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rhaenyslay · 30 days

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Study Buddy (1)

Michael Gavey x reader

Summary: when study partners are assigned, Michael - much to the envy of the boys in their class (and the girls) - is given (y/n) as his partner, but he might be the only one in the class who didn't want it.

Warnings: swearing like once, some sexual references at the end

Word count: 1.1K

A/N: hey hotties, sorry this one is short, I'm hoping to do a few parts so if you have any ideas or comments let me know :p

ʚ♡ɞ “NOW, I WANT to encourage you all to socialise a little more," Professor Wickes announces in his gruff voice, clearing his throat and pushing his glasses back up his aquiline nose, sighing as he rests his aging palms against the top of his monogamy desk, "as, well... you could all use it."

The class of introverted - for lack of a better word - maths nerds stare back at him, scowling a little at his words, but not protesting.

"Besides, your next exam is worth a fair amount, so I want to make sure you're all sharp." He continues, sitting down in his seat with a sigh,

"We've allocated you all a..." he looks down at the paper in his hand and sighs, closing his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks up at the other man in the room, Professor Müller - an overly enthusiastic, young, recent graduate who had become head of something or other involved in initiatives to improve this or that. "You seriously want me to call it that?" Professor Wickes asks, looking at Professor Müller, who nods with enthusiasm. Professor Wickes sighs and mumbles something under his breath before continuing, A study buddy... we've allocated you all a... study buddy."

The students all glance around the room, their eyes landing on (y/n) - mostly the boys - with suppressed giddy grins and shy waves, eyes running up and down her. She scowls a little and scoffs, sliding further into her seat a little, arms folded over her chest as she tries to cover it a little, noticing one boy - Thomas Roland - staring at them.

Your tutorial groups will now also be a little different, they will be with just you and your study partner - only until the exam." Professor Wilkes explains, putting down a sheet of paper on his desk, "come and look then."

The students, notably the boys, practically shoot out of their seats, rushing to read it. After a few seconds, they turn with scowls. Their eyes all fix on a figure sat at the table in the back corner of the room, head down, hand writing furiously against his notebook. At the feeling of their stares, he lifts his head, adjusting his glasses.

“What?" Asks Michael.

Their eyes then trail to (y/n), sat in her seat, phone out, laughing to herself at something someone said, twirling a strand of her hair, crossing and uncrossing her legs to adjust her leather skirt and tights. She, too, feels their stares and looks up.

"What?"

"Are you free this afternoon?" (Y/n) asks, trailing behind Michael, who is walking quickly through the corridors of Magdalen College.

"No."

“This evening?" She continues, having to run a little to catch up, the heels of her leather boots clicking against the stone floors as she does.

"No.”

She sighs, "tomorrow?"

"No."

"When then?"

She sighs and speeds up so she's stood in front of him, stopping him from walking. He sighs and rolls his eyes, his grip tightening on his textbook that's clutched to his chest.

"Why don't you want to study with me? Do you not like me or something?" (Y/n) asks, a confused furrowing of her brows adorning her face, "I mean... sorry if I, like, give a bad vibe or something.”

He scoffs at her words and rolls his eyes again.

"See!" She says at his scoff and eye rolling, "you have a problem with me."

“I don't have a problem with you, I have a problem with... your kind." Michael replies.

"My... kind?" An amused smile and raised eyebrows form on her face, "please tell me you aren't one of those guys who are always like 'ugh society... nice guys.... females..’”

Michael blushes, "No. But 'female’ is the correct ter-"

"Oh, my God, please stop before I gag." (Y/n) replies with a grimace, "let's not.”

He rolls his eyes and tries to walk past her. (Y/n) sighs and holds her hands up, "Come on, it's just a couple of study sessions. We don't even have to talk, just a chill vi-" she's about to say vibe, but feels his incoming scoff, "atmosphere."

He sighs.

"Look, an hour, tops. She says, "besides." she pauses a moment, her eyes looking up as she seemingly finds the courage to continue, "I could.. I could actually use some study help.”

“..."

Michael's eyebrow raises a little, "you?"

"Yes."

"Need help?"

"Yep."

"From... me?"

"No, that random guy there. She says sarcastically, pointing to some passing student who looks at her and back steps, thinking she was calling him over, "no-sorry, no, I.. she apologises to the student and sighs, "just... nothing." The student looks at her weirdly before continuing on his way down the corridor.

"Just... please?" She asks, turning back to Michael.

He's silent a moment. He's considering it.

"I work alone."

She closes her eyes and takes a breath, "please?" (Y/n) thinks to herself and then continues, "I’ll give you something in return. I could pay you? Like a tutor?"

"I don't need money"

"You're a student of course you need money.”

"I don't want money."

She groans, "Well I'm not going to fuck you."

Michael's eyes widen and he blushes deeply, flustered, "Well... I don't want you to."

"What do you want then?"

He thinks again. He could ask for... no, that's too shallow. Too stupid. It would go against everything he stands for, it would compromise his values and his inte-

"Get me invited to a party."

She raises a brow at the request. But she nods.

"Okay, deal"

Michael kicks himself internally, pissed at himself for asking for such a shallow thing - but he also can't ignore the little spark of excitement that flickers in his tummy too. He composes himself and nods, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"I'm... I'm free now, if you want to get it over with." Michael suggests.

"I thought you were busy?" (Y/n) asks with a grin.

“...shut up."

They start to walk. She laughs and links her arm with his, "lead the way.”

He quickly moves away, pushing her arm off and hugging his textbook tighter, "don't touch me."

“Why? Worried you'll get hard?"

He blushes deeply and scoffs, turning his head and stepping further away from her. But he doesn't reply.

"Oh, my God, you are such a virgin!"

"Shut up." ʚ♡ɞ

#saltburn #saltburn fanfiction #michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey x you #x reader #fanfiction #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader

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starryficsfinishwen · 2 months

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✧。◟ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ! — PGR Men x reader

last night, I laid in bed so blue / then I realized the truth!

summary // how do your favorite constructs kiss you?

a.n. - post Valentine's post :D I've been so busy with irl lately, I only just got back on my Tumblr 🫠 how'd your valentine's go?(I had a date with my school project :'D so peinful)

pairing(s) - lee, chrome, wanshi, kamui, camu, watanabe, noan, roland, noctis x f!commandant (and can be gender neutral!) (separate!)

content // suggestive LOL basically how your favorite playable characters would kiss you scenarios~

dividers by @/saradika-graphics!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Lee: Hyperreal

Kissing Lee is like breathing.

Inhaling, in the way his hands are on your jaw, the little smile on your lips when his breath fans yours. Breathing in, the smell of the cologne you've gifted him makes you dizzy in a good way, the softest brush of his mouth on the corner of your lips. Taking in, the taste of chocolate; bitter as the coffee you made the first time, yet morphs into something so sweet as sugar cookies, and you can feel him smiling as your lips meet, savoring every drop he offers—

Exhaling, as Lee pulls away to give you air, foreheads touching, because you are both too intertwined to move away from one another.

“We made quite a mess here,” you giggled.

The newly-made kitchen of the Gray Raven base is as messy as a child's breakfast: pots and pans strung everywhere, chocolates and other liquids splattered all over the counter, the drain is probably clogging for some reason (it was Lee's fault), and there was a burnt cake placed somewhere (your fault) but you both never minded those.

“I told you to let me handle all the baking,” Lee huffs, thumbs unconsciously caressing your jaw, “You had to be so stubborn.”

“I knew what I was doing,” you pout, “You always follow the recipe, even though you could just do some feeling!”

“I am starting to doubt your feelings. Remember the first-”

“-not another word.”

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry to burst your bubble.” Lee smiles at you, hands now placed beside your legs on the table you sat on, “We might as well clean up and just order something else.”

“Nooo,” you whine, tugging on his 'Kiss the Cook' apron, “The last cake is in the oven. It'll be done. I promise, it will taste yummy.”

Your lover laughs, his head rubbing your cheek, “Remind me again why we are baking?”

“It was supposed to be my surprise for you for Valentine's.” You admit, sighing, “You had to come and ruin it.”

Everything feels natural; his body fills in the gaps in yours. His head rests on your neck, your hand on his cheek and hair, his arms on your waist. You breathe in the same air, laughing off the smell of the burnt cake from earlier.

“I'm sorry,” he softly murmurs, his lips lightly kissing your neck, “...at least I get to take you out tonight.”

“Tonight?” Did you have a plan for tonight?

“Yes. I reserved a table for us at the restaurant you like.”

What a surprise. Pulling away to look at Lee's cerulean eyes, you somehow realized something:

“I thought you hated dining outside of our lounge.”

“I do,” Lee purses his lips, before sighing, “but I know we've been busy and you wanted to eat outside. Besides, it's still practical because of the restaurant's offer for Valentine's.”

Ah, this man is so smooth. You already knew that it wasn't just for that reason. Leaning to press your lips into his, you could feel your heart leap out of joy. You could hear the ting of the oven, but you never cared. You only wanted Lee's kiss— Lee's love, in the form of inhaling, taking in, exhaling.

“Commandant,” Lee pulls away slightly, whispering, “the cake-”

“I love you, Lee,” you giggled, hands threading in his hair as you purposely let your leg catch that particular spot that made him shudder, “You're so sly.”

“...You better finish what you've started, Commandant.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Chrome: Glory

Kissing Chrome is needy.

It's hot, it's heavy— his hands that grasped your shoulders, almost afraid you'd disappear if he wasn't careful; yet, still so gentle— his lips on yours are so soft, you feel like you'd melt if he wasn't holding you.

“I missed you,” Chrome mumbles when he parted from yours for air, “I missed you so damn much.”

It's not a common occurrence for the both of you to be away from each other. He was the Captain of Strike Hawk, and you had your own team. But to be away from the public eye, to be in some random corner of the streets, as your heavy breathing mingled with one another and your bodies touching, you remember that you couldn't be away from your lover far too long now.

“I missed you, Chrome, I missed you, too.” You could sob from the intensity of your situation, hands reaching for whatever part of him—his shoulders, his arms, his cheek— “Thank God, I can finally see you.”

“Me too,” Chrome breathes, placing a kiss on the crown of your head, “I couldn't wait any longer.”

“Do you still have more appointments?”

“I do,” he groans, frustration evident on his pretty face, “I still have to meet a few more people...”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Chrome is the one who apologizes instead, starry eyed twinkling that made you frown instead.

It's always busy and no rest days. Apart from your lover being such a dependable leader, sometimes, your greed makes you want to steal him away. But alas, as you caress his cheek, the cool touch of his skin underneath your fingertips, it makes you lean onto him, lips kissing his jaw.

“[Y/N]...?”

“I missed your touch,” You admit, hands now on his cheeks, “I missed your face. I missed your hands, your kisses— I don't want to be away from you longer.”

Was it your position that somehow made you hot? Or was it the way Chrome leaned more into you, kisses reaching every inch of your face, to your chin, to your exposed jaw— you stifle a quiet moan, as Chrome nips at a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, something that you've never touched before, something that was a step closer into your relationship.

“I am trying so hard not to overwhelm you, [Y/N]. I missed you so badly,” Chrome groans, “but finally seeing you, finally being able to touch you...I want to show you how much I missed you, but I'm afraid it'll be too much...”

“Don't stop,” Boldly, you proclaimed, hands running through his hair, disrupting it into a messy one, “Let's go home, Chrome. Show me how much you've missed me, and I'll show you mine.”

Pulling away so slightly, Chrome's turquoise irises reflecting a darker shade amidst the light from the crack of the corner. In between those eyes and your pending responsibilities, you already made your decision. As you feel Chrome's hold on your hips, you pressed your lips to him.

“I hope you'll stay true to that offer, [Y/N].”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Wanshi: Hypnos

Kissing Wanshi is dreamy.

In the tender tones of daylight, the artificial sun bleeding into your skin. There are too many touches all at once, but neither the two of you bother to pull away. Wanshi's lips find your skin without a hassle, humming when you swallow your laughs. He's everywhere— your hand, your arm, your shoulder, the dip of your breasts, your clavicle— everywhere but your face.

“Wanshi,” you purred, never bothering to open your eyes, “you're so needy...”

“Hush, let me dream a bit longer,” your lover sighs in your neck, nibbling your skin, “it's not everyday I get to kiss you like this.”

“We'll both be late at this point. Didn't you say Captain Chrome warned you already?”

“He already put those rules before,” he pauses, yawning, arms now wrapped possessively around your waist, “I'm exempted.”

“I won't be surprised if you get to be deprived of your capsule for another week...”

“Hey, this is about us today,” he murmurs, lightly kissing the side of your neck, “I don't want to hear another man's name in our bed...”

Your lover never learns. But still, you couldn't help but laugh at his antics. It's his problem anyways, not yours. As you giggle, your hand finds itself cupping Wanshi's soft cheeks, squeezing it.

“Wanshi, darling, we really need to get up soon. I also have work.”

You could feel Wanshi pouting against your skin. Without a warning, he gets on top of you, golden eyes looking at you. “Five minutes. Give me five more minutes, and I'll let you go.”

As you were about to ask what he meant, Wanshi leans down to capture your lips with his. You squeak from surprise, but in the end, you couldn't help but submit to his whims. His soft lips, the love that permeates from him, slipping in so deeply into you as you felt yourself buried deeper into the sheets. Your hand finds his, intertwining as he leads it above your head. Forget your job, forget that it's another shitty work day; it's only you and Wanshi, in your bed, and his dreamy kisses.

You love Wanshi, and you'd always pick him, despite his sleepy circumstances, despite everything else.

“Mm...Wanshi, give me more than five minutes.” You mutter, letting your legs wrap around his waist, pressing into him.

“Oh?”

“Yes, nngh, you win this time. Now, give me more kisses.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Kamui: Tenebrion

Kissing Kamui is like catching the sun in both hands.

More like a surprise; playful shouting as he wins another round of your favorite game, leaving you dumbfounded in your chair. You love your man so much that you'd rather see him with that goofy smile on his face. But sometimes, some victories feel like they are being rubbed hard on your face.

“Haha! This is the third time now!”

“Alright, alright,” you shrug, placing the controller down, watching Kamui lead out of his seat, “You win.”

“Does this mean I get to have the seat for a week?”

“A month, too, if you want,” you shrug again, “Congratulations, Kamui.”

It's his playful character that made you fall for him in the first place— a unique laughter, the way his eyes crinkled with delight, how Kamui's feet would curl. But unbeknownst to him, however, you had another trick on your sleeve.

“Time for a free round!”

“No, thank you,” you flutter your eyes at him, “I'd like to see you play for now. I might get you next time if I watch your movements.”

Kamui laughs instead, making your stomach jump, “Babe, just watch, then. But I'm sure that I'll win again like always.”

As Kamui positions, your plan goes into play. He won't win against you, the real mastermind of the game.

Kamui's eyes glimmer as he focuses intently on the game. Somehow, in the middle of scoring another new record, his mind lands on you.

“[Y/N]? You seem qui-”

When he turns his head, he is met with a surprise kiss on his lips. Kissing Kamui always felt like reaching for the sun in your hands, especially this way: the surprised sound from his lips when they met yours, the softest yet so hot as he absentmindedly drops his console, reaching to hold you; Kamui doesn't hesitate to kiss you back with the same intensity— tongue tasting his favorite drink on yours, the smell of your perfume, and the dizzying heat when he refuses the pull away, in spite of your little plan.

You squeak when Kamui gently pushes you onto the sofa, him breaking away to find your saliva strung together on both of your lips. The game plays in the background, forgotten as Kamui straddles you. Looking back at his glinting eyes, you seem to miss this in your equation.

“Really, [Y/N]?”

“Y-you didn't have to- I-I thought you'd-”

“Tsk, tsk,” Kamui laughs, thumb caressing your swollen lips, “[Y/N], you already knew I'd let you win. I guess you'll be getting your present early, then~”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Camu: Crocotta

Kissing Camu is like snow on the beach.

So rare, so sudden. It's the rumble of the vending machine of some unknown brand, dropping a new kind of food. Was it edible?

“So they really did put up these things.”

It's the low sound of Camu's husky voice surprising you on a random sunny afternoon. You quickly pick up the food, presenting it in front of him, “Do you mean this?”

Camu takes the food from your hand. It's a cake in a can, you presume, as it is written boldly on the cover. Squinting his eyes, Camu effortlessly tears off the lid without the use of the safety pin. At this point, such a scenario no longer surprises you.

“A cake in the can?”

“A cake in the can.” Camu affirms, giving it back to you, “It was a staple for the Japanese vending machines back in the Golden Age.”

The little treat (although forced open) seemed cute. Using the spoon provided, you took a few bites. Immediately, a yummy flavor pours into your mouth, making you squeal with joy. You quickly taste more.

“Mmh! It's so sweet~!”

“Yeah, they're usually really sweet.”

Taking a large spoonful, you hold it out to Camu. “Would you like some?”

Hesitant. Camu looks at you, somehow judging you (do you usually hold out food to random people?), yet cautiously leans down to your height. His eyes never leave yours as he takes a bite, even until he gulps it down. Your eyes twinkle as you notice your joy reflected in his, signaling the sweet taste of the dessert.

“What do you think?”

“...it is very sweet.”

“I really want to eat more of this~” you grin, “let me order-”

Camu holds your shoulder, causing you to stop. When you turned to look back at him, focused dark eyes looked at you.

“Wait.”

Camu leans forward, his face inches away from yours. As you feel your temperature grow higher, you only notice Camu's thumb caress the corner of your mouth.

“...you had a bit of cream there.”

Did you only notice Camu's handsomeness just now? Or was it because of the close proximity? His breath is cool on your lips, pretty dark eyes devoid of any harshness that he usually portrays, yet the subtle softness of his features somehow made him look more handsome up close. It makes you want to kiss him.

“I'm sorry?”

Snapping out of your reverie, you blink at him, “Huh?”

“You said you wanted to kiss me.”

Crap. You and your thoughts! You groan, trying to mask your reddening embarrassment, “Ah, Camu, I'm so sorry, I didn't-”

But Camu closes the gap anyways. It catches you off guard at first, but his kiss is cool and warm at the same time, almost felt like bathing in the sea amidst the snow. You taste the sweet cake on his lips, the smell of peppermint invading your senses. It is only a short while, ending as fast as it started. When he pulls away, you find dark eyes reflecting your emotion: curiosity.

“...ah-!”

“Technically, we indirectly kissed already.”

Camu points at the spoon, realization dawning on you. You squeak, trying to assess more of the situation. But Camu, with a small smile on his lips despite the deepening blush on his cheeks, coughs, “...I guess it's time for me to ask you out later during the Valentine's event, then.”

You were about to ask what the deal was about, until your mind whirred back to his initial words.

“I thought you don't like Valentine's?”

“I don't like Valentines.” He said.

“So why...?”

Camu, turning away from you, before looking back with a smile on his face, “I like you, obviously.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Watanabe: Epitaph

Kissing Watanabe is always a surprise.

It's when you least expected it. From the sudden kisses in front of children, to meet ups in the warehouse, and even in random times of the day. Watanabe would always keep surprising you, you almost think it's a routine at this point (God Bless your heart; hopefully his antics won't kill you before your fated day).

However, lately, it's almost not happening.

“Hello, [Y/N],” your lover greets you as he passes by, opting to continue talking to the man beside him. You retract your expectant hands.

“Watch out, [Y/N].” Watanabe calmly catches you by your hips, when a child nearly hits you with the ball. You wanted to reach out, but he was already walking away.

“I'll be taking that.” And gone was the playful kiss on your shoulder, instead, it was a smile on his lips as he took the supplies and left you in the dark. What the hell was going on?

On a random evening, he started to avoid you on purpose.

“Watanabe!” You cried out as you watched him disappear from the sea of people.

It was the nth time of you trying to track him down that day. Tired from running around, you slump against the wall, tears filling your eyes. Your tears began to escape your eyes as the atmosphere around you, despite it being Valentine's, was full of love and laughter.

What did you do wrong? Watanabe is your lover, one you've long promised to be with forever. But what was forever if he no longer looked at your way?

“Miss [Y/N]?”

Sniffling away your tears, you looked up to see one of the Forsaken soldiers. “Y-yes?”

“...are you alright?”

“Y-yes, yes,” you were not, but you still stood up, facing the soldier, “What do you need?”

“Could you kindly come with me to the warehouse? I need someone to inspect the weapons before we head out tomorrow.”

Wordlessly, you follow the construct. Your mind swims in a hazy sea of doubts and self depreciation. Should you leave this place? Go back to Babylonia? You are still welcome there, last time you checked. But the people...

It didn't take a while before you both arrived at the destination. Stepping inside the dark warehouse, you failed to notice that the door behind you closed. As you ran to pry it open, from the corner of your eyes, you saw a lone light shine in the middle of the dark warehouse.

It's Watanabe.

All of your anger rushes to your brain. Your legs move quicker, however, sprinting to reach out to the estranged man.

“You selfish little-”

“[Y/N]-”

Anything Watanabe says is fast, but your reflexes are faster. You held onto his arms, your tears of anger flowing as you cried out.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I know, I know-”

“Do you know how sad and angry I am at you? For leaving me with no answers?”

Watanabe does not answer. He lets you speak.

“Why? What did I do wrong? Why are you ignoring me?”

“I am aware, yes.” He answers, sorrowful, “I am sorry for treating you that way, [Y/N]. I know I shouldn't have done that, but my actions hurt you instead.”

“Then why did you do it?”

Watanabe doesn't answer. Instead, he reaches out to cup your cheeks, genuine sadness reflecting in his expression.

“I have been thinking. And I made up my mind.”

He caresses your cheeks with such reverence, it almost makes you melt. “...being away from you is so cruel. I wanted to make such a heavy decision, to leave you so you could be with another human, but I realized that I was just like you— I would be angry, too.”

Watanabe leans down, your forehead touching, “I want to be greedy for you, [Y/N]. Please, let me make it up to you.”

Suddenly, you were aware of the weight of your words from earlier. You weren't mad; you were devastated. Should this man, the love of your life, leave you, what becomes of you, then?

“Watanabe...”

You tug on his collar, whispering, “Don't go. Kiss me, please.”

Kissing Watanabe really is a surprise. It's fulfilling, in a way that completes you like a puzzle, his warm lips on yours. You love him just as much as he loves you, perhaps more— it's agonizing, it's too much, yet you crave for him; he is all you have. When he reluctantly pulls away, he whispers your name.

The lights of the warehouse turn on. And behind him, a dazzling display of flowers and pictures are shown.

“What-”

“I know it's not much, unlike the luxuries in Babylonia,” Watanabe kneels down, the glittering stone on the engraved jewelry in his hand, “But this is all from every corner of my heart; I love you, my [Y/N]. Please accept my proposal.”

You couldn't hold your tears anymore— from anger, they turned into immense joy. The answer has long been spoken.

“Marry me, my [Y/N].”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Noan: Arca

Kissing Noan is sweet.

Little kisses and noises of joy as you take breaks in between your book reading. It's his warm hand on top of yours, the other busy flipping through the pages. Noan's voice is a soothing lullaby, a gentle lull as he reads the passages for you.

“It's quite ironic,” Noan breaks away from the book, putting it aside as he brushes away the hair covering your face, “I thought you wanted me to read to you.”

There you were, comfortably laying on his lap, watching him with tired eyes. Slightly pouting, you weakly tugged on his scarf, “Noan, why did you stop...”

“My lap isn't very comfortable to sleep in. Let's move you back to your base.”

“Nooo,” you stubbornly shook your head, trying not to let Noan stand, “Finish reading the book, please? You're almost at the exciting part...”

Sighing, Noan picks up the book. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, one of the books that caught Noan's attention. Driven by your immense curiosity and how Noan was itching to read the story, judging by its summary, you thought it was a nice idea to let him read to you. It's hitting two birds with one stone!

“I don't get how you're so interested in the book,” Noan asks, flipping back to the page where he left, “You're already falling asleep.”

You don't have the heart to tell him you've already read it while you were still in the F.O.S. “Well, I think the concept is neat.”

“The concept of a man who has the body parts of dead people off killing people just to appease his creator?”

You shrugged, “I mean...”

Noan laughs, fingers idly drifting and drawing circles on your cheek, “Just tell me that you're just doing this because you think that I'm interested in it.”

“Are you not?” You turned to catch brown eyes looking at you with mirth.

“In a way, yeah.”

You pondered for a bit, trying to remember the contents of the book. Lifting your hand to cup Noan's cheeks, you huffed, “Y'know, you remind me a bit of the monster.”

Quickly catching yourself with your words (to which Noan laughs), “I mean, minus the killing. Wait, no, I mean-”

“Okay, okay, something related to that?”

“Yes, that.” You grinned, “the monster wasn't supposed to mean any harm. He simply wanted the attention and love from his creator.”

Your lover, in a way, was similar to the monster of the book. Rebuilt and revived, nearly as a killing machine. But does a killing machine have to look this beautiful in the hazy afternoon glow? Noan's lips parted for a bit, before pursing them. Lifting your head, you snuck in a short kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“You're similar yet different from the monster, Noan.” You murmured, closing your eyes as you inhaled his smell, “Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”

Noan chuckles, lightly squeezing your cheeks, “and you tell me you've never read the book before-”

“I didn't disagree, didn't I?”

“Hmm...”

“Noan,” you whispered, ��Unlike Frankenstein's story, you are never feared, nor despised.”

You kissed Noan. It's sweet— the taste of the cookies you gave, the herbal tea; his lips that were made to kiss yours, to fit; and Noan, who went through too much, was yours to protect forevermore.

“You are loved, even more than your creator.”

When you pull away, deep red tinted his cheeks and ears, which made you laugh. “Well, Noan?”

“Mm...I should stop reading the book since you already know-”

“Keep going, please?” You purred, “I like you reading to me.”

“...mh, fine, you're lucky I like you.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Roland: Flambeau

Kissing Roland is, well, comedic.

He's laughing; the crescendo plays a melodic tune, as he plays his role. Your lover is a clown at this point, laughing manically with every step he takes.

But you love him anyway. You love your clown.

“Roland, dear,” you giggle, “Remind me again what's my role?”

He pauses, before approaching you. “Mi amor,” Roland reaches out to your hand, kissing it, “You are the lead of this play!”

As he continues to play his role, you are sitting in front of him, on a fancy chair. For Valentine's, you half-expected Roland to join the theatre, however, he was here in front of you— with only you as the audience and apparently the lead as well.

“What do I do?”

“Sit prettily there,” Roland winks, “That's your role.”

“Alright. Do I still get compensated?”

“Hush, the climax of this story is now nearly in full bloom.”

With a crisp spin, Roland turns to face you, the spotlight hitting every nice angle he had. In his hand, a single, beautifully blooming rose.

“Mi amor, my love, my light,” Roland began his monologue, “Though it has been a very long journey and story, here we are, still alive.”

Ah, you realized this scene now. The first proper confession.

Roland walks to you, despite his clownish appearance, he genuinely had a sweet smile on his face. “Damned by those who defy our circumstances; from this day forward, I am yours, as much as you are mine.”

He looks at you, with gentle hands holding your cheek, “What do you say, mi amor?”

In the original story, you ran away out of fear. But you were in a new scenario with him now. Smiling, you dragged him to you with his shirt, “Hmm, sounds missing.”

You wink at Roland, “Ah, I know now.”

Without a warning, you closed the gap in between your lips. Roland eases into you easily; grasping at hands, responding to your move. It's still soft, his lips that make you dream of oceans and theatre plays— it makes you want more.

But Roland pulls away, chuckling, “Well, that certainly wasn't part of the script.”

“You kept missing the cues,” you stuck your tongue out, “I merely filled in the gaps.”

“That's my girl,” Roland praises, “My perfect muse, my perfect actress.”

Comedic, in a way that it's the perfect timing. You leaned further to kiss him more.

“Mm, I still have a few ideas you can add to your script.”

Roland's hand in your hips tightened, mirroring your smile, “Do tell, we should execute it afterwards.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Noctis: Indomitus

Kissing Noctis is wild.

In how he holds you effortlessly in one hand. You grasp where your hands could reach, but you could only breathe in. In how Noctis's voice sends shivers. A melody that echoes so long.

His lips are begging to be with you. It's almost painful.

“[Y/N], [Y/N],” Noctis whines, “Please, let me touch you.”

“We are in a public area, Noctis,” you whisper, aware of his creeping fingers on your pants, “Mmh, it's not just me...”

Your lover was supposed to be a grown man, but who knew his neediness could make him such a needy child?

“Please, please, I promise it won't take long,” He groaned as his fingers rubbed your thighs, “I'll be very quick.”

Sighing, you try to look around you. Making sure that no one else could see, you pulled Noctis closer, lips mere inches away from one another.

“Be quick, okay?”

And you trust Noctis. Kissing him is wild— as if asking to be breathed back to life, he kisses you with such fervor. Never minding touchy hands, it's so hot that you unconsciously opened the buttons on your shirt. Noctis loves hard and harder, the beating of his heart a testament. His tongue on yours, hands everywhere else.

“Thank you,” he cries out, making you throb, “I owe you so much...”

“How about pushing it past my limits today, Noctis?”

Without a word, Noctis slips into you for one more stolen kiss. “You have my word, then, [Y/N].”

Writing this half asleep HAHAHAHAHSHSHA

— starry

#pgr #punishing gray raven #punishing gray raven imagines #pgr commandant #pgr global #pgr lee #pgr chrome #pgr chrome glory #pgr hyperreal #pgr wanshi #pgr kamui #pgr camu #pgr watanabe #pgr noan #pgr roland #pgr noctis #pgr valentines

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alonetimelover · 11 months

Text

pairing: Harry Styles x tennis player!reader

summary: "Can't hear the haters when you're slaying"

tennis player!reader

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harryupdates

liked by ynupdates, harryshoee and 14 104 others

harryupdates Harry and YN were spotted in London yesterday! via emglishmanharry

view all 1 023 comments

ynupdates glad to see yn well rested before the big paris!!

harrysmoustache he looks SOOOOOO good, man

harryshoee they are such a handsome couple, i literally can't take it anymore

tennisfan01 walkover in Italy to have a longer vacation? very professional of her

tennisfan92 here you have an example of why she's losing so much lately

tennisfan101 choosing a boy instead of your job??? classy

ynhater professional player only in billboards

ynhater16 she's becoming more of a celebrity than a tennis player, you can now see what she's really after 💸

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ynupdates

liked by harryupdates, ynsmybestie and 28 101 others

ynupdates I really don't know if I should write this... This photo is from YN's practice in Paris today. She broke down crying after multiple people from the audience kept calling her names, howling and disturbing. Those people were just a percentage of the ones that are actively judging her on the internet. And it is NOT okay. And it will never be. Some people should stay at home and keep shouting at their TV, leaving this lovely young woman to live HER life the way SHE wants to. She doesn't owe you anything. Treat her the way you'd like to be treated, with respect and kindness.

comments to this post have been limited

harryupdates couldn't have said it better

ynshands i hate those people, who do they think they are???

ynsmybestie i actually broke down crying with her, it was heartbreaking to see and hear

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harrysmoustache

liked by harryupdates, ynshands and 22 101 others

harrysmoustache after years of listening to Harry, i got to see him live. yes, this show was different. Yes, he was disappointed and angry. yes, he wasn't his usual bubbly smiley self. am I going to complain? no. he had a reason to be and its okay. I still listened to my favourite song (fine line) and forgot about my problems. thank you, harrystyles

view all 2 101 comments

harrynewfan hi, im a new fan and don't know what is happening in the fandom yet. could someone explain?

⤷ ynsmybestie harry is in a relationship with YN YSN. and right now, she is receiving a lot of hate because of losing tournaments and taking a break. its all over twitter (she's been trending for a week now)

ynupdates it seems that the situation really got to him. it's so sad to see

ynsmybestie i hope they are okay. i fear them breaking up, like man.... i can't think about it, imma cry

harryshoee did any of you miss what he said on stage???

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twitter

emily saw harry ♡ | harryno1fan

here's a thread of what harry said today concerning the outrageous comments about yn

1) "Your sign says: "I was bullied into changing myself. You helped me find the way back." First of all, you did it yourself because you are the strong individual. Secondly, I hope that those bullies learnt how to use their ability to communicate, right? This show is not a safe place for bullies, any bullies. Treat people with kindness."

11k comments | 34k shares | 74k likes

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emily saw harry ♡ | harryno1fan

2) Right before singing Fine Line: If I may have your attention, please! This song has been very special for a person close to me lately, and I'd like to dedicate it to her. Uhmm, sometimes when life gets hard and everyone seems to be against you, there - there is someone still for you, believing in you. This is for you."

10k comments | 32k shares | 70k likes

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emily saw harry ♡ | harryno1fan

3) After seeing the sign *are you coming to the Roland Garros?* "am I going? of course i am. my girlfriend is defending her title there. of course, I'm gonna be there! what a ridiculous question *laughing*. are you coming? you are. i hope to see you there. she loves the support even though she doesn't want to admit to it."

9k comments | 38k shares | 90k likes

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emily saw harry ♡ | harryno1fan

4) when there were five signs about yn next to each other: "did you coordinate that? no? you don't know each other! that's great! why are you writing signs about someone else on MY concert, hmm? I'm sorry, what? oh, you want to show your support. that's great. that's lovely. I think yn would love to see it. May I take a picture of you guys?"

and he did take a picture of them!!!!

14k comments | 40k shares | 80k likes

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harry LOT | harryupdates

this concert was very different and I think everyone needed it. harry made a clear statement: there is no place for hate and cruelty that people put YN through. and i thank him for that, really. what a great man.

4k comments | 6k shares | 3k likes

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yn my queen | ilovetennis

i am glad that Harry finally spoke up against it

1k comments | 654 shares | 2,1k likes

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ynupdates

liked by harryupdates, ynsmymama and 5 201 others

ynupdates YN via IG stories! thankfully the first round went easy and she's waiting for tomorrow's opponent. can't wait to see another match!

also, yes, i am disabling the comments because haters didn't learn anything.

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harryupdates

liked by ynupdates, tennismylife and 9 201 others

harryupdates HARRY posing for pictures tonight!

edit: the sign said "pose as if yn is taking a picture of you"

view all 2 201 comments

harryshoee this show is looking very promising and we're just few minutes in!!!!

hArrysbtch babes, he looks cuuuuuute

ynsmybestie im in love

yntennisqueen im beginning to like him

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twitter

seeing harry tonight | harryontour

"she's in paris, cause she's defending her Roland Garros title. and she's in the arena to define if I'm a better performer than Taylor Swift. baby, what's the verdict?"

when i tell you i screamed. sorry, screeched at him, i bet if he heard he would think I was possessed.

16k comments | 12k shares | 32k likes

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lily loves harry | lilyamazing

and then they showed yn screaming "you know im a swiftie!" i love this woman

3k comments | 1k shares | 12k likes

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seeing harry tonight | harryontour

the fucking update I have guys...

Harry: your sign says "have you listened to midnights?" have I listened to midnights?! who do you think I am? midnights? pfff. *after a little pause* yes. yes, I did. my girlfriend loooooves it.

and then he walked off singing: karma is my boyfriend, karma is a god, karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend

I LOVE HIM

28k comments | 34k shares | 102k likes

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harry and tay | midnightsqueen

he's a karma stan, slay king!!!!

3k comments | 4k shares | 7k likes

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andrew is right | billhater

oh, so she's going to concerts the night before a match. no wonder she's losing so much.

14k comments | 8k shares | 1k likes

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ynupdates

liked by harrystyles, harryupdates and 47 291 others

ynupdates couldn't imagine having a better response to the haters. yn ysn everybody!

edit: what in the fuck is harry styles doing on my profile??? wtf is yn doing here as well???

view all 6 028 comments

harryupdates👏 this 👏 is 👏 how 👏 you do it 👏

harrystyles can't here the haters when you're slaying

⤷ yourinstagram oh god, harry xD

⤷ ynsmybestie wtf are you doing here guys????

⤷ harryupdates couldn't imagine my Friday going any better, my life is made, I can die happily

⤷ yourinstagram please don't, im going to sue harry if you do

ynsmymama this match was everything. she IS the leader

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harrystyles

liked by yourinstagram, ynupdates and 18 291 302 others

harrystyles #22 ❤️🎂

comments have been disabled

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yourinstagram

liked by harrystyles, taylorswift and 2 201 493 others

yourinstagram i don't know about you, but I'm feeling 22!

thank you for all the birthday wishes, i love you all ❤️

comments have been limited

harrystyles happy birthday, baby ❤️❤️

taylorswift and it looks good on you! Happy birthday, YN!

⤷ yourinstagram no way

⤷ yourinstagram thank you so much!!! i love you!!!

#harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles instagram #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #tennis player!reader

1K notes · View notes

jtl-fics · 11 months

Text

Fluent Freshman - Part 17

1. You do not talk about the Speakeasy in the basement 2. You DO NOT TALK about the Speakeasy in the basement

Those are two of the three cardinal rules of Eden’s Twilight both as a VIP customer and as an employee. The rest are more suggestions or requests that are fairly malleable depending on the night and the patron.

Andrew himself had broken the latter half of ‘Don’t be a dick or try anything with your dick on the club premises’ multiple times with Roland and then he’d broken it even further and with more vigor with Neil.

Roland had tried to bill them for the furniture in the break room and Andrew had been more than happy to use some of the blackmail he’d been holding onto to make it go away despite Neil’s repeated attempts to try and pay for it. “It’s my fault Andrew, I asked you to lay me there.” And “Allison didn’t warn me that it could stain fabric, she said it transferred really easily onto skin.” Had been waved away as Roland was happy to have those particular bits of blackmail out of play.

That being said Roland had come in despite the clear ‘occupied’ signs on the door and interrupted some of Andrew’s finest work a few weeks ago (His from? Excellent. His pacing? Excellent. His angle? Excellent. The noises Neil had been making? Perfection.)

Roland still couldn’t look at Neil without his eyes wandering where they shouldn’t so Andrew had a guest pass for the speakeasy waiting for him at the bar to make up for that wandering eye.

Which meant that he could take FF down to the speakeasy tonight. He was sure that FF would pass muster and be able to come without a pass after the night, he was just the kind of guy that they liked to have down there.

It would all be so simple if it weren’t for the third cardinal rule of Eden’s Twilight.

3. Nicky Hemmick is not allowed to know about the Speakeasy.

When Nicky had worked at Eden’s he’d been popular but he’d also talked about all sorts of secrets. He spilled tea like Aaron had spilled drinks.

So the club had done what it had to do in order to protect the incredibly select and private feature of their club:

They lied about what was down there and then they committed to that lie.

So the day came and Nicky was looking at the door with a guard next to it, “Where does that go?” He asked.

“It’s an exclusive club for straight swingers to meet and swap.” The lie rolls off of Roland’s tongue like the truth.

Nicky made a disgusted face. “Straight people.” He said shaking his head and then Roland swiftly made some purchases to sell his lie and offered the guard Frank an additional $5 an hour if he was willing to change his uniform.

Nicky Hemmick has never gone near the door since then and it is considered a success for the record books by all of the staff and VIPs in the know.

Which is why Andrew had needed a plan to pry Nicky off of FF for the night.

Nicky and FF had spent the entire time at Sweeties elbowing one another and laughing (well Nicky laughed and FF tolerated all of Nicky’s jokes and implications stoically), Nicky had been sticking with FF like he was one of the various flecks of glitter that stuck to FF after the freshman had slept in Nicky’s bed.

Before he’d gotten FF dressed up Nicky had made a solemn oath, “You and me Smithy, we’ll dance the night away!” Nicky had exclaimed.

“I’m good thanks.” FF said, “You know what will happen if I dance.” He says and Nicky grimaces as if remembering something painful. He wonders if FF just isn’t a good dancer or if the consequences of someone bumping into him were as painful as they were when someone bumped into Andrew on the dance floor.

“Well, then you and me will just have to spend the entire night chatting in the booth Smithy!” Nicky had smiled as if he wasn’t fucking up Andrew’s plans to take FF down to the speakeasy where they could sit without the headache inducing music that Nicky, Aaron, and even Kevin (he claims Stockholm syndrome) claim to love.

So, Andrew had needed to find a way to get Nicky to a state where he would be compelled to dance and leave FF alone for the night.

There are exactly three sure-fire ways to get Nicky Hemmick to become a slave to the dance floor.

1. You have to play his favorite music and Andrew doesn’t know if there’s enough blackmail in the world to get Roland to force a DJ to play nothing but Nicki Minaj’s Super Bass, Gasoline by Daddy Yankee, or Usher’s DJ’s Got Us Fallin’ In Love (his three current obsessions) on a loop for the entire night. (Bust)

2. You are Erik Klose and you want to dance. This option was unlikely due to Erik currently (as far as Andrew knew) being in Germany. (Bust)

3. Nicky has taken some party drugs. (Feasible)

So, Andrew may have been the one that had reminded both his brother and Nicky about Cracker Dust on their way to the car. Neil shoots him a look he ignores because Andrew hasn’t really pushed or mentioned Cracker Dust in almost a year.

It was something that they had all gotten off of for various reasons the year prior.

Neil had never started, Andrew had his deal with Neil, Kevin wanted to cut back on the substances he was abusing and he was not going to be giving up alcohol anytime soon, Aaron had needed a squeaky clean image for the trial, and Nicky had given it up in solidarity.

Aaron had been bemoaning that he had forgotten to get any the last four times they had gone to Eden’s so, really, Andrew was just being a thoughtful brother when he’d reminded his cousin.

So when they park the Maserati and head into the club it is no shock that after the first round of drinks (Neil & FF both had bottled waters) Nicky whips out the sandwich baggy he had gotten from FF and hands Aaron his share.

In a turn of good luck a bass heavy remix of Flo Rida’s Club Can’t Handle Me started playing and the only thing Nicky did was squeal, kiss FF’s cheek, and drag Aaron out onto the dance floor.

And then there were three.

***

FF had NOT been able to figure out where the hell the bathrooms were.

It might be due to the fact that his stomach is trying to stage a revolt against him but he’s pretty sure he’s forgotten how to read English. There are no other languages around for him to see if this illiteracy has spread to other languages.

He wonders it he brought out his katakana flashcards if the lines would blur or if his brain would be so filled with the unrelenting desire to go to the bathroom that his Professor would wonder how he ever got full marks on his midterm.

Maybe clubs didn’t have signs that pointed to the bathroom? Was he supposed to go up and ask that bartender that Andrew kept going to? Was it like a gas station where he had to ask for keys?

Oh god Captain Neil just asked him something.

When the hell did Nicky lea-

Oh Dj’s Got Us Falling In Love is playing. Nicky is definitely on the dance floor. FF has yet to escape Nicky grinding on him whenever this song happens to come on the radio he is sure that someone right now out on the dance floor is suffering the same fate that he has 3-4 times a week.

He wonders if Nicky will call Erik like he usually does when it comes on outside of the club.

At least it’s super hard to hear in this club if Nicky takes a seat next to him and starts gushing to Erik in German.

Oh god Captain Neil just asked him something and he just remembered that this would be the second time Captain Neil has asked him something.

If there was one weakness in FF’s foreign language arsenal it is that he has a hard time processing language when surrounded by loud sounds. If he knows what language they’re talking in he can sometimes get by on reading lips (does that count as another language? Probably not) but Captain Neil speaks like four languages fluently and his Spanish is getting better and better every-

Oh god Captain Neil and Andrew just asked him something and he still hasn’t answered the other two times.

“I can’t hear you!” He calls out and hopes they can at least understand HIM.

Andrew rolls his eyes and bumps Captain Neil’s shoulder with his own. He sees Andrew whisper something to Captain Neil before pointing somewhere in the distance.

They had noticed his obvious plight and were going to show him to the bathroom!

That was nice.

Maybe Nicky had asked them before his songs came on.

Andrew and Captain Neil are out of the booth and Andrew juts his chin off in a certain direction. FF does NOT need to be told twice, he’s more than happy to follow Andrew to the bathroom like some pre-schooler following their mom. These are desperate times.

So Andrew and Captain Neil guide him across the dance floor and…sure enough Nicky is grinding on some other guy who looks like he’s in heaven and he thinks he can see Aaron’s pale arms flying uncoordinatedly all over the place somewhere in the middle distance.

FF finds himself with Captain Neil and Andrew in a hallway. There’s a guard in front of the door with a bizarre pineapple shirt (why are they all upside down?) on but FF hadn’t even dressed himself tonight so he really shouldn’t judge.

“Minyard, Josten, and one guest.” He can hear Andrew say now that they’re away from the loud thrum of the music.

How fancy is this bathroom?

The man looks at Andrew, Captain Neil, and then FF. There is a visible head-to-toe inspection when he hits FF and whatever the man sees must past muster.

“Acceptable. You know the rules.”

Rules?

Wash your hands?

Don’t piss on the floor?

Let staff know if the urinal is low on ice?

FF hoped the rules would be posted in easy to understand pictures because his ability to read the English language was still heavily hampered at the moment.

Why is the handle to the door an upside pineapple too? Did someone install it wrong? Also Eden’s does not give off a very tropical vibe so why would they pick that?

The door opens and-

Oh.

Those are stairs.

Oh.

Andrew’s taking him to the basement.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

Per Your Requests:

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lilyndra @themugglemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense

#Fluent Freshman AU #Neil at the booth: Hey Smith how you doing?#FF staring through time and space: ....#Neil to Andrew in Russian: I don't think he's having a lot of fun up here #Andrew to Neil: He said it isn't really his scene #Neil turning back to FF: Hey Smith do you wanna go somewhere quieter?#FF briefly stares at Neil before his gaze returns to the far off future: .....#Andrew: I don't think he can hear you #Neil: Hey Smith! Can you hear me?#FF looking at them again: I Can't Hear You!#Andrew: Told you.#AFTG #AFTG OC #AFTG AU #My Fics #FF - Pt.17

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newtonsheffield · 2 months

Text

World no. 1 Kate Sharma doing an interview in her house in the lead up to Wimbledon where Anthony’s just moved in and of course that marks a year since she and Anthony sent everyone aflutter.

“Of course last year at Wimbledon you met your partner, Anthony Bridgerton.”

Kate smiled leaning forward to rest her chin on her hand. “Yeah I met Anthony. Let’s not talk about everything else that happened. Let’s stick to the good things.”

“It certainly ah… got people talking.”

Kate chuckled, “Yeah, people seem pretty curious about us though I have to say I didn’t think it’d be such a surprising decision to date him. We’ve all seen that little… shirtless ad campaign. He looks like that all the time.”

“You’re right people are curious and we thought we’d ask on our social media if anyone had a questions about the two of you. If you’re willing of course.”

“Did we approve these questions?” Lucy cut in from off camera.

“It’s fine.” Kate shrugged, leaning back.

“We reserve the right to decline each question,” Lucy cut in again, rolling her eyes at Kate who gestured for the interviewer to go on.

“This was a pretty popular question but a moving truck was spotted around this house recently. Any comment on that?”

Kate chuckled, “Yeah, Anthony moved in. I thought that was obvious when he wandered into the kitchen to make my dog a sausage and egg McMuffin.”

“Which of you is a coffee person, which of you is tea?”

Kate thought about it for a second, “I’m more of a tea person but I’m juice with breakfast. Anthony’s a coffee guy first up in the morning and tea any other time.”

“Are you guys nickname people? Pet names?”

Kate laughed, “I thought you guys already knew this answer. I saw you trying to lip read what I said to him at Roland Garros.”

“Were they close?”

“Some of them were pretty close, yeah.” Kate cleared her throat. “So I actually don’t know if he remembers this but I was the first of us to use a pet name. And we’ve never spoken about it, I don’t even know if he noticed. We were still sort of… finding our feet and I called him Babe. It just sort of happened. Now he calls me Babe. I call him Ant or Honey.”

“Honey?”

“Why not Honey?”

“It just seems a little… 60’s.”

Kate laughed, Shrugging. “Well he’s sweet. It seems to fit. That should make your lip reading a little easier in future.”

“Next question is: Does Anthony follow through on his little spoon energy?”

“Okay!” Lucy clapped her hands, interrupting the interview. “I think you should have everything! We’re excited about Wimbledon! Excited to get back to it!”

Kate leaned around her assistant, smirking at the bewildered interviewer, “He does occasionally, yes.”

#pumped up au #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton

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sgiandubh · 1 month

Text

Out of the OL bubble

Sidenote: this post owes everything to the incredible sleuthing skills of an already longtime trusted friend, who wishes to remain discreet. All credit goes entirely to her - this is such an idiotic topic, yet the Ur Troll insists.

I answered one of you in the comment threads yesterday, that once you get the hell out of the OL bubble, things begin to make sense. Why? Well, because of distance and context, I suppose. And also because this always was the dirty little secret of our Dedicated Manipulative Trolls: to make you believe in a terribly poor narrative, fit for a linear world. A world without compromise, drama, secrets and lies. Collective lack of time, perspective and/or Internet research skills did the rest and gave birth to this monster: the OL Fandom.

We are now told and are supposed to believe that because Scottish Xena apparently chose on purpose (with this and only this, I could agree, but for opposite reasons) to show us she trains in a Cumbernauld gym, that means... well, you know the rest and it involves The Magic Golden Dirk. That troll was never exactly subtle, was she, bless her heart?

That mother and entrepreneur has a life of her own and an entourage of her own and business collaborations of her own and her own agenda. Some of it is shown on her Instagram account, most of it can be speculated. Connecting dots just for the sake of it is neither productive, nor remotely interesting.

Let's see, for example, how she reacts to a very insistent fellow German athlete, whom she is going to meet at the Hyrox Cologne event (13-14th of April, during the Landcon week-end):

😬😱

What is Flamingos Club? Nope, not an ikebana society, no:

Tee-hee.

They were there before, in good company, last year, when they actually first met (rings a bell?):

(April 2023, ok? I am still waiting for my own DeLorean)

Who is this guy?

Fellow athlete, HYROX Ambassador (something I bet the farm she wants to achieve) and a contestant in this year's German reality show First Dates Hotel, on VOX (https://www.vox.de/cms/sendungen/first-dates-hotel.html):

The concept is simple: a renowned German chef, Roland Trettl (no idea!) now takes his blind date cooking show to the next level, with singles from all over the country parked into a Spanish dream holiday resort (Mallorca), shake, stir and see whatever happens. The classical Endemol recipe, now produced by Twenty Twenty. It also has an UK version, running on Channel 4 (coincidence? I doubt that very much, thank you!).

On set, Max's 'love interest' is a certain Linda. He recently wrote her ' a sweet love letter', taking the good advice of his namesake cast friend Max-the-Bartender:

(I swear to God, I feel like I am prostituting my 🧠, right now).

There is obviously nothing to see, here (or is it, such as two wannabes desperately wanting limelight?). She leads the typical no strings attached life of a single mom and he is still looking for a real job:

Since VOX does not give his full name, neither will I. It took five minutes to find him, with a bit of luck.

Why on Earth would one connect that woman to S, rather than to this nice, ambitious Bavarian?

I know why. It's almost too damn easy.

Two words: Channel 4. Truman Show. Ginger and Fred (oops, these are Our Couple).

Is it anything we haven't seen before?

Nope. We've seen way worse. But gone are the Days of Flukenzie Floozy.

[Edited] - there is no need to further expose our people.

#fandom #shitshow

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honeydazai · 2 years

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୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ 𝆬 ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ꜰᴀᴠᴏᴜʀɪᴛᴇ ᴘᴏꜱɪᴛɪᴏɴ 𝆬 𓏸

feat.: Vanitas, Noé, Dante, Johann, Marquis Machina, Lord Ruthven, Roland, Olivier

content: nsfw, breeding kink | mentions of pregnancy, some very mild spanking, breath play | reblogs appreciated!

VANITAS' favourite way to fuck you is from behind. Really, there's nothing more enticing to him than the sight of your back arching prettily and your body trembling as you adjust to his size, tiny mewls and moans falling from your lips. He huffs out a laugh when you try and hide your flushed face in the pillows, only for him to grab strands of your hair and pull your head back up, a smirk curling his lips upwards.

It's also the perfect position for the flat of his hand to occasionally come down hard on your ass, his chuckle playful as you let out a shriek at the sudden hit. Another reason he likes it this way, however, is that you're unable to see the way his own face turns red, a blush high on his cheeks, and, God, he's forced to press his lips together tightly to stifle a whimper that rivals your own with how needy it is.

“You like that, hm? My, it certainly seems like you're enjoying yourself with the way you're clenching around my dick. Ah, fuck—”

NOÉ likes to take you in missionary position; you've got your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck as you pull him down for yet another kiss and, really, it's the closest you could possibly be to each other as he thrusts into you, his hips slapping against your own each time he pushes back in.

The most important part for him, however, is that, in this position, you're constantly facing him, and there's not one expression of yours that he's able to miss. Whether it's your jaw that goes slack with pleasure or your eyes that squeeze shut, your pretty lips that fall open with yet another moan, he's able to watch it all, and the sight is definitely tucked into the back of his mind for lonely nights.

“You feel so good, love, God—, so perfect for me, aren't you? Ah, I'm close already. That's your fault for feeling this amazing, you know? Hah, I'm merely joking, of course. Come on, let's come together, yes, dear?”

You're not sure anymore when this habit developed, but by now it's almost routine for DANTE to spoon you whenever he lies down, his arms around you and the tip of his nose brushing against your neck while his dick slips between your thighs and into your dripping cunt. The way you clench around him almost instantly, wet walls pulsing, is nothing short of heavenly, and he groans in pleasure, his voice raspy and breath warm against your skin.

With the way he keeps rutting into you, short quick thrusts, it's quite lazy sex, but neither of you mind, especially not when you try and meet his movements with steady rolls of your hips, your lips hanging open with each moan you let out. The moment you tell him how well he's doing, how good he feels when he stretches you out like this, Dante's dick all but twitches inside of you, and it only takes some sweet talk and praise for him to come inside of you. Usually, he doesn't pull out immediately; you both quite enjoy relishing in the afterglow of your orgasms, after all.

“Fuck, darl, you always feel so damn good around me. Fucking perfect. Ah, I missed you, ya know? Oh, do that again—, ah, yes, please, darl, God.”

JOHANN can't help that he likes seeing you on your knees, because, really, how could he not? You're looking up at him with wide eyes, tears dripping down your flushed cheeks and your pretty lips closed around his dick, and if that's not a sight for sore eyes.

You're all but choking on his cock, lewd gagging noises distinct in the room, and Johann's smile is just a bit too mischievous as he coos mocking praises at you, his tone faux sympathetic, his hand resting on the back of your head, lithe fingers carding through your hair. Whenever he's feeling particularly mean, he pushes you down on his dick or pinches your nose between two fingers, all but revelling in the panicked look you gaze up at him with before he lets go again.

“Oh? My, you're looking quite angry, love. Did I do something to upset you? I certainly hope not. Well, let's discuss this later. Focus on getting me off for now, yes, darling? I've got faith in your abilities to make me come. Perhaps, if you're good for me, I'll even return the favour.”

While FRANCIS enjoys almost every possible position with you, he's especially fond of ordering you to kneel in front of him, your arms obediently kept behind your back as his gaze, piercing despite being hidden behind his shimmery veil, greedily roams over your bare body. You're certain that his smirk when he fucks your tits mere moments later is terribly smug, but it's not like you can call him out for it; not when you're but a sputtering mess, humiliation causing your face to grow hot at such a lewd activity.

The size of your chest really doesn't matter to him; as long as he gets to see you blush and whimper all prettily while his precum drips down onto the swell of your tits, he's content. Francis never stops talking, and this is no exception; he's running his mouth constantly, both degrading and praising you with backhanded compliments, especially when he notices the way you're squeezing your thighs together in need.

“Oh, darling, why don't you squeeze those pretty tits of yours together for me, hm? Maybe stick your tongue out too while you're at it—, ah, there we go. Good girl, look at you! Truly, you're made for this!”

LORD RUTHVEN loves having you ride him, all pretty perched up on his lap. Just because you're on top doesn't mean you're in control; really, it's quite the opposite. His sheer height, as well as his ridiculous vampire strength, make it so so easy for him to lift you up and drop you back down on his dick, all but using you like a toy as his grip on your plush hip tightens.

Besides, the view he gets of your bouncing tits and of your face, slack with pleasure, is nothing but enticing. You're clenching around his dick, your thighs shaking, and a smirk curls Lord Ruthven's mouth upwards at the way you all but keen when he meets you halfway, his hips bucking up. He's a terrible tease, and mocking words, hidden as praise, constantly fall from his lips.

“You're doing so well, darling. My, you're clenching so tightly around me too. Do you like having me inside of you this much, I wonder? What did you say? No? Perhaps I should simply stop then.”

ROLAND'S favourite position to fuck you in is the mating press. Really, what better position to breed you in? He's on top of you, his large hands squeezing your thighs as he bends you in half, your knees almost brushing against your shoulders, and you're a moaning mess, with your whole body trembling and needy noises tearing themselves from your throat.

While he's pounding into you, Roland rasps out promises of how well he's going to breed you and fill you up, that he won't stop until you're all but dripping with his cum, and he relishes in the way you shiver and mewl at his words. After coming inside of you, he doesn't bother to pull out. Why should he? After all, his cock serves as a makeshift plug for now, and that only means it's more likely his seed takes.

“Ah, God, don't you worry, dear, I'll make sure to knock you up properly by the time we're done. Maybe I'll have to take you a second or third round, though, hah, you'd probably even like that, wouldn't you?”

While OLIVIER often prefers to take his time with you, he can't help but admit that there are numerous advantages to quickies, such as how prettily you whine whenever he takes you against a wall. Whether you've got your legs tightly closed around his waist or your face pressed against it, your back flush with his broad chest; the way you clench around his dick is unmatched.

He's strong enough to easily hold you up if your knees get weak all of a sudden, which happens more often than you'd like, though it's no surprise with the way Olivier all but pounds into you, his narrow hips slapping against yours rhythmically. And, well, while he's not an exhibitionist, you occasionally rile him up enough for him to fuck you in semi-public, like in a hidden alleyway or a public restroom, and whenever that's the case, he's quick to slap his hand over your mouth to avoid gaining unwanted attention.

“Fuck, ah—, quiet now. You wouldn't want anyone to walk in on us like this, now would you, darling? Hah, thought so. Come on, I bet you'll manage to keep your pretty mouth shut for a bit.”

➛ join my tag list! link in my pinned post!

➛ tags: @cupxfcxffee @jodidann @marina-and-the-memes @happymoon16 @yumidepain @janeinerz @Aaronthegreatestsimp @fanfiction-waifu @KimxKiba @fiannee @Morigumy @villainouspotential @babypickleclamfish @nikolaisgoofyahhhat and of course my darling @sunrays-in-the-sea because i love you passionately

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aislinrayne · 2 months

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[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: In which Lockwood is late, and Reader ends up face-to-screaming-face with the consequences.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔲𝔟𝔧𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢!

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Canon typical violence, Reader is shorter than Lockwood, Lockwood & Co. are in their twenties, kind of an AU?, blood, graphic descriptions of moderate head injury, no use of y/n, strong language.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Aaaand we're back! If you're familiar with the work this used to be, I'm begging you to let me know how you feel about the changes! Without further ado - dig in!

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 4.08k

She’s going to kill him.

The sun has long set and the blue light of dusk does no favours for the ambiance of the house in which she is the sole living visitor. For the tenth time in half as many minutes the girl glares at the green numbers faintly glowing at her from the clock on the back of the stove. Twenty minutes past six, and still no sign of the single most infuriating man born this millenia. Her roommate/employer was supposed to be here almost an hour ago, having instead left her to complete a potentially deadly job all by her lonesome. Okay, so maybe she’s being a touch dramatic. All reports from their client indicate a Type One, but even with the weakest Visitor, one mistake can be fatal without backup. Sighing loudly, she drains the thermos of tea clutched in cold hands and slams it down on the counter, using the motion to vent the last of her frustration. Fighting a ghost on her own would be significantly easier if she wasn’t radiating enough negative emotion to keep it fat for a month.

She leaves her lamp on and resting on the counter, then hauls the heavy kit bag off of the kitchen’s marble counter and ventures into the living room with the intention of laying down a circle for when all hell inevitably breaks loose.

Once inside the room, a quick scan of the space tells a decisive story about the occupants. The furniture itself is uncannily clean, accents of sunshine yellow and navy blue scattered amongst a palette of white and cream that one would find between the pages of a 50’s home decor catalogue. With more care than any other member of her agency would bother to show, she places the duffel on the floor in front of a dreadfully yellow loveseat to avoid soiling the vibrant fabric. Iron filings had a way of working their way into the woven material of their kit bags; she'd spent enough time trying to scrub the rust stains out of her own clothes to know how dreadful it could be. The recently widowed Mrs. Roland had more than enough to worry about without adding blemishes to an otherwise spotless space, especially one sure to see plenty of grieving guests over the next weeks.

It becomes harder to maintain focus on her assessment of the space as the temperature in the room begins to drop, the hair on the back of her neck standing straight on end as the perverse feeling of being watched sets in. She lifts her hand to smooth the prickling sensation, though the chill of her skin does little to soothe it. Her attention is pulled to the closed door down the only hallway attached to the living space, something from within silently calling her to enter and discover what secrets lay beyond. Who is she to deny the call of curiosity when it comes knocking? Especially when it comes alongside another noticeable drop in temperature.

With a calming breath that hangs visible in the air like a miniature stormcloud, she considers her next move. The Fittes manual clearly states the first order of business in a situation such as this should be to prepare an iron circle so you have an avenue of escape should anything take a turn for the worst. As such, this would be the first step of any by-the-book agent.

Unfortunately one does not find themselves under the employ of Lockwood & Co. by behaving like a by-the-book agent, and in a streak of bad luck she’d broken both her primary and backup rapier’s on the job this week. She’d called ahead for a new one of course, but Lockwood was supposed to be in charge of bringing it with him. Obviously, this was proving to be a problem.

Muttering a few choice words about ignorant manchildren with poor time management skills under her breath, she bends to unzip the kit bag and retrieve the chains. The muttering becomes progressively more vulgar with every second the links refuse to come free, clearly caught on something else from the haphazard way they’d been tossed in after their previous job. Lockwood had drawn the short straw and been left to stow their gear whilst her and George had set to work righting the furniture the Poltergeist had been lobbing at them all night. Apparently he’d been displeased enough to simply pile everything in together instead of taking the time to place things properly.

Forcing another a calming breath, she makes a mental note to explain the phrase ‘weaponized incompetence’ before bracing her foot against the rough canvas of the bag and tugging harshly on the chains. They come unstuck abruptly, the remaining force behind the pull sending her backwards to land unceremoniously on her rear, whilst the momentum of her sliding foot shoots the bag underneath the yellow monstrosity. It comes to a rest dead centre beneath the settee, its other contents partially spilled and glittering tauntingly at her from the shadows.

Unable to deny herself a moment to wallow in frustration, she rolls onto her side to rub at her smarting tailbone as she contemplates what deity she must have pissed off in a past life to deserve this kind of treatment. Whoever said the gods have no sense of humour had clearly never known anyone with luck like hers. The shattering of glass from down the hall proves effective in disrupting her pity party, immediately on high alert as her instincts kick in with a vengeance. Blood roars in her ears as she pushes herself to her feet, suddenly blissfully ignorant of the literal pain in her ass.

“If there’s anyone up there I haven’t pissed off yet, please, not another bloody poltergeist…” She mutters under her breath, sparing a few seconds to shoot a pleading look at the ceiling and bracing herself for whatever comes next.

Once she’s certain nothing is going to start flying across the room at her, she loops the cold links of chain into a vice grip in her left hand, letting roughly half of them fall loosely from her right as a makeshift flail.

The floorboards creak eerily under her feet as she approaches the simple white door at the end of the hall, making her glad for the undeniably tacky runner in the middle that at least partially muffles the sound. As an involuntary shiver wracks her frame, she curses the metaphorical pain in her ass for her lack of a proper weapon one final time before focusing her attention wholly on the matter at hand. Although cold to the touch, the doorknob twists open easily. Even the hinges are blessedly silent. She wastes no time in pushing it open and crossing the threshold. By-the-book or not, no agent worth their weight in salt would ever hesitate in a doorway.

The room on the other side is unassuming, the same shades of white and cream attempt to convey peaceful feelings, but something about them is downright unnerving tonight. The moon outside bathes the room in white light, adding to the almost ethereal nature of the scene before her. Her gaze is instantly drawn to the only splash of colour in the room. A painting stands stark against the white wall on her left; shades of songbird-yellow illustrate a field of golden grass, a single leaf-bare tree standing tall and proud in the midst of it all. When she looks closely, she can see the delicate lines of lightly fraying rope binding a low-hanging wooden board to a thick branch overhead - a child’s swing. The initials ‘H.R.’ are barely visible in the bottom right corner. She can’t recall how she got close enough to see the details. A deep yearning to return to the peace and innocence of childhood almost knocks her off her feet, knuckles white around the heavy chain as she strains against the urge to reach out and Touch it. Losing herself in visions of the past now would be a death sentence without someone to watch over her.

Swallowing thickly, she tears her eyes away from the painting and forces them to scan the room properly. To the right there’s what seems to be a large window, though any view of the glass itself is obscured by the sheer white linen curtains swaying in the gentle breeze. There’s a light layer of dust present on the surface of the bedside tables, evidence of the rooms lack of use over the past weeks. Where had Mrs. Roland been sleeping, if not here? Even in the dark she can see how perfectly the bed is made, each layer tucked and folded neatly to rival any upper class hotel. Something is wrong. She can feel it. There’s something obvious right in front of her, a voice in her head screeches at her to figure it out before she gets herself killed. If she wasn’t still reeling from the strength of the psychic imprint on that painting she would have already realised there should be no breeze present to disturb the curtains, no matter how light the material.

She turns to inspect the left side of the room but in the process a flash of white in her peripheral vision has her blood running cold. Time seems to slow around her as a series of unfortunate events occur in particularly rapid succession. First, her eyes lock onto the shards of glass scattered across the white carpet in front of the window. Then, her heart leaps into her throat as she realises the light they’re reflecting is coming from behind her. Finally, she whips around to find a shapeless white shimmer in the air only inches from her face.

In a split second she rushes through a mental checklist; no overwhelming malaise, no ectoplasm stains around the house, no ghost-fog, below freezing temperatures, delayed apparition. The sudden flare up of bright other-light is the final piece of the puzzle. A Changer. Not the best possible option, but she’d take it over some of the alternatives any day. At least she could drop a few of her mental walls to focus on physically evading the thing.

…Strike one.

Feeling at least partially in control of the situation again, she leaps towards the bed, tucking into herself to roll across the softness before springing to her feet on the other side. The previously flawless bedding holds an imprint from her impact and subsequent dismount, but that’s not what she finds herself frozen staring at. Technically she isn’t actually staring at anything, more at the absence of it. When she tried to look back at the new shape of the Changer, she found the room completely empty. Shit.

If it had been a weak apparition, and that flare was it deciding it was better off without a corporeal form, then-- squeezing her eyes shut, she breathes deeply as she tries desperately to get a handle on her panic and replace the psychic defences she’d oh so foolishly abandoned. It’s too late. An ear piercing shriek erupts through the space, echoing off of every wall to create a cacophony of noise she only realises she’s adding to when her throat starts aching in protest of the violent treatment. A bloody Screaming Spirit. This is a problem - no pun intended. A cold ache permeates her body, she can feel herself becoming more sluggish with every passing second. If she could just lay down, cover her head with one of Mrs. Roland’s goose down pillows, surely that would block out enough noise to let her rest?

That might have been the end of her, succumbing to ghost-lock alone in a house straight out of Home & Garden, if the front door hadn’t slammed open loud enough to wake the dead. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she gathers her wits and sprints from the room. It’s not until both feet are on the hardwood in the hallway that she notices she’s dropped the chains and is now completely unarmed. Not the end of the world, but still not ideal. Apparently having neglected to learn from her previous mistakes, she’s distracted enough to lose her footing and slip on the runner.

Strike two.

As she slides into the living room, arms pinwheeling in an undignified manner in an attempt to stay upright, a part of her can’t help but wonder if this is revenge for mentally calling it tacky. Regaining her balance just in time, she pivots on her heel, intending to make a beeline straight into the kitchen and out of the house to buy enough time to come up with a proper plan. She makes it three steps into the kitchen before being stopped dead in her tracks.

“Sorry it took me so long, darling. Traffic was atrocious.” An infuriatingly calm voice says behind her, making the slender arm wrapping around her waist a split second later only slightly less alarming. He pulls her back firmly against him, his warmth enveloping her. She curses her traitorous body for immediately relaxing into his chest. Any verbal response she might have had to The World’s Worst Boss™ invading her personal space is cut short as he releases his hold and manoeuvres her to safety behind him, the singing of metal on metal filling the air as he draws his rapier.

“Anthony John Lockwood, you fucking asshole! The sun set half an hour ago!” She seethes, smacking the back of his shoulder to emphasise every word in an attempt to vent some of her frustration before she implodes. He huffs an absent laugh at her theatrics, still scanning the sunny sitting room for any sign of something chasing her.

“Any idea what kind of Visitor we’re dealing with? Or what the Source could be?” She gapes at him unabashedly, honestly attempting to drill holes in the back of his head with her eyes. Was he really going to ignore her after subjecting her to this nightmare of an evening? Lockwood looks back over his shoulder, flinching at whatever he finds in her eyes.

“Y’know what? Figure it out yourself. You would have had to if you’d been a minute later anyway.” She barely recognises her own voice without the warmth it usually carries when she speaks to him.

“What do you mean? What happened?”

It’s his genuine concern that throws her off first, second is the way he promptly turns to face her. Her breath catches in her throat as she’s met with the undeniable fact of their proximity, face to face. Well, face to chest, really. He’s looking her up and down carefully for any sign of injury, a frown painted across his face as his hands hover between them, trembling gently but making no move to touch her.

Upon joining Lockwood & Co., she’d figured out rather quickly that he had some kind of touch aversion. When she’d accidentally touch his hand or brush past him in Portland Row’s narrow entryway, he would jerk away from her like he’d been stung, stumbling over his words and staring at the ground before making a quick escape. Lucy and George seemed to be safe for him by now, which made sense considering he’d known them so much longer, so she swore to herself she’d respect his space and give him whatever time he needed to open up to her. It had been better in recent months, as long as he knew to expect contact he could stay calm.

A shrill scream echoes across the house, jarring her from her thoughts. She winces in pain at the sudden noise, tucking her hands beneath her hair to cover her ears. Lockwood covers the minimal distance between them in an instant, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her against his chest to shield her the best he can from the sound. As quickly as it started, the screaming stopped. His arms loosen around her, allowing her enough room to pull her palms away from aching ears.

“You okay?” His voice sounds farther away than it should.

She doesn’t have much time to worry about that though, not when his face is suddenly so close to her own. Dark eyes find hers in the lamp light, worry overflowing within them. Her thoughts run wild with images of closing the distance between them, each and every one making it harder to breathe. Needing a second to compose herself, and entirely refusing to trust her tongue not to betray her, she raises her hands at him in an attempt at a placating gesture and tries to take a step back.

His eyes sharpen, grabbing her by the wrists as she moves to lower her hands. The movement startles her, instinct taking over as she tries in vain to pull away. Tightening his grip, he uses his hold on her to guide her closer to the lamp. As soon as they’re near enough the light that she can properly see every detail of his face, he releases her. She opens her mouth to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing manhandling her like that, but clamps it shut when he reaches for her face.

His skin is soft against her own as he grabs her gently by the chin, she thinks she might pass out. He slowly turns her head so the light is on her right, then uses his other hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, and she swears to god she’s going to combust. Breathing is a distant memory when she feels his thumb swipe gently across the skin connecting her throat to her jaw, just below her ear. But when he looks at her, his gaze is serious. He retreats suddenly and she’s certain he’s taken part of her heart with him. Then he shows her the blood on his hand, and her stomach drops. She looks down at her own hands, finding more blood smeared across her right palm. The side closest to the painting.

At least there really isn’t any doubt about what the Source is.

“Now will you tell me about it?” It might be fairly obvious the humour in his tone isn’t entirely sincere, but she laughs nonetheless. Grateful for something to tether her back to reality, and for his own form of reassurance, she decides then that she won’t give him hell for dragging her around. There’s still an edge to him, something sharp just behind the eyes that she’d never seen from him before - it dawns on her. He’s angry, and not just a little.

For reasons unknown to her, the words come tumbling from her lips as if they can’t get out fast enough.

“Through the living room, down the hallway - mind the runner, it’s slippery - the primary haunting is in the bedroom. Husband’s name was Harold Roland. There’s a painting on the left wall, initialed ‘H.R.’, psychic imprint like I’ve never seen. Twenty quid says that’s the Source,” She pauses, wracking her brain to ensure she hadn’t forgotten any vital information, “Oh! And it’s probably obvious by now, but it’s definitely a Screaming Spirit.”

When he doesn’t reply, she looks back up at him. She finds him already looking at her, an expression akin to a proud smirk gracing his features. He opens his mouth to speak, then hesitates.

“Your rapier is on the table.” It obviously isn’t what he first wanted to say, but right now all she can bring herself to care about is the promise of not being so damn helpless anymore.

The unassuming cloth bag makes her giddy with excitement, but it’s expectedly short lived. A bright other-light erupts in the other room, almost blinding them. Lockwood recovers quickly, his blade whistling through the air as it cuts through the centre mass of the plasm figure throwing itself at him. She quickly frees her own blade, barely sparing it a glance. It feels lighter than she’s used to, which shouldn’t be possible considering she’d ordered the precise model she’d had previously, but that’s a problem for later. The first order of business is trying to concoct a plan to get past the ghastly form of Mr. Roland without losing their hearing, or their lives.

Striding back across the tile to stand behind him, she flicks her gaze around the room, her head moving restlessly while she tries to piece the loose ideas rattling around in her head into an actual plan. If she had a salt bomb, maybe she could… One metaphorical lightbulb moment later and she’s grinning as the final piece falls into place, sliding her rapier into its sheath on her belt. She might have felt a little guilty about this if she hadn’t still been so bloody pissed at him, but as they stood now; any plan that involved getting the job done and short circuiting her boss at the same time was an excellent plan.

Leaning forward and pressing her chest against Lockwood’s back is the only way to get close enough to reach the first step of her plan, but she can’t help but feel a touch of vindictive pleasure at the way he goes rigid in response to her. Sliding her palms down his sides, over his hips, and slipping her hands under his coat, she retrieves the salt bomb he always keeps in a hidden pocket behind his back.

She’d learned this fun fact only a few months into her employment under him, having discovered it in a bonafide witch hunt for whichever irresponsible dunce kept leaving salt bombs in their laundry and ruining her favourite clothes. Apparently he’d found himself without his kit in enough life threatening instances to always carry a backup plan.

“Follow my lead.” She says, not waiting for him to reply before stepping back and hurling the bundle of mineral and cloth over his shoulder. The apparition wails and recoils as it explodes in its face, giving her an opportunity to slip past her colleague and make a break for the silver shimmer under the obnoxious loveseat before Mr. Roland could return to his murderous state. Dropping to the ground and rolling to shove her arm as far under the settee as possible, she hooks a finger through the silver net, launching herself upright and letting it trail behind her as she sprints down the hallway. She’s so focused on not wiping out on the carpet runner again, she almost misses Lockwood’s warning.

“DUCK!” There’s a sobering panic in his voice as he bellows from behind her. Every warning bell in her head goes off at once and she barely has time to register the ghostly arm reaching for her through the wall before she’s diving into a tight roll underneath it.

The muscles in her legs ache with protest at the speed with which she springs back to her feet and skids through the doorway onto the carpet. She tears the painting off of the wall and throws it to the floor before freezing, suddenly aware of her empty hands.

A quick glance confirms the net’s position on the floor in the hallway where it had been dropped in her evasion of the Visitor’s touch.

Well shit.

Three strikes, you’re out.

She doesn’t even have time to unsheath her rapier before Mr. Roland appears before her and shrieks at her. The kinetic force of the psychic blast throws her back, directly into the solid wooden bed frame. There’s a sickening thud as her head makes contact.

Nausea floods her body immediately, followed closely by the pain; her back aches from the impact, but she can’t move from the warped position her body had landed in. With the shrill whistle heralding the arrival of blood rushing in her ears, the vibrations and flickering lights she’s assuming are related to Lockwood, and the horrifying sensation of the room pitching and reeling like a ship in a storm, the whole experience feels like some kind of twisted carnival ride. Time begins behaving strangely, as does her memory. Has it been ten seconds, or ten minutes? Why is her body so angry with her? A blanket of numbness creeps over her aches, pains, and anxieties, allowing her to become too aware of the sickening dizziness.

At first she thinks it’s the whistling in her ears that’s beginning to fade, but no such luck. Instead, it’s her awareness as a whole, dropping bit by bit until there’s just…

Nothing.

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

#aislin writes #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood & co x reader #no y/n #reader insert #x female reader #x reader

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unproduciblesmackdown · 5 months

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goodbye song ending ft. the glimpses of william in the back / to our left that tell me he's the xmas mode (now non)villain!!

#portrait mode filming & instagram's stories feature are my enemies here so the relief as he hopped into view more at the end lol....#can't tell you much about the rest of what's going on #besides jason of course: don't know the character or actor in the glasses to our left of jason!#there's mister macabee but idk who's the actor! idk who the actor is as his lookalike!#there's andrew to our right of jason (perhaps still as flashback joe; or having taken on another role)#still presuming it's [rufus?] [cyril?'s] long lost husband in the head bandaging; looking at the costume from the 12th show confirms it's #got a print to it too. wonder if he's Ass Out At 54 Below like the last time too #don't know that actor either. oh believe i glimpse gerard canonico back there towards the end. anything else: dunno!!#joe iconis christmas extravaganza #will roland #cyril von miserthorpe

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moncey-imagines · 7 months

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Reminder | Cedric the Sorcerer x Reader

i apologize for the lack of fem reader i left it open edned for all readers but i hope everyone likes it :3

!!THIS HAS NOT BEEN PROOF-READ OR EDITED!!

no warnings i dont think, other than sad ceddy teehee

requested by: @bettathanyou

Cedric sighed as he sat on his stool, resting his head in his hands. “Another spell fumbled…” he thought to himself. His recent failed attempt at impressing the royal family reminds him of a time he’d rather forget…a time he wishes he could’ve prevented.

Looking up at the potion he’s brewing, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in a jar. His bangs catch his eye…the silver color being a permanent reminder of his failure, and the years of ridicule he experienced for it.

Dropping his head back into his hands, he frees the lump that’s been building in his throat, his tears falling onto his spellbook.

“Cedric?” you say, peeking into his lab, worried for the sorcerer after hearing about what happened from Princess Sofia.

“Eh? Oh, [Y/N]...g-go away, you have work around the castle to do, don't you?”

He turns his body away from you, hiding his misery beneath a cold exterior. Despite his growing fondness of you, he just can't seem to bring himself to be vulnerable with you.

“You're crying, are you okay?”

You walk closer to the sorcerer, as he sighs in defeat at you seeing his tear stained face.

“Y-Yes, it's nothing…it's just a side effect from the griffin feathers I’m using in this spell…”

He tries to sit upright, to pretend he’s fine like he has for so many people.

Unlike them, though, you can see right through him.

“Cedric…I know sad tears when I see them…is it about what happened in front of Roland?”

Giving into your kindness, he reluctantly answers.

“...Yes, it is…I can't seem to hold it together in front of him…I always mess things up just when everyone's counting on me to do it right…”

He glances up at his reflection in the jar again, face full of sorrow.

“It’s alright Cedric…me and Princess Sofia can vouch for you, we know you're an amazing sorcerer…”

You kneel beside him, hugging him in an attempt to comfort him, though he continues to stare at his reflection.

“You don't understand, [Y/N]... everything I do is a failure…everything I’ve done is, too…”

“Cedric, is there something more to it? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to…”

Opening up to you, he tells you about what happened back in his childhood and what he did to his sister, Cordelia's, hair. He tells you about how, ever since then, everyone belittled and made fun of him. How he started to believe them…

“Cedric…”

“I have a reminder on my head of what happened now, it seems no one will ever forget what happened…”

“But…it's a reminder of all you’ve been through, too…”

“Hm?”

Looking up at you expectantly and pleadingly, you sigh and hold his cheek in your palm, gaining a bit of a flustered reaction from the sorcerer.

“You endured all that bullying, all that ridicule…and yet, here you are…Royal Sorcerer of Enchancia…don't you think that, if you really were a terrible sorcerer, they would kick you out?”

“Hm…I suppose so…but what if it's all because of my father? They expect me to be just like him…”

“They could have hired Cordelia, Cedric, but they chose you…you also have me and Sofia, we believe in you…if you really were horrible, you wouldn't have any of this…”

“I suppose you're right…”

Leaning into your hand, he blushes, avoiding eye contact.

“Thank you…for giving me that, um, pep talk…of sorts.”

“It's no problem, Cedric. That's what friends are for…”

Wincing a bit at the casual friend-zone, he pulls away from you, putting on a stern, yet flustered face.

“Yes, yes, now, um, run off. I have…potions to brew and such.”

You giggle as you stand back, giving him a peck on the lips and leaving out the door.

“Alright, Cedric, you can do it! I believe in your magic ability!”

As you leave, he sighs contently, turning back to his work with the new-found confidence that you’ve given him in, not only his magic, but his chance with you.

IM SORRY IF ITS SHORT I HOPE EVERYONE ENJOYSSSS!!!

#moncey imagines #cedric the sorcerer #cedric x reader #cedric the sensational x reader #cedric the great #cedric sofia the first #cedric the sorcerer x reader #sofia the fandom #🤕#🧍#👠

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otdiaftg · 4 months

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The King's Men - Chapter Three

Day: Friday, January 5th Time: 11:10 PM EST

Kevin kept making inroads into the drinks. Andrew watched the crowd and sipped his drink at a snail's pace. Neil didn't know what to say to either of them, so he made himself busy. He traded the remaining full glasses on the tray for the empty ones littering the table and headed to the bar. Roland took it from him as soon as he was able. Neil folded his arms on the bar counter and watched Roland mix the next batch. "So Andrew finally gave in, huh?" Roland said. "That looks pretty bad." Neil almost reached for his face, but Roland was looking at his wrists. Neil's new shirt was long-sleeved, but it was made of a thin material meant to breathe easy in a packed club. The ends had slid up his forearms a bit when he folded his arms. He tugged the hems back down, knowing it was too late to hide the half-healed lacerations. As he did so he realized that rumble in Roland's words was all checked laughter. Roland gave an apologetic grin when Neil frowned up at him. "I'd wondered if being clean would cure that hands-off rule of his. Makes sense it wouldn't, now that we know about..." Roland shook his head and visibly forced his anger back. "I don't know whether to say 'thanks' for easing my curiosity or 'sorry' that sobriety has obviously exacerbated the problem. Just so you know, they make padded cuffs. You should look into them." "The problem," Neil echoed, lost. "What hands-off rule?" Roland looked startled, then confused. "You don't know? But then..." "I got these in a fight," Neil said. "Why would Andrew do this to me?" "Uh, you don't know," Roland said again, not a question anymore but a backpedal out of the conversation. "You know what, let's just forget I said anything. No, really," he said when Neil opened his mouth to argue. "Hey, here. Your drinks are done. I've gotta check on the rest of my customers." He vanished before Neil could get more than a "What" out. Neil stared after him, but there were no answers here.

Art used with permission by Smokesontheroof. Thank you so much @smokesontheroof

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eneablack · 4 months

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I channeled one of my spirit guides

We talked for around 2 hours and I tried doing automatic writing for the first time so some things might be wrong or not really accurate but I feel like most things are actually true. Also I couldn’t translate well what he said so this will feel very superficial lol.

I will write all that he told me.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🎐 ⋅ INTRO

His name is Mars and he is 3704 years old, he’s an angel-alien born in the constellation of Lyra.

He has curly blond hair, blue eyes and freckles like in the pics above, and has big white wings with blue tips.

He’s diligent, calm, caring, clear, correct. He gives big Enfj vibes. His presence is very calming, comforting and warm.

His corrispondent animal is a Hare and his color is Cobalt blue. A song he likes is “Hand over hand, by Roland Faunte”, and a movie he likes is “The fault in our stars”.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🎐 ⋅ HIS HELP

He’s here to help me find peace of mind and tranquility, he recommended to meditate daily and do overall breath work.

“You have to trust yourself because if not you won’t ever be able to do it, I’m not sure if you’re aware but I believe in you and you have to trust, leave all the worries okay? We are here and we won’t leave you. This means that we won’t abandon you and you’re never alone so you can calm down.”

-What about calming the mind?

“Breathing and releasing of stress in the body, try doing astral projection visualings yourself in water, and let go. Drink some tea and cover yourself up. Release tension and do yoga nidra.”

-About manifestation?

“Look at your vision board daily and trust that it is coming to you. Again, release stress because it is important.” Method that I should do? “Two cups method.”

-What about my life?

“Think of yourself and not for others, let yourself go and live in the moment minute by minute, carpe diem, believe in yourself and trust in the unpredictability because everything has a meaning and nothings is senseless. For your social anxiety don’t focus on what others might think, instead lift your chin up and walk proud of yourself, try to work on your confidence so work on yourself overall. For your anxiety in general leave the grip and try balancing your breath work. don’t criticise yourself, instead be proud of the little things, you can do it. To be more independent start by letting go of all the weights of the world around.”

- About shifting?

“Visualise while doing SATS, don’t overcomplicate it or stress yourself, trust the process because you can do it again, you’re not inferior to anything so don’t put yourself down. When you visualise let the images come by themselves. Ask yourself questions to do some introspection, to know yourself better and understand your readings and goals. Again, believe in yourself and trust the process.”

୧ ‧₊˚ 🎐 ⋅ OTHER

He is not a total “good energy”, he’s a balance of everything, just like all the rest of things in the universe.

“All is infinite, criticism hides humans from all wise known, all of you are stuck and blocked out of your spirituality but you can work on it with effort and persistence. Go out in the nature, breath and hold stones in your hands. Grounding is essential. You’re all celestial beings, and actually you’re inhuman, you distanced yourself from nature and this is not normal for you, you’re not destined to this so you have to lift to another hugged dimension. We all are here for you, you just have to reach out and meditate, meditate, and meditate. Only this way you can lift higher and reach your true nature.”

#spirit guides #channeling #reality shifting #shifting realities #shifting #manifestation #loa #loassumption #loa blog #neville goddard #guardian angel #aliens #starseed

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poisonheadcrabsalesman · 13 days

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Mjolnir Syndrome: A Helping Hand

My half of an art trade with @fablepatron - find the whole thing here on ao3.

The first chapter is too explicit, but here's the second chapter Roland POV.

Another night watching his crew recover. Another night of patrolling the circuits of the ship, checking and rechecking, herding dumb AI back into their functions, herding dumb humans back to their responsibilities like sleeping. Most of Roland is divided into the monotonous tasks required to run a starship of this size and to care for a crew of this many talents. However, there was a negligibly sized portion of his focus on the single operating War Games sim and one Spartan Miller.

He didn’t play favorites. (Statement: untrue.) He had a handful, maybe. (Also untrue.) But that came with the territory of being a shipboard AI. Lots of handshakes and handholding. It made sense to keep an eye on a specific few in Command. Really. Just as a way to get a read on the rest of the crew and understand the social systems in place. That was the real reason Roland was watching Miller beat himself up in the wee hours of the morning, and why his subroutines flagged more processing power to monitor the Spartan as his vitals peaked.

There’s a spark of brain activity and a rapid release of cortisol in Miller’s system. His temperature raises even further and Roland considers getting help. Nothing had changed other than the slowly ramping feedback of the Mjolnir systems. The closed system was prone to feedback loops when worn for longer periods of time without a release of charge or not maintaining proper levels with an AI syncing the NI and the various layers of the armor.

Miller hadn’t wanted his help so he was keeping his distance. Mostly.

It was strange to see the usually quick-thinking Spartan brute force his way through what was bound to be unpleasant and quite distracting sensations. Unless… he wasn’t expecting it. Did Miller not know about Mjolnir Syndrome? A fun nickname given by more season Spartans and crew in the know of the…symptoms. Is that why the sudden spike in vitals?

His favorite Spartan was easy to fluster. He’d need help soon, Roland could tell. The constant influx of sensation only built and then plateaued as Miller froze. He’d never reach overload by himself, especially if he just became aware of why h-everything was so hard.

Luckily, and with no outside input from Roland, help was on the way.

The Master Chief had noticed Miller, not for the times Miller wants to space himself over, but because like Roland, Chief found Miller interesting. Maybe it was akin to studying something and finding yourself attached, like those scientists over in xenobiology who named the new flatworms they found on Requiem. Miller was Roland’s flatworm, and he was willing to share, if it meant helping the poor Spartan out.

Chief observes Miller with a tilt of his helmet. Roland was still learning the IIs body language but he thought he was picking up amusement. The specific head tilt and slight shake of the helmet for outsider observers was one he had seen Chief use with Blue Team. But they weren’t here, it was just him and Miller and R-.

Oh. Chief was including him again. It was so strange when humans did that. Only a handful seemed to remember his presence, unless he made them. Always running in the background, ready at a moment’s notice. Well, this was interesting.

“Hello, Master Chief, fancy meeting you here.” Roland says after his ping for channel access is accepted.

“Hello, Roland. I’m assuming he’s not hurt?”

“Do you think I’d let my crew get hurt and simply let them lay there.”

“No, but I wasn’t sure if I was intruding on anything.”

That gets a pause from the AI. He’s still debating on which snarky or too-honest reply to go with when Chief checks on Miller.

"I believe Spartan Miller is experiencing some technical issues with his armor." Roland supplies. He’s helping whatever this is along. Chief’s got him thinking now, which is always a dangerous thing when you’re as fast and clever as Roland. He’d been a passive party for so long. An observer or helper, and it’s not like Miller was chomping at the bit for Roland’s help, even when his plans had been so helpful in the past.

“He’s lying to you. Not that you didn’t pick that up. He’s been active for over 24 hours. He won’t let me help.” Chief doesn’t need to know how honest Roland’s words were, or that Roland’s been watching Miller push himself for 36.3 hours now.

“Have you tried asking nicely?” Chief asks and Roland wishes he had a plinth nearby to deploy his avatar on for the sole purpose of squinting at the Master Chief. He stays silent.

Chief asks and Miller says yes.

Roland wasn’t jealous. No, he was something else. Some higher AI experience rather than some silly, illogical, human emotion. Miller would let Master Chief touch his armor and help him, but not Roland who’s always there and who knows the specs forwards and back and is so familiar with piggybacking off Gen 2 Mjolnir systems.

Miller’s fine being all sweaty and nervous and frustrated around Chief. Chief who is so frustrating and calm and never rises to Roland’s bait. Chief who’s asking for Roland’s help overriding the safety features on Miller’s armor?

The great thing about being a vast machine intelligence with unfortunate connections to human emotions is the ability to experience time differently and to save threads of oneself being petty to feel petty later. He’d put this behind him for now to help them out - help Miller out.

What’s a little power reallocation between friends?

#my writing #Spartan Miller #Roland the AI #John 117 #there will be a quiz on the layers of mjolnir later for those following along at home #halo fanfic

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