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zwhoreo · 8 months

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A fic of Luffy and Reader first meeting please 😍🙏 ( I love how you write Luffy)

tysm !!! <33 this turned out so cute i think

meeting him - luffy x gn!reader

fluff

summary: while watching the ocean on your front steps one evening, you meet a boy named monkey d. luffy. he tells you about his life as a pirate, and teaches you how to skip rocks in the sea

words: 1.6k

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Evening is just around the corner but the sky is still high enough over those clouds on the horizon that there’s warmth on your skin, golden and marinated. You’re sitting on the stone steps of your front garden and watching the waves crash on the white sand in the distance, because it’s warm enough that it’s still worth it to be here, letting the breeze weave your fingers.

Not many people are around at this time of night, the world is peaceful and still, but that’s why your head turns, in curiosity and focus, at the sound of wooden sandals on the sidewalk ahead, a heavy thwacking of aimless stumbling, the horizon bends with a silhouette of a boy walking down the cobble path and looking ahead, dazed, smiling over nothing.

You lock eyes. Large, brown, thoughtless and friendly eyes. You’re captivated and for some reason your heart folds in on itself in a way you can’t quite explain. His features are delicate, oddly beautiful in an unlikely sort of way, a hazel tan and greasy black hair blowing gently in the wind beneath an old, frayed straw hat. He looks like he’s been out at sea for a very long time, but although weathered he’s incredibly youthful, an older teenager, you think. He’s dressed like a pirate, you know this look well, they come into taverns drunk on cheap rum and leer at the young girls, picking fights, you didn’t think there were many good pirates left these days but something about this boy is so profoundly different. He’s not like anyone you’ve ever seen before, in some way you can’t place.

You watch him, keenly interested now, chin resting on your hands. Maybe this is why he comes up to you, crouching so close in front of you, no shyness present in his face. There’s an old scar under his left eye, tight and pale with age.

“Hiya!” His voice is raspy and loud. “You seen my crew anywhere?”

“Your crew? Mm, I don’t know. I haven’t seen anyone come by here for a while.” You find yourself talking differently than usual, not like you normally do with strangers, it’s something in your voice, your annunciation, that catches you off guard.

“Aw, really? There’s a lady with orange hair and this guy and he’s got green hair and three swords and-” He stops in the middle of a frustrated gesticulation when he sees your blank eyes. “Mm. Ok, I’ll go look in town.”

And just like that he gets up to leave. You’re saddened, but you find your words catching in your throat. Don’t leave.

But he pauses a few paces away, turning back after a brief consideration. “Hey, ya got any food? I’m real hungry.”

You look up, breath hitching. Yes, yes, this is something you can do. “Oh, yeah, I just baked some bread, actually. I’ll go get it if you wanna wait here.”

“Ooh! Sounds good. Hey, thanks!” he calls to you warmly, turning back, trotting to your front steps as you go inside.

The bread basket has been cooling on the windowsill, the crust is golden and steam wafts through the room and wets your hands as you pick it up to bring it to him. But when you come outside again he isn’t on your steps, or in your garden, you look around to find him but he isn’t anywhere, not until you step into the road and look over the rock embankment.

There’s the boy, he’s sitting in the white sand and playing with rocks, stacking them in lopsided towers with great intent. You smile when you see him. He isn’t gone. So you climb onto the beach and come to him, he grins casually, like you had been there all along, and his eyes light up when you set the bread in front of him.

“Ahh! This looks soo good!” Before his words are finished he’s already eating messily, he doesn’t care about the sand on his hands, he’s so focused.

You sit by him. You lean in, admiring his face, finally speaking, “I’m [name], by the way.”

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy!” he proclaims with enthusiasm, still not looking up. “It’s good to meet ya!” And he goes back to eating, as if this simple greeting has made you best friends and now everything is solved, but that name is familiar somehow and you like him so much already and you need to know more.

“Are you a pirate?” you ask with a tilted head.

“Mhm!” Luffy says through a mouthful of bread, “and I’m gonna be king of ‘em!”

“Pirate king, huh?” You raise your eyebrows, you’re charmed by him.

“Mm! Do you like the sea, [name]?” You feel like he’s been shifting closer to you, you hear him all around you now, his chewing remains consistent, loud.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s one of the prettiest things in the world,” you say honestly, the waves glitter in front of you, an infinite land-sky, glitter on pearl on galaxy-blue. Sunspots, stars, they twinkle on its surface.

“It’s real fun to be a pirate,” he chirps, finishing the bread and turning to you, his smile is gleaming and his voice is soft but gleeful.

“Yeah? What kinda stuff do you do out there?” You just want to hear him speak more, you realize.

“Ah man, everything! We go on tons of adventures, and we sing, and we get to make new friends wherever we go… and we look for treasure! We’re tryna find the One Piece!”

He returns your enchanted stare. He makes it all sound so easy, taming the cruel sea. His chest rises and falls, breaths heavy with excitement, his hands palm at the sand and hey, he’s really moving closer now, isn’t he? His eyes are so sparkly, it’s impossible to look away from him.

“Wanna skip rocks with me?” he asks before you have time to reply. He’s distracted so easily, reaching happily for his little tower, weighing the smooth gray stone in his hand.

Aren’t you looking for your crew? you want to ask. But you can’t let go of him yet, this mysterious, perfect boy. So instead you say, “sure, if you can teach me. I’m not great at it.”

“You live by the sea and ya can’t skip rocks?” Luffy laughs at you, tossing his stone into the sea with a snap of his wrist, it bounces once, twice, spinning in the air, a battle to fly from the ocean’s hunger, before it’s pulled beneath, disappearing into the surf.

Your hands touch as he gives you a rock, perfectly round and smooth, warmed from his palm. You throw it but your arm falters, it falls with a splash, gone before it could fly, a ripple of a memory left on the water, nothing more. Luffy laughs at you again.

“Nah, that ain’t it, you gotta flick your arm and keep it straight.” He moves close enough where you can feel his breath on your skin, hot and thick. “Mm,” he murmurs in your ear, voice low and ripe, “like this…”

He’s behind you, leaning against you, taking your arm and positioning you for the right sort of throw. His skin feels strange, like warm rubber, but your mind is so clouded with him, with his musky, overpowering scent and the tickle of his hair, you don’t notice much of anything. By accident, for the briefest moment, his salt-dried lips brush your shoulder, this is like lightning within you. But for Luffy this is nothing, it means nothing to him to be this close, it’s just what seems so natural.

You throw again, a smaller rock this time, aided by his hands on your arm. You’re so dizzied by his touch and you expect it to be even worse this time but to your surprise the rock skips once, a single heartbeat.

“See! Ya did it!” Luffy shouts joyfully, slapping you on the back, a little too hard, before pulling you in for a hug.

This is the best hug you’ve ever had. So tight, so warm, he buries his head in your shoulder, his weight nearly knocks you into the sand. You grab him back, by pure instinct, you want this closeness never to leave you.

But in an instant he’s pulled away again, unfazed by his own affection. He adjusts his hat carefully, looking back at the water, face content. He throws and skips one last stone.

“Mh, my crew’s prolly looking for me, huh?” Luffy stands up, dusting off his jeans, tilting his head at you. And then he offers you a hand, pulling you up with him, you’re face to face again and he places a hand firmly on your shoulder and says, “you can come if you want.”

“Huh?”

“On my crew. You can come be a pirate with me!” And again he has that way of saying things so simply. He doesn’t know you, how could he be so sure? But in his eyes you feel so incredibly, impossibly known.

He turns around, ready to walk away down the beach into the dying sunlight, and he turns to you once more and says, “you gonna be here tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I will!” you call to him, and he flashes you a broad smile, a thumbs-up, before running away into the horizon. You know he’ll come back.

Romance isn’t even in your mind. You just have this intense feeling for him, a certain kind of instantaneous love that goes deeper than any of that. You feel bonded, like you’ve never felt before, and you don’t know how it happened. You just stand there in the sand, dazed and misty eyed. You want so desperately to see him again. Deep breaths, calm your body, tonight you’ll have time to dream about what you’ll say.

You could see the world with him. You want to right now, very badly, so why not? Maybe it is that simple.

#luffy x reader #one piece #luffy #luffy x reader fluff #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #luffy x y/n #luffy x you #luffy fluff #luffy x gn!reader

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ellemaru · 4 months

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Simon "Ghost" Riley General Headcanons

A/N: This is just headcanons that have popped up in my head or whatever but I'm trying my best to keep it lore accurate/based off of lore. There will be some mentions of abuse, mental health, substance abuse (alcohol and drugs) and body dysmorphia due to how his character is.

General Appearance:

Starting with appearances, I think he's 6'2-6'4 and weighs 200-230 lbs (189-195 cm and 90-104 kgs).

He has prominent muscles, but they aren't Arnold Schwarzenegger huge but still large enough to the point that most people are impressed.

He has short, blondish hair where in the winter, it darkens to a light sandy brown if he doesn't go outside.

He had more of a fair and cool undertone but after spending time in the Middle East he darkened up slightly.

Everyone he knows always debates whether his eyes are green, grey or hazel but he personally thinks they are hazel with a light blue on the edges.

His nose is slightly hooked but is also kind of crooked from the front due to it being broken a gazillion times.

General Personality:

As proven previously with the "Alone" mission, Simon is a pretty funny guy.

I feel like there's a common misconception about him that he's super serious and cold and has no emotion but that's FAAAAAALSE.

When he's not on duty I'm a firm believer he acts sassy with the others to be funny.

He obviously knows that there's a time and place for everything but he also knows when a joke or sarcastic comment is needed to lighten the mood up.

I feel like his enhanced ability to read the room kind of stems from him having to always observe and walk on eggshells with his dad in the past.

Like if he misread his mood he could've potentially gotten hurt, leading to Mama Riley defending him causing her to get hurt too but that's for another post.

Back to the humor I feel like a lot of times he's just unintentionally funny like he'll say something, and because of his delivery people laugh and he just sits there confused like "???? I didn't make a joke"

100% a workaholic with no work-life balance because who needs that when your job is your life!

Once the guy starts working, he ain't gonna stop until he says so.

Super observant, he notices the fine details so if you think you can cut corners around him? You're mistaken.

Simon is moody af but that's definitely heightened by his kinda crappy mental health.

General Family:

He hates his dad.

Did I mention he hates his father?

For sure a mama's boy but not in an "I was my son's first girlfriend" kind of way.

He looks up to his mom like crazy and still has an emotional attachment to her from when he was young due to his father being emotionally, physically, and mentally abusive to him.

Anytime he comes back from a mission, has a rough day, or just needs advice on a decision or life he ALWAYS calls Mama Riley.

She's literally his rock because he sees her as someone who is steadfast and strong who goes based on the facts and how she takes things for face value, similar to Simon. I think this also gave Simon an admiration of single mothers and women in general since he grew up with more of a perspective from his mother than his father.

He loves Tommy to bits and pieces, and they were hands down partners in crime back in their teenage years before Simon enlisted.

If you go around Manchester, you can still see some of their graffiti tags on different things.

When Tommy became a drug addict, Simon was there for him from day 1 till he finally got clean.

A/N: This isn't much but if y'all want more I can work on another that's more detailed! Requests are always open so leave some suggestions on things you want to see!

#cod #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost headcanons #ghost fluff #call of duty #call of duty headcanons #ghost riley #simon riley

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

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Cowboy Like Me

Never thought I'd meet you here

Summary: When Nesta is stranded in rural Montana, she finds herself rescued by an unlikely pair.

Day 1 of @sjmromanceweek: Meet-Cute

Also, check out this art of Cowboy Cassian from @melphss

Read on AO3

Nesta was in hell.

Who got married in Montana? Montana seemed like the sort of place you exiled people to die in lonely misery. She didn’t give a fuck about all the open sky, the clean air, or the nature that quite literally ambled up to her rental car looking for a snack. Nesta wasn’t built for this sort of life and maybe it said something about her that she couldn’t imagine anyone else who was.

She’d made a mistake, though. When she’d rented her airbnb, she’d just assumed it was an actual home, like the pictures had depicted, and not some ramshackle hovel with a literal hole in the ground for shitting.

For fifty dollars a night, she supposed she deserved that. Nesta thought that maybe she also deserved her twisted ankle. Heels on a gravel road had been an obvious mistake—was she supposed to go barefoot? She hadn’t brought anything else. Nesta emitted a soft scream of hatred for this new, cheerful place before propping herself up on the hood of her car to look at her swelling ankle.

All this for a wedding. The minute Nesta managed to get back into her car, she was going to book a flight home and block this friend forever. Why was she even trying to have friends outside of Gwyn and Emerie, besides? Nesta maneuvered her phone from her black skirt pocket only to find that of fucking course she didn’t have service.

She screamed again, irate with the whole endeavor.

“All right, ma’am?” a masculine voice called. Nesta whipped her head to the side of the long, gravel drive, intending to give that busybody man the middle finger for his trouble.

She hesitated. To start, the man in question was astride a large black horse. She had no quick comeback for a man who was pulling towards her shiny red sedan like he’d stepped straight out of eighteen forty six.

He swung one of his long, powerful legs off the creature with ease, revealing himself to be at least six foot-five. Nesta had never considered herself a small woman, standing at five-nine without heels, but as he approached, his rough stubbled face hidden beneath the brim of his cowboy hat, Nesta felt positively dainty.

He swept his hat off his head and Nesta wished he hadn’t. Holding it against the blue and green flannel of his shirt, he was like something out of a magazine ad for country living. Warm brown skin, hazel eyes, and dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders was a lethal combination on this man. His chiseled jaw, the stubble grazing his cheeks, and his rough features made Nesta think he had no trouble picking up women.

And that irked her, even as she swallowed with desire. He was absurdly stunning, the absolute dream of anyone hoping to marry a cowboy from a long-forgotten age. Those eyes of his, framed with ridiculously long lashes, swept over her, and then her surroundings.

“Tricked, huh?” he asked in a rich, deep drawl. “You wouldn’t be the first. Won’t be the last.”

“Someone should burn this place to the ground,” she hissed, one hand still gripping her hurt ankle.

He chuckled. “I don’t think that would stop someone from tryin’ to sell it. You hurt?” he added, his eyes falling on her ankle.

“I twisted my foot,” she admitted. He knelt, the sight emptying out all of Nesta’s thoughts. She could only stare at his thighs, bulging in his tight jeans. His hand was large enough to wrap fully around her ankle, and ever so slowly, he pulled her foot from her scuffed black heel.

“This is your problem,” he said, holding up her shoe with a frown.

“Well I know that now,” Nesta hissed, “you must be a psychic.”

His eyes flashed. “Can you drive?”

“No,” she admitted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I wouldn’t go around insultin’ the only person who can help…but that’s just me,” he replied.

Nesta hesitated. “Are you a doctor?”

He snorted, rising to his feet again. His large, muscular body blocked the bright sun the way a tree might, and Nesta couldn’t pretend she wasn’t grateful.

“Cattle rancher,” he replied, “but I know a thing or two about tapin’ up a sprain. We’ll get you iced up and bandaged and on your way Miss…”

She sighed. “Nesta Archeron,” she half grumbled.

“Miss Archeron—”

“Nesta. Don’t be ridiculous.”

He smiled, setting her heart racing. “Miss Nesta, then. I’m Cassian, and I’m walkin’ towards you real slow because I don’t want to spook you.”

“Why would you—put me down right now!”

He shook his head. “And let you finish breakin’ what you started? No offense, darlin’, but carrying you is a lot safer than letting you hop on the horse—”

“Why can’t we drive?”

He looked down at her, his amusement plain. “And what would I do with Bryaxis?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nesta breathed, gripping Cassian’s neck until her nails dug into his skin. “I’ve never been on a horse.”

“He doesn’t bite,” Cassian replied. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She couldn’t help her squeal as he hoisted her up into the fine leather saddle. Nesta’s bare thighs touched the material, spreading her legs obscenely, though Cassian didn’t seen to notice or care. He merely swung himself up behind her. He put one hand on her hip, the warmth seeping through her silken skirt, before reaching for the reins.

“What were you doing out here, anyway?”

He nodded towards a saddle bag. “Needed a few things in town.

“And you took a horse?” she replied, trying to imagine where he’d even park it.

Cassian’s laugh rumbled through his chest. “Where are you from, Miss Nesta?”

“Chicago,” she replied, well aware she was proving every city slicker stereotype true. “Have you ever been?”

She felt him shrug. “Nope. I’ve been to cities before, but not so far south.

So far south. Nesta didn’t know how to respond to that. “You’re not missing much, honestly.”

“No? Is Chicago not home sweet home?”

It was Nesta’s turn to shrug. “It’s where I live.”

If he had thoughts about that, Cassian kept them to himself. That was just as well—Nesta didn’t want to fight some stranger when she was currently on his horse, unable to even run. He’d left her shoes on top of her car and her suitcase in the trunk. Nesta was literally at his mercy, given the small, two-lane road they were currently traveling down had no hint of civilization besides the two of them.

She’d done such a shitty job picking an airbnb.

“What are you doin’ up here, then?” he asked after a moment. His voice had the most pleasant gravel, deep and dark like a star-flecked sky. Nesta knew she was leaning against the broad plain of his chest and found she didn’t care.

“My friend is getting married,” she said. “I guess her fiance grew up out here.”

“Oh yeah?” he replied, an obvious smile in his voice. “Married on a ranch?”

Nesta twisted in her saddle. “Don’t you dare—”

“Lots of people rent out my barn on the edge of the property. You can stay up with me, if you need a place. I’ll charge you a real fair price.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s that?”

“You ever mucked out a stall, Miss Nesta?”

She poked him in the ribs, turning back to face the endless expanse of cloudless blue. “Is that your thing, then? Humbling the city girl by making her clean up shit?”

“Maybe I think you’d be real pretty with a little mud on your face.”

Nesta swallowed. “I don’t do mud,” she said, looking at her immaculate nails.

“What do you do, then?” Why did he sound so suggestive? Nesta’s hands were clammy–nervous. When had a man ever had that effect on her?

“Law,” she told him. “Corporate law.”

He made some soft, noncommittal noise that was, honestly, a lot better than a lot of the finance men she dated. Cassian acknowledged he’d heard her without feeling the need to cut her down in service of his own ego.

“I don’t know much about that,” he finally admitted. Nesta could have kissed him for it, though she wouldn’t.

“It’s pretty boring,” she said, earning another of his soft noises.

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” he replied. “You don’t strike me as the type to spend your time sufferin’.”

“Well…I do get to humble really rich men with a fair amount of regularity,” she admitted with a smile. His grip on her waist tightened.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his breath fanning against the back of her neck. She shivered, unintentionally leaning further into him. She was acting like a cat in heat over a man she’d known for fifteen minutes.

“I’ll pay,” she breathed. Behind her, Cassian went stiff.

“Pay?”

“For a room,” she clarified, wondering what he was thinking. “If you were serious about your offer, I’d pay you for it.”

“Oh, darlin’, there’s no need for that. Just a little hel—”

“I told you I don’t do dirt,” she snapped. “You can have money or nothing at all.”

“I’m not takin’ your money,” Cassian drawled. “Just keep after yourself and don’t disturb the cats.”

Her heart stuttered. “Cats?”

“Yeah. My girl just had kittens and she’s real skittish, so if you see her, be real quiet and soft.”

Nesta could have died. “What's her name?”

She wanted a cat so badly. Her landlord expressly forbade any animals at all, and Nesta was too much of a rule follower to risk a secret cat. The thought of spending three days surrounded by a mama cat and her little kittens seemed like heaven.

“Cheddar,” Cassian admitted ruefully. “She’s orange. Dad must be black, though, because half her little beans are black, too.”

A soft squeak slipped from Nesta’s throat. “Do they have names?”

“Not yet. Maybe you’ll help me out with that,” he added with what sounded suspiciously like hope.

She didn’t dare unpack that. Not as Cassian pulled off the road, steering his steady horse down another gravel path. Untouched grass stretched for miles in every direction until the sky met mountains in the distance.

“Your friends will be down there,” Cassian told her, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. Accident, she swore, watching the point of his finger. “But we’ll be up here. I’ll walk you down for the wedding…keep you from wreckin’ that other pretty ankle of yours.”

“Does that work on the women around here? Your folksy charm, your aw shucks—”

Cassian laughed. “Are you askin’ if being nice gets me laid?”

“Does it?”

“My good looks get me laid, darlin’. My folksy charm, as you so eloquently put it, is just called manners outside of the city. No need to pretend.”

“You’d be surprised,” she told him dryly. Cassian merely held her close, his eyes fixated on the two story ranch just in the distance. Nesta could have wept with relief. The saddle was rubbing against her inner thigh, chafing her delicate skin and the woodsy scent of smoke and pine coming off Cassian was threatening to throw all Nesta’s good sense out the window.

His home sprawled against the Montana countryside. Built to look as if it was made of wood—and maybe it was, for all she knew—the house had to be worth a cool million in Nesta’s estimation. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder at him, though. Didn’t dare acknowledge she knew this man wasn’t the simple, rural cattle rancher he was trying to embody.

And Nesta certainly didn’t let him see that she was weirdly relieved. She liked an ambitious man. And unlike all the men she’d been dating back home, Cassian wasn’t slick. Nesta would have put all the money she had on Cassian being the sort who had his heart on his sleeve for all to see. She had no business thinking about that.

This wasn’t a date.

Cassian swung off his horse and gently pulled her back into his arms.

“Don’t you go runnin’ off,” he warned Bryaxis.

“Will he?”

Cassian merely shrugged as he took her up a stone laid path towards his glass and wood front door.

“If he goes anywhere, it’ll be next door to his girlfriend.”

She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. “Your horse has a girlfriend?”

“He’s a good-looking horse. Why shouldn’t he have a girlfriend. I catch him all the time down by the fence nuzzlin’ her with his nose.”

“Like you, then?”

Cassian chuckled. “I am very single, Miss Nesta—”

“Just Nesta,” she interrupted, breathless as he brought her inside. “The Miss makes me feel like someone’s kindergarten teacher.”

“Fine, Nesta. I, unlike my horse, am very single.”

“Any particular reason?” she asked, wishing she sounded snide and not interested.

Cassian set her on a long, dark leather sofa, He swept his hat off his head as he knelt in front of her again.

“You want to know why I’m single? Maybe I work too much,” he said softly, sliding her his hand up and then back down her knee. “Maybe I’m a shitty kisser.”

“I’ll bet it’s the second,” she replied. Cassian’s hazel eyes met her own, a smirk curving over his sensual mouth.

“And you? Are you a shitty kisser?”

“Terribly deficient.”

“I figured,” he murmured, turning his gaze back to her swollen ankle. Cassian grabbed a red pillow from the corner of his couch to prop up her foot. “Why don’t you stay here and I’ll get us all set up, hm?”

“Okay.”

Cassian vanished long enough for Nesta to fire off several quiet texts and otherwise study his really nice home. The living room had a wall made of pointed windows, and though everything had that wood cabin aesthetic, it was cozy and cheerful and bright. She flipped through her work emails while she waited, dragging a knitted blanket off the back of the sofa over her lap.

Was she insane for hanging out in a stranger's house? She would never have dared back home—her friends thought she was insane. And yet she was at the right place, and if Cassian wanted to hurt her, surely bandaging up her foot wasn’t necessary. She doubted his neighbors would have heard her scream if she stood outside and emptied her lungs of air.

Cassian returned nearly an hour later, balancing a glass of water and a plate in one massive hand, and her suitcase in the other.

“You got my things?” she asked him, surprised he’d bother. She’d assumed she’d have to hobble back out there for it.

“Of course, darlin’,” he replied, setting a nice sandwich and two ibuprofen down on the wood coffee table right in front of her. “Unless you plan on wearin’ that skirt the entire time? I don’t mind, but…”

Her cheeks flushed. “Thank you. That was really nice.”

He ducked his head. “Have somethin’ to eat before you take the medicine. You look like you haven’t had anything but coffee today. Pain killers won’t settle well on an empty stomach and while you’re cute, you’re not cute enough to clean up puke.”

Nesta was rendered speechless. That was for the best. Everytime he casually said something nice about her, Nesta was far too tempted to crawl into his lap and repay him for his generosity in a different sort of way. Instead, Nesta remained perfectly still while Cassian wrapped up her ankle with a beige colored bandage and pressed a bag of frozen green beans against the aching bone.

“Keep this elevated,” he insisted, taking a spot close enough that Nesta could have scooted forward and put her head in his lap. She was far too tempted.

“Want to watch something?” she suggested. “Or are you busy?”

“Not too busy for you,” he teased, reaching for the remote. “How do you feel about history?”

Their eyes met, and in unison, they said, “Ancient Aliens.”

Cassian smiled with satisfaction. “Fuck yeah.”

They wasted the afternoon that way. Nesta inched closer and closer until her head was propped up against his thigh. Cassian kept his arm casual against the back of the couch, unconcerned as they giggled their way through each new show. He didn’t stop until the sun dipped low, bathing the room in shadow.

“Want to help me make dinner?” he asked, his voice gruffer than before. She looked up at him.

“No eating out?”

His lips curved into a sly smile. “Are you asking to be eaten out?”

She smacked at his stomach, heart racing all the same. “You don’t seem like the cooking type. Isn’t that something for your little wife?”

“Are you offerin’?” he joked. “I accept. C’mon, lazy bones. At least come talk to me.”

“Does anything bother you?” Nesta asked, unconcerned when Cassian lifted her back into the air. She winced at the jolt of pain lancing through her ankle, though she couldn’t pretend she didn’t like the ease with which he carried her through his house. Cassian was careful, setting her atop a granite kitchen island so she could watch over his attempts at cooking.

“So tell me, Miss Nesta—”

“Just Nesta.”

“Nes,” he grinned. “Miss hot shot attorney. What do you think about my humble home?”

She looked around, pretending to survey with an arched eyebrow. “It’s a little rustic—”

Cassian’s fingers were between her ribs before she could stop him, tickling until she thrashed and gasped for a breath of air.

“Stop it, stop—”

“Rustic,” he chuckled, pulling out a nice creuset pot and setting it atop the range. “You’ll have to work on your insults.”

“I think you just wanted an excuse to touch me,” Nesta replied. Cassian smiled.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “It’s not everyday a beautiful woman is waitin’ for me on the side of the road.”

“I wasn’t waiting. I was stuck.”

He shrugged. “Sure felt like you were waitin’ for me.”

“Maybe you were waiting on me.”

“Almost certainly,” Cassian agreed cheerfully. “Do you eat pasta?”

“I’ll eat anything,” Nesta agreed. Cassian nodded.

“You and me both, sweetheart.”

And God, but Nesta wanted to find out if that was true. Cassian had a box of recipes he’d inherited from his mother that he’d been more than happy to show her. While Nesta pulled the cards out one by one, Cassian made his own tomato sauce. She knew it shouldn’t have impressed her and still it did.

He was nearly done when his cat, Cheddar, slunk into the room. Three black and orange kittens flopped just behind her, the third tumbling face first over the threshold from the hall to the tile. Nesta gasped.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

“Where are the other four, mama?” Cassian asked his cat as she wound her way through his legs to rub against him. “What are those little demons up to?”

Nesta carefully hopped off the counter so she could scoop up one of the babies.

“Probably peeing in my boot,” Cassian grumbled, stirring his sauce with a wooden spoon.

“Babies,” Nesta breathed, delighted when the three that had ambled in with their mother immediately bounded towards her. Her favorite, for no reason at all, was the one with the split black and orange face. She had the brightest blue eyes and when Nesta lifted her up to really look at her, the small creature meowed loudly.

“Well now you’ve done it,” Cassian teased as Cheddar trotted over to see what the fuss was. “Be careful–mama cat has claws.”

Nesta scratched behind her ears. “Maybe for you.”

“I suppose like calls to like,” he grumbled. While he plated their food, Nesta played with the kittens until there was a snag in her skirt. Cassian offered Nesta a hand and when he pulled her up to her feet, balancing on one foot, he yanked just hard enough that she fell into his chest.

Into his lips.

“Oh,” she whispered, unsure what to do. Cassian kept her steady with one arm, the kiss polite and chaste and just enough to make her want much, much more.

“Sorry,” he murmured, brushing a strand of her hair off her face. “Probably shouldn’t kiss the woman rentin’ one of my rooms, but…”

“It’s alright,” Nesta assured him, letting him lead her to the blocky table just outside the kitchen. It might have been awkward had Cassian not been so charming. So laid back and nice. He’d made her spaghetti and didn’t care when his cat spent the entirety of the meal winding her lithe, orange body through his feet and purring so loud Nesta felt like she was competing for his attention.

Cassian kept the conversation going as if nothing had happened, but Nesta couldn’t get the feel of his mouth against hers out of her mind. He’d smelled crisp and clean and when her hands had pressed against his chest, he’d been all hard, toned muscle.

“Why don’t I clean up down here, and you can get settled in your room?” Cassian suggested when Nesta had been silent a little too long. She was undressing him in her mind, and when she looked up at him, the little smile on his face made her wonder if he wasn’t aware.

“Sure,” she agreed, if only to get out of helping with the dishes.

“I’ll carry you up,” he added, his eyes flashing. Nesta shook her head, her pride unable to stand being taken up and down the stairs.

“I can do it myself.

“Are you always this difficult?” he asked, rising to his feet. Cassian was a big man. Nesta had never felt small in comparison, had never once looked at a prospective lover and thought herself little. Cassian, though. Cassian exuded strength. In another life, he might have been a warrior prince worshiped by the masses.

Nesta offered him a feline smile. “Maybe.” Back home, that refusal to yield would have earned her nothing good. With Cassian, though? A slow smile spread over his rugged face.

“Wouldn’t be any fun if you weren’t, I suppose. Go on then, Miss Nesta. Yell if you need me…I’ll come runnin’.”

Nesta suppressed a shiver at his sensual tone. “Is that a promise?”

He looked her up and down, his expression suddenly ravenous. If Nesta had less pride, she might have hopped over to him, pressed her hands to his chest, and let him finish what he’d started.

“It is,” he said simply, those hazel eyes finding her face again.

It was shree will that made her turn. As if she had something to prove. And Nesta made it all of four little hops before Cassian was coming behind her and sweeping her up off her feet. Nesta gasped, unprepared to be so close to him again.

“C’mon,” he murmured, holding her like she was something delicate.

Something fragile.

And no one thought that about her. Nesta swallowed hard, biting back the urge to snap at him. He didn’t know what she was like and maybe that was a blessing, because Nesta didn’t have to put on a show for him. She could press her head against his chest and sigh, “Thank you,” without needing to scowl, to stare him down so he knew not to ever try such a thing again.

“Tell me if I’m wrong,” he drawled softly, taking that first wooden step. “But I’ve got the feelin’ that back home, you’re somethin’ of a ball buster.”

Nesta tightened, her hackles raised. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No, ma’am,” he chuckled. “It’s just…I’m thinkin’ that most of those men up there don’t know how to act right when it comes to you. And because they can’t make hide or hair of you, they treat you bad. Try and break you, make you small? So you’ve gotta be real tough, don’t you baby?”

Nesta swallowed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said crisply, careful to enunciate every single syllable which she knew only proved his point.

“That’s what I thought,” he said softly, taking her upstairs. Nesta didn’t want him to let her go. I was a strange thing, to be so seen. To be laid bare by this man she didn’t even know.

“Don’t get mad at me for sayin’ this, but you remind me of Bryaxis—”

“Your horse?”

“He was mistreated too,” Cassian explained. “Screamed at, whipped…you name it, he endured it. But all he needed was a soft hand. A little patience. I figure you probably aren’t too different.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Cassian had opened a bedroom door that absolutely belonged to him. The dark masculine reds and blacks of the bed were a dead giveaway, along with the half-full glass of water on a wood bedside table and a stack of books dog-eared haphazardly. A leather jacket was hung from a chair near the open closet door, and though it was dark, Nesta could see an adjoining bathroom at the far end of the room.

“Where, I think, you want to be tonight. Tell me if I’m wrong—I’ll put you somewhere else.”

“This is your room, Cassian.”

She could see he was trying not to smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

Tell him he’s stupid. Tell him he’s wrong. Demand he put you back in your own room and—

“Okay,” she whispered before she could talk herself out of it.

Relief all but crumpled over his features. He murmured something that sounded suspiciously like Thank the good lord, and set her atop his neatly made bedspread.

Nerves shocked through Nesta, rendering her silent for a moment. Cassian, for his part, seemed to have realized that he, too, had her in his bed and didn’t quite know what to make of that.

“I ah…why don’t I wash up the dishes and you can take a shower?”

“That sounds good, Cassian.”

It sounded better than good, and though Nesta swore she wasn’t going to say so, she called, “Unless you think I need help in the shower?”

Cassian froze. For all his bravado, it was obvious he’d never thought he’d get this far. Nesta crawled toward the end of his bed with exaggerated slowness, holding his stare. He took a slow breath, those eyes of his darkening to almost black.

“Is it safe for me alone in there?”

The knot in his throat bobbed. “I reckon it’s not, Miss Nesta—”

“Just Nesta,” she reminded him, rising up on her knees so she could touch the hard planes of his stomach. “Do you think you could call me that, Cassian?”

“I…” his voice trailed off when her fingers found his belt and tugged.

“You know,” Nesta continued with far more bravado than she felt, “I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for coming to my rescue today.”

“You..” he cleared his throat. “That’s not necessary. I—Nes—”

“That’s better,” she crooned, having undone the button of his jeans. A lump was forming—hard and thick and Nesta was desperate to see what the cowboy had hidden in those black pair of briefs.

“Nes,” he tried again, his hands resting on her shoulder. He wasn’t stopping her, and given the way his fingers curled against her, she thought he was trying very, very hard to be a gentleman.

That wouldn’t do.

“I’d be a poor guest if I didn’t thank you,” she said, slipping past the waistband of his underwear. Nesta gasped when she curled around him—or, tried to. As she pulled Cassian out, she realized she’d need to rethink her plan to thank him with her tongue. Cassian was enormous, both thick and long. Hardly a grower, given he was still stiffening in her curled hand.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, each waiting for the other to do something. Deciding he was erect enough, she pumped him. Her fingers just barely fit around his shaft, and even with two hands she couldn’t have fully covered him. Nesta certainly wasn’t going to be able to fit him all in her throat.

But god she wanted to try.

He exhaled a breath when she stroked him again, earning a chuckle from Nesta. “Tell me how you like it,” she murmured, softening her grip. Nesta had to hope that the cowboy liked it rough, because she wanted him to fuck her within an inch of her life.

“Nice and slow?” she tried, making a sweet pass over that large cock of his.

Cassian shook his head, his dark tresses, whispering against his broad shoulders. What was he like out of control?

“What about this?” she tried, pumping him harder, squeezing tighter. He shook his head again, allowing her to make a third, rougher pass. Nesta twisted her wrist against his head, her nails grazing the sensitive vein trailing his now very erect cock jutting from between two powerful legs.

“That's what I thought,” Nesta murmured, looking up through dark lashes. “Just like me.”

“Nes—”

Nesta silenced him by taking him into her mouth. She had to use her hand to make up the difference and she didn’t care. A soft, strangled noise escaped Cassian as his fingers plunged into her hair.

Yes.

This was what she needed. Nesta took him until she gagged, and then she took a little more, teeth grazing his sensitive skin, hand punishingly tight. Cassian moaned, tugging at her hair. Nesta sucked again, trying so hard to communicate that she could take it. He was holding back, practically shaking from the effort.

Nesta took more of him, widening her jaw in order to accommodate the sheer size of him. That was all it took. Cassian made a rough, snarling sound, pushing her off him.

“You’re a lady,” he panted, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

Finally.

“And in my house, ladies come first,” he continued, eyes flashing as he shrugged out of that shirt. Nesta swore softly at the sight of all that gleaming, corded muscle. Nesta had never seen someone so effortlessly toned, so big.

Powerful.

“I seem to recall something about eating out,” she said breathlessly, swallowing hard when Cassian prowled toward her.

“I haven’t forgotten, darlin’,” he promised, hovering over her with his unbuttoned jeans and a smile that made Nesta’s heart race. “But first, I think I’m owed a kiss.”

“Just one?” she asked as his lips ghosted over her own.

“Let’s start with one and go from there,” he said, sliding his hand around the back of her head. Nesta had only her ripped dress between them, which provided no protection against Cassian when he pressed the weight of his body against her.

In another life, she might have kissed him nice and slow—teasing it out, exploring him thoroughly. Right then, though, Nesta thought she might explode if she didn’t have his mouth directly on her, his tongue stroking, thrusting, tasting. He was just as excited, grinding himself into her while she pulled at the strands of his hair.

He tasted like snow kissed wind, somehow. Like the crackling of a fire and a frosted window—like some memory she’d long forgotten. Nesta dug her nails down the back of his neck and against his shoulder blades until he bucked into her, wild and nearly unrestrained. Nesta could not remember the last time she’d wanted someone the way she wanted him.

“Off—get this—off,” Cassian panted between messy, hungry kisses. He was pawing at her dress, trying to figure out how to take it off. Nesta arched her back into his chest, earning matching moans from them both as she yanked down the zipper

Nesta would never know how she managed to get that dress off her body given Cassian never stopped his frantic kissing. Nor did she figure out how her bra joined her clothes on the floor. She only realized she was nearly naked when Cassian licked down the column of her neck before burying his face between her breasts.

“Fuck, Nes,” he breathed, both hands covering them entirely—no easy feat, given how large they were. Cassian massaged them, callused thumbs dragging over her aching nipples until Nesta was certain she was making a mess all over his bedding.

His mouth latched around her and Nesta was lost, ripping at his hair as her body bowed off the bed.

“Responsive,” he teased, his tongue tracing around the sensitive bud. “I wonder…”

“Cass—” she gasped when his hand made its way between her legs. Nesta writhed when he began drawing circles on her clit, teasing touches that weren’t even close to what she needed, even as he switched between her breasts, sucking and licking. She could feel it all in her pussy, like every nerve in her body was intimately connected.

She could have come from that—for the first time in god knew how long. At least, without her own hand, without assistance from a toy. Nesta couldn’t recall the last time a man had pleased her so easily, so effortlessly.

Cassian pulled back, wild and impossibly sexy. Holding her gaze, he nipped his way down her body until he found the red pair of panties still clinging to her hips.

“Aw, for me?” he teased, kissing against the fabric. “Sweetheart, you’re soaked.”

Nesta pushed herself against his face, but Cassian was still licking against the lace.

“I’ll bet you could come just like this. Couldn’t you?”

If he was doing it? Probably. Nesta merely whined, arching when he hooked his fingers into her underwear and peeled them off her.

He whistled softly. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby. Do you know that? I feel sick at the sight of you.”

She didn’t have a chance to respond. Cassian’s tongue slid down the center of her, rendering speech impossible. Nesta reached for something to hold on to, and found his hair for purchase. Cassian groaned, the sound vibrating against her. Her thighs tightened around his face, earning another groan of pleasure.

Cassian’s tongue was everything. She realized, after a lifetime of thinking she was just difficult to get off—too fussy, too particular, too exacting—that what she really needed was someone who knew what they were doing. Cassian had her spread apart, licking and sucking her clit with the sort of expert precision that told Nesta he liked what he was doing.

She regretted not sucking him more. Nesta was going to come apart in record time and she knew she was going to beg him to do this again in a few hours. All weekend.

For fucking ever.

Release was gathering on her spine, burning hotly through her blood until Nesta didn’t recognize the noises coming from her throat. Cassian, too, was rolling his hips into the mattress, trying to alleviate his own arousal. Nesta nearly stopped him, if only to have that long, thick length in her body.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Cassian pushed one of his fingers into her. Nesta tightened around him and Cassian swore at whatever he felt, though he didn’t stop. He fucked and sucked in time, working her like she was an instrument only he knew how to play. Nesta built up, up, up, until she was fucking his hand, rolling all over his face like a wild animal.

Nesta broke apart with a scream she couldn’t control, bucking against him as she shattered into fractals of starlight. Cassian didn’t stop, riding her through wave after wave with clear, obvious excitement. It was only when pleasure became edged with pain that Nesta released the grip her thighs had around his face and Cassian came up for a deep breath of air.

“Fuck,” he said, his lips gleaming from her arousal. “Fuck, Nes—”

“Come here, come here,” she panted, scrabbling for his shoulders. Cassian obliged, kissing her frantically. His tongue was coated in the taste of her, pushed against her own. Nesta liked it, wanted more of him.

“Condom,” he breathed, finally shucking his jeans to trip over to his dresser. Nesta propped herself up on her elbows to watch, admiring his firm ass as he went. Cassian was quick about it, rolling the condom onto his cock with what she swore were shaking hands. His eyes shone, and if she didn’t know better, she would have sworn Cassian could not believe his good luck.

“You sure?” he asked, hesitating at the end of the bed. Nesta nearly laughed, given she was spread out and still trembling from his mouth. Any other man would have jumped on her, would already be balls deep buried in her.

He was sweet, she decided.

She wanted to keep him, though she had no idea how. She’d figure it out later. “I’m sure.”

“Good,” he said with another heart stopping smile. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d said no.”

“Sure you do,” she offered in what she hoped was a sultry voice. “You’d have gone into the bathroom and used your hand.”

“That was my plan to start,” he agreed, settling between the cradle of her thighs. “But this is much better. Have I said how pretty you are?”

“Once, at least.”

“Well.” He pushed himself an inch or so into her. Nesta gasped loudly. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, darlin’.”

He’d punched all the air from her lungs. Nesta didn’t think she’d ever been stretched against anything half as large as Cassian. It was the sweetest pain that, with each shallow stroke inching him in deeper, became wholly pleasure. By the time Cassian had fully seated himself within her, a bead of sweat was trailing down his temple from the effort it took to go slow.

“Good?”

“Good,” she agreed, gripping the back of his neck for a kiss. “Cass?”

He hummed in response.

“I’m not fragile. You can fuck me, if you like.”

Cassian pulled himself out before snapping his hips so hard the headboard above them rattled. “Like that?” he grunted.

“Yes—yes, Cassian—”

He did it again, groaning loudly when she tightened involuntarily around him. This was Cassian unrestrained, his hair wild around his rugged, handsome face. His muscles bunched and shifted from the effort, held over her just enough that she could incline her had and watch his cock slide in and out of her body.

He wasn’t finished, and Nesta already wanted to have him again.

And again.

Cassian reached for her knees, bending them up by her shoulders to drive himself deeper. Nesta moaned, eyes rolling up into her head. The balls of her feet were pressed to his chest pushing him with each slide out, only for him to return with twice as much force. When she’d said she’d wanted it rough, well…this was exactly what she meant.

“Nes, fuck—” he panted, eyes rolling up into his head as she came on his cock. Nesta arched hard, every muscle in her body going taut all at once. She clamped around him and Cassian came too, clearly unbidden and unprepared for the force of his own release. She wanted to drown herself in the noises he made, in the frantic thrusting of his body driving himself deeper on instinct.

Cassian collapsed on top of her, dropping Nesta’s legs carelessly. She hissed when her bruised ankle hit the bed.

“Sorry,” he whispered, lips against her jaw. “And I’m not, at the same time. Nesta, I…”

“I know,” she agreed, because she was certain they were thinking the same thing. Something else had happened between them, something they couldn’t so easily walk away from.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, perhaps guessing those words were never going to come easy to Nesta. “I can hear you worryin’. Baby, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Nesta brushed her fingertips against the rough stubble of his face. “Promise?”

Cassian grinned. “I promise.”

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #bryaxis #i mean bryaxis IS a horse but still #a good boy #montana!cassian #dustjacket you better LOVE this

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whatitshouldvebeen · 10 months

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Gordon Ramsay x Reader Slow Burn Dom/Sub FF

Yes, I'm serious. It has about a million reads on assorted fanfiction websites, so trust me and them when I say you'll love it

Click for the previous chapter

Monday, June 24th, 2013

The other contestants and I gather at the entrance to the airport, waiting inside for further instructions–Monday airport traffic is no joke. Cars line up outside and throngs of people weave their way through each other, toting suitcases. That's not to say the airport lobby of Los Angeles is not stunning; the tall glass windows allow for the beautiful day's sunlight to shine through.

I take this time to examine my competition. There are fifteen other chefs aside from myself that are going to be competing against each other this season–eight men and eight women. Most of them are sitting in the airport lobby chairs, idly chatting to one another. I stand to the side of the chairs, leaning on the handle of my rolling suitcase. Thinking back to past seasons, I wonder which chefs were put here to stir up drama. My wondering is cut short with an uncanny interruption.

A woman with bleached blonde hair, dressed in a low-cut floral top and a short white skirt gathers everyone's attention. Or at least, the attention of the people who weren't already staring at her nearly exposed breasts.

"Oh my GOD can you guys believe it!" She bounces in place, her boobs jiggling, "I'm like, actually here. Of all the applicants I got picked! I can't wait to see which of you makes it to the final five with me."

She pauses, then grins wickedly like the Cheshire cat.

"Should be real easy, my competition doesn't look very... fierce." Her eyes quickly flit about the contestants, stopping on me for what seems to be a second longer than the others.

One of the few to not be at a loss for words is a middle-aged, stout, and bald man who scoffs at her.

"This is Hell's Kitchen, not Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Unless you keep your cooking skill in those tits then I doubt you'll make it to the final five with that self-absorbed attitude. This is a team game."

His voice is commanding, and surprisingly the blonde looks sheepish at being talked down to. By the time that a tall man in a suit approaches us, she hasn't managed to come up with a snarky retort.

"Hell's Kitchen contestants?" He questions the group. After seeing our collective nods he continues. "Please follow me." He turns and walks towards the sliding glass doors, exiting the airport.

Our bustling group happily follow him to a sleek black limousine with the initials "HK" branded on the side parked outside the loading gate. We all look giddily at each other. Excitement buzzes through my body as I lock eyes with the girl next to me, her brown curls bouncing in place as she jitters. We both give a shy grin, recognizing the other's excitement. As we approach the limo, the driver opens the door and lets us inside.

The limo is plush and cozy and there is an icebox with a bottle of champagne situated in the middle. The driver introduces himself as Paul and passes out champagne glasses to all of us before he takes his seat at the front and begins the drive to Hell's Kitchen. A few eyes lock onto the champagne bottle, but no one seems to have the confidence to crack it open.

The girl who had stood next to me earlier slides in next to me with a breathless, "Hey!"

"Hi!" I grin. "I'm (Y/N), and you?"

"Taylor." She returns the smile. She has a string of piercings up her ears, some hoops and some studs. Her hazel eyes shine with joy, the browns nearly matching her light tan skin tone.

"Are you as nervous as me?" I ask, my heartbeat in my ears as we pull up to a red light.

"Totally. This doesn't feel real, I've never been in a competition, much less on TV. I know my bro won't let me live it down if I don't do my best, so I'm trying to ignore my jitters. Can't let nerves interfere with my work." She lets out a puff of air and glances around the limo.

One of the younger men; green-eyed, thin, with messy ruffled brown hair, takes hold of the champagne bottle. "We can't let this go to waste, guys!" He says, opening it swiftly and pouring glasses for everyone with finesse. His winning smile is contagious as he confidently leads us all in a discussion of where we'd come from to get here, and cracks a few jokes. Soon enough all of us are smiling and laughing.

After about thirty minutes of driving the lights of the tinted window limo go out, leaving us in partial darkness. The chatter dies down and everyone looks around confused. A small TV flips open above the window between the driver and us contestants. On that TV is none other than Chef Ramsay, wearing his striking white head chef jacket with his arms crossed over his chest in his signature pose.

"Good afternoon, Hell's Kitchen contestants! I hope you all are enjoying yourselves on your trip to Hell, because things are about to get a lot less luxurious. As soon as you arrive, I expect you to hop in the kitchen and begin work on THE signature dish of yours that you are," he adamantly shakes his fist, "MOST proud of." The passion in his eyes burns in a way that can be felt through the screen. All of us are silent, at rapt attention. I feel my heart flutter at how fervently he encourages us. If he's anything like this in person, it'll be easy to be motivated by his words alone.

"You have forty-five minutes from the moment you arrive to complete your signature dish. The red and blue team will be competing, so be sure your dish impresses if you want your team to win. I will meet you all as soon as you've finished. Good luck, contestants." He turns his back to us as the screen folds up and the lights turn back on.

We are silent for a few seconds when the woman sitting next to the screen says, "Gee, he sure is intimidating."

She is so small that–when squished into a stretch limo with fifteen other people–she may as well get lost in the cushions. Her curly red hair frames her pale white face, and she has freckles across her nose that stand out when her skin drains of color, as it is now.

The man to her left, somewhat built, brown-eyed and black-haired with a buzz cut wraps his muscled arm around her shoulder, rapidly bringing color to her cheeks.

"Chin up Red!" He exclaims. "Ya wanna be brave when you talk to Ramsay. Even if you're scared, don't show 'em that ya are."

She nods delicately, curling her shoulders in to avoid touching his arm as much as possible. He doesn't seem to notice and leaves it around her for the duration of the ride.

#writeblr #writers and poets #fanfiction #writing #writers on tumblr #gordon ramsay #gordon ramsey #xreader #x reader #oc x canon #cooking #hells kitchen

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homiesondaweb · 9 months

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I WROTE SOME HOBIE BACKSTORY FLUFF

Been writing too much angst lately🥲

anyway this is based of my previous head cannon on Hobie's siblings. Quick recap (might make a OC post about em) Hudson and Hendricks(yea name change) are the eldest twins about 12 years older than Hobie and are 21. Henry is in the middle he is 9 years older than Hobie, he is 18. Harley is only 5 years older and she is 14 going on 15 (she helps run the community garden). Hobie is 9!

I am Black but also an American from the midwest. So if I fuck up some of the UK vernacular or whatnot y'all can correct me in the replies or reblogs. If you see this fic floating on AO3 that is also me!

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1966 Chevy C10 aka the ugliest truck known to fucking man aka Harley bedroom away from home. Given to her by her old dirt and hay supplier before he moved to Wales, the dark green vehicle that lives parked in their ground floor garage was her escape from a house full of her lanky and, damn-right charlie brothers. She has the bed of the truck softened with a scrap fabric mattress and tens of thrifted comforters and pillows. Her portable record player crones with a Betty Davis record riding the groove with a whining guitar. Harley uses a chunk of mirror propped against her stage trunk to watch herself as she sections her hair into lazy cornrows for the night.

The sky slowly crumbles into a sunset, unfurling into a cool moon, shifting the world to a soft grayscale and sepia. Streetlights outside the garage flicker on and the human officers switch their patrol lights to a slow strobing blue and yellow. Harley gives a big yawn that pops her jaw and hums along to the guitar's riffs. The sound rests really low in her throat, it nearly drowns out the sound of steel door creaking and small steps that padding in. The 14 year old pauses her humming and stretches over to see the interruption of her night routine.

It's shaped lika palm tree, outlined in muted pink with their bare feet slapping around on the cement. Sleepy gray eyes met hers before they lighten to hazel for a moment, then back to sleep gray.

"Comin' ta bed?" Hobie whispers, voice all low and raspy. Harley helps the wire of a little boy clamor over the raised gate, he settles his head on her shoulder after. She chuckles and smears some leftover mango butter on his nose before her hands are back in her head.

"Inna bit. Thought I might sleep down 'ere though. Let my Baney Bart lil brother have the whole bed. You've got ta start wearin' yer socks to bed, ice foot." Harley teases and Hobie whines, then snuggles against her side.

Harley thought that now with Henry moving in with Rembrandt to the Canal flats would have given her the incentive to claim his room for her own and finally stop sharing both room and mattress with her baby brother. It wasn't easy though, ever since she came on the scene when the twins 7 and Henry was 5 the Brown siblings instinctively cuddled. Like cubs or kittens of some kind.

Hudson and Hendricks would sleep on their stomach, shoulders piled on top of each other or an arm around the other's back. Henry uses somebody's calf as a pillow and his foot always ends up in Hudson's face. Harley found her spot cuddled over Henry's stomach and when baby Hobie joined the mix she always woke to her shoulder being smothered in his drool and soft snores. They were like cats in that way, if one sibling saw the other napping, they were gonna share that sleep.

It has peter off some, Henry started sleeping over in the art alley with his mandem. Hendricks working overnight security with Pa. Hudson staying with Imani more days out the week(they all wait for the couple to announce the true reason why she was getting rounder). Harley sleeps in the truck when her band mates sneaks over after the city curfew because their fam is off it or someone is sick with radio or the flu.

But even with growing apart. A cuddle wassa cuddle and baby Hobie was gonna get his full of them. Of course Harley was still gonna share a bed with her little Barty when requested. Hobie starts to fade down to their true colors as sleep wraps him up,

"Oi! No sleep yet lil boy. Gotta put the 'fro up." She whispers tugging at the puff on the top of his head. Hobie grumbles, going cut yellow with crankiness. Harley counters it with a pink kiss to the top of his head and lets the stocking-band out that release his coils. Hobie blinks blearly in his slumped sit as Harley sloppily parts then flat twists them down into four rows. He gives a little sigh at the cool feeling of mango butter to his scalp but grumbles when she ties a scarf over them. Harley chuckles as she releases his ears from under it and scoots the front back.

They both know that damn scarf will be half way across the room and on the floor with her bonnet by morning. He cuddles into the front of her, stuck lika kola instead of a boy, smushing his face to her shoulder. Harley rubs his back and hums out the Buddy Miles intro that is stuck in her head as she feels around for her phone. Hobie blinks again as he watches her raise the antenna on top of it then pop in the code for someone. It rings loudly and they both wince before she lowers the volume and tilts the antenna to the right.

"Headin' ova?" She asks and a voice hums a soft no. Hobie sighs, that was Donovan.

"Dottie and Kirt's gots lead or radio. Feelin' weak me-self, keepa eye on ya water, yeah? Think OsCo is doin' flushes again." He warns softly.

Harley tenses at that. She sits back some and uses her free hand to inspect Hobie's face. She blinks hard and they both revert to true colors. All warm brown skin, black hair and steely eyes. She gives a sigh of relief at seeing that the whites of his eyes as fine, not any spots of yellow. No dryness to his pallor, just sleepy.

"Where you in the fountains today?" She asks and Hobie shakes his head.

"Wit Pa tuday." He mumbles to her, she lets him relax back and resumes petting his back.

"Thanks for the heads up Vonnie. I'll come by wit some bone soup and a filter from Hud in the mornin'.

"You're a dove Harles. Oíche mhaith a chroí."

Hobie gives a fakes gag as Harley blares pink then clovers sketches, Gaelic love poems and the expert of Romeo and Juliet having it off etch over her skin in cursive for a moment before she simmers back to sepia.

"Bon lannwit, Mon kè." She says back and hangs up. Harley stashes her phone back under the mattress before turning off her record player. With a practiced ease she carefully slides Betty Davis back into the paper sleeve, then lays the mirror chunk down on a quilt.

"Ann kouche, pinèz." Harley yawns and clamors out the truck bed with Hobie still clinging to her. They make their way up to the flat and to their room. Hobie is nothing but soft breath so it startles Harley when he speaks.

"You gonna live wit Donovan one day? Like Henry and Huddie?" Hobie asks. Harley kisses his cheek and lays them down in bed. She lights a lavender incense cone, then pops it in the holder.

"Maybe one day."

"Gonna marry 'em?"

"Can't get married. He's too Irish. Laws will bang us."

"You don't care." Hobie giggles and Harley smiles real big at that.

"Who said me and Van ain't gonna bang the laws back bruv? Don't worry bout it Barty Bug." She tells him when she lays down fully and loops an arm around his shoulders, Hobie puts his head over her heart.

"You gonna runaway? You two go off?"

Harley hums.

"Where imma go, bug?"

"... Cuba or Panama, like uncle."

"Too much sun for Donovan. He'd cook."

"Uhm… Canada. Like Erika's family?"

"Too cold. I'd freeze to death."

Hobie pouts at this point, turning into her elbow so he doesn't have to see the sleeply mirth in his older sister's eyes. Her black nails gently grasps his jaw and turns his face back to her. The both flare into blue and black ink and mapwork.

"What's with the questions. You think imma leave, love?"

Hobie nods in embarrassment but softens as Harley kisses his forehead.

"Not without you buggy. Same things goes for Hudson, Hendricks, and Henry. Same thing for Ma and Pa. No way I'm leavin' you even if the Queen, her corgis and the PM demanded it. Even if Von proposed right here. Which is stupid I'm 14, he's 15 and we've had lead poisoning on and off since we was little. So don't worry about Cuba or Canada, hell even Wales. I'm your big sister, we are Browns and some right punks. Labels are nothing but when you put in the care and obligations that comes with the title. Well, you're pretty fulfilled by em. And that means we stick together always. And care for each other always. So don't you worry your head about my crush. Don't worry about seeing my back out the door."

Hobie just snuggles her closer at that. Harley chuckles and cuddles back.

If there's one thing Hobie believes in, without a question, it is his sister.

-----

Oíche mhaith a chroí = Irish Gaelic - Goodnight, my dear

Bon lannwit, Mon kè = Haitian Creole - Goodnight, my heart

Ann kouche, pinèz = Haitian Creole - Let's go lie down, Bug.

#Hobie Brown #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown fanfiction #black oc #spider punk #spiderman across the verse #spiderman astv #astv hobie #black reader #getting ready for bed trope

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kylietellin · 4 months

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What I think the Curtis Gang's type is😳

DARRY CURTIS

This one is hard

I think someone with a skinny cheerleader bod

He prolly dated one in HS

Blonde or brunnette

Height rlly doesn't matter he's taller than most girls

Middle Class girl>>>

Eye color? idk it prolly doesn't matter that much to him

REFERENCE -> Rachel McAdams in Red Eye

SODAPOP

Natural Blonde & Blue eyes

YES IT HAS TO BE NATURAL

That's what Sandy was like

REFERENCE -> Vanessa Hessler

PONYBOY

Colored eyes

That doesn't mean just blue and green

Hazel, gray, etc..

He likes looking in them

BLUES would remind him of the sky on a sunny day

GREENS would remind him of emeralds and greenary

HAZELS & GOLDENS would remind of Johnny & that Robert Frost Poem

Hair doesn't matter

Likes his girls his type got to be a natural girl

"NoT lIkE tHe OtHeR GrEaSeR gIrLs"

wants someone to be able to listen to him and his feelings fully

you need to understand him

REFERENCE -> Brooke Shields

JOHNNY

Wants any girl he can get fr

He's gullible asf when it comes to girls

Dallas tries to set him up with no personality girls, but it makes him feel a little off

Doesn't turn them down though

His true type is a pretty girl with a good personality

someone loyal

the outside doesn't matter too much, but the inside is what really matters

not expecting super model looking girls, wants wifey material

since he's POC (i think native american?), he'll also be keeping that in mind

its the 1960s cmon yall

REFERENCE -> Jessica Alba (she so pretty wtf)

DALLAS

ugh.

He expects the prettiest girls

has a thing for brunettes/black hair

doesn't mean he doesn't indulge in the blondes though

the fake ones are his favorite

Sylvia had all different hair colors except red or other ones

blonde, brown, and black

he has had every flavor

even black girls

he doesn't care what they are they have to be "hot as hell"

Dream Girl REFERENCE -> Megan Fox

STEVE

Idk i feel like Evie has short brown hair

he likes girls like Evie

while they're on and off, he might screw a blonde or smth, but his true type is brunette

REFERENCE -> Jodi Lyn O'Keefe as Taylor Vaughn

TWO-BIT

we all know he loves blondes

with brown eyes, blue eyes, whatever, he LOVES blondes

Fake tan blondes are his fav

he doesn't actual date them, only fucks them..

All Girls Are The Same™

REFERENCE -> Anna Faris

#kylietellsજ⁀➴₊⊹ 🎀#curtis gang #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #ponyboy curtis #dallas winston #johnny cade #two bit mathews #steve randle x reader #60s

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via-the-ghoul · 2 months

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;) here’s a completely normal Monster High AU where absolutely nothing bad happens (it is comically obvious that I am lying)

[Image ID 1: a pink rectangle with a drawing of a Monster High skullette at the left side. Her bow is torn, she’s sweating, and she wears a teal face mask. Teal text is to the right of her, reading: warning: the following contains:

body horror

gore

disease

characters from a children’s franchise in a horror situation

Not suitable for children or the easily disturbed. End ID.”

[Image ID 2: two individuals in front of a grey background. The one on the left is a pale green, and crawling on the ground, as their lower half is missing, and wearing a turquoise plaid dress with “Zap” written on it in yellow. Their long black and white striped hair drags behind them, tainted with blood. Their eyes and nose are missing, and their mouth is completely black, in a hollow grin. They have a blue plaid tie and are missing a hand. They’re covered in blood. The figure to the right is brown with wolf ears and dark brown hair in a bun with a purple tuff of it in the front. Her eyes are golden, and so are a pair of glasses she wears. She wears a black jacket, a belt, dark purple pants, black boots, and a purple face mask. She looks stern, and carries a baseball bat, both it and her covered in blood. A pale green hand lies between the two, and both of them plus the hand have text besides them. Said text, starting with the green individual, then the hand’s, than the one with the bat, reads as follows:

“Frankie Stein

Status: infected

The infection, known as the Power Wasting Curse, manifests in Frankenmonsters as them losing the ability to control their body parts. As such, most of Frankie’s body is missing. At this stage they have no control and seek to spread the infection until they fall apart.”

“However, the one uninfected part of Frankie, their hand, managed to be removed before it could be infected too, and is now the only part of Frankie controlled by them. Luckily Ghoulia was able to teach them mourse code. They usually just hang around Clawdeen whenever she’s at Monster High as Frankie isn’t allowed to leave.”

“Clawdeen Wolf.

Status: Uninfected

Clawdeen is in charge of the usual patrols outside Monster High, which has been converted into a shelter for survivors. Clawdeen looks around for other survivors in hopes of finding her family, and later Draculaura when she goes missing too.” End ID.]

[Image ID 3: Two individuals in front of a grey background. The one on the left side is sitting down, while the one on the right does a cutesy post, putting their pointer finger from their left hand to their cheek and slightly raising one leg. The left one is a pale turquoise, with a fish tail wrapped around their legs. They wear a black hoodie with pink stripes, a turquoise middle section, and a turquoise fin at the top. They have short fizzy multi-colored hair, said colors being blonde, green, turquoise, and pink. They wear blue shorts revealing their left leg is bandaged, and their hazel eyes paint a somewhat frustrated expression. The right figure has a black and pink gothic lolita dress, a cutesy black hat with a purple bow, white gloves, a black umbrella in their right hand, pink boots, and a face entirely covered in shadows. There is text at the sides of both of them, the sections from left to right reading:

“Lagoona Blue.

Status: uninfected (but injured)

Lagoona broke her leg trying to run from an infected while on a trip with Clawdeen. Luckily Clawdeen managed to get her back to Monster High uninfected, and Lagoona usually stays there now. She’s worried about Ghoulia and Clawdeen’s mental state.”

“Draculaura

Status: Unknown (missing)

It has been 2 weeks since the Power Wasting Curse started spreading, and a week ago Draculaura went missing while on one of Clawdeen’s trips. They were forced to abandon her to get Lagoona back to safety, to Clawdeen’s distress. Since infected vampires eventually turn to dust and no one’s found any trace of her most monsters other than Clawdeen think she’s dead.” End ID.]

[Image ID 4: Two individuals in front of a grey background. The one on the left side is sitting on the floor, their left hand chained to something offscreen. The one on the right side lies on the floor frantically writing something on a piece of paper with a worried facial expression. The one on the left is covered in bandages, the left of their face the only part visible, showing a dark and solemn eye. They wear a teal face mask and a pale teal hospital gown, and also have dark ashy skin and black shoulder-length hair. The one to the right has grey skin, with some rot on the right side, and short blue hair. They have white glasses, a grey striped shirt, a short red sleeve and a short black sleeve, a prosthetic arm, red and black pants, and blue sneakers. Their left arm is bandaged. There are two sections of text for each individual, reading from left to right:

“Cleo De Nile

Status: infected

Cleo got infected by an attack in the back by an infected Deuce. It can’t be removed, but Ghoulia’s managed to keep her in her lab and prevent her from losing control of her rotting body. Cleo’s been going through it and Ghoulia’s the only one who knows she’s still ‘alive’.”

“Ghoulia Yelps

Status: uninfected

Ghoulia is almost always in her lab, frantically trying to find a cure. She cannot lose Cleo, no matter what. She never really talks to anyone anymore unless they start the conversation. She doesn’t know what she would do if she lost Cleo after everything else.” End ID.]

[Image ID 5: Two individuals in front of a grey background. The one of the left walks to the other side, looking worried and carrying a flaming stick. The one to the right leans to the left facing the camera. The one on the left has orange fire hair, pale yellow skin, orange fire horns + tail, and a very scared expression. They wear one pink heart earring, a pink tank top, a black jacket, black and red fingerless gloves, black pants, and red boots. The one to the right has pale green skin, dangling lifeless green snakes for hair, rocks in their eye sockets, fangs, green scales on the left side of their face + their shoulders, and rotting arms. There is blood all over them. They wear a torn black tank top with a white eye design, black pants with knee holes, and no shoes. There are two sections of text for each individual, reading from left to right:

“Heath Burns

Status: uninfected

Abby and Heath were going to visit Marisol when the infection hit, and ended up lost somewhere in Monster Picchu due to the train crashing. Heath is very scared and hungry, if it wasn’t for being with Abby he probably wouldn’t have survived.”

“Deuce Gorgon

Status: Infected

While not patient zero, Deuce was one of the first people to get infected. Patient zero had gone missing in the catacombs and Deuce had gone to look for them. The infection messed up Deuce’s natural protection against his eyes, though luckily all that did was turn his eyes to stone, blinding him. Other infected gorgons have been killed by the infection, but somehow, Deuce is still alive, though he’s certainly not in there anymore.” End ID.]

[Image ID 6: Two individuals in front of a grey background. The one to the left stands still looking at the camera with a face of rage. The one to the right run to the right carrying a large bloodied ice shard in their left hand, and a phone held up to their face in the right one, a suppressed look of worried on their face. The one on the left has cat ears with holes, short orange hair with black stripes, glassey green eyes, a foaming fanged mouth, pale orange skin covered in orange stripes, and a black striped tail. They wear an orange spiked collar, a black jacked with orange striped sleeves, dark pink pants, an orange belt, black striped bracelets, one pink and one green fingerless gloves, and black boots. The one on the right is fat, has short white hair with blue and purple accents, blue sclera and brown purple eyes, freckles, and darker blue hands. They wear a pink hat, a purple shall, a blue jacket, white fluffy sleeves, pink pants, and dark blue sneakers. Both figures have blood on them. There are two sections of text for each individual, reading from left to right:

“Toralei Stripe

Status: infected

Toralei is one of the more dangerous infected. She is filled with rage and has attacked several people. Most scientists looking for a cure claim her to be a lost cause. Any day now, the curse will eventually kill her. Do not approach.”

“Abby Bominable

Status: uninfected

Abby’s been trying to contact Marisol, as she keeps coming in and out. She’s keeping up her usual tough vibe, but is secretly very worried about Heath and Marisol. Luckily they’re in the forest outside Marisol’s home, but it’s very large and neither of them are used to this environment.” End ID.]

Here it is. The Monster High infection AU, or I guess, curse AU, so I didn’t have to worry about the fact that logically 60% of the cast would not be able to get sick. At all. If you have any questions I’d be happy to share!

#via #various sketches #monster high #infection au #horror #horror art #frankie stein #clawdeen wolf #lagoona blue #draculaura #cleo de nile #ghoulia yelps #heath burns #deuce gorgon #toralei stripe #abby bominable #power wasting curse

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comic-sans-chan · 1 year

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Hi my name is Julikhan Noonien Bashing Bond Raven Way and I have soft brown hair slicked back like a super cool secret agent guy (that's how I got my name) and green hazel eyes like olives in a martini and a lot of people tell me I look like Julius Eaton (AN: if u don't know who he is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Ian Fleming but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a Starfleet Officer but I was second in my class at Starfleet Medical because I mistook a preganglionic fiber for a postganglionic nerve on the oral exam. I have warm caramel skin. I'm also an augment, and I go to a remote outpost in the farthest reaches of the galaxy called Deep Space Nine in the wilderness where I'm CMO (I'm twenty-seven!). I'm a jock (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly spandex. I love Garak's Clothiers and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a form-fitting silver jumpsuit with a cyan crop top with long sleeves and turquoise bands at the bottom and collar, silver and turquoise sneakers, and a cucumber in my crotch. I was wearing my face. I was walking outside Deep Space Nine. It was not snowing or raining because it was a space station, which I was very happy about. A lot of happy families stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

"Hey my dear Doctor!" shouted a voice. I looked up. It was... Elim Garak!

"What's up Elim?" I asked.

"We should fuck." he said homosexually.

But then, I heard my friends call me and I had to go away.

#deep space nine #ds9 #garashir #julian bashir #my posts #julikhan and his manic pixie dream lizard #ah thought of another bastardization of julian's name #no idea how to fit it in there so i'll just tag it #subaboitoi #there we go

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kozuki-hiyori · 3 months

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LOOK I'm not fully sure what color Zoro's eyes are (there is technically a way for them all to be right (the ones off the top of my head are gray, green, brown, and yellow, but honestly I think I've seen just about every answer thrown out) and the answer is hazel with yellow-brown in the middle and blue-green on the outside (aka the answer is everything... literally why am I explaining this so much oof, ANYWAY))

Whatever, let's call them gray for now cause Law's are gold and the silver-gold parallel is just more for me specifically to giggle about...

#lawzo #zolaw #roronoa zoro #no legit like what color are his eyes I give up #starts talking about eyes like a stereotypical fanfic writer...#...his orbs...#lmao I can't #oh and red I think I've seen a fair amount of drawings with red eyes...#really every color under the sun lmao

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just-in-case-iloveyou · 3 months

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get to know me tag 🌻

@sugarcoated-lame my darling🧡 thank you so much for the tag 🥰

1. were you named after anyone?

i'm pretty sure y'all can guess my real name, but yeah, i was. my name means "she who will rise again," which was neat, because my parents read about an American Indian woman who worked closely with an ethnologist to record hundreds of hours tapes cataloging her tribe's language. a language that no one spoke, until a cardboard box containing those tapes was found in the Smithsonian Institution the year before i was born. my parents loved the name and were blown away by the story.

2. when was the last time you cried?

two days ago, it's been a rough month

3. do you have kids?

no kids, but i do have a fur baby 🥹 ditto, Kricket

4. what sports do you play/have you played?

i did dance and gymnastics a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. 🩰 after that, i played basketball and softball in middle school, and volleyball from middle to high school. 🏀🥎🏐

5. do you use sarcasm?

at this point, i'm pretty sure it's a coping mechanism for me.

6. what’s the first thing you notice about people?

smile first, then eyes (mostly because i'm nearsighted, so eyes are a little harder)

7. what’s your eye color?

hazel, i guess. they're green on the outside and brown on the inside.

8. scary movies or happy endings?

happy endings, for sure. i'm too chicken for scary movies 🐔 and i like to feel happy 💖

9. any talents?

Kicket, babe, i feel like we're kind of the same person.

i can sing, and if i'm comfortable enough with you, i'll sing along to things in your presence. i used to take voice lessons and do musical theater, but since my anxiety developed later, that's a big no-go nowadays. i'm also a solid advice-giver (but i can't take my own), and i used to stress-bake a TON in university. i suppose i'm pretty good at random trivia! and i'm okay at painting, but i only really do it at those paint and sip places lol.

10. where were you born?

Orange County, California 🍊

11. what are your hobbies?

again, same person, different font

PUZZLES!!! reading, watching movies, singing, baking, thrifting, playing video games (i'm a sucker for the Nancy Drew mystery games). i'm trying to get better at cooking. i used to do creative writing and write poems, but i haven't in a very long time. i feel like i should try to get back into that. and like i said, paint and sip is also fun lol

12. do you have any pets?

at the moment, my sister has a pittie mix named Moose, we've got a lovebird named Peach, and a tortoise (African desert maybe?) named Shelley (we didn't name him). we lost my sweet girl Bell and my baby boy Percy not too long ago 💔💔

13. how tall are you?

5'2" i'm almost pocket-sized!

14. favorite subject in school?

English and Social Studies (history, geography, psych, etc.)

15. dream job?

this is gonna sound insane, but ever since i was 11, i've always wanted to work for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS). it sounds squirrely, but long story short, i started watching NCIS and CSI: Crime Scene Investigation around that age, and i just got SO interested in criminology and forensics.

no pressure tags: @lewmagoo @laracrofted @seresinhangmanjake @withahappyrefrain @roosterforme @ohtobeleah @mamachasesmayhem @bobgasm @bobfloydsbabe @attaboylew @attapullman @mjskeletons661 @lostinthefandoms11 @pinkdaisies1106 @mandylove1000 I’m a little late to this so sorry if you’ve already done it 🧡

#anya answers #a rumor in st petersburg

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olliethescribe · 11 months

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Uhhhh, man, I have not posted writing in a while… Sorry about that! I am depressed. Which is homophobic considering it’s Pride month /lhj - I’m working on things, however. Very slowly. At a snails pace….

On the bright side - here’s a snippet from a side fic I’m working on called Sweet Stargazer! It’s a pre-canon hippoworm fic that explores Warren and Ron (Hypno) meeting way earlier and falling for each other (:

Warren is 21 and Ron is 19 in this fic - thought y’all should know since it becomes plot relevant.

Enjoy!

The Shell station convenience store was alight with a yellow glow. Two cars, a pick-up truck and a dented van, were parked outside, one parked far better than the other in the only handicap space, as a pale gold moon hung in the evening sky. It was far too late into the night for anyone to possibly be up, the clock hands reaching several tics past one. And yet…

The distant drone of overheated fluorescent bulbs barely registered with the only two patrons of the establishment as they moved from aisle to aisle. One of which had exited the bathroom, wiping his eyes, muttering to himself before proceeding to mill about. Both patrons were in their own little worlds, not minding the other as they shuffled tiredly around the other, an absent-minded passing of ships in the night.

Ron Pewhairangi whistled silently to himself as he glanced disinterestedly at packets of crisps, taking more note of the tall blonde an aisle over than the snacks themselves. He cocked his head as his eyes followed the fellow between a gap in the shelves, discreetly looking the guy over.

The fellow had medium length hair that spilled down his face, covering one eye before being swept aside. It appeared to be dyed blonde, his brown roots on display when he’d so carefully bend to inspect the lower shelves. His legs tapping the linoleum floor of the shop sounded heavy, a light clack most would expect from marble or metal. He wore full length grey sweatpants that ended at his ankles, a beat-up pair of white sneakers, and a light blue hoodie with the hood down. His hands were jammed firmly in the middle pocket, with one making the occasional appearance to flick through the sugary selection. His fingernails were painted aquamarine, and his eyes were a hazel green, skin around them slightly puffy as if he’d been crying. Plenty of cool tones about him but he seemed just a little miffed to match, his teeth briefly on display with shiny braces as he muttered curses about something not being able to fit through the door and having to walk instead.

Ron pretended not to be eyeing the guy as he heard him shuffle over to the next aisle, coming his way with a selection in hand. He kept his head down, sights set on the floor below in an attempt to draw less attention to himself. And for a moment it seemed to work.

Well that was until the taller of the two bumped into the shorter one just a touch too roughly as he missed his step, dropping his stuff before righting himself on a nearby shelf.

“Apologies for the spill. Allow me to help.” Ron’s accented voice cut through the silence, catching the tall fellow’s attention.

Warren Thaddius Smith looked down at the person before him, the same guy he’d seen wandering around and perusing the crisps disinterestedly, the one who was wandering around when he stumbled in and rushed into the bathroom with his head down. That guy. It was just passing glances before, but to get a closer look, oh boy, was this guy pretty.

Short black hair curling into haphazard waves, light brown eyes that shimmered, dark olive skin, a gold hoop earring clipped to one ear, and the beginnings of a mustache. He was on the heavier side, wearing a black hoodie with Houdini’s visage gracing the back, the front decorated with fine gold lettering that said ‘now you see me” on the front and ‘now you don’t!’ on the back with sparkles around the text, also wearing blue jeans and sneakers. The guy’s buck teeth were prominent as he smiled, passing his fellow patron his things back, his black chipped nail polish catching in the grainy light.

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Warren looked away, trying not to stare.

“Least I could do, Warren.”

His attention snapped back to the guy in front of him, still puzzled by the accent he couldn’t quite place. Warren hadn’t introduced himself, had he? He searched his mind for a hint, doubting his memory.

“How do you know my name?” Warren raised an eyebrow, accessing the situation. “Have we met before?”

The fellow before him snickered before pulling out a wrist watch, his wrist watch, his name engraved on the inside on the sterling silver back.

“Nah, mate.” He passed Warren his watch back, who snapped it up in confusion. “Let’s make things even. You can call me Ron.”

Warren shoved his watch into his hoodie pocket, not sure if he should be angry or impressed. The night was already strange enough without getting pseudo-robbed. He regarded the pretty criminal with weary eyes.

“Why’d you steal my watch, Ron?”

“That’s what we in the business call ‘sleight of hand’. Couldn’t resist an opportunity to show off, y’know?” Ron winked, ready to pull out a deck of cards before deciding to dial it back a bit. This Warren fellow seemed nonplussed. Tough crowd.

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nurbsfirby · 1 year

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15 questions for 15 mutuals

Thank you for tagging me, @devotedsims @eljeebee @akitasimblr @druidberries @falsetochild @emzchaos @loveryss @crazydictator @aleksa-sims @cinnamonferns @damseljamsel

Are you named after anyone?

Nope! Just the very unique name of Sarah.~

When was the last time you cried?

May have shed a smol tear watching Queen Charlotte last night!

Do you have kids?

Nope!

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Constantly, possible too often.

What sports do you play/have you played?

I'm so far from a sporty person it's unreal sooo none.

What’s the first thing you notice about other people?

vibes maaan, it's all about the vibes.

Eye colour?

Brown in the middle and green on the outside, is that hazel? IDK

Scary movies or happy endings?

I love both, but would prefer to watch a horror most days.

Any special talents?

Nope, none that I can think of. Though I did used to be able to turn my eyelids inside out, which creeps me out thinking about now, haha.

Where were you born?

Liverpool, England - UK

What are your hobbies?

Gaming (duh), writing, drawing, collecting silly pop funko figures & pin badges.

Do you have any pets?

I have one dog, she's a staffy & a total princess.

How tall are you?

5'3 (ish)

Fave subject in school?

Geography, sometimes it was the only lesson I would actually attend in a day.

Dream job?

Dream job, is to not have to have a job!! (Maybe the owner of a staffy rescue).

I'm so behind that most people have probably done this already!! If you see this then I'm tagging you!!!

#non sims #15 questions #tagged

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

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Ugh, I don’t wanna go to bed at a reasonable hour and be an actual functioning human being again tomorrow.

Will you tell me a bedtime story to help me fall asleep?

How about a little Montana!Cassian under the cut?

Nesta was in hell.

She screamed again, irate with the whole endeavor.

“All right, ma’am?” a masculine voice called. Nesta whipped her head to the side of the long, gravel drive, intending to give that busybody man the middle finger for his trouble.

She hesitated. To start, the man in question was astride a large brown horse. She had no quick comeback for a man who was pulling towards her shiny black sedan like he’d stepped straight out of eighteen forty six.

He swung one of his long, powerful legs off the creature with ease, revealing himself to be at least six foot five. Nesta had never considered herself a small woman, standing at five nine without heels but as he approached, his rough stubbled face hidden beneath the brim of his cowboy hat, Nesta felt positively dainty.

And that irked her, even as she swallowed with desire. He was absurdly stunning, the absolute dream of anyone hoping to marry a cowboy from a long forgotten age. Those eyes of his, framed with ridiculously long lashes, swept over her, and then her surroundings.

“Tricked, huh?” he asked in a rich, deep drawl. “You wouldn’t be the first. Won’t be the last.”

“Someone should burn this place to the ground,” she hissed, one hand still gripping her hurt ankle.

He chuckled. “I don’t think that would stop someone from tryin’ to sell it. You hurt?” he added, his eyes falling on her ankle.

“I twisted my foot,” she admitted. He knelt, the sight emptying out all of Nesta’s thoughts. She could only stare at his thighs, bulging in his tight jeans. His hand was large enough to wrap fully around her ankle and ever so slowly, he pulled her foot from her scuffed black heel.

“This is your problem,” he said, holding up her shoe with a frown.

“Well I know that now,” Nesta hissed, “you must be a psychic.”His eyes flashed. “Can you drive?”

“No,” she admitted, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well, I wouldn’t go around insultin’ the only person who can help…but that’s just me,” he replied.

Nesta hesitated. “Are you a doctor?”

He snorted, rising to his feet again. His large, muscular body blocked the bright sun the way a tree might and Nesta couldn’t pretend she wasn’t grateful.

“Cattle rancher,” he replied, “but I know a thing or two about tapin’ up a sprain. We’ll get you iced up and bandaged and on your way Miss…”

She sighed. “Nesta Archeron,” she half grumbled.

“Miss Archeron—”

“Nesta. Don’t be ridiculous.”

He smiled, setting her heart racing. “Miss Nesta, then. I’m Cassian, and I’m walkin’ towards you real slow because I don’t want to spook you.”

“Why would you—put me down right now!”

He shook his head. “And let you finish breakin’ what you started? No offense, darlin’, but carrying you is a lot safer than letting you hop on the horse—”

“Why can’t we drive?”

He looked down at her, his amusement plain. “And what would I do with Bryaxis?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nesta breathed, gripping Cassian’s neck until her nails dug into his skin. “I’ve never been on a horse.”

“He doesn’t bite,” Cassian replied. “I’ll be right behind you.” She couldn’t help her squeal as he hoisted her up into the fine leather saddle. Nesta’s bare thighs touched the material, spreading her legs obscenely, though Cassian didn’t seen to notice or care. He merely swung himself up behind her. He put one hand on her hip, the warmth seeping through her silken skirt, before reaching for the reins.

“What were you doing out here, anyway?”

He nodded towards a saddle bag. “Needed a few things in town. “And you took a horse?” she replied, trying to imagine where he’d even park it.

Cassian’s laugh rumbled through his chest. “Where are you from, Miss Nesta?”

“Chicago,” she replied, well aware she was proving every city slicker stereotype true. “Have you ever been?”

She felt him shrug. “Nope. I’ve been to cities before, but not so far south.

So far south. Nesta didn’t know how to respond to that. “You’re not missing much, honestly.”

“No? Is Chicago not home sweet home?”

It was Nesta’s turn to shrug. “It’s where I live.”

If he had thoughts about that, Cassian kept them to himself. That was just as well—Nesta didn’t want to fight some stranger when she was currently on his horse, unable to even run. He’d left her shoes on top of her car and her suitcase in the trunk. Nesta was literally at his mercy, given the small, two lane road they were currently traveling down had no hint of civilization besides the two of them.

She’d done such a shitty job picking an airbnb.

“What are you doin’ up here, then?” he asked after a moment. His voice had the most pleasant gravel, deep and dark like a star flecked sky. Nesta knew she was leaning against the broad plain of his chest and found she didn’t care.

“My friend is getting married,” she said. “I guess her fiance grew up out here.”

“Oh yeah?” he replied, an obvious smile in his voice. “Married on a ranch?”

Nesta twisted in her saddle. “Don’t you dare—”

“Lots of people rent out my barn on the edge of the property. You can stay up with me, if you need a place. I’ll charge you a real fair price.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s that?”

“You ever mucked out a stall, Miss Nesta?”

She poked him in the ribs, turning back to face the endless expanse of cloudless blue. “Is that your thing, then? Humbling the city girl by making her clean up shit?”

“Maybe I think you’d be real pretty with a little mud on your face.”

Nesta swallowed. “I don’t do mud,” she said, looking at her immaculate nails.

“What do you do, then?” Why did he sound so suggestive? Nesta’s hands were clammy–nervous. When had a man ever had that effect on her?

“Law,” she told him. “Corporate law.”

“I don’t know much about that,” he finally admitted. Nesta could have kissed him for it, though she wouldn’t.

“It’s pretty boring,” she said, earning another of his soft noises.

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” he replied. “You don’t strike me as the type to spend your time sufferin’.”

“Well…I do get to humble really rich men with a fair amount of regularity,” she admitted with a smile. His grip on her waist tightened.

“I’ll pay,” she breathed. Behind her, Cassian went stiff.

“Pay?”

“For a room,” she clarified, wondering what he was thinking. “If you were serious about your offer, I’d pay you for it.”

“Oh, darlin’, there’s no need for that. Just a little hel—”

“I told you I don’t do dirt,” she snapped. “You can have money or nothing at all.”

“I’m not takin’ your money,” Cassian drawled. “Just keep after yourself and don’t disturb the cats.” Her heart stuttered. “Cats?”

“Yeah. My girl just had kittens and she’s real skittish, so if you see her, be real quiet and soft.”

Nesta could have died. “What's her name?”

She wanted a cat so badly. Her landlord expressly forbade any animals at all, and Nesta was too much of a ruler follower to risk a secret cat. The thought of spending three days surrounded by a mama cat and her little kittens seemed like heaven.

“Cheddar,” Cassian admitted ruefully. “She’s orange. Dad must be black, though, because half her little beans are black, too.” A soft squeak slipped from Nesta’s throat. “Do they have names?”

“Not yet. Maybe you’ll help me out with that,” he added with what sounded suspiciously like hope.

#its not a complete story #but i think this is satisfying

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vault-heck · 1 year

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15 Questions for 15 Mutuals

Thank you @krokaxe! <33

I'll do my best not to tag anyone who has already been tagged, and as always, no presh: @falloutnewvegastransedmygender @perfectlypreservedpie @memaidraws @icyglaceon471 @vnknowncrow @lordjimp @nukagender @edaworks @twosides--samecoin @sunsetting-harmony @emeraldtower @foxs-fire @bexatomarama @adventuresofmeghatron @sleeplessincarcosa

1. Are you named after anyone?

My middle name, which I usually go by irl, was a family surname a couple of generations back.

2. When was the last time you cried?

My basement flooded yesterday and not only was I crying but also screaming and throwing up.

3. Do you have kids?

Nope. Kids are great but I do not want any of my own.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Sarcasm? what's that? (yeah)

5. What sports do you play/have you played?

My mom taught me a tiny bit of tennis and I can kind of bowl. I was only ever serious about mixed martial arts/kickboxing.

6. What's the first thing you notice about other people?

Online, how outward they are about political/social views. In person, sometimes the same but often it's body language I think (fuck if I know what it means half the time, but still).

7. Eye color?

Hazel, I guess. My eyes are kind of weird. They're sort of gray blue at the very outside of the iris (barely visible) and light brown by the pupil and either green or yellow in between depending upon lighting.

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

I like both!

9. Any special talents?

I'm slightly better than average at a few things like sfx makeup, playing some instruments. I used to be able to do the 'human blockhead' trick but haven't tried in a while...

10. Where were you born?

Tornado Alley.

11. What are your hobbies?

Writing, video games, playing music, digital art sometimes, textile arts, reading, interior design (for fun and not profit), (theoretically) cosplay, gardening, composting.

12. Do you have any pets?

A sphynx cat, Agnete (Nettie for short), and a black and white cat named Kenny (originally named Kenpachi but please don't talk to me about Bleach I don't know shit.)

13. How tall are you?

5'4'' ish

14. Fave subject in school?

Uhh. I was raised on Abeka and didn't finish college so this is hard to answer. Literature probably.

15. Dream job?

I hate having a job so much lol. But maybe doing unionized (or better, worker owned) data privacy work of some kind.

#tag games #about me #not fallout

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fountainpenguin · 8 months

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"The phone rings in the middle of the night... My father yells 'Whatcha gonna do with your life!?'"

---

New Dog's Life chapter today! Still a Traffic SMP fan-season, even if it doesn't look like one in the first 1,000 words, ha ha.

Chapter 4 - “Simmer (Scott)”

Read on AO3

Start from Chapter 1

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MCC's exhausting and therapy's expensive, but having Scar and Skizz catapult you into your Hot Boy Summer arc is free. It's the Scott chapter, folks! This man has never done anything shady in his life. He's just building a sushi restaurant... and definitely doesn't have unfinished paperwork sniffing at his heels.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

💚 💛 ❤️

Minecrafters like to move in circles. It’s the first thing they burn into your head back in City Planning 101. They like to keep you in their sights. They dance sideways. They sometimes swap into third-person view. They move like prey even on Peaceful, which is awful when you think about it - about how deeply embedded in your code that sort of thing is - but hey… It’s not wrong. They are prey. So when Scott first built New Star Station back in the day, he opted for curved walls and a fairly open floor plan. Brings the gals and pals to the yard like dust-moths to a redstone flame.

And no windows. Everyone thinks they want windows - thinks they want to see the washed-out pink of the Between Dimension’s sky and its fluffy red and white trees - but they don’t. They really don’t. In this dimension, the mobs don’t stop spawning just because you lit the ground up. There’s a reason every floor tile in this station is coated in half-slabs and carpets. They’ve built themselves a world, built themselves a home, they play their little games…

But the “no windows” policy will remain no matter how many requests pile up in his office. Windows showcasing Between’s hazel and crabapple trees, its fireflies, its mooblooms, its mice, its zombie horses, and those gemstone-flecked blocks that coat the natural ground are aesthetic in theory, but horrid in execution. Once you have windows, you start asking more questions. You start checking over your shoulder. You start asking for weapons. And that’s not the vibe. In New Star Station, they’re “safe.” They have quartz floors, mossy cobble, and dark oak wood. It’s cute. It’s home. They can pretend the outside world isn’t living in total anarchy.

No one likes the reminder that they’re prey.

“Scott,” says Scar behind him as they round the next hallway curve, because as much as Scott loves him, Scar wouldn’t get a memo if you flooded his inventory with several stacks of 64. Scar’s trying to hustle, using his cane to push himself forward a little more than he should. He might slip. Scar’s fingers graze the back of Scott’s jacket sleeve. “What’s your favorite block from the outside?”

Scott spares him half a glance. Looks right at his pine-green eyes, which is a mistake. It’s easier to stay in character when he’s actually on a server - when he’s staring down a presentation of his friends instead of this… this out of roleplay version of themselves. Scar’s not in his wooden puppet skin anymore; they’re not on the Dog’s Life server. He’s wearing his rumpled brown coat and explorer’s fedora. His spiky blue wings flutter behind him, non-functional but sentimental. And he’s got algae-coated eyes.

Scott would like to claw the algae straight off him.

“Leaves,” he says. It’s not untrue. But Scar picks up on that instantly, because he’s Scar and can dance his tongue like a snake doing ballet. It’s almost insulting, actually, how many hours Scott put into this hallway design just for Scar to tune it all out (Most people use the bullet path; Scar can’t, Scar always walks, doesn’t compliment the block palette). Scar half-tosses his cane, catching it in his hand. He hustles after Scott without planting that thing down on the floor. Just shuffling, just playing the syrupy sweet character…

It’s all a show. The man just glitched a whole server - so much paperwork; gotta file Grian’s incident reports - and he’s still trotting about with no cares in the world and triple aces up his sleeve. Scar’s not baggy-eyed and bristle-tailed. There’s no long nights waiting for him. No people to please. It must be nice to roll around in someone else’s sandbox. See, Scott built this playground, but he can never lose himself in it. And he didn’t even build a playground. New Star’s a bunker dressed in tinsel and glitter.

“Oh really?” (About the leaves). Scar’s voice is honey and hums. He slams one arm around Scott’s shoulders, which Scott winces at because it almost flickers him out of his human persona- almost startles a side of himself he doesn’t like to show. Scar sweeps his cane around, gently tapping the top of it to the bottom of Scott’s chin. It’s spruce wood, the cane. Scott can tell from the smell of it; even the polish doesn’t hide that. Scar presses the cane’s curve innocently at his mouth. “Scott, you have just secured your place as my favorite mayor in New Star’s history.”

“I’m the only mayor in…”

“Leaves,” Scar plows on, completely ignoring him, “are one of the most beautiful blocks in the game. In fact, I’ve been thinking! I’ve been thinking for a while now. I keep meaning to ask if I can have a tree outside my portal, which I think would balance out my mailbox. Big and little! Comparison contrast. You know I hate paperwork, though… Hey, what do the leaves look like in this dimension anyway? Maybe instead of getting an import, I should go the authentic route.”

Scott’s eye twitches up. He doesn’t throw Scar’s arm away from his neck, but it takes an extra breath - which is not a good sign - to keep it together; keep the truest part of himself tucked inside his code. Scar’s easily spooked and already had a rough day. Can’t keep a secret either. Scott’s not in the mood for coming out to him. Instead he says, “Scaaar,” in a gently patient, sort of in character kind of tone. He turns his head, smiling, and gives a little tilt. Because nothing bothers him, because he’s Scott, and it’s his playground and everyone else is running around in it. “You, sir, are setting yourself up to be a bad example… Why are you asking about outside blocks?”

Nat 1 on intimidation. Scar hums like a bumblebee, pressing his cane a little tighter against the base of Scott’s neck. They haven’t stopped walking; he doesn’t take his mouth away from Scott’s pointed ear.

“Why, they sound like fun to build with, Smajor! Are you hoarding pretty blocks?” Lips so close, hitboxes shuffling, lips passing straight through skin in a way that sends goosepixels shrieking up his neck like lightning. Scar’s fingers clench in his shoulder. “Can’t a man want to play around with new ceiling tiles? Why! You’re a ragged little ferret hoarding ceiling tiles, aren’t you?” And he thunks the cane tip against Scott’s chin. Scott’s on auto-pilot; he smacks the back of his hand against Scar’s cheek, which finally gets him slinking off.

“Between’s natural blocks are ugly. You wouldn’t use them anyway.” It’s like spoonfeeding carrot mush to a baby.

[Cnt'd on AO3 - Link at top]

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