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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Rock, Meet Hard Place 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss makes a deal that proves less than beneficial for you.

Characters: Nick Fowler, Lloyd Hansen

Author’s Note: This is what you asked for so don’t even.

Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself 💜

He thinks you don’t notice him slink in, but you do. You heard his sighs from down the hall. You look up just as he reaches his office door.

“He all settled in then?”

Fowler stops and slaps his hand on the door frame. He drops his chin, agitation ticking in his jaw. “He��s... going for a run? I don’t know. He said his ass was cramped from driving all day then tried to grab me again.” He shakes his head and looks at you. “Can you look into hotels?”

“You’re sending him away already?”

“No, it’s for me,” he sneers.

You nearly laugh but you hold back.

“I mean, he coulda pulled a knife?” You suggest.

“I’d prefer that,” he drags his hand off the wall and crosses his arms. “Don’t grin at me like that.”

“I’m not grinning. This is just how my face is.”

“You’re fucking smirking,” he stomps closer.

You roll your eyes, “alright,” you wipe your expression and dawn the bitch face you’ve spent decades honing. He nearly recoils.

“Not better,” he chides.

You push your shoulders up and sit back, “so, hotel? Executive sweet, extra wine?”

“Forget it. I’ll deal with the idiot. I don’t trust him here alone.”

“Wise. I was going to say but he’s really not my problem. I just handle the noise.”

“You really have to gloat?” He huffs.

“Gloat? Come on, Fowler, you can handle just as well as I did--”

“No, I need him in line. I can’t go popping him in the face, as much as he might beg for it.”

“Wow, character growth. Never thought I’d see the day,” you mock.

“Hey,” he points at you, “don’t. You sound just like him.”

You squint and stand, “now that’s just insulting.” You step up to him. “I could grow a way better mustache.”

He snorts and turns away, “alright then. I need a drink.”

“Me too,” you check your watch. “I’m gonna clock out--”

“Clock out,” he pauses and looks over his shoulder.

“Believe it or not, I have a life,” you jeer. “So, since you have that cretin on a leash, I’ll just be off mine.”

You go to the rack and take your jacket and your bag. You sense him watching you. You face him.

“Unless I’ve forgotten something?”

“You’re abandoning me,” he accuses.

“Oh, I am,” you confirm and turn on your heel, “ta.”

You stride out and exhale as you head down the hall. You really just want to go home and soak in your tub with a glass of rose. For all the work you put in, you don’t get to enjoy the fruits of your labour as much as you’d like.

As you get to the door, another approaches. You meet Hansen with a derisive look as his lips curl.

“Ah there she is. Where’re you off too? Nicky Blue Eyes have you running out for lube--”

He’s wearing a loose shirt with no sides, his ribs and stomach peeking out, his arms exposed. His running shorts stop high on his thigh and echo another era. You tilt your head at him wryly.

“Don’t twist your ankle.”

“Aw, you worried about me, baby cakes?”

“I’m worried about listening to you whine,” you scoff.

You reach for the door and he gets there first, blocking your path.

“Where’re you off to in such a hurry? Got a date? Don’t tell me there’s a Mister at home.”

“Hansen, kindly, get out of my way.”

“Oooh, spicy. Mama, I love that. Talk dirty to me.”

You cross your arms and stare him down. You keep your expression placid as you watch him. Patient. The stone sets in your eyes.

He flinches and gives an emphatic shudder, “oof, you can do that on demand, eh? That’s cold.” He wiggles his shoulders and winks, “the ice queen must be upon her mission.” He opens the door and holds it as he waves through, “As long I get to watch you walk away, you’re free to go.”

You don’t give him even the twitch of your eye. You step through march down the walk to the gate. He whistles behind you but you don’t catch his last comment. Whatever it is, isn’t worth hearing.

As you come out the other side of the fence, you let your posture ease. You take out your personal phone and swipe through your notifications. There isn’t very much. Some promotions from the wine show you went to a few months back and some messages you’d rather not deal with. Yet, he is persistent.

You get in your car and throw your purse in the other seat. You linger as you mull the texts. It would save you a trip to the grocery store. As long as the offer is still on the table.

You key in your message; ‘home in thirty. If you’re still in the area, you may leave it at my door.’

You drop the phone on top of your bag and start the engine. You turn up the music, Ronstadt mostly, and start your drive home. You drift into the blur of traffic, following the usual twists and turns of your route.

As you pull up to your walk-up, you slow. You could tear his hair out. Yes, you are aware, you take and don’t give, but that’s how it needs to be with his sort. Next to a crate of fresh produce, Cole sits, perking up as you approach the steps.

“It’s late. Sorry, but I had a long day--”

“I know,” he stands and lifts the box, “but I just wanted to say hi, you know? We never see each other. You’re so busy.”

“As are you. I hear farm work is a lot,” you climb the stairs and face him. “Thank you for this.”

“Anytime,” he keeps the box away from your reach. “Let me. It’s heavy.”

“Really, there’s no need--”

“I’ll just bring it in and go. Promise. Not like last time.”

You sigh. You’re too tired. Tired of dealing with needy men.

“In and out,” you demand.

He grins bigger. You step past him and unlock the door. You enter and he follows, his elbow hitting the door. You point to the side table and he sets down the crate.

“Good, now, goodbye.” You say.

“Wait, please, what did I do--”

“Cole, nothing. You did nothing. It was one night.”

He pouts and slumps, “it could be more.”

“I’m too busy. Go find a girl with time.” And interest...

He nods mopily and turns reluctantly. You follow him to the door and close it behind him, almost pushing him out with it. The free delivery and fresh tomatoes are worth the excruciating encounter. You deal with worse than him.

#lloyd hansen #nick fowler #dark nick fowler #dark lloyd hansen #dark!nick fowler #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #nick fowler x reader #series #rock meet hard place #drabble #au #the 355 #the gray man

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iridiss · 3 months ago

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I think because Aphmau is a self-insert character, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what her personality is, because her personality is just…Jess’s personality. If a little different. Which makes it hard for me to get into Aphmau’s head, to see exactly how she works, what makes her tick—it doesn’t come naturally to me at all, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I wasn’t alone in that regard

Now that I’m finally working on my MCD rewrite, I really want to make sure I get Aphmau’s personality right, especially since she’s literally the protagonist character and likely the most common POV I’ll be using. I want to find a way to copy how watching her POV in-game felt, and make it so that it feels the same when I’m writing the fic. Lately, it hasn’t been feeling the same at all, and that’s mostly intentional, since I want her to evolve into the “unintentionally badass” woman that she is in the canon series. I want her to start off as kind of bright-eyed and naive, similar to Mystreet!Aphmau, as a newcomer to the world whose never seen a lick of war and violence in her life. Mainly because I know she’s going to be exposed to all of that later and fundamentally changed by it. But as I’m studying canon MCD Aphmau and trying to break down everything she does, how she thinks, the choices she makes and the patterns therein that define her, what choices she doesn’t make and what that says about her as a person… I think I have already strayed too far from the original in places.

Additionally, though Aphmau was still significantly emotionally affected by every little heinous thing that happened to her and her people, throughout season 1 she didn’t experience any sudden shift in who she was as a person. I’ve yet to finish rewatching season 2, so I could be wrong, but to me, it more seems like she held herself together and stayed largely the same person. But she was being slowly chipped away emotionally by everything that got added to the pile. From Brendan getting shot to Aaron’s death, it’s like there’s a million different little nicks and cuts in her mental health and psyche that have simply built up over time. Some of those scars are larger than others, like the 15 year timeskip and losing Aaron/Garroth/Laurance, but they all weigh on her psyche and make her progressively more anxious, more careful, more…traumatized? She’s traumatized and she’s not. I’d like to at least headcanon her as traumatized, probably severely by season 3. I’d like to think she’s a woman with the whole entire world on her shoulders and a million ghosts haunting her wherever she goes, and all of this leads to a great deal of stress and anxiety in her day-to-day life that she’s just kinda… Living With. She muscles through it. She keeps going. There are even moments I’m noticing in canon where she doesn’t allow herself to fully dwell on her grief and stress, saying it’s “selfish” to let them consume her, and then moving on to check on literally everyone else in the village and make sure they’re okay first.

Aphmau is a character that’s hard to understand in the broad strokes, like how you can see Laurance’s broad strokes of “Casanova” and “fiercely loyal” and “in love with Aphmau” and make a pretty easy surface mold of what he’s like. It’s like every other character has at least one or two giant, broad strokes of paint on the wall that distinguish them as unique.

Garroth is a gentleman, Kiki loves her animals and can be stubbornly gullible. Donna is sassy, Dale is an alcoholic, Katelyn is fierce, Travis is playful and flirtatious, Aaron is brooding and guarded, Logan has a stick up his ass, so on and so forth. But they all have really easy to find smaller pieces that you can find and study as well. MCD!Katelyn is much more calm and reserved and proper than her Mystreet counterpart, and on occasion waxes philosophical and drinks tea. Kiki has always wanted to be a mother. Brendan is a horse girl. Garroth is terrible at being ~romantically forward~ like Laurance is, and instead he gets flustered and stuttery and shy and struggles to talk about his feelings with others. Laurance is gentle and caring and will tenderly take care of you and nurse you back to health with a mature, gentle warmth that puts his cocky Casanova personality aside, still flirting and teasing every now and then, but only for the purpose of cracking a joke that would make you smile. And then he reminds you right after how fondly he loves you and how he will never, not ever, leave your side.

Laurance grew up not knowing how to talk to girls, and Sasha was the only female friend he could actually speak to and connect with. Garroth checks on Aphmau in the mornings, asking how she slept and reporting back to her on all the duties she has to tend to for the day. Dale is a brilliant accountant, and that’s his calling in life. Zoey used to regularly prepare tea for Aphmau at night to help her sleep. Logan helped Zoey raise Levin and Malachi during the 15 year timeskip and “secretly” very much loves children. You can find all the little kernels of character and personality and heart in all of them.

But for MCD!Aphmau, it’s like she has one single broad stroke. “Helps others, kind, caring.” And everything else is invisible to me. Mystreet!Aphmau might have a second broad stroke, of “silly and childish and whimsical,” a stroke that MCD!Aphmau has much less of. It’s still there, she still teases and cracks dumb jokes on occasion, but it’s dwarfed in comparison by MCD’s more serious, mature tone and the sheer emotional weight of everything she keeps going through. It’s hard to be silly and have stupid fun when you’re fighting for your life, so in a way, MCD!Aphmau had to grow up in a way that Mystreet!Aphmau never had to. Mystreet!Aphmau’s worst problem (before emerald secret) is “oh no! which cute boy am I gonna date?! Gene is so mean to me in highschool!! Gawd, I wish my mom would let me bring boys home without making it weird, jeez.” She gets to keep her innocence. She doesn’t have to grow up and face the brutality of killers and monsters and the cruelty of the gods, and even after When Angels Fall, I don’t see her heavily maturing and growing as serious as MCD!Aphmau already is on main.

So if MCD!Aphmau has one single broad stroke that, for a protagonist, is actually vague as hell to work with, then maybe she’s a character who is revealed by all the little things that slip through the cracks. Maybe I can paint a picture of what she’s truly, really like (not what I want her to be like) by looking at all the little things, and then working inwards from there,,,

I know she’s at the very least a good person. A very good person. Better than canon Garroth, who has far too many asshole tendencies for my liking after the whole Incel Hell Irene Dimension fiasco (also why the FUCK is he racist—) Better than canon Laurance, better than most people honestly. Which is kind of the point, as an Irene. She’s supposed to be inherently a good, pure-hearted soul, whose destiny and sole calling in life is to help everyone around her. She seems to display a great fear and distress over violence and war. She’s always anxious and freaking the fuck out when she’s in combat (during S1), and building up to the Phoenix War, she was absolutely mortified by the idea of going to war, and yet that distress NEVER boiled over into cowardice. She always chose what was right and stuck to it, stubbornly. Even when faced with the worst of dilemmas, she refuses to succumb to her fear and run away, or pick the easy (and scummy) way out. She cares a great deal about the greater good, even if it comes at a devastating cost to achieve, and by god, she’ll achieve it. When presented with the option of fight or flight, she NEVER picks flight. So she’s brave? Has a strong natural sense of justice? Would she ever make cruel sacrifices, if it was for a greater good? I think I at least know that if I presented her with the option of “kill Garroth and Laurance, or save the entire world,” she would refuse the dilemma entirely and go to EXTREME lengths to forge a third option where she gets to keep the world AND her boys, and everyone comes out unharmed. (And in my mind, this is what distinguishes her from the old Irene…)

She is a herald for peace, above anything else. When Scaleswind destroyed her home as an act of violent rage, she didn’t seek revenge or even allow herself to feel vitriol or resentment for the man that attacked her people. Instead, she (cautiously and hesitantly) accepted his pleas for forgiveness if it meant she could have peace for Phoenix Drop. She held him accountable for his crimes, yes, but she forgave him, trusted him with the Phoenix Drop Alliance, and even trusted him with her people. All the while reiterating to him that she is an agent working for peace, and he needs to get on her level if he wants her forgiveness. She even offers care and aid to all of the rotten O’khasis knights that still swear their fealty to Zane. She brings them to court for their crimes, but she also offers them her care and a place to stay if they need it. She believes in justice, but not cruel retribution. The moral high ground isn’t a weapon she uses to bludgeon others with. She draws her strength by pulling others up with her. Even putting her trust in those unworthy of it at times, but that then inspires them to make better choices and pledge themselves to her cause. Even if you were a horrible, terrible person, she refuses to be downright cruel. It’s very rare to see her anger get the best of her (not that I don’t doubt that has happened at least once or twice in the series, I’m just saying it’s not her go-to choice when resolving any conflict). She will always give people the benefit of the doubt.

I know she struggles with sleeping problems, mainly due to her stress. She did for most of the latter quarter of S1 and when I skipped ahead and watched a few snippets of S2, she was STILL bringing up how poorly she slept last night, so like. You could make a case that she has insomnia. She could have insomnia. And PTSD but that’s a given

She finds babies absolutely adorable and has strong maternal instincts. (a connection between this and her great care for Phoenix Drop as a whole could possibly be strung… I don’t think “maternal instincts” is at all why she helps PD though. I think she just does that…because…you should. Because it’s the right thing to do. Obviously. If given the choice to be kind and help someone, she will always pick that choice, because,,,she just does)

you could make an argument that she has dyslexia. if you made a drinking game out of every time she flubbed reading the lines on the screen you would keel over and die by episode 15 I think.

you could make an argument that she needs glasses because Jess wears glasses for the first little while of S1 before she seems to have switched to contacts for the rest of the aphverse

She loves animals and has more animals than she has children

She seems very slow to develop romantic feelings for anyone. I think she only really started to develop little bits of romantic feelings for Garroth come late S1, and for Laurance probably like. around episode 95ish if you’re pushing it early, but honestly she probably only developed feelings for him after the entirety of season 1. after Laurance and her had already become very close and intimate on a platonic level. And any of his flirtatious advances prior to that she CONSISTENTLY responded to with flat out rejection, disgust, exasperation and annoyance with zero romance in sight. meanwhile she’s been very affectionate with Zoey from the beginning and is much more sweet and domestic with her than any of the boys, so like. I can definitely see where all the aroace spectrum aphmau headcanons in the fandom are coming from now and I wouldn’t be surprised if she was some form of demiromantic as well, but that’s straying out of canon aphmau territory and into headcanon land

Her worst fear, confirmed by Malachi, is seeing the entire village be burned to the ground with everyone she loves inside. Seeing Garroth and Laurance and every single villager murdered before she can do anything to stop it. She’s scared of losing them (and wow guess exactly what ends up happening… Garroth gets lost in the Irene dimension…Laurance becomes a cold and cruel shadow knight and she loses him to the nether… Aaron dies and becomes the shadow lord… girlie can just not win. and I’d like to explore more of the deep emotional impact that could’ve had on her—your worst fear is losing everyone you loved, seeing them get torn out of your hands brutally and violently, and..that happens. that happens to her anyway. to all of her boys, individually. there’s no way that’s not traumatic and emotional as hell for her) maybe you could even play into the idea that she has abandonment issues…

Every now and then she shows a few signs of toxic positivity and emotional repression. “Smile and be happy, focus on the work that’s important right now instead of completely and utterly crumbling under the weight of my grief and trauma” type shit. I feel like I can’t help but notice a running pattern that she keeps being presented with dialogue options that are emotionally vulnerable and intimate in some way, usually ones that progress her relationships with others (both romantically and platonically) and express a great deal of care or feeling…and then there’s the exposition dump dialogue option that continues her constant search for information that furthers the plot, and she often chooses that instead. Like for example, in one dialogue option with Aaron, she doesn’t say, “I really care about you, please, can’t you trust me?” Instead, she chooses to say, “What will you do?” Which is much more business talk as opposed to spilling her heart out to people. She seems to apologize for herself whenever she expresses a heightened amount of emotion, especially if it’s sadness or grief or anger, and again, I’d like to point to her taking 90+ fucking episodes to allow herself to feel any sort of intimacy with Laurance, the very man who has been constantly showering her with affection, and not just the dumb flirty stuff!! But like deep, sincere proclamations of “you matter to me,” and “I’ll never leave your side” and “you are my world, aphmau”!!! Bro I would have MELTED into his arms 70 fucking episodes ago if I met a man that talked to me like he does!! But she doesn’t!! SHE KEEPS HIM AT ARMS LENGTH!! THATS NOT NORMAL!!! Especially when EVERY OTHER character in the cast keeps falling in love at first sight. (so intimacy issues? trust issues? probably not trust issues. fear? too much on her mind? demiromantic ?? or probably a mix of all of the above + a dash of headcanon for the sexuality part)

And it’s so fascinating to see what she could say, but doesn’t. And sometimes you’ll even see her hesitate over the other, more intimate dialogue options, and then decide otherwise. It’s utterly fascinating to think that a character hugely defined by her heart might struggle with vulnerability.

She also hesitates over funny options a lot but decides against them because the serious, emotionally mature options are more appropriate and polite for the situation at hand lol. Laurance is a frequent exception to this rule, she will tease him no matter how serious their conversation is lmao (Laurance brings out her more forgotten whimsical side…?)

So on and so forth while I continue my binge rewatch of the entire series and collect more. So far, she seems to be overall: Kind. Gentle. Soft, warm, friendly, forgiving, understanding, merciful, patient. Playful and whimsical, though that’s become more forgotten with time and hardship. Serious, very emotionally mature, very much a source of wisdom among her peers. Inherently strong sense of justice, will always fight for the right thing. Brave and persistent. Refuses to ever back down from a challenge. Probably at least a little emotionally avoidant and I would not be surprised if she struggled with a particularly harsh inner critic. Optimistic. Never lets go of her heart, led by her heart much more than her brain, though that isn’t to say she isn’t smart, she’s not an idiot. Loves animals. Natural leader. Maternal. Insomniac. Probably neurodivergent, possibly aroace, possibly dyslexic, most likely needs glasses. Traumatized, very much so. Very stressed and anxious (please god someone give her a break). Carries the weight of the world on her shoulders but refuses to let herself crumble, even if she is exhausted and worn down and at her limit. you also cannot look at Zoey and Aphmau’s daily interactions and tell me there isn’t at least a little bit of sapphicism going on there. they love each other so much <3 and if not, she is a single mother going through literal actual hell and hanging on by a string but through the force of necessity and probably at least a little bit of toxic positivity and emotional avoidance she will persevere whether she wants to or not

and I will continue to learn more as we go along 👍

#MCD #aphmau #aphblr #Minecraft diaries #MCD aphmau #aphmau diaries #long post

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fountainpenguin · 14 days ago

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"And I can't get any worse... So I'll change my life or I'll lose my mind- Whatever happens first..." (x)

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New Fairly OddParents 'fic update today

Prerequisite: "50 Words of Dale and Vicky"

🚂 130 Reasons Why I'm Fairy Trash

Prompt #96 - “You Deserve It”

Rated T - 17k words - Arc 3 start!

“Do you know what that means?” Without waiting for an answer, Dale grabbed Timmy’s shoulder with one hand and pumped his fist with the other. “I’m still her bestie! She didn’t replace me!” “She locked you in a cellar for 7 years,” Timmy started, but Dale cut him off by slamming the bathroom door. And he laughed at nothing, clutching fingers in his hair, because… He really had to talk to her. They could clear this whole mess up!

Read on FFN | Read on AO3

City Lights AU | Cloudlands AU

Story Arc Navigation | 130 Summaries

More Fairly OddParents 'fics

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Dale Dimmadome - freshly pried away from Vicky's Lemonade Factory - takes a bath at Timmy's house, attends a fancy dinner party, and reunites with a fellow rich kid from his childhood.

... Maybe he misses her. Why wouldn't he? They've been best friends for 10 years...

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

#96. You Deserve It (End of "Nectar of the Odds") Friday April 19th - Sunday April 21st, 2002 Year of Leaves; Spring of the Last Berry

Air conditioning. Dale hadn't expected that to be the thing that made him weak in the knees - especially given how his stomach acid clawed its way up his throat - but sinking down on that suburban kitchen floor, pressing his cheek up against the cold… It sort of nicked the sharpest edge off the last however-many years of his life. Does that make sense? He had so little. He made it enough. Maybe that's why the caged songbird sings. Did people even say that anymore?

Cold floor feels nice… He could feel his heart beating through it to his head. Every tick uncurled a new memory of a much-younger Dale, maybe 7 or 8 years old… Bouncing up and down in his desk chair at school so its uneven metal legs scritched against the tile. Loud. Clank. Brrrrr. Or bundled in the dollar-green sheets of his old bed - Will his kid bedroom still have his bed? - and feeling the way every heartbeat coursed through his entire body, pressed so close to the mattress, he could almost smell the springs.

"You okay?" Timmy asked, stepping over him. That was his name- Timmy Turner. 10 years old, Vicky-adjacent, and that was something to worry about. He smelled like lemonade, sweat, and grass stains. And fresh air. And soap. He smelled like mud, cotton, and almonds, and cherries somehow rolled into one. Dale cracked open his eyes again. Timmy stared down, brows pinched up. He looked like the littlest pizza delivery boy you've ever seen, except not in uniform… and he didn't have any pizza. A fly buzzed in from the open door behind him.

Am I okay? That question had no answer, like a yarn without beginning. Well… His story did have two ends like any yarn did, but they were so muddled and tangled up in the bundle, unraveling that thing would be an ordeal. And he didn't mind. No one needed to know the nitty-gritty in-betweens. There were - and had always been - only two things the public knew about Daedalus Peddler "Dale" Dimmadome:

He was the only child of Doug Dimmadome, owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome (unless that had changed in the past 7 years he'd been trapped underground).

One day, all his fiddling with metal and wires (and taking apart doorknobs and wagon wheels) would turn into something useful. It had to, because he was a Dimmadome.

And that's it. There was nothing more to say. These are the only two things you need to know.

But am I okay? … Did HE even know that one? Dale pushed himself to his knees again on arms that shook like monkey cymbals. "I… could really use some food and water. Clean. Clean…" That sip of lemonade Timmy had handed him outside had wet his tongue, but the aftertaste stung his guts, and there wasn't any more to go around. Timmy, just shy of his goal of a ticket to Crash Nebula On Ice, had offered Dale his last drink without charging him a cent. All that hard work, thrown away, just for me?

… No one had ever sacrificed so much work and time or anything that big for him before. Not his mom, not his dad, and not even Vicky (BFFs though they were). And Dale… hadn't yet decided how he felt about it.

What's his angle? Did Vicky put him up to this? He wants something…

"'Food and water?'" the boy repeated, and even smiled. "I can do that."

Dale turned to look at him again. Twisting hurt his stomach, but you got used to that after a few months underground. Timmy's scruffy brown hair fell over his face like a squirrel's tail. He had huge buck teeth to match… or at least to leave him looking like a beaver. Dale opted to slide away from animal metaphors after that. Way too dangerous when I'm starving so bad…

Timmy opened the door to the refrigerator, though Dale couldn't see inside from his sprawled position on the floor. "What are you hungry for? We've got a lot of leftovers."

"Uh…"

Crisp, juicy apples or mangoes. Fresh strawberries. Or cold grapes. Sticky cranberries, hot nacho cheese, gooey mashed potatoes that clung to his teeth… And with that thought, Dale brought his hand to his jaw. The fireworks in his aching gums had grown so familiar, sometimes he forgot they were even there. Or forgot most his teeth weren't.

Dale's stomach gurgled anyway. Eating wouldn't be easy, but he could break off pieces. He could slip them little by little into his mouth. "Steak?" he asked first, then, "Wait, wait- A hamburger." He hadn't had one of those since the 3rd grade. Cafeteria food. Delicious.

Timmy muttered for a moment, shifting a couple things around the fridge. Then he stepped back… and he didn't just step, but staggered with a plate topped by the tall, colorful burger in question. Real, actual burger… The scent wafted across the room like campfire smoke, and that alone tasted like something hot off the grill. Drool swelled in his mouth like a mini flood. For a fleeting instant, Dale wondered why something so perfectly made was just sitting there inside the fridge, and if any bugs had crawled over it- Maybe it was part of a buffet at a party or something in a picnic basket. Made in advance, didn't get eaten, and had been plopped in the fridge for later. But the next second, he was on the burger with his shaky gums and single tooth, and he didn't care. He didn't care.

Soft, flaky bread buttered to slick perfection melted in his mouth. His tongue found crinkles in the ruffled tears. Oh, technology had gotten so advanced… Why didn't his fridge come with a warming drawer when he was growing up?

I should've tried getting house food a long time ago…

He tore with fast fingers. He pressed pieces up against his burning gums. Three bites in, he remembered the cheese-slathered meat… and that he'd been lactose intolerant as a kid. Am I still? Or did I grow out of that? He wasn't sure. He'd been underground a long, long time.

He should stop. He should stop or he'd be paying for it later, his stomach thrashing. If his body really threw a fit, he could explode at both ends. Ihhh… He'd had enough days of runniness and retching down in The Pit to last him a lifetime.

I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. He'd never had a fleshier, warmer burger in his life. He could've eaten 14 burgers. And if this was a dream, it was the tastiest one he'd ever had.

Dale inhaled his first breath of air (instead of burger) as he scooted back his chair. He shook every crumb off his plate and devoured those too, then licked his sauce-smeared fingers one by one. I'm gonna be SO sick tonight. So good. So good…

Cnt'd on FFN & AO3

#Dale Dimmadome owner of Dimmadome Global #fop:anw #Fairly OddParents #A New Wish #Timmy Turner #Doug Dimmadome owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome #This is a very specific not-yet-dead-inside tone and I can't decide if I like the result or not so lmk what you think #City Lights AU #Cloudlands AU #FAIRIES!#130 Prompts #Perfect pink beaver boy #ridwriting #apparently art #fic announcement #Hadley and Eryx #Red babysitter #Toxic lemon duo #Cherry lemon ship tag

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bloody-peach · 3 months ago

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Click (A Clickolding smut fic)

~~~♡♡♡~~~

Now Playing: Creep by Radiohead, Sweet Dreams are Made of This by Marilyn Manson

Goodie bag: clicking (if you're into that), cuckolding(?), vaginal sex, creampie, gunplay (not used in sex, but the threat is still there), sex work, missionary position, doggy-style, [Let me know if I missed anything!]

A/N: Don't worry, I'm just as ashamed of and disappointed in myself as you are. I just had this idea after watching a few let's plays, so yeah. I just like being told what to do, ok? Btw, this is made with F!Reader in mind.

~~~♡♡♡~~~

The digital clock beeped on the hotel room nightstand, signaling midnight. You sat at the edge of the bed, with the clicker in your hand, waiting for him to enter.

You were in need of money, so you offered yourself for any work on craigslist. Any job someone needed done, you were willing to do it for a price. You had no luck until you received an email one day. The request was very odd, to say the least: sit in a room with him and click a clicker for as long as he wanted. It seemed weird, but simple enough. He offered $14,000 for the job, so you immediately said yes. Now you weren't sure if you made the right choice or not.

You heard the door open, along with approaching footsteps. "Hello. Glad you made it. Thank you for taking my request." He handed you the clicker and sat in the chair across from you. You finally had a good look at him and....you were confused. He appeared to be a normal man from the neck down, but he wore a long burlap sack on his head as a mask, his eyes peeking through holes in the sack. He must’ve wanted to be anonymous, you figured. "Now. Start clicking," he commanded, in a deep, husky tone. “Yes, sir,” you responded. And thus the night that would change your life began.

You could hear the clicker sound, click, click, click, click, echoing in the small room. The air is heavy with the tension of the situation. The man seemed to be satisfied with the clicking, as he’s whispering how good it felt to hear the click. The motel room was plain and smelled of stale cigarettes and old dust. You looked at the bed you were sitting on, it was against the far wall, covered in a bright, floral, patterned bedspread. You looked around the rest of the room, the furniture looking old and mismatched. A small TV on a stand was mounted on the wall just above a nicked-up wooden dresser. Suddenly, the man shifted in his seat and pointed to a spot on the floor. “Over there,” he commanded, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. “Stand there and click.” “Yes, sir,” was all you said. You stood up and went over to where he was pointing and continued to click the clicker. “Is this better, sir?” The man’s breathing grew heavier as you clicked the clicker. The sound, once satisfying, seemed to agitate him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his bag-covered head bobbing up and down. “Faster,” he demanded, his voice rising with urgency. “Yes, sir,” you said as you clicked the clicker faster, the sound ringing in your ears.

The man leaned forward, his eyes bulging more as they strained to watch your hand. The number on the clicker ticks up, nearing 3,000. “Move,” he commanded again, pointing to a spot by the bed. “Yes, sir,” you said as you went to the spot he was pointing to and continued clicking, the number slowly climbing toward 4,000. The man’s eyes darted back and forth between the clicker and you. He seemed more at ease here, the heavy breathing easing slightly as he relaxed in the chair. “How do you feel?” he asked, his voice softer. As you kept clicking, you cleared your throat and said, “A little nervous, honestly... I’ve never done this before, sir.” The man shifted his weight, the springs in the chair creaking with the movement. His breathing picked up again, growing heavier. “You’re doing fine,” he said, his voice strained. “Keep going.” You noticed his hands were trembling slightly, his fingers curled in awkward positions as if they didn’t quite work correctly. The number on the clicker ticked over 5,000. The man’s bulging eyes flickered to it briefly before returning to you. You couldn’t help but blush from his gaze as you continued to click the clicker.

The room was tense, the only sound being your clicking and the man’s heavy breathing. The air was thick with the smell of dust and cigarettes. It felt like an eternity had passed as you clicked the clicker, but eventually, it hit 6,000. The man let out a soft moan, his head bobbing up and down in apparent satisfaction. “Good girl,” he said, his voice thick with lust. You couldn’t help but feel self-conscious, blushing as you looked down at your feet. Your hand was beginning to cramp, but you kept going, determined to please this strange man who had a bag over his head. It was at 8,000 when he spoke again, his voice low and menacing. “You better keep going,” he said, “or I’ll have to do it myself.” A chill ran down your spine as you glanced back to see the man’s trembling hand, his fingers curled in a weak grip. He couldn’t click the clicker; you knew that. But the threat was enough to make your heart race. “Yes, sir,” you said as you continued to click the clicker. “Is there any speed you’d like me to go, sir?” you asked nervously. The man watched you intently, his breathing growing heavy. “Slower,” he commanded, his voice thick with desire. You slowed down the clicking, taking more time between each click. The man’s eyes darted between the clicker and you, his gaze lingering on your chest for a moment. You could feel yourself getting flustered, fighting the urge to cross your arms over your breasts. “Good,” he whispered, his voice filled with lust. “Keep going, nice and slow.” The number on the clicker ticked upwards, and the room is filled with the echoes of the click. The man sat, enjoying the sound and the sight of you clicking the clicker. At 9,000, he cleared his throat. “We’re getting close,” he said, his voice strained. “Don’t stop now, Y/N.” Your eyes widened, realizing he knew your name. You shivered, the air in the room growing colder. You could feel his eyes on you as you continued to click the clicker, the number growing closer to 10,000. As you clicked, you asked, “If..I may ask...what happens when we reach 10,000, sir?” The man’s breathing grew heavier as you approached 10,000. He leaned forward, his bag-covered head bobbing up and down. “You’ll see,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

The clicker reached 10,000 with a final, decisive click. The man let out a groan, his head lolling back. “Keep it right there,” he whispered, his voice filled with desperation. You stood there, the clicker in your hand, unsure of what to do next. The man remained still for a moment, his breathing heavy. Then, he slowly sat up, his bag-covered head staring you down. He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a gun. Your heart raced as he pointed it at you, his hand trembling. “I’m going to give you a choice, Y/N,” he said, his voice cold. “You can either stay here with me, clicking the clicker all day long, or...” He left that sentence unfinished, the situation clearly showing the second option. You felt a rush of fear go through you, you had to think of something to say. “I..I have nowhere to be, sir. If you want me to keep clicking, I don’t mind. I’m here to please you, sir.” The man considered your response, the gun wavering slightly. “Good girl,” he said, his voice low and menacing. He lowered the gun, tucking it back into his coat pocket. “Let’s start again, then. Let’s see how many times you can click to 10,000 before I get bored.” You let out a sigh of relief. “Yes, sir.” You clicked the clicker, resetting the counter to 0 and starting the process again.

The man watched you intently, his eyes never leaving your hand. You couldn’t help but feel a bit dazed, your mind racing with what just happened, but the threat of the gun was enough to keep you clicking. The minutes turned into hours as you clicked the clicker, the man sitting in his chair, enjoying the sound of the click intermixed with the heavy breathing and the occasional moan of satisfaction. You could feel your hand cramping, but you didn’t dare stop; you knew the consequences. As the day turned to night, you sat on the bed in front of the man, your hand aching. You’ve clicked the counter to 10,000 about 2 times now, but the man showed no signs of leaving, content with this bizarre form of entertainment. “Um..excuse me, sir. My hand is getting really sore.. Do you mind if I switch hands? I’ll still keep clicking,” you asked. The man barely flinched at your request, his eyes never leaving your hand. “Go ahead,” he said, hsi voice thick with apathy. “Thank you, sir,” you responded.

You switched hands, the feel of the clicker different in your new grip. The man continued to watch, his heavy breathing and occasional moans filling the room. The air was thick with tension, the one window covered in thick, dirty curtains. You clicked the clicker, listening to the repetitive sound. You’ve lost track of time, the only hint of the passage of minutes being the change in the light filtering through the curtains. The man remained completely still, his bag-covered head bobbing up and down. As you clicked, you couldn’t help but think about your situation. You were stuck there, seemingly hostage, clicking a clicker for a complete stranger. It’s degrading, and yet, the man seemed to have a hold over you. You didn’t know how long it would last, but you knew that until he got bored or decided to leave, you’d be trapped in this motel room, clicking that infernal device. For now, you focused on the sound, the repetition becoming almost hypnotic. Click, click, click. The room was your prison, and yet, in a twisted, masochistic way, it was also your sanctuary.

“So...if I can ask...what made you into this, sir?” you asked, figuring you’d fill the stale air with conversation to pass the time. The man’s breathing hitched slightly as you spoke, and for a moment, you wondered if your question had upset him. “An...accident,” he finally said, his voice filled with sadness. “I used to be just like you, Y/N. But one day, everything changed. I’m a broken man now, a shadow of my former self. This...this is the only pleasure I have left.” You felt a pang of sympathy for the man, saddened by his past. At that moment, you somewhat strangely felt glad that you could help this man forget about his pain for at least a while. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m happy that I can give you this pleasure, sir. I just hope I’m satisfying you enough.” The man’s breathing grew heavier as you spoke, a moan escaping his lips. “You’re doing just fine, Y/N,” he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. He shifted in his chair, the springs creaking under his weight. You could see his hand trembling, his fingers curling inwards. He seemed to be fighting some kind of internal battle, his head moving up and down as if he was trying to reconcile his past with his present. You continued clicking, the sound becoming almost soothing in its repetition. The room was dark, the only light coming from a small lamp in the corner. You could see the man’s bag-covered head, the shadows playing across the fabric.

As the minutes ticked by, you found yourself wondering about the man’s past, his accident. You couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be in his position, to have lost so much. And yet, he seemed to have found solace in your presence, in the sound of the clicker. As you continued clicking, you spoke, “If talking more about your accident will help you feel better, you can. I don’t mind, sir. I’m also here to listen, sir.” The man’s hand trembled for a moment, the bag-covered head tilting to the side. “It was... a chemical spill at the factory where I worked,” he said slowly, his voice dripping with pain. “The chemicals burned through my skin, my flesh. I wasn’t recognized for days. When they finally pulled the sheet off my face, my wife couldn’t take it. She left me, as did everyone else in my life. I was alone, left to rot.” He let out a soft, pained moan, his head bowing. “But when I heard the clicker, I felt something. I felt... alive. And you, Y/N, you’ve brought that feeling back, even if only for a little while.” You couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness as he spoke, your heart aching for the man. You continued to click the clicker, the sound echoing in the room as you listened to his story, your role in providing him relief making you feel both miserable and comforted.

“If..if there is anything else you’d like me to do while I’m clicking, sir, I can do it. I don’t mind at all,” you said. The man seemed to consider your offer for a moment, his head still bowed. “Just keep clicking, Y/N,” he said, his voice strained. He shifted in his chair, the springs creaking a bit from his movement. “But, if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to stand in front of me on your tiptoes while you do it. The sound is somewhat more pleasing when you do.” You nodded, understanding his request. You stood on your tiptoes, the clicker in your hand. The sound was different, more high-pitched, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it truly was more pleasing to the man. The sun started to set, the sunset streaming through the dirty curtains, casting long shadows across the room. The man’s breathing remained steady, his bag-covered head barely moving. You wondered if he was asleep or just lost in his thoughts.

It was at that moment when he suddenly grabbed you and pulled you into his lap, facing him, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you close as you were clicking. You blushed from the sudden invasion of personal space, “Um...sir..?” The man’s arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you close. You could feel his breath on your neck, his body trembling slightly. “Just keep clicking, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice filled with desperation. You were trapped in his embrace, your body pressed against his. You could feel his heart racing, his breathing growing heavier. The clicker was between you, the sound echoing in the room. His hand moved, sliding over your body, caressing your curves. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice filled with desire. “I’ve never had someone so willing to please me for a long time.” You shivered at his touch, your mind racing with the implications of his actions. You were completely at his mercy, unable to move, forced to continue clicking the clicker as he held you close.

His hand slid lower, his fingers grazing over your thighs. “Keep clicking,” he commanded, his voice thick with lust. “Don’t stop now, Y/N.” You continued to click, your hand moving in a blur, the sound growing faster, more urgent. The man’s breathing grew heavier, his body trembling with excitement. As you clicked, you could feel his erection growing hard, pressing against you. You blushed red as you clicked faster. He grabbed your hips and quickly pulled you down onto his lap, his erection rubbing against your groin, accidentally causing a soft moan to escape your lips. The man let out a groan, his body arching upwards as he heard your moan. His erection pressed harder against you, his hand squeezing your hips tighter. “Y/N,” he growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. “I want you to feel it, too.” He shifted you slightly, his hand reaching down to unbutton your pants. Your heart raced as he pushed your pants and underwear down your legs, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. “Spread your legs,” he ordered, his voice thick with lust. You obeyed and spread your legs, still clicking the clicker. You watched as he undid his pants and pulled out his cock, your heart racing at the sight. It’s hard and thick, the tip glistening with anticipation. “Keep clicking,” he commanded, his voice dripping with lust.

He reached down, spreading your legs wider, exposing your wet, throbbing pussy. You clicked faster, the sound growing louder and more urgent. He lined his cock up with your entrance, the head pressing against your wet folds. With a swift movement, he pulled your hips down, burying himself deep inside you. You let out a cry, the sensation overwhelming. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he started to move, his cock sliding in and out of your tight, wet hole. “Fuck,” he grunted, his thrusts growing harder and faster. “You’re so tight, Y/N. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t click anymore.” You continued to click, the sound becoming a part of the symphony of sex in the room. The man’s groans and moans mixed with your cries of pleasure, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. “Ahh..ohh..sir..i..it’s so good..” The man’s thrusts grew harder, his hips slamming against yours as he buried himself deep inside you. “That’s it, Y/N,” he grunted, his voice strained with pleasure. “Keep clicking, keep making that sound.” You clicked faster, the sound mixing with your moans and cries of pleasure. The man’s cock is relentless, his thickness stretching you, filling you up completely. His hand reached up, pulling your shirt and bra up and grabbing your breast, squeezing it roughly. He pinched your nipple, twisting it slightly, sending jolts of pain and pleasure through your body.

As you clicked, he then stood, lifting you off of his lap and pushing you onto the bed. You landed on your hands and feet, your ass in the air, offering yourself to him. He quickly took you up on the offer, grabbing your hips tightly as he thrusted back into you. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his hips slamming against yours. “Keep clicking, Y/N. I need to hear that sound.” You did as told, clicking faster, your body moving with his, your moans mingling with the sound of the clicker. The man’s thrusts are merciless, his cock stretching you to the point of pleasure and pain. His hands gripped your hips tightly, leaving red imprints on your skin as he fucked you relentlessly. The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the clicker, and your cries of pleasure. You were lost in the moment, your mind a haze of sensation as you were fucked into this dirty motel bed. The man’s breathing grew heavier, his thrusts more urgent. You could feel him growing close, the tension building between you, the room filled with sweat, sex, and the ever-present click of the clicker.

“A..Am I doing good, sir..? Is my clicking satisfying you, sir..?” you were able to utter out. The man grunted, slamming into you harder. “Yes, Y/N, your clicking is perfect,” he growled, his voice strained with pleasure. “I love the sound, it’s driving me wild.” His hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh as he fucked you harder, faster. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, his breathing growing heavier, more erratic. “Fuck, I’m going to cum,” he groaned, slamming into you one final time. He buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he filled you with his hot, thick cum. You continued to click, the sound mixing with his moans of pleasure, your own body trembling with the force of your orgasm. You were filled to the brim with his seed, your pussy clenched tightly around his cock as you milked him for every last drop. He stayed inside you for a moment, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm. “That was...incredible,” he panted. “You’ve pleased me greatly, Y/N.” You collapsed onto the bed, your body spent, your mind a haze of pleasure. You weren’t sure how long you’d have to keep clicking, but you knew that as long as you did, you’ll have pleased him, and that’s enough for now. As you were trying to catch your breath, you looked at him. “D..Did you..want me...to keep clicking, sir?” The man’s head bobbed, the bag still concealing his expression. “Yes, continue, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice filled with satisfaction. “My pleasure is your reward.” You nodded, understanding his command. Your body was still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure as you took the clicker in your hand and began to click once more, the sound echoing in the room as you both lay there, covered in sweat, exhausted, yet fulfilled. The motel room was your prison, yet it was also your refuge, a place where you had found a perverse form of intimacy, where your body and your mind had been used to bring a man who's lost virtually everything a semblance of pleasure.

Dusk soon turned to night, the moonlight shining through the curtains. As you continued clicking, you wondered what the future held, where this twisted dance of pleasure and pain would lead. You felt him stir inside you, his softening cock slowly hardening once more. He whispered into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Keep clicking, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice filled with desire. “I’m going to fuck you all over again.” He started to thrust, his cock slowly sliding in and out of your pussy. You moaned softly, your body still sensitive from the previous round. The sound of the clicker and your moans filled the room once more, a symphony of pleasure and depravity. The man’s thrusts grew harder and urgent. He flipped you over, pushing you onto your back. He spread your legs, his cock pressing against your wet, aching entrance. “Look at me, Y/N,” he commanded, his voice thick with lust. “I want to see the pleasure on your face as I fuck you.” You looked up at him, your eyes meeting the eyes of the bag. You clicked faster, the sound becoming more urgent and needy. The man’s thrusts grew harder, faster, his cock burying itself deep inside you. The room is filled once again with your moans, the clicker, and the sound of skin slapping against skin. The man’s body is a blur of motion, his hips slamming against yours as he fucked you mercilessly, your body writhing beneath him in ecstasy. It was clear that you had become a slave to his desires, a willing participant in his twisted game.

“Ahh..ohh..fuck...” you moaned out. The man growled at your moans, his hands grabbing your breasts roughly. He twisted your nipples, sending jolts of pain and pleasure, coursing through your body. “Keep clicking, Y/N,” he commanded, his voice dripping with pleasure. You did as told, clicking as your body moved with his, the sound of the clicker mingling with your cries of pleasure. “Cum for me, Y/N,” he growled, his hips slamming against yours. “Cum while you click.” Your body trembled, the edge of your orgasm growing close. You clicked faster, your moans growing louder, more desperate. The man’s thrusts grew more erratic, his breathing heavy, his body tense. “I’m going to cum,” he grunted, his cock pulsing inside you. He filled you with his thick seed once more, his hips still moving, milking every last drop. Your orgasm crashed over you, your pussy clenching tightly around his cock, your body shaking with the force of it. The clicker clicked faster and more frantic, its sound a testament to your pleasure. He remained inside you, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm. “That was incredible, Y/N,” he panted, slowly pulling out of you. “You’ve exceeded my wildest dreams.”

You collapse onto the bed, your body spent, your mind in a daze. You looked at the clicker and noticed that you were at 0. It seemed the man knew that too, since you heard him move. But then you heard the sound of the gun. You looked at him and you saw that he had the gun out and..pointed at his head, his body shaking violently as his finger looped around the trigger, trembling. “Thank you...” he said. You quickly reached for the gun.

BANG!

#clickolding #clickolding game #look i like being told what to do ok?#plus the threat of the gun is kinda hot #that's it #im sub as fuck #well at least i might pioneer with stuff like this #maybe not. i dunno #this exists still

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astra-dark · 1 year ago

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Trigun fanfic recommendations!

I made a list of Trigun fic recommendations over on Twitter so I thought I’d share them here too! Some of these are spicy so mind the ratings and tags!

Echoes between stars by @faindri | Vashmeryl | Rated M

This fic is so amazing! You’ve got cat boy Vash, Meryl being a badass, action, plot twists that already have my jaw on the floor. Go read this immediately!

Sea foam by @noaafishfieldguide | Vashmeryl, Millywood | Rated T

Absolutely love this fic! If you like mermaids, small towns with big secrets, and the occasional spooky vibe, this fic is for you!

Thirty pieces of silver by @hashtagcaneven | Mashwood | Rated M

One thing y’all need to know about me is that I’m an absolute sucker for fantasy AUs and this one ticks all my boxes! It’s romantic, action packed, and beautifully written, GO READ IT!

Through the deep dark forest long by @dingusttmax | Mashwood | Rated M

Princess mononoke AU! This fic is absolutely fantastic and I love it so much that I’m currently working on binding it into a physical book

Reporter’s notes by @museqmeg | Vashmeryl | Rated M

Reporter’s notes was the first Trigun I ever read and I still love it to pieces! It’s sequels, Sheets and Snapshots, are also fantastic! Definitely a must read 💕

Separate the head and heart by Inkpot_gods | Mashwood | rated T

Did I mention I love fantasy AUs yet? this fic is absolutely fantastic and hits the fairytale vibes just right, I reread it at least once a week

Sometimes it’s heaven sent by @dingusttmax | Mashwood | Rated E

Have I ever watched pushing up daisies before? No, but I read this AU anyway and I’m so glad I did because it’s incredible and I think about this fic all the time

Fire on the mountain by Yuka_laylee | Mashwood | Rated M

This fic is SO good! I’ve never seen a Jurassic park themed AU before but it work so well and I can’t wait to see where the plot goes!

Get your hopes up by Shinzouing |Stryfewood / Mashwood | Rated E

I love me some post July Mashwood flavored Stryfewood and this is definitely my favorite one! I’ve reread this fic 4 or 5 times now and still find new things to love about it!

Heart on ripped sleeves by inkpot_gods | Mashwood | Rated E

This fic y’all, this FIC! It’s made me laugh at points and it also made sobbed so hard I had to take walk because of it, it’s so good. I haven’t got to read it’s sequels yet but I can’t wait to!

Runaway roots by starcrxssed | Mashwood | Rated E

This fic a bit heavier than my other recs so please mind the tags if you decide to read it but it’s still fantastic! I’m not usually one for strangers to lovers but this one is just 👌

The Lighthouse by EloFromMars | Vashwood | Rated E

I love me some spooky creature/ crypid Vash and this fic delivers just that and then some! I love all the Millywood friendship moments we get in here, it’s so nice to see how much they care about each other!

Hold me like a grudge by Lenipez | Mashwood | Rated T

I absolutely love fairies in fiction so this fic was already right up my alley! I love the how each side of the relationship has a different dynamic so far, I can’t wait to see how it all unfolds. My favorite part of the fic tho? Meryl calls Wolfwood kitten

Till forever falls apart by @chaoticbuka | Vashwood | Rated E

Or the alternate title “Buka hits me specifically right in the heartstrings” the fic lol but seriously I love this fic, the way that Wolfwood’s Vash haunts the narrative like the ghost that Nick originally should be is so good! As a side note, Vash has freckles here and I need more of that in my life 💕

A multitude of sins by DespiteWhatShouldBeOtherwise | Vashwood | Rated M

I’m only half way through this fic rn but it’s already so amazing! The romance might be slow burn but the plot is so engaging that you’re never bored and wondering when the romance will pick up. As a Meryl lover, I absolutely love that she’s so important to not only both Vash and Wolfwood but also the story itself.

#fanfic rec #fanficion #trigun #vash the stampede #mashwood #vashmeryl #meryl stryfe #nickolas d wolfwood #trigun au #trigun fanfiction #fanfiction recommendation #astra talks #fanfic #long post #text post #stryfewood

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dwntwn-strnlo · 1 year ago

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FROM A-FAR nathan doe

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎, dwntwn-strnlo.

↳ 𝐀/𝐍. ive had a heart attack and a half writing this oh my god this shit was the most stressful fic ever for no reason

↳ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. nathan doe x reader

↳ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. in which reader surprises their boyfriend

↳ 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃? yes! . . . "OK THEN. Could you do a fic with nate where she goes to visit him as a surprise and is all excited and sht, and then they go play hockey but the reader is rlly bad and he leads her and helps her" ( anonymous )

this is kind of different from the request, but i still kept it around the similar lines ig (theres still the surprise as well as hockey)

reaching the hockey rink you've stood in so many times before, you cant help but feel a tinge of nervous run through your body as you park. you've been in los angeles for almost a month, now spending time with your family, and haven't been able to see nathan in weeks.

of course, you guys get to talk on the phone, but it just really wasn't the same. the two of you were lucky enough that you only had a three hour time difference, but it was still hard to keep up with the well needed communication to sustain a relationship.

you planned it all out with the triplets, your surprise. nate expects you to be showing up on thursday, four days in the future. but you booked an earlier plane ticket and arrived sometime this morning.

chris had let you know ahead of time that him and his brothers would be at the rink watching nathan play, and it would be the perfect opportunity for you to show up.

quickly as time starts to tick before the puck drop, you throw on your gray hoodie, and then nathan's extra jersey overtop of it. hopeful that the double layering will help you fight off the cold.

stepping out of your car, your immediately embraced by the chilly air that you most definitely didn't miss while you were in california. a soft breeze wisps past your ankles as you fight to keep your hair in place; not really in the mood to have to run to the bathroom to make sure you look alright.

racing to get inside the still equally as cold building, you throw your hood up just in case nate is already on the ice- not wanting him to see you until after the game.

looking up into the seats, you immediately spot matt, nick, and chris, whom currently wave frantically at you. you've missed the boys too, they're some of you're best friends and you haven't seen them in just as long as you've last seen nate. which sucks, being away from your found family for so long.

a large smile hits your face as you run up the large steps, hurriedly reaching your friends. they all stand up and embrace you in a group hug, desperately trying to keep everyone from toppling over.

as the boys are excitedly greeting you and welcoming you back to boston, they're quickly interrupted by the speakers turning on with a small hiss, and the booming voice of the announcer is heard overhead.

the four of you sit down, and you wrap your arms tightly around your body, trying to fight the cold.

smiling, you watch as nathans team starts to skate out onto the ice, raising their sticks up in the air as the audience begins to get fired up.

two teammates rush onto the ice, and then there's nathan. "number five!" the announcer roars, "nathan doe!"

the sight of your boyfriend nearly makes you melt right to the ground, only to ever be seen again as the happy puddle on the floor.

finally seeing him in person, you now realize how deeply you've missed the kid. how much you missed his bright warm smile, the way his sweet brown eyes boar into yours, and the way his contagious laugh immediately brings up the room.

you cant help but notice how dopey your grin becomes when he takes off his helmet, lifting it high above his head with a large grin present on his face. his eyes lighting up as the cheers for him ring delightfully in his ears.

. . .

your simple admiration of the boy is enough to make the game go by fast. before you know it, your sitting on the edge of the seat, anticipation rising as there's only 7 seconds left and the game is tied 3-3.

nate skates backwards for a split second, but just long enough for the puck to be shot in his direction. spinning around on his blades, he shoots the puck and scores the final goal.

the crowd stands up in a roar, screaming for their home team as they take the game.

it takes everything in you to not run right down to nate and pull him into a much missed embrace.

once the players are back in their locker rooms, you and the triplets make your way down to the hall. the boys leave you with goodbye hugs before heading out to their minivan. leaving you in the hallway as butterflies swarm your stomach in excitement, as well as nerves.

peaking around the corner, you check who's coming. two of nathan's teammates lead, while nate stands at the end of the hall talking to his coach.

you lock eyes with one of the boys, elton, and he gets excited. "oh hey y/n!" he calls out. you're well liked among the team. you tag along nate a lot when they go on group outings, so everyone knows you.

your eyes widen, and you quickly hide behind the corner again. elton gives you skeptical look before you hear your name get called out again. this time in more confusion the excitement.

"y/n?" nates voice rings in your ears. his voice uttering your name gives you immediate butterflies.

not making yourself visible, you hear the sound of someone gently shoving past someone and appearing at the corner.

when nates eyes land on you, they widen along with his smile.

shock radiates off his presents, but is overwhelmed with happiness and love. "oh my god," he giggles. quickly pulling you into a warm hug. "i thought you weren't getting back till thursday?" he questions, pulling back just far enough to meet your eyes.

you shrug with a gentle smile, "there was a slight change of plans." you giggle, pulling him back in to kiss him for the first time in what feels like years.

he turns his head to deepen the kiss, but you laugh and softly put your palms on his shoulders to separate yourself. he nonetheless chases after your lips, not wanting to break away. but you nudge him again with a smile. "calm yourself kid," you giggle.

nathan rolls his eyes before getting excited, "did you see my goal?" he asks with contempt flashing over his face. "there was two seconds left on the clock!"

smiling, you nod, "i did. i saw the whole game, you did amazing, love."

he smiles, pulling you into another hug. "god, i missed you so much. you don't even know."

pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder, you smile. "i missed you so much, baby."

↳ 𝐀/𝐍. PART 2 i miss playing hockey oh my god

TAGLIST

@slvt444smvt @thetriplets3 @stxrniqlo @ifilwtmfc @iha8you @oneirophobic @20nugs

#nathan doe #nathan doe x reader #nate doe #nathan doe fic #nathan doe x you #nate do x reader #nate doe fic #nate doe x you

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lululawrence · 3 months ago

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Sus' 40 to 40 Countdown: 12 Days

The days keep ticking and I'm sure you guys keep wondering exactly how many more is Sus going to be able to do with these random groupings? I'm also wondering, tbh lol It's getting more difficult as the countdown continues and the number of fics remaining dwindles! But for now, we're still going strong! And with that, today's theme is...

Fics That Include the Random Color @evilovesyou Chose (purple)

Talk The Night Through - Harry/Louis (90s fic, chat rooms, long distance friendship, flirting, airports, land line telephones)

It's 1995 and a chat room is the last place Harry ever expects to find the love of his life.

What You Waiting For? - Nick Grimshaw/Harry (aquaintances to lovers, pining, awkward flirting, fluff)

“I’m only here to establish an alibi.”

Harry closed the door behind Grimmy, who had already rushed in and headed to the kitchen.

“Make yourself at home?” Harry offered, kind of. More like questioned. What did he know? It was half eleven on a Friday after a long week of work and his flatmate’s best friend randomly barged in talking about alibis.

Yellow, Is It Me You're Looking For? - Greg James/Louis (co-workers, banter, fluff, humor, pining, getting together)

The one where Louis has pined after Greg for what seems like ages, but when Greg renames the company's paint colors, something might finally be ready to give.

Nothin' I Would Rather Do - Harry/Louis (occasional friends with benefits, sexting, surprises, meddling mothers, Christmas work parties)

The one where Anne is determined to set Louis up with her son, but he's perfectly happy with the random sexting "relationship" he has running with the random he met at a bar several months back.

All 40 to 40 Countdown Posts

#40 to 40 #happy birthday countdown to me #fic rec #self rec

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meekahy · 1 year ago

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Babes!!! Here is another fic I wrote about Noah. It's all fluff!

Let me know what you think!!! Any feedback is helpful!

I'm also taking requests!!!

I missed you:

I stare down at my fingers, knee bouncing uncontrollably as my nerves bubble from the bottom of my toes to the top of my head. My eyes quickly shift to the clock on the wall, watching the seconds tick by. As the minutes near, my heart pounds, my hands sweat, and the sound gets louder.

At the sound of laughter, my eyes dart to the source. The guys are stood there laughing at something I entirely missed in my nervous state. Noah sits down next to me, and I feel butterflies replace the anxiety I was feeling when our eyes lock and his hand slides onto my knee. I don’t know why I was so nervous seeing him again, but seeing him now made all my nervousness fade away.

He leans in, his eyebrows furrowed and his gaze searching my eyes for any sign of hurt as he asks, “Are you okay? I can tell there’s something wrong”.

“Oh! It’s nothing. I think there’s too many people here”, I mutter, placing my hand on top of Noah’s. He flips his hand over to tangle our fingers together. “Should we get going? Are you guys hungry?” I ask the boys.

They all groan, answering in multiple variations of yes. I stand and pull Noah with me as we all walk back to my car to head for dinner. As we walk, Noah tugs me into his side and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“I missed you”, he mutters as I squeeze my hand on his hip reassuringly.

“I missed you way more!” I chime as he squeezes me with his arm around my shoulder.

By the time we all reached the car, the boys were fighting over where to eat for dinner.

“But Mexican sounds sooo good,” Folio groans as Jolly gives him a bored look.

“I just think Japanese is the way to go”, Jolly retorts.

“Let her decide”, Nick motions to me with his hand.

I look at them with wide eyes, “Me?” They all nod in return. “Hm, I think I’m going to have to side with Folio on this one, guys.”

Folio pumps a fist into the air, “YES!”. I just giggle at him.

At the Mexican restaurant Jolly orders a margarita. “Folio, you’re lucky this margarita is delicious”, he says as he sips reluctantly. Everyone is chowing down on chips and salsa.

While everyone is stuffing their face, Noah wraps his arm around my chair and leans in.

“So, what’s the matter?” he questions as I look into his eyes.

It was really hard living alone without Noah here to comfort me when things were bad. Sure, he was a phone call away, but nothing beats his warm, belonging hugs. He makes me feel like I’m at home and it’s hard living without that everyday.

I rest my hand on his knee as I sigh, “I think I just missed you while you were on tour is all.”

He smiles at me and gives me a kiss on the cheek, “I missed you too, pretty girl.”

After dinner, everyone heads back to the car. Noah is holding my hand, swinging it as we walk back to the car.

Dropping Folio off, we are all singing in the car. We’ve been listening to a lot of Lorna Shore, Sleep Token, Spiritbox, and even some Taylor Swift. Nicholas looks to me from the passenger seat after Folio leaves and wonders, “What song do you want to listen to next?”

Thinking briefly I plead, “Okay, I know you guys are home and tired of playing this night after night, but do you mind if we listen to Artifical Suicide? I love it when Noah does the little screams at the beginning. It’s my favorite! Pretty please?”

“Anything for you”, Nicholas replies.

The song begins and starts to swell. I know exactly what part I’m waiting for and giggle in my seat as Noah is still holding my hand. Right as the first growl comes out I raise my hands in the air, close my eyes and smile, imitating it silently. Noah watches with amusement as he starts to sing along to the song. I scream the words to the best of my ability and all the guys watch in enjoyment. The next time Noah growls in the song, he does it out loud for me. I squeal with excitement. With all of us laughing, I think and treasure this moment. It’s the little moments that make my heart smile.

Tag list:

@rottingfern

@crimson-calligraphyx

@lma1986

@ladyveronikawrites

#bad omens #noah sebastian #nick folio #jolly karlsson #nicholas ruffilo #noah sebastian fic

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softboynick · 4 months ago

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sentence sunday - 7/7/2024

happy sunday! thank you for the tags @basil-bird @henryspearl @doublecheekedkinard

@eusuntgratie @wordsofhoneydew & @sheepywritesfics <333

now that i'm finished with my big bang i can finally focus on my other wips (please please please check out my fic for @aroyallybigbangrwrb if you haven't already hehe)!!! sharing two excerpts because i'm so proud of myself.

excerpt from untitled george x henry x alex abo fic:

Alexander is drunk. “My sweet wife has come to join us!” He exclaims in his drunken stupor, spilling brandy all over the front of his shirt and staining it a rich ruby-brown. Laughter and intoxicated jeers ring throughout the room as he stumbles from the dais, his unstable gait taking him down the steps and towards Henry. He laughs and sweeps him into his arms, swallowing the omega’s protests with a heated kiss. Henry is not amused. He places his hands on Alexander’s chest and pushes him away, but the king is unrelenting. He circles his arms around his waist and keeps him close. Henry wrinkles his nose at the scent of him. “You reek of brandy.” He glowers at the king and nearly growls, “Unhand me, alpha.” Alexander backs off almost instantly as though his hands have been burned. A wounded expression clouds his expression, his honey-brown eyes wide and watery. “And you are angry,” he replies, small and chastised. “I am so grateful that you have finally noticed,” Henry says tightly. His darkened eyes scan the room until they finally land on Lord Ramos, his wife, plump with child, sitting prettily on his lap. “You.” He pushes past his husband and stalks over to the man. “I told you what would happen if you ever dared to harm my George.” Ramos stares at him as though he were some scum underneath the sole of his boot. Not a person but an inconvenience. His eyes are covered with a glassy sheen. “I haven’t touched him.” “He told me what you’ve done. What you have all done to him,” he addresses the other lords and gentlemen, his voice rising above the rest. Ramos’ gaze is cool when it meets his, but there is a slight tick in his jaw. “He is a liar.” Henry frowns. “My dove is no liar.” “Then, perhaps it is pox. It is making him delirious.” He shakes his head and laughs, ugly and sharp. “You have the fucking gall to come here, look my husband in the eye, and pretend that you haven’t orchestrated an entire smear campaign against our George. You are a pathetic excuse for a human being, Lord Ramos.” He spits at his and his wife’s feet, satisfaction curling at his chest when he sees the stunned looks on their faces.

excerpt from taynick rpfeet fic lmao:

The door swings open, and there is Taylor, fresh from a shower and giving him that smile that always makes Nick’s knees feel a little like jelly. He is similarly dressed in a pair of joggers and a t-shirt, but the pants are slung low on his hips and are gray in color, showing off the obvious imprint of his— “You’re late,” Taylor says. “I think I’m right on time actually,” Nick retorts with a grin. Taylor lets him inside and heads for the couch on the other end of the room. He breathes out a sigh of relief as he plops down onto it and props his bare feet up on the coffee table in front of him. “Jesus Christ, my feet are killing me,” Taylor groans, and Nick can’t pretend he isn’t filing that sound away for later. “Thanks for offering the massage, by the way. You’re truly a lifesaver, babes.” Nick thinks he might actually combust - or bust in his joggers, which will just be embarrassing for all parties involved - under the sheer weight of Taylor’s praise and attention, but he quickly pushes past the weird feelings in his chest (and his groin) and clears his throat. “You got, uh, any lotion or something, mate?”

OPEN TAG + tagging the usual suspects bc i love u

@almightaylor @anincompletelist @bigassbowlingballhead @blueeyedgrlwrites @captainjunglegym

@duchessdepolignaca03 @firstprincehornyramblings @fivequartersoftheorange @fullerthanskippy @henrysfox

@heysweetheart-writes @insecuregodcomplex @judasofsuburbia @lfg1986-2 @meraki-yao

@mylucayathoughts @priincebutt @remembertheskittles @stratocumulusperlucidus @taste-thewaste

@thinkof-england @seths-rogens

#sentence sunday

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months ago

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As the World Turns 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, imbalanced power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your new job takes you to new places with lots of new people.

Characters: Nick Fowler, Jonathan Pine, Lloyd Hansen

Note: I know I shouldn't have done this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

When you accepted your new position, you didn’t expect that two days later you would be on your very first business trip. Ever. Like at all!

It’s exciting. It’s not only your first trip overseas for work but your first trip across any border. You’re as happy to get use out of your passport as you are to have the new experiences. You don’t know, however, how much you’ll be able to enjoy any of it. It’s still work after all.

You stand at the luggage belt as your phone vibrates. It’s your boss, Mr. Fowler, once more asking you where you are. The car’s already there. It’s not your fault the elite class flyers got off first and you’re stuck searching for your bags among the sea of coach passengers.

‘Will be there shortly, sir. Just coming through customs.’

It’s a small lie but you don’t think he’ll be impressed to hear you’re struggling to find your bag. It’s not very big but it should be easy to find. A round plastic suitcase in a shade of sunflower you can’t miss. You think it’d be obvious amid the black and black suitcases milling along on the conveyor belt.

You see the plastic slats part and your bag shines bright, like a beacon calling to you. You race forward and grab onto the handle. You accidentally press the button with your thumb so the handle extends and you’re dragged along awkwardly as you struggle to lift it.

Another passenger approaches to remove his heavy black bag but doesn’t walk away before helping you. You thank him with a smile. He’s older, maybe your grandpa’s age, and he assures you it’s no problem. He walks off and you plant the wheels of your bag straight, swerving around as you follow the signs.

You bring your phone up again and read Mr. Fowler’s next impatient text.

‘Take the cab fare off your per diem.’

Right. You’re not surprised. From what you know of your boss so far, he’s a stickler. He knows what he wants and he doesn’t settle for less. While he can be charming, even accommodating, he can also be terrifyingly stern. One moment he has that smile that makes his eyes twinkle and the next, his jaw is set and danger darkens his features. The very memory of that expression makes you shiver.

You suppose it’s your own fault. You should’ve considered the job description a bit closer. An executive assistant does a lot more than just the typical secretary. The pay itself was proof enough. Can you really complain? The perks include free trips!

You try to stay as positive as you can, ignoring your mother’s voice as it sneaks into the back of your head. She always has something negative to say. She could win the lottery and complain about the trouble of claiming her winnings.

You make your way through the terminal and into the atrium, passing by new arrivals and waiting departures. You check your smart watch, you’ll get in your steps for sure, and hurry as the minutes tick by. You follow the flow outside and find a spot along the pick up area, waving down a taxi as your phone buzzes again.

‘Don’t show up without scotch’.

The message is terse. You can only assume the flight was less than accommodating. You spent your time in coach looking out at the clouds or catching up on the adventures in Westeros. Terribly depressing books but it only makes reality a little less so.

You get into a taxi and ask the driver to take you to a liquor store. He doesn’t seem to understand you. Oh, boy. You pull up Google translate on your phone and speak into it, setting it to translate into the native language. You let the speaker play the text to voice. The driver nods and starts the meter.

Okay, not bad. You’re figuring this out. If anything, Mr. Fowler has to give you points for effort, right?

You ask the taxi to wait as you run in and find yourself faced with shelves of bottles and cans. This is the hard part, you’re not much of a drinker. With the help of Google, you ask the clerk for a bottle of scotch and pay with the company card. You’re right back out to the taxi.

Everything is so fast, you feel like you’re still catching up. You’re doing things. Every minute matters. You feel important, probably for the first time in your life. No more sitting behind a desk yawning, you’re tired for good reason.

You give the hotel name next and let yourself relax. Just for a little. Your eyes drift to the traffic outside the taxi, the voices all around, the dimming of the sky as the city sets to evening. It’s beautiful and new and wonderful.

The driver lets you off in front of the hotel. You’re greeted by a valet who offers to take your bag. You try to refuse but he insists, so you let him and follow him inside. As you enter, another man approaches.

You’re confused at first. He’s tall, blonde, and dressed as if he’s a businessman visiting on his own sojourn. You look around, thinking he might be headed for someone behind you. No, it’s only you. You turn back and find his blue eyes centered on you as he stops before you.

“Miss, welcome,” he lilts in his refined accent, “may I have your name so we may get you checked in?”

“Oh, yes, thanks, uh, sir. Actually, first, my, er… my boss is here. I think. He must’ve shown up twenty minutes ago. Erm, Mr. Fowler. I have, a oh,” you look down at the bottle in your hands, “I have this for him.”

“Wonderful,” he eyes the bottle, “Izak,” he addresses the valet, “Fowler.”

He takes the bottle from you without resistance. There’s something about his confidence that has you frozen. He hands it to the valet, Izak, and sends him off. You smile and give a nervous chuckle.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you rub the back of your neck.

“That is my job. I’m at your service, miss. Jonathan Pine, manager,” he offers his hand.

You shake it, doing your best to keep a firm grip. His fingers are so long that your hand feels tiny in his. He lets you go as you rescind your hand, crossing one arm over your stomach as you cup your other elbow, playing with the button of your blouse.

“Your name, miss?”

“Oh, duh,” you clutch the front of your blouse and eke out your name.

“Great, this way,” he beckons you with him and leads you to a round desk. He steps behind and types as his blue eyes reflect the screen. “I assume you’re here on business. You mentioned your boss is in another accommodation.”

“Yes, uh, my first business trip,” you almost wiggle with delight, “I’ve never even stayed in a hotel, you know?”

“Well, then I hope your stay is exceptional,” he smiles as he clicks around, giving a thoughtful hum, “allow me to make your first a special one,” he intones, “I’ve upgraded you to a suite.”

“A suite? Oh, but–”

“No additional fee. It will remain at the rate of your previous room,” his eyes flick to you.

“Wow, that’s… do I sound that pathetic?”

“Pathetic? Not at all, miss.”

You chew your lip and sway back and forth, crossing both arms across your chest. You don’t know what to say. He’s so nice that it almost feels patronizing. Or you’re just insecure.

“Allow me to show you your suite,” he comes out from behind the desk, holding out a small black folio.

You take it and look inside, two cards and a little insert with tiny text on it. You bring your hands down to fold over your stomach and back up to let him lead you. He struts along with you to the elevator and hits the button. He gestures you in first and follows.

“You haven’t traveled before?” He asks.

“Not really. We used to go camping but not far from home. Then we didn’t go anywhere. I’ve been working since, er, college, so… this is my first chance.”

“Well, the world is vast and not all are so lucky as to venture beyond their front door. It’s truly a privilege,” he says. The doors ding and parts, again, he waits for you to go ahead of him.

You step out and check the folio. You read the number and match it to a door at the far end of the hall. He’s right behind you as you get to the suite.

“Shall I show you around?” He asks as you stop on either side of the doorframe.

“Erm, sure, why not?” You shrug.

“Might I?” He points to your hands and you give him the folio.

He takes out a card and holds it up, “these can be unfortunately finicky. You must make sure you hold it so,” he shows you how to position it and slides it through the slot beside the handle. The red light turns green and the door unlocks. “Please,” he opens the door and nods you inside.

You enter as he follows. The door slowly closes as he lets it go and he slips the card back into the folio. He puts it on the corner table beside the door and taps it with his fingertips.

“You’ll find the wireless information in there along with the room service details and our continental breakfast times,” he explains, “if you’ve any questions, you may call the front desk.”

“Thank you,” you smile.

“Let me briefly go over the rest of your amenities and I’ll leave you in peace,” he avows as he waves you further inside, “a full bath,” he stops at the doorway to his left, “there are jets built in, rather useful after a long flight.”

You give a polite laugh and he presses on. He guides you through the suite; a kitchenette, a mini bar, a sitting space, a bedroom, a balcony, and a key to the private pool. You thank him again.

He goes back to the door, about to leave but pausing at the door, “if you require anything, you may ask for me. Jonathan, remember.”

“Jonathan,” you repeat.

He nods and steps out into the hall, gently closing the door behind him. You feel another buzz in your pocket. Shoot! Mr. Fowler.

‘Scotch is here. Where are you?’

You cringe and hurry out of the room. You should’ve known better. There was just a lot happening at once. You hurry down the hall and stop short of the elevator. You don’t know where his room is.

‘On my way, sir. Where is your room?’

You key in the message, awkwardly lingering as you wait for his response.

‘Not there. In restaurant. Two minutes.’

You push your head back. You really just want to go back to the room and jump into that giant bed. A full queen to yourself. That’s actual heaven. You answer, affirming your obedience and head for the elevator.

You get down to the lobby and once more find yourself lost. You have that problem, not thinking two steps ahead. As you look around, you see the valet, Izak.

“Hi, uh, is there a restaurant around here?” You ask sheepishly.

“Yes, miss, right through there,” he points towards the rear of the lobby to a wide archway crested with a point.

You thank Izak and scurry across the lobby. You put your phone away as you enter the restaurant and a server approaches you. They ask if you want a table for one and you explain that you’re meeting your boss. She points him out and asks you if you’d like a drink. You assume you won’t be staying for dinner so you pass.

As you near his table, Mr. Fowler doesn’t look up. You stop just across from him and wring your hands. You wait for him to say something but he’s focused on the menu.

“Sorry, sir, I was just checking in–”

“Sit,” he demands.

“Right, thanks,” you sit and grip the edge of the table, “it was very busy at the airport and I had to stop on the way for your scotch–”

“But no time to bring it yourself?” He challenges as he sets the menu down, finally looking at you, “I have a colleague meeting me here shortly.” His eyes dip briefly as he eyes your blouse, “hm, you didn’t change?”

“Like I was saying, sir, I didn’t have a chance yet–”

“Undo your top button,” he waves off your excuses as he sits back and grabs the short glass of scotch in front of him.

“Sir?”

“You look like a nun,” he retorts, “just one button, sweetheart.”

You furrow your brow but pop your top button open. It doesn’t show very much but it still feels wrong. You sit back and peer around the restaurant. The din is quiet and the lightning soft and warm.

“Um, so, you want me to stay for dinner?”

“You leave when I dismiss you,” he says curtly.

“Yes, sir, I understand,” you reply.

“Stop fidgeting,” he clucks, “try to sit still.”

“Yes, sir,” your voice shrinks.

He sighs and stares at you, “smile, okay? This is an important dinner.”

“Right,” you force a smile, cheeks trembling.

All the excitement, all your former optimism, slowly slakes away. You get the churning anxiety in your stomach. The same sensation that kept you in bed a few minutes past your alarm. You’re only a few days in, you can do this.

“Fowler,” a voice booms across the restaurant as footfalls approach.

Your boss stands and you scramble to do the same. He shakes the hand of another man as you turn to face his acquaintance. It must be his aforementioned colleague.

“Hansen,” Fowler counters as their handshake becomes a battle, “about time.”

“Pfft, you were always boring. You gotta get out, buddy. Especially around here. I’ll give you a few names. There’s a sweet girl down at the spa–” the man, Hansen coughs, stopping himself midsentence as his eyes fall to you, “oh? And this is?”

“New assistant.” Fowler sits and pushes the tails of his jacket back.

You give your name as Hansen puts his hand out again. Instead of shaking yours, he takes it and kisses it in a very old-fashioned gesture, though something about his demeanour is sleazy.

“Lloyd,” he winks as he clings to your hand, “Mr. Hansen is so boring. Makes me sound like an old man.”

You smile and repeat his name.

“What happened to Bennet?” He turns and claims the third chair. You lower yourself, content to be peripheral to their reunion.

“Gone,” is all Fowler says as his eyes meet yours, “so, what’re you drinking, Hansen?”

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late-to-the-party-81 · 2 years ago

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Pole to Pole

AN: I’ve been planning this fic for absolutely ages and @the-slumberparty week three "Something New" writer challenge was just the prompt I needed. For my trope I have used ‘Love at first sight’ and ‘major miscommunication’. Also, as this is my first time writing a firefighter AU and my first time writing Curtis, it also serves as my entry to my own Challenge Yourself Challenge. This story is set in the same universe as @sidepartskinnyjeans Sparks and Barks and reader was inspired by this tiktok channel (but my fic reader is race neutral)

Beta’d by the ever patient @yarnforbrains.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and moodboard/banners by me.

Master list

Relationship: Firefighter Curtis Everett x Curvy! Female Reader

WC: 5.2k

CW: Angst! Miscommunication! Assumptions about what a fat person can do (fatphobia)!, mention of injured child (who recovers), Fluffy, hopeful, romcom style ending.

“Okay, guys! That’s it! Out!”

At the holler from Steve, Curtis closed the valves on the hydrant and started to uncouple the hoses that had been manned by Bucky, Nat, Jake and Nick. He also saw Sam out of the corner of his eye, talking to the EMT about the conditions in which they’d found the home-owner before the ambulance had turned up.

This job had been a run of the mill house fire. A timber framed building, an elderly home-owner, and a stove left unattended. Luckily the woman had managed to phone 911 herself and exit the property without much incident. It had been a straightforward call out, which Curtis was happy about; any job where everyone (including the animals) walked away without incident was a good one in his books.

He let out a grunt as he hefted the now rolled hose in his arms and placed it back in its designated home in the truck. Bucky appeared next to him, placing the other hose in beside the first.

“I think Cap is already on the phone to James about getting all the cats checked over. That’s if Mrs Jones can get them all rounded up.” He cast his eyes over to where the home-owner was trying to give the EMTs the slip so she could check on the six or more felines that were sitting, nonplussed, on the grass watching the proceedings.

Curtis let out a snort of amusement.

“What’s it like, having the boss-man dating your brother?”

“Weird as fuck, man. Cos like, if he knows about the freckle on Jimmy’s ass, then by extension he knows about the one on mine…”

“TMI, Buck. T -M - I.”

Ignoring the finger flipped at him by his team mate, Curtis swung up into the driver’s seat of the truck. He was glad it was almost the end of the day shift. He ached and was tired. He planned to hit the gym for a quick workout and then it would be home to his quiet apartment. Just the way he liked it.

Picking up his rough towel, Curtis swiped at the sweat on his brow before running it across his close cropped hair and then down his short beard. A hard workout was just what the doctor ordered, and so far, this new gym that had opened two blocks away from his apartment, was ticking all the boxes. All the latest equipment, ideally suited to people who wanted to keep themselves fit in the most efficient and economical way. That wasn’t to say that there weren’t some of what Curtis thought of as ‘frivolous’ or ‘lightweight’ options here as well. He supposed that to be viable the management had to cater to all types, but he wasn’t really sure what jazzercise or fitness pole were supposed to achieve.

When he’d seen the sign-up sheet for the latter it had caused him to let out an uncharacteristic chuckle. Fitness pole. A way to let bored housewives live out their stripper fantasies in a safe environment was all that was for, surely?

As he walked out of the main room and towards the changing rooms he passed one of the side studios. Peering in he realised that this is where the pole-fitness would be taking place. Several slim, chrome-shiny poles, with little ‘stages’ at their base were fitted between floor and ceiling.

Despite his initial disdain, Curtis couldn’t contain his curiosity and dropped his water bottle and towel by the door before advancing into the room. The mirrors on the three walls were a bit off-putting in his opinion. He walked up to the pole at the front, the instructor’s one, he assumed, and grasped it with his hand. It was a good third slimmer than the station pole, and he wondered how it could bear any weight at all.

“Thinking of joining the class?” A lilting musical voice sounded from behind him, and made him jump - not an easy feat considering both his size and his occupation. Whipping round, Curtis saw who he thought must be one of the class students. She certainly didn’t look like any of the pole dancers he’d seen in his misspent youth.

That wasn’t to say she wasn’t attractive. In fact, in his opinion, she was stunning. But she was in no way petite or svelte. The outfit she had on also left none of her curves to the imagination, firstly because it was tight, but secondly because there wasn’t a lot of it. Black spandex hugged her hips, stomach and breasts, leaving the entirety of her legs and arms free.

“I… umm…” Why had his mouth stopped working?

“You certainly look strong enough. I bet you’d find it a breeze.”

“Umm..gotta go…”

Being the tall and often intimidating man that he was, Curtis had never considered that he’d be the type to scuttle out of somewhere, but once back home, in the thunderous silence of his apartment, he had to admit to himself that that’s what he’d done. Run away, blushing and tongue-tied. He couldn’t for the life of him work out why though. He was no green lad, wet behind the ears, and if he were being totally honest, he’d had more than his fair share of dalliances and romps. He’d even had a few relationships as well, but none that ever seemed to last, and when they had ended he hadn’t found himself to cut up about them being over.

He saw pretty women all the time, but none of them had ever turned him mute. Maybe it was because he was so tired? That must have been it. He continued to brood on and off as he ate his dinner for one, drank a beer and watched wild-fire documentaries on the tv.

“You alright, Curtis?”

“Huh?” Curtis lifted his head up at the sound of Val’s voice.

The assistant chief walked over to him with her usual cocky swagger, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

“It’s just if you try to polish that panel any more I think the red will come off.” She gesticulated with her slim finger towards where Curtis had a cleaning rag in a death grip, pressed against the side of his truck. He followed her gaze to find that the red metal now gleamed under his distracted ministrations. Looking back up he saw the massive grin on her face as she leaned nonchalantly against the firetruck.

“So, are you alright? It’s just normally you’re out-grumping Nick and out-scowling Bucky, but today you’re just staring into space like you got something on your mind.”

“Nah, ‘s’nothin’. Just tired. Stuck in a rut, maybe?” He shrugged, but was taken aback slightly when Val stood straight and placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. She was all business now, her assistant chief game-face in place.

“Well, as long as that’s all it is. I need my best driver at the top of his game.”

Curtis gave her a brief nod before she walked back to her office. What was wrong with him? He’d been in a funk for several days, since his visit to the gym and his interaction with Curved and Dangerous. He hadn’t even seen the instructor and the rest of the class arrive given how fast he’d excused himself. In his mind’s eye, he’d been imagining peeling the black spandex off of her, exposing the luscious skin underneath, and feasting on her. He’d only heard her voice briefly but he couldn’t get it out of his head. He imagined how she’d sound as she came. Came under his touch.

Fuck!

He hadn’t been this infatuated in someone since junior high and his hormones had been a steamrolling mess. He couldn’t even remember that girl’s name now. Lisa? Lizzy?

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the alarm siren going off. Pulling up his suspender straps he jumped up into the cab of the truck as the others came sliding down the pole. The juxtaposition between what he’d just been thinking about and watching his fully clad team mates gripping the pole between their thighs was suddenly too much, and he let out a guffaw.

As Nat slid into the seat next to him she gave him a confused look.

“What you laughing at, Ice Man?”

He smiled and shook his head.

“Nothin’, Nat. Nothin’. Let’s get this show on the road.” Turning his head over his right shoulder, he shouted into the back. “Buckle up, losers. I’m hitting the gas.”

Why was he back here? Back at this time? He could easily have come for a workout any other day or at any other time today. But no, he had to be here the same time the pole-fitness was going on. At a time that would mean that he’d finish his normal routine of reps and exercises at the right moment to walk past the studio mid-class.

Curtis supposed he could do a few extra reps and cooldown stretches. Delay his exit.

He should. Because otherwise he’d feel like a creep. Which is why, twenty minutes later, he hadn’t done any of that and found himself walking towards the studio on his way to the changing room,hyper aware of how hard his heart was beating in his chest. He tried to snap himself out of it. Convince himself that his stupid crush would disappear as soon as he saw her inelegantly trying to hook her leg around the pole. Not that he wished her harm, but if she fell flat then it would just prove to his dick brain that she was just a normal, regular human and not some ethereal creature brought to life.

Unfortunately for the burly fireman, the universe decided to fuck with him.

He came to a halt outside the glass wall and peered in at the group of mostly women (he was sure he saw a couple of skinny, muscular guys at the end of a row). His eyes travelled from the back of the class to the front trying to spot her. All the attendees were standing behind their poles, looking towards the front where the instructor…

He froze.

His heart stopped in his chest.

Curtis.exe malfunctioned.

Because there she was. At the front, demonstrating to the class. Upside down, shapely thighs and calves wrapped around the pole, spinning slowly. He gawped. Mouth open, eyes wide and… shit!

He moved suddenly, as fast as he could manage, toward the changing room and the blessedly cold shower he urgently needed.

He was getting on his own nerves now. He was fine alone. Always had been and always would be. And seriously, he’d barely spoken to the woman and seen her only twice, but thoughts of her filled nearly every waking moment. He’d never believed in love at first sight, and he wasn’t going to start now.

“Curtis!” He snapped out of it with the bark from Steve and turned toward his Captain.

“Take over for Sam! Bucky’s coming out with someone, and EMTs are still 5 minutes out.” With a curt nod, he jogged over from the hydrant to where Sam was tackling the blaze on the south-east corner of the building, taking hold of the high pressure hose and digging his heels in to absorb the recoil, allowing the team medic to rush over towards their team-mate who had just cleared the doorway, a small body over his shoulder.

When Sam reached him, Bucky carefully placed the inert child on the grass and started to assist Sam with the CPR. Curtis kept one eye on them whilst trying to keep his portion of the blaze under control. He hated call-outs where there were kids involved.

Bucky and Sam were still working on their charge when the ambulance turned up, all sirens and lights. The EMTs took over,and everyone breathed a sigh of relief when there was a small cheer and a load of coughing. Curtis let go of some of the anxiety he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and turned his attention fully back to the fire.

Pounding stuff was good.

Jab. Jab. Uppercut.

He’d foregone his usual workout routine today, needing stress relief after the near miss at the fire earlier on. The crew all had their own ways of dealing with days like this, and punching sandbags was his.

“I’m glad that’s a sandbag you’re punching and not a person.” As soon as the voice reached his ears, Curtis’ body went on high alert.

Her.

He heard the click-click of the heels of her shoes across the floor as she came closer, and he tried to maintain his composure and his rhythm. She appeared in his field of vision from the side, dropped her bag to the floor and went and stood behind the sandbag, steadying it with her hands.

“I thought it only fair that I come watch you after you were watching me the other day. You seem awfully fascinated with the poles.”

Curtis raised his head to look at her fully and tried to steel his face into a neutral expression, all the while his brain was short-circuiting due to her close presence. God, her eyes. He could get lost in those eyes and never worry about returning home.

“I… umm… use them everyday. Well, one. Umm…” For fuck’s sake. He stopped and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the twinkle in her eyes as she watched him flounder. Pulling off his gloves, he swiped his sweaty hand down his gym shorts and thrust it out in front of him.

“Curtis Everitt, New York Fire Department, Brooklyn Station House. At your service.”

She took hold of his proffered hand in her own smaller one and smiled as she shook it, chuckled and gave her own name.

“That explains an awful lot. So it was professional curiosity that led you into my studio the first time? And the second time? Before you ran away like someone had set your ass on fire? ‘Cause it seemed to me that you liked something you saw.” She waggled her eyebrows in amusement, and God - Curtis didn’t know whether he should just run away in embarrassment or kiss the knowing smirk off her face. In the end he chose a third option.

“Yeah, um, sorry about that. For some reason I didn’t expect you to be the instructor.” He felt the flush creeping up the back of his neck and rubbed at it, as though trying to erase the pink hue suffusing his skin.

Her expression soured, and Curtis’ heart sank. “Mmm-hmm. I wonder why? I get that a lot. No-one expects this,” she grabbed a handful of her flesh through her leotard and jiggled it, “to swing around a pole with grace and talent. Well, now I know the reason for your stares, I’ll say my good-byes and not bother you any longer.”

She turned, dejected and Curtis was filled with a sense of panic. His hand flew out and snagged her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

“Wait, please. That didn’t come out right. Well… okay, it was right when I said I didn’t expect you to be the instructor, and yes it was because of your size, and I’m ashamed that I thought that. But I… well…I think you’re stunning. And when I saw you, you know, doing your thing, my mind was blown and…”

She was looking at him, still unimpressed, but not making any further move to leave, which gave him a flicker of hope to salvage the situation.

“Look, I’m not expressing myself properly. I was surprised, yes, but like I said, you’re gorgeous and I didn’t expect to be so… so enamoured…”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m fat and you don’t normally like fat women. Or is there something about me that allows you to ‘overlook’ the extra pounds?” This time she did pull her hand free.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Goodbye, Curtis. See you around.”

She turned and walked out without a backwards glance, the sound of her heels in time with the thudding of Curtis’ heart.

If the others at the station house thought that Curtis had been acting strangely before, it was nothing to how he was acting now. And the worst part was, he knew it, but he couldn’t get out of the funk. He clattered around, grumpier than usual and snapping at the others. It therefore didn’t come as much of a surprise to him when he was called into Steve’s office.

“Sit. Talk.” Steve gesticulated with his pen, and his tone prevented any disagreement. With a sigh, Curtis threw himself into the chair opposite the large wooden desk. He stared at the grooves on its well weathered surface, his thoughts swirling as he tried to work out what to say to his commanding officer. Unfortunately for him, Steve wasn’t in a patient mood.

“You do realise that in order to talk you have to open your mouth and let words come out? Even without Val coming and telling me something was eating you, it was obvious. You’ve gone from more quiet and sullen than usual to crankier than usual. So, come on, man, spit it out for Christ’s sake.”

Curtis took a deep breath. “It’s personal, sir. But I’m sorry my mood has been affecting the team. I’ll do my best to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

It was Steve’s turn to sigh. He closed the document folder in front of him and leant back in his chair.

“Don’t shut me out, Curtis. I might be your boss, but I’d like to think we were friends too. I’ve never seen you like this, in all the years I’ve known you, so I know it’s something big. Spill.”

Curtis could feel the blush rising up his neck. Fuck, he was warm and uncomfortable. All this ‘feelings’ bullshit was new to him. He was hard and tough. Not to say Steve wasn’t, but the Captain had always had a softness to him too. A pureness. And since he’d started dating James, it had only got more pronounced. And Curtis wasn’t like that.

Didn’t think he could ever be like that. It just wasn’t him.

For a moment he’d thought he could have it; a relationship that had meaning. If it had been with her. But he’d royally fucked up.

“I made my girl feel bad. That’s what’s up.” His admission came out as a soft growl.

Steve’s eyes widened.

“You, gotta girl? Like a girlfriend, girl? Mr. “Thank you, next” has a girlfriend?”

“Hey! Don’t say it like that. Although, she wasn’t my girl. Not really. But I think I wanted her - no, want her to be. But it freaked me out, and I couldn’t say what I meant and what I did say insulted her. And I don’t know how to make it right, or whether she will even look at me again.”

Steve swiped his hand over his eyes in disbelief.

“Well, I can’t help you there, bud. You’ll have to work out what you can do to make it up to her by yourself. And she might not accept it, and then you’ll have to accept that. It’s hard, man, this love thing, but I can tell you, it’s worth it. Have hope. What would get her attention long enough that you can say your piece? Think on it. But not when you’re working. Now scram. I got paperwork to finish and you’ve got a truck to maintain.”

Curtis pushed back his chair, the legs scrapping loudly on the concrete floor before nodding brusquely at his Captain and making his way to the door. His hand had just gripped the doorknob when Steve’s voice sounded again, making him stop.

“And Curtis… Good luck. I’m rooting for you. You deserve a bit of happiness.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, an unusual occurrence. “Thanks, Steve.”

Confidence renewed, Curtis just had to come up with a plan. As he used the leg press machine, and tried not to throw sideways glances towards the door of the gym room, wishing he could see through it to the studio beyond, he ran through different options in his head. Unfortunately, as soon as he had an idea, he discounted it. Too cheesy, not classy enough, too frivolous. There was something wrong with all of them.

He glanced up toward the clock on the wall. He’d come a little later tonight, and should be finished after the pole fitness class finished. The digital display confirmed that the studio should be emptying about now, leaving it clear in about 5 minutes. He pushed down the metal plate under his feet twice more, before letting it come back into place, the weights letting out a clang as he did so.

Curtis stood, wiped down the machine and then himself before striding towards the double doors. His pace slowed when he reached the studio as his nerves tried to get the better of him. He peered around the door and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was empty. Yes, he wanted to see her again, but he needed to know what he was going to do first. For now, he just wanted to feel some kind of connection.

As he walked up to the pole at the front of the studio, he studied it as if it might reveal its secrets. He reached his hand out and slid it up the smooth surface. Was he imagining that the metal still held some of the warmth from her skin? He couldn’t believe that he’d been so stupid - made that ridiculous assumption of her abilities, based on stereotypes and social conditioning. He knew better than that. He’d never judged a woman’s intelligence or professional abilities due her size, so why had he judged her physicality? It wasn’t as though he was some small, delicate flower, and he knew how powerful and flexible he was…

It was as though a lightbulb had come on over his head, like in the cartoons he’d watched as a child. That was it! He knew what he needed to do. Hopefully, she’d be so dumbstruck by his display, that he’d have the chance to get his words out. But he’d have a lot of planning and practise to do.

Turning on his heel, Curtis practically jogged out of the gym, a grin splitting his usually stoic facade. This was going to work. He was sure of it.

Curtis spent the whole walk home on his phone, researching. As soon as he got inside his apartment he went straight to his tool box, intent on finding his tape measure to make sure his plan was feasible. He may or may not have let out a small ‘whoop’ of excitement upon discovering it was. Straight back to his phone, he ordered the item he needed, having decided upon the best retailer during his research. He’d even paid extra for priority shipping, but the 2-3 day wait was still going to feel like too long. However, there was other stuff he could do in the meantime like watching tutorial videos and shuffling his furniture around.

“Hey, Curtis, my man! How’re ya doin’? You gotta smile there!”

Curtis couldn’t hold back the little chuckle that escaped him as he breezed in past Jake and Mickey where they were leaning on the reception desk, joking with the sweet girl who kept them all on track.. Normally the goofy pair got on his nerves, but he was in a good mood, full of confidence. His plan was coming together; his delivery had come and been installed, and he was making progress with the help of various videos.

“It’s a good day, Jake!” He smiled at the bleach blonde computing nerd and then gave a sideways nod to his somewhat frivolous bestie. “Mickey. Stay outta trouble guys. See you in the break room later on.” He then turned his attention to the station house sweetheart. “And don’t let these two give you any sass. Tell ‘em to fuck off if they get too annoying.” Her eyes went wide at the thought of talking back to the two flirtatious men and telling them to go about their day. Curtis chuckled again, gave her a wink and made his way through to the garage.

A week later and his confidence was a bit more shaky. Alright, a lot more. Because now it was crunch time. He once again felt like a creep, hanging outside the studio, but this time he’d deliberately hung back so he couldn’t see through the windows, although close enough that he could see when all the class were leaving. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, psyching himself up. When he heard the creak of the door hinges and the wall of sound that escaped as the class walked out, he opened his eyes. It was now or never.

Stepping forwards he held the door for them, marvelling properly at the different range of folk who’d been taking part. Different ages, races, sizes and genders. It made him feel stupid all over again.

As the last one walked out, a leggy brunette who gave him a coy smile, he walked into the studio and closed the door behind him.

“Ummm. Hi.” His voice echoed slightly in the near empty room. He saw her stiffen for a moment, before she turned, a neutral expression on her face.

“How can I help you, Curtis?”

“Look, I was hoping that I could apologise to you again. And try to explain myself better.”

She crossed her arms in front of her, cocked her hip and raised an eyebrow.

“You think you can do that without digging yourself a bigger hole? And this better be good. I don’t have the time, or the energy, to deal with fuck-bois who think they are doing me a favour by deigning to be interested in me, despite my size.”

The emphasis she put on the word made him wince, but she hadn’t told him fuck off, so he took a step closer, although still mindful of her personal space.

“Firstly, I want to say I’m sorry again about being surprised you were the instructor. It was stupid and narrow-minded of me. I thought I was better than that, and I should be better than that. And that’s a me problem. Something I have to work on. But I really hope that you’re able to accept my apology.”

She didn’t relax her pose, but her lips twitched minutely.

“You said that was ‘firstly’. What’s ‘secondly’?”

“The second thing is about how I expressed my attraction to you. When I said I didn’t expect to be so enamoured that had nothing to do with how you look and everything to do with me and my history, or lack thereof, of relationships. I didn’t expect to feel the way that I feel, because I’ve never felt that way. I’ve never had a relationship last longer than a few months, and it was always me ending them because I was bored, and obviously not feeling what I thought I should be feeling.” He stopped, running back over what he’d just said in his head. “There’s a lot of feelings in this…”

She cracked a smile at that, and Curtis felt lifted.

“What I’m trying to say is that there is something special about you, about who you are, that for some reason makes me sit up, and notice, and want things I’ve never wanted before. And it has nothing to do with your size. You could be a size 2 or a size 22, or anything, and I’d still think you the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’d still want to see your face every day and want to make you smile. The thought that I’d hurt you with what I said last time, with my inability to articulate my thoughts… well it messed me up, and all I’ve been trying to do is find a way to say sorry and show you that, despite how few interactions we’ve had, I think you’re special.”

Was that a softening of her posture he saw? He had to hope so.

“You got something to show me, Hot Stuff? What is it? Better not be your dong though.”

“What? No!”

That’s when she laughed, and as she did, her face lit up. Curtis’ heart surged, despite the embarrassment he was feeling.

“Oh! Your face, Curtis! I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. Okay, okay. What is it you wanna show me?”

He smiled back and walked towards her, only to cause confusion to cross her face when he actually passed her. He stopped by her pole and looked it up and down. He toed off his sneakers and whipped his gym shirt off over his head.

“Erm…what are you doing?”

Curtis looked back over his shoulder “At best? Impressing you a bit. At worst? Making you laugh. Either way, I hope it works out well for me.”

Curtis took his phone out of his shorts pocket, tapped the screen to start up some music, grabbed her bottle of dusting powder and tapped some onto his hands before he took hold of the pole in his right hand. Lifting his right leg, he went into a back arch, then bent further into a backbend. He flashed her an upside down wink before standing, sashaying around the pole to face her, and doing a back slide down the pole. He slid back up, and still holding the pole he dropped his body weight and moved around it, building momentum until he grasped it with his left hand too, going into a carousel spin. He continued to spin and grind against the pole in time to the music and he watched as she brought her hands up to her face, but didn’t stop watching, and continued to smile and giggle.

He danced and glided, swinging up into a fireman spin, before coming back down to terra firma, on his knees in front of her and bending back on himself into a knee bridge, one hand on top of his head and his firm chest and abs on display. He was breathing hard, and smiled up at her hopefully. That had been far more exhilarating than he thought it would have been.

“Alright, Magic Mike. I had a hunch that you’d be good at this, but color me impressed.”

Curtis sat up on his knees.

“Impressed enough to maybe give me a second chance and let me take you out on a date?”

“Yes, you goober. Now get off the floor.” She extended her hand and Curtis took hold, allowing her to help him to his feet. “One condition though; you join my class. Your forward spin was a bit sloppy. Oh! And please tell me that you practised at work…”

Curtis grinned, the flush of exertion hiding the flush of embarrassment. “Might have just done a little bit when no one was around…” She threw back her head and laughed.

“I’d have paid good money to see that.”

“If I play my cards right with you, then maybe you will…”

“Maybe, indeed. And Curtis… never doubt me again.”

“Never.”

Tag list: @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @flordeamatista @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @seitmai @marvelstarker-mha98 @talia-rumlow @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida

#curtis everett x female reader #curtis everett fanfic #curtis everett #navy and roo's sleepover #late writes

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aspiringtrashpanda · 6 months ago

Note

Hi, I have a request!

Could you make a fic with the twins and my MC Allister. Allister uses they/he pronouns. They've had a long week at RAD and are quite overstimulated. The twins think of ways to help Allister relax. Maybe they could go around asking the others what might help?

Other than that have with it!

Tysm :3

OOO! This is a cute prompt. I hope I was able to help Allister relax <3 Thanks so much for the request!

Characters: Beel, Belphie, Allister (OC), Satan & Asmo make an appearance A sweet lil' comfort fic! Fluffy fluff! No warnings apply

Footsteps scurried through the room. Tap, tap, tap. The sound was partially absorbed by the thick carpet of the sitting room, eaten by the playful whoosh of flames in the hearth, but still audible enough to be perceived. However, the twins paid the noise no mind, instead continuing their chosen activities. Such activities consisted of Beel performing situps, while Belphie dangled dread popcorn in front of him.

It was a dangerous gamble. If he didn’t drop the snack at the right time, he risked Beel’s teeth nicking his fingers. Absently, Belphie wondered if his blood would even sully the popcorn, or if Beel would just think it was some new sort of sauce for added flavor. Then, he pushed the thought away. His twin would definitely know if he was bleeding.

The rustle of limbs power-walking from point A to point B tickled Belphie’s ears. Beel’s torso curled forward once more, the crunch of popcorn drowning out the background noise tugging at his mind.

With a shrug, Belphie doubled up the snacks, dropping them into Beel’s open maw with each rep.

This time, the footsteps were accompanied by the flipping of papers, the crinkle of pages pressed against a chest as someone rushed towards the entrance hall. Belphie frowned as he heard the echo of the front door click shut.

“Hey,” He withheld the popcorn, prompting Beel to pause in his situps. “Allister’s been running around a lot lately.”

“Yeah.” That little crease appeared in Beel’s brow. The one that popped up when he was concerned about something. “Why?”

“Well, they offered to help Lucifer with some paperwork for the upcoming festival.”

“Ah, and they did promise Diavolo they’d help decorate the courtyard for it, too.”

The fire crackled in the hearth. For a moment, Belphie considered finding the papers that had Allister so busy. What if he just tossed them into the flames? Then, they would be able to relax. He compromised on sighing, “Rookie mistake.”

It fell silent once more. Beel’s abs crunched three more times before he pulled himself upright, wiped the sweat from his brow.

Belphie was already formulating a plan in his head. “Do we intervene?”

Beel nodded, “Yeah.”

A few messages were exchanged, D.D.D’s buzzing in uniform pockets all throughout the day. For once, Belphie wasn’t sleepy during his classes. No, he was looking forward to what was to come after dinner. Quality time with Allister was always a shot of adrenaline to his brain.

However, the clock ticked on, the snacks grew cold, and Beel and Belphie sat by their lonesome in the attic. At least, until frantic footsteps rushed into the room.

“I know! I’m late!” Allister gasped, chest heaving as they keeled over, hands on their knees as they caught their breath. “Sorry, it’s just… been a week.”

Really, the relief overwhelmed any annoyance Belphie felt. He was just glad they were okay. Ish.

“It’s fine,” Belphie yawned, sinking further into the pillows he had placed around him. “The movie’s on Nightflix. It’s not time sensitive or anything.”

Beel patted the spot on the mattress next to him. “Here, have some popcorn.”

The remote hit play and noisy credits popped up on the television, accompanying a grainy found-footage horror scene. Shrieks of terror rang out through the room, the star of the film muddling through an overgrown forest, away from the masked murderer brandishing a chainsaw.

It was about thirty minutes into the movie when Beel hit pause. “Are you okay?”

Allister’s jaw popped, held in a vice grip. “Yeah.”

Belphie was concerned they would shatter their teeth under the pressure of their bite. He ventured, “It doesn’t seem like it.”

“You’re fidgety.” Beel leaned closer to Allister, indigo eyes flicking up and down their frame. “And pale.”

Allister flexed their fingers, tenting them beneath their chin as they took a deep breath, screwed their eyes shut, exhaled noisily.

“Um,” Their voice shook, the timbre indicating unshed tears, “I’m okay, I guess. I’m just having a lot of difficulty focusing. I think I’m…”

Beel and Belphie waited.

Allister rubbed their eyes, a grimace pulling at their lips as they got to their feet. “I think I’m a little overwhelmed. Sorry, I’m going to call it a night.”

Beel’s gaze mirrored Belphie’s, in more ways than the pink to purple gradient. As Allister retreated downstairs, it was clear that the twins were going to have to up the ante, increase their efforts.

Step one, Belphie decided, was research.

“Satan, are you busy?” He peered into the library, glad to see the mop of blonde hair tucked into an armchair.

“Not particularly.” Mischief was quick to cloud Satan’s eyes. “Is this an impromptu meeting? Should we get Allister? How are we ruining Lucifer’s life this time?”

It was tempting. Belphie had to admit that it was difficult to curb the ideas flooding his brain. They could spike Lucifer’s favorite tea with hot sauce… Oh! They could curse his pen to sign his name with a heart over the i! Wait, no, he needed to focus. “It’s probably better if Allister isn’t present.”

“Is something the matter?”

“I was wondering if you know what would cause someone to freak out when they’re supposed to be relaxing.” Belphie leaned over the back of the chair. Satan’s book seemed to be written in ancient infernal. Belphie could only make out every other word.

Never one to miss a detail, Satan understood immediately. He hummed, “Allister’s been awfully busy lately, haven’t they?”

“Yeah,” Belphie sighed, “We tried to watch a movie with them, but they said they were overwhelmed and left.”

“Ah, sounds like they were overstimulated.”

“How can I help with that?”

“Let’s see…” Satan actually looked up from the page, peering at Belphie in thought. He spoke slowly, as if weighing the advice on his tongue. “If they want to talk about it, vocalizing their feelings could help. If they don’t, well, perhaps some mindful breathing would be comforting. Shutting your eyes for a while and focusing on your body instead of your thoughts might ground them.”

Belphie grinned. If there was one thing he was good at, it was shutting his eyes.

As one twin made his way to his bedroom, a plan unfurling from the corners of his mind, Beel took a different approach.

“Asmo,” Beel announced his presence, slipping into his brother’s room without bothering to knock.

Asmo’s head snapped up, a nail polish brush poised over his fingers. “Oh, Beel! You’re just in time! I was about to try this new nail color, see, and I-”

Beel didn’t bother looking. “It looks great, Asmo.”

“I haven’t even applied it yet…?”

Plopping himself down on Asmo’s luxurious bedding, the springs creaking under his weight, Beel spoke to the floral canopy above. “When you’re stressed, what do you like to eat?”

“What do I like to eat?” Asmo echoed, strawberry blonde hair falling over his eyes with the tilt of his head. “Comfort foods, I suppose. Something that would get me excited and distract me from whatever else is rattling in my beautiful brain.”

Well, for the Avatar of Gluttony, that didn’t narrow down much. “And what would you consider a comfort food?”

“Beel,” Asmo scoffed, “Do you not have comfort foods?”

“All foods are comfort foods.”

Asmo exhaled slowly, though there was fond amusement in the sound. He carefully swept the thick polish over his nails, considering, “I like cake, but nothing too sweet. I like to cut the sweetness with a bit of coffee. Oh! And I love that brutal chiffon cake that Barbatos makes! It goes so well with the hell coffee beans from café lament.”

“Perfect.” Beel was already halfway out the door. “Thanks Asmo.”

“Wait, Beel! Your nails are chipped! Let me fix them!”

Despite his best efforts, Asmo - in a rare show of strength - did manage to restrain his younger brother, refusing to allow Beel freedom until his nails were runway ready. Though Belphie didn’t mind the wait, the cuticle care enabling a solid half hour nap, he was reaching impatience by the time Beel returned to their shared room.

They waited in quiet anticipation for Allister’s arrival.

“Hey, what’s up?” The door creaked open, Allister worrying their bottom lip. “I know I bailed last time but I promise it had nothing to do with you two! I really appreciated the effort but - Is that brutal chiffon cake?”

“It is,” Beel beamed, gesturing to the spread he and Belphie had put together. “And if you need a palate cleanser after, we have some decaf hell coffee.”

“Decaf?” Allister echoed, creeping into the room slowly, carefully, as if he was concerned the twins had set some sort of booby trap.

Belphie lifted his head from his favorite pillow. “Well, we thought the caffeine wouldn’t be ideal for what we want to do.”

“And that is?” Allister’s eyes were wide, flitting between the beds where Beel and Belphie had arranged countless blankets and pillows, to where food and coffee were laid out on a foldable table.

“We know you’re stressed,” Belphie started.

“And we want to help,” Beel put on his best smile, extending as much soft reassurance as he could. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Allister blinked, ducking their head as they twiddled their fingers. “Ah, um, not really? I mean, I don’t really have much to say. It’s just… so much, you know?”

“Come here,” Belphie encouraged, “I got an extra fluffy pillow for you.”

“Here!” Beel barely waited for Allister to settle themselves in the nest of blankets before he was shoving a fork of dessert into their mouth. “Focus on the flavors of the cake. Do they bring back any memories?”

“But also try to clear your mind.” Belphie reminded, “Take a deep breath in.”

“And don’t forget to sip the coffee too. Barbatos paired the blend himself!”

“Ah!” Allister covered their face with their hands, their breathing shaky. Their voice quietly squeaked through the gaps in their fingers. “This is really nice, but…”

Beel frowned. “Are we being too much?”

“A little, yeah.”

“What do you want to do?” Belphie leaned away, watching every little twitch of muscle in their face.

“Can we just…” Allister sunk into the pillows, their eyes fluttering closed as they exhaled all their worries. “Lie here? Just for a little bit?”

“Of course!”

And as Allister drifted to sleep, their head on Beel’s chest and Belphie’s fluffy tail tuft warming their cheek, the twins heaved a sigh of relief. The movie could wait. The cake could wait. All that mattered in that moment was that their dear human got some much deserved rest. Beel’s eyes met Belphie’s, a silent agreement resonating between them. Even if they slept through dinner, Allister would not be woken by anything other than their internal alarm.

…Or the rumble of Beel’s stomach.

*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜

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fountainpenguin · 6 months ago

Text

"Don't care if he's guilty, don't care if he's not. He's good and he's bad and he's all that I've got... He did what he had to do..." (x)

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New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 37 - “Allay Flower (Scott)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

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The art of confronting Mayor Smajor1995 over crude and unusual crimes. End Session 2.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

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This preview contains major Dog's Life & Pixels Imperfect series spoilers - Read at own discretion

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Smajor1995 - Corrupted Vex; Allay *

Status: In control

Social activist and mayor (with a background in food service and retail)

🖤 🖤 🖤

Time ticks. No one expects him to handle anything right now. He can't reach anyone with his communicator. He'd rather not be caught around his office. Once he's done eating a couple souls more (No longer eyeballing usernames), Scott spends a few minutes tidying papers. The empty player file cases will need to come with him until he can toss them somewhere. Or leave them near the greedy hub flower. He sweeps a stack of fresh files in the bundle he usually uses for amethyst crystals. He ate them all earlier; this is perfect. No one will think it's odd he's carrying something on a full moon night. See, as long as you walk with purpose, no one will question you much at all.

There. He ties the bundle shut. That should be more than enough to get him through the week. Maybe the month, if vex don't need to feed much. If anyone asks, he'll say he pulled the files for safekeeping, then fled so the hub flower wouldn't devour him. He's ill, remember. And Pearl thinks he's in her room. She's logged off by now, probably- She was nearly in phantom hour when she left her place.

Gods, I hope Tango can get the vex code out of me by morning. Tango isn't Etho, but he's the next best thing.

Scott hangs the bag from his belt. When he has the chance, he'd like to remove the 62 amethyst swords from his soul slot. But there's no room for them in the office and it wouldn't be a good idea… Allay are the only hybrids he knows who can carry stacked swords like this, so that would throw even more suspicion on his species.

Those swords are handcrafted. They took him years. They're brittle and fragile. The blades are amethyst to ward off vex, but the hilts are wrapped in leather. They shouldn't sting his hand. He'd like to put them somewhere he can get back to in a pinch. Scott considers the gloves a moment, then strips them off. Oof. He lost a lot of pixels; he can tell where his skin has gotten thin.

He lays the gloves on the table, presses his palm against them, and wills their color and shape out of existence. Pixel manipulation isn't his strength - Bdubs, Joel, and Lizzie are a lot better at this (and probably BigB, though that's an illusioner stereotype) - but gradually, over the course of a few moments, he absorbs the pixels that define the mass beneath his hand as Scott's Gloves and melds them into his form. His body shifts. Scott exhales. Ripples of code carry the pixels where they need to go. He shrugs his shoulders, shakes out his arms, and smooths out his nicks and gashes. There's no helping the glitch. He's not willing to cut it from his body. Or let Tango do that. He asked for anti-viruses instead.

Okay. All done? Yeah. All done here.

So he leaves. He does what he needs to do, he changes to his old Totoro hoodie skin, and then he leaves. After one final look in the office (the hub flower still slithering on the floor), Scott shuts and locks the door. Anyone who wants to get in can chat with him about it. He'll get in touch with someone when the world stops spinning.

He takes one of the side passages from the building. Not the one with his tunnel design that feeds directly into the multiplayer station, but it's close. The echo of his shuffling feet comes off familiar, somehow, and Scott grants himself a much-needed massage up and down his face with one hand. Okay.

Well, he's feeling much better than he did an hour ago. Every breath is easier. He has a clearer head. And he's no longer taking damage ticks, so huge plus for that. Is he back to full health? I mean, with double regen across the station, logic would suggest he's safe again. He almost wants to laugh, one hand pressed to the bundle at his leg. Ah… Yeah. He may still be underground and it may be an exhausting, dreary day, but… The air seems fresh. It's a beautiful place to be.

He walks quickly, but not so quickly that he'll draw attention. At least one sleeve-covered hand grips his hood at all times, pulling it forward so no soul particles will leak from his skin and twinkle in the air. Once he pulls the hoodie off, it'll look like a snow day in the bedroom, but if he can make it back to Pearl's, he's home free. Some of the slimes and blaze hybrids are shouting. Apparently a flag's gone missing. He hears Jimmy's name, but it's not his business. Jimmy broke up with him when Last Life started; he can handle his own issues. He's doing game night things anyway. Hmm. Scott takes an extra street around those guys just for distance. He prefers moving in circles anyway, so no harm done.

New Star Station's never had the brightest streets. The lanterns do okay, but they'll never replace the aboveground sun. Scott pulls out the documents HALO Cobalt gave him, glancing through again as he goes. He did read them while sitting in the hall. He really shouldn't be doing this - walking around with sensitive material exposed - but he just wants to check a few details. He keeps to less crowded streets, checking left and right. See? He's keeping watch. He doesn't do this long. Just enough to get the gist, and it's not pretty. Oof. Yikes. Messy stuff. Busy night. Sighing, Scott hugs the papers to his chest and walks a little faster.

Stupid sensitivity training. Let's hope BigB doesn't find out about that one. Maybe he can sway someone into letting Cleo give him that class. Then he can knock it out while they're building the starter base on their new AFK.

He does run into BigB, Bdubs, and Martyn on his way. BigB gives him a few furrow-browed looks, so Scott keeps his hood tight and his sleeves pulled as far over his hands as he can. Thank goodness the Totoro hoodie's always been big on him. Plus, it makes his hair look darker. He checked his F5 eyes while getting changed and he's grown a few streaks as gray as vex. They show through his skin design and mark his hair, but there's nothing to be done about that. He's going to show "allay coverage" somewhere on his body unless his next respawn is under a new or waning moon.

Spoilers, though… It won't be. First quarter form forever, so let's get weird about it.

At least the hair's not the only place that's blue. A lot of hybrids don't have hair to match their mob traits - Scar's got brown even though he's an allay-turned-vex - so people don't usually question his head hair. They don't usually question the blue on his chest either. And he looks good. Jimmy has no idea what he ran out on. At least Sausage knows how to make a man feel wanted, even if it mostly with sideways glances. Oh, that smarts.

Standing next to BigB, hearing out Martyn's demands, Scott huffs at the papers in his arms.

Oh, gods. Just look at you… So far in the closet, you can't be touched like you want without coming out to people over and over again. Maybe that's the worst kind of hell- Local bossy gay man who wants to flirt and flounce so much gives himself a hard time. And he knows there's humanity in his otherwise allay soul, because allays probably flirt the worst out of every mob on the list.

But it's safer in the closet. His flickering anti-viruses are fighting the good fight, but Scott still grits his teeth and stands firm as Martyn pushes for the right to leave the station. Tango better fix this soon. By now, the infection's spread from his hand halfway up his elbow and it hurts like setting spawn over Nether lava. And this just lasts for the rest of his life? A billion years and so on? Ah, no thank you. Who would ever want to be a vex?

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]

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