, he did get there when he opened up a mechanic shop in town. Then, eventually, his own record store as well. He became an entrepreneur and made his own schedule.

His daughter never missed out on anything except having a mother in her life. That's one thing Eddie just couldn't succeed in. He tried dating around and having girlfriends. Only bringing them around his baby girl when he felt like it was getting serious. Just his luck, though they never stuck around too, long.

After a while, he gave up only doing casual dating and a hook ups here and there. Eddie being single meant him and his daughter grew a bond he wished others got to have. She was funny and sarcastic, just like him. They both had a twisted sense of humor, so some people got offended when they would hear them go back and forth.

Eddie wouldn't trade it for the world, though. This is why he also has trouble letting her go. He insisted she still live with him while going to college and working. Using the excuse that she should save up her money and move out when she's financially stable. When Chelsea finally got a new job in town and made a friend just a few years older, he didn't think anything of it until when he finally met you.

"Hey, dad, can my friend from work spend the night? " Chelsea asked as she was tossing her bag on the couch.

"You know you're an adult. You don't have to ask permission?" He said, not looking up as he was preparing them dinner. "Yeah, I know, but it's still polite to ask." He smirks when he hears her sarcastic tone while entering the kitchen.

"When is she coming over?"

"This weekend after she gets out of class."

Nodding his head and tossing the knife he used to chop onions in the sink. "That's fine, no boys, though." his daughter rolls her eyes at him. Even though she's an adult, now he's still weary of men in her life. He can be a tad bit over protective, but his heart is in the right place.

That weekend, after you got out of class, you practically ran to your friends car. You can't remember the last time you were this excited for a sleepover. You felt like a teenager all over again. Tossing your bags in the back seat, you jump in, squealing with excitement.

"I can't wait to just have a girls' weekend. I'm so sick of college, " you sigh, throwing your head back into the seat.

Chelsea just laughed at you turning the radio up a little bit. Sleeping with sirens plays softly through the speakers as you both ride through the neighborhood with the windows down. "Hey, my dad will probably be home, but don't worry, he's not like weird or anything. He's cool." Chelsea said over the music playing. Looking over at her, you nod your okay and go back to listening to the music.

Arriving to the Munson residents, you notice a few motorcycles parked in the driveway and a muscle car next to them. Honestly, from what Chelsea has said about her dad, you'd never guess he'd live out in this preppy suburban neighborhood.

They lived in one of those big mcmansions with fountain in the front yard. You felt a little out of place now being here. Chelsea always told you her dad made good money and made sure she had a better life than he did. He spoiled her rotten, and she wasn't afraid to admit it. You never grew up like she did. It was just you and your mom.

Your friend nudges you from your thoughts and pulls you through the front door. Kicking your shoes off to the side. Taking a look around your surroundings, you notice tons of pictures on the walls. Some of just Chelsea as a baby with a curly haired man. You assume that's her dad since he's in almost all of her baby pictures. There were some of him playing with a band on stage, too. He looked like such a fun and energetic guy. You can see why Chelsea loved him so much and always said what a great dad he was to her.

"Dad, are you home?" Chelsea yells in the foyer walking towards the kitchen.

"I'm in here sweet pea" He called back to her.

She motions for you to follow her, and your heart begins to race a little. "Dad this is my friend from work." She said introducing you.

He looks up from his magazine and stares for a moment too long. He licks his lips and extends his arm, going in for a handshake.

"Nice to meet you, sweetheart." He said, looking deeply into your eyes.

"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Munson" you say clearing you throat.

You don't know what it was, but something about the way he's looking at you made you feel funny. Funny in a good way like butterflies in your stomach. After removing your hand from his and introducing yourself, his eyes never once left you. Chelsea finally spoke up, telling you two would be going to her room now. Giving an okay and eyes still lingering on you, taking in every curve on your body, waved you both a goodbye.

"Well, that was not as awkward as I thought it was gonna be" Chelsea said flopping back on her bed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I don't usually bring friends over often," Chelsea confessed to you.

Eddie had left his magazine behind and headed upstairs, wanting to ask you guys if takeout is alright for dinner. He was really just using it as an excuse to get another look at you, though. He stopped at the door and listened to your conversation. He felt bad for it he had never eavesdropped on his daughter before. He just wanted to hear if maybe you were talking about him.

"If I'm being honest, I think my dad likes you," he heard his daughters muffled voice through the door.

"What makes you think that?" You laugh awkwardly.

"Oh, please, I saw how he was looking at you.

Oh my god, I just had a thought. What if you became my stepmom?" Chelsea kept going on and on.

You look at her with a shocked expression, shaking your head at her being ridiculous.

"I'm like, almost your age chells." You told her trying to act like you didn't want that.

"No listen, that would be so cool you being my stop mom. I've never had one before, and you're my best friend it's a win-win situation." She said, her voice perking up more.

"Yeah, until I like have to bang him"

"Oh please, so what l mean yeah, it would be a little awko taco at first, but I'll get over it. Besides, he needs to get some," she said, laughing at her own joke.

"Chelsea, I really don't want to talk about me banging your dad with you," you told her, hoping to change the conversation.

Eddie slowly backs away from the door and sneaks back downstairs. He wasn't offended by what his daughter was saying. That was her sense of humor, and he loved it.

Later that night, you try to sneak downstairs for a glass of water. Going to open the cabinet, the kitchen light suddenly cuts on, causing you to jump. Turning around quickly to see who's behind you, you see him. He's standing with arms crossed over his bare tattooed chest. Leaning against the wall, he's giving you that look again.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Munson if I woke you."

He doesn't say anything back he's just staring at you with a smirk slowly creeping up on his face.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I was already awake. I'm having some back pain." He finally spoke up.

He moves away from the wall and slowly makes his way to stand in front of you."Do I make you nervous?" He whispers in your ear. Moving to look back at your face, you don't say anything. You just nod your head, yes, which earns you a soft chuckle from the older man. He rubs his scruffy beard and backs away to sit at the counter.

"There is nothing to be nervous about."

You still don't move from the place you've been standing in. You finally speak up trying to ease the tension in the room.

"Why is your back hurting? Did you pull something?"

He looks up at you with a smile. He jesters for you to get closer to him. "Can you help me with something?"

"Sure." You say as he grabs your hand, gently leading you down a dark hallway. He opens his door and motions for you to enter first.

Noticing this is his bedroom, you turn quickly to face him. He told his hands up, showing you he means no harm. "I was just wondering if you could rub my back is all." He said, sitting at the edge of his king-sized bed.

"Um, okay, what do you want me to do?" You aks him nervously.

He gets up and gets some massage oil from his large black dresser. He tosses it to you and goes to lay on his stomach. You move slowly and sit on the side of his bed, almost hanging off. "It would be better if you kinda straddle my back," nodding okay. You move to straddle his back, cursing yourself for wearing a night gown.

"Squirt some oil all over my back and pay close attention to my shoulders, sweetheart"

You pour a little too much of the oil on his back and begin to knead his tense muscles. Eddie, let's out low groan and shifts slightly, making his back put some added pressure on your clothed cunt. You continue kneading his shoulders and in between his shoulder blades.

Eddie moans loud at your skilled fingers, easing his tense muscles. His back is so slippery from the oil that it's hard to steady yourself on him without sliding around. The more you move around on him, the more your aching cunt begs for more. The way he's moaning is going right to your core, and you're thankful he won't notice the wet patch on your panties.

He lifts his hips and flexes his muscles underneath you. You bite your lip to stifle a moan at the friction. "You okay back there?" his voice makes you jump. "Im okay," you say a little too quickly. He smiles to himself, knowing exactly what's going on back there. He speaks up again,

"Take your panties off" he says with his low husky voice.

"What? Um, I don't think -" You try to argue, but he cuts you off. "Take them off and take care of yourself while you take care of me,"

He commands while reaching back and patting your thigh. You do as you're told and remove them, lowering your core against him. "Put more oil down, sweetheart, so you can glide around." He bites his lip, and you begin to pour more oil down his back.

The feeling makes him groan louder, and he jerks his hips back against you, causing you to whimper. Your needy pussy is practically crying out for you to grind on him. Spreading your legs a little wider so you can be closer to him. You begin to slowly move your hips in a circular motion on his back. Grinding yourself on him giving your aching pussy exactly what it needs.

Your breathing is becoming shallow, and you start moving back and forth against him a little harder. He shifts ever so slightly while you grind yourself on him, causing more friction on your pussy. Throwing your head back, you let out a loud moan while you use his back to get you off.

You begin to rock and back forth faster the wet slick noise of your wet pussy and oil mixing together makes Eddie's cock painfully hard. He can feel your thighs flex and squeeze at his sides. He can tell you're getting close. "Come on baby, use me, go faster."

"That's a good girl." You move to lean back and rest your hands on his ass. Grinding down harder on him, you feel a tightness in your core beginning to build.

"Mmmm, I'm gonna getting close, Mr. Munson" You moan out, voice sounding so needy.

"That's okay baby come on me. let your pussy soak my back" You move to lean forward gripping his shoulders as you grind down on him. You can feel it building up more, and you're getting closer to your release. You begin to practically bounce on him until your legs start to shake and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

You bend forward, pressing your fourhead to the back of his neck crying out for him. You try to continue grinding on him to help ride out your orgasm. "Fuuuuck, I'm coming." You say finally collapsing and rolling off him. Your clit is pulsing at the intensity of your orgasm.

Eddie turns over to check on you and taps your cheek lightly with the palm of his hand. "You with me, baby?" Your eyes slowly open, and you look him in the eyes. He smiles down at you and shifts up on his knees. He starts to take off his sweat pants, stopping for a moment. "Is this okay? "Do you want to continue?" He asks you with genuine concern.

"Please fuck me I need you." Biting your lower lip.

He grins wide and grips his thick cock in his hands. You move to sit up a bit and remove your night gown, licking your lips when you see drops of precum leaking from his angry pink tip. You lay back down, and Eddie moves to position himself between your legs. He rubs the head of his cock at your tight entrance and curses under his breath.

He slowly sinks himself inside you inch by inch slowly spreading you open around him. Both of you throw your heads back, letting out a soft groan. "Fuck" He whispers to himself. Moving, he leans over you, hooking your leg over his arm while the other is his around his waist. He starts pulling in and out of you painfully slow. You move your head to the side, and Eddie takes the opportunity to attack the soft flesh on your throat.

He starts thrusting into you faster, making your tits bounce in his face. He bends down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth sucking hard. He bites down a little, making you scream out. His cock is pumping into you so hard and you swear you've never felt this full before in your life. Looking you down you try to see him fucking into you.

"Does my girl wanna watch herself get fucked?" He said in your ear before nipping at it.

"Yes, please,"

He laughs, and let's go of your leg moving to kneel on the bed. He takes the back of your head and holds it steady so you can watch his cock spread your pussy open. "You like that, huh?" All you could do was moan in response. Eddie begins fucking you hard and you swear you can see his cock buldge in your stomach. That tight feeling in your core is returning, and you know you won't last much longer.

"Please make me come again. I'm so close. Please, Mr. Muson"

He moves his hand from your head to play with your clit. He rubs your sensitive bud in tight circles until you start squirming under him.

"You're so wet and so fucking tight" He said clenching his teeth.

He begins to rub your clit faster and your pussy clenches around him. Eddie throws his head back at the feeling of you around him. He doesn't stop playing with your bundle of nerves between your legs until it has you shaking beneath him. Your second orgasm washes over you so intensely that you claw at his back.

Eddie can feel himself getting closer, too, with every stroke of his cock. The bed squeaking, and the sound of your wet pussy being fucked is the only thing filling your ears. You can feel Eddie's cock twitch inside of you and with a few more powerful strokes he's spilling his cum all inside your velvety walls. He let's out a long, loud moan. you have never before heard a man be this vocal before.

He stills for a moment, catching his breath and slowly pulls out of your sore pussy making his cum leak out. He rolls over onto his back and lets out a breathy laugh rubbing his face. You look over at him, wondering what was so funny.

"Fuck I haven't came that hard in so long." He confessed breaking the silence.

"Me either." You agreed.

He moves and grabs your face, gently giving you a soft and gentle kiss to the lips.

"Does your back feel better, at least? " You asked him shyly.

"Oh sweetheart, my back feels like a million bucks, sweetheart."

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #older!eddie #my writing

478 notes · View notes

barbsgirlfriend · 10 months ago

Text

Velvet & Veneer Headcanons Pt. 3

(If you notice inconsistencies between posts it is because I use google translate. My first language isn’t English, it is Swedish. And I also changed some stuff)

Velvet✨✨

Basics

Full name

Velvet Lyric Mazzola

Alias

Vel (pretty much everyone), sis (Veneer)

Age & DOB

19 31/7/05

Gender & Pronouns

Cis Female She/her

Sexuality

Lesbian

Occupation

Singer & Performer

Religion

Agnostic

Appearance

Weight

68.95 kg (152 lbs)

Height

192 cm (6’3)

Body Shape

Rectangle

Body Type

Mesomorph

Skin Color

White

Face Shape

Circle

Hair

Long, wavy, healthy, bright green

Eyes

Round shaped, bright blue

Normal Apparel

Extravagant clothing, skirts, jean shorts, crop tops, makeup

Distinguishing features

Beauty mark above lip, scar on her left arm from childhood, dimples, five tattoos, and a big ahh forehead

Personality

Personality Type

ESTP-A (the entrepreneur)

Short Description

Velvet is extremely goal-orientated, and would put her friends or family down to reach her own goals. She strives for attention and love. Velvet might seem mean on the outside, but deep down she has a soft spot for her twin brother, Veneer. She’s extremely protective of her loved ones, but she isn’t the most reliable. Velvet barks more than she bites, but she can knock a bitch down.

Traits

Mean, ambitious, artistic, humorous, intelligent, controlling, protective, talented, somewhat toxic, and strong

Likes

Bubble baths, perfume, money, shopping, expensive clothes, praise, candles, mani pedis, the beach, purple crop tops, and roses

Dislikes

Trolls, being ignored, cheap perfumes, the feel of velvet fabrics 💀, her parents, being bossed around, balloons

Hobbies

Singing, dancing, songwriting, yoga, sketching makeup ideas, collecting vintage magazines, hairstyling, and zip lining

Fears

Thantophobia, atychiphobia, athazagoraphobia, cynophobia

Backstory

On July 31st, 2005, Velvet was born along with her younger twin brother. Her parents only wanted a boy, so she never got a lot of attention. She was cared for on and off by her parents and grandparents. Velvet made a strong connection with her grandmother, January, who was a famous singer in her days. Her grandmother was the main reason she wanted to start singing.

At the age of six, she was enrolled to a private primary school with her brother. Velvet became instantly popular for her famous grandmother and dentist parents. She became friends with almost everybody and loved her younger years. In year 3, her grandmother passed away. It was difficult on Velvet as she lost her main caretaker and friend.

At the start of secondary school, Velvet started becoming rebellious. She and Veneer would sneak out of the house to go to parties, smoke, etc. Eventually, the two were caught. As a punishment, they were given too many activities to worry about instead of sneaking off. She really started to despise her parents.

Velvet would skip her extracurriculars and use her free time to hangout with her friends or sleep. In year 12, she started dating. Velvet was dating the goalie for the school’s football team. However, he was a cunt. He was toxic and emotionally abusive towards Velvet.

This relationship was very draining for her. It made Velvet’s mental health really decline. One day, she got into a heated argument, and he hit her. Velvet went to protect herself, but Veneer jumped in and beat the fuck out of him. Safe to say, he never messed with her again.

Around that time, she started her singing career. Velvet would post her songs on SoundCloud, and got a few thousand followers! She felt consumed by the fame and wanted MORE. Velvet convinced her twin brother to start singing with her a bit after. They became insanely famous stupidly fast.

Velvet was blinded by her fame and money, making her toxic and controlling. It was so bad that she had to go to weekly therapy to control herself. She moved out of her parents house and into a beach home for her and Veneer.

She lives with Veneer right outside of Mount Rageous. she’s pretty happy now. She loves her life and how far she’s come.

Favorites & Least Favorites

Food

F: East Coast oysters. LF: scrambled eggs

Drink

F: raspberry lemonade. LF: Pepsi

Song

F: Agora Hills (Doja Cat). LF: 9 to 5 (Dolly Parton) she’s sick and tired of crimp singing it

Season

F: Summer. LF: winter

Place

F: her grandmother’s music hall. LF: childhood room

Color

F: purple. LF: red

Relationships

Mother: Veronica Mazzola/56/living

Father: Valentino Mazzola Jr./58/living

Brother: Veneer Mazzola/19/living

Other: Grandma/Mom’s Side/January Harmony/85/deceased, Grandpa/Dad’s Side/Valentino Mazzola Sr./92/deceased

Lover(s): Joey/20/living/ex, Orchid/18/living

Other

Birthplace: Mount Rageous

Residence: 5 miles out of Mount Rageous in a Beach House

Nationality: Mount Rageon

Ethnicity: Mount Rageon

Veneer

General

Full Name

Veneer Adagio Mazzola

Alias

Ven (almost everyone), bro (Velvet)

Age & DOB

19 31/7/05

Gender & Pronouns

Cis male He/him

Sexuality

Bisexual with pref for men

Occupation

Singer & Performer

Religion

Christian

Appearance

Weight

67.13 kg (148 lbs)

Height

183 cm (6’0)

Body Shape

Rectangle

Body type

Ectomorph

Skin Color

White

Face shape

Circle

Hair

Medium, wavy, soft, bright green

Eyes

Round and bright blue

Normal Apparel

Extravagant clothing, heels, jeans, t-shirts, tank tops, bracelets, earrings

Distinguishing features

Scar on upper lip, tooth gap, and three tattoos

Personality

Personality type

ESFJ-A (the consul)

Short Description

Veneer is extremely smart… like VERY smart. He’s insane with how good his intuition is and how quick he can find your biggest insecurities. Veneer is goal-orientated like his older twin sister, but he’s more secretive about it. To most, he only seems to be a flamboyant himbo. But in reality, Veneer is a caring but shady bitch.

Traits

Loud, judgy, overall friendly, happy-go-lucky, flamboyant, sensitive, protective, strong, talented, intelligent, mean

Likes

Pop music, gossip, anything gucci, the champagne toast scent from BaBW, beanies, vintage clothing, expensive jewelry, smell of gasoline

Dislikes

Cheap food, being bossed around, cigarettes, Velvet spraying perfume on him, being tickled, being alone, lavender scent, having no money

Hobbies

Dancing, singing, gardening, shopping, sketching fashion ideas, crocheting, acting, playing tennis, fishing

Fears

Atychiphobia, acrophobia, traumatophobia

Backstory

On July 31st, 2005, Veneer was born along with his older twin sister. Their parents only wanted a boy, so Veneer got the most attention growing up. He was spoiled to death by his parents, but it made him uncomfortable. Ever since he was a toddler, he was weirded out by his parents. However, there was an important figure in his life that made him not uncomfy: Valentino Mazzola Sr.

His grandfather supported his love of dance and acting, but also taught him “manly” things. Veneer was very close to his grandfather. He started attending a private primary school with his twin sister. Quickly, he became popular; not just by his family being famous. Veneer was an extremely nice kid in Primary School.

In middle school, Veneer started to experiment with who he was. He started painting his nails, got his ears pierced, and acted more feminine. But this angered his parents; they said that they didn’t want a gay child. With that, he started becoming very secretive. Veneer didn’t talk to certain people for months on end.

When he got to year 10, his grandfather past away. It was really hard on Veneer. On top of all the stressful activities he had to do; he had to suffer loss. This was when Velvet and Veneer started their singing career. (Ha that rhymed).

He felt so happy that people adored him; he felt even happier his sister was getting the attention she deserved. Due to getting famous, Veneer really stopped caring. He became himself and didn’t give two shits if his parents started complaining.

Veneer became an icon in Mount Rageous quickly. He is just as greedy with his fame as Velvet, but he can control himself more. He loves his life, his family, his boho chic home decorations, and his money.

Favorites & Least Favorites

Food

F: Lobster tail LF: coconut

Drink

F: Pipeline Punch Monster LF: sparkling water

Song

F: I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman (Britney Spears) LF: Rude Boy (Rihanna)

Season

F: Fall LF: Winter

Place

F: the beach LF: elevators

Color