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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 2 months

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Summer Sun, Something's Begun

Part of my Birthday Bash!

Request: "You're so cool, it makes me hate you so much." with Roy :)

I'm Bright Baby Blue, Falling Into You

Roy Kent x Reader

2.1k words

Warnings: Language, Chelsea!Roy, lots of fluff and flirting

Author's Note: This takes place during Roy's time in Chelsea, so he's in his mid-20s. The reader is his manger's very off-limits daughter, early 20s. I loved writing this so much, I'm going to add more to it later- so keep an eye out! 👀

Summers were for Chelsea.

For as long as you could remember, as soon as the school year ended, your mind focused on nothing but football. Throughout your childhood, you’d join your father at the facilities, watching the team prepare for the new season. Everything about it felt magical: the green of the pitch, the bright blue skies above, the shouts and excitement from the team. You looked forward to the first day of term, when everyone spoke about their summer holidays, the places they’d visited and the friends they got together with, when you would gush about the players you watched train and the matches you attended.

Now, you packed your bags at the end of each term and came home from uni, still feeling that same flutter of joy as you thought about training. A young adult yourself now, your dad still let you loiter around the team. Pretty much since you were old enough to drive, he treated you more like an assistant, asking you to grab lunches or help answer emails. As far as summer jobs went, this one felt like a great deal to you; hang out with your dad and the squad all day and get paid in match tickets whenever you and your mates wanted.

Of course, your role at the club wasn’t the only thing that changed. As a child, the players doted on you, asking about your dog or kicking around the ball with you before hitting the showers. You were Chelsea’s little princess, running around in jean shorts and too-big t-shirts. But now? Now you were the same age as many of the players, a young woman. Sure, the older players who’d known you for years, the ones who had watched you grow up, still joked around with you and treated you like family. But the younger players, the ones who were closer to your age than your father’s, definitely saw you differently. You caught the lingering stares, the cocky grins shot in your direction when they did something impressive on the pitch, the nudges when you strolled by the weight room when you brought the coaches their lunches.

Not that a single one of them would ever do anything about it. They were young, but they weren’t stupid. You were the manager’s daughter; you were the very definition of off-limits.

Which was totally fine with you, by the way. You didn’t care much for the attention of the young footballers, no matter how fit or wealthy they were. Not when you only had eyes for one midfielder in particular.

Roy Kent. Roy freaking Kent. With those brown eyes and those little smirks and that growling voice, not to mention that gorgeous chest hair you thought about way to often to be healthy, you were positively, absolutely smitten. He was brilliant to watch on the pitch, and he was pretty clever and funny when he cared to be. While his reputation centered around his scowls and brooding air, you often found yourself falling into step with him in the halls, offering teasing remarks back and forth and eliciting light chuckles from the mouth you thought about all year long back at school.

Ever since you started university, your dad had joked about not dating footballers. And normally, you were a good kid and listened to your parents. But the sound of Roy Kent’s laughter and the sight of his bare chest in the changing room always had you wanting to ignore your dad’s advice.

Because ever since he arrived at Chelsea, summers were for Roy Kent.

This summer was no different.

After a full week of Roy catching you staring at him on the pitch and making jokes that you laughed a smidge too hard at, you discovered him on the pitch long after practice had ended for the day and most players had begun to go home. Well, maybe ‘discovered’ was the wrong word. That made it sound like a coincidence, like you hadn’t quietly slipped away from your father’s office and followed the midfielder out of the building. Like you hadn’t perched yourself in the stands, not in an obvious spot, but definitely not hiding either as you watched him absently dribble around the grass while the sun began to set. Like you hadn’t been doing this for three days in a row now.

After maybe five minutes of watching him, he finally turned his head in your direction. “Oi!” he called out. “You just going to sit there and watch?” Even from a distance you could see the smile on his face, the one he usually saved for you.

You shrugged and stood, smoothing down the dress you may or may not have chosen while thinking about what Roy would think of it. It took every ounce of self-control not to skip down the stands, across the grass, and fling yourself into his arms, the way you wished you could after Chelsea victories. Instead, you strolled casually towards him, hands innocently behind your back, until you were gazing up at those pretty brown eyes, the ones that always seemed to sparkle when he looked at you.

“Enjoy the show?” Roy razzed, quirking one of those thick eyebrows at you.

“I always enjoy watching football,” you countered. You bent down to pick up the ball and began rolling it between your hands. “Especially when I get to watch talented people play.”

Behind the teasing look on his face, you could see in his eyes that he was pleased by your indirect compliment. “You think I’m talented then?” he hummed, doing his best to maintain his indifferent manner.

You wrinkled your nose at him and tossed the ball at his chest, which he caught with a soft grunt. “Who said I was talking about you, Kent? I was just stating the fact that I like watching football.”

His face lit up at your banter, eyebrows raised and mouth agape. You never saw him make that face at work except when you joked around with each other; you wondered if he ever made that face away from the pitch, if he ever made that face at anyone else, at any other girls. “Fuck me then,” Roy laughed, holding the ball close to his chest. He dropped it to the ground with a thud and nudged it towards you with his foot. “Come on, then. Let me prove myself.”

“Me, who hasn’t played football since I was eight, versus you, a Premier League star.” You rolled your eyes and bumped the ball back to him. “Yeah, sounds real fair to me, Kent.”

This time, the surprise he wore was genuine. “You haven’t played since you were eight?” He shook his head at you. “Your dad coaches fucking Chelsea. How the fuck did you manage to not play?”

“I prefer spectating and being a fan,” you stated simply. You wrinkled your nose. “Plus, I wasn’t very good,” you admitted. “I think Dad found it all a little embarrassing. He didn’t make much of a fuss when I quit.”

Roy shook his head and took a step back, dragging the ball with him. “Well, your dad’s not here now,” he pointed out, something close to flirtation in his voice. “And I’ll try to go easy on you, princess.”

Your heart fluttered at the teasing nickname. A few of the players called you that, always playful and joking, but when Roy said it, it made you wonder how other pet names would sound coming out of that beautiful mouth of his. “Fine,” you conceded with a huff, as though you weren’t thrilled at the opportunity to be close to Roy. “But go easy on me.”

Playing football in flats and a dress was not the easiest thing in the world, you discovered. Especially not when your opponent was Chelsea’s skilled and beautiful superstar. Still, you had to admit to yourself that it was fun. It was obvious that Roy did his best to go easy on you, but it wasn’t natural for the midfielder to give anything less than one hundred percent, so even his “easy” was a challenge. But he chuckled as you ran around each other, and a couple times he even laid a hand on your waist; you wondered if he knew the effect it had on you because each time he did, you froze and he was able to steal the ball with ease.

Eventually, you managed to break away from him with the ball at your feet and happiness in your lungs. You really thought you had a chance at scoring a goal when that firm hand landed on your hips. As you tried to wriggle free, your feet tangled with his, and the two of you fell to the ground, a jumble of laughter and bodies and a football. You managed to roll onto your back, grinning at Roy as he sat up and gazed down at you.

“You do suck,” he announced with a smirk. “Better study hard at uni, princess, because even with your daddy in charge, you are never getting signed to Chelsea.”

“I think I’ll live,” you huffed back as he laid beside you. You felt keenly aware of his body next to yours, of his breathing, of how close his hand was to your own. You wondered if he could feel your heart pounding through the ground; part of you worried it would cause the earth to quake, it was beating so hard.

Roy’s voice cut through your thoughts. “Glad to be home for the summer?” he hummed, his casual tone a sharp contrast to your nerves.

You cleared your throat. “I am. It’s always nice to be back with my family. And not worry about schoolwork. Plus, I love being here.” You gestured broadly around the pitch.

“Hmm.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Roy squinting at the oranging sky. “Any big summer plans?” His voice was heavy with interest, something rare for Roy Kent. He always seemed so aloof.

“Working here,” you said with a huff. “Same as every summer.” After a moment, you realized he was waiting for you to continue talking. “What about you? Training, training, and more training?” you teased.

He sighed, a low growling sound that had the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. “’ve got a fucking photoshoot tomorrow,” he grumbled. “For fucking Nike. Some international ad campaign or some shit, I don’t fucking know.”

You were instantly reminded that Roy Kent was a professional footballer, a celebrity, a legend in the making, who already had a track record for bedding models and actresses. He was on magazine covers and advertisements. And you were… you. He wasn’t like the boys in your uni classes or the fellas in your neighborhood, earnest young men who nervously asked girls out at pubs and prayed for a ‘yes’. He was a star.

In an attempt to ease your sudden angst, you let out a light chuckle. “Nike photoshoot, huh? Wow, Kent. You’re so cool.” You turned your face towards him and stuck your tongue out playfully. “It makes me hate you so much.”

Roy shifted his head so he was looking at you. “Me? Cool?” He rolled his eyes. “I never feel fucking cool. Especially not around you.” He gazed back up at the sky. “Always feel like a clumsy little kid around you.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. His voice was so sincere, not an ounce of the joking and teasing usually aimed at in your direction. And you swore his cheeks were tinted pink- and you didn’t think it was from all the running around. Although your mind was racing to a million different places at once, the only thing you could manage to murmur was, “Well, I think you’re pretty fucking cool, Kent.”

He faced you again, squinting at the setting sun that was hitting him just right. “Thanks.” After a moment, you felt his finger brush tentatively against your knuckles. “D’you think I could call you sometime? While you’re home for the summer?” He shrugged, clearly trying to appear more casual than he felt. “We could… hang out or something.”

If you thought your heart was racing before, it was nothing compared to now. You searched his eyes, looking for some sign that he was goofing around, just fucking with you, but all you could find was sunshine and anticipation. Swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, you nodded, turning your palm upwards so Roy could rest his hand on yours, intertwining your fingers.

“Yeah, Kent,” you finally whispered as a smile crept across your face. “You could call me sometime.”

#tally's birthday bash #request ❤️#Chelsea!Roy #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent imagine #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction

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unabashegirl · 8 days

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Bella Hadid || Instagram Blurb

Author's note: Hello everyone! Here is a new instagram blurb. I hope all of you enjoy it. Also let me be clear my inbox is open so leave your request!

masterlist

liked by harrysfan98, yourbestfriend and 70,496 others

yourinstagram I really wish we could have been everything I dreamed we would be

view all 5039 comments

harryfan304 did they break up?

harrysfa928 why does she look like she has been crying?

yourfan20 he doesn't deserve you! You are too good for you.

yourbestfriend I'm coming over.

liked by harryfan398, harryfan294 and 50,083 others

tmz_tv Harry Styles seen with a mystery woman only days after alleged breakup with super model Y/N Y/L/N. Multiple sources close to the couple say that the breakup ended in good terms and that it was Y/N who ended things with Harry. What do you think?

view all 10,487 comments

harrysfan20 I doubt it. She is nothing without him

yourfan12 she was a model before him.

yourfan376 good for her. we all know that he would enventually cheat. Look how quickly he moved on. and he was in love with her?

harryfan194 he is allowed to move on

liked by jacobelordi, neymar and 15,285 others

yourinstagram back at Vogue's headquarters 📍

view all 2958 comments

jacobelordi 👀

yourfan48 stop cause they would be the hottest couple ever

yourbestfriend how the hell can you manage to look like that? 🙄

sabrinacarpenter hott 🔥

liked by harrystyles, harrysfan56 and 8948 others

yourbestfriend wish I could take your place and give you a second without pain. I love you. 💕

view all 2406 comments

yourinstagram having you here gives me enough strength💜

yourfan48 so worried abt her

yourfan295 pls tell her that we are here for her

harryfan395 what's going on with her? is she sick?

yourfan184 she suffers from a cronic disease

liked by yourbestfriend, harrys948 and 40,294 others

enews Harry Styles has been seen flying back from England to New York. Close sources have reported that he is in New York to see Y/N Y/L/N due to the delicate state that she is currently on. The model has been fighting with a rare chronic disease that hasn't been disclosed to the public. Last week, her best friend posted a picture of her state which concerned the majority of her fans. We hope the model recovers soon and send our best wishes.

view all 20,857 comments

harryfan398 pls leave them alone.

y/nismyfavorite stop following him. only you people would take advantage of the situation.

liked by harrystyles, ariannagrande and 70,396 others

yourinstagram There has been of speculation about my health online lately. I just wanted to come on here and let everyone know that I am doing well and slowly recovering. I also wanted to clarify that I won't be disclosing any details about my disease and I would appreciate some privacy in the matter. Please stop calling my family and interrogating them. Thank you for all your messages. I will hopefully be back soon. 💖

view all 30,582 comments

ariannagrande love you! I can't wait to see you 💜

niallhoran stay strong 🥹

kendalljenner we miss you terribly ✨

harrystyles ❤️

yourfan he is definitely checking up on her and with her.

liked by jeffzoffs, pillowpersonpp and 2,583, 958 others

harrystyles Your blue-green eyes are driving me insane.

view all 30,583 comments

yourinstagram ♥️

harryfan937 finally 🙏🏼

harrys092 so she isn't sick anymore?

pillowpersonpp cute 🥰

liked by niallhoran, yourbestfriend and 108,485 others

yourinstagram educating this man. spicing up that dresscode 💁🏻‍♀️

view all 6980 comments

harrystyles i'll admit they are comfortable…

birkenstock ITS HAPPENING!! CALM DOWN PEOPLE!

yourbestfriend spicing up? ugly. 👎🏼

yourinstagram shut up. i've seen you wear them.

yourbestfriend aren’t they the same ones that make the Jesus chanclas?

niallhoran you are late to the trend mate 🤦🏻‍♂️

liked by yourinstagram, mitchrowland and 4,693,385 others

harrystyles educating her. zero sense of fashion. I am the model.

view all 20,857 comments

yourinstagram get off the internet dofus! 🛑

harrystyles no. make me.

yourinstagram i dressed you last night

harryfan20 isn't she the model?

yourfan38 cute shoesss

adidas we love you both 🥹

mitchrowland harry doesn't know how to dress himself. he always calls y/n for her opinion.

harrystyles shut up mitch! 😡

yourinstagram I told you!

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gingernut1314 · 4 months

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lemme read some of that siren song 👀

Of courseee!

This is the prequel some of you might have seen me say I am going to write for my Songbird series, so it's set before the events of its first part.

This is still very under development so please bear with me...🫣

Siren Song: (name changed to Songbird's Crescendo) Buggy x F!Reader Summary: It has only been a week since you were freed and your new captain manages to get you kidnapped once more...but you had not expected to step right into the middle of a circus.

It had been a week since you were rescued by Luffy, Zoro, and Nami. Just a week since escaping that cave full of precious gems that gleamed in the dim torchlight like the blood that had been spilled in its depth had crystallized into the walls.

Just as week since Luffy had Gum-Gum Bazooka-ed and Zoro had cut through the guards chasing after you. A week since Luffy had allowed you onto his ship despite the warnings from Nami about taking you away from those who had owned your life.

Just a week and you still didn’t believe you had escaped. You had convinced yourself this escape was a dream. That when you closed your eyes at night you would wake up the next morning back in the dusty cave, chained up and sleeping huddled in a corner with others chained with you.

And in just a week's time of being with Luffy and his reluctant crew, you were being kidnapped all over again. Kidnapped, knocked out by red dust, and locked in a wooden box that had your vision narrowing and your heart beating painfully against your chest.

You could hardly hear Nami whisper shouting at Luffy as you struggled to breathe and find a way out of the box--no, prison you were in. Not as you began slamming yourself against the wood, which shook like it wasn’t held together very well.

Funky music filled your ears and flashing, multicolored lights hit your eyes as the box was pulled apart around you. As a juggling man flew in front of you on a tricycle, men and women flipped and swung through the air, others doing elaborate cartwheels and backflips. There was flames and sword swallowing and a woman twisting herself into knots while trying to juggle red balls with her feet.

A circus. You had been thrown into the middle of a very intricate, very flashy circus and you felt--at ease. Felt your breath even in your chest and your hands stopped shaking.

That is, until you spotted the audience. An audience who cheered and clapped but also cried. An audience who was being forced to cheer and clap and sit there. An audience who was chained.

All those breath-stealing and vision-blurring emotions sprung back to life with revenge. You made to rush for the audience--to free them, only for a strong arm to grab you. Zoro said something quick and sharp in your ear but you hardly heard him. You didn’t hear him.

The performances came to a freezing, fear-filled halt as a man came storming out onto stage. A man all done up in glittery clown makeup and an outfit to match. And despite your panic, his danger-filled eyes snagged your attention. Eyes that were a pretty shade of blue-green. A shade that remembered you of bits of sea glass.

Sea glass your dad had given you. Your dad who had taken you, kicking and screaming, away from your mom. Your dad, the captain of your ship and the first to be killed by that wicked king's underlings.

A damp cave, dim light, horrid pain, red gems, chains.

You fought and slipped your way out of Zoro’s grip and sprinted at the clown.

Was it a good idea to go for the figurehead of this circus? No. Definitely not.

Were you going to get yourself killed? Hell, yes. But you couldn’t think properly past the ringing in your ears. Not when you had set your sights on that clown as your target to channel all your anger into.

He looked very surprised, to say the least when he caught sight of you. So surprised you were actually able to get your hands on him and tackle the clown to the ground. His hat was knocked from his head as he landed back with a pained release of air.

You were quick to grab hold of his fur-lined beige coat and pull his face closer to your snarling face.

“Let them go.” You spat with every bit of venom you could muster up. The venom was halted by a funky, crackling laugh spilling from the clown's red-pained lips.

“Sweetcheeks, if you wanted to get on top of me, all you had to do was give me a pretty please.”

@fanaticsnail (in case you were interested!!)

#wip #my wips #Buggy #one piece #Songbird #Siren Song #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #buggy x female reader #angst #buggy angst

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moodymelanist · 1 year

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I Depend on Me

happy day 3 of @nestaarcheronweek everyone! I had a lot of fun with this fic because we all know how much I love writing about secret agents, spies, and the like, so I hope y’all enjoy this one 💙 title taken from Independent Women Part 1 by Destiny’s Child (which is about Charlie’s Angels hehe). part two of this will come during @cassianappreciationweek 👀

Summary: Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn are Valkyries, survivors of an elite, brutal program that raised them as assassins. They’re on a routine mission when Cassian forces them to change their plans…

Word Count: 2,630

Read on AO3 here!

♕♕♕♕♕ Nesta

Nesta took a deep breath as she made sure she had everything she needed for tonight, taking one last look around her apartment before she locked up and headed toward the car. It was a short enough drive to the rendezvous point, and before she knew it she was on her way to the Valkyrie safe house she’d be using to get ready for tonight’s mission.

Emerie and Gwyn were already there when she arrived, calling out their greetings while Nesta headed to the bathroom to shower and start getting ready. She tried not to linger on any one thing as she went through her usual pre-mission routine; if there was one thing the Valkyrie Program had beaten into her, it was an ability to clear her mind so that her only true concern was the mission.

The Valkyrie Program had been a training program for young women that was so effective in training them to be assassins that it was easier for the governments of the world to turn a blind eye rather than try to take them down. Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn had grown close as they’d managed to survive over the years. To be a Valkyrie was like something out of a comic book – they could blend into any crowd, speak dozens of languages, fight in any number of styles.

To be a woman was to be underestimated, and their handlers had taken full advantage of that. Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn were some of the last graduates of the program – if you could call them that – but they’d never stop being Valkyries, not even after they’d made sure to burn the entire thing to the ground.

After their revenge tour was over, the three of them had managed to find a place in the world working freelance. It turned out being an assassin was a lot more fun when they could plan their own missions and decide who they worked for, so they tried to do their research before accepting missions.

Tonight’s mission would start out with stealing a room key from a gala attendee before they broke into his hotel room and stole whatever private information their buyer was looking for. Nesta loved nothing more than getting one over on a man, so she’d been more than happy to agree once Emerie and Gwyn had given their agreement.

Emerie would be running this segment of the mission from the inside of a fake catering van and serving as their getaway driver when they completed it, so it was up to Gwyn and Nesta to get dressed up and scope the place out from the inside. Nesta had chosen a dark blue gown that gave her so much cleavage it was almost obscene, while Gwyn had gone with an emerald green number with a slit that showed off her long legs. The tighter dresses made it more difficult to bring weapons, but the best part about being a woman was how easy it was to hide such things on their persons.

Nesta’s hair pins were sharp enough to cut, and there were several throwing knives tucked into her ankle holster. Gwyn had an easy to reach thigh holster on the leg that didn’t have the slit on it, and her necklace could be easily detached to use as a weapon if the situation called for it. The ballroom itself would also be filled to the brim with items they could use in a pinch, from steak knives to forgotten stiletto heels to even bottles from behind the bar.

Once everyone was ready, it was about a forty-five minute drive to the fancy hotel where the gala was being held. Emerie looked a little funny with her civilian clothes on over her jumpsuit, but at least she wouldn’t be constrained by her clothing as much if she needed to fight. Nesta and Gwyn would be the ones in a pinch, but Nesta wasn’t worried. As much as she hated it, she knew she could always trust her training, and it hadn’t failed her yet.

The ride over was relatively quiet, the only noise being a mix of Emerie softly singing along to the song on the radio and the occasional tapping sound as Nesta and Gwyn reviewed the mission briefing for the final time. When they eventually arrived at the hotel, Emerie made sure to drop them off close enough to the entrance that it wouldn’t be too much of a pain to walk, but not so close that the van could be spotted and remembered.

“Good luck,” Emerie said before she passed over their comms.

Nesta stuck hers in her right ear while Gwyn put hers in the left. “Thanks, Em. See you later.”

Nesta and Gwyn blended in seamlessly with the crowd of people attending the gala, especially once they passed through the valet entrance. Dozens of people were getting out of town cars and limos, so it was easy to merge with the rest of the group.

“Let me know when you’re in,” Emerie murmured into their comms. The tech was so tiny that no one would be able to see it unless they were far too close, so Nesta wasn’t worried about looking suspicious. They just had to make sure they didn’t talk too loudly or reply to Emerie too obviously.

“Will do, Shopkeeper,” Gwyn replied, turning to look at Nesta with a secretive little smile as they approached the entrance. “Shall we?”

Nesta and Gwyn walked into the ballroom arm in arm once their invitations had been deemed authentic, immediately splitting off from one another to canvas the room. Nesta headed to the bar to flirt a little, more than content to let her breasts do the talking, while Gwyn set a path toward the back of the room where the food was.

The room was tastefully decorated, with a large dance floor surrounded by dozens of circular tables. If there was assigned seating, they wouldn’t be there long enough to take advantage of it, but it seemed most of the gala guests were mingling away from the tables anyway. Nesta sipped her club soda as she surveyed the room, easily catching sight of their target laying on the charm thick in the further corner of the dance floor.

“Target spotted,” Nesta murmured. Isaac Hale wasn’t particularly noticeable amongst the sea of white guys, but it hadn’t been hard to find him between her training and how obnoxious his laugh was. “Southeast corner of the dance floor, black tux. On my way to engage.”

“Copy that,” Gwyn whispered back. “I’ll cover you.”

Nesta finished the rest of her drink and tipped the bartender with a smile, more than pleased to pull a blush from the woman’s pretty face before she left.

Isaac was still smiling and laughing amongst the small crowd surrounding him, and Nesta was about halfway to him when she caught sight of a tall figure. His shoulders were impossibly broad against the cut of his tux, and Nesta had to hold back a string of curses that would draw entirely too much attention to her before she altered her path.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nesta grumbled under her breath instead.

Agent Cassian Valladares — codename Commander, former military who did something for one of the alphabet agencies — was currently spinning around the dance floor with a brunette socialite who was leaning entirely too close into his chest. His hair was pulled back into a half bun while the other half rested gently against the tops of his wide shoulders. Even from across the dance floor Nesta could appreciate the tailoring on his navy tux, and she belatedly realized they’d managed to coordinate their outfits by accident.

She’d first met Cassian and his two friends a few years ago when they’d all been assigned to the same target. The Valkyries had managed to scrape by with a victory, but Cassian, Azriel, and Morrigan hadn’t given up without a fight. They’d crossed paths often enough after that initial encounter that Nesta knew to be on her guard whenever she saw one of them; not only were they extremely good at what they did, but Cassian was an outrageous flirt, and even worse, he knew his ridiculous lines managed to have some effect on Nesta.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not as bad as—” Gwyn began before she cut herself off with a loud groan. She must’ve spotted Cassian too. “Ugh, no, you’re right. It’s bad.”

“What are we looking at?” Emerie asked.

“We have some unexpected friends crashing our party,” Nesta explained, gritting her teeth.

“So far I’m just seeing one, but…” Gwyn trailed off with a sigh.

“Good things come in threes,” Nesta finished, doing her best to turn her face so it wouldn’t be as obvious she was speaking. Wherever Cassian went, Azriel and Morrigan were never far behind, so it would only be a matter of time before they made themselves known. “We don’t know their play, but I’ll distract the big guy. Priestess, you’re up.”

“Copy that, Lady Death,” Gwyn agreed to the change in plans without missing a beat. “Engaging the target now.”

Reassured that the mission would continue on as planned, Nesta placed herself into Cassian’s path as subtly as she could. It didn’t take long for him to spot her, and she allowed herself to be turned around and into an easy dance by one of his large hands, the brunette socialite clearly long forgotten.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nesta said. She pursed her lips as she looked him over, thoroughly pretending she didn’t notice the way his tux clung to his muscles. “Seriously?”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Cassian said back, smirking so hard that Nesta half hoped his face would get stuck in the stupid pose. “You’re not happy to see me?”

“I will castrate you,” she snapped. She didn’t have to fake her anger at seeing him — the man had done his best to ruin so many of her missions that her blood pressure had been raised the moment she’d spotted his broad frame. She tried to calm herself down by working her way through every method she knew one at a time; she didn’t even need to break a sweat for at least three of them, and it was working until the big idiot opened his mouth again.

“If that’s what it takes to get your hand on my dick, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” he replied, only smirking wider as they continued to dance. “Besides, I’m sure after you see it, you’ll change your mind about taking it off.”

She made sure to smile at him slowly enough that it would deeply unsettle him. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

“Very,” he replied, seemingly unfazed by the way she was looking at him.

“What are you doing here?” Nesta asked abruptly. She knew Gwyn was going to complete her objective, so she’d have to keep the big idiot as distracted as possible to make sure their mission was completed. Riling him up was fun, but she needed to keep him as engaged as long as possible, and her mother had always told her she’d catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

“Maybe I just wanted to see you,” Cassian answered, his smirk turning into something a little softer and more genuine.

“There are certainly easier ways to arrange that,” she responded with a roll of her eyes.

“Probably,” he agreed. His eyes flickered down to her chest and back up to her face so quickly she wouldn’t have noticed it if she wasn’t paying such close attention to him, and she had to stifle a snort. Men. So predictable. “But I like this one. Has anyone told you how gorgeous you look tonight?”

“Maybe you should try telling that to my face and not my chest,” she deadpanned.

He just laughed. “Two things can be true at once. You look gorgeous and I’m a big fan of this dress.”

“Thank you.” She let him twirl her in a circle and she used that time to quickly visually confirm Gwyn’s position. “Is that all you have to say about it?”

“I mean…” he trailed off, making a big show of sweeping his eyes over her. “I think it would look better on my floor, but other than that, no.”

“Always the gentleman,” she said sarcastically. His hand was warm where it was pressing against her back and a small, traitorous part of her wanted him to slide it a little lower.

“Can’t help it,” he said back, the smirk returning in full force. “You bring out the best in me.”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Nesta replied with a smirk of her own.

“It is,” Cassian told her. “You have me here in this stupid tux and acting like I know how to dance. What else would I call it?”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” she responded. She trailed the hand she had on his shoulder down over the satin lapels of his jacket, making sure to look up at him through her lashes as she did. “You cleaned up better than I expected, Commander.”

“I aim to please, sweetheart,” he answered, his hand digging in a little harder into the small of her back.

“Ugh.” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the line; her book club had spent countless hours tearing 50 Shades of Grey apart. “Please don’t quote that garbage book to me again.”

Whatever Cassian’s reply was, it got lost as Nesta’s comm suddenly crackled back to life.

“Objective completed,” Gwyn announced loudly. Nesta relied on all her training not to jump at the sudden reminder that this was a mission and not weird foreplay for a date that could never happen. “Retreating to the extraction point in approximately three minutes.”

“Whenever you’re done flirting with the Commander, we can wrap this up,” Emerie teased.

Nesta adjusted the hand that was holding Cassian’s so she could twirl around again, doing another quick sweep of the room. Gwyn’s bright hair was nowhere to be found, but she did spot a blonde woman in a dark red dress dancing far too close for Nesta’s liking. If Morrigan was showing her face, Azriel certainly wasn’t far behind, so she really had to get out of here before she was forced to cause a scene.

“I hate to dance and dash, but…” Nesta said once she was turned around and facing Cassian again, “I’m afraid I’ve worn out my welcome.”

“And what if I want you to wear me out instead?” Cassian fired back without missing a beat.

“Then I suppose you’ll have to keep holding your breath,” she replied, deftly stepping out of his hold once the song ended. “Have a good night, sir. It was lovely dancing with you.”

Nesta made a calculated decision to bend over slightly as she smoothed out the wrinkles on her dress, knowing he would stare at the frankly ridiculous way her breasts were almost spilling out of her dress, before straightening up to walk away. Between calling him sir and giving him a show like that, Cassian’s jaw had gone a little slack, and she couldn’t help but smirk a little at him while she turned and made a decisive path for the door.

“On my way,” she murmured into her comms. Satisfaction thrummed through her, and she decided it was because of a mission off to a good start. It certainly didn’t have anything to do with the way Cassian had been looking at her.

She was a trained professional, for God’s sakes. She’d wouldn’t have to deal with those feelings until and unless the next time she saw him, whenever that would be.

#NestaWeek2023 #acotar #acosf #nessian #nesta Archeron #emerie of Illyria #gwyneth berdara #Valkyries #moodymelanistwrites #cassian

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mable-stitchpunk · 8 months

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Could we get descriptions of the human characters, any original designs, and any differences the animatronics have from canon designs in Home and when any appearances may have changed throughout the story? I wanna draw some events from the books but I'm kinda blind to character descriptions in stories unfortunately.

Sure thing!

Mike stands about average height and is of athletic build. Like, not ripped, but he runs regularly and stays in shape almost getting himself killed all the time. He has sharp, blue eyes and black hair that's usually styled to look a little unkept. He has a mild tanned skin tone.

Jeremy stands slightly shorter than Mike and also has blue eyes, and almost always is seen wearing his glasses. His hair is blond and goes to about his neck. He has a pale skin tone and his features are a bit more softer.

Fritz stands a couple inches taller than Mike and Jeremy. He has brunette hair that's kept short, brown eyes, and usually keeps some stubble on his chin. He has a darker skin tone from Mike- I suppose dark tan is sort of the best way to describe it. Mature but friendly features. Dips from having "worked all night" rings under his eyes to a "slept fine" lack of them, and back and forth.

Natalie looks pretty much exactly like Vanessa. I don't know how that ended up happening, but it did. 👀

Initially, Scott's physical description was kept majorly up to interpretation for the reader, but since then he's sort of turned into a brunette with hazel eyes. He has visible but faded scars on his cheeks and across his body from his accident. He lost his lower right leg and wears a prosthetic, though is usually covered by his pants. He frequently wears cardigans and sweaters, slacks, comfortable and soft clothing. He wears glasses when he works and reads, but doesn't require them elsewise.

When CGHA began, Scott looked especially weary and was taking poor care of himself. Living as a recluse and showing such by usually existing in a bathrobe and staying unkept. By the time of GHIAB, Scott is consistently cleaned up and looks healthier.

Louise stands a little taller than Natalie, usually because she wears heels. She has a soft, heart-shaped face and slender but curvy build. Though initially introduced with brown hair, she dyed it red during Halloween and has kept it that way since. She tends to wear skirts and dresses with matching nails and makeup.

Tabitha is a middle aged woman with short brown hair and is frequently seen with a 'I'm done with this world' look on her face. She has a heart-shaped face that matches Louise's, but not as youthful or full.

Chrissy has wavy or semi-curled blond hair and big blue eyes. If that sounds similar to Susie from Pizzeria Simulator, that was in fact another Natalie-Vanessa situation. XD Though Chrissy's hair is not nearly as curled and is more naturally tussled.

All of Charlie's friends stick pretty close to their graphic novel versions.

Gregory looks the same as in Security Breach and while Cassie hasn't appeared yet (in case you're curious), she will have her cutout design.

Ness is a pale woman with shoulder-length brown hair and blue eyes. She has body proportions very similar to that woman who's been running around in a bunny suit, which is probably a coincidence.

Okay, now with the major humans out of the way, onto the animatronic changes!

Marionette looks a lot like canon Mari. The only difference is that his neck is a little shorter- though later versions of the Puppet shortened the neck anyways. XD

Foxy looks relatively similar to Fnaf 1/Fnaf AR Foxy. The only difference being that as of the middle of CGHA, Foxy was repaired. He no longer has a tear in his chest and now has fabric over his hand, but still has his hook. Foxy has fabric lower legs and feet that he wears during showtime, but he takes them off when he's not on the clock. His shorts have been repaired and during work hours he can be seen wearing a green pirate coat (the pirate coat from Captain Foxy's Dark Ride in Help Wanted).

Security Puppet Charlie looks a little softer than Pizzeria Simulator Security Puppet. Originally she was supposed to just be that same one, but I keep imagining her with a head and face that's a little close to Mari's in shape, though still with the rounder eyes. The cuteification of Charlie.

Baby originally looked like Scrap Baby, but over the course of AFLH she was repaired. Having plates replaced and repainted to look more like a complete version of Scrap Baby. In GHIAB, Baby took down her pigtail wires and changed them into a low ponytail (to regain her own identity) and then began to wear a small hat. The hat is a refurbished Freddy had, covered in red crushed velveteen with an orange band and a feather, and is a gift from Scott.

Ennard originally looked very much like normal Ennard, though a little more put together. His hands resemble the ones from Ennard's Help Wanted cutout picture instead of the knotted wires like in Sister Location. At the end of AFLH, Ennard got shot in his right eye and had to replace it with a yellow one, with his left remaining blue.

As of GHIAB, Ennard was gifted a technician suit styled to look like a clown costume. Because I'm feeling lazy, here's the exact design from the chapter-

"It looked like the coat a ringleader would wear, though green in color and without coattails. Golden colored buttons lined two rows in the front, with a zipper hidden under an edge of fabric between them. The collar was a deeper, emerald color and edged with sequins that matched the buttons. The sleeve's cuffs matches the collar, but with an edge of a white frill lining it.

The pants had one leg green and the other yellow and were made out of a slightly stretchier material, but otherwise looked like normal pants. There were a pair of new work gloves and boots in the bottom. These were relatively simple compared to everything else, just forest green to somewhat match the theme of the rest. There was a velveteen red ribbon in the bottom, likely to be tied in a bow."

Balloon Boy is in the Little Joe body from Sister Location instead of his old BB body due to concept unification.

Springtrap looks a little less deteriorated than he did in Fnaf 3 because of the time difference.

The last notable animatronic change/appearance is Jake.

Jake is the old Sun. So, his body resembles Sunnymoon's except greyed out due to his lack of glow. Jake wears the Stitchwraith's mask, of which a lone blue eye peeks through, and his tattered black coat (which is often equated to a trash bag like material). Underneath his mask, his face is damaged from having parts removed. His pants are tattered and cut short, and his lower leg has been replaced with an endoskeleton one off of the old Stitchwraith body.

...And yes, that does look vaguely similar to Eclipse. XD That was another one of my patented random fnaf predictions, lol.

I hope that covered everyone! If not, drop me a line and I'll add more! ^_^

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laiqualaurelote · 2 years

Note

For the AU prompt game: Phrack as cryptozoologists maybe? 👀

“Absolutely not,” says Jack. “I will not countenance it.”

“Well, then how do you explain the sightings!” cries Miss Fisher. “The livestock disappearing? Whole animals dragged into the water?”

“It could be a lot of things,” Jack argues, “but nothing conclusively proves it was a twenty-metre long serpent lurking in the river for over half a century.”

“Oh, I know what you lot call conclusive evidence,” huffs Miss Fisher. “If I haven’t sliced it up, pickled it in a specimen jar and stuffed it in that poky attic your department calls a museum, it’s inconclusive.”

“It’s inconclusive,” parries Jack, “because the creature doesn’t exist, and therefore there is no reason for you to disrupt our field study of actual, non-alleged fauna.”

Jack’s research assistant makes a face at Miss Fisher’s research assistant, who is studiously taking water samples. If Jack had the budget he would hire Dorothy Williams away from Miss Fisher, but Jack does not have the budget, unlike Miss Fisher, who clearly has pots of money to throw away on her pseudoscientific shenanigans, the knowledge of which pains Jack deeply every time he has to write a grant proposal.

Miss Fisher peers at him. “You’re not hung up about the peer review thing, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“Because there were legitimate issues with your methodology, and I really felt like I had to point them out.”

“No, I’m – ” Jack sighs and grits out. “It was. Sound. Criticism.”

Her eyebrows go up. “Why thank you, Dr Robinson.”

“Don’t mention it, Miss Fisher. I mean, really, don’t.”

The rest of the department calls Miss Fisher Miss Fisher as an affront; it’s to rub in the fact that despite her considerable force of personality, no institution of repute has seen fit to award her a doctorate. Professor Sanderson, department chair, calls her “that woman”, as in, “for God’s sake have that woman escorted off campus grounds” after Miss Fisher took to delivering improvisational lectures in the quad about the predatory evolution of the Mongolian death worm, which to the faculty’s dismay proved extremely popular among the student population. Jack sometimes wonders what it is like to believe in something the way Miss Fisher does. To have the conviction to fling oneself into the unknown on the faintest promise of discovery.

“You should call me Phryne,” says Miss Fisher.

Jack opens his mouth for a rebuttal he hasn’t thought through yet, but is saved from having to produce one by the shock of her finger laid suddenly on his lips.

“Do you hear that?” she whispers.

There is a rippling in the water, accompanied by a kind of spreading susurrus. If Jack squints, he can just about make out a dark shape, moving in its depths towards the bank. If pressed to estimate its length, he would place it at around twenty metres.

“Dot,” breathes Miss Fisher, “are you getting all this?”

“Yes, miss.” Dot is already filming. Hugh glances at her, then scrambles to do the same.

The serpent breaks the surface. It rears up above the river, magnificent and ancient and crusted green, beneath which its skin runs mottled. It bares a mouthful of teeth, each as long as an icepick, and hisses at their party on the bank.

“Oh, it’s beautiful.” Miss Fisher’s eyes are brimming with wonder. “Oh, you absolute darling.”

“Does it,” ventures Jack, “does it, by any chance, eat humans?”

“You didn’t even want to admit it existed a minute ago,” Miss Fisher shoots back. “How should I know what it eats? Oh, Jack, isn’t it marvellous?”

“Splendid,” agrees Jack, as the creature begins frilling in a mildly alarming fashion. “Given the dearth of literature on the subject, however, we should probably run.”

“We are going to write the best paper,” shouts Miss Fisher as she sprints up the slope.

“This,” Jack shouts back, dragging Hugh behind a ridge as the serpent hits the bank with wet force, “is the worst possible way to ask someone to co-author!”

“Are you saying yes to me, Jack Robinson!” She seems, despite the circumstances, to be wildy enjoying herself.

“I wouldn’t want to set a precedent,” says Jack, though he knows, to his chagrin, that he already has.

(For the AU prompt game. I had to Google cryptozoologists. Apologies to any actual zoologists, or for that matter anyone in science academia.)

#ask game #miss fisher's murder mysteries #mfmm #miss fisher #phrack #phryne x jack #phryne fisher #jack robinson #cryptozoology

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naturewivesmybeloved · 4 months

Note

Fantasy or Royal Au gempearl perhaps? 💖👀

It was that time of year again. The harvest festival which meant it was the one day a year Gilded Helenthia would be hosting a ball. Pearl sighed as she pulled on a short sleeved green dress. She knew that as Queen she had to attend the ball but she’d much rather be out celebrating with her subjects in the streets. No ball could ever compare to the joyful songs and delicious food that would be served to celebrate the end of harvest. The start of the ball was like any other one. Greetings nobles from the surrounding kingdom and exchanging superficial pleasantries. At the very least things started to get livelier as the classy music played, though not much. Pearl was starting to nod off when she’s bumped into by a beautiful Red haired woman wearing a stunning purple robe and a large hat.

“Gem!” Pearl laughed, a bit startled, “You made it”

“Of course I did, silly. I wouldn’t miss your kingdom’s biggest event of the year, no matter how busy I am with the academy” Gem said, her cheeks flushing

As the next song started up, Pearl got a mischievous look on her face, “Care for a dances, miss grand wizard?” Gem rolls her eyes “Of course I would your majesty” Pearl dragged her onto the dance floor twirling them around in a traditional dance. By the end of the song, both women are laughing and out of breath, but neither want to stop. The music shifts to a waltz and Gem tries to pull away. “Aww, where you going? Worried about what the snooty nobles will say?” Pearl teases.

“No, it’s just, I haven’t been Grande wizard very long, and then we got busy and some of the more social aspects of my training got pushed aside and… I never actually learned how to waltz” Gem admits, biting her lip and looking away. Pearl’s face softens. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll show you, it’s easy, just follow my lead” Gem nods, and Pearl pulls her close. Chest to chest, Placing Gem’s hand on her shoulder, and securely holding Gem’s waist. Gem blushes at the close contact and how safe she feels. “Now just follow my lead” Pearl says as they step together gliding across the ball room. “Do you trust me?” Pearl asks whispering into Gem’s ear

“With my life” Gem says seriously, looking her straight in the eye. Pearl nods and dips her. “She’s so strong” Gem thinks.When they are face to face again, Gem looks decidedly more red. “Your beautiful” Gem breathes, placing her head in the crook of Pearl’s neck as they continue to dance. It was Pearl’s turn to blush and in a moment of impulsivity, she asks “Can I kiss you” before she can scramble to try and take it back, she hears Gem say “Yes”. That’s all Pearl needed to hear and their lips crashed together. Maybe these balls weren’t so bad after all…

#hermitshipping #tournament propaganda #Drabble #gempearl #empires season one #Royal

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arthurian-owls · 9 months

Note

Hi! I wanted to ask about your headcanons about human versions of ga'hoole characters; you mentioned Soren with long hair, and I'd like to hear more ^_^

Omg omg okay SO

Soren:

Long auburn hair, pale skin, straight and narrow nose. Dark brown or black eyes, possibly glasses? He wouldn't figure out that he needs them until after he's been at the great tree awhile. This man wears sweater vests and the most torn-up, schmutz-covered jeans you've ever seen. I picture Soren to be tall and lean and deceptively strong.

Gylfie:

Gylfie is our short queen standing around 4'11 with medium-brown skin and dark hair with what I would describe as an "interesting curl pattern" in that some parts are very tightly curled and some parts are more fluffy and loose, which altogether creates a difficult to maintain but very lovely head of hair. In my mind's eye I see it cut just below the shoulders so when it's up in a ponytail it lands just above them. She definitely has freckles, both lighter and darker. She has pale brown eyes that look golden in the right lighting. Gylfie is definitely the most put-together of the Band, but not quite as much as Otulissa. I picture her having a very neat but practical sense of style, and can be found wearing lots of neutrals and heavy-duty materials unless it's a special occasion or she has a day off. Owns many many funky earrings.

Digger:

Digger is probably average height, with deep brown skin and a charmingly crooked nose. His eyes are black and downturned, heavy on the bottom lashes, and he keeps his hair in dreads and those dreads in a ponytail. This man wears flowy, layered clothes, and definitely paints his nails. He's generally just a solid, down-to-earth presence.

Twilight:

Twilight is a large man. Tall, broad shoulders, shaggy hair, pale eyes that feel like they're looking right into your soul. Honestly, I have very few headcanons on what he looks like, but I do like to think he's transmasc. Just for funsies. I also think as he gets older he wears a pair of half-moon glasses for reading. He's covered in scars and spends half his life just totally sunburnt but the guy just exudes a zest for life that is completely unmatched.

Otulissa:

Otulissa is always, entirely and completely, put together. Rarely a hair out of place, rarely an even slightly ruffled appearance- which is why it's so funny to the others when she gets so frazzled in the weather chaw, and so frightening when she's tearing through the halls of the great tree like a woman possessed after Strix Struma's death. Otulissa is tall, with lean muscle and a keen eye. I always imagine her having wavy brown or blonde hair and a button nose that becomes crooked after so many battles. She has a charming gap in her front teeth.

Eglantine:

Eglantine is a redhead and I will die on this hill. Much like Soren, she has a straight and narrow nose and dark eyes, and I honestly picture her wearing lots of gold and pink. She also needs glasses, and I like to think that when she laughs, it's *loud* and *joyful* and extremely infectious. I can see her wearing a ponytail with a big floppy bow in it. I think her style is casual and honestly reminiscent of a cozy 80's mom.

Primrose:

Primrose has straight dark hair and green eyes and wears sweaters and lots of fun jewelery and that's all I have in my brain for her atm 😅

I may come back with more but it's so hot rn that my brain is melting into a puddle of mush haha! Feel free to add on your own headcanons 👀

#asked and answered #guardians of gahoole #gahoole #ga'hoole #guardians of ga'hoole #soren gahoole #gylfie gahoole #eglantine gahoole #twilight gahoole #digger gahoole #otulissa gahoole #primrose gahoole #please feel free to add your own headcanons i love hearing em!!!#o yeah and primrose and eglantine are “roommates” with a window garden and three cats and-

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littlefreya · 1 year

Text

@captainsy-cookiemonster, my dear! 💖😍 Once again, I would like to wish you a very happy birthday.

Nothing like a weekend celebration, aye? :) I hope you that are having a really good one today and that the rest of the week will be amazeballs!!!

So now, with no further ado...

Not from this Earth.

Mike x OFC named Lisa x.... 👀

No smut.

Not beta'd. :D All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

"I love it when they turn on the heat in places like this," Mike proclaimed as he gazed around him.

Snow at this time of the year was anything but normal but thanks to the crowdedness and the heating system, it was so hot inside the club that some of the women were down to their bras.

Mike was on the hunt tonight. Standing near the DJ's stage with his older brother, he scanned his surrounding with boyish excitement, every time a woman made eye contact with him he immediately quirked an eyebrow and winked which resulted with 'the victim' rolling her eyes and turning away.

"Smooth, really smooth," Will snorted. "I don't know who you got your manners from, but it sure ain't from me, little brother."

"You know that attitude never gets you laid, right?" Mike retorted playfully.

It was Will's turn to roll his eyes now. While he was solely a couple of years older than Mike, Will was always considered 'the mature one'. Having their father leave as toddlers, the young man tried to compensate while Mike was what you can call a loss cannon. Though, Will always knew that Mike just needed to meet the right woman to set him on the right path.

Too bad, it didn't seem like she was anywhere in this sleazy club tonight.

"How about you make yourself useful? Got get us another round of beer." Will suggested and pulled out his credit card.

A slanted smirk peaked one of Mike's cheeks, creating a large dimple that even Will found irresistible. Immediately snatching the card, he nodded but not before fishing something from his leather jacket's pocket, "here, just in case you do find a girl in my absence."

Will blinked at his open palm and then sighed again.

A condom. He gave him a god-damn condom.

The path to the bar was packed with a dancing crowd. People dressed as demons and beasts ground into one another while the lights above them flickered in red and blue.

Mike stood listless, waiting to be noticed by the bartender, when something called for his attention.

Out from a thick mist, amid the devils and monsters, appeared an angel. Not a literal one, at least, he didn't think she was, but she sure looked that way.

Dark long hair spilt down her shoulders, and her big almond-shaped forest-green eyes looked like they could devour a man in their dark wilderness. A fluffy white halo hung over her head, and from her back spread large white-feathered wings that framed her small figure like something out of a fairytale.

"I'm in love..." he murmured to himself and then swallowed the lump in his throat as a sudden dryness stuck him.

Just then, the little angel made eye contact. She smiled at him, noticing his obvious stare, her hand lifted up coyly to brush a strand of hair that fell to hide her face before she looked away.

Sure, Mike had seen his share of beautiful women, but there was something about her, almost as if she wasn't from this realm.

Completely forgetting why he even came to the bar, Mike slid from the counter and fixed his leather jacket, his heart pounding as he made his way toward her.

The scent of lilies filled the air, and he could have sworn it emanated from her... the closer he got, the stronger the scent became, and she only seemed more and more beautiful as he could catch a better glimpse of her features.

A few more steps and he could talk to her... his mind raced, trying to come up with what to say first. There was no way in hell he could say something corny, not to a girl like this, not with that sweet smile she gave him as she saw him drawing near.

She bit her lip, holding her fingers laced together and dropping her gaze to the floor for a shy second, but as she raised her eyes to peer at him again, her joy suddenly faded, and concern filled her eyes.

Mike halted, looking at her confused when a stern hand fell on his shoulders and squeezed hard enough to hurt.

"Hey, what's your story?!"

At first, he thought it was his brother, but as Mike turned to look at the man who interrupted him, a sudden sense of dread chilled his bones.

Pale blue eyes peered back at him in a glare that couldn't be confused with anything other than a threat. He was slightly taller than him, though had the confidence and looks that could make even the strongest man whimper and above his lips stood a thick moustache that made him look even more attractive and menacing than he was.

Mike wrangled his shoulder free from his grip and took a step back, staring at the bewhiskered man. He was wearing a suit... who the hell wears a suit to a shitty club like this?

"She's mine, kid." The man finally spoke, his smooth baritone leaving no place to doubt. His gruff chick twitched into what appeared like an unpleasant smirk before he wiped his hand clean on his sleeve and walked toward the Angel.

Mike followed them with his eyes, watching the large man as he offered her his below in an old-timey mannerism. The coyness and sweetness faded from her smile, now replaced by submission and what Mike could only interpret as servitude.

The bewhiskered gentleman pinched her chin gently and then began leading her away while Mike stood watching, his heart breaking with the distance growing between them.

But just before they vanished from his sight, she turned her head to look at him, and he could have sworn he heard her voice echoing in his mind.

"Lisa, my name is Lisa. Come rescue me when you wake up."

#captainsy cookiemonster #Happy Birthday Lisa!#henry cavill #august walker #hellraiser mike #hellraiser mike x ofc #Henry cavill fanfiction #August walker x ofc

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multi-fan-dom-madness · 7 months

Note

I ran over to ship 😵🤣

I humbly ask for your opinion of Ilani x Fives!

I do not know much about Ilani but I feel like it'd be an interesting ship 👀

hiiii friend, thank you for the ask! no one knows Ilani yet, not even me! I'm figuring her out as I answer these asks lmao

I went a little overboard so we've got "how they met," "general," and "nsfw" headcanons. all below the cut

Ilani x Fives

How they met:

Honestly the circumstances for this have to be very specific. Ilani is the general for the 387th, stationed Rimward, but her forces were involved in the Battle of Kamino, and I imagine this is how Ilani first met Fives.

Or, rather, how she literally bodied him, a newly-promoted ARC trooper, to knock him out of the way of droids firing on his unprotected flank. He toppled to the floor, cursing in every language he knew (which is at least two), about to rip a shiny a new one—when he catchs sight of this imposing wall of a Togruta woman, her lekku whirling as she spins, her green saber a blur in the air as she reflects blaster fire back at the droids. When she grins down at him, pointed canines flashing and golden eyes sparkling with protective fury, he damn near falls in love.

For her part, Ilani was just doing what she felt was right: protecting her own. It didn’t matter that the blue-and-white-clad trooper was in Anakin’s battalion—the clones are her family.

General HCs:

Ilani tolerates Fives for the first few encounters. He’s loud and boastful (with good reason, she supposes, but still). And he always seems to be making flimsy, transparent excuses when they’re both on Triple Zero for why he’s hanging around the Temple—“just waiting for the General, er, General”—and inevitably ends up following her around.

But over time his fierce loyalty to his brothers and his determination to protect the Republic—at any cost—is what wins her over. He’s just as deeply passionate as she is, but he doesn’t hide it. In a way, she’s a little envious of how open he is about his feelings; she often feels that she has to mask her true feelings, or at least the true depth of them, when around her fellow Jedi.

With him, she begins to let go a little. Lets herself experience emotions to their fullest, in a way that she normally only feels comfortable doing on a battlefield.

He makes her laugh; she makes him consider life beyond the war. At first, not in a romantic way, but it slowly becomes that.

She’s the first one to make a move. It’s late on Coruscant, both of them will be returning to the frontlines come morning, and she’s finally let her walls down enough to admit to herself that she cares about Fives—cares for him. They’re tucked away somewhere private, and she just leans over and kisses him.

NSFW HCs:

These two are Not Quiet, at all. The entire barracks and/or Temple will know, depending where they shack up, and it’s just an unspoken rule among the others that no, I didn’t hear anything strange last night.

Ilani learns very quickly that she loves marking Fives, biting into his pecs, biceps, thighs to leave impressions of her pointed teeth. She’s overprotective and has possessive tendencies, and seeing Fives’s body littered with her marks just makes her so feral. (Fives also loves it, except when one of the others catches sight. “No, shut up, vod, I don’t know where it came from.”)

Because they see each other so infrequently, they definitely exchange lewd photos, videos, voice messages—anything to help remind one another that the other is there, alive, and waiting for them.

When they do have time together, they’re either fucking nasty or making the sweetest love; there is no in-between with these two.

Ye Olde Ragu Liste: @thorsterstrudle @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @dreamie411 @bobaprint @imarvelatthestars @originalcollectionartistry @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl if your name has a strikethrough, I can't tag you so check your settings! (if you'd like to be added or removed, click here!)

#arc fives #fives x oc #star wars oc #oc: Jedi Master Ilani Taryn #rhiwrites #my ocs

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intheorangebedroom · 2 years

Text

Pleased to meet you, chapter 5

Summary: After moving to Jersey City, you meet a Benjamin Miller...

Pairing: Frankie Morales x French fem!Reader. And I guess Ben Miller x French fem!Reader 👀

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: Let's all pretend this is a world in which there is no such thing as visas... Also, heartfelt apologies to anyone from Jersey City, whose city I'm making up almost entirely, albeit very respectfully. It's the city of Reader's recovery ❤️

This chapter contains a direct nod/reference/homage/straight up plagiarism of one of @frannyzooey genius post that can be found here. I plead guilt. I love her and her brain, your Honour. Kelli, thank you for your help on this chapter. Ily more than words can express 🧡

Word Count: 4.8k.

[prev] * [series masterlist] * [next]

Chapter 5: Boy meets girl

There’s a hardware store, not too far from the bookstore where you work, a gigantic, monster of a place whose size fits that of this country. Alleys and alleys of power tools and appliances of all sorts, hammers, screwdrivers, hinges, rivets, nails, screws, bolts, and things you can’t even name in your native language. It’s your third attempt at getting the material you need to hang the black-out curtains you bought three months ago, currently laying in a shopping bag on your living-room floor. None of the four windows in your apartment have blinds, and if it doesn’t matter much in the living-room, you can’t sleep if the bedroom windows are not blacked out. You’ve been waking up at dawn since you moved in, and if it didn’t matter much back in February, it is August now, the summer flew by, and you’re exhausted. And it’s beginning to show…

Standing in front of neatly displayed rows of… screws? Are these screws? You feel as out of your depth as if you were to perform brain surgery. You curse yourself as your mother’s voice rings in your ears, “Vraiment, tu ne pourrais pas être plus inutile. Écoute, tu n’es pas manuelle, sors de ma cuisine” [“Could you be more useless? You’re not a manual person, just get out of my kitchen”].

No, manual, you are not. However, you still need to hang up these damn curtains. And your mother can go grill her ass on smouldering coal because you will. Hang up. These damn. Curtains.

“You need help with something?”

The loud and booming voice jolts you out of your thoughts. You’re mumbling, your face scrunched up in concentration. It’s a few seconds before you can extract yourself from the memory of your mother’s impersonal kitchen, the smell of chlorine burning your nostrils. The voice belongs to a very tall, very handsome man, standing a few feet behind you on your left. Thirty-five years of being a woman fending for herself in big cities and travelling on your own, distrust is something of a survival instinct.

“No, I don't”, you shoot back reflexively before catching yourself. “Wait yes, I do, do you work here?”

You eye him sceptically, scanning him up and down in appraisal with a raised eyebrow. Worn out dirty blue jeans, Metallica T-shirt, shaggy, dark blond hair, he’s not wearing any name tag nor the ugly green vest employees have to sport here. He flashes you a charming smile. Wow. Very charming. Plenty of good teeth.

“Nope,” he says, obviously not deterred by your suspicious demeanour, “but you look lost and… you’re kinda blocking the view.” His deep voice rumbles in the alley, yet it’s not exactly unpleasant; almost velvety, it resonates in your chest.

“The what?”

“The view. I just need to grab…” he plunges past you and picks up a pack of small metallic whatever-the-hell-they-are, “… these. What are you looking for exactly?”

Interesting. He doesn’t look like he wants to leave. You can ride with that.

“I’ve got these curtains, or drapes… no, big heavy curtains I need to hang in my flat. I mean apartment. I’ve no idea where to start.”

“Do you have a power drill? Your place, is it drywall or concrete?”

You’re pretty sure you’ve never looked dumber when you blurt out your answer of “Dry…what?”

—

“Please tell me you got his number.”

Rosie doesn’t mean any harm but the implicit allusion still makes you involuntarily wince. You try to cover it up and roll your eyes so hard you can feel your retinal muscles strain.

“Ah ah,” you answer flatly. “Yes, I got his number, and he’s got mine.”

“And he’s gonna help you with the curtains?”

“With the curtains and something else maybe?”

Rosie’s eyebrows shot to her hairline as she nearly chokes on her rice.

Tuesday is one of your two days off, and on Tuesdays you share lunch with her near the Jersey City Medical Center, where Rosie works as a nurse in the imaging center. “Work” being an inadequate word to describe her level of commitment to the job. A few months after moving into your own place, you’ve successfully convinced her to negotiate more day shifts (“It’s ridiculous, Rosie, they’re just using you and you’re letting them. You never get to enjoy them gardens you’re so obnoxious about.”), and you soon instated a weekly date to catch up with each other. As with everything between you and Rosie, a new routine soon felt like an established tradition, and whether she’s working or not, you share lunch, gossip and deep thoughts every Tuesday. Over tacos, more often than not. As a joke (typical of Rosie’s humour) and because of the proximity of a taco place on the hospital’s grounds. Weather permitting, you sit outside. The New York City skyline draws a jagged line against the horizon. You’re fond of this view from Jersey City, different from the one tourists are usually fed through postcards, cheap art, tote bags and what not. You’ve always enjoyed a change of perspective. Across the Hudson bay, midtown Manhattan and its bustling cacophony, and further still, Brooklyn. And Greenpoint. An empty apartment and a bare window.

“What’s his name again?” she asks in between two sips of orange juice.

“Benjamin. He asked me to call him Benny.”

She groans in approval.

“You said he was tall?”

“Mmh”, you nod, swallowing your mouthful of nopales taco, “you’d like him, he’s a giant. Nearly two meters tall.” You ignore her clueless shrug, weights and measures a bottomless well of misunderstanding, and carry on with your bulleted list in a clinical tone. “Thick blond hair, on the darker side, rather unkempt, dark blue eyes, or maybe grey, I didn’t look too closely, good shoulders, good teeth, nice voice, what else… he was wearing a band t-shirt, but I can’t remember which one, something metal looking, with a skull on it? That’s a point for him –”

Rosie speeds up her shewing and dabs her mouth with her paper towel; you pause and wait for her intervention.

“Wait, blond hair blue eyes? You kidding me? I thought we didn’t do those anymore?"

“Oh trust me, he’s got nothing to do with Éric.”

It’s going to take more than your good word to convince Rosie.

“How? Elaborate.”

You lower your taco and lean in closer for dramatic effect, so she can take in the mischievous glint in your eyes when you say, conspiratorially, “He’s fucking sexy, Rosie.”

Her dark eyes grow wider, she folds her hand in mock prayer.

“Oh my fucking god, tell me you texted him already.”

The levity of the conversation makes you giddy. You feel lightheaded, exchanging knowing looks and giggles over cheap tacos, as you discuss your next possible date with a ridiculously handsome man you met in a ridiculously large hardware store. You can’t help but recall where you were just over a year and a half ago, however hard you try to push back the memory, lest tears come prickling the corners of our eyes. You want to hug Rosie, crash your mouth onto hers, squeeze her tightly against you, so she can never ever doubt your love and gratitude.

“No”, you swallow thickly, “no I didn’t, I’m waiting until tomorrow, you know, the three days rule thingy…”

“Love”, she scoffs, “we live in the time of Tinder, that stupid rule expired like in 1997”.

Rosie treats sex the same way she handles the other aspects of her life: casual efficiency. She did date the birthday boy from her improv class, Kyle, aspiring Broadway actor, blond hair, blue eyes… Invested six years of her life into their relationship, sharing an overpriced apartment in Park Slope complete with succulents and two cats, only for him to break up with her the minute his parents threatened to stop financing his Bohemian Brooklyn lifestyle if he didn’t change at least one parameter of his life. That parameter being his girlfriend. A simple nurse with a crushing student loan, skin at least two shades too dark, the illegitimate daughter of a Colombian single mother, Rosie didn’t stand a chance. It didn’t matter that she put herself through med school or that Dolores was a business owner. She didn’t fit in the picture. There simply was no room for her in this wasp heaven, between Christmases in Aspen and summers in the Hamptons.

She hurt, then, you know she did, the true reason behind the break-up causing a shockwave that reached far beyond the end of a romantic relationship. The following summer, you convinced her to join you in Europe, and together you spent a week in Berlin, exploring the city museums and touristic landmarks by day, getting blackout drunk at night. Rosie being Rosie, she grieved for a while, but all things considered quickly moved on. She has been, ever since, on a strict one-night-stands regimen, enabled by recent technology, enough to sustain her sexual drive but no further injury.

“Text him now. We do it together. I don’t trust you. But no date on Sunday, we’re going to my mom for chicharron.”

“Rosie, the guy I’d skip your mom’s chicharron for is not fucking born yet.”

Well he is. But you lost that number…

—

On your first date, you meet Benny in a crowded bar downtown. Slightly nervous, he put in an effort: clean hair, clean jeans, clean-shaven.

Your choice of clothing caused quite the fuss over the meal in Dolores’s living-room, until you brilliantly won the argument.

“I know what I’m gonna wear: I’m gonna wear that 70’s jeans –” you ignored Rosie’s protests, “the one that I got in your store –” you pointed your fork at Dolores, “that looks two sizes too small, and my T-shirt that says ‘The future is female’. You wanna piece of this sweet ass, you better be a feminist.”

“Shit.” Rosie kept a straight face as she raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty good, actually”.

The last time you went on a date, Bush was in Office. The year was 2007, and it was with Éric. Yet, you’re strangely relaxed, confident, even. Benny’s the one who asked you out, and you’re here with him; in your mind he’s out of your league, it’s apparent that for some reason, he thinks you’re out of his, so whatever happens next is a bonus.

The two of you trade the usual information over a pint of beer. Benny likes the great outdoor, live music, running in the morning. He tells you he enjoys singing and that he plays the guitar; you note that he doesn't make it sound like he’s boasting. It’s just one of the things he loves and wants you to know about. You like museums, books, analog photography, but you find several common grounds with food, dogs, and movies. That’s more than you ever shared with Éric. You remain vague as to why you left Paris but ramble on for twenty minutes about your former job, the priceless first editions, the patrimonial treasures, the secret access to the rooftop of the Hôtel de Ville de Paris, until you stop abruptly to apologise for talking too much. Old habits die hard. He asks you to keep talking, says it’s “pretty awesome” when people love what they do so much.

He mentions his previous career in the military but doesn’t elaborate on what he does now. He talks a lot about his older brother, a guy named Will, whom he describes as his role model and the reason he joined the army. He drives a Mustang 1967, something he’s proud of, says it was a lifelong dream he paid for in sweat and blood. He’s touching, like an overgrown kid, when he speaks about his hometown of Somewhere-you-don’t-catch, Colorado. You ask him to repeat the name twice. He thinks your accent is nice and he tells you as much. He’s got good shoulders, and an endearing smile.

His honesty is unsettling, bordering on bluntness. It’s refreshing. What you see is what you get.

When you get home later that night, you call Rosie and feed her each and every detail. You certainly had a good time, but the giggly conversation with your best friend is priceless. You’ve already agreed to see him again. You’re more carefree than you’ve been in a long while.

—

The following Sunday, you take him to an obscure cinema to see a black and white Argentinian art-house film with subtitles. You feel bad about this one, but you want to know if you’re losing your time. You’re not. He’s not into it, but for you, he’s willing to be. After the movies, he proposes a drink; neither of you wants the evening to end.

In the bar, he hardly sits still, avoiding your eyes and rubbing his palms dry on his jeans. His nervousness puzzles you, you thought the date was going fine, maybe you overdid it a little with the movie. Rosie’s going to shred you.

“Look”, he starts, his loud voice startling you, “before we go further, I mean, you know, if you want to, I mean go further, I gotta tell you what I do. For a living.”

Or maybe you’re going to shred Rosie for pushing you to text him. You nod, indicating you’re listening.

“I’m in the MMA circuit”.

Your face remains impassive. That doesn’t tell you anything. You wait for him to expand, but he just looks at you, lips sucked in and brows furrowed. It tugs at something inside your chest, you want to reassure him, or at least put him at ease.

“Ok… MMA is a French insurance company, but I got a notion that’s not what you’re talking about,” you say tentatively.

“No, that’s er… Mixed Martial Arts.”

“Oh, you mean the thing where you wear funny costumes and throw chairs at –”

His face takes on an indignant look and you understand you’ve said something stupid, perhaps even hurtful. But the way he speaks next, sitting up straight in his chair, animated and passionate, is a definite improvement from his anxious behaviour.

“No! Fuck no! That’s WWE! No, MMA is a real sport, you use techniques from different combat sports, like, from all over the world, it’s based on –”

“Wait”, you interrupt, “you’re telling me you get hit in the face? For a living? Real punches?”

“No,” he scoffs, “‘cause I'm fucking good, but yeah, it happens.”

“I don’t believe you”. You shake your head to emphasise your disbelief.

“What do you mean, you don’t believe me?”

“Well, look at your face! You can’t look this pretty and get hit in the grill on a daily basis!”

He relaxes in his chair, flashing you his most charming, mischievous smile.

“You think I’m pretty?”

You narrow your eyes, seemingly not impressed.

“Oh come on, you know you are. Can I come to see a fight, one of these days? When’s the next one? I can cheer you on.”

“I don’t know,” he hesitates, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t imagine you in this kinda crowd…”

“Gimme enough alcohol and I’ll mingle in any kind of crowd.”

Eager to make your point, you down half your beer in two sips, draining the tension from his frame. He looks like himself again. You ask him if there’s good money in it, he shrugs, explains that with his military pension it’s enough, he doesn’t need much. That’s another point for him.

“So that’s not a dealbreaker?” he asks.

“No. A dealbreaker is if you’re a Trump supporter or… or if you think equality is a dirty word… or… You’re not a Trump supporter, are you?”

“Nope.” His lips make a popping sound on the P, and you briefly wonder what they would feel like pressed against yours.

“OK, then. We’re good,” you declare.

You’re good.

—

Before your third date, Rosie comes over and waltzes into your apartment with a command.

“This time you're wearing a dress.”

You don’t own many, but she digs out a short wrap dress in a dark shade of blue that you bought years ago in Sorrento and haven’t worn since. The kind of outfit you only feel brave enough to wear on a holiday abroad, far from home and your usual self, only to relegate it to the depth of your closet once you come home to your everyday life. It certainly is flattering and, as she declares, it means business, so you comply.

When you meet Benny outside the dinner, his hungry expression speaks a thousand words. Rosie was right, as always. You share fries and milkshakes, the thing so quintessentially American, you fancy yourself in one of the 80s flicks you grew up watching. The conversation between you is easy. But tonight, you both have something else in mind.

His house is small and you’ve been to tidier places, but it’s clean and homey. The small living-room is dwarfed by a big, comfortable looking leather couch in a caramel tone. There is no ceiling lamp, the warm light is provided by two disparate table lamps and a floor lamp holding up straight with duct tape. Above the couch, a poster of Twin Peaks, and on the adjacent wall, a large framed print of a colourful landscape, a lake surrounded by rocks and fir trees and on the horizon, a mountain, which you assume to be in Colorado. Acoustic and electric guitars are laid against furniture across the room. There’s a vintage stereo and a record player, no books but neatly stacked rows of vinyls, a big television and, you note with delight, a VCR player.

“I didn’t think you’d come here tonight,” he apologises, swirling around the place, putting dirty dishes in the sink, picking a T-shirt from the floor, kicking a pair of running shoes near the door.

Walking over to the shelves to take a peek at the records, your attention is drawn to two framed pictures. In one of them, an official-looking portrait, a young Benjamin stands proudly against a plain blue studio background, looking dashing in a military uniform. His hair is short and a lighter shade of blond, his serious face in contrast with his childlike features. You pick up the other one to study. A little kid with a wild mane of honey blond hair, dressed in a cowboy outfit, is holding a baby in his arms, standing on an outdoor patio. His face is grave, and a golden retriever stands by his side. The colours got saturated by the years, the picture now in shades of orange.

“My brother and me,” he says, taking the frame from your hands and replacing it face down on the shelf. “You wanna drink something?” he offers, standing so close now, his hooded gaze fixed on your lips.

You shake your head no. He undoes the knot of your dress, and holds it open, taking in your body, his blue eyes darkened with lust.

“Fuck, baby, I’ve wanted to do this all night. You’re so beautiful.”

You let him crash his lips onto yours and open up for him, trying to fight back thoughts of the last person to ever call you baby.

—

After that night, you see each other twice, sometimes three times a week. You meet in bars, at the movies, or directly at his house. It’s three weeks before he asks you to meet Will. You agree without hesitation, you understand that you have to be granted his older brother’s seal of approval before he can commit himself further with you. Will is slightly shorter than his younger brother, strongly built, bulkier. He wears his blond hair short, and his sharp chin is toned down by a neatly trimmed beard. An independent contractor, he's responsible for a support group at the VA and gives regular lectures to new recruits. He’s a quiet man, observant and reserved. To your surprise, the two of you strike an instant friendship. A profound bond that makes Benny suspicious at first, until he realises there’s nothing remotely sexual about it. You recognise something in each other, an original wound, deeply rooted in your childhood, one you two have yet to disclose. You share an interest in books and museums. An art student, he dropped out of college to enrol after 9/11, his little brother just fresh out of high school following suit. Their mother still resents him for it. Strangely enough, Benny never talks about his years in the army. It is Will who provides you with this information.

It’s another couple of weeks before you introduce him to Rosie. She takes an immediate liking to him. They’re not unlike each other, open, enthusiastic and straightforward. But mostly, she likes him for the way he looks at you, with covetous eyes, for the way he makes you feel worthy of it, for the way he makes you laugh.

Benny runs every morning, cold, rain or hangover be damned. He tirelessly asks you to come with him, you tirelessly send him to hell with a hearty laugh. When you order food, you bet on who will get the most copious dish. You watch marathons of classic horror movies. You spend entire evenings debating which installment of the Alien franchise is the best, and whether The Shining is a Stephen King adaptation or a Kubrick movie.

It’s a longer while until you agree to stay the whole night at his place, always coming up with a good excuse, but after having done it once, you do it more and more often.

He asks you to come with him and Will to Colorado for Thanksgiving, but you decline, arguing the holiday doesn’t mean anything to you. He’s not deterred, he never is, and asks you again before Christmas. This time, you’re celebrating with Rosie and Dolores. His third attempt is for New Year’s Eve. You loathe what you hardly consider as a holiday, but you don’t find it in you to turn him down, instead telling him you’d love to kick in the new year with him, provided you stay at his place. He surprises you with Irish whiskey and French cheese and the complete collection of The Tales from the Crypt on VHS. It’s by far your best date, although you don’t watch TV for long. As often happens, you end up naked and entangled on the living-room floor.

Benny likes it rough, and so do you. You’ve had four and a half years of tepid intercourse with Éric’s flaccid dick, rolled in cold sheets in your pitch-dark bedroom, before he stopped fucking you altogether. You love it when Benny bends you over the kitchen table and pulls your jeans down, nudges your legs open with his booted feet, spits on your cunt and shoves his hard cock inside you without any other preamble. You love it when he cups your pussy through your clothes and presses against the fabric until he makes you come in the dark of the movie theater. You love it when he drags you out of the shower and hauls you onto his shoulder, a wet, laughing mess, throws you on the bed and fucks you with your legs hooked on his shoulders. You love it when you’re lying with him on the couch, and he grabs the remote, pausing whatever it is you’re watching and tossing it on the floor before lifting your shirt with a growl of “you think you can rub these fucking gorgeous tits on me and I ain’t gonna do nothing about it?”

He’s got a filthy mouth, you love that too, and gets a kick out of detailing the nasty things he’s about to do to you, his deep voice thrumming through you like boulders down a cliff. He texts you when you’re at work to tell you he’s fucking his fist to the scent of your shampoo on his sheets. And you love this, too. One day, you ask him if he minds your sensible underwear, does he wish you wore more intricate and refined lingerie, lace and such? His answer is unequivocally straight-forward, “baby, I don’t give a shit what you wear as long as you can take it off fast enough.” To the point.

He fits you like a glove, the girth of him sliding perfectly inside you, filling you up without stretching you, you’re always ready to get down to it. You don’t let him fuck you bare, however, even though you two are clean and agreed from the beginning to be exclusive. You tell him it’s because you don’t use any contraception. “It’s a feminist statement, Benjamin, women are fertile four days a month while men can impregnate us 365 days a year. Contraception shouldn’t be our fucking problem”, and Benny doesn’t argue. He never does. And when you tell him it’s political, you almost believe it yourself, it’s so much easier than to acknowledge the true reason.

There would be clues for him to pick up, if he only knew that he was to look for them. But how could he? He’s never been to your apartment. Never got around to hanging these curtains. He would happily spend every waking hour in your company, but he understood early on that you need long periods of time on your own. Your apartment is where you retreat, then. Sometimes you wake up with a start in the middle of the night and fumble blindly in bed. When your hands find his body, you turn onto your side; he doesn’t think much of it, it’s probably just a bad dream. He has a lot of these himself. You told him about Éric, eventually, and the reason why you moved here. He listened through clenched teeth and tight fists, and when he fucked you after that, it was the softest he had ever been. He treats you like a wounded wild animal: his hand always extended, letting you approach at your own pace. He has no way of knowing your heart is hollowed in the shape of another man.

—

You settle into a comfortable routine, one that the two of you enjoy. Unless you chose to be alone, you spend Monday, Wednesday and Thursday nights at his place. On Sundays, when you’re not driving to New York with Will to visit some exhibition or other, Benny likes to take you upstate for a hike, and more often than not, draws you away from the trail to fuck you standing against a tree, the bark bruising the soft flesh of your back, the cold biting your naked legs, his hand pressed against your mouth to muffle your mewling sounds. You go to every one of his fights, screaming his name until your lungs burn, embarrassing the fuck out of Will, and afterward, you languidly suck the tension out of his cock, his sore hand tugging your soft hair, telling him how well he did, how watching him fight makes you proud and turns you on, even when he loses, which he rarely does.

Tuesdays are for Rosie and on Fridays you’re on your own. That’s when he meets “the guys” in their usual dingy bar outside of town. “The guys”, this tightly woven pack of men, the individuals indistinguishable from each other in your outsider’s eyes. When Benny talks about them, it’s with such devotion, such absolute loyalty, you wonder what they’ve been through together. You don’t ask, even though for the first time in a long while, you actually genuinely care; he’s not innately secretive, but there are underlying forces in his refusal to discuss his time in the army that you don’t fully understand. In the meantime, you provide him with something else, warmth and a cosy familiarity.

Once, you tried teasing him about what you called their silly code-names, Pope, Catfish, Redfly, but were quick to realise you struck a nerve. You know Will is Ironhead, because he told you himself, but that’s as far as it gets. Now you refer to them as The Goonies. You made sure Benny knows it’s affectionate.

So you are quite happily surprised when, on a Sunday morning, he announces nervously that Redfly’s in town the following week, and if you’d want to meet them.

“Meet who? The Goonies?” you ask, your spoonful of cereal hanging in midair.

“Oh fuck off,” he shoots back, failing to keep a straight face.

“Oh my god it’s happening! This is a code red! I’m gonna meet the Goonies!”

“You ok with that?”

“Sure! You know it’s one of my favourite movies.”

“No but for real, baby. I’m serious. It’s important. You wanna meet the guys?

God, he’s cute when he’s nervous. You lower your spoon and put on your softest smile when you reply.

“Yes, Benjamin Miller. I do want to meet the guys.”

“Ok. It’s done, then. Now c’mere, I’m gonna fuck those glorious tits and come all over that pretty face.”

“Can I finish my cereal first?”

"Nope”.

You love that popping sound.

****

Thank you for reading till the end! If by any chance you liked it and would like to read further installments, I made a taglist.

Taglist (thank you💕): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine

#Francisco Catfish Morales #Frankie Morales #Ben Miller #Benny MIller #Will Miller #Will Ironhead Miller #The Pilot™️#Frankie Morales x fem!reader #Frankie morales x you #triple frontier fic #feral frankie friday #Frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales/fem!reader #frankie morales/you #frankie morales/ofc #triple frontier

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deepwoundsandfadedscars · 2 years

Note

I wish you'd write a fic where cal kestis falls off a cliff and gets hurt while exploring and his friends search for him desperately before it's too late 👀

What should've been a short writing exercise became a month long 1,800 word fic, I apologize for taking so long but in my defense I've only had 5 days off in that month and 10-16 hour long work days 😆 Hope you enjoy, and thank you for the prompt 💚

Read on Ao3!

He woke to a shrill beep and something nudging against his hand. When he managed to pry open his eyes, a small vial with bright green fluid rested in the palm of his limp hand and he could see two more in the grass next to it. It was familiar, he knew he needed to do something with it, but the pain radiating up and down his spine and around his torso was too intense. A little droid bounced from one foot to another until it squatted down and pushed against his fingers with its head again. He curled his fingers as much as he could and tried to bring it closer to his face to investigate with blurry eyes.

The tiny movement made pain explode through his neck and he succumbed to the blackness again.

The next time he wakes there’s a voice in his ear, slightly out of breath but speaking calmly. A woman's voice, he knows she sounds familiar but he’s so disoriented he can’t put a name or a face to it. The words don’t make sense either, like his brain isn’t keeping them in the correct order as they travel from the device in his ear and all the way into his mind. Slowly it starts to fall into an order that makes a little bit of sense.

“It’s okay, Cal. I just need you to wake up. Merrin and I are almost there.”

There? Where is there? Does she mean here? Where he is? Where is here? It’s dark, wherever here is. Or are his eyes closed? He can’t gather the strength to even test that theory. Is she even talking to him? She said Cal, is he Cal? That sounds right…

He hears that beeping and trilling again, somewhere nearby. It makes the pain in his head spike, a little bit too loud. Somehow the woman must be able to hear it and her voice returned. “BD, he’s awake? Are you sure? Cal, can you hear me? Say something, please.”

She had to have been talking to him, right? Now if only he could put words together…

He managed a groan, which was apparently all she needed to hear. “Cal!" Too loud, which makes him groan again. "Hey, stay awake for me, okay? We’re here, we’re right above you!”

Above? That doesn’t make sense… And there goes that beeping again…

There were two soft thumps, one in front of him and the other on the ground behind him where he felt a presence there moments before a hand landed on his upper arm. “Oh Cal…” The voice he heard in his ear was real this time, not being distorted by the comm link anymore. She was right here, he could see who it was if he just managed to open his eyes. But he was so tired, and everything hurt, it would take too much effort…

A warm hand gently pried his fingers open, removing the small vial he had forgotten about from his hand and shortly after there was a hiss and warmth flooded his arm. He sighed as the painkiller worked quickly, the sharp pains in his head and spine turning to a dull numbness, and relaxed further into the grass. Even without being able to move he hadn’t realised how the pain had kept every muscle in his body so tense.

He revelled in the numbness for a few minutes, feeling like he was almost floating somewhere above his own body, separate from the injuries that still riddled it. He could hear quiet murmurs nearby and the occasional trilling beep.

Slowly he came back to himself and noticed the sensation of someone rubbing their hand up and down his arm. The same person was quietly pleading with him to wake up again. He heard more than felt the quiet hiss as they administered another vial, this time in his thigh. Opening his eyes didn’t feel like such a daunting task anymore and he finally managed to drag them open just as the voice said something else he didn’t quite catch. His field of vision was mostly green grass and black dirt, some of which was wet with red. He couldn’t think of why, but it didn’t seem like a good thing.

He managed to turn his head ever so slightly and the little droid leapt nearly a foot into the air, beeping happily. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned further to see two blurry figures quickly swapping places around him. The figure in front of him dropped to their knees and leaned close to his face. Recognition followed by relief flooded his mind as her face came into focus and he let his head thump onto the ground again. “Cere…”

A pained smile flickered across her face and she squeezed his arm. “We’re here. Try to stay still.”

In spite of her request he craned his neck to see who knelt behind him and he caught a glimpse of Merrin’s familiar green magick. She conjured a small cloud around her right hand and placed it against the back of his neck, placing her other hand on his cheek so he wouldn't turn any further. The hand on his neck slowly trailed downward, he could feel the magick slipping along his spine, like the pins and needles feeling he got in his legs when he meditated for too long.

Her hand on his cheek was cool and grounding. He tested moving his hand and when nothing instantly screamed in pain at the movement, he raised it to wrap fingers around her hand, holding it in place. She squeezed his fingers in response and he closed his eyes again, waiting for her to finish.

“He has broken ribs and strained muscles, but I don’t sense any damage to his spinal cord.”

He heard Cere exhale heavily, as though she had been waiting with baited breath for the Nightsisters report. He had to agree with her relief, he couldn’t tell on his own, numb as he was. The pain had been overwhelming and blinded him to any particular focal point, and now with the painkilling numbness of the stimpack, he couldn’t say for sure. His head still felt floaty, as though if he just allowed himself to, he would fall asleep right then and there.

He felt Cere’s hand on his forehead, pushing his hair back and he wearily opened one eye to look up at her.

“Can you move your legs?”

He closed his eye again and let his head turn back towards the dirt, brow furrowed as he thought about it. “‘m tired.”

“I know you are, but I just want to check. Can you try?”

It took a moment for him to focus, but he managed to wiggle the toes of his boots, scratching divots in the mud.

“Good, that’s really good Cal.”

He hummed and started to drift off, satisfied in a job well done, as little as it had been. One of them was carefully moving his hair, and the familiarity was a lulling comfort. Before he could fully fall asleep again the side of his head was suddenly shrouded in warmth and his eyes flew open in surprise, looking up to find Merrin’s hand gently pressing down the edges of a bacta patch over his head wound.

“Sorry,” She shrugged sheepishly. "I should have warned you."

“‘s ok,” he said, lifting his hand to wrap around hers again, capturing her fingers to keep her hand pressed against his cheek. Her skin was cool against his own, his whole head felt like it was too hot and her contact gave him some relief. “‘s ok,” he muttered again and relaxed into the mud again, content for the moment to stay exactly where he was.

He could hear Merrin and Cere talking above him, but he was starting to float away again, unconcerned about whatever they were talking about. Occasionally Greeze’s voice crackled through the comm link, but Cal was too out of it to listen to him either. It was comforting hearing their voices, reminding him of quiet downtime on the ship, exhausted after a long day spent on a planet and relaxing on the couch around the table, drifting off to their conversation. Back on Bracca, silence was rare, even off the jobsite. In five years, he never had a room to himself, and none of the others living in those rooms had much care for what everyone else's schedules were like, if they were sleeping or not. Loud conversations and disagreements and clambering about while getting ready for their shifts were something Cal learned to sleep through, so much so that after his first exhausted night on the Mantis, he found it hard to fall asleep in silence. The thrum of the engine below his bed helped somewhat, but some of the best sleeps he had on the ship were on the couch surrounded by his crewmates as they engaged in conversation. Sometimes they would lower their voices if they noticed him nodding off, but usually by then he was well on his way to a deep sleep.

Cere’s voice got louder in his ear, as though she leaned down to speak directly in his ear to wake him up. “Cal, we’re going to try moving you, ok? Greeze is almost here, he’s going to land as close as he can, but Merrin and I will still need to get you up.”

At some point Merrin’s hand had escaped his grasp and he found his hand flopped back into the mud in front of his face. Cal couldn’t think of when that might have happened. He must have fallen asleep without even realising.

He felt Merrins hands on him, one on his hip and the other looping under his arm from behind. In front Cere cradled a hand under his jaw and the other on his side and together they started to slowly roll him onto his back.

As soon as they did, pain shot through his rib cage and his jaw and eyes clenched shut with a strangled groan. He reflexively reached for his own chest, as if he could do anything to stop the pain or keep himself from falling apart. Someone was pushing his hair back from his forehead, gingerly avoiding the bacta patch and apologising in his ear. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Cal, but we need to keep going.”

Before he could protest he was being pulled into a seated position and from there his companions hooked one of his arms over each of their shoulders and hauled him to his feet. He choked on a scream, his chest felt like it was on fire and his head spun with every small movement. They barely made it three steps before it became too much and Cal felt himself slip off into the blackness.

#Thanks for the ask~!#Here's a thing I wrote #star wars jedi fallen order #cal kestis #cal kestis whump #whump fic #whump fanfic #fanfic #scheduled fic cause it was like 2 AM when I got it wrapped up and pasted in here #I will post it on Ao3 at some point too #and I did start writing this from Cere's point of view too but its not done and not quite as long either #lemme know if you'd want to see that too

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kuekyuuq · 6 months

Text

Sims and Supercorp

...so I rediscovered Sims for me and created some Lena & Kara stand-ins (because I could not really make them look like them, gave them different names too).

Here's a list of things that they did and do, most of which I do not even force/control, simply based on the base traits I gave them from the start, again based on Kara and Lena individually.

Kara is a foodie but the very first time she cooked she caused a fire and now hates cooking.

naturally, this makes Lena the cook in their by now little household

Kara is super buff and a professional author 💪🖋️

Lena used to be more curvy and barely tolerated sports but ever since Kara keeps cheering her on when she's on the treadmill she's lost the trait and attitude a bit

Lena was a bit stand-off'ish at first when Kara tried to hit on her, but she was very much happy to flirt with Kara herself (it took just a handful of friendly to flirty interactions from Lena's side for her to start swooning for Kara and the "wanna be my woohoo buddy" option to show up)🤨 👀🥰

Lena is a tech-genius but as her position raised to a more CEO-like level she keeps coming home more and more often tense af

I takes EITHER a long relieving shower AND a boxing session to somewhat fix Lena's job based tenseness OR a simple hug by Kara (not even kidding!) 🤗❤️

Lena has whole two (2) social connections (Kara and some co-worker)

Kara's social list just keeps on growing...

Kara keeps inviting in strangers when I am not looking 🦋

she's even friends with the staff... 🍕🧹🙂

...Lena does give them generous tips, tho 💸

really, Lena only joins in on conversations with 3rd parties when Kara started them

...I had to limit Kara a bit from keeping to include strangers to their conversations while they were on dates! Geez! Focus on your woman, little social butterfly!

Most the time I just let them go and roam on their own, I find Kara and Lena holding hands and giving each other heart-eyes 😍😍

...to the point I have to separate them to take care of their needs so they/Lena can make it on time to work ✋🥲

While Kara is not a sloth, Lena is very tidy (and does not even get mad when she cleans after Kara)

Lena keeps wanting to talk about her fear of Death 💀

Kara keeps wanting to talk about her favorite foods 🤤

Kara is a total goofball.. and while Lena has very little humor for strangers, Kara keeps making her laugh/happy 😐😀

At first and still most of Kara's flirty interaction options are sweet gestures (hand holding, giving roses, reciting poetry), while Lena from very early on leaned towards more forward ones (sexy posing, seductive whispers, complimenting her appearance, invites to woohoo...) 💘😏

At this point, really whether I am controlling or they do it themselves, they get into flirty/lovey-dovey mood pretty much as soon as they talk.

I may cheer every time Lena gets a little late to work because she lingered (on her own) to wait for Kara to finish up whatever she's doing, just to give her a kiss or hug before rushing out... 🥹

Kara does get distracted a bit easier than Lena from what she's doing (unless she's writing ...or flirting with Lena)

Lena keeps seeking out the chess-board when unattended whereas when Kara is in the mood for logic-learning she defaults to the telescope

I am not sure if it's a bug, but Kara has this tendency to fall asleep after woohoo even when her stamina is still firmly in the green 🥰😴

I am not sure what is incidental due to my initial and very biased way of creating their characters, early actions and interactions I had them make, and which just is 'natural' development and progression...

...but it's a whole lot fun!

...is like watching a no-plot-fluff fic play out XD

(For anyone wondering, my stand-ins are called Kieran Walsh and Elle Yean - yeah, I thought myself clever with the second one XD )

#supercorp #sims 4 #silly things #just sharing #food for thought

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chayscribbles · 1 year

Text

space heist intro but it's a comic sans powerpoint i put together in like 15 minutes five months ago

get the pretty, more coherent intro here

text transcript below

slide 1:

THE GEMINI HEIST

a wip by chay luna

working titles include “space heist” and “be gay do crime… in space”

slide 2:

A LONG TIME AGO IN A GALAXY FAR FAR A— *micky mouse sniper gunshots*

we find ourselves in the Wild West of space, where outlaws and criminals can do whatever the hell they want while those supposedly in charge look the other way to protect their own interests

Captain Leonore “Leo” Callisto of the Siren leads a small crew doing various gigs and odd jobs for people all around the sector. yknow, smuggling shit, stealing shit, selling stolen or rare shit, etc

but after the team’s spy, Zeya (who Leo was showing favoritism to for No Particular Reason) takes off with a shitton of money after a spat with Leo, the rest of the crew, no longer trusting Leo’s judgement, decides to ditch her as well, save 2 loyal but very inexperienced members: engineer Gabriola “Gabi” Franco and the crew’s muscle Euna Li

slide 3:

okay so that’s the context, now let’s get to the plot

while searching for work on Space Kijiji, Leo comes upon an offer from a rich, eccentric art collector calling themself the Curator, offering a large money reward to steal a statuette from the House of Dyonas, a powerful and wealthy family on the planet Vihelda that passes along wispy purple telekinesis powers from generation to generation

the statuette is one of the two Gemini Statuettes, which are believed to depict a pair of twins in the Dyonas family from a few generations ago, but the House Head, Andlyn Dyonas, refuses to sell, so the most logical thing to do is to pay someone to steal it, as one does

strapped for cash, Leo accepts, even tho the House of Dyonas is notoriously hard to get into (she has a few tricks up her sleeve ofc, including getting one of the Dyonas House Heirs, the runaway Illiana, to help her)

BUT as she and her tiny ragtag crew embark on this quest, they quickly learn that they’re not the only ones with their eyes on this prize, and ~someone~ on a quest to sabotage them always seems to be a step ahead 👀

slide 4:

okay CHARACTER TIMEEE

[ID: a tall, dark-skinned woman with brown eyes. she has a long, dark braid with ends gradually lightened to blonde. she wears a long, deep red coat with gold accents, a white shirt, tight black pants, black fingerless gloves, and high black boots. there is a weapon with a golden hilt strapped to her leg. her expression is serious. she holds up a black blaster pistol with glowing red accents. end ID.]

CAPTAIN LEONORE “LEO” CALLISTO, the Mastermind

28 years old, she/her, from Tharrekan

is actually a Capricorn, not a Leo

picked up business and finance skills from her relatively successful business people parents

but then one day disaster struck, and Leo had to turn to a life of thieving and smuggling to get by, eventually saving up to get her own ship and crew

she’s really good at making connections and manipulating negotiating with people with her jacked up charisma stat. not so great at forming genuine relationships tho

claims to be an “honest criminal” but yeah that’s a lie, along with pretty much everything else that comes out of her mouth

gaslight gatekeep girlboss <3

is completely normal about Zeya Kade

yeah i really made a wip called “Gemini Heist” and then named my main character LEO kjdfkjs

slide 5:

[ID: a short, chubby light-skinned young woman. she has short brown curls, hazel eyes, and a nervous expression. she wears a white shirt, a green bomber jacket with orange accents, brown arm guards on her forearms, black fingerless gloves, baggy dark blue pants, silver knee pads, brown boots, and a brown tool pouch around her waist. silver tools are tucked into the front pockets of her jacket. a pair of orange-tinted goggles rests on her head. end ID.]

GABRIOLA “GABI” FRANCO, the Engineer

21 years old (the baby of the crew), she/her, from Plana D’Ezza

was studying mechanomedicine (which is, as the name suggests, a mix of mechanics and medicine, specifically to work w cyborgs) in university

secretly did unauthorized repairs on cyborg parts for people who couldn’t afford it, but got caught and got in Big Trouble

anyways now she has a criminal record hanging over her head and massive student debt lmao

idealistic, arguably naive, trying to toughen up (but isn’t very good at it)

has a MASSIVE gay crush on Euna. she thinks she’s being subtle about it but like EVERYONE has noticed. (except for Euna herself, of course.)

slide 6:

[ID: a tall, light-skinned, muscular, east asian-coded woman. she grins as she runs towards the viewer. her peach-coloured hair with dark roots is straight and is half loose just below her shoulders, with two buns at the top of her head. she wears a white tank top with pink straps, an orange jumpsuit tied at the waist, and black boots. a simple silver blaster is tucked into a black holster at her hip. her right arm is a cybernetic prosthesis, attached right above the elbow, and is white with pink accents. end ID.]

EUNA LI, the Brawns

24 years old, she/her, from Siung-Katsa

used to be a moderately successful competitive athlete but preferred performing to competing and impulsively joined a space circus only to find herself trapped in a shitty contract with bad working conditions

and then the Accident™ happened in which she lost her arm, and she was swindled into buying a super expensive cybernetic prosthesis bc she thought it would enhance her performance with the circus

but since it took “too long” for her to recover, the circus managers replaced her without even telling her :( so she pretty much joined the Sirens to pay off her medical bills rip

big arms to give big hugs

doesn’t have the highest intelligence stat tho but she’s trying her best!!!!!

completely oblivious to the fact that Gabi is in love with her lmao (she’s convinced Gabi is only interested in her fancy prosthesis)

slide 7:

[ID: a light-skinned woman with purple curly hair. her eyes glow purple, and she is floating with her arms outstretched, holding two glowing purple wisps in her hands. her expression is serious. she wears a long, white coat, a black sparkly top with purple edging, a purple crystal pendant, black leggings, silver wristbands, and tall white boots. end ID.]

ILLIANA VIVIENNE, SECOND HEIR TO THE HOUSE OF DYONAS, the Informant

23 years old, she/her

daughter of Lord Andlyn of the House of Dyonas, House Head

has an identical twin sister, Kalenora Ismerie, First Heir to the House of Dyonas (yes all their names are like this), who is a few minutes older

Illiana has always been better than Kalen at mastering their inherited powers, which has caused ~tension~ between the sisters over who gets to be the next House Head when their father dies

so Kalen did *stuff* to secure her position and forced Illiana to go on the run and hide out in what is essentially Space Las Vegas under an alias

she gets roped into the heist to help them get into the House of Dyonas, although she is very reluctant to go back there (but is very tired of washing dishes in some dingy Space Vegas bar)

she will get her loyalties tested in more ways than one <3

slide 8:

[ID: a short woman with medium-brown skin. she has straight black hair that reaches just above her shoulders, the left side shaved in an undercut. she is smirking and has a piercing over her left eyebrow, two piercings on her right ear helix, and a navel piercing. she is wearing a black crop top, a blue bomber jacket with purple and pink accents, black leggings, black boots, black fingerless gloves, and two black belts with silver buckles. she is holding two glowing plasma wands (like lightsaber daggers), one pink and one blue. end ID.]

ZEYA KADE, the Rogue

27 years old, she/her

5’1” (this is important i swear)

known as Shadowblade for being sneaky and elusive (and stabby)

so sneaky and elusive, in fact, that even i don’t know much about her

???????????????????????

that’s a lie i know a lot about her i’m just being sneaky and elusive <3

slide 9:

IN CONCLUSION:

[ID: two memes. the first is a picture of Leo with the phrase "I am so normal about Zeya Kade", with the words "I am obsessed with" hidden by the first part of the sentence. the second is a picutre of Zeya with the same text, but the name has been changed to "Leo Callisto".]

that's it that's the wip

#wip gemini heist #wip intro

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