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kingkatsuki · 1 month

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— when you get him a birthday cake

Masterlist.

It’s been a while and this has sat dusty and half-finished in my drafts for months, so Happy Birthday, Bakugou.🥺

Warnings: none. Pure fluff, not proofread.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.7k.

Bakugou had never really celebrated his birthday, at least not since he was a child. Far too old for children’s party games and toys (although he’d still scour the internet for vintage All Might action figures as a gift to himself, because those most definitely weren’t toys).

But the thing that irritated him more than anything about his special day was the fact that everyone else seemed far more excited about it than him. Masses of texts from his friends, messages online and an influx of gifts from fans all trying to wish him a very Happy Birthday. News outlets and media suddenly in talks with his PR team to try and get an interview with him on the actual day; when truth be told he’d have agreed to it if they’d offered the day before. The tower of paperwork he was trying to work through had become tiresome and he was hoping for a distraction.

How was it that the world seemed more excited about his Birthday than the Number Two hero was himself?

Heaving a sigh as he stopped the incessant blaring of his phone alarm before wincing through tired, narrowed eyes at the bright light of his phone. The screen completely covered in well wishes that seemed to have started when the clock struck twelve. A few trying to coax him out after work for drinks and to celebrate, those he swiftly ignored. It wasn’t until he scrolled down to a message from Mina practically threatening him to go out that he groaned low and deep in his chest; how was it that his friends were trying to dictate how he spent his birthday every damn year? He’d be happy with a bowl of noodles from his favourite hole in the wall and maybe a slice of cake from the quaint bakery he liked to frequent on Sundays. Now he was going to have to stay up late, and probably carry an inebriated Kirishima home.

By the time he’d made it into the office, Bakugou had put his phone onto do not disturb. Sick of the constant stream of messages that didn’t seem to dissipate. Another thing to add to the list of things that irked him about his special day— and he hadn’t even received the call from his Mother yet. Less of a call to send him well wishes, and more an excuse to remind him that he’s another year older and still painfully single and she’s still without a grandchild. Running a palm down the length of his face as he stepped into the elevator to take it up to his floor.

“Good morning, Dynamight,” You smiled from your desk as he walked past, “And happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” He rasped gruffly in response, it was the first time he’d used his voice all morning.

“I left you a coffee on your desk.”

God, you really were the best part about his day.

You were apprehensive when Bakugou walked by with a heavy set frown across is brow. It wasn’t unusual for him to be grumpy this early in the day, the Pro was definitely not a morning person— but he seemed even more annoyed today. And you were positive the influx of gifts that waited for him by the copier would only serve to irritate him more. Especially when a US limited edition All Might figure he’d ordered from overseas as a gift to himself had still not been delivered. Grimacing when you’d checked the tracking when you woke up this morning and noticed it sat in an airport postal office on the outskirts of Kawasaki; you knew he wouldn’t be happy.

And that’s why you were even more nervous for him to see the gift you’d left sitting on his desk. A gift that definitely couldn’t compare from the small fortune he’d spent on himself.

It was difficult thinking about the perfect gift to get a man that could buy himself anything he wanted, even more difficult when the man happened to be your boss. Any time you looked through shop windows at the various fragrances, gift sets and jewellery everything felt too ostentatious, too intimate. Putting down a garish tie that you wondered why you’d even thought about buying, and settling on a single purchase of an All Might themed birthday card you were certain was for children as you decided to make him something instead.

“What the fuck is this?” You heard Bakugou shout from his office and you felt your heart rattle against your ribcage.

Standing from your desk to open the parted door to see him standing in front of your gift. The All Might card already open and displayed on top of his desk as his attention now sat on the open white box that he’d unwrapped.

“It’s uh— a cake.” You smiled softly.

Bakugou raised a brow at your answer as he directed his gaze back to the cake that sat on top of his desk. Three tiers of soft sponge covered in a vibrant orange icing, with black lines decorating it to replicate the crosses that sat against his chest on his hero costume. You’d never claimed to be a baker, the cake nothing like the one you could’ve probably picked up from Bakugou’s favourite bakery. You knew the exact cakes he enjoyed too, but when googling recipes none seemed to be close to your level or expertise.

And what made it worse is the dessert had not travelled well on your morning commute. Holding tightly onto the box while you contended with the Musutafu rush hour had meant that the tiers had now begun to slide out of place as the cake sat leaning inside its box, now looking rather pathetic.

“A cake?” He repeated, his eyes glancing back down at the vanilla sponge that had a messy attempt of ‘Happy Birthday Dynamight’ scrawled across the top. The piping bag had not been kind to you when you attempted the design, wishing the text looked more like your handwriting and less like you’d baked with a four year old. Which was probably what your boss was thinking right now as he stared down at the sweet treat.

“I’m sorry,” You felt your cheeks burn, “I thought it would be a nice idea—”

“Did you make it yourself?” Bakugou asked, although it was clear that you had. Any shop that would dare to even attempt to sell a monstrosity like this should be shut down.

“Well, yeah,” You hovered in place, “I tried to follow the recipe, and I thought it was going well, but I think I put too much buttercream on, and I’m not very good at piping—”

You found yourself rambling, and it just made you feel worse. Reaching over to flip the cardboard lid back over it to take it away and shield yourself from any further embarrassment.

“Are you not going to have some with me?” Bakugou stopped you from closing the lid completely, his crimson eyes full of sincerity.

“Cake for breakfast? It’s not even nine am—”

“So?” He scoffed, “It’s my birthday. If I can’t have cake for breakfast today then what’s the fuckin’ point? Unless you’re trying to kill me—”

“No!” You wanted the ground to swallow you whole, “Does it really look that bad?”

You looked down at the sad, pathetic excuse of a cake. Hard to see all the time, energy and love that went into it when it drooped so pitifully.

“It looks like shit.” He smirked.

“I should’ve just bought one,” You sighed, remembering how pretty all the cakes had been on the online websites you were going to order from before you had the brilliant idea to bake one yourself. Hell, even the cute little cupcakes in the coffee shop you went to each morning looked better than this.

“Nah,” Bakugou shook his head, “It’s perfect.”

It was noon by the time Bakugou had decided to pick the phone up to answer one of his mothers numerous calls to him, eyeing the voicemails that she’d left which no doubt chastised him for not picking the phone up. He’d delete those later.

“Katsuki—” Her voice already had him closing his eyes and rubbing his temple as he settled back in his desk chair. Still better than paperwork— “How hard is it for a mother to wish her son a happy birthday. Don’t you forget that I’m the one who birthed you—”

“Yeah, yeah, Ma. I’m sorry,” He sighed, “Work’s been kickin’ my ass.”

“You shouldn’t be working on your birthday, anyway!” She continued, “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?”

“I’ve got too much to do.” He didn’t. The paperwork could wait, and he didn’t have a patrol scheduled this week. His sidekicks eager to find their own positions in the hero rankings so they’d picked up all the available slots, leaving Bakugou in his office.

“All you ever do is work anymore, Katsuki.” She continued, “When are you coming to visit? Your father says he hasn’t heard from you in weeks.”

“I’ll come by soon.” Maybe. He thought.

“You should be spending less time working and more time settling down. You’re not a young man anymore, Katsuki.” Here it comes, “And I want grandchildren while I can still chase after them!”

He scoffed. Even when he was a child Mitsuki still hadn’t been able to catch up with him, but the thought of her running around after his kids had an unfamiliar warmth swirling in his chest.

“It must be lonely, son,” She continued, and for once he stopped to think about it.

“There is someone, Ma—” Bakugou smiled as his eyes looked towards the half eaten cake that sat on the edge of his desk.

If he could ever tell you.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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helen-with-an-a · 2 months

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Embarrassing Moments

Hi. So this is my first real fic I've written but yeh. This is inspired by mine and @lyak12 's ramblings and daydreamings hehe.

Anyways, I don't think there are any warnings - it gets a little suggestive but no outright smut (if you get me) anyways here it is

Lucy Bronze x reader

TW: Suggestive (no outright smut - lead up to it)

Word count: 3.3k

Description: Lucy wants to break your record after the Champions League final

You had done it. Champions of Europe. You felt bodies land on you, causing you to stagger forwards. It hadn’t sunk in yet, and you weren’t quite sure you wanted to. This daze, this elation. You finally understood was Lucy was talking about, you wanted it again. She had always said as soon as she won something it was onto the next thing. And she was right. You had missed out on the Euros through injury, but you knew you wanted this feeling to never stop and to replicated it in a few months with the 3 Lions on your chest. Missing out on the Euros was saddening but getting to watch the entire tournament as a fan was an experience you hadn’t been able to do for a long time. But this joy was something else. Knowing that it was you that helped drag your team over the finish line. Knowing that you contributed to this win.

‘Oh, my fucking god!’ Keira screamed, arms wrapping round your shoulders.

‘Oh, my fucking god!’ You laughed, finally coming down to earth a little bit – at least enough to soak up the moment.

You were passed around from person to person. Sweaty hugs, sloppy kisses planted on cheeks, laughter and shouts coming from all directions. It wasn’t until familiar strong arms gripped you tightly that your head finally came out of the clouds.

‘Campeones de Europa,’ you said softly as you grinned up at her. ‘What’s this title? Number 4?’ She laughed

‘Eh. This one’s the most special.’ She replied. You furrowed your eyebrows at her, cocking your head to the side. ‘I’ve got you to celebrate with me’.

‘Oh, dear lord, Luce. So bloody cheesy’.

‘What can I say? I’ve got a trophy. And another champions league medal’. You rolled your eyes. She was always joking that out of all the medals and titles she’d won, you were her best prize.

You stood side by side as you clapped for Wolfsburg. Despite not knowing many of them personally, you knew how hard this would be for them. You didn’t doubt they would be back with a vengeance next year. Suddenly, it was your turn. Aitana was in front of you, beaming away and prattling something in Catalan. You couldn’t understand it, but you didn’t care. She was happy and that’s all that mattered.

Lucy was behind you – a hand dangerously low on your waist as she gently pushed you towards the officials. ‘Gracias,’ you murmured as a medal was slipped round your neck. You felt so much pride as you stepped up to kiss the trophy. Barcelona’s trophy. Your trophy. You took your place on the podium and pressed yourself into Lucy’s side. More shouts and cheers rang out as confetti rained down.

‘Hey.’ Lucy called to get your attention. You were trying to find your family – you had seen them briefly yesterday but, like all match days didn’t look for them in the crowd before the game. You turned, smiling when you realised just how close you were to her body. Hard muscles, soft skin, and that unique Lucy scent – a little sweaty, floral undertones from her shampoo and body wash and something undeniably Lucy. It was intoxicating. ‘I’m going to kiss you now. Okay?’ You think it was a question but the way she said it was a statement. Her hands threaded through you hair. The slightest nod was all she allowed before her lips were on yours. You heard cheers from the crowd and teammates alike and fervent camera clicks.

‘That’s…’ you breathed out when you parted. ‘That’s ... we're gonna break the internet.’ You weren’t really concerned. You had never hidden your 3-year relationship, but you had never been a fan of PDA, especially during a game.

‘Good.’ She smiled that breath-taking grin, pressing another kiss to your lips, before whisking you off to find your families.

‘You know …’ Lucy trailed off a little while later. You were back in the hotel lobby. Her arms wrapped around you as her fingers dipped below the waistband of your shorts. ‘I’ve been thinking’. You could tell exactly what she was thinking about. Her eyes had been slowly darkening since the dressing room. You had taken off your shirt (the sweaty material was sticking to you in a way that was slowly becoming too much) and danced around with Patri and Pina, screaming Spanish lyrics you only half understood – alcohol working wonders to slowly take away your inhibitions and reservations.

‘Oh no, that’s never good.’ You joked. You had eased up on the alcohol after the changing rooms. You didn’t want to be too drunk that you couldn’t experience the celebrations. Lucy was still nursing a beer, but you knew she was nowhere near drunk.

‘Ha ha,’ She said sarcastically. She readjusted the pair of you, your hands moving to fiddle with the loose hairs at the nape of her neck. ‘I was thinking we should set a new record…’ She waited for you to get what she meant. You looked confused for a moment, her eyebrow raising in response. It clicked. She wanted to beat your previous orgasm record. After the Euros you had gone, round after round, until you finally tapped out at 5 am. ‘It was seven for you after the Euros, right? Combined total of 11? I don’t think we’ve beaten that since then. But I have a feeling… tonight is the night. We’re going for 8… maybe even 9.’ The way she was talking so casually about your previous sex-capades had you blushing scarlet. You weren’t a prude per say but you weren’t as open as Lucy - never really spilling your secrets to your friends, often sporting a bright blush on your cheeks as stories were swapped across the changing rooms. You looked around, but no one was paying attention. Alexia had already dragged Olga off, and it looked like Mapi and Ingrid weren’t too far away either. You could see a hint of lime green disappearing around a corner, so you assumed Jill and Jana were making themselves scarce.

You couldn’t wait any longer. You pushed yourself up onto your toes and smashed your lips into Lucy’s. It wasn’t a pretty kiss. It was intense. Tongues and teeth clashing. Incredibly indecent and not at all appropriate for a public space. But you couldn’t find it in you to care.

‘Take me to bed’. You whispered. You were surprised she heard you – the music was loud and the conversations even louder.

‘Your wish is my command, princess’. The honorific had you clenching you thighs in anticipation of what was to come. The lift was torturous, the walk back to your room agonising, the wait as she fiddled with the key card was unbearable. But finally … finally, you were in your room.

You saw the intensity in Lucy’s eyes as you made your way passed her. It was a little overwhelming you, so to avoid her gaze, you played with the medal that was still swinging around your neck. ‘Your first Champions League title.’ You smiled, quietly proud of the achievement. You had come to Barcelona from your childhood club, Man City, as part of the exodus of players that left the club in the summer. You had never been the receiver of individual awards – not like Lucy who had probably hundreds of accolades to her name. But this felt special. Yes, it was a team award, but you were coming off of an injury that had prevented you from having the euro call up. The Spanish media had started calling you ‘la creadora de juego. ‘The playmaker’. You had been instrumental in most goals this season, either direct assists or making initial runs and occasionally tapping them in yourself. This felt like your medal.

‘I am so proud of you’. Lucy snapped you out of your daze with a gentle hand on your cheek. Whilst you were zoning out, she had stripped out of her top and shorts. It was a sight to see. It had you dizzy at the thought out what that body would do to you and what you could do to it. Thick thighs you could get yourself off on. Defined abs that would clench as you sent her flying over the edge. Strong arms that would hold you to her as she caught her breath again. Rough but soft hands that could have you teetering on the precipice in mere moments.

‘Te voy a follar hasta que veas estrellas.’ That had your head spinning even more. She was well aware of what her use of Spanish did to you and frequently used it to her advantage. I’m going to fuck you until you see stars. God, you hoped so. You let out a shaky breath. ‘Traffic lights?’ She asked, an eyebrow raised in expectation. You cleared your throat. You knew you had to be confident when you told her what the system meant.

‘Green means I’m good. Yellow means slow down. Red means stop’. Your voice was a little shaky.

‘Good girl’. Your heart fluttered as she leant down.

‘I’m not going to hold back.’ She reminded you. Her lips working on your neck leaving dark marks in their wake.

‘I don’t want you too’ You replied as you settle against the pillows. You could feel a smile against your naval as she descended down your body.

The sun is what awoke you the next morning. You were on your front, arms thrown over Lucy as your head rested on her outstretched arm. Her face was turned away from you, but you could already see the damage you had done to her neck. The crisp white sheet contrasted greatly against her tanned skin, but even though it covered her from her waist, you could still see the darkening splotches that you had bitten and sucked into her skin. You doubt you looked much better. You tried to shift so you could shower away the stickiness on your skin, but you couldn’t move. Lucy was facing away from you, her other hand resting on her stomach, so she couldn’t be blamed for whatever was keeping you hostage.

It was then, when you had become more aware of your body, just had much you ached. You had beaten you previous record last night. In fact, you had absolutely demolished your score. She had pulled 10 from you last night. And you had given her 6. You couldn’t imagine what it would take for you to beat this record – maybe the winning World Cup? ‘Luce,’ you called out. Your voice was raspy and deep. This was new – you knew you were loud in bed – you could no longer look at some of your City ex-teammates without being reminded of the amount of teasing you had received after an away win and Lucy’s return to games following an injury – but you’ve never lost your voice from sex before. You cleared your throat at tried again. ‘Luce?’ It was a little better – still undeniably overused but hopefully you could pass it off as from the match and pitch-side celebrations. It was clear that Lucy was still dead to the world, she always had been a deep sleeper, so with a monumental effort, you peeled yourself away from the warmth of her body and shuffled to the edge of the bed. It took more effort and a lot longer than you anticipated but you managed it. You could feel how weak you were, and you knew you couldn’t stand up without help.

‘Hmm, no. Come back.’ A deep, sleep-laced voiced complained from behind you.

‘I need help’. That got Lucy sitting up.

‘What’s wrong?’ She asked quickly, the panic evident in her voice.

‘I can’t stand up’

‘What do you mean you can’t stand …’ she trailed off. ‘Ohhhhh. Fucked you that good, did I?’ You could hear the smugness in her voice. ‘Did such a good job you can’t stand up’.

‘Please, Luce. We need to shower and get breakfast. It’s already past 10’.

‘Alright, alright. I’m here.’ You felt the bed moving before Lucy appeared in front of you. She offered you a hand which you took gratefully. You went to stand again but it was clear that Lucy would need to give more than just a hand. She chuckled a little at your gentle blush but hooked an arm under your elbow and helped you to the shower. You eyed her sceptically as she moved to get in with you.

‘You can barely stand,’ She protested, ‘I’m not about to let you try and shower alone’.

‘Ok but no funny business,’ you warned. She chucked and pressed a sweet kiss to your hairline.

The walk down to breakfast was a slight struggle. After showering you did feel a lot better. Lucy had rubbed the soap into your skin, giving a light a light massage as she went. But you still couldn’t stand up without assistance – once you were standing you were fine, when you were sitting you were fine, the moving in between was the issue. You also had a slight limp in your step and your voice was still raspy. Even after drinking 2 full bottles of water.

‘Hola Y/N. Hola Lucy’. Vicky called from where she was sat. Fuck! You had forgotten the B team had come to watch the match yesterday.

‘H – Hey Vicky’ You cleared your throat and smiled at the 16-year-old as Lucy deposited you next to her. You watched as her face furrowed in confusion and concern – the site of you limping and sounding so rough was not nice for her.

‘What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself in the match?’ Oh, she was so innocent.

‘Yeah, Y/N, did you get hurt last night?’ Mapi looked with faux concern as she sat down at your table. Your jaw tightened as you glared at her.

‘No, no. I’m alright Vicky. I probably just celebrated a little too hard’. You tried to reassure her. Martina looked a little suspicious of you, but the rest of the B team nodded, seeming to accept your answer.

‘Is that right? Partied too hard, did you?’ Alexia sniggered. ‘Or was it another type of celebration that’s got you like this?’ She whispered as she took a seat on your left. You shot her a look.

A plate with a selection of breakfast foods was put in front of you as Lucy slotted in on your right. ‘Thanks, darling’ you said as a kiss was dropped on your head. ‘I don’t think that’s the only name you go by, is it Lucy?’ Patri laughed. You could feel your cheeks beginning to flare pink. Lucy just laughed along, not really minding the light-hearted teasing.

‘Also, Y/N you owe me several coffees. Because of you, I’d didn’t get any sleep,’ Pina added on. Your eyes widened at her comment.

‘Hey. We were celebrating what, can I say?’ Lucy shrugs as she sips on her coffee

‘There’s celebrating and then there’s whatever you guys were doing’ Ana giggled

‘Hey it’s perfectly natural. We’re all human and every human has needs,’ Lucy commented, nonchalantly.

‘Not everyone needs to know what happens behind closed doors, Luce’ You tried to sound joking and confident, but you knew you failed

‘You made it our business by being so loud,’ Salma chuckles.

‘Ok but surely your needs were met by round 3 or 4?’ Laia added in. Lucy just smiled in response and kissed your cheek, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

With every comment thrown your way about your evening with Lucy your cheeks got more and more scarlet. If you could stand up on your own, you would have left to go back to your room by now. It’s not that you necessarily minded the comments thrown your way, it was more that you didn’t like to have all the jokes be at your expense. Due to Lucy’s lack of reaction are your significant and obvious one, you were an easy target. It wasn’t until a comment by Mapi that Lucy intervenes.

‘Hey, Lucy. Do you mind giving me tips? Ingrid’s record is 4 but our anniversary is coming up and based what we all heard last night, I think you might have some.’ That set everyone off on another round of loud laughter. Even Paños and Marta joined in this time– usually they don’t entertain childish comments from some members of the squad.

‘Guys…’ you said weakly. Sure, Lucy liked having a joke around, a little giggle at her, or your, expense was ok every now and then. But she could see this was really beginning to affect you. Your head was bowed down, attempting to hide the worst of the blush. You looked seconds away from crying.

‘Alright, alright. Sorry, I kept you guys up. But let’s move it along, shall we?’ Lucy tried to steer the conversation away from your sex lives without disrupting the joking atmosphere.

‘It’s not you that kept us up.’ Bruna responded.

‘Suficiente’. Lucy said, firmer this time, in that voice that does things to you but everyone else knows she means business. And in Spanish. She knew that would get everyone’s attention – including yours. How could you still be horny after last night? You didn’t have an answer, but you knew it was all down to the woman sitting next you, her hand splayed wide, rubbing comforting circles on your lower back.

‘So, what’s everyone’s plans before the international break or pre-season?’ Ingrid asked. It was an obvious subject change, but you were grateful, nonetheless.

‘Hey, I’m sorry we took it too far,’ Alexia murmured as the attention shifted onto holiday plans. ‘We’re not judging you or anything. Personally, I’m very impressed. My record with Olga is 6 and even then, we have to spend the day in bed afterwards. How many was it?’

’10, I think. Lucy had 6’ You whispered back; voice barely audible as the volume in the breakfast room picked up.

’10. Ay dios mío. No wonder you’re barely walking.’ Alexia seemed incredulous. ‘I’m definitely going to need tips’. She laughed, as did you. Your laughter caught Lucy’s attention. You were still sporting a slight blush, but she could tell you were much more relaxed.

Eventually, breakfast came to an end. People slowly began drifting back to their rooms to get ready for the official celebrations this afternoon. As Lucy helped you stand, you could see Mapi shaking her head, laughing. She was clearly about to say something when Ingrid, the ever-perceptive woman that she was, wrapped an arm around her and pulled her away before anything was said. You winced slightly as you started moving, but you were definitely more mobile than this morning.

‘I really don’t like you right now,’ you grumbled, pouting to emphasise your point – the sounds muffled but still perceptible to Lucy, having been long acquainted with your dramatics.

Lucy laughed loudly at your comment as she sat on the bed. Despite your words, you stepped into her embrace, her fingers gently tracing lines up the back of your thighs.

‘No, you don’t’

‘Yes, I do’ Your actions betraying your words as you pushed her to lie back against the pillows.

Lucy’s laugh must have been loud enough for it to be heard from outside as Mapi shouts drifted through the wood ‘Don’t be too loud. There are children prese-’. A harsh smack cut her off. ‘Ay! Tan violenta, Jesus’ She complained.

‘Sorry, Y/N’, Ingrid’s much softer voice floated passed the door. You groaned in response. But Lucy only laughed more.

‘Come here,’ she commanded gently. You allowed yourself to fall into her warmth.

‘Mmmm, you owe me, Bronze. That was humiliating,’ you mumbled; the events of the last 24 hours catching up with you quickly.

‘Ok…’ Lucy snickered, knowing you didn’t really mind what had happened at breakfast and you definitely wanted a repeat of the night before. As she went to speak again, she noticed your breaths evening out – light puffs of air reaching her neck as you buried your head in her shoulder. ‘Never change, Y/N. Never change’.

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso soccer #barca femeni x reader #barca femeni #fc barcelona

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drvscarlett · 1 month

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The Tortured Drivers' Department

— combining another one of my favorites. I'll be taking notes and writing fics about which TTPD song do I associate with the drivers ( + I will be including the retired ones). This is the main list and I'll be linking them when I finished writing them. Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Also give TTPD a listen. Its so beautiful and a masterpiece

Fortnight

— i love you, its ruining my life (Lewis Hamilton x Mercedes!reader)

The Tortured Poets Department

— At dinner you take my ring off my middle finger and put it on the one people put wedding rings on. And that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding (Pierre Gasly x ex!reader)

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

— 'Cause he took me out of my box, stole my tortured heart left all these broken parts (Lando Norris x reader)

Down Bad

— Fuck it if I can't have him (Charles Leclerc x kpop idol!reader)

So Long, London

— You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? (George Russell x secret girlfriend! reader)

But Daddy I Love Him

— "I'm having his baby" No, I'm not, but you should see your faces (Alex Albon x Horner!reader)

Fresh Out the Slammer

— Now, pretty baby, I'm runnin' back home to you (Esteban Ocon x childhood bestfriend!reader)

Florida!!! (feat. Florence + the Machine)

—I need to forget, so take me to Florida (Logan Sargeant x heiress!reader)

Guilty as Sin?

—What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind? (Oscar Piastri x bestfriend!reader)

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

— I was tame, I was gentle till the circus life made me mean (Nico Rosberg x Lewis Hamilton)

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

— they shake their heads, saying, "God help her" when I tell 'em he's my man (Daniel Ricciardo x longtime girlfriend!reader)

loml

— Oh, what a valiant roar. What a bland goodbye. The coward claimed he was a lion (Max Verstappen x childhood sweetheart!reader)

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

— Lights, camera, bitch, smile (Zhou Guanyu x model!reader)

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

— And I'll forget you, but I'll never forgive (Yuki Tsunoda x Actress!reader)

The Alchemy

—'Cause the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me (Kimi Räikkönen x assistant!reader)

Clara Bow

— This town is fake, but you're the real thing (Sebastian Vettel x Ferrari heir!reader)

The Black Dog

— I am someone who, until recent events you shared your secrets with (Mick Schumacher x driver!reader

imgonnagetyouback

— I'm an Aston Martin that you steered straight into the ditch (Fernando Alonso x wife!reader)

The Albatross

— She's the albatross, she is here to destroy you (Jenson Button x revenger!reader)

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

—So if I sell my apartment and you have some kids with an internet starlet. Will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon? (Carlos Sainz x Vasseur!reader)

How Did It End?

— The deflation of our dreaming leaving me bereft and reeling (Logan Sargeant x Oscar Piastri)

So High School

—You knew what you wanted, and, boy, you got her (Charles Leclerc x reader ft Max Verstappen x childhood friend!reader)

I Hate It Here

—I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind (Kimi Räikkönen x interviewer! reader)

thanK you aIMee

— And then she wrote headlines in the local paper laughing at each baby step I'd take (Mark Webber x reader)

I Look in People’s Windows

—What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time (Sebastian Vettel x reader)

The Prophecy

—Don't want money, just someone who wants my company (Pierre Gasly x politician's daughter!reader)

Cassandra

—So they killed Cassandra first cause she feared the worst (Lewis Hamilton x wife!reader)

Peter

— Forgive me, Peter, please know that I tried to hold onto the days when you were mine (Lando Norris x reader)

The Bolter

— "Oh, we must stop meeting like this" (Max Verstappen x hollywood starlet!reader)

Robin

— You have no room in your dreams for regrets (Oscar Piastri x girlfriend!reader)

The Manuscript

—One last souvenir from my trip to your shores. Now and then I re-read the manuscript. But the story isn't mine anymore (Carlos Sainz x McLaren employee!reader)

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 masterlist #max verstappen x reader #lance stroll x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #fernando alonso x reader #jenson button x reader #sebastian vettel x reader

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astercontrol · 3 months

Text

If KOSA passes

Or if any other form of censorship (there are many in the works!) ever succeeds at stepping in to impede our ability to communicate online:

We have to make plans.

Now, I dunno who'll even see this post. The few followers I have are TRON fans (who despite the fantasy we live in, tend to have realistically dismal views IRL about Disney and the various corporate uses of software).

And this fandom, on average, is pretty tech-savvy. It's where I've encountered the most people under 20 years old who actually know how to use a desktop or laptop computer.

So, if there's any hope for what I'm thinking about, this is prolly a good place to start with it.

(As with all my posts, I encourage reblogging and containment-breaching.)

(Gifs are clips from TRON 1982, mainly the "deleted love scene," from the DVD extras.)

Anyway.

Current society has moved online communication much too far onto major social media sites for my comfort. Whoever you communicate with over the internet, chances are you do it through a service owned by a big company: Tumblr, Twitter, Discord, Telegram, Facebook, whatever. Even TikTok (shudder).

These sites, despite their many flaws, can provide experiences that are valuable and hard to get otherwise. And once all your friends are on one site, you can't just leave and stay in touch with them all, not unless they all go the same place. It's easy to see why it's hard to abandon any social media platform.

But a backup plan is important. Because, as we've seen over and over, social media sites can't be relied on. They change their policies suddenly, without good reason-- and are inconsistent, even discriminatory, about enforcing those policies.

If they're funded by ads, the advertisers are their main customers, and your posts are the product. Their goal is that the posts most valuable to the advertisers get seen by people the advertisers consider desirable customers.

Helping you communicate-- making your posts get seen by the people you want to communicate with-- is optional to them.

Not to mention that the whole business model of an ad-funded website is generally unsustainable. Many of these sites are operating at a loss, relying on shareholders in a fragile bubble, doomed to fail soon just from lack of real profit.

And the more restrictions --like KOSA-- that the law puts on freedom of online speech, the likelier they are to go down or just become unusable. Every rule a site is required to follow is another strain on its resources, and most of them are already failing badly at even enforcing their own self-imposed rules.

If we want any control over our continued ability to stay in touch with our online friends-- we need to have a backup plan. Maybe it'll be simple at first, a bare-bones system we cobble together-- but it's gotta be something that will work. For a while at least.

There are lots of really good posts about ways to build your own website, using a service like Neocities. I VERY MUCH recommend learning this skill-- learning to make websites of the very simplest, most stable, glitch-resistant type, made of html pages-- which you can upload to a host while you store backups on your home computer. If you value the writing and art that you put online, this is probably the safest you can keep it.

But that's for making your own creative work public.

As for communicating with others-- for example, receiving and answering other people's comments on your work-- that gets more complex. I personally haven't found it worthwhile to troubleshoot the problems that come with having a system that allows visitors to comment publicly on my website.

But what we do still have-- and likely will for a long time-- is email.

Those of us who came of age before social media's current hold... well, we might take this for granted. Email was the first form of online contact we ever encountered… and thus it can seem to us like the most ordinary, the most boring.

But in the current world, it is a rare and precious thing to find a method of communicating that doesn't require everyone in the chat to be signed on with the same corporation.

Email is, as of now, still perfectly legal-- as much as social media companies have been trying to herd the populace away from it. I'm sure there are other ways to share thoughts online that are not bound by laws. But I am not going to go into that here.

Email service is provided by law-abiding companies, which will comply with subpoenas if law enforcement thinks you are emailing about doing illegal things. So, email is not a surefire way to be safe, if laws become dystopian enough to threaten your freedom to talk about your own life and identity.

But it's safer than posting on a public social media page.

For now.

Email is beautifully decentralized. You can get an email address many different ways-- some reliant on a company like Gmail, others hosted on your own domain. And different people, with all different types of email addresses, hosted in all different ways-- can all communicate together by the same method.

Of course any of these people, individually, can lose their email address for some reason or other, and have to get a new one. But as long as they still know the email addresses of their contacts, they can reconnect and recover from that loss. The structure of a group linked by email is reliant not on a single company-- but on the group itself, the friends you can actually count on.

This is why I am trying to promote the idea of forming email lists, as a backup plan to give people a way to stay in touch as mainstream social media sites prove to be unsustainable.

I'm envisioning a simple system of sending emails to several addresses at once, and making each reply visible to everyone in the chat by using "reply all" (or, if desired, editing the To field to reply to only some).

If enough people get used to using email in this way, it could fill most of the needs met by any other group chat or forum …without depending on a centralized social media company that's taking dystopian measures to try and make the business profitable.

So here are some thoughts about how I personally imagine it could work.

(Feel free to comment and bring up any thoughts I haven't addressed, or suggestions to customize how specific groups could set it up. This is meant as more of a starting point for brainstorming than a catch-all solution.)

As I see it, here are the basics of what you and your friends would each need to start out:

An email address. Any kind, hosted anywhere. You should use a dedicated email account just for this group, one that you do NOT use for other communication. Being in this group will result in things you don't want happening to your main email address-- like getting a TON of email, one for every post and reply. Or someone could get your email address that you really don't want any contact with. Use a burner email account (one that you can easily replace) and change it if needed.

The knowledge of how to "REPLY ALL" in your email. This will be necessary in order to add a comment that everyone in the group can see.

The knowledge of how to EDIT THE "TO" FIELD in your email, and remove addresses from the list of all recipients. This will be necessary if you want to CHANGE WHICH PEOPLE in the group can see your comment.

The knowledge of how to FILTER WORDS in your email. This will be necessary if a topic comes up that you don't want to see any mentions of.

The knowledge of how to BLOCK PEOPLE in your email. This will be very important. If someone joins this email group who you do not want to interact with, it will be up to you to BLOCK them so that you do NOT see their messages. (If they are bad enough to evade the block with multiple burner accounts, that's what you have a burner account for. Change it, and share the new one only with those you trust not to give it to them.)

Every person in the group will be effectively a "moderator" of the group, able to remove people from it by cutting their email addresses out of the "To" field. Members will all have equal "moderator" privileges, each able to tailor the group to their own needs.

This means the group may naturally split, over time, into other groups, each one removing some people and adding others. Some will overlap, some won't. This is good! This is, in my opinion, what online interaction SHOULD be like! There should be MANY groups like this!

In this way, we can keep online discussion alive, no matter WHAT happens to any of the social media websites.

If the dystopia got bad enough to shut down email, we could even continue with postal mail and photocopies, like they did in the days of print-zine fanfiction.

If it looks like the dystopia is gonna come for postal mail too, we'll use the connection we have to preserve whatever contacts we can with people who live near us.

Not saying it's GONNA get that bad. But these steps of preparation are good no matter exactly what kind of bad stuff happens.

As long as some organized form of communication still exists, we'll have a place where it's at least a little safer to be your true self…

to plan events and meetups…

and maybe even activities a little too risque to make the final cut of a 1982 Disney movie.

They're trying to censor us. We want a Free System. So we're gonna fight back.

For the Users. Not the corporations.

Peace out, programs. <3

#tron #tronblr #tron 1982 #userworldproblems #diy punk #censorship #kosa #internet literacy #email #solutions

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bowlofsoob · 8 months

Text

SOOBIN AS YOUR MUTUAL THAT YOU HATE IRL — part one

part two

soobin x gender neutral reader

you and “steve” have been mutuals on twitter for almost a year as you both run bebe rexha fan accounts. he uses a fake name and you guys get along well, you talk to him more than your irl friends atp. on the other hand you and soobin don’t get along irl after constantly competing for the number one spot on the academic leaderboard. since then he always gives you a rbf and says he finds you too obnoxious. but that all changes when you finally decide to meet your favorite oomf in person.

notes; this could be an entire smau lowk but i’m lazy so take the part one and part two xx

later that week

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐་༘

Your stomach was swarming with nerves as you made your way inside the cafe, the scent of freshly made coffee and sweaty college students surrounding you as you slid into line. Admittedly, you never thought you’d get the chance to meet Steve, or whatever his actual name was, he was just your cute internet friend and nothing would ever happen. That was, until today.

It was a bit embarrassing that you stared at the selfie he’d sent for longer than you should’ve. It was difficult to comprehend the boy you’d been talking to for so long was hiding such a pretty figure.

You eye the display of cakes and decide to pick one up for the both of you as Steve had already promised to get you guys coffee. You felt bad going empty handed after finally meeting him.

You reach down to grab onto the last chocolate slice and your hands meet another. Usually, you’d let it slide and choose something else even though you touched it first. But, when you looked to your left and locked eyes with your self-proclaimed enemy, Choi Soobin, those thoughts washed away. You were going to fight for that slice of mediocre cake.

“Not you again,” Soobin sighed, tugging the slice towards him, “Don’t be obnoxious.”

“Says you,” you scoff, tightly grabbing onto the plate, “Why are you always so rude towards me?”

“Ask yourself the same thing,” Soobin replies, his large hands tugging the cake closer towards him, “Choose something else.”

“You choose something else, I got to it first!”

“Ok and?” Soobin questions, like the little shit he is.

“Fine, just take it,” you sigh, not wanting to make Steve wait. But as you let go of the cake and step back you notice Soobin’s outfit. He was adorned in clothes that oddly resembled the photo Steve had sent you.

“You made me lose my appetite,” Soobin mutters, dropping the cake and shuffling past you. You shake off the familiarity and make your way towards the back. Most men wore the same clothes, it was nothing.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

You eye the walls of the cafe until you come across the tiled design. You start scouring the seats for someone that resembled Steve but the only person in your vicinity was Soobin.

You inch your way closer towards him with morbid curiosity, hoping that your suspicions would be proved wrong. But as you got closer the drinks on the table and location of your rival were too similar to the photo Steve had sent you.

Unfortunately, Soobin locked eyes with you.

“What do you want? Are you here to apologize?” he questions, playing with the straw of his drink as he barely give you a glance.

“Steve?” you tentatively ask, your voice hoarse from the nerves. This couldn’t be happening.

Soobin pauses.

“What?” he slowly asks, turning to look at you, “What did you call me?”

“Oh my god,” you gasp, “Are you pagebebe?”

“What…,” he starts, catching on, “You’re bebeyn4lyfe?”

Your username sounds foreign on his tongue but it was him. Soobin was your steve. Your beloved Steve was the same guy you’ve been on bad terms with all year. Just your luck.

Before Soobin could comprehend anything or you could answer, you decide to do the most mature thing anyone would do in that situation.

You run.

And he doesn’t follow.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

#txt smau #txt x reader #soobin x gender neutral reader #soobin x reader #soobin x you #soobin x yn #soobin x male reader #soobin x y/n #soobin smau #soobin texts #txt x gender neutral reader #txt x gn reader

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nsfwflint · 8 days

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Thnks Fr Th Mmrs/Official Goodbye Post

Well this was clearly going to happen eventually after retirement but I think it's for the best that I finally step away from this blog.

First things first, I want to thank everyone who supported me throughout the years. I started this blog in the middle of 2020 and all of you who supported me helped me get through some tough times, including the death of a family member. For a while, this blog was tons of fun. Ideas and words were flowing onto pages and the creative spark was immensely satisfying. Seeing people enjoy my own niche but vanilla works helped me feel good about my writing.

Like I said, this blog was a lot of fun. Until it wasn't. The pressure to perform, the idea that each piece had to be better than the one before it, even if nobody expected that. The growing "meta" of the community with certain idols becoming "mainstream". While I never tried to focus too much on notes, it did quickly get demoralizing to see pieces I poured countless hours of work into get less notes than some random pieces just because the idol I chose was less popular. It wasn't even really about the notes, it was about wanting to feel like the work I put in was acknowledged. Even though I shouldn't have let it affect me, as someone who always struggled with acknowledgement of others, it was tough on me. Eventually it felt like more and more of a chore to write because why bother if I'm not going to be acknowledged for my effort anyway?

This combined with drama from other writers (since this is goodbye post I don't feel bad about airing the dirty laundry, Peach you're still a bitch whose fragile ego couldn't take the same trash talk you dished to countless other people) and the community shifting to younger and younger idols to the point that I felt massively uncomfortable just communicating with some of the other writers in this circle of the internet, killed the spark I had for this hobby.

So I decided to retire. I flirted with a comeback every once in awhile, tried to finish at least a few of the multitude of partial drafts I had started to varying degrees over the years. But despite all of these efforts, I found that my love for this community truly died. But I still held onto to whatever vague attachments I had to this blog and tried to transform it into a random space to geek about my various hobbies since this was the biggest platform I've ever achieved while also messaging the few writers I still talked to. But as more and more of those writers also disappeared, it's time for me to accept that it's time to say goodbye.

Over the past few months I've been taking big steps to get my life into a place I want it to be and I think a big part of that now also involves laying this blog to rest. It's not fair to you guys who are still here expecting some type of possible comeback, and it's not fair to me to hold onto these feelings that at this point can only be reduced to nostalgia. While my catalog might not be as long or extensive as some of the other writers in the community, I'm still pretty proud of the work I put out for the most part.

If by any chance anyone still even reads any of my works, don't worry. The blog itself isn't going anywhere, I'm not deleting it. It'll stay here for a good long time. It just won't be a place I visit anymore.

Even though most of the following people are now gone, I want to take this time to thank some of the most influential people behind my time on this blog.

First, huge thanks once again to the amazing @lockefanfic and @sinsatmidnight. I've said it a million times but you two were the whole reason I started writing in the first place. You helped me onto this amazing journey and I'll always appreciate you for it.

@ggidolsmuts, @cataboliac, @themanthemyththeverite, you guys were some of my best friends in this community and I appreciate everything you all did for me. I love you guys.

A special shoutout to @kingmaker-a, you were my biggest fan and you were a huge reason why I kept going for a while. My last couple of pieces are definitely out because of your support.

A giant thank you to the 9,500ish who were here over the years. While I never quite got to 10k followers or hit 1k notes, the fact that there's still so many of you here never ceased to amaze me, especially since I never expected to get 100 followers, let alone almost 100 times that. Truly amazing and you all hold a special place in my heart.

And finally, to quote a manga I enjoy, "if you liked my work I'm happy, and if you didn't, I'm sorry but I can't do shit about that."

I'll stay on for a little bit to answer any potential farewell asks but I don't know how long that will last.

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs and keep on rocking!

#final update #announcement #update #goodbye #farewell #kpop #kim sejeong

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gremlintheslut · 8 months

Text

Kinktober

Day 3 sextape and honeymoon

Nikki sixx

Sex tape and honeymoon

Nikki sixx

Summary: a tape from the 80s was recently found and posted onto the Internet. The tape is of you and Nikki sixx getting it on while on your honeymoon.

Warning: bondage (with rope), recording sex, sex tape getting leaked, masterbation, oral sex (m receiving), nipple clamps, blindfold (cloth), ball gag (unspecified).

Master list (main pinned)

(Written from the pov of a fan)

I turn on my phone and go onto tiktok. I scroll past the advertisement I'm shown when I first open the app and the next video catches my eye. A girl with wide eyes has her hand over her mouth and the text on the screen reads "omg I just watched the Nikki sixx honeymoon video those bitches are kinky". I'm filled with confusion and curiosity. My favorite band is motley Crue and I've never heard of this before.

I click one of the tags on the video that reads "Nikki sixx honeymoon video". I scroll through a bunch of videos and comments trying to figure out where to find it. I eventually find out that the only place where it has been posted and not taken down almost immediately after is Twitter (I fucking hate X). I put my phone down and sit up on my bed leaning against the headboard. I take my laptop off of the my nightstand where it is charging and place it on my lap.

I open it and go to Twitter. I search "Nikki sixx honeymoon video" and find what I assume is the honeymoon video. I click on it. Nikki is messing around with the camera trying to get a good angle. "Is it on?" his wife y/n says from across the room. "Yeah just trying to get it to stay still" he says continuing to move the camera around. "Is there any extra rope in the box?" Y/n says and Nikki laughs.

He lets go of the camera keeping his hands close to it in case it fell. The camera stays and he moves back allowing the camera to capture the full scene. Y/n is kneeling on the floor and she is tied up whilst completely naked. Her arms are stacked on top of each other behind her back and her hands holding her elbows. The rope on her arms is attached to her legs and her waist so she can't move at all. Her legs are spread as wide as they can go. My jaw drops. All the videos and comments said kinky but damn.

Nikki's shirt is already off. Nikki walks over to her and takes something off of the nightstand which is in frame by a sliver. The first thing he grabs is a blind fold. Y/n has a smile on her face the whole time while he ties it around her head so she can't see. My jaw drops further when he grabs nipple clamps with a third clamp attached to the chain. I'm confused as he attaches the top two clamp to her nipples. Y/n makes a small whimper of discomfort but she's clearly used to it.

Then he take the bottom clamp and attaches it to her clit. Y/n hisses in pain as he tugs on the chain to make sure they wouldn't come off. He then stands up to his full height. He unbuttons and unzips his pants pulling them down along with his boxers. He steps out of them and moves so he's right in front of y/n and you can see everything. holy fuck. Y/n is a lucky bitch. y/n had opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out the second she heard the zipper. He pushes the tip against her tongue and she kitten licks him. Her tongue swipes up and down his piss slit before swirling it around the head.

She moves her head forward a little as her tongue follows one of the veins on his cock from just below the tip to the base. She swirls her tongue around the base before following the same vein back up. She licks a stripe up his piss slit and doesn't get the chance to go down again before Nikki pulls on the chain. She moans in response. She moves her lips in front of her teeth and closes them around his tip. She sucks on the tip for a few seconds and I assume she moves her tongue as well.

She takes more of him into her mouth. Nikki thrusts his hips a little the action clearly being involuntary.

She moves all the way down his shaft not stopping or showing any sign of discomfort. Nikki's mouth forms and O shape and he leans forward a little. Again my jaw drops as her lips hit the base and you can see the bulge in her throat. She sits like this for a few seconds while Nikki has his head tilted back pleasure. "Holy shit" he moans out after tugging on the chain again telling Y/n to begin to move up and down. She starts off somewhat slow before picking up the speed. He full on moans while pulling on her hair. Her head game is clearly unmatchable.

She goes up and down at the same fast speed until sixx grabs the back of her head. He forces her to speed up and she lets him take full control. She still isn't gagging at all and seems fine. This bitch is a pro. I'm pulled out of my thoughts when Nikki lets out a particularly loud groan. "Fuck baby" he almost whimpers out, his eyes squeezed shut. He's clearly having the time of his life. I look at the time thing on the video and see it is 4 hours long. I'm shocked, it can't just be one round.

My eyes are dragged back to the scene playing on my screen after Nikki moans loudly. The look on his face is complete bliss and he stopped moving y/n head. He's Leaned forward more and his mouth is still in an O shape and his jaw is twitching a little. Just a couple seconds later he lets out a sigh. I've been watching for almost 30 minutes now. He pulls out of her mouth. Y/n swallows and licks her lips. He puts his finger and his thumb on her chin. "Open" he says and I can't tell if she does or if he makes her. She sticks her tongue out and then lifts it up to show she has swallowed everything.

He then leaves his spot in front of her.

He goes to the nightstand to get something. It's a ball gag and at this point I'm not surprised. He walks back over to her and puts it on her. He walks behind her and untied her arms before retying the ropes so only one arm is free. He grabs her by the wrist and places her hand on her pussy. She doesn't move and muscle and he walks towards the camera. He grabs it and walks back to her making sure he has the best angle of her possible.

He removes the clamp that's on her clit and continues to hold onto the longest part of the chain. "Go" Nikki says and she begins rubbing her clit in slow circles. Her muffled moans ring out from my computers speaker. He wraps the chain around his knuckles and pulls hard. She cries against the gag and tears roll down her face. Her fingers move from her clit to her entrance. She slowly pushes them in and then an error message pops up onto my screen. "We are sorry but this video has been removed" it reads. I let out a disappointed sigh and close the app before closing my laptop.

Words-1319

Thanks for reading 💋-gremlin

I'm really proud of this and I'm probably gonna write the full honeymoon video

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx x reader smut #nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx smut #motley crue smut #motley crue

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jishyucks · 10 months

Text

Bittersweet ‣ csb

‣ pairing: choi soobin x reader

‣ genre: fluff, implied f2l, 'drunken confessions' cliche

‣ wc: 2.6k

‣ summary: in which a very drunk soobin is not afraid to tell you how he truly feels about you

‣ warnings?: soobin is (really) drunk, sorta really cliche but I like cliches, mentions of reader being shorter than Soobin

‣ an: first soobin fic huhhh?? this is a product of my severe itch to write, so it's something short but sweet! idk how good this is but I guarantee something cute ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

There was a bittersweet feeling behind waking up in daze. On one hand, you knew you had enjoyed a good, deep sleep, leaving you blissfully unaware of the world. But on the other hand, that same grogginess leaves you clueless about what had transpired while you were out like a light.

But in this case, you could say that it was a lot more bitter than it was sweet, all because you were woken up from your phone being blown up by four different boys for no clear reason. In fact, if every single missed call and text message had rendered heat through your phone, you’re one-hundred-percent sure that it would have been blown to bits by now.

You sit up, head throbbing and fuzzy from the sudden change in position, and tap on the most recent caller. It was Beomgyu.

“Y/N! Finally!” You hear him sigh through the line. In the background, you can hear the other boys’ voices, accompanied by the bass of a song you couldn’t quite name.

Your brows furrow, blinking away the sleep. “Gyu? What’s up? Are you guys okay? I was taking a nap.” The mix of confusion and curiosity wakes you up.

There’s more ruckus on the other side of the line and you’re tempted to yell out for them to spill, only you’re sure that they’re not going to hear anything. You glance over at your clock through your pitch-black room and find that you’ve slept through dinner. It was nearing midnight. This only feeds your curiosity.

“Y/N are you able to come to where we are right now?” Yeonjun’s taken over the phone. There’s urgency in his voice and now you’re worried, “We’re at a club downtown.”

“Downtown?” You groan, “I’m not sure if…” To be fair, you’ve just woken up and now you’re being requested to drive down to the city on a Friday night? You were in no mood to—

“It’s Soobin.”

“Soobin? What happened?” You shoot questions, “Is he okay? What is he even doing at a club?” That should’ve been your first question. Soobin wasn’t one to tag along on trips to the club. Usually, he and Kai would opt to visit an internet cafe while the others drank like their lives depended on it.

“We’re… not sure,” Yeonjun retorts, “But he’s just asking for you. If we touch him, he starts yelling and there’s no way we’re getting accused of anything.” You hear a familiar voice start screaming in the background and then you hear Yeonjun’s voice scold someone, “Beomgyu, I literally told you not to touch him until Y/N’s here… I’ll send you the location?”

“Go for it,” you say. At this point you’re already grabbing whatever hoodie you can find and you’re making your way down the stairs, “I’ll meet you guys there.” Yeonjun sighs out a relieved ‘thank you’ before ending the call.

You hastily slip on your shoes and grab your car keys, your mind racing with concern for Soobin. The drive to downtown feels like an eternity as you navigate through the city streets, trying to make sense of the situation. The club they mentioned is known for its loud music and lively atmosphere, and you can't help but wonder what Soobin, usually the reserved and introverted one, is doing there.

Finally, you arrive at the club and park your car nearby. At this hour in the night, you don’t even bat an eye at the parking meter sitting right next to your car. As you step out onto the bustling sidewalk, the thumping bass and muffled laughter spill out from the club's entrance. A small part of you is afraid to even go in, but as you take a deep breath, you prepare yourself for whatever awaits you inside.

The club's neon lights cast an eerie glow on the people entering and exiting, almost creating a movie-like atmosphere. The first thing you notice in the second you enter is the change in humidity. The place was stuffy and filled with people. You felt sticky even though you haven’t been there for an entire minute and you didn’t like it.

With your heart pounding, you make your way through the crowd, following Yeonjun’s text that indicated they were at the far corner of the club. You’re relieved to see that it was in a quieter area of the club, away from the pulsating music and dancing bodies.

Taehyun notices you first, being the most sober out of all of them, he waves you over, calling out your name despite it being drowned out by the music. The other three look over, waves of relief washing over their faces when they realize that you’ve finally arrived.

As you reach the boys, they part to reveal a very drunk Soobin. He sits hunched over a table, his left arm propping up his head while his right hand draws doodles on the surface before him. He looks almost identical to a child being babysat.

“He said he wasn’t going to drink,” Taehyun explains, “Before we knew it he was all… like this.” He gestures to Soobin, scratching his temple.

You’re compelled to palm your face, sighing, “Is he sobering up, at least?”

Kai shakes his head, eyes wide, “No. He keeps finding ways to get more drinks.”

“Yeah, he finished all mine,” Beomgyu pouts. He was sitting across from Soobin, arms crossed. There’s a line of empty glasses sitting right in front of him as evidence, “We’re just glad you’re here though. We were being serious about this.” You watch Beomgyu reach out to touch Soobin’s elbow with his index finger. Right at contact, Soobin scowls and starts yelling as if Beomgyu had just threatened to slice his skin with his fingernail, “He’s been doing that all night. He keeps asking for you, too.”

“He’s so far gone that he doesn’t even realize you’re here,” Yeonjun remarks, blinking at Soobin. "Hey, Soobin!" Soobin's ears perk up at the sound of his name, and he turns his head towards you, resembling a curious meerkat.

Soobin’s eyes meet yours and his face lights up, “Y/N, you’re here!” The lanky boy pushes himself off the table and tries to regain his balance before stumbling over to you. Without hesitation, you rush to his side and throw his arm around your shoulder, attempting to steady him. Being shorter than him, you're not sure if it's working perfectly, but you do your best to provide support.

You suck your teeth, “Choi Soobin, who told you to drink this much? Why aren’t you letting the boys help you?”

Soobin’s in a daze. He's not really catching on to the fact that you're talking to him. All he sees is your lips moving as you scold him. He reaches out to poke your neck and then your cheek.

“I guess it’s a good sign that he isn’t screaming,” Yeonjun points out, “Let’s go, then?”

You nod and then jut your head toward Soobin, “Can you help me out with him?”

Yeonjun gives you a nod and moves over to grab Soobin's other arm, assuming that he would no longer scream. But the moment his hand touches Soobin, he starts yelling just as expected. “Okay! Okay!” Yeonjun steps back and gives Soobin a blank stare, completely done with the younger boy.

You stifle a laugh, “Binnie, can you let Yeonjun help me please?” Soobin nods and watches Yeonjun repeat his actions, taking his arm to support him. This time he doesn’t start yelling.

The six of you navigate through the crowd, keeping your gaze fixed on the exit at the far end of the room. Once you finally make it outside, you direct everyone down the street, gesturing towards the direction to go, "My car's parked over there."

They simply nod and follow you, piling into your car without hesitation as you all get ready to leave. Soobin’s slumped in the passenger’s seat, his head wobbling side to side. He’s muttering words under his breath but you can’t quite make them out.

You’re driving them back to their house, which was conveniently on the way back to your home. Everyone was too exhausted to make small talk, so a playlist you’ve chosen and Soobin’s murmuring fills the silence.

“Thanks, Y/N.” Taehyun speaks up as you near their house. From where his voice was coming from, you can tell he was sitting directly behind you, “We owe you.”

“It’s nothing,” You hum, “I’m just… trying to figure out why Soobin got drunk today. It’s out of character.” You knew your best friend, Soobin, inside out. He was the kind of person who would take a sip of alcohol and be satisfied, not really needing more than that. But then again, he could have just wanted to do it for fun. He didn’t need a reason to drink.

“I think it’s because Taehyun gave him a drink that tasted nothing like alcohol,” Beomgyu says, “Then it went downhill from there.”

“You’re so nice, Y/N~” Soobin giggles, “You’re so so so so nice! The nicest of all persons I know.” He points out the window and continues, “See? You’re driving us to our house! That’s so nice! That’s why I really like you.”

You breath hitches in your throat, eyes widening at Soobin’s comment. Unbeknownst to you, the other boys exchange alarmed glances, silently pleading for Soobin to stop before he reveals more than he intends to.

“You’re a funny drunk, Binnie,” you say, trying to swat the comment away, regardless of the meaning. You turn into their street and park along the curb once you’ve reached their house.

Soobin pouts, his expression displaying a mix of confusion and disappointment. "Funny how?" he persists, his drunken state causing his emotions to be more apparent.

You quickly recover, mustering a playful smile to cover up any potential awkwardness. "Just funny in the way you talk and act," you reply, hoping to divert his attention from his previous statement.

Soobin's pout slowly turns into a small grin, satisfied with your response. "I guess that's a good thing," he muses, his words slightly slurred. "As long as I can make you laugh, Y/N. I like when I make you laugh. I like seeing your pretty smile."

Your heart skips a beat and you quickly turn the car off. Has Soobin always been a flirty drunk? You try to shrug it off, getting out to help the drunk boy from his seat. The others are already out of the vehicle and Yeonjun’s waiting for you to pull Soobin out of his side.

You open the door and a pout has returned on Soobin’s face, “You keep ignoring me… Do you not like me?” Yeonjun tries to speak to Soobin using his eyes, but obviously, with the intoxicated state that Soobin is in, the signals completely fly past his head.

You groan, helping him up, “Let’s get you some water before you go to bed.”

“I don’t want to go to bed,” Soobin whines. He looks over at the older boy and frowns, “I don’t need your help.” He shrugs Yeonjun off and uses both of his arms to cling onto yours. Yeonjun lets the boy be, walking ahead to hold the door open for the both of you.

Soobin kicks his sneakers off out of habit, shifting a bit of his weight onto you in the process, “Do you want to play animal crossing or mario kart or—”

“Soobin, you need to go to sleep,” you say, “We can play tomorrow.” Together, you both ascend the stairs and eventually arrive at Soobin's room. He sighs at the sight of his bed, plopping onto his neatly fixed bed. The intoxicated boy lays down with his legs hanging off the edge. He swings them playfully and you can’t help but giggle at his state. You’ve rarely seen Soobin drunk, but now you know that when he’s drunk, he was like a 6-foot-tall toddler.

You turn to grab water, but you’re met with Kai, who was already at Soobin’s door with a cup filled to the brim, “Do you want anything, Y/N?”

You thank him and think, “Maybe tea would be nice before I leave.”

He nods, “I’ll prepare that for you.”

You thank him again and bring the water to Soobin, who is now sitting up. He's slumped over, head looking too heavy for him to handle, “Drink up.”

Soobin squints at the beverage, leaning forward as if he were trying to read the non-existent writing on the glass. "Water is boring. I want... yakult and sprite... with soju," he declares, giggling at the thought of alcohol. As amusing as it is to see him so enthusiastic about alcohol, you shake your head in disagreement.

“That’s fair,” you sigh, “But I know you’ll regret not drinking this when you wake up tomorrow with a bad headache.” You urge him to take the cup. And after a few moments of deciding, he sighs and shakily takes the cup from you.

Soobin takes a few long sips before he looks up at you, his gaze intense. "Don't... don't tell you that I told you this, but..." He glances around cautiously to make sure no one else is listening, "But... I love how you always look out for me." His words hold a hint of vulnerability, as if the alcohol has loosened his inhibitions enough to reveal his true feelings, “You take care of me, too. And…” Soobin takes another sip of his water and smiles.

You wait for him to continue but he looks up at you, waiting for a response, “Well, it’s what friends do.” You don’t even need to think twice when it comes to Soobin.

"Friends," he repeats, almost as if testing out the word on his lips. "Yeah, we're friends, right?"

You raise an eyebrow at his question, finding it slightly odd that he would question your friendship. "Of course. We've been friends for a long time," you reassure him.

Soobin chugs down the rest of the water and holds the cup out for you to take, “You’re right… but…”

You gently take the empty cup from him, setting it aside. The need for sleep is finally reaching Soobin’s eyes and you can see the way his eyes flutter shut before he forces them open. He scooches closer to his pillow and pouts. You give him the look for him to continue.

“Don’t tell you I told you this but…” he repeats his actions from earlier, looking around, “I think I have feelings for you.” A giggle slips out of his lips and he nods in satisfaction.

You freeze in place and blink at the drunk boy in front of you, “Soobin, you’re drunk.”

He shakes his head, eyes half closed and practically begging him to sleep, “I just drank water, I’m not drunk!”

“You are,” you sigh, trying to dismiss his earlier confession.

“I…may be drunk, but I still have feelings!”

He’s right. When you’re drunk, your emotions are simply amplified, but they are still your real emotions. Surely, this could be the case with Soobin. But then again, not everyone was the same when they were intoxicated, “Soobin, I’ll make a promise with you, okay?”

At this point, he’s being lulled to sleep by the alcohol, but he still nods and his words are coming out mumbled, “A promise?”

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow. When you’re sober and when I’m not tired. I want to hear what you have to say.” And, frankly, you had things (that were far overdue) to say too.

“Promise?”

The moment feels dreamlike, standing in Soobin's room with him being so vulnerable and open about his feelings (even if it could be the alcohol talking). You can't help but wonder if he'll remember any of this in the morning.

You nod. “Now go to sleep, dumbass. I know you want to.”

“I do,” He laughs, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Binnie.”

°•. ✿ .•°

on to another story ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ if I'm able to miraculously think of something... anyways thank you for reading! pls support the post by leaving a like/rb!

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ccsainzleclerc5516 · 2 months

Text

This Is Where You Stand With Me (part 3)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: none

Part 2 here

Y/N's pov

We flew to Spain ten days before the Grand Prix. Carlos wanted to introduce Sophie to his family, and since his family is in Madrid, the two of them decided to go there for two days.

It's Friday night in Barcelona and Lando asked me if I wanted to go out with him and the boys. Of course I agreed because I don't plan on being in the hotel room until Sophie and Carlos come back. Since Lando is the only person with whom I am closest, I asked him to wait for me so that we go to the club together. And him being the sweetheart that he is he agreed to wait for me.

A few minutes after I replied to his text, here he is knocking on the door of my hotel room.

"Give me a second!" I yell as I quickly throw on an oversized t shirt and some shorts on myself.

"Hello!" I smile from ear to ear and tilt my head to the side as I open the door for him.

"Y/n!" He shouts. "Your hair is wet and still in a towel! You haven't even started getting ready yet!!" He scolds me as he enters my room.

"Well I told you I just got out of the shower! But don't worry I usually don't take long to get ready." I assure him.

"Yeah, yeah sure. We'll see." He rolls his eyes as he throws himself on my bed.

"If your shoes touch my sheets, you're going to have a problem with me." I warn him and he laughs at my threats, but listens to me and takes off his shoes.

"By the way you look very handsome." I compliment him. He was wearing a short-sleeved white linen shirt and loose, but not too loose, light blue washed jeans. And of course two necklaces around his neck that fit him so well.

"Thank you, now please start getting ready so we can see what you'll look like."

"So? How do I look?" I ask him 45 minutes later as I pose in front of him.

"I-I.." He looks stunned, measuring me from head to toe with his mouth open. He's never seen me dressed up like this before and I must say I'm flattered by his reaction.

"I hope that's a good sign?"

"I'm sorry." He laughs nervously. "You left me speechless, you look beautiful."

"Thank you Lando." I blush at his compliment.

"Shall we go?" He asks extending his arm for me.

"Be sure I'll hold your hand until we get there because I don't wear heels very often."

"As long as you'd like."

It was around 10.30 p.m. when Lando and I arrived in front of the club. We didn't get out of the car right away because there was a bunch of paparazzi in front of the club and I was slowly starting to get anxious. I didn't feel comfortable being photographed and ending up all over the internet the next day just because I came with Lando. I didn't feel very safe either, and I surely didn't want them to spread any rumors about Lando and me.

"Are you okay?" Lando asks me because he noticed that I was squirming in the seat and breathing rapidly.

"Yeah, I'm just, I'm a little nervous. There's a lot of them." I say biting on my lower lip and he puts his hand over mine.

"Just hold onto me and we'll be inside in a few seconds okay?" He says and I nod.

"Okay."

The driver opened the door for us and Lando got out of the car first. As soon as he stepped out of the car people started shouting his name and the camera flashes went off like crazy. For a moment I thought about not getting out of the car at all but asking the driver to take me back to the hotel, but luckily the desire to have a good time was stronger than that.

"You okay?" Lando was so sweet checking up on me.

"Yeah, let's go."

I climb out of the car and keep my gaze down holding Lando's hand tightly with one hand and trying to cover my face with the other. It definitely looked like we were a couple and that's why the paparazzi immediately began to bombard him with questions.

"Lando who is this? Is this your new girlfirend?"

"What's her name?"

"Look over here! You two look great together!"

At that moment I didn't care about the questions or the comments, I only cared about whether I would trip and fall in my heels in front of all those cameras. About thirty seconds later, which by the way felt like 30 minutes, we finally got inside the club.

"I must say you've got a pretty tight grip." Lando says and I can't help but laugh at his comment.

"I'm sorry." I try to pull out my hand from his, but he doesn't let go.

"I don't mind though."

And so we continued to make our way through the crowd of people until we reached the VIP section with a booth where Pierre, Kika, Max and Charles were. As Lando and I got closer I felt that all eyes were on us. Before my and Charles' eyes briefly met, I caught him scanning Lando and me and looking at our hands. I wasn't surprised when I saw that Ava wasn't with them.

"Hello, guys." Lando greets them and I give Kika a hug.

"Hi!" I wave my hand and everybody but Charles, of course, greets me back.

The night went great, we danced, we sang, we drank, some of us maybe a little too much, but that's okay.

At one point we all left the booth and went down into the crowd to dance. That was by far my favorite part of the night. I was so relaxed and careless I enjoyed every second of it.

Lando was dancing with me, he'd spin me around every now and then while we were singing to spanish songs from the top of our lungs even though we didn't understand a single word. If only Sophie and Carlos were here, I'm sure it would have been even better.

"Are you having a good time?" Lando slurs. Out of all of us he drank the most and it was very obvious that he was wasted.

"You're so drunk." I laugh. I was a bit tipsy, but I knew when to stop drinking because I didn't want to get drunk. He ignored my observation that he was drunk and continued to bring drinks.

"Lando, you should really stop. You've had enough."

"Nooo." Whining like a baby, he pulls me into a hug and rests his head in the crook of my neck leaning his weight on me. You could see it was time to go to the hotel because his eyes were closing from tiredness. He could barely stand on his feet.

"Lando, your're heavy, we're both gonna fall down. Stand up straight please!" I say struggling to somehow hold him so he doesn't fall and brings me down with him.

"You're gonna knock her down you idiot." Luckily, Charles noticed the situation and pulled Lando off of me. "C'mon it's time to leave." He says to Lando who protested a little, but listened to Charles anyway.

"I'll help you with him." I say and we start making our way to the exit.

A car was already waiting for us in front of the club, so all three of us sat in the back seats, Lando between Charles and me. As soon as he sat down, he fell asleep. My feet were killing me and I couldn't wait to go to sleep, and Charles seemed tired as well. I'd say he was a little tipsy too, but nowhere near as Lando. He definitely outdid us all tonight.

Charles and i haven't spoken a word tonight and I didn't want to be the one to start any conversation in the car so the ride was quiet, but luckily short. When we got to the hotel, first Charles got out of the car, then I.

"Lando, wake up." I say gently shaking him by his shoulder. He just mumbled something refusing to get out.

"I would prefer leaving him in the car to sleep since he had to drink this much." Charles says getting annoyed at him. "Lando, wake the fuck up or I'm gonna leave you here."

When we somehow managed to get him out of the car, I held him by one side and Charles by the other and so we started to walk to the elevator. We entered the elevator and I pressed the fifth floor on which Lando's room was and mine was on the floor below.

"Does he normally drink like this when you guys go out?" I ask.

"Not really, this is the first time I've seen him like this in a long time." Charles replies.

"Really?"

"Yeah, maybe you are a bad influence on him." Charles says, but I can't tell if he was joking or what he already meant by what he said.

"Yeah, sure." I roll my eyes at him.

When we reached Lando's room, we barely managed to find the card in his pants that unlocks the room. I was a little surprised, but relieved that he didn't lose it. We get inside the room and lay him down on the bed.

"Fuck, I'm sweating." Charles says while stretching his back.

"Should we just leave him like this?" I ask referring to his clothes and shoes.

"Well, I don't know. Aren't you gonna take care of him tonight? I bet you were gonna spend the night in his room anyway." As the words leave his mouth, I feel as if someone has knocked the breath out of my lungs. I was shocked at what he said.

"Excuse me?" I was immediately overcome with anger and the alcohol coursing through my veins definitely contributed to that feeling. "How dare you say such a thing to me? Who gives you the right to insult me like that? You don't know shit about me!" At this point I was almost yelling and I didn't care about Lando sleeping because he was passed out anyway he couldn't hear a thing.

"Well you two came holding hands, he was all over you the whole night hugging you and dancing with you. What else can a person think?"

"Lando is nothing but a good friend to me and someone who I trust and feel safe next to when I'm here alone without Sophie and Carlos! And I don't look at him as anything other than a friend!" I continue to justify myself to Charles for some unknown reason.

"And you don't trust me enough to ask me if you need anything while they're gone?" He asks and I just can't believe what's coming out of his mouth. For a moment I wonder if I'm crazy or if he is.

"Are you seriously asking me this right now? How do you think I trust you or even feel comfortable in your company when you constantly treat me like this? Ever since we met, I've been nothing but polite and nice to you and you just keep putting me down for literally no reason! One minute you are nice, attentive and caring and funny and then the next you have some unnecessary rude comment to say to me, or you don't even deign to greet me, or even better you don't even acknowledge my existence! You're so pathetic Charles! I had such a good night, but you managed to ruin it, congratulations!" I almost run out of breath after my angry rant and I can already feel tears welling up in my eyes, but he got what he deserved.

"Why do you seem to remember so good all those situations? Why do they bother you so much if you don't care, huh?" He asks taking a step closer to me. I am irritated by his calmness while everything inside me is burning with anger.

"I don't know maybe because I'm a good fucking person who doesn't treat other people the way you do so I don't except to be treated that way from you either if I've been nothing but kind to you! And you know what else? I keep thinking how badly your girlfriend treats you because she isn't there to support you when you need her. I felt so bad for you for the Monaco Grand Prix, I even wished to comfort you when she wasn't there to. But the further I go, the more I think that maybe you are the problem, not her." I turn on my heel and head for the door, a tear escaping my eye in the process. I was fighting them back really hard and I'm furious at myself for letting him make me feel this way.

I leave the room, but he follows me outside and stops me by pulling me by my hand.

"Wait." He says.

"No, don't touch me!" I say yanking it away from his grip.

"Then why weren't you there for me instead of her if you wished to?"

"Because of all the things I just said. And why don't you start giving some answers instead of just asking questions?" With that I leave him standing in the corridor of the hotel as I hurry to the elevator and into my room.

part 4 here

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sirfrogsworth · 7 months

Text

Froglock Holmes, Internet Sleuth

I don't remember dates very well, but I believe sometime in the mid 2000s I had a friend drive me from St. Louis to Detroit. It was a very difficult journey. I have never done well as a car passenger and driving for an entire day was one of the more miserable experiences in my life.

But I got through it because I was *convinced* I was about to be cured. Back then it was the only thing I wished for and I was willing to try absolutely anything.

So we were off to see the Wizard about my wish.

During that time there were no doctors in St. Louis who knew anything about Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. But I found a website for a medical company that claimed if I saw one of their approved doctors, they could guarantee a 50% improvement. And when I did my pre-interview on the phone, that lady said some patients experienced a full recovery. To which I replied, "Yes, I will take one full recovery please."

But the closest approved specialist I could find was in Detroit and she would only treat me if I did my first consultation in person. She would then continue treating me over the phone.

My friend took three days off and she borrowed her parent's SUV so I would have leg room during the 8 hour trip. We loaded up on snacks and compact discs and began our road trip to wellness. We merged onto the Yellow Brick Road (a.k.a. I-70 East) and headed toward the land of Marshall Mathers.

The more I got car sick, the more I focused on asking the Wizard to grant my wish.

A new... mitochondria?

Plus several trillion.

A new several trillion little powerhouses.

This doctor was part of a national network of facilities that claimed they could effectively treat Fibromyalgia and CFS with a groundbreaking 6 step "holistic" approach. It was super holistic. Extra super duper holistic. The website made sure you knew it was holistic.

And those 6 steps sounded very fancy.

I mean, that all seems pretty legit. They were going to enhance my cells and address coagulation deficits. That's a thing, right?

Now I know that "holistic" is a buzzword that should be met with skepticism, but back then I was really hopeful they could help me. They enthusiastically made bold promises and filled me with such assured hope that I sold my car to help pay for everything.

We arrived in Detroit the evening before the appointment. I slept maybe an hour. Morning eventually arrived and we headed to the office. They gave me a clipboard full of paperwork that took forever to fill out.

"Can I please just see the Wizard and get my wish?"

I got to the exam room and they put me in a gown with the butt showing—which I don't think my friend was prepared for. I have a condition known as Hank Hill Butt and it can take a bit of getting used to upon first glance.

My poor friend refused to make eye contact while I was wearing it.

The doctor finally arrived and this supernatural healing wizard turned out to be a very short Greek lady. She asked dozens of questions—most of which I answered on the forms already. She poked my belly, checked my reflexes, and at no point did her examination require a gown with the butt showing.

She officially diagnosed me with severe Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and told me she was going to type up a custom treatment regimen and while she was doing that, I was going to get a special IV they designed to specifically combat CFS.

They took me to a room full of comfy reclining chairs and hooked me to an IV full of orange nonsense. Once that was done I met back up with the Wizard and she had created the afore-mentioned "customized" treatment regimen full of expensive supplements and vitamins that were not covered by insurance. Many of which I had to buy directly from the facility. As I looked over the treatment worksheet, I realized they gave the same document to all of the patients.

It was at this point, 560 miles away from my home, stuck in some office in the suburbs of Detroit (which will eventually be taken over by a tooth pulp dentist), with my Hank Hill butt hanging out...

I realized this could have been an email.

I decided to put everything on three different credit cards. Combined with the money from my car, I had about $20,000 to invest in fixing my broken body. My plan was to get all better so I could get a job and pay everything back. I even told the doctor this brilliant financial stratagem and she agreed it was a good plan. No notes.

Young Froggie was being hit in the face with red flag after red flag and Old Froggie is a little embarrassed about that.

I don't remember any of the supplements, but they had names like "EnergyMax Plus" and "Ultra MitoBooster 3000." They definitely sounded like legitimate, evidenced-backed medical supplements and not knockoff energy drinks endorsed by D-list Instagram influencers.

It wasn't all overpriced vitamins though. The doctor had some silly ideas that were actually covered by insurance. She said I should thin my blood so it took less energy to circulate. And I should boost my testosterone levels above the typical range to improve energy. So I had to inject myself with blood thinners and rub testosterone cream on my legs every day for months.

The blood thinners gave me tons of painful bruises at the injection sites and made me dizzy from time to time. The shots became so painful I would have to close my eyes and have my dad inject me. Otherwise I would chicken out. We kept running out of places that didn't have bruises so he would just pick the smallest bruise and stick the needle there.

And the testosterone cream had an interesting side effect that I am debating whether to talk about as I write this sentence.

Okay, I'm just going to tell you.

We are all adults here and we can handle adult conversations while remaining dignified and mature.

The testosterone cream gave me constant, spontaneous, hours-long boners.

I hadn't experienced anything like it since I was a teenager. No erotic inspiration required other than a gentle breeze. Only this time I didn't have a math book to hide behind.

None of it helped my fatigue.

In fact, the constant bonerpalooza was exhausting to deal with.

"Oh look, that actress I enjoy has a fully exposed ankle." "I bet that attractive lady has boobs under that heavy winter coat." "Hey, is it Wednesday?"

At some point it becomes a chore, ya know?

Thank god it was well before 2014, because if I had seen Chris Evans bicep curling a helicopter I probably would have needed hospitalization.

/end dignified adult conversation

After six months I had 0% of the promised 30-50% improvement 90% of the time and she kept saying I just needed to give it more time. She said it works quicker with the IVs full of orange nonsense. But they custom made those IVs and can only administer them in Detroit. She claimed the oral supplements were filled with the same nonsense, but took much longer to kick in. She told me I could be patient or drive to Detroit once a week for an IV treatment if I wanted faster results. If that were true, I feel like that should have been disclosed at the beginning. But I was assured I could get the same results without the IV treatments.

It didn't matter at that point. My credit cards were maxed out and I was out of money. I called the doctor and asked if there was any treatment she could recommend that was covered by my insurance. She got very quiet and awkwardly said she would try to figure something out. Roughly 30 minutes later I was emailed a coupon for $20 off our next phone consultation. I responded and told her I literally had no money left.

I never heard from her again.

The Wizard had no ability to grant my wish for several trillion properly functioning mitochondrias. She had no magic treatment. I finally saw her for what she truly was.

With perfect hindsight I could now see all of the red flags.

Though if I hadn't at least tried, I probably would have wondered and regretted it.

Hard to say.

I was kind of amazed how they built a country wide collection of clinics and they were able to operate for years solely on the placebo effect.

Years later I was curious what happened to this network of quackery. I found a news article saying it was all shut down due to fraud. I don't think they had a holistic approach to paying their taxes.

The reason I am telling this tale is because I have been playing detective and gathering evidence for my disability case. I started to wonder if maybe I could find my fraudulent Wizard to see if she had any kind of records or something that might help me. I knew it was a long shot, but I didn't want to leave a stone unturned.

At first all I could remember was her last name and that she was a D.O. and not an M.D. Standard Google searches were not turning up anything. I couldn't find her current practice nor any contact information. Apparently her Greek last name is a popular Arabic first name for men... so all my searches kept resulting in doctor dudes. This was not the time for a sausage fest and I was getting frustrated.

And then I finally remembered the name of the medical company.

Fibromyalgia & Fatigue Centers, Inc.

I even remembered their URL... fibroandfatigue.com

So I went to the Wayback Machine and I was able to find their now-defunct website. I suddenly remembered its cloudy banner image and "concerned_woman.png" like it was yesterday.

Why, yes... I am tired of being tired.

I also remembered their promise that over 90% of patients had at least a 30-50% improvement. Which was the claim that sent me down this rabbit hole to begin with all those years ago.

I started searching different versions of the site to see how their claims of effectiveness changed over time. At first they basically implied they made everyone completely better.

If I saw that I would definitely think I was getting a cure. But I imagine this caused some problems so they had to dial it back a bit.

I couldn't find the 90% version, but I did find the 30-50%.

This actually sounds like you have a 100% chance of a 30 to 50% improvement.

As I skipped around to the archived captures of different years, the promised percentage kept changing. I don't think they did an actual statistical analysis of their patients. I think they just picked a percentage that sounded enticing without promising too much. Just enough to be life-changing with a built-in excuse for when it all goes tits up.

Years after my experience, the site finally settled on a 65% improvement in energy levels. It was on their new page detailing how "affordable" their treatment was.

$20,000, you say? Balderdash, no one would spend that much.

If you were curious, they claim their treatment is now affordable due to a new monthly payment plan system. It did not become any cheaper.

However, under the 65% promise, they added this disclaimer with a large bold heading...

Success depends largely on your dedication and commitment. Our most successful patients are the ones who make the commitment to follow the treatment program rigorously. Patients who are aggressive and comply with the treatment process experience significantly better long-term results than those whose dedication is half-hearted and whose compliance is minimal.

In other words, "If our bullshit supplements don't work, it is YOUR fault."

Or in my case... "If you run out of money, it is YOUR fault."

Oh and there was also this...

Looking at all of the versions of the Fibro & Fatigue, Inc website was certainly fascinating, but I had to quit dicking clicking around and find my focus.

I still had detective-ing to do.

I was on the hunt for a Detroit-area Greek doctor of osteopathy.

There were ~250 captures of the site between 2004 and 2016. She wasn't listed in the newest captures, nor the oldest captures. So I kept trying to drill down to find the exact time period she worked at the company.

And then... EUREKA!

She was hiding in 2005 on their "Meet the Doctors" page.

Her first name was *drumroll* Sultana!

I can't imagine why I didn't remember that common first name.

Finally, after weeks of trying to figure this out, I now had enough information to do a proper Google search and discover what the heck she is currently up to. Probably putting people in open-butt gowns to check their tonsils or something.

*googling noises intensify*

I'm not sure I've ever come across such a literal dead end.

Should I be making puns about this?

I mean, she did help exploit me out of my entire life savings and put me in significant credit card debt with the Sex Panther-approved promise of a guaranteed 30-50% recovery 90% of the time.

And the institution she was a part of was shut down for fraud.

Still... I never wished an early death upon her.

I would have been happy with a trip to small claims court.

#long post #trigger warning #needle mention

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impale-me-radio-daddy · 6 days

Text

The Lookalike (Part 8)

☒ Summary: The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument. “No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.” You awaken in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you immediately fall into the clutches of his nemesis, then into the arms of the Radio Demon himself.

☒ Warnings: hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, crying!reader, they/them pronouns used, Alastor X reader, explicit content, tentacle sex, bottom!Alastor, reference to drugs, reader is in Hell for a reason, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Series Links: Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE Part 7

Ever since Niffty had mistaken an expensive cock ring for an insect and attempted to kill it, the duty of cleaning Angel Dust’s room had been solely yours. You traipsed down to his wing of the hotel, pushing the cleaning and laundry hamper in front of you, and after a cursory listen and knock on the door, you went in.

You’d worked a few different jobs in your mortal life, and more than a few of them had been janitorial. You knew the drill; stripping and changing out the bedding, emptying the bins and cleaning any surface that looked soiled. Angel’s pet pig Fat Nuggets followed you from point to point, and you stopped sporadically to bend down and scratch the critter behind the ears.

When Angel Dust returned, you were scrubbing the floor of the shower, thinking of a time you’d butchered a kill in a similar space; the tray not wide enough to properly lay out the body horizontally. People such as yourself were, out of necessity, not squeamish. It had been hard to get the blood out of the grouting, and whatever Angel had left in the shower was giving you similar grief.

“Hey, Stunt Double! Ya in there?” called Angel as he walked in, dumping his bag on the bed.

You backed out of the bathroom, cleaning tools still in hand, and smiled at him. “Hello, Angel.”

“So it is you cleaning this place.” Angel tilted his head as Fat Nuggets emerged from the bathroom behind you to greet him, and he picked up the pig in his arms. “I was wonderin’ who was puttin’ all my butt plugs in size order.”

“I could do them by color, if you prefer,” you offered, pulling another bottle of cleaning fluid from the trolley, and Angel laughed.

“Neah, size is fine.” He flopped back onto his bed, arms splayed. “Man, I am beat.”

“Should I come back later?” you asked, but Angel just shook his head.

“Just do what you gotta,” he said. “It’s what they pay ya for.”

You gave a noise of surprise. “You have money in Hell?”

Angel lifted his head. “You’ve been here how long and don’t know that?”

You shrugged, heading back into the bathroom with more bleach. “People usually just give me things.”

“What happens when no-one wants to give you what you want?”

You took a couple steps backward into Angel’s room again. “Give me your phone for half an hour.”

“What?” He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” you said, reaching into your pocket. “If you do, I’ll give you this baggie of mysterious white power I found in your room last week before Charlie searched it.” You dangled the drugs in front of Angel with a flourish. You had found them inside the cistern whilst fixing the toilet.

Angel leaned forwards, still squinting. “Those were my drugs.”

“They were,” you said, tilting your head. “And they could be again, for the low, low price of let me search the internet for half an hour.”

“Jeez, fine-” Angel dug in his corset for his phone and flung it at you. “There. Now, gimme.”

You caught the phone with a grin, tossing the drugs into Angel’s lap. “Pleasure doing business,” you said, taking a seat on the corner of Angel’s bed as you unlocked his phone. Alastor had specified you should work, but not how hard.

Angel looked between you, Fat Nuggets, and the drugs, quickly coming to the decision that you were the most interesting of the three. Pivoting with one leg, he rotated so that his head was level with your hip, and looked up at you. “Whatcha searchin’?”

“Overlords,” you said, and when Angel frowned, you added. “Alastor is sending me to some sort of get together and I don’t know what any of them look like.”

“Well, why didn’t ya say so?” Angel reached out to take his phone back, and you handed it over. “I have most of ‘em on sinstagram, ‘cept for Smiles of course. Here.”

You looked over Angel’s head as he swiped through a photo reel, mostly candid shots of the overlords at parties, pointing out both the overlords themselves and any major lackeys. It was information with much greater worth than a few grams of toilet cocaine, and Angel was more than happy to talk as you pressed him on details.

“There’s this rumor that Carmilla and Zestial are an item but I don’t buy it. Friends, sure, but old Zee’s a queen if I ever saw one, and Carmine’s not the type ta keep that kinda thing a secret.”

Angel scrolled to the next picture. “And of course I don’t need ta tell you about the television guy,” he said. “Hey, you want some of this coke?”

You laughed, a small shake of your head. “Thanks though. I’ve got everything I want now.”

“You’ve got everything you want?” Angel rolled over, his expression suddenly sultry as he propped his chin up on his hands. “You sure about that, Stunt Double?”

You nodded. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe.”

Angel deflated. “Smiles must be some lay, huh.”

You grinned. “I’m not answering that.”

In truth, that morning, Alastor had given you what you really wanted. A target.

The sinner that Alastor had named was one of the new overlords who had risen in the power vacuum following the previous extermination, having previously been a minor gang boss in Zeezi’s territory. He was a horse demon, and at least if Alastor was being truthful, guilty of just about every cruelty one could imagine. Including, Alastor had stressed with particular emphasis, disrespect.

His name was Kennedy, also known as the Smoker Demon, and aside from a few grainy sinstagram snaps Angel had shown you, you had little other information to go on. But when you took Alastor’s place at the next overlord’s meeting, you would see him with your own two eyes.

Alastor had agreed that you should have a weapon to hand when you appeared in his place, and on the day of the overlord meeting he presented you with an elegant red-tipped black cane.

“It’s no microphone,” he said, a little cryptically- you had never seen him use a microphone save for the ancient one attached to the desk in his radio tower. “But I had it made with a little surprise inside.”

You twirled the cane, testing its balance in your hand, and pulling the handle you found it held a concealed blade.

A short blade; not a duelist’s sword but a knife, long enough to slit a throat or to puncture a heart through the ribcage. You beamed at Alastor, the excitement bubbling within you at the prospect of violence mirrored by your delight that he had anticipated your preferences so exactly.

“It’s perfect,” you told him, twirling it just to admire the balance again.

“Of course,” he demurred, the creases at the corners of his eyes telling you that he was soaking in your praise. “I can hardly expect you to perform with second rate equipment.”

He hovered about you like a mother hen as you put on his ragged tailcoat, brushing it flat across your shoulders with the palms of his hands, and tutting as he adjusted your bow tie. You half expected him to take out a pocket square and start cleaning your mouth as he fussed over you, adjusting a fold here, a button there. Finally, when you were attired to his liking, Alastor pushed his index fingers into the corners of your mouth and pulled up, not painfully, but enough to make you bare your teeth.

“You mustn’t forget your smile, now,” he said.

It wasn’t hard at all to grin at him, not with the euphoria that currently welled within you. It was a maniac’s grin you gave him, wide and wicked and infectious.

Vox had been wrong about how much the other two Vees would object to his actions. Velvette had been legitimately furious that he had overstepped his usual bounds into social media campaigns, had called him a bloody idiotic twat, and had set the notifications from all of the accounts she usually managed to automatically forward to him. The pings were constant and it gave him a godawful headache. Valentino, by contrast, had broken the television set in their shared quarters, then stalked off to do drugs somewhere.

This was how Vox drew the shit lot of being the one of the three of them to attend the overlord’s meeting. His abilities allowed him to traverse the city quickly through the powerlines, but given the delicate political situation of any meeting of powerful individuals, such flashy displays were frowned upon. Anything that made people jumpy was frowned upon.

As such, Vox sat in the back of his limo as it drove to the meeting place, glaring at the traffic and wincing every time a notification from Velvette’s shit came in. Fuck his fucking life. Apart from, perhaps, the small portion where he got to watch Alastor fuck his doppelganger, that bit of his life could stay.

Would Alastor be at the meeting? Probably not, Vox decided. He hadn’t attended one since his altercation with Adam last extermination.

There was a spring in your step as you walked the streets in your red finery, feeling the breeze in your hair, your cane tucked neatly under one arm. The winds of Hell carried with them the scents of polyurethane and sulfur, and every sinner you passed cowered from your gaze as you grinned. It was barely even an affectation, if you were being honest with yourself. You were loose on the streets with one weapon in your pocket and another under your arm, about to meet a man that you would hunt. Anyone would grin, given the circumstances.

The sensation of being watched prickled familiar on your neck, and you stopped, hand on the handle of your cane, ready to draw the hidden blade as you turned.

A demon taller than yourself stood before you, with black, chitinous skin and a large, plumed hat. “Alastor, hail and well met.”

“Zestial!” you said with a smile, immediately grateful for Angel Dust’s overlord rundown. “Good day to you too.”

He fell into step beside you, taller than you by some margin. You didn’t feel malice emanating from him, but that was hardly a guarantee of anything. Perhaps your instincts were off. But you were heading to the same locale, so giving him the slip was hardly an option. “How have you been?” you asked, keen to push the conversation in Zestial’s direction. Alastor hadn’t told you anything about his relationship with the overlord, so the less you said, the better.

“Alas, my troubles would seem to pale in comparison to thine,” said Zestial, and you cursed internally.

“My troubles?” You raised an eyebrow. “And what are my troubles?” You had a warm place to sleep and a boyfriend who hand-fed you breakfast- practically the high life.

“Rumor has it thou suffered a mortal wound,” said Zestial, his narrow eyes looking you up and down. “ And thy former protégé doth set his sights on the folly thou suffered for.”

It took you a second to realize he was talking about Vox and the hotel. The documentary crew and constant stream of influencers through the hotel was Vox’s doing. And the timing was too co-incidental for it to not be related to the hidden cameras in Alastor’s room. Alastor already suspected Lucifer as the culprit for that, though he had no proof save that Lucifer was one of the few people powerful enough to dare to fuck with him.

“My protégé,” you repeated, lending a little darkness to your tone. “Tell me, who in the hotel did he deal with?”

Zestial smiled, eerily. “That information hath value,” he said. “What dost thou propose in exchange?”

You paused to think, twirling your cane idly around your palm and wrist as the two of you walked. Offering future consideration was a shitty thing to do, doomed to piss off either Zestial or Alastor, depending on who got saddled with the debt. You could sell the overlord the information that you were a fake, assuming that he hadn’t already figured it out, but that would undermine your own usefulness as a double for Alastor. “It seems to me,” you said, a smile at Zestial. “That the window of usefulness of that information is rather short.”

“The identity of a traitor in thy camp-” said Zestial.

“Ah, but it is a rather small camp, is it not?” you asked, grateful for the time you’d spent giving museum tours with a transatlantic accent as you stuck as hard as you could to Alastor’s mannerisms rather than lapse into iambic pentameter. “Are you sure you’d rather keep hold of it in the hopes of a high price when I need only wait for the blasted picture box to gloat about their identity?”

Zestial hummed, but didn’t argue the point further.

“I’ll tell you what. How about an exchange in kind? I’ll tell you the recent gossip I know, and you can stop me if I tell you something you think meets your price.”

“An entertaining prospect,” said Zestial. “Pray continue.”

The conversation with Angel Dust was fresh in your mind, so you recounted what you judged to be of interest, skipping over both Rosie, who Alastor had indicated was his friend, and Vox, whose very mention made Alastor’s smile seem forced, as well as the figures closest to Zestial himself. You named the underbosses vying to work under Zeezi, talked about the sinner who had been stalking Valentino, along with a few other tidbits, and Zestial was a good audience, chuckling and curious in turn.

“Thou art an enigma as ever, Alastor,” he said, as you reached the venue for the meeting, and imposing red-brick building.

You grinned at him. “I suppose that means my little stories don’t pass muster?”

“Quite the contrary,” said Zestial, a slight inclination of his head. “I consider my price paid in full. The king of Hell himself paid a visit to overlord Vox in his domain.”

Vox fought hard not to glitch when Alastor walked into the meeting room. The infuriating grin on his face, the buzz of an electric field around him, the cane twirling idly around his wrist, ears up and alert. He might not have noticed the differences if he hadn’t seen the two of you together barely a week before, if Alastor hadn’t caught him out by being disguised as you. The differences were subtle, but they were there, in the shape of your antlers and the markings on your ears.

No. Not Alastor. You. Fuck.

What were you doing here? This was a room full of overlords; people who would eat an innocent, sweet creature like you right up without a second thought. Had Alastor sent you there to taunt him? To see what he would do? The new overlord, Kennedy, had been talking shit about the Radio Demon for weeks. Vox hadn’t seen reason to worry about it before now, but the rest of the overlords were smart enough not to take a run at the Radio Demon, or anyone they believed to be the Radio Demon.

You met his eyes as you took your seat, a small smile on your lips, and Vox resolved that he would save you from this den of monsters. You were still the sweet little Bambi he had led tottering across his bedroom floor, before Alastor had stolen you. You were probably scared out of your tiny little mind, he reasoned, putting on a smiling face out of fear, or even compelled by the soul contract Alastor doubtless had over you. The small scrunch at your brow told him you were deep in thought, probably trying to think of a way out of your situation.

You strolled to your chair at the overlord’s meeting, a friendly smile to the woman you recognized as Rosie as you pondered two things. First- had Zestial rumbled your disguise? If he had, he’d shown no sign of doing so, taking his own seat across the table from you without comment. Second- was it a terrible idea to blackmail the King of Hell? The few times you’d crossed paths he’d seemed to barely register you as a person, merely part of an amorphous blob labeled ‘staff’. It was entirely possible that he would obliterate you without a second thought. And, if you did blackmail him, what would you ask for?

“Hello, one and all!” you chirped as you swung into your chair. “Tales of my incapacitation are unfortunately exaggerated!”

“More’s the pity,” muttered Vox, and you raised your eyebrow at him. It was only a few days since he’d sat next to your bed and begged Alastor to let him jack himself off as Alastor fucked you. Surely his feelings hadn’t soured that much for lack of aftercare.

“I’m sorry,” you said, cocking an ear. “Could you speak up? Your audio dropped out a little there.”

Carmilla spread her arms as Vox opened his mouth to retort. “Since we’re all here,” she said, a scowl at both you and Vox. “We should begin.”

“Wait, you’re just gonna let that motherfucker waltz in here and take a seat at the table like nothing’s happened?”

You turned and looked curiously at the demon that Alastor had told you you could kill. The Smoker Demon was tall by sinner standards, but much like you he was dwarfed by the larger members of the overlord contingent. His face was long and equine, his teeth jagged like those of most sinners, and he wore his mane plastered to his head with gel, the humanoid portion of his body attired in business casual. He looked around, seeking agreement from the other overlords.

“What? Are you just gonna not talk about how all our problems right now are the Radio Demon’s fault? The war with Heaven? Anyone?”

War with Heaven? Well, that certainly hadn’t been on sinstagram. You scrunched your nose. “Was that on the agenda? I didn’t get the memo.”

“Fuck the agenda.” Kennedy stood, glowering, and you watched as his demonic form manifested. Smoke streamed from his nostrils, wrapping itself around his arms to become biceps, and a single serrated horn proceeded from his forehead. A fucking unicorn? You’d never seen anyone manifest in anger before, except in the sinstagram videos you’d watched whilst prisoner in Vox’s quarters. To your surprise you could feel it, a low thrum in your antlers, akin to the feeling of the hunt. But the hunt was already afoot.

“If you could save that activity for after the meeting?” you said, a grin and a tilt of your head as you stared Kennedy down. You could feel the pulse in your throat, the promise of violence in the air. You felt alive. “I certainly don’t want to watch that.”

Vox watched you with increasing concern as Kennedy stepped onto the table. You didn’t know how much danger you were in, and no-one else around the table gave a fuck. They knew that one mid-tier bisexual unicorn was well within Alastor’s capabilities.

Vox watched as you rolled your eyes, turning to Carmilla with a lopsided smile, even as Kennedy loomed behind you, completely unconcerned. “The use of deadly force is still banned at these soirées, correct? Or did standards decline in my absence?”

Okay, you weren’t just unconcerned. You had a suicidal disregard for your own wellbeing. He had to do something, before Kennedy turned you into an Alastor-colored smear on the floor.

“Sit the fuck down, fuckface,” growled Vox, putting full threat behind it. That worked- Kennedy was too young to properly know the terror of the Radio Demon, but he knew Vox had a bigger dick than he did. Reluctantly he backed down.

“Unusually civic minded of you,” you said, in a perfect facsimile of Alastor’s voice, and Vox rolled his eyes internally. You’re welcome.

You stared across the table at Vox on and off for the entirety of the overlord meeting.

He had cut your altercation with your quarry short. It had been a great opportunity to gauge Kennedy’s speed and strength, maybe set him entirely off-balance by getting him kicked out of the meeting, and Vox had ruined it. It made your fingernails itch, your smile almost painful to maintain. You breathed through your nose, calming yourself by settling your attention on Kennedy, who glowered balefully at you, a little smoke still rising from his nostrils. What had Alastor even done to him anyway? You’d have to ask once you got back to the hotel.

Vox lingered after the meeting. “Hey, uh, Alastor. A word?”

You inclined your head, remaining as the others filed out. You would rather have followed Kennedy, but part of you still felt bad for just chucking Vox out of your bedroom. What you weren’t prepared for was just how close Vox stood to you, his face close enough that you could feel the static from his screen.

“I can take you away from all of this, babydoll.” Vox’s voice was low, the sort of coaxing tone he’d used as he pushed your knees apart. Not the voice he’d use for the real Alastor.

You kept the smile that Alastor had asked you to wear regardless. “Is that a threat?”

“Fuck.” Vox pressed his knuckles to his forehead. “You can drop the act, alright. I know who you are.”

“Oh? And who is that?” You grinned, slow and toothy.

Vox was quiet. You’d never given Vox your name. You hadn’t even given Alastor your name, for all you’d spent each night trading inconsequential secrets with each other, your tongue in his mouth and his in yours.

“Well? Who am I?”

“That guy’s bad news, okay.” Vox changed the subject. “He’s dangerous. He could hurt you.”

Oh. Vox was still buying the ditz act from when he’d taken you in. The only thing he’d seen you do was fuck Alastor, so you supposed he couldn’t really be blamed for that, and that certainly explained the protectiveness, however inconvenient. You fluttered your eyelashes. “How dangerous, exactly?”

It was hard to contain your excitement as you returned to the hotel, neatly sidestepping splashes from acid rain puddles. You had fooled a room full of overlords into thinking you were Alastor, except for Vox, and Vox had given you some downright detailed information on the overlord that you were going to hunt.

And you had traded up from Angel Dust’s toilet cistern cocaine to the identity of the person who had put spy cameras in your room.

When you entered the hotel you were so light on your feet that you were almost dancing, and you caught Alastor by the waist as you swept past, pulling him with you.

“It went well, I take it?” he said, falling deftly into step with you, taking you by the hand and by the shoulder.

You grinned wide, blood hot in your veins. “Zestial either rumbled me or you’re friends with him now,” you said, and Alastor laughed.

Your effervescence faded gradually, but your blood stayed hot, your excitement buzzing behind your teeth even into the night.

You watched Alastor, primly attired in his pajamas in the bed next to you, as he opened his book to the page he had reached the previous night. This was the point in the evening where you would find a book of your own, or simply sit and think, but you were too restless for that now; your senses too keen and your body still thrumming with adrenaline. You reached out and put your hand on his stomach, fingers trailing over the thin fabric, feeling the warmth of his body through it.

Alastor gave a soft hum, and turned the page, though his eyes did flicker to you briefly, curious. You pressed your suit, pushing up the hem of his pajama shirt to expose a few inches of skin, and lowered your face to him, lips brushing the skin of his hip, his flank, and then up to his navel; all of the skin that you had bared.

You lifted your gaze as your lips found his bellybutton and found Alastor staring at you over the top of his book, his antlers perhaps an inch taller than they had been a moment before, and you felt his diaphragm shift as he breathed in.

“You’re certainly forward tonight,” said Alastor, a warm crackle to his voice. “Did you want something from me?”

You shook your head, playful. “Don’t put your book down on my account.”

The snort Alastor gave was so soft that you didn’t even hear it, simply felt it through your hand on his stomach. “I wasn’t planning on it, dear,” he said, lifting his book again with theatrical indifference. “This is a very interesting chapter.”

Sliding your hand down the strip of hair that extended below his navel and under the waistband of his pajama pants, you found he was already hard for you. Just feeling his cock hard in your hand sent a sympathetic surge to your own loins, and you squeezed his shaft in your hand as you eased his waistband down over it.

Alastor feigned insouciance, but you could see the color rising in his cheeks, and feel his growing hardness under your touch. There was a matching heat in your own cheeks too; up until now, Alastor had been the one to set the pace, centering your pleasure, but now you had him in your hands. It was a surrender of the thing he found most precious- control.

You pressed your face to his stomach and then his mons as you stroked his cock, burying your nose in the coarse hair there and breathing in. He smelled like Alastor; like musk and woodsmoke and formaldehyde, and you felt the shivering intake of breath that he gave as you pressed your cheek against the silky-soft skin of his shaft, kissing your way from the base of his cock to the tip. Alastor made a show of turning the page of his book, but when you lapped up the salty liquid beading at his tip with your tongue, he actually gasped, his free hand going to cover his mouth.

You looked at him, questioning, challenging, but Alastor used the few seconds reprieve to recover his composure.

True to form, Alastor did recover, his eyes losing a little of their glazed look. “I hope you plan to finish what you started,” he said, his gaze going back to his book. You waited for him to finish turning the page before you took the tip of his cock into your mouth, careful to curl your lips around the sharp edges of your teeth, and sucked as you pumped his shaft with your hand.

“Fuck,” whimpered Alastor, and the noise went direct to your core. His eyes were closed, his teeth digging into his smiling lip as you stroked the underside of his cock with your tongue, pressing the head of his cock first against the roof of your mouth, then against the back of your mouth as you took him further in, saliva dribbling from the imperfect seal of your lips all the while. “Love,” he whined, though you doubted it was a confession, more likely a reflexive cry, a sweet nothing in his throat.

Alastor put his book down, pages open on the bed, and reached for you. You took his hand, twining your claws with his as you moved your mouth over him, going from pressing the head of his cock to the roof of your mouth to as far back in your throat as you could get him, the deepest point leaving you with your nose pressed to hair wet with your saliva, and then back again. His reaction told you that you were doing well; the quickening of his breathing, the spasmodic jerks that his hips made when you took all of him in your mouth- not enough to make you choke but enough to make your eyes water- the way his fingers gripped yours, and best of all the noises he made. Each cry he made was sweet enough to be intoxicating; to make your cunt throb and your cock ache, and you were sure that if you had ever told him your name it would be on his lips right now, in between the profanities and the broken cajun french.

You crawled between his legs as he kicked his pants the rest of the way off, your free hand cradling his balls as you took him in your mouth again, and between ragged breaths he reached for your antlers, fingertips brushing the perfect, sensitive spots that only he knew, a single tentacle extending from his back and resting at the back of your knee. It was an offer of a good ending for the evening, one that would leave you fucked out and content, deeply asleep on top of him, and it was a lie to say that it wasn’t a tempting one.

But you had other plans; you were feeling bold tonight. Gently, you moved his hand from your antlers, lifting your mouth from his cock with a soft pop, and took a moment to appreciate him being a flushed, panting mess for you. You stroked the tentacle, taking it in your hand. “I want to deflower you,” you said, as evenly as you could manage. “Let me fuck you in the ass.”

Alastor paused, his eyes registering surprise but not disinterest, and you gave him a few seconds to think about it. “You are welcome to try,” he said, finally, and for anyone else you would have offered reassurance. That you wouldn’t hurt him, that he didn’t have to do it. But Alastor had already swallowed so much of his pride in acquiescing to your request that any offer of reprieve would just have him doubling down, so you simply took him at his word, reaching into the dresser for the lubricant. It was one of the preparations you had made for Vox’s visit, a tube from the supply usually kept in the cupboard under the hotel’s front desk, along with the toothpaste and other single-use toiletries.

“Must I do all the work?” Alastor asked, a little archness layered over the desire in his voice as you applied lube to his tentacle, your palm spreading it across the smooth black surface.

“I’m not enough of a sadist to open you with my fingers,” you replied, wiggling a sharp claw at him, and his face split in a silent laugh. His tentacle coiled over your lower back as you crouched between his legs again, twining round your forearm and leaving the first few inches in your hand. You could feel the tension in his body as you touched him again, tracing fingers over his hip as you licked his cock, slowly, from the base to the tip.

He was expecting it to hurt, you realized as you took his cock in your mouth again, feeling the tension in his stomach and in his thighs, held open for you. He was expecting it to hurt and he was letting you do it anyway. You breathed out through your nose as you sucked his cock, pushing the head up against your epiglottis with a tilt of your head, and felt for his entrance with the knuckle of your index finger, stroking the tight ring of muscle with a feather-light touch before guiding the tip of the tentacle to it and pushing it in, your hand around the tentacle controlling the depth. You kept the motion shallow and slow at first, letting the lube on the tentacle spread to his hole, your mouth on his cock slow and unhurried. His body lost a little of the tension as he realized that you weren’t about to bully your way in, and you used that slack to fuck his tentacle a little deeper into him, motion slow and measured to not damage him as he took the thicker section of the taper.

Alastor gave a debauched noise that went straight to the base of your cock, eyes fluttering closed, and you held him by the hip as you kept up the pressure, his tentacle squelching into him now through the generous amount of lube, your lips and tongue and throat up and down on his cock. You could probably slide yourself into him now, smooth and easy as anything, and the thought made you twitch, but you gave him the tentacle a little longer, enjoying the way his breathing hitched at the nadir of each stroke, the salty taste of him as his cock leaked precum.

When you lifted your lips from his cock, he was staring at you again, eyes blown and dark.

“I need your hips a little higher,” you said, reaching for one of the pillows, but Alastor rolled his eyes and extruded another tentacle from his back, curling it under him to raise him up. The view it gave you was pornographic; legs spread, cock hard and angry red at the tip, glistening with your spit, his own tentacle stretching out his hole, lubricant dribbling out around it.

You eased his tentacle out of him, the soft noises he made at the sensation making your whole form ache with desire. Freeing your own cock with a quick movement, you lined yourself up with him, letting the head of your cock kiss his entrance. The sensation made you shiver, the skin there hot and slick.

Alastor’s expression told you that taking him in this position rather than from behind had been the correct decision. His smile was still there, but his ears were flat against his skull, uncertainty in his eyes alongside desire. You paused, palms on his hips, thumbs on his waist.

You could feel your pulse beating in your throat and in your groin. You didn’t want to harm Alastor, didn’t want to upset him, not with him vulnerable beneath you like this. You cared about him. “We can stop if you want. Just say the word.”

Alastor gave a scoff deep in his throat and used the tentacle looped around your back to push you into him.

The feel of being inside him was enough to make you forget to breathe for a second; his intense warmth and tightness and slickness around your cock. You’d worked enough of his tentacle inside him that you’d slid in easily, and you found yourself falling forward a little as you bottomed out inside him, his cock pressing up against your stomach, a snail trail of wetness as his precum spread across your skin.

Alastor’s smile was indulgent as he watched you struggle for breath, and he raised his head to kiss your forehead. “Do I really feel that good?”

“So good,” you said, your voice low and frank and thick with static, and Alastor’s answer was a purr, a vacuum tube hum from the back of his throat.

“I feel the same, you know,” he said, attempting a conversational tone and failing, slipping into a tone lower in his register, cock twitching against your stomach. “Every time I’m inside you, all I can think about is spilling myself.”

That statement sent heat to your face, doing nothing to help you acclimatize to the exquisite feeling of him around you. You bit your lip as you willed yourself to stay hard for him, reminding yourself that if you came in him now he was unlikely to let you try again. And you couldn’t let that happen.

Fingers round his sharp hipbones, you rolled your hips, easing out of him before pushing yourself in to the hilt again. If he’d watched you indifferently it would have been easier to keep hold, but Alastor was already half-lost, thick distortion resounding in his throat and through the cavity of his thin chest. His hands were on your back, claws flexing, tearing fine parallel incisions in your skin, but somehow the pain only ripped a libidinous growl from your throat, serving as an accent to the pleasure you felt. Alastor’s heat was slick and searing and perfect around you, and you narrowed your focus to him, only him.

You watched his face- the subtle change in expression behind the smile that he doggedly held, the way his eyelids fluttered, the way his larynx bobbed when his breath caught. You listened to him- the way he moaned and cursed in turn as you rutted into him, and the ragged edge to his breath. You felt him- his hard cock pressed between the two of you, twitching every time you hit the correct angle with a downstroke, his claws in your back, and the exquisite constricting heat of his ass.

Alastor’s breath grew more ragged, his voice more distorted, and you grinned as you felt your victory draw near; Alastor filled and spent on your cock. Alastor gave a growl, a low thrum of power, and you were caught off-guard as a third tentacle from his back curved between your legs and slid frictionless into your soaking cunt. You had been ignoring the ache there, but now, with a tentacle squelching into you, it was painfully obvious how much you had needed to be filled.

With Alastor’s tentacle stretching you, its movement compelling your rhythm, your already tenuous grip on yourself slipped, the cusp of your orgasm threatening with every stroke. You were close, too close, but so was Alastor, and you fought to make him cum, angling your hips in the way that made him tremble even as he forced you to adhere to his beat, tentacle curling in you with mirrored cruelty.

You came together; both gasping, both twitching, Alastor into the palm of the hand that you shoved between you to catch his seed, and you inside him, hot and deep and quivering.

“Alastor,” you whimpered, your whole body seeming to twitch with your first aftershock.

“Darling,” breathed Alastor, with as much awe as you had ever heard in his voice. “Oh darling, don’t you move.”

Your stomach fluttered as you looked at him, and you realized, perhaps belatedly, that this was something like love. You licked his cum from the palm of your hand, then held yourself over him, careful not to put weight on his injury. The expression on his face was one of clear, perfect bliss, with you inside him and he inside you.

You could feel yourself softening inside him already, beginning to slip out of him, and he wrapped an arm round you, pulling you onto his chest, not seeming to care when you lay over his wound. The claw marks he’d made on your back stung with the pressure, but you found you didn’t care about that, either.

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #alastor smut #bottom alastor #antlerplay #hazbin x reader #alastor tentacles

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igotanidea · 11 months

Text

No strings attached (1) : Jason Todd x plus-size!reader

Summary: Madison was Jason's stalker and he was tired. When Y/N moved into the neighbourhood he saw that as an opportunity to get rid of the baggage. Accidental meeting led to something more than friend, never a relationship though. He was not into tail, surely not, right? So why sudden change of behaviour when she pushed him away? And why would she push him away in the first place?!

Warnings: not in this chapter, but definitely smut and angst in the next ones. I'll post individual warnings in each chapter

***

„Why the fuck can’t you just leave me alone?” Jason sighed deeply leaning onto the doorframe of the apartment next to his. Honestly he had no idea what was happening to him lately. Maybe it was the effect of getting back to Gotham, but he became more depressed than before. Guess being back from the death and realizing your family replaced you does such things to people. Of course, there was his hole Red Hood persona, but Jason? Jason Todd was insecure, sensitive and in desperate need of someone to love. And someone who would love him back. However, all those traits were skillfully covered by sarcasm, edgelord attitude and harsh behavior. So why wasn’t he able to just tell this girl to fuck off and leave him alone? Why couldn’t he say something mean, which will left her offended and disappear from his life.

He just couldn’t and it was really getting on his nerves.

“But Jason….” the girl whined “why can’t you see it?”

“See what exactly?” he raised an eyebrow

“We are just perfect for each other!” she squealed and almost jumped into his arms in an attempt to hug him “Come on, just give this a chance!”

“Please, go away, Madison.”

“You remembered my name!”

“Of course I remembered your name. How could I not?” he rubbed his forehead “you left like a hundred notes with your name and number in my mailbox. And sticky notes on my bike. And you tormented my ….’ He hesitated, the word brother, not getting thought his mouth “nevermind. I told you, I am not interested.”

“You just don’t know what you’re missing, Jaybird….”

“Stop calling me that! I hate it! Who …. Who the fuck taught you this nickname!?” now she actually managed to anger him. Maybe it was good, maybe for the first time in a while he would be able to take some direct action and get rid of that stalker of a girl.

“I got my ways.” She smiled mischievously “nothing ever gets lost in the Internet and I got just the right tools to dig deep.”

“Listen up, Madison….”

“Oh, I am listening. Extremely carefully.” She took a step towards him and he immediately flinched. Cornered by a girl, fucking great. Grayson would never let him live this down. “Come on, Jason, let me in….” she cooed, her hand tracing up his arms towards his shoulder “you remember how much fun we had last time….”

“It was one time! One fucking time and it was a mistake!”

“The kind you want to keep repeating?”

“What the fu…..” he started, but another female voice joined the conversation successfully cutting him off. A very annoyed female voice.

“I’m sorry, but could you two take this conversation, elsewhere? You are kind of blocking the door to my apartment and I would love to take this off.” She pointed towards the heavy backpack she was wearing.

Oh, right. There have been a lot of talk in the building about a possible new tenant. Guess she was the one. And the timing was just perfect for Jason, who immediately jumped into the occasion.

“Baby!” he almost screamed and both girls looked at him with wide eyes. Madison in surprise, bordering shock, the other one with “what-the-fuck” expression, probably wondering if he was mental. So much of a good first impression “you are finally here!” he continued, hugging the girl lightly to not startle her.

“What the …..?” she hissed into his ear, but before she could finish the sentence he squeezed her tighter, almost getting a kick in the groin.

“Come on, just play along with me for a minute.” Jason whispered, so that only she could here “I need to get rid of her, I’ll buy you a wine or whatever, just help the neighbor out.”

“You’ll owe me much more than just a wine if you keep your hands where they are now.”

Oh, shit. Only now, he realized that his right palm was definitely way to low on her back. But damn, the girl got curves in all the right places and he was just a man.

“Sorry.” He mumbled and pulled away, acting like they knew each other for eternity “Why didn’t you call me, princess? I told you to do it the second you get in town! I can’t believe you carried all this weight by yourself!”

“I just wanted to surprise you…, em…, honey.”

“You most definitely did.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Hold right there.” Madison came in between them and pushed the other girl away slightly “who the fuck are you?”

“She’s my girlfriend.” Jason blurted, hoping his new neighbor would really play along.

“GIRLFRIEND!?”

“Yeah, um, hi, I’m Y/N. Nice to…..”

“Did you know you’re boyfriend is cheating on you, sunshine? No wonder, though.” She gave Y/N a look over “You should really lose some weight, sunshine. Will do you good. ”

“I’m sorry, what….?”

“Hey! You have no right to talk to her like that!”

“Sure not. but for some reason you choose me over her multiple times….”

“ONCE!”

“Whatever, Jaybrid. If you ever get bored with her, again, you know where to find me. I’m not giving up on you, baby” Madison raised onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek briefly. Jason almost didn’t stop himself from wiping it off his face. “as for you, girlfriend” she almost hissed the last word “I don’t; think this is going to last long. Too bad for you.” her vicious laugh filled the whole staircase “love you Jaybird, call me!”

And leaving just a thread of perfume she was gone. Not that she left furious Jason and absolutely confused Y/N behind.

“I’m sorry about ….” Jason turned around, ready to do some explanation, but much to his disappointment, the only sound he heard was clicking on the key in a keyhole. From inside. “Hey, come on, Y/n! Open up!”

“Go away, you freak!”

“Let me at least apologize face to face, not through the door!” a moment of silence on her part gave him unreasonable hope.

“Apology accepted, now move out of my door or I’ll come at you!” if only she knew who she was threatening….

“I promised you a wine for helping me, remember?”

“I don’t care! If you don’t leave in ten seconds I’m gonna call the police!”

“Hate to break it to you, princess, but it’s Gotham. I’m the best chances at protection you have. Or you can always call upon Batman, but I don’t see that being successful.” Jason scoffed, starting to walk back and forth.

“Oh, yeah, right. That really sounds exciting. Meeting the big, bad bat in person.” Her voice reverberated somehow clearer and closer than before and when he raised his gaze realized she actually opened the door and was now standing right in front of him.

Shit, she was pretty with her h/c hair, flowing around her face, a bit fuzzy because of shitty Gotham weather, shiny e/c eyes and pouty lips. She might have been a bit on the heavier side, but it only added to her charm and fire that she showed before by putting on the little display.

She was beautiful and even tiredness of the journey couldn’t hide that.

“Hi.” Jason whispered, a little taken aback and filled with guilt of dragging her into his mess.

“What the fuck was that?” she sighed deeply “Look, Jason, I am exhausted. I had a long journey and as much as I would love to take you up on that wine offer I had no power in me to do that. So how about we just forget about this whole mess and say farewell to each other, hm? I have no interest in interfering in your personal life, especially with the girl who called me fat the second she laid eyes on me.”

“Don’t you want to know your handsome neighbor better?” he smirked and realized that even though it just slipped through, there was a chance that his old self was getting back to life. Was it because of her?

“Nah, not really. I think I’ve seen enough. And like I said, being back in Gotham sucks, but what can a girl do, right? Life sucks as well sometimes.” She shrugged and started closing the door

“Wait!” he put a feet in, before she managed to actually do it.

“What now?”

“Are you from around here?”

“Born Gothamite. Glad you can’t tell it just by looking at me. Now, I really want to go to sleep, if you don’t mind…..” she yawned and rubbed her eyes in the cutest child-like manner, making him feel to many things. Too many dangerous things.....

‘Right, sorry. I’ll leave you to it. Good night, Y/N.”

“Yeah, night, crazy boy.”

She already had a nickname for him.

He definitely wasn’t going to let this acquaintance end up at this….

next part ->->->

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pineapplequencher · 4 months

Text

five stars ੈ✩‧₊˚

wherein surfer portgas d. ace tries his hand at snowboarding. he fails, but he's pretty sure he's met the love of his life.

surfer!ace, snowboarder!mc, afab reader, unedited, sfw, 3.6k words

tw: blood mention

a/n: this is my entrance exam into floptropica university (i also suck and snowboarding and avoid it. im a surfing girl. sorry if i got osmething wrong)

Should be easy enough, Ace thinks. I surf, so this’ll probably be easy. Besides, what’s the difference between snowboarding and surfing? He’s totally gonna shred regardless.

But the gear is heavy, and the boots are clunky, and the helmet looks ridiculous. He’s used to the autonomy of having no shirt on, with sun on his back and wind through his hair. The air here is frosty and unkind, the sun is hidden behind a blanket of clouds, and the other people in the gondola line look mean.

As he approaches the gondola to take him up the mountain, a worker with green hair and goggles barks at someone else before he turns to Ace. Ace hefts the heavy board under his arm and gives the worker a cheeky grin. “Hey.”

The worker’s name tag sports chipped letters—Zoro—and the worker himself gives Ace a tight line of a smile.

“Hey, uh, after I get on this thing”—Ace motions to the swinging carriages supported by the lines that stretch to the high, white peak—“which way do I go to get to the bunny hill?” Zoro’s lips twitch, as if in an effort to hold back a laugh. Ace, a bit insecure now, adds, “My brothers went up before me, and I’m new to the area.”

Zoro glances at the mountain, then back to Ace. He checks his clipboard and readjusts the goggles over his eyes. Ace is sure those aren’t prescription-based, but Zoro’s voice is confident. “Sounds like you’re headed for Drum Island Hill. I think you take a right, and then a left. Should be right there.”

“Thanks, man,” Ace replies coolly.

“Yeah,” Zoro says. He turns back to his busywork. “You should probably strap a boot in before you go up. Okay, stand there, and the ski lift will take you up.”

Ace does so and waddles to the area. He flops his bulky body on the bench. This is his first time doing a winter sport, and he didn’t want to pay the hefty fee of lessons. The ski lift gains traction and lifts him into the air.

When he reaches the top, he stumbles off the bench. He’s not used to his foot directly strapped onto his board. It gives him no leeway. He balances poorly and dismisses the worker that’s about to help him.

“I got it,” Ace says. “I’m good.”

Now, what did that guy below say? Ace peeks down the mountain. This is way higher than he thought. This is where the bunny hill is, right? He looked online at the review, and it said that this place is good for beginners. He’s starting to doubt the Internet’s honesty.

Ace traverses across the hard, thick snow. He sludges his strapped boot behind him, copying the fellow snowboarders, and takes his steps with utmost carefulness. A right and a left. Should be easy enough, Ace consoles himself again.

Having another board strapped to his foot feels like cheating on his surfboard at home, though.

After he drags his body to the right, he makes his way past a few wooden cabins with skis perched outside. He must be headed the right direction. A few skiers chat and laugh as they leave the cabin, Modelos in hand. Ace doesn’t feel that safe here anymore, but he has to meet Luffy and Sabo. And master this craft. He paid good money to rent the snowboard and gear. Can’t let it go to waste.

Once Ace reaches a thick collective of white-tipped evergreens, Ace scratches his head. This is a good spot to turn left. He navigates through the forest until he notices a sign: Black Diamond. That doesn’t sound like Drum Hill Island, but the names of these mountains go hard. Maybe they’re synonymous.

There’s very few people here—only two besides Ace—and one measly cabin. It looks closed. One of the snowboarders nods their head at the other and tightens the goggles. Then, they disappear down the snow. Ace’s gaze follows them.

Um, Ace thinks.

The road is steep, with bumps and swirls that slither down the mountain. The skinny trail is fenced off by the forest, and rocks jut out sporadically. The snowboarder slides and turns around the rocks and flips off of a mound. They hoot.

Ace turns. There’s no Luffy. There’s no Sabo. Maybe they’ve begun to make their way down as well. The second snowboarder here pats Ace’s back. “Hey, man, you from around here? You look nervous.”

“I’m not,” Ace says. “First time.”

“First time here? Oh, dude, this path is hella fun. Mind the giant rock when you’re around thirty feet in, though. It’ll trip you up, and it’s for sure accident prone,” the snowboarder replies. Then, they flip their snow goggles over their eyes. “See you down there.”

Then, Ace’s last bit of company is gone.

Alone in the desolate snow, Ace fantasizes about his surfboard. Whatever. Everyone’s a beginner at whatever they do. Luffy and Sabo probably had so much fun without Ace already. That alone fuels Ace’s FOMO into transmission. He will surf this mountain, or whatever they say.

Ace shakes away his nerves. He fixes the goggles over his eyes and knocks on his helmet for good luck. Then, he fastens his other boot onto the board. This doesn’t feel right, but that’s just his muscle memory. Ace feebly totters to the edge of the path. The wind whistles in his ears, further emphasizing how alone he is at the top.

Before Ace could hype himself up more, his balance shifts, careening his board, and suddenly he’s plummeting down the mountain. Ace screams.

He holds his arms out in an attempt to position himself better, but the speed at which he’s shredding this mountain makes it impossible for Ace to maintain himself. He swears the other boarders weren’t going as fast as he was. They were skidding and sliding alongside the mounds of snow. Ace is just skidding.

Ace wobbles on his board. It’s so skimpy and malleable compared to a surfboard. Every small adjustment he makes essentially carves his path down here. Somehow, Ace sees himself not making it out of here alive. He has to choose how he wants to go out.

He sees how this could be fun to an experienced snowboarder. He’s not that guy.

A bump in the path sends Ace into the sky. Falling on his back sounds bad. Falling on his face sounds worse. With how thick the snow is, he could fall headfirst into the snow and never be seen again. Ace channels his energy into twisting his body so that he lands on his butt. A busted tailbone is an easy fix.

He curls his body and braces for impact.

Once he hits the snow, he hits it hard. The ocean waves are much kinder when it comes to falling off. The back of his helmet slams against the harsh snow, and his ears ring in pain. His tailbone takes a direct hit against the sleet of snow and ice, and rapid throbs of pain follow. His head is dizzy, and momentarily his legs lose feeling. The weight of his snowboard tugs him further down. Ace flails his arms to hold himself in the snow.

Ace unbuckles one of his boots, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He’s alive, that’s for sure, and it hurts. Ass planted in the snow, Ace stretches his limbs and decides to wait a few minutes before he creates an action plan. The snow did a number on him. He can’t think. He might throw up. He’s the perfect bait for a bear. He’s going to die. He can’t even push himself out of his ass-created hole in the snow.

The high altitude of the mountain allows for the wind to whip Ace’s helmeted head around. His heavy head lolls around his shoulders. He can’t breathe. Ace fumbles to undo the clip, and he sloughs his helmet off next to him.

His black locks are damp on his forehead. Ace shakes the sweat from his head, but the rapid movement causes him to groan. His snowy, cold glove grasps his forehead. This biting pain is uncomfortable. He might have to wait for help.

Ace tosses his helmet to the side and sighs, waiting for the pain to subside. What he tripped on must have been the rock in the road the other snowboarder informed him about. Just his luck.

Then, a giant shadow crosses the sky. Ace looks up.

It’s another snowboarder flying above him. His mouth is open. He should shout for help, right?

Their form is impeccable—it’s something you see on a YouTube video. Their hand is gripped on the edge of the board, their knees tucked, and their other arm splayed out. Ace would give a lot to see a GoPro video of this person shredding snow.

He doesn’t need to shout for help; the snowboarder notices Ace. The snowboarder is distracted long enough for them to release their hold on the board and tumble into the snow. Ace hears a crunch and winces.

Ace watches the other snowboarder tumble into the snow. So that’s how you fall, he notes. The snowboarder’s gloves grasps against the mountain snow. They’re quick to unbuckle their boots and check their limbs and ankles. After they do a windmill with their arms, they pick up their snowboard and use it to hike their way to Ace. Snow cascades down their covered shoulders.

Although the helmet and goggles conceal their expression, Ace has a feeling that this person is mad.

Since he’s stuck, he lets the angry snowboarder approach him. He gulps. The slow, steady, and experienced stomps of the snowboarder alongside the harsh pikes of their snowboard against the mountain lets Ace know that there’s more pain bound his way.

Once the snowboarder is close enough, they peel back their goggles to reveal their face and shed the helmet entirely. They tuck it under their arm and stake their snowboard into the snow.

Fuck, Ace thinks. Why’d it have to be a pretty girl?

Similar to Ace, her hair is damp against her forehead and is frizzy from the tight hold of the helmet. Her lashes fan over her cheeks when she blinks, and her nose is scrunched. The sun behind the woman infuses her with a brilliant glow, which causes Ace’s breath to hitch, and her rainbow-hued goggles glint. Her brows create a pinch in her glabella, and a sneer is plastered against her face. Forget the GoPro, Ace would give a lot to see this woman’s smile.

Then, he notices her bloody, bruised lip.

“What—the fuck”—her voices comes out in angered pants—“is wrong—with you?” She pokes a gloved finger against Ace’s chest, and he throws his hands up in surrender. “You’re a hazard, hello? At least get out of the path.”

“Sorry,” Ace replies meekly. “Um, sorry about your lip, too.”

“You have a lot to be sorry for,” the woman hisses. “Where’s your etiquette?”

“I’m new here.”

She doesn’t let her bottom lip stop her from chastising Ace. In fact, blood drips onto the white snow, fresh and bright. “New to the area, or new to snowboarding?”

“New to snowboarding…” Ace lowers his arms.

The woman’s hand flies up to her head. Her visible rage has yet to leave. “This is a Black Diamond path, AKA what they use to categorize the most dangerous paths, AKA where only pros go, AKA metrosexuals like you shouldn’t be here.”

He still has time to look suave in front of her. He brushes his hair back and says, “I figured. What’s your na—”

“You should be at Drum Hill Island. This is Skypiea.”

“Okay.”

“Did you not see the experts only sign?”

“I saw the Black Diamond sign,” Ace offers, but he must’ve added fuel to the fire since the woman plants a hand on her hip, unimpressed. “I—I didn’t know what that meant. I said I was a beginner.”

The woman sighs. “Give me a second.”

Ace watches her plod into the forest. She takes a moment to drop her helmet, unglove a hand, and check her phone in her pocket. She holds her phone close to her lip to see the damage. Then, she pockets her phone, fits her glove back onto her hand, and screams.

A flock of birds fly into the sky.

After she’s done, the woman grabs her helmet and slogs back to where Ace sits, still ass-down in the snow. Her blood begins to drip down her chin, a red trail is left behind in her wake. She’s too angry to pay attention to it, and Ace would rather not upset her more.

“You stuck?” she asks, her tone gentler than before, yet it still has an icy edge to it.

“Yeah,” he admits.

The woman kneels down to unbuckle Ace’s foot free. She takes his snowboard and plants it into the ground next to him. She stands and dusts the snow from her knees, then she holds her hands out expectantly. Ace takes them, and she pulls him out of the snow.

The force of it pushes her back—he’s a heavy, muscled guy, you know—and Ace trips over her. They land on the snow. Their faces are inches away from kissing, and Ace might’ve gone for it if she weren’t mad at him already, if her lip wasn’t bloody, and if he had some liquid courage. Both of their breaths come out in wispy tendrils of fog, and the woman’s face is studying Ace. He’s unsure if she’s incredulous or captured by his good looks.

He decides it’s the former when the woman says, “Can you get off.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” he murmurs and pries himself away. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says as she sits upright. “Rough landing. I’m used to it, though. Anyway, you’re lucky I know a way out of here.” She stands up, plucks her helmet from the ground, and holds the edge of her snowboard. “Just get your stuff and follow me. You’ll be fine, if you have no other injuries.”

“I’m okay,” Ace says. He might have a concussion. This woman really is pretty.

“That’s good. No need for a rescue helicopter, then.”

Ace chuckles. “Yeah, that might be too much.”

The woman’s eyes crinkle. She must be trying to smile, since her lips wobble and her brows are raised. Obviously, her new wound makes it impossible. Ace is kind of proud of himself, and then his confidence is lowered because it’s his fault she busted her lip open.

Without another word, the woman goes into the forest, leaving Ace to frantically gather his gear and stumble behind her. He jogs—and nearly slips—until he’s next to her. The woman says nothing to him as he catches glances at her.

It isn’t until the woman stops to free her hand from her glove does Ace say, “I’m really sorry, by the way.”

The woman looks at him as she raises her careful hand to her bloody lip. She wipes some of it away and hisses at the pain. She looks at the red on her finger and wipes it on her snow pants. “It happens.”

They continue their journey. Granted, she has every right to be upset. Ace clears his throat. “Do you come here often?”

“Yeah, I do,” she says. “Whenever I’m on break, I make the trip up here.”

“From what I saw, you’re pretty good.”

The woman smiles, this time with great care, in consideration of her lip. “Thanks. Lots of practice. But I never had the audacity to try a Black Diamond on my first try.”

“I followed instructions, I swear,” Ace insists. “There was this guy down there—Zoro, or whatever—and he told me to take a right, then a left to get to the bunny hill. I literally did that and ended up here.”

“Oh, that guy’s working today. No wonder,” the woman says. “He’s shit at directions.”

“He convinced me. He sounded so confident.”

The woman’s eyes meet Ace’s. She quickly refocuses on the slow shuffle of her feet. “I wouldn’t be surprised if other beginners are at Skypiea, too, but they wouldn’t have the audacity to actually ski or board it.”

She’s back to jabbing at him. He’ll take it. Ace shrugs. “Yeah, yeah, I’m full of myself.”

“So you do get that a lot.”

“I get it more often than I should,” Ace says. “Hey, once you get to know me, you’ll find that I’m a humble guy.”

The woman snorts and shoves Ace. “Humble people don’t say that.”

“And you would know that because you’re humble, huh,” Ace retorts.

“Yeah, once you get to know me, you’ll find that I’m a humble girl.”

“Okay, calm down.”

After that, she doesn’t respond. Ace struggles to find a conversation topic. She might not want to talk because of her lip, but it seems she’s not exactly opposed to it.

“Do you usually come with friends? I noticed you were alone,” he points out. Yep. He’s good. That’s good. Casual and smart.

The woman sighs. “Sometimes. I came with a college friend this week, but he sprained his ankle yesterday doing Skypiea. Did you come here with anyone?”

“Yeah, my younger brothers! They should be at the kiddie hill. I was tryna look for them before this happened…”

Ace wishes they met under better circumstances. If he had his iconic orange cowboy hat, he would have taken it off, held it to his chest, and asked for her name with a smile. He’d do that cheesy thing where he bows a bit and kisses her knuckles. Then, he’d impress her with a trip to the beach and show her how well he surfs. She’d ask him to teach her, probably, and he’d get to—

“Hello?” the woman says.

“Sorry?” Ace is saying sorry a lot today. It’s fine. This woman deserves it.

“Your name? Excuse me?” the woman asks. “I’ve been asking.”

“It’s Ace,” he replies. “Sorry, your lip must hurt a lot. Um, what’s yours—”

“Oh! We’re here!” the woman chirps, and she points to a ski lift, buried in the clearing of the forest. Around the lift is a populated area, with plenty of children and families. Settled in the valley of the mountain, there are smaller slopes and neon netting to prevent accidents. There are lessons held with snowboarders and skiers alike in blue uniforms, watching the people work their way around the snow.

Ace’s shoulders droop. “Oh. We’re here.”

“Go ahead and find your brothers.” The woman gives him a dismissive wave. “I’ll check in with the infirmary about my lip. I might need stitches.”

Here’s his chance. “Yeah, I’m really sorry. If—If it costs anything, I can give you my number, and you can let me know about the cost. I’ll pay.”

The woman hesitates. Ace crosses his fingers discreetly. Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes please say yes please say yes. She fishes a hand in her pocket and waves her phone in front of him. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Ace takes it. He remembers he has gloves on. He sheepishly sheds them off and tosses them to the side as quick as he can. “Oops. Um. Let me see…” Ace’s hands shake as he types his name in, and then his phone number. He double-checks the digits. He triple-checks it even. He makes sure it’s right. He really wants her to reach out.

“Hey,” the woman prods.

“Here you go,” Ace says and hands her phone back. “Call me. Or text me. Do whatever you want. Do whatever’s comfortable for you.”

“Okay… I will,” she replies, and Ace takes it as a promise.

Again, he watches her maneuver through the people in the area until she reaches an information desk. She rings the bell, and a worker comes out. The woman motions to her lips, and the worker freaks. Ace watches the woman laugh, throw her head back, and wave her hands.

Damn. Ace wants to make her laugh like that. He’ll wait for the text. He’ll cook up something good. Something that’ll make her kick her feet and giggle.

Behind him, a familiar voice says, “Looks like you made it.”

Ace turns around. It’s Zoro, the freak from the bottom of the ski lift. It looks like his goggles are still for show because he has them strapped around his eyes with no helmet. Ace wants to yell at this guy for making him look like a loser in front of a pretty girl, but he finds that he’ll settle for a nasty Google review.

“I did,” Ace says through gritted teeth. He then points to the woman. “What’s her name, by the way?”

Zoro whistles. “This is a place to snowboard and ski, not pick up chicks.”

Never mind. Ace is ticked. “Yeah, well, your directions actually led me to something called a Black Diamond Skypiea thing, and she helped me out. I just wanna know her name, dude.”

Zoro laughs.

Ace waits.

Once Zoro’s maniacal laughter is over, Zoro says, “That’s [Name]. You got lucky by meeting her. Wow. This is crazy. Sanji’s been trying to get his contact in her phone for ages. Good luck.”

Smug, Ace can’t hide the growing smile on his cheeks. That Sanji guy must be butt-ugly and not worth [Name]’s time at all. Ace’ll show her what a real man can do. Well, he would, but the ball’s in [Name]’s court. All Ace has to do is wait for the hospital bill to come in.

Ace pats Zoro on the back. “Thanks, man. I mean it.”

✭✭✭✭✩ decent place to ski and snowboard. personal faves are skypiea and wano. i've done alabasta too but i've heard things about it being artifical snow and you know what i can tell it's artifical... read more - [name]

✭✭✩✩✩ Gyatt damn is all i gotta say. Nami is fine as hell i want her 😍 I also broke my skull doing thriller bark they need to fix that shit asap - brookhardboner

✭✭✭✭✭ Would’ve given this place 1 star but Im pretty sure I met the love of my life today - firefistace

#portgas d ace #portgas d. ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #ace x reader #portgas ace x you #portgas ace x reader #one piece oneshots #one piece x you #one piece ace

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