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formula1fanfiction · 10 months ago

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Toto Wolff / George Russell

Title: The more you say, the less I know

Pairing: Toto Wolff / George Russell

Characters: Toto Wolff, George Russell, Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc

Prompt: Can we pretend that George being sick in Abu Dhabi was actually the start of his heat but he's the only omega in the paddock and when Toto smells him he begs George to let him HELP. Thank yu

George feels like death once he finally steps out of the car, he honestly doesn't know how he survived this race without a crash and somehow managed to secure a podium.

His heat has been threatening him the whole weekend, he had tried everything to stop it coming but nothing has worked and it looks like it's finally here. Maybe it wouldn't have mattered as much if he wasn't the only omega on the grid.

Oh and the fact he's been lying about being a Beta.

He quickly swallows the scent blockers Aleix has given him and makes his way to the cool down room. He just wants to get those over with then he can go back to his room and spend his heat with his toys.

George sits as far away from Charles and Max as possible, he probably would have on a normal day considering the way those two give each other bedroom eyes, although it had always surprised him that Charles and Max are together and not Pierre and Charles. George coughs as he sits down, both drivers give him a strange look .

"What?" George coughs again as he sits down. Max is smirking at him while Charles looks absolutely disgusted in him. "Did you fuck someone?" George chokes on his water. "What?"

"You smell like a bitch in heat." Max laughs, while Charles narrows his eyes. "Yes, it's affecting me as a Beta." George's heart pounds out of his chest. "How can they still smell him?"

"You're a Beta too, right?"

Charles knows?

Charles Knows!

"Yeah." George chokes out with another cough, a whole wave of slick leaks out of him, it's a good thing he's in his race suit, because he feels like he's pissed himself through his fire proofs.

Who was he kidding with scent blockers? He's way too far gone for that.

The podium celebrations happen without any further incident, he manages to stay a safe distance away from Charles and Max and his scent is covered by the smell of champagne.

The problems start once he finally gets back into his garage. Toto comes over to congratulate him on securing second in the constructors championship. George knows he can smell his sweet omega scent, when his team principal's eyes dilate until they become fully black. "George." Toto growls, gripping George's forearm. George roughly pulls away and makes a run for it before he becomes too far gone and begs Toto to take him right here in the garage. Denying his body what it really wants.

George whines as he enters the safety of the toilet cubicle, he slides his back against the door and pulls his knees up to his chest. He's sticky with heat and the ungodly amount of slick he's produced. He doesn't know what to do, he's stuck here now probably for the rest of his life, he can't face Toto. Not now he knows.

He doesn't know what to do, so George does what he does best and allows himself to cry. He feels beyond ill, all he wants is a massive alpha cock in his arse. He loses track of time somewhere between crying and flooding the place with his slick, when he hears an aggressive bang on the door. Fuck. sweat pools off him, he could do with a bang himself, a hard one with his back preferably pressed against a soft mattress.

it's only when someone knocks again, he comes back to himself. "Who is it?" He manages to croak out. "George, it's me Toto. Are you okay?" George purrs it's unbearable having an alpha so close to him. He can smell Toto's strong alpha scent through the door and George has to do everything in his power to stop himself from begging Toto to wreck him.

"I'm perfectly fine Toto." George surprises himself with how calm and collected he sounds, maybe Toto will just get the hint and go away. "George, I can smell it you know." That's it then, his life as he knows it is over. "Right, yes. I'm sorry Toto. If you want to just step away, i'll pack my stuff and leave."

"Don't be silly George, who cares that you're an omega? George is convinced he's delirious at this point and palms his hard cock through his race suit. "George lets me in please." Toto sounds calm, collected and not angry at all. He sounds sexy, how has George never noticed before? George forces his own palm off his cock.

"George, I can smell you. Please, just open the door, I can help you out." The words translate in George's brain to please George let me fuck you. He shakes his head, trying to clear his mind. This can't be happening.

"Open the door George." Toto is quiet for a moment, a whole minute passes before he speaks again. "Open the door George, that's an order." The omega inside of him is screaming at him to obey an alpha's order. George would love nothing more than Toto's knot but there are mechanics out there? What if someone sees and tells the press that George is a horny omega who couldn't keep his hands off his team principal in public. No, he can't.

"I don't want to, go away." George lies, he can't take it anymore and pushes his race suit off his hips and wraps his hand around his cock still covered by his fire proofs. "I know you want me to help you George, don't lie to me."

"You being an omega won't affect your seat, I promise." George's hands shake as he scrambles to unlock the door. He's barely aware he's done it but Toto doesn't hesitate for a second, pulling him off his knees and presses himself up against George's sweaty back. "You smell so good baby."

"Do you want me to help you with your heat, sweet little omega?" Toto's hands are all over his body, he roughly spins him around and picks him up. George doesn't hesitate for a second and wraps his long legs around Toto's body. "You're so wet baby." Toto growls into his ear, palming the wet patch on George's fire proofs. "Please Toto."

George has completely lost it now, his omega instincts have fully taken over. Toto squeezes his ass and massages the round globes, not hesitating for a second despite the amount of wetness George is leaking. George is shameless and pushes back into Toto's hand, silently begging for anything. The movement pushes Toto's hard cock into George's. It's pain and pleasure all at the same time, he can feel Toto's massive cock against his but there is far too much fabric between them.

"Patience baby, you'll soon get what you want." George is only half aware that he's pulling Toto's clothes off, pulling at the hem of his shirt and pulling down the fly on his pants. Toto momentarily steps back and calmly removes each of the offending garments, leaving George to go insane watching him.

"Want you." George mumbles, mouth watering as he sees Toto's beautiful cock, it's so big and he wants to take it into his mouth, so badly. He wants to choke on it and be suffocated by the smell of Toto. "let me help you George, this isn't about me."

Toto pushes George forward and bends him over the sink, George catches a glance at himself in the mirror, he's a mess, his hair is plastered to his forehead, his cheeks are burning red and his eyes are glazed over completely with lust. Toto is finally freeing him from his sticky fire proofs and purrs approvingly at George's body.

"You're so wet George." Toto groans into his ear as he pushes two fingers into George, he scissors them apart as George arches up, getting as much as he can from those long fingers. "Don't think i've ever had a bitch this wet." George moans even louder as a third finger is pushed inside and roughly slammed in and out of him.

"I don't have to fuck you, not if you don't want it George." The softness of it fucks with George's head. "I can just finger you or help you out in another way." George melts against Toto's body. "Please Alpha, I want your knot, please."

George has no shame and bends himself further over the sink and grinds his wet ass into Toto's cock. "Fuck, George." Toto grips his narrow hips tightly and it sends shock waves down Georges body. "Toto, fuck me please."

"Who would I be to deny a begging omega." Toto presses himself against George's cock and slowly starts to sink his cock inside. Toto's head rests on George's shoulder and he so badly wants Toto to bite him, claim him, ruin him. Toto starts thrusting instantly slamming into George, every thrust sends a tidal wave of slick down George's thighs.

It's not even nearly enough, George is begging for more, it feels like Toto is almost holding back. "Give me more, please." Toto gives a little sigh. "Whatever my little omega wants." Maybe George should be worried, they are not using a condom and George isn't on any birth control but he's not worried, he wants Toto to fuck him full of his pups.

Toto is holding him holding him like he's precious and might shatter in his arms, George on the other hand is pushing his hips back and getting everything he needs. He moans loudly, so damn turned on as Toto slides his hips back and slams back into him, The pace is rhythmic and fast and delicious. "You're so good like this George." George grunts as he's filled with an extra hard thrust. "Such a cute little omega, begging for your alpha's cock like that.

Toto holds George's hips in an iron grip, to stop him bumping himself into the sink and hurting himself. The omega inside George giggles foolishly at the protection from his alpha while Toto slides their bodies together perfectly, both moaning loudly in sync with each other.

"I've always know George, that you were a little omega." Toto growls into his ear, speeding up his thrusts until the sound of skin slapping against echo's around the bathroom. "As soon as you presented me with that little power point with your sweet smell and your eagerness to impress." George cries out, as Toto hits him dead on in his prostate. "And you are aren't you George? Always so submissive and responds well to praise."

"Please, I need..." George doesn't really know what he's asking for Toto seems to understand, as he angles his thrusts and slams into George's prostate with every thrust, causing the omega to cry out in pure pleasure with every thrust into his body. George comes hard, untouched the cum exploding over his already wet through body but it's not nearly enough. He whines and squirms in Toto's grip.

"What is it baby, do you need your alpha's not?" George is far too gone for words, he nods eagerly. George doesn't care about anything other than Toto's knot right now, he will happily carry Toto's pups, hopefully strong alpha's just like daddy.

Toto thrusts into him with all his might, squeezing impossibly harder on his already bruised his hips, while his other hand pushes George's beck, down bending him open even more. George groans feeling himself open up, ready for the knot he's about to receive.

George splutters and chokes on his moans when he finally feels Toto's knot sink inside of his whole and starts swelling larger and larger. George's thoughts dominated by being a good wife and good mommy and that's even before Toto has started to spill inside of him.

When Toto's knot finally pops and fills him with that hot fertile alpha seed, he can't hold back his second orgasm and comes completely untouched.

Toto pulls out of him and sinks down to the floor with George, just holding him. George has come back to senses, at least before the next wave starts and he's so fucking embarrassed with himself, begging for knots and pups. What was he thinking?

"What are you going to do about the next wave?" Toto his helping him onto his feet. "I don't know, i've got toys and stuff back in my room." Just gives a little shrug. "Why... Why don't I help you with your heat? We've done it once what difference does a few more rounds make?" And then Toto adds as an afterthought. "We'll get you the morning after pill as well."

George is apparently more gone than he originally thought because he purrs and agrees to let Toto come back with him.

#It feels weird to be posting this today after the recent Lewis news #Oh well #george russell #toto wolff #formula 1 fanfiction #fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #mxm #fanfiction #formula 1 #formula one #mxm smut #charles leclerc #max verstappen #George x Toto

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edosianorchids901 · 1 year ago

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Obedience

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "Yes, sir!!"

“And we’ll fight evil!” Gabriel yelled from the podium.

“Yes sir!” the room of soldiers shouted in response.

“And triumph over Hell!”

“Yes sir!”

“And slay all demons like the scum they are!”

“Yes sir!”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, feeling rather ill. These pep talks from Gabriel had once been rare occasions, only given before a major offensive. But now, with the Apocalypse approaching, they grew more and more frequent. Countless angels summoned to a massive, all white room to listen to Gabriel declaim about Heaven’s goals.

It was wrong for an angel to be anything less than enthusiastic about such things. Of course Heaven would fight evil, triumph over Hell, and slay demons. It was all part of the Great Plan.

But the more Aziraphale thought about it, the more his tummy churned. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed hard in an attempt to choke back the rising nausea.

He couldn’t choke back the imagined War that unfolded in his mind, though. Leaving his bookshop, putting on his uniform, taking up a flaming sword again. Being on the front lines, battling, all thoughts of his own subsumed by Heaven’s machine of death and destruction.

No option other than obedience. To echo “yes sir!” to every order, no matter how horrible. To fight, to torture, to kill.

The image rose even more strongly as he stumbled back towards the shop. The stench of blood and ichor all around, like how it had been during the first War. Flash of flaming swords, endless commands to fight, to cut down any demon who tried to flee.

Even if that demon was the one he’d loved for so long.

A moan slipped from Aziraphale, legs wobbling underneath him as the world spun. He sank to the pavement, clutching his hand together. Oh no. Oh Lord, he was going to faint.

He hung his head, breathing deeply. When that didn’t help, he leaned back against the outside of the bookshop. His heart pounded faster, and terrible trembling rushed through him.

“I can’t do it.” The words slipped out in a helpless whimper. “I can’t do it, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…”

The bookshop door creaked open. “Angel?”

“I can’t, I can’t…”

“Aziraphale. Aziraphale!” Hands on his arms, steadying him as convulsive tremors struck. Aziraphale couldn’t see, everything blurry, and his breaths came in increasingly ragged shivery gasps. “Aziraphale, look at me. Hey, s’ all right. You’re with Crowley, it’s okay.”

“C-Crowley?” Aziraphale looked up at him, lip wobbling. What was he doing here? He should be running away before the angels killed him. “I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t.”

Crowley’s face wrenched with confusion. Keeping one hand on Aziraphale’s arm, he reached up and very carefully cupped his cheek. As if Aziraphale might shatter if handled less tentatively. “Can you come inside the shop if I help you? You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

Aziraphale still felt like he was going to pass out, but going inside the shop did sound rather better than fainting on the pavement and forcing Crowley to carry him inside. He nodded.

“Right, okay. Here we go, take it easy.” Crowley hauled him to his feet and dragged him inside. Aziraphale could hardly manage to walk, shaking too badly, and the nausea worsened as he moved. “How about the sofa? Think the sofa’s a good call.”

This time, Crowley didn’t wait for a reply. He simply laid Aziraphale down on the sofa, guiding him with gentle touches, and Aziraphale went without protest. He slumped against the pillows, breathing hard, whole bookshop spinning around him in a dizzying whirl.

“Okay, that’s better. Yeah?” With a soft, worried hiss, Crowley swept off his coat and laid it across Aziraphale. He took Aziraphale’s hand in a loose grasp, ducking down to meet his gaze over the tops of dark lenses. “Angel? Can I get you anything?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to attempt a response and instead sobbed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The words had slipped out, and horror curdled in his stomach. Oh, what would Crowley think of him if he knew what Aziraphale had been so obediently cheering at the pep talk?

Crowley’s jaw dropped, but it wasn’t a look of shock. It was realization. “Ohh. It was one of *those* trips to Heaven, eh? Gabriel rallying the troops again?”

At least a touch relieved, Aziraphale nodded. “He’s… enthusiastic.”

“Hn, yeah. Always has been.” Crowley’s nose wrinkled with distaste, and he shuddered. Then he pulled off his sunglasses, leaning in. “Aziraphale, listen to me. You’re not gonna hurt me. I’ve never been worried about that.”

“I’m worried about that.” Aziraphale could hardly choke the words out, unbearably queasy. He felt as though he might vomit all over the sofa. “If… if they order me to slay… I’ll have to obey, I…”

He gagged, stomach rebelling. Crowley made a quick shushing sound and ran a light, careful stroke across his hair. “It won’t come to that. It’s gonna be fine. We’ve done a damn good job canceling each other out, yeah?”

This time, Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to reply. He just stared at Crowley miserably. What if all their attempts to avert the Apocalypse failed?

Crowley gave a sympathetic pout at the lack of response and stroked Aziraphale’s hair again. He swayed just a little, tempting. “Come on. Have faith in us. I do.”

Aziraphale had absolutely unlimited faith in Crowley. Crowley was so brave, so clever, could always find a way to slither out of any trouble. While Aziraphale, well…

Had just enthusiastically chanted “Yes, sir!” with the rest of Heaven, agreeing to slay all demons.

But he couldn’t give up, not when Crowley was counting on him. So he sniffled and squeezed Crowley’s hand. “I’ll try.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley

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meret118 · 3 months ago

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Walz shut down his speech momentarily when he saw someone fall ill under the hot Eau Claire sun.

Looking out across the large crowd gathered, Walz spotted the person off to his left, whom he immediately asked from the podium, "Can we get somebody to help?" He called, asking if someone could give the person water, noting the heat.

"You okay? Drink some water, folks, it is hot out. Thank y'all. Can you get water?" he asked a staffer off stage.

"Thank you all for helping. Grateful. Thank you," he said, watching the incident unfold while a bank of cameras observed the silence."Take care of one another on this," Walz said. "This is why we gather. Look, it's hot. It is hot."

He told the crowd the person was being helped.

"They've got folks here. We'll make sure we're okay, but I have to tell you all, again, in all seriousness, to come and gather like this to talk about our freedoms, the ability to talk about what could be good, and I have to say, this idea of caring for our neighbor and kindness and a hand up when somebody needs it, or just the sense that people go through things, and to be able to be there when they need it, that's who we are," said Walz.

"It's not about mocking, it's not about name calling," he continued. "We see it amongst them. Thank you, all. They do. Thank you all. We're okay. We have someone down — they're treating him. They're getting him some water, and it's good. He's going to get up. You guys need some water too? We'll ask them. Can you see if they have some more water. That would be great."

Walz was shouting off stage to a staffer asking if they could pass out water to the audience.

------

IIRC a person collapsed at a trump rally not to long ago, and he totally ignored it. This is what Dems need to be talking about it - caring about each other.

If they want to get churchy at us, this is exactly what Jesus preached too. We can cite chapter and verse at them.

#Walz #2024

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russian-soft-bitch · 2 years ago

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I posted 1,392 times in 2022

182 posts created (13%)

1,210 posts reblogged (87%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@darling-i-read-it

@thewritingdoll

@rufeepeach

@russiawave

@headfullofpresley

I tagged 165 of my posts in 2022

#ashley zukerman - 10 posts

#nick goode - 10 posts

#nick goode x reader - 9 posts

#so true - 7 posts

#fear street 1994 - 6 posts

#alan rickman - 6 posts

#the devil wears prada - 5 posts

#ashley zukerman x reader - 5 posts

#fear street - 4 posts

#mob wives - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 119 characters

#also it'd be fun if the had started to say something about being too old and the reader suddenly become protective lol

My Top Posts in 2022:

She's the girlfriend

Miranda Priestly x fem!reader

Requested by: anon. If you’re requests are open can I then request a miranda priestly x reader where reader is going through a really bad anxiety period of time, and r is having a really hard time one day and goes to visit miranda at her office and everyone at the office are like “who is this bitch?” And maybe r ends up falling asleep in Miranda’s office?

Warnings: mentions of panic attacks, anxiety

A/n: I'm SO sorry it took me that long bestie but I kinda felt that way too for all this time

It was the worst week of your life. It first started with your usual anxiety worsening; the constant fidgeting, panic attacks in the mornings, and the feel of dread that never wore off. Then it was your job: a lot of unnecessary tasks, the need to do the job of your co-worker who’s gotten ill. Every day you woke up to the feeling that you can’t go to work; you felt like you had no power in you to do so. Then the day would go impossibly slow, every minute felt like an hour.

It all would be okay if you had the opportunity to go home and spend some time with your girlfriend. Everyone around you (those who knew) was calling her that but you don’t like it. It’s too simple for your taste. When you’re alone or with her you like to call Miranda ‘your woman’. Well, she’s not a girl anymore, that’s for sure. Also that sounds a little more mature.

So, the last week was terrible. Luckily for you, your boss was not an absolute dick and he allowed you to have a few extra days off.

One day, waking up, you thought that you’ve definitely slept for like 3 days straight. Taking a deep breath, you felt the smell of Miranda’s favorite fragrance which made you smile. You haven’t seen her for a while, both of your jobs making it quite difficult at the time.

Making yourself breakfast, you thought about finally buying that coat Miranda was telling would look perfect on you. You decided to buy it on your way to her office.

Breakfast was exactly what you needed but your heart rate was still unstable, and you felt like crying. You were feeling the need to see Miranda as soon as possible and spend some time in her presence. You knew it would make you feel better.

It took you long enough time to get there and feel yourself even worse. You decided not to stop anywhere to buy that coat, you surely weren’t chatty enough to do that.

Immediately after hearing the words ‘Miranda’ and ‘girlfriend’ in the same sentence you already had your personal pass in hand and with that you made your way to the floors that belonged to the Podium. The looks models were giving you made you feel even worse than you already felt, and you tried to make it in the office faster. You already knew where to go but nobody at Podium (except Nigel) knew about you and your relationship with ‘the devil in heels’ as everyone liked to call her (you honestly didn’t get it).

As you made you way straight to Miranda, a girl, who you assumed was Emily, tried to stop you, “Hey! Who do you think you are?” She tried to go after you, but the way Miranda looked at you and went to hold you made her stop in her tracks.

While Miranda continued to work on the upcoming New York fashion week, you made yourself comfortable on the little sofa she had in her office. You were watching her silently for 20 minutes or something when you started to feel your heart rate was getting back to normal and your eyelids started to feel very heavy.

When Andy made her way to the office with a cup of coffee for Miranda, Emily told her about you. At that Andy shrugged her shoulders and, sitting down, said, “She’s the girlfriend. Didn’t you hear?”

92 notes - Posted June 13, 2022

Secrets

Nick Goode x reader

Requested by: @darling-i-read-it "can i please get a nick goode fic? Like the reader mayhaps not knowing about the whole deal with the devil thing and when she finds out he thinks she's gonna be pissed but she is actually like <3 this is fantastic <3 i love you AND murder <3

Warnings: mentions of murder

A/n: nick goode brainrot

It was a known fact that everyone in Sunnyvale was happy. But once in a while someone would ask you, "Y/n, are you happy?" And you would always reply with a 'yes'. It wasn't a lie; you think of yourself as a happy woman. You like to look at yourself in the mirror, you have a job you like more than anything, and you have a man to call your own. You fell in love with him the moment you saw him; smart and handsome young man, also known as sheriff Nick Goode.

You could tell he liked you too right away, that little smile always on his lips when he was seeing you in a crowd, or his inability to talk in your presence. It was only a matter of time for you to start a relationship.

Early on you decided that you should trust each other completely, no matter what. For the most part you did. He knew about you everything. In the beginning, Nick was asking you a lot of questions: your favorite movie, color, what you like to eat, what kind of person you are in the morning etc. He was really curious, and you appreciated it; it was good to know the man wanted to know you and to understand you better.

You did the same. Asked him a million questions, always ready to pick up on something new. However, there was one secret he kept from you.

In his living room, near the fireplace there was a door; simple white door. It was locked at all times. It was okay when you didn't live together, but you started to question it more and more since the moment you moved in.

Were you supposed to clean there? Was it just a creepy basement that was completely empty? You wanted to know what was in there and once you asked Nick about it. The first time he said that it was just a basement, nothing to see there. His reply suited you for a while. Then you saw him coming in the basement for a few times, and when you asked him again, he turned the conversation in another direction.

It continued time and time again; you were so sick of this, you tried to find the key without him knowing. Of course, you didn't succeed. Later you would know that Nick kept the key with him at all times.

Finally, came the day when Nick Goode forgot to lock the door. Something happened in Shadyside, and he hurried there without as much as saying goodbye. You didn't notice it at first, the door was slightly ajar; you only noticed while approaching the fireplace.

For a couple of minutes, you stood there, looking at it and not knowing what to do. On one hand, Nick wouldn't hide the information from you without sufficient reason. On the other hand, he was being suspicious, with all his weird answers and avoiding the questions. Also, your curiosity was eating you alive, you HAD to know what was there. Looking at your watch, you noted that Nick was out for an hour, so it would be safe for you to have a quick look.

You found an old flashlight in the kitchen and turning it on, you opened the door. A few steps away there were torches on the walls of the tunnel; from the first sight, you could see it was leading somewhere not too far away. You turned the flashlight off and began to move forward with cautious steps.

The place was very old, that much you could tell. Slightly damp stone which was overgrown with moss you've seen before only a few times. Damp air, making it hard to breath. You almost fell one time, your foot stuck on something, or it just wasn't a place to walk in your home slippers.

You reached a clearing of some sort. It was all stone and soil. On the floor in the center was something you mistook for a pentagram at first. Surrounding it, there were large stones with something engraved on them. Stepping closer you realized it was names. All of them sounded familiar. It all started to make sense to you, and you were just about to look at the mark on the floor again when the voice startled you, "I told you to not go in here".

Nick returned home just a few minutes ago, anticipating warm dinner and you in his arms, but he couldn't find you anywhere. Living room was the last place he checked and the first thing he noticed there was an open door to the only place in his house you had no access to. Plans were already forming in his head as he made his way to the altar. Two of them contained the way he would explain everything: one was telling the truth and the other was lying shamelessly to your face. He knew the lie wouldn't do, so his only option was to tell the truth, no matter how ugly it was. Nick wasn't sure how good you would take it. He doubted you would be happy, but he surely could make it sound good. In the plan he didn't want to think about, he was killing you. Of course, Nick knew that if it all came out, people would believe him, not you. But he still needed to think it through.

Also, he really didn’t want to kill you. You were like a ray of sunshine for him; always there, supporting him in everything, always on his side. But what you probably already saw was able to make him look like a psychopath killer in your eyes, and he didn’t want that.

Stepping quietly, he made sure you wouldn't hear him. You didn't, and he waited patiently for your brain to make the connection. And just when you were about to turn around, he said, "I told you to not go in here".

You turned around quickly and looked at him wide-eyed, "Sorry, I couldn't help it, I had to know. And how cool is that?! Why didn't you tell me?"

Nick had to take a moment to process what you just said. You could see the confusion on his face, so you stepped closer and took another look at the engraving and the stones. "You’re making deals with the Devil, that's so cool! Oh... Oh! So this stuff a couple of days ago at the mall happened because of you! Ah, I love you. I knew you were the best, but this is just like a Christmas present". He finally came to his senses and looked at you in disbelief, "What?"

You were already making your way out, talking non-stop, "And the murders were so nice! So much blood, classic slasher movie, I swear. Is it your first time? Or the Camp Nightwing massacre was you too?"

You stopped walking when you didn't notice him near you. You turned around and looked at his still shocked face, "Nick? You okay?"

"You okay with it? Why?" he took a few steps closer. "I have some secrets of my own", you smiled and continued your way to the living room. "But seriously, you have to tell me everything!"

98 notes - Posted April 12, 2022

Good Morning, Indeed

Miranda Priestly x reader

Requested: by anon. Would you do some morning fluff for Miranda Priestly? E.g styling her hair? Fanks! 😌😁

A/n: it's short but cute! hope you like it x also i;m done with my requests (finally) send me sone more!

Honestly, you've no idea how exactly you ended up living with that woman. Only yesterday she was whipping you with her words at the Runway and today you’re making her favorite breakfast. The things you do for love, huh.

It was so early in the morning, you weren’t even sure if it was morning already. Miranda was still sleeping, the girls were in their beds too. The aroma of fresh coffee has filled the room, making you slightly more awake. The first Harry Potter book laid on the table waiting for you to read it. Miranda’s girls were ecstatic for you to read the whole series; their mother didn’t have the time to do that.

You flipped a pancake and took a drink from your cup. When the table was served, you heard Miranda already being mad at someone over the phone. You smiled a little, gladly it wasn’t you on the other side.

She ended the call just before coming into the kitchen. “Good morning, love”, you handed her a cup of coffee and took a notice of her hair. They were still wet from the shower, so you went to the other room to grab some brushes and a hairdryer to style her hair. She didn’t like to do that herself; it was your prerogative.

When you returned to the kitchen, Miranda was flipping through the book, shaking her head from time to time. You kissed her temple and started to do her hair.

You felt her relax instantly. She didn’t like people touching her hair, but when it came to you, she loved it. Miranda took a swing of her coffee and you just knew that she had closed her eyes.

It was an unusually quiet morning. Just the two of you. You both didn’t like to talk at the moments like this. Work related topics can be dealt with in a car on your way to the Podium. Everything related to the girls was done yesterday. So you just enjoyed those quiet moments.

When Miranda’s hair was done with, you took a sit next to her and started to eat. She continued to work on the book. Half an hour had passed just like that.

You heard the book was closed, felt her lips on your cheek. “Good morning, indeed”

107 notes - Posted January 23, 2022

the world without Him

Severus Snape x fem!reader

Requested: no

Warnings: mentions of death, ptsd?, suicide

A/n: please don't read if even one of the warnings trigger you! extremely sad. also don't read if you don't want to!

She looked up at the sky and then shut her eyes. The sun was too bright today. How could it be bright? How could it be so cruel?

They couldn’t find his body. Not on the day of the fight, not after it. She had nothing left. Nothing to bury. Nothing to come back to. Nothing to mourn.

It was the first sunny day after the battle. It happened almost two weeks ago and now it seems like it never happened. Funerals went for days straight; everyone was mourning their loved ones. Everyone but her. She had nothing.

Harry tried to cheer her up a little, saying he died a hero. She didn’t care about that. Funny how he became a hero only after his death. The death she couldn’t believe in. She saw no body. She never saw him being killed. Every day since the battle she was expecting him to come home to her. Weak, tired but still alive. She was sure that he was somewhere out there just trying to heal the wounds. Every day she cooked breakfast for two, brewed coffee exactly the way he liked it. Sitting in his chair she read the daily prophet as if she was getting ready to discuss news with him in the evening. Just like before the war.

Of course, the day of his return never came. In September she returned to Hogwarts just like she would before the war. Spent her free time in the dungeons just like before the war. She even continued her potions lessons. But now she only had his textbook. Countless of times she traced the words he had written with her fingertips. Countless of times she imagined him talking, giving her advises and teasing her endlessly. Professor Slughorn didn’t mind her being there; he even caught her crying one time.

Time flew by and students started to see more of him in her. Quiet, brooding, not a hint of emotion. She didn’t have the energy to smile. Didn’t have the energy to be helpful. Suddenly she had found her students to be irritating and lazy. Just like he did.

Hermione Granger, who had returned for her 7th year, pointed it out to her just before Christmas. She smiled a little, for the first time in months, and said that it was just easier this way. Easier to ignore the pain.

When the holidays were over, she didn’t return to school. Some said, she retreated to muggle world, someone was gossiping about her possible death. One girl said that she just couldn’t live in a world without him. For everyone she just vanished. Nobody knows what happened to her. And I’m not sure someone wants to.

150 notes - Posted February 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

The Unexpected Speech

Severus Snape x reader (but the focus is on you), Umbridge

Requested: no

A/n: can't say this is angst, don's know what's this lol, mentions of sex

This morning you were getting ready for work in a rush. I wasn’t often when you overslept, but when you did, it was always a fault of your husband. He was already having breakfast, maybe even finished it. And you had to skip it today. While in a haste you didn’t notice a little hickey on your neck. You always wear modest clothes, so that’s probably the reason why you didn’t notice anything.

You were a Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts. It was a great help that your mother was a muggle-born witch, she taught you a lot of muggle related things. The lesson with a 3rd years went by pretty quickly, children were actually curious to learn new things, and they readily passed their enthusiasm to you. Your second lesson of the day you spent with a 7thyear.

When Fred and George Weasley (your favourites, but they didn’t need to know that) were telling you about their father’s job, Dolores Umbridge had paid you a visit.

About your hickey. It was only visible when you turned your head to the side, so, if the student didn’t pay you attention, you were safe. But your older students were really interested in the subject. They noticed, of course, but didn’t tell you anything. It would be awkward to both parties. So, they stayed quiet.

That woman never stayed quiet. She noticed it and was already lecturing you on why exactly your appearance was inappropriate to a teacher. It wasn’t the first time she did that. Earlier that year, Umbridge gave you a good scolding because of: your hair, your makeup (“Surely, you don’t need that much of mascara, do you?”), your choice of clothes, your choice of shoes, even your nails. What was wrong with the last one, she didn’t tell you. So, that day was the last straw. You didn’t care that she could fire you, you could easily find another job. Yes, you would miss your students, but that’s okay. You finally let yourself speak back to her. In front of children.

“Thank you for your concern but I’ve had enough of it for the past months. And I won’t stay silent any longer. As far as I know, my husband provides you with Veritaserum potion you like to you use on innocent children so much. So I strongly suggest you stop bullying me just because of your non-existent sex life. And yes, I am aware that you can fire me. And no, I don’t really care about that. Now, please, leave the room and let me finish today’s lessons. You can announce my outrageous behaviour and fire me at dinner time in front of all school. Thank you very much”.

It was the first time you ever saw her speechless. She silently left the room and even closed the door behind her. Students were quiet for a few more moments and then you heard them applauding. Only then you realized what you had said to her. No one except the staff knew about your marriage. You and your husband, Severus Snape, wanted to keep it a secret to the sake of yours and his reputation. Students adored you and loathed him. Severus wanted to keep it that way.

Your little speech had the effect of an exploding bomb. By the end of the day all school was talking only about that. You didn’t have a free minute that day, sadly. You wanted Severus to know everything from you, not from the gossip. You only saw him when you came into the Great Hall to have dinner. Perhaps, your last one within those walls. You avoided looking at him and wanted to sit somewhere else, but this time Minerva left the spot on his right to you. You took a seat there and took a little sip of pumpkin juice. You calmed a little when you felt him hand on your knee. Yes, he was probably mad but not at you, you were sure of that. He was never mad at you.

Just like you predicted, Umbridge fired you but not without the unnecessary drama. You were fine with her being mean, but this time she was saying you were unprofessional. Bad influence on children. Profaner of these sacred to the wizarding world walls. This time you needed to calm your husband. You squeezed his hand in yours gently and smiled at him a little, showing that you were doing okay. Spoiler, you weren’t. You were on the verge of tears. It hurt you deeply that your students were hearing such horrid words about you, that they could believe it. You knew they wouldn’t, but it hurt, nonetheless.

On your way out of the hall you tried to communicate with as many students as was possible. They all stood up, paying you a tribute. Saying the last “don’t get yourself in trouble just because of me” to the Weasley twins, you left the hall.

You only let the tears fall when you ended up in your husband’s embrace 20 mins later. You were saying sorry over and over again and as many times Severus was telling you that you did the right thing, even if it weren’t so smart. At that you smiled a little through the tears and hugged him tightly.

In the morning you had left the school. You had left the home. Of course, you didn’t know that you would return just before august ended. Finally you had some time to make your house a home.

189 notes - Posted February 3, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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eristic-kaleidoscope · 2 years ago

Text

La Vie En Rose | AIRika + Erik | Trial 2.6 | Re: Erika, Eri

Hook. Line. Sinker. AIRika didn’t have to use the act for long… and they’re absolutely horrified and disgusted at everything they’re hearing.

“No. No. Shut the fuck up. Both of you. Just shut up.”

They gesture between Erika and Eri, pinching the bridge of their nose.

“A mercy kill? A fucking mercy kill? You let Cosette die. They weren’t even your stupid target. You could’ve saved her. Erika, you have fucking medical knowledge. We could’ve cashed in a favor or anything.

But no! You robbed her of that. You took away that choice. I knew Cosette. They didn’t want to fucking die. They wanted to live. They wanted to eat sweets. They wanted to do all the things their illness said they couldn’t. I fucking promised her— I promised her that no matter what happens here, I’ll remember her name. She didn’t want her memory to die with her. I promised her that.”

They take a deep breath, looking over next to the hosts once Erika L and Erik A are done. Erik A’s words only fuel them even more, and they breathe in. Their relationship to Cosette was founded on a similarity they never thought they’d find in someone else— and that’s changed everything for them. They need to get this right.

“Is it okay if I get up to check something about Eri myself?”

An pipes up in response first! “Well that’s awwwfully vague of you. How do we know you’re not going to check how stabbable xe is?"

“I just plan to check under their bangs for any injuries. I literally don’t have a weapon.”

An sticks their tongue out. “Ok, fine then! Party on.”

“They’ll need a second person to vouch,” Another voice speaks, closer to where the sisters are. Erik turns around ruefully, setting a few things on the ground behind his podium chair with a metallic rattle where they can see it.

“I’m also without weapons now.” He says, voice hardened with tranquil rage. There’s blinding white-hot anger in the dark green pits of Erik’s eyes, but even now he forces it back behind the mask in a bout of self-control. "I promised the same things to Cosette. Perhaps more. I’m going to hold onto her memory for as long as I still draw breath, but in her very same memory, I’ll be content with executing justice.”

It occurs to him that Cosette’s beating heart is the pounding in his ears. The wish to sit down at a dinner table full of love during Christmas, to be welcomed home, to be unconditionally loved. And they were loved. Still are. Everyone has communicated their righteous indignation for him, and all he can do now is act on their behalf. “Airika. Let’s be thorough.”

A nod from Calluna this time, to join her sister’s approval. “You may both proceed, though don’t dawdle longer than necessary.”

AIRika gets out of their seat next, calmly strolling over to Eri before moving in close, one hand mockingly caressing their cheek before leaning in.

“Is this everything you dreamed of? All eyes on you? You got it, Eri. We’re all yours. Enjoy it while you can. The fall is my least favorite. I’ll relish in yours.”

They lift up Eri’s bangs, checking over their face first and running their hands over the surface. “…Nothing on their face.”

Meanwhile, Erik grips their hand tightly, preventing them from being able to hide anything else as he briskly runs his gloved hands down the length of their forearms. Where once his actions would have been graceful and considerate to nem, now he’s simply going through the motions.

“…Byrne, you can keep your tokens. An advance will no longer be necessary.” His tone is clipped, words strained. “I’m sorry, but I think I’m going to have to request for my gloves back now, Eri.” Erik steps back, his expression unreadable, and holds his own hands up high for others to see.

“Because these ones have been stained with concealer. There are scratch marks here.”

And sometimes, that’s all there is to it.

#AIRika #Azr #chapter2 #trial2 #submission

0 notes

lewisyellowhelmet · 2 years ago

Note

Threesome with Lewis

okay this went somewhere i didn't expect !! it's ffm so just be aware of that, kinda controversial motivations. maybe not the best course of action to establish a relationship lmaoooo

send ur own freaky friday prompt here ! x

You only do it because you’re stubbornly insisting you’re not in love with Lewis and he’s content in his knowledge you are.

“Watch me fuck someone else then,” he says, and you swallow on a horrible, bitter taste in your mouth and say, “With pleasure.”

She’s beautiful. Lewis used to sleep with her years ago, they stayed in touch. You asked for details because you knew he didn’t want you too. He’s fresh off a podium and you can’t decide if you’re going to cry or laugh.

“You sure about this?” He asks one more time outside the hotel room, “You can end this anytime.”

“I’m sure,” you say, for the hundredth time, and even though you feel ill and hot all over, you feel a drag into the room, wanting to see, wanting to know. What does he look like, when he’s fucking someone? What expressions does he make that you don’t see? Can someone else coax different sounds from him? Will she do it differently?

Lewis laughs, something low and private, and takes your hand and brings you in.

It’s amazing in the worst way. Lewis’ mouth between your legs while you kiss her. Tasting her when you kiss him. It makes your head spin and heart pound out of rhythm. At some point, you open your eyes, slumped from an orgasm against the pillows, and he’s fucking her from behind, her body pliant over yours, but looking at you, his gaze heavy and suffocating. You can see it’s someone else he’s inside, but feel it on your own body, his big hands on your hips, the shape of him inside you. Outside of yourself, you crawl out from underneath her, grabbing at Lewis, and he’s easy in the way he pulls out, arranges you on your back so he can get home, slides so deep your vision blacks out. You don’t let him touch her again.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #f1 smut #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton imagine #freaky friday #*

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daydreams-magic01 · 3 years ago

Text

Little Brothers

(Percy Weasley x hufflepuff!fem!reader)

(Not my gifs, credit goes to the creators)

Main Masterlist

Requested by: Anon

Fandom: Harry Potter (Golden Trio Era)

House: Hufflepuff

Request: ‘Hi! Could you do a Percy Weasley x Hufflepuff!reader where they’re very close friends and in love with each other. In Ron and Harry’s first year, Ron sees Y/N and Percy look at each other and start blushing immediately, causing him to ask the twins who she is. The twins explain that they are in love with each other , and they overhear and confess their love for each other. Thanks! 💞’

Warnings: None, it is just some fluff, and some swearing.

Words: 1700

Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction, all other characters but (Y/n) belong to JK Rowling. The scenarios, the reader, ‘Percy the Prat’ nickname and the dialogue are all mine.

This should only be found on my blog.

Author is always me on this blog: @daydreams-magic01 .

A/N: Please do not copy or plagiarise this, or put it in your own book, etc. It should only be found here. Also, this is my first time writing in years, so I am sorry for any errors. I forgot how to write romance, and I hope that this isn’t cringey. Please mention if I should make a taglist and if you wanted to be added.

I tried my best at being British, haha.

Thank you.

“What are you looking at?" The new Gryffindor asks. Despite only being a first-year, she already knows almost everything about the school, having read Hogwarts: A History, her favourite book, several times.

“Nothing.” The ginger boy states, beginning to devour his meal once again.

He had been watching his eldest brother and a girl make eye contact, blush, turn away, then make eye contact, blush and turn away again - it is an endless cycle.

“Doesn’t look like it," this first year is skinnier, with green eyes and dark hair. Harry decides to follow his new friends gaze to the Hufflepuff table.

He was looking at a girl.

“I like her hair.”

“What?”

Hermione rolls her eyes at the boy’s ill manners. The first day in, and she is already fed up with her housemates. “It’s pardon.”

He instantly rolls his eyes back at the know-it-all. The first day in, and he is already fed up with her.

“You think she’s staring at my brother because she has ‘nice hair’?”

“She’s pretty. Why were you look at her, Ron?”

“Don’t look at me like that, ‘arry. I don’t fancy her… stop look at me like that!” He huffs, and takes another bite of his drumstick, not caring to swallow first, “ue artud mm t.”

“Oh my god,” the girl rolls her eyes again, exaggerating each word. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, you pig.”

Harry laughs, choking on his water.

“Jesus Christ ‘arry,” he hits his friend hard on the back, “and sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“It’s okay - ew!” Ron hadn't met it, as he opened his mouth wide to show the girl what exactly he’s eating.

She can see a bit of roast potato in there.

He reminded her of a Hoover.

He swallows and starts again, “I said that she started it. She was looking at my brother.”

“Thanks, Ronnie, but we’re third years, and she’s a fifth year, that would be gross -,” the twin on the right starts, worming his way into the conversation.

“ - not that we like older girls, but they don’t like us.”

“Not you two, you idiots.”

The twins are mostly identical, par a few things, for example, George is taller by 1/2 an inch, not that anyone knows which one is George and which one is Fred.

“Wel -.”

“You should be looking at the candles instead, did you know -,” Ron immediately tunes her out, instead deciding to enjoy his meal.

“Ron, are you listening?” His first friend asks, nudging him and nodding towards the girl, earning a huff from his friend.

“I’m honestly fascinated, absolutely fascinated -,” deciding to spare Gryffindor of the pain, he jumps in.

Boring!

“Sorry, but back on topic… well, who is she -.” Ron begins to interrupt as Hermione huffs.

He gets cut off by the old tart before he can finish.

“Attention, students,” the headmaster starts, standing behind the podium, “I have an announcement.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~Please do not copy ~~~~~~~~~~~~

“(Y/n), did you get my letters over the summer?” Percy asks, pulling his satchel tighter to his side. He is quite tall, and thin, with horn-rimmed glasses which makes him look rather funny in his brothers�� eyes. He would never admit it, but he was quite upset about the lack of responses.

Every holiday, since their first year, the two have always made sure to exchange letters and hastily reply to each one. This has led to Errol fainting several times, but that could also be due to the constant frights he gets from seagulls and pigeons.

However, this summer, it took (Y/n) almost a week to respond to one, small letter.

Okay, it was four pages long.

Of course, he doesn’t know that she didn’t know how to respond and, it was all his fault.

Last year, (Y/n) had struggled with Charms, which Percy is great at, just like every other subject. So, Percy had offered to help her and, the two spent about eight weeks in the library, every Tuesday and Thursday, alone.

Now, this isn’t the problem.

The problem is that the day before their last, they had decided to cram in some more charm work and look ahead to this year’s spells, using his brother Charlie’s book. They had ended up staying late, and when packing up they hugged for the first time in a few months, but it felt far different.

It gave her butterflies.

“‘course I did, Perce,” the girl turns to him, beaming. “I replied to you. Sorry, it took me so long, a lot was going on.”

“Perfectly alright, (Y/n/n),” she instantly blushes, turning away to instead focus on the very interesting portraits.

He would do anything for her.

“What is up with them?” Ron asks, clueless as ever. He is more focused on not being late because the twins have spared no gruesome tale of the punishments they had received such as being beaten with sticks and having to kiss an ogre!

“I think she fancies your brother.”

The youngest son can’t help but snort. “Don’t be daft. He’s a bloody troll.”

“Okay...”

“Hey! Have some respect, that’s my brother.”

“Boys…” Susan Bones and Hermione sigh to each other, walking past the grumbling two and up the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~Please do not copy ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Percy had heard what Ron said about him being a troll, resulting in him playfully chasing around his younger brother once (Y/n) had gone into class, and Ron Harry, and him were left alone in the corridor.

The three of them ended up rather late to their classes.

“I can’t believe you got to Perce without us -,” Fred sighs, putting his arm over the shoulder of his brother as they head back to the common room after dinner.

“- We feel quite betrayed really.” George finishes, tearing his gaze away from Angelina Johnson for a split second to grin at his brother.

Fred found it quite funny, how smitten his little brother is with her.

“How was I supposed to know he heard?”

The twins chuckle, giving each other knowing looks before focusing back on their brother. “It’s not that he heard -”

“It’s the fact that she could have.”

“Who?”

Fred shakes his head again, “tut, tut, tut, little brother. You see, like Georgie with Angelina,” his head instantly shoots up as he glares, “he is completely and utterly in love with her.”

“Didn’t you see them blushing at the feast?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~Please do not copy ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Percy wanted nothing more at that moment than to strangle his brothers.

“Who are they talking about, Perce?” (Y/n) doesn’t want to admit it, but her heart had sunk upon hearing it.

The two of them aren't supposed to be here, at this moment. The two were planning to head straight to the courtyard after dinner, before his patrol, but instead, Percy wanted to head back up to his common room to drop off his bags - like a fool!

~~~~~~~~~~~~Please do not copy ~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Now, you are probably wondering how can such a sweet girl like our brother?”

“Because believe us, we have tried to figure that out since first year,” George softly sighs, placing his hand on his heart. “We fear Mum, Dad, our darling brothers and ittle sister may not meet her until their wedding day.”

The three of them are no longer walking, instead, they form a triangle outside the entrance to the common room.

“How could a Hufflepuff stand Percy the Prat? Well, we have no idea.” Fred looks to the floor dramatically, pulling his satchel to his chest as he begins to sniffle.

“But, they have been in love with each other for years.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~Please do not copy ~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n’s) heart drops, her cheeks instantly flushing.

Percy turns his neck so fast, it is surprising that it didn’t snap.

Miracles work in mysterious ways.

“Sorry?”

“I have no idea what he’s talking about,” the Hufflepuff lies, crossing her arms, “I am not in love - wait are you in love with me?” Her jaw drops as she registers what exactly she heard. There was no way he could like her when he is so confident and loud (something which definitely runs in the family.)

“Whaaaa...” Percy attempts to ignore his red face, “..aaat?”

“Oh my god, you do!” She gasps loudly, taking a step back, and alerting the brothers.

“Oh shit,” the four brothers utter in sync, which would have been funny if not for the situation and the fact that all redness has faded from Percy’s cheeks as he begins to look faint.“

You like me too!” His mother taught him not to point, but he can’t help but point an accusatory finger at her.

“Yes, I do.” The Hufflepuff girl beams proudly. It feels right to say it, and when a Hufflepuff is sure, they do not back down.

Oh, how the table have turned, rendering the confident know-it-all into a gaping idiot.

“Wow,” (Y/n) links her hand in his, looking up to him, “if you are this surprised now, I can’t imagine how you’ll react when Hufflepuff crushes you guys at the end of the month.”

She is trying to ease the tension, Percy does not feel eased, his heart is beating too fast for his body, he’s redder than an hour in the sun, and he knows that his palms are sweaty.

“Bollocks,” the three brothers utter by the entrance, entranced with the scene around them.

“Percival?”

This appears to shake him out of his stupor as he bites back a smile, straightening his posture to look down at her. “Well I’ve known you for years, so it isn’t like we barely know each other... hmmm... I guess I love you too.”

Her shoulders sag in relief. “Thank god.”

A few moments of silence pass as Percy waits for his response.

“I already said that I love you, you Nutter.”

He smiles, beginning to slowly lean down.

Her cheeks flush again as she realises what is about to happen.

Not in front of his brothers!

For once, Percy doesn’t care about what his brothers think of him at this moment.

Fred thinks he’s a fool. George thinks he’s gross. Ron thinks he’s a prat, still, although he does still love him, he has to admit.

“S-so you admit that we are going to win?” She whispers, trying to change the subject, but at the same time wanting this more and more.

“Bollocks,” he whispers and just as their lips are about to meet, she pulls away.

“The words before our first kiss is not going to be bollocks,” she kids.

~~~~~~~~~~~~Please do not copy ~~~~~~~~~~~~

#percy weasley x reader #Percy weasley x fem!reader #Percy weasley x fem!hufflepuff!reader #Percy weasley x hufflepuff!reader #weasley x reader #Harry Potter x reader #Percy weasley imagine #Percy weasley one shot #weasleys x reader #Fred weasley x reader #George weasley x reader #fred weasley x fem!reader #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley x you #percy weasley x you #percy weasley x y/n #percy weasley x hufflepuff!fem!reader

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years ago

Text

Speed and Stress: Part 2

Masterlist

Thank you to @acollectionofficsandshit for betaing, your comments on this one were unhinged gold

Word Count: 3.1k

Recommended Vibes: “Perfect Day” by Tundra Beats

Part 1

Your brother was late. Not that anyone was surprised.

“Got the time mixed up,” he says as you climb into his absurdly tall truck. Living in Texas for three years had turned him into somewhat of a country boy, though not enough that he forgot his upbringing. He was still a blue blooded Los Angeles boy, just with a love for trucks and longhorn cattle.

“At least I wasn’t waiting for an hour this time,” you say and sling your bag to the backseat. Deciding to get right to the good stuff, you clasp your hands together. “So! I have some news.”

Hunter grins at you. “You finally found a job?”

You roll your eyes and shoot him a pointed look. “No, dipshit. Better than that. I got us paddock passes for the whole weekend.”

“WHAT?” He jerks the wheel, horns honking at you as other drivers swerve. You grab the dash to steady yourself, laughing at his outburst. “Do you know how hard it was for me to get general admission tickets? How the hell did you get paddock passes?”

“May have met someone pretty high up at McLaren in Los Angeles,” you say, examining your nails.

“Like, Zak Brown? You met Zak Brown?” Hunter was such a fan boy, you had to laugh. His love for McLaren ran so deep he practically bled blue and orange. The only reason you watched the sport was because of him shoving it down your throat for years, but damn if you weren't glad for it.

“Daniel Ricciardo.”

Hunter choked on air but managed to stay in his lane this time. “And you waited until now to tell me?”

“I didn’t know it was him when I met him! He was on a motorcycle and I stopped to help film a tiktok and then-”

“Of course you’d stop,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You’re a sucker for bikes.”

“Yeah well, lucky that I am, cause all I had to do was flirt to get us those passes.”

Your intention had never been to take advantage of Daniel. It was more the opposite in fact; you were just living in the moment and capitalizing on the once in a lifetime opportunity to flirt with your celebrity crush. You had to admit, it turned out better than you'd ever thought it would.

“I can’t believe you seduced Daniel freakin’ Ricciardo,” he says, shaking his head. “You astound me.”

“I didn’t seduce him!” You protest.

"Sorry my bad. You charmed him. That sound better?"

You roll your eyes. "Whatever. I damn near had a heart attack when I figured out it was him but he was kind enough to let me brush it off."

"Well, thank god for your two-wheeled obsession because without it, we would be watching the prix from the nosebleeds."

You laugh and shake your head. Hunter tended to have a poor filter when he was excited and tended to spew whatever was on his mind. "Just watch your tongue this weekend, alright? I'd rather embarrass myself than have you do it for me."

Hunter gives a mock salute. "Yes ma'am."

**********

You'd stuffed five different outfits in your bag in preparation for the grand prix weekend. In theory, it shouldn't be hard to decide what to wear. But Friday morning you changed clothes so many times you lost count. No matter what combination you tried you weren't satisfied.

Finally, you give up and settle on a McLaren polo and denim shorts. Simple and comfortable, but form fitting enough to catch Daniel's eye should you run into him.

You knew you shouldn't, but you pull out your phone to text him anyway.

Thanks again for the tickets. Let me know if you've got any free time so I can properly thank you!

You hit send before your brain has the chance to overanalyze the message. You check your phone obsessively the entire drive to the circuit, only half expecting a response. You tuck your phone in your pocket when you get to the gates, determined not to let it get to you. Daniel warned you he would be busy, and you knew that responding to you was likely on the low end of his list of priorities.

Hunter gets you to the circuit a half hour before they let fans in and you have to listen to him ramble about driver stats the entire time. Normally you don't mind; guessing who's most likely to win each Sunday is something of a competition in your household. But today, you couldn't focus enough to put any thought into your prediction, instead just blurting Daniel's name.

"You're only saying that cause he's into you," Hunter says, grinning savagely. "He struggles in Austin and you know it."

"So? He's in a McLaren this year. You saw his pace in Bahrain, and that was with a damaged floor! He'll podium for sure." You cross your arms and return his grin. "Besides, he's motivated."

"Oh, is he?"

"I told him I'd buy the winner of the United States grand prix a drink. Up to him whether it's him or Verstappen."

"Oh my god you have a date with Daniel Ricciardo?"

"Dude, chill out. It's not set in stone. Honestly, he's probably forgotten that I exist."

"Has he texted you?"

You glance down at your phone and are greeted with an empty inbox. "No. Not after the initial time so I could have his number." You shrug and pick an invisible piece of lint from your arm. "But he said he'd be too busy anyway."

"Guess we'll see once we get to will call, huh? If he's forgotten about you."

"Yeah." An odd feeling rolls through you. It feels a bit like nerves mixed with hope, but you stamp down on it. You were here to enjoy yourself. The trip of a lifetime had been handed to you on a golden platter and you were wont to let something as trivial as nervousness ruin it.

Bells chime as you step into the blissfully cool will call office. A blonde woman with a bit too much blush dusted on her cheeks greets you with a smile.

"What can I do for you?"

"Picking up some tickets that were left for me by a driver?" You try, unsure of the proper procedure. "I don't have a paper or anything."

She waves a hand in the air as if she expected as much. "All I need is your identification. They should be under the name."

"Oh uh, of course." You motion for Hunter to hand over your wallet and show the woman your driver's license.

"Great. Wait here and I'll grab those for you."

You drum your fingers on the desk while waiting for her to return. After what feels like ages she re-emerges empty handed.

"I'm not seeing anything here with your name on it," she says, her plastic smile at odds with her sincerity. "I'm afraid your tickets aren't valid until Sunday."

"Can you double check? Daniel said they'd be here-"

"So sorry. There's no record of anyone dropping tickets off for you."

You blink, holding your tongue in the face of her blunt response. "Okay. I guess ill try and get it sorted out."

Hunter breaks the tension. "Can't you call him?"

"I can't just call him, I'm sure he's busy."

"Either that or we don't get in. Just do it, he gave you his number and specifically told you to let him know if there were any problems, didn't he?"

Yes he had, but that didn't mean you wanted to disturb him. He was probably knees deep in some sort of race weekend press conference or drivers meeting and heaven forbid you interrupt. But it was either that or you slink home disappointed and empty handed.

"Fine," you grumble, pulling out your phone with deliberate slowness. Hunter crosses his arms and tips his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips.

"Well?"

"It's dialing, you good for nothing busybody-"

"I was wondering how long it would take you to call," Daniel answers, voice radiating sunshine.

You cut right to the chase, not giving yourself a single second to evaluate how your heart skips. "Look, I don't wanna distract you on a race weekend but I'm at will call and they're telling me they can't find any passes left for me."

"Let me guess," he starts, raising his voice to be heard over the pneumatic tools in the background, "You're dealing with Jenny?"

Your eyes fall to the name on the woman's lanyard. She shifts under your gaze like she knew exactly who you were on the phone with. "Yep. Spot on."

"Kinda figured she would be a problem. She's got a huge crush on me and does this every time."

You fight back the strange sensation his offhand comment brings to the surface. "Oh, really?"

"I'll be right there. Give me ten minutes or so."

"Oh you don't have to-"

"Hey, no big deal. I gotta go that way anyway."

"Uh, okay. See you soon?"

"Yup. On my way."

You hang up and stare down at the phone, stunned.

"Well?" Hunter asks.

"I guess he's coming here to sort it out himself."

He blinks rapidly and shakes his head. "Hold on. Are you telling me that I get to meet Daniel? Like right now?"

"Can you relax?" You laugh lightly. "Honestly you're gonna freak him out."

"Uh, yeah sure. No big deal, just meeting one of my favorite drivers in the minus five minutes and I'm completely unprepared. It's fine."

If you roll your eyes any harder they'd pop out of your head. "Relax. He's laid back, but I don't want you to freak out and embarrass us both."

"Excuse me," Jenny breaks in, her distaste clear. "Please move aside if you're not picking up passes."

"Er, yeah. Sorry." You shuffle awkwardly off to the side to wait. Cheesy elevator music plays and Jenny shoots you glares until the door squeaks open and the human incarnation of the sun steps inside. Your breathing stutters when the Australian shoots you a wink and a grin before sauntering up to the counter.

"Why hello there Jen," he says, and she giggles coyly.

"Hi Daniel." She lays a hand on his forearm, the touch light and flirty. "What can I help you with?"

Daniel leans into her, whispering conspiratorially. Whatever he says has her bold smile faltering, replaced by a mask of professional cheer. Daniel shoots you another wink as the woman retreats to a back room, returning moments later with your supposedly missing passes.

"Thank you," Daniel says sweetly, taking them from her and turning to you. "I think these are yours."

"Thanks." You take the passes and hand one off to your awestruck brother. You nudge him and he comes to his senses in time to shake the hand Daniel sticks out.

"You must be the brother," he says. "I see you're a fan."

Dressed head to toe in McLaren colors, there was no other conclusion for Daniel to draw. For once your brother is the one stunned into silence so you answer for him, "Yeah, only a little. He was crushed when you left Red Bull cause Max is his other favorite driver and now he has to split his loyalties between teams."

Dan's laugh snaps Hunter out of his trance. "I know you're busy but do you think you can sign something for me?"

"Of course. How about this?" Daniel snatches the hat from Hunter's head and produces a sharpie from his pocket, signing the brim with practiced efficiency.

"He'll be texting the group chat about that as soon as you're gone," you tell Daniel who laughs along with you.

Heat rises to your cheeks as Daniel's assessing gaze sweeps you from head to toe. "McLaren orange looks good on you."

Channeling his easy confidence you flash him a grin. "Not as good as it looks on you."

He smooths the hem of his soft shell jacket, smile turning bashful. "Anyway. I gotta run. See you Sunday after I win!"

Your eyes follow him as he jogs back through the paddock until he's swallowed by the crowd. You sigh, shifting your weight from foot to foot. God, he was gorgeous. And he had such a big heart. It was a shame someone hadn't snatched him up yet, but then again, that meant you still had a shot, even if it was a slim one.

"So where exactly do these get us?" Hunter toys with the lanyard now placed around his neck. "It doesn't say."

"I'm guessing the McLaren lounge," you say and point to the logo on the passes. "Above the garage."

"That's the perfect vantage point for practice."

And it was the perfect view- before getting in the car Daniel walked out into the pit, suited up in his cobalt racesuit and minty helmet and glanced up. You weren't sure if he saw you or not when you waved but he gave a little salute nonetheless.

Hunter was practically glued to the bank of floor to ceiling windows for the entirety of free practice, immersing himself in the experience. You found yourself glancing at the timing tables every lap, silently hoping to see the RIC tag move up. By the end of the second session he had been fourth fastest, a few tenths behind both Mercedes and the Red Bull of Verstappen.

By the time you make it back to Hunter's house, you're both exhausted from a full day of running up and down the paddock. The pair of you had been determined to soak up every second of it, sneaking into whatever offices you could and stealing bites off the buffets and cups of coffee.

Saturday’s free practice and qualifying session pass in a blur of color. Daniel drags his McLaren up the ranks to qualify fourth, his best starting position so far this season. He had a decent shot at the podium- Bottas should be easy pickings and if Verstappen and Hamilton made any mistakes, Daniel might even have a shot at the win.

The excitement in the air is palpable as you both flash your badges and head back up the now familiar path to the McLaren lounge. An hour before lights out, the v6 engines rumble to life below. You venture out onto the balcony, watching and waiting for a glimpse of Daniel.

The Aussie does you one better by walking out, race suit on and helmet in hand. He chats animatedly with Michael before stopping and craning his neck upwards. Michael nudges him with his elbow but Dan ignores him, answering your tiny wave with a wink. He mimes taking a drink and you roll your eyes.

Dan throws his head back and laughs, audible over the cacophony below. He gives you one final salute before Michael drags him back into the garage.

Ten minutes later cars begin streaming out on track, Daniel taking the fourth grid place as his mechanics once again swarm him. Tire blankets are secured, keeping them warm and pliable ahead of the formation lap. Thirty seconds before the boys are released, they're peeled back off as everyone scrambles off the pavement. Verstappen leads them away down the 3.4 mile track for the formation lap. Dan does a few small power slides before taking his place on the second row.

One by one, the red lights illuminate and disappear quicker than your blink. Daniel gets away clean while Bottas stumbles out of the gate, leaving himself wide open for Daniel's overtake on his right side. Cheers erupt around you, your brother going so far as to lift you off your feet.

Maybe Dan had a shot at winning after all.

A nail-biting 38 laps pass without a change in the order of the top three. Finally, a mistake in Max's pit stop sees him return to track third, just behind Daniel. The McLaren driver puts up the fight of his life, late braking at every corner and defending his position for all he was worth. Lewis was twenty seconds ahead- he wouldn't be winning but he could defend his second place spot.

Lewis Hamilton, race winner for the seventh time at the Circuit of the Americas!

Daniel Ricciardo crosses the line second, Max Verstappen takes home that last podium step for Red Bull. An astonishing fifty six laps here today in Austin!

The box erupts around you, a roar of cheers making it impossible to hear what else Crofty and Brundle were saying. But it didn't matter as Daniel raises his fist when he swings back into parc ferme, jumping out to be congratulated by his team. It was his first podium for the papaya team and you can tell it means the world to them.

"Looks like you're taking Lewis out for a drink," your brother teases. "Told you he wouldn't win."

"He almost won," you counter. "But hey, I'm not above asking Lewis on a date. Could you imagine? I mean, he would never agree, but still. It would be a hell of a date."

If you crane your neck from the balcony, you can just barely see the podium. Everyone goes quiet for the anthems and erupts again when the champagne is sprayed. The McLaren team chant for a shoey, which Daniel obliges. He sits to unlace his mint green boot and pours champagne into it, drinking from the boot before passing it to Max who joins in on the fun.

Just as quickly as it began, the celebrations ebb. Daniel is the first to leave the podium which seems odd, given that the PR department surely wants his first big win for the team to be well documented.

Your phone buzzes a second layer. You fish it out of your pocket, a Cheshire grin splitting your face.

"Shouldn't you be busy celebrating?"

"I am," Dan starts, sounding breathless. You can barely hear him over the sound of the crowds chants behind him. "But I want to celebrate with you. I know I didn't win, but how about you let me buy you a drink instead?"

You barely hear anything beyond his first sentence. I want to celebrate with you. Were you dreaming? There was no way this was real.

"Um, I'm sorry, you want to celebrate by going out with me instead of your team?"

"If you'll let me. Hey- just text me okay? I can barely hear you over everyone screaming my name. It may be going to my head."

You laugh, drawing the attention of the vip's nearest you. You give an apologetic smile and move further from the crowd. "I'll text you an address. See you later, second place."

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfic #f1 #f1 fanfic #daniel ricciardo fanfic #reader insert #my writing #speed and stress

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bruhlsbees · 3 years ago

Note

kachow— (???)

okay, but, reader usually being extremely clingy and super lovey-dovey. and always calling Alex, or maybe Niki pet names, never by calling him by his name. and one day being distant and calling him by his name and he's just so confused??? and wonders wtf he did to upset her, but she's just playing w him and waiting for him to call her out on her attitude???

kachow || niki lauda x fem!reader

summary: after a week of being ignored you act out during a press conference to get niki's attention

pairing: niki lauda x fem!reader

word count: 2,519

warnings: smut smut smut, reader acts like a brat and niki likes it, orgasm denial, overstimulation, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), slight breeding kink, y'all this freak nasty what can i say, minors dni, 18+, nsfw

a/n: this is my first time writing for niki and i had a lot of fun!! makes me even more excited to write my niki fic!!

Niki Lauda was a serious man.

Things always had to be better than perfect for him, especially on the days where there was a race or press conference - those days, and the days leading up to it, it felt like a miracle if you could grab his attention for more than five seconds. He was so worried about making sure that he was in the right mindset for the race that he would forget about everything else, including you.

And this time was no different. The past week you woke up alone, went to bed alone, and most hours when he was free and home, the time he could’ve been spending with you, he was on the phone strategizing with Clay or someone else on the team about the track he would be racing on. So to say you were pent up was an understatement. Not only were you irritated over the busy week that left you alone, but you were also jealous - jealous of your husband’s career that let fans see him more than you - and to be truthful, you were horny as hell.

Were you thrilled when it finally hit that the love of your life was a formula one racer? That the tracks he raced on could be dangerous? No, absolutely not. You never thought that you would marry someone whose profession was racing, but it was Niki, and for some reason - the two of you clicked. But what kind of wife would you be if you took his passion away from him? Not a rather empathetic one.

But you had enough. A week was far too long and when it finally came to the day of the press conference, you decided that it was time for your husband to get the short end of the stick, to taste your anger.

Your attention had been fixed on the clock hanging up on the back wall for the past forty-eight minutes...drowning out the reporters, fans, and Niki, you sat in your thoughts to pass the time by, not bothering to keep up the doting wife facade.

It was noticed quickly, however, by those attending the press conference - although it wasn’t until Niki grabbed your thigh under the table causing you to jump that you realized they were talking to you.

Leaning forward, your mouth bumping against the microphone, the harsh ring from contact echoing the room. You shot back a little, adjusting the microphone before clearing your throat.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Laughter erupted through the room, causing you to smile weakly before listening to the reporter’s question.

“Mrs. Lauda, it’s been noticed that this week, and today especially, you have looked particularly down. Is there a reason for this? Is there a Baby Lauda on the way? Are there any issues in the bedroom or just in general between you and Niki?”

You, joined by Niki and the rest of his team that sat up in the front along the table all fell back in shock, surprised to hear such a bold question from a reporter.

It was a bad idea, you knew it, but you were so upset by the week, the reporter, everything that it just slipped out, without a second chance to stop yourself.

“I hate to be the one to say it, but it doesn’t look like Baby Lauda will be coming anytime soon,” When the murmurs began to pick up, you smiled glancing over at Niki who looked at you confused before continuing on, “As you all know my dear husband is incredibly busy with the season. He’s gone most of the day to make sure he wins and by the time he gets home I’m already in bed,” You paused again, smiling wickedly at the crowd before finally finishing. “There are no issues because there is nothing going on in the bedroom to begin with-“

“Alright, thank you Mrs. Lauda! I think that’s it for questions today. Thank you all for coming!” The mediator of the press conference rushed, standing now up at the main podium in the middle.

The awkward clapping picked up over the room while the rest of Niki’s team departed. You followed in suit, keeping in the back while the rest of the team went through the dressing room and out back towards the bus. Before you could take a step out of the dressing room, you felt a sudden tight grasp on your arm. Spinning, you looked and saw Niki in front of you, face red and seething.

“Are you ill? What the hell was that? Do you know how bad that just made me? I’m going to look like a horrible husband! Is there what you want?” He shook your arm violently, tugging you back towards him each time you tried to pull away.

“Answer me, dammit!”

You jumped back slightly from the sudden outburst that came from Niki. Of course you knew that it made him look back, but it wasn’t anything detrimental to his career…was it? He kept his gaze locked on you, waiting for you to respond. What Niki hadn’t been expecting though was the smirk that toyed on your face.

“I’m sorry, but I’m lacking the sight to see what is so funny?” His eyebrows were knitted right together, his nostrils flaring.

“Nothing funny at all, Niki. I was just thinking, you know, if you’re so worried about what the stupid press thinks, why don’t you prove them wrong?” Your free hand ran up Niki’s chest, toying with the buttons of his shirt before your eyes flicked up towards him.

At this point he didn’t look angry anymore, but pent up, frustrated with what had happened but also because it took two to do the devil’s tango - and he was missing you, whether he would admit it or not.

Then it hit him, what you were doing. Messing with him to get his attention. Niki had to admit, it was a smart move, but he was smarter and if you were thinking that you would get away with it and what you wanted, you were wrong.

His own smirk toyed on his face before he looked around the dressing room. Nobody was around and they had a few minutes to spare - because after the stunt you pulled everyone knew not to interrupt with whatever argument between the Lauda’s would spew. It wasn’t the most private, but he would make it work.

“Prove them wrong? Is that the image you are painting for me now? Niki Lauda the bad husband?” He tugged you closer to him, your face only inches away from him, you could feel the air that came from his nose hit you in the face, “Is that what you want?”

“What makes you think you weren’t already a bad husband?”

The only thing you heard was the ringing in your ears. It was deafening, the silence between you two after your joke. Your face slacked though after a while, thinking maybe you went too far.

“Niki, I-“

Before you could get your apology out, Niki grabbed onto your face with one hand, squishing your cheeks together before pulling you with him towards the couch. He turned you around and pushed back onto the couch, watching as you fell back with a huff. Niki grinned down at you before sitting on his knees, pushing your legs open.

“I’m a bad husband, yes? Bad husbands don’t let their wives feel satisfied, do they?” His thick accent was muffled in your ears by the sound of your own whimpers, watching as he reached his hands under your dress and hooked his fingers around the band of your underwear.

Niki pulled your underwear down your legs, growing frustrated when they got tangled with your heels before muttering something under his breath and tearing them into two, tossing the ripped fabric off to the side. Your mouth hung open, glaring now at him.

“Why did you- oh!”

You fell back into the couch when you felt his mouth on your cunt, his hands gripping onto your thighs to keep them open as you tried to close them around his head. Your hands were gripping the sofa cushions, moaning out as you felt Niki’s tongue swipe up and down.

As he continued to eat you out, sucking at your clit until your legs were shaking around him, your eyes began to fill with tears, feeling overstimulated with everything that was going on. Your hands sank down from the couch and down where Niki was in between your legs, your fingers running through his recently washed and styled curls.

“Niki...baby…” Your eyes rolled back into your head, whining as your climax began to rise. If you weren’t so high from the mind blowing head that Niki was giving you, you might have been able to get a cohesive sentence out.

Smirking against your cunt, Niki pulled away to look up at you, your own wetness dripping down his chin, hitting the spot on his chest that was exposed from where he didn’t button his shirt up. While he stared up at you, he took the time to slowly run his fingers along you, his thumb pressing down at your clit to rub in circles while his index and middle finger sank into you.

Hiding his grin from you, Niki turned and pressed a kiss to your thigh, biting down on the soft flesh before moving up, pressing his forehead against yours to keep your gaze locked on him.

“What does my pretty disobedient wife want? Does she want to cum around my fingers? Make a mess all over this disgusting couch?” His own ragged breath was picked up, his warm breath against your cheek as he moved his face to press against your ear, his teeth nipping at the spot behind your ear, listening to you moan and wither under him.

Your hips began to buck forward into his hand, desperately begging for more. Your hands were gripping at the front of Niki’s shirt, face pressed against his as you tried to listen to him. You didn’t want to cum around his fingers, but around his dick - his wonderful dick that you had missed all week.

“No, Niki...I want your...your…” Before you could get your words out your body flinched, toes curling as you felt your orgasm rise even more. You were so close, yet felt so empty at the same time. This wasn’t what you were thinking would happen, you were hoping he’d fuck you good, not tease you.

Usually Niki would help you out, finish your sentences for you, but he wanted to tease you good, give you a taste of your own medicine. He waited and listened, continuing to fuck you with his fingers while you desperately grabbed onto him, whimpering and whining out so pathetically.

“Say it and maybe I’ll give it to you...but only if you ask nicely.” He teased, kissing down your neck, using his left hand to open up the front of your dress, pushing your bra up roughly before latching on to your right nipple, sucking down hard.

At this point you weren’t sure how to get it out. Your words were stuck in your throat and he was overstimulating you at this point, but when he latched onto your other nipple, gripping at your right breast with his left hand, you finally had enough.

“Niki, please, oh please just fuck me already!”

Your desperate plea slowed Niki’s motions to a stop, his fingers coming to a standstill and his mouth pulling away from your breast, looking down at you.

“Am I a bad husband?” He asked, staring into your own eyes. You shook your head, your hands coming up to his face.

“No, Niki, you’re a wonderful husband...the best husband.” You breathed, leaning forward to kiss him. He didn’t kiss you back, not wanting to think he was so easily won over, but smiled against your kiss, feeling you pull away before he adjusted his spot above you.

“Say it again,” He demanded, beginning to pull at his belt and tug his pants down enough to pull his now hard dick out. “Tell me that I’m a good husband.”

You felt his dick rub against your cunt, his tip teasingly sinking into you before pulling out just as quick. Wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you until his forehead hit yours again, you held his left cheek with your left hand, your right hand in his hair.

“Niki, you’re a good husband.” The quiet confession seemed to finally be enough for Niki to give you what you wanted. Snapping his hips forward suddenly, with one solid thrust he was in you, pounding you into the couch as he grunted, his hands at your hips to keep you locked onto him.

The feeling of his dick in you now was enough to send you over the edge. Clinging onto him while he rutted inside of you, the sound of his hips connecting with yours and your own wetness slapping against both of your skin filled the room along with the sounds of your moans and pants. It was rougher than usual, hurting only slightly, but you enjoyed it.

“Look at you, my pretty wife so drunk off my cock.” You heard Niki say, leaving wet kisses along your cheek and jawline, his own thrusts slowing as his legs began to shake.

You whined at the comment, moving your face to bury it in the crook of his neck while you came. Before you could sink your mouth onto his shoulder, he grabbed your face in his hand and pulled you back.

“No, you’re going to look at me when you cum. I want to see your pretty face while you cum around my cock.”

The tears continued to fall down, although you were not sad - you were hitting your breaking point, the tension in your stomach practically suffocating you. But you obeyed, locking eyes with Niki’s that were darkened by his pupils, his honey irises outlining his eyes.

He must have been close too, given how sloppy he was becoming. Niki kept his eyes locked on you as his pace quickened again, going faster than before until he let out a final grunt, cumming deep in you. You reached your own orgasm only seconds later, moaning as you clung to him, hugging him tight as your legs wrapped around his hips, shaking still from the intensity of your orgasm.

As you both came down from your high, Niki kept his position on you, not moving while he caught his breath. You pulled back from him when you felt him finally move, pulling out of you slowly, grinning down at the sight of you.

“I think we will have some news for those reporters here soon,” He said suddenly, your head tilted to the side in confusion. He shook his head, leaning forward to kiss your forehead before finally getting up to get around.

“I think Baby Lauda will be coming sooner than we expected.”

#ask #spookyanabarnes #niki lauda #niki lauda x reader #niki lauda x you #niki lauda imagine #niki lauda smut #minors dni #blurbs

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contemplativepancakes · 3 years ago

Text

number one wiener eater

written for the @lambertbigbang, with art by the amazing @geralt-of-riviass here! Make sure to check it out :D (also a ginormous thanks to @hoomhum for betaing and helping me work out the extremely complicated logistics of bathroom stall sex). Read on ao3 here!

When Lambert loses the hot dog eating contest that he’s won for the past three years in a row, there’s nothing he would love more than to find who beat him and punch them in the face. Unfortunately, he was too busy throwing up to know who the winner was.

All he knows is that he’s kind of maybe in love with the guy who held his hair while he puked. (8k, explicit, lambden, cw: vomiting, semi public sex)

Lambert’s gonna puke. He keeps stuffing the buns in his mouth, but they’re like glue, and his jaw refuses to work. He swallows, but nothing goes down. He takes a desperate gulp of water and sputters on it. Jerking his head up to glance at the countdown clock, he silently curses as he sees he has seconds left. He shoves what he can into his already full mouth, raising his hands up as the judge shouts for them to stop.

He takes a second to glance down the long line of other competitive eaters, but a wave of nausea hits him, and he looks at the ground, determined on keeping everything down. He keeps chewing and working to swallow as the judge takes away the plate to weigh it. Another comes down the aisle casting a critical eye at their tables, making sure that not too much food went onto the ground or table instead of their mouths.

It’s blazing outside today, and sweat coats Lambert’s face. Acid burns up his throat, but he chokes it back. He’s not a lightweight.

Lambert’s won this contest the past three years in a row, and he’s pretty sure he has this one in the bag. It’s no Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Contest, and he’s no Joey Chestnut, but he’s at least good, and the prize money is decent enough. He’s had his eye on an inflatable jacuzzi—for the women, Geralt. And the men—and he’s excited to make his maybe ill-advised purchase.

He waits for them to announce the winner, bouncing his foot on the ground to give himself something to focus on besides the rising wave of whatever’s churning in his gut.

When the judges stand up on their small podium, a hush falls over the small crowd gathered. Lambert directs his attention to them, but a bright burst of nausea hits him and sends sweat dripping down his back, and he doesn’t manage to hear anything after that.

He pukes.

“Oh jeez, are you okay?” a voice comes from somewhere on his left.

“Fine,” Lambert grunts, wiping his mouth and grimacing at the burning taste left in his mouth. Definitely more pleasant as the hot dogs were going down than up.

“Are you sure? You seem shaky.”

“I’m fine,” Lambert grumbles, and finally looks up at the guy, who puts his hands up in surrender.

“Just checking.”

He starts to heave again, and he reaches for the pail thoughtfully provided for them by the contest sponsors.

“Yep, you sure seem fine!” the other man chirps.

Lambert retches one more time, and the man hands him a napkin. Lambert takes it suspiciously, wondering if this is a reporter or something. He’s not sure why someone would want to deal with this.

The man hands him a bottle of water next, and Lambert purses his lips as he twists the top off. He squints at him. “Who are you?” he finally asks.

“Oh, sorry. I’m Aiden.”

All that does is give Lambert a name, not answer his question, but he doesn’t comment further, just offers his own name in a grunt.

“Oh, I know who you are.”

“You a fan?”

“You could say that,” Aiden says with a grin, and Lambert rolls his eyes.

“They didn’t tell me competitive eating gets you groupies.”

Aiden gives him a full throated laugh at that, and Lambert curses himself when he catches himself thinking that it sounds kind of nice. Those are exactly the kind of thoughts he doesn’t want to be having. Especially not for some weirdo that stopped to what, hold his hair while he puked? Who does that? If he’s not careful, he’s going to end up in an ice bath one kidney short.

Lambert wipes his mouth with the back of his hand again, surreptitiously checking his breath. It’s not peaches and cream, that’s for sure.

Lambert sets the pail down and faces Aiden, trying to flat out dislike him at how white his teeth are, how perfectly coiffed his dark curly hair is even in this heat, but he fails as Aiden continues to be nothing but nice to him, making small talk as Lambert tries to pull himself together.

After Lambert’s fully sat up instead of half way hunched over, expecting another vomiting wave to hit him, Aiden straightens up, too. “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then, huh?”

Lambert’s confused for a second, because he’s never seen Aiden before, but he decides he’s going to take this as a good sign. Or maybe a bad sign for the fate of his kidneys, whatever the case may be.

“I would hope so,” Lambert settles on, deciding that sounds like a good mix of hopeful and not at all like he’s desperate for a little human contact.

Aiden gives him a little half wave that has no right to be as adorable as it is when a grown man does it, and Lambert frowns and tamps down the feelings rising in his gut. No, he’s not going to call them butterflies. He’s not a twelve year old; he doesn’t get crushes, and he certainly doesn’t get butterflies in his stomach.

Lambert eventually manages to get up and walks away from the contest, sadly bereft of the prize money. He missed the announcement of the winner while he was busy throwing up, but he caught the disappointed looks some of the spectators were casting him, so he knows it isn’t him. He doesn’t even want to know who it was. He’ll just dwell endlessly. His stomach is still roiling as he clambers into his car, but at this point, he’s not sure why.

It’s what he ate, he’s sure.

Lambert slams his kitchen cupboard door shut. “I don’t want to talk about it, Geralt,” he mutters.

Geralt always wants to hash every detail of his competitions, and while normally Lambert is happy to indulge him, he just doesn’t want to talk about this one, okay?

It has everything to do with him losing and absolutely nothing to do with Aiden. Nothing at all.

“Okay, fine,” Geralt says, raising his hands and backing up. “No need to get so grouchy about it.”

Lambert scowls. “I’m not grouchy.”

“Right. Prove it.”

“Fine.” Lambert crosses his arms.

Geralt grins. “Return my library book for me? It’s due today, and there’s no way I’m making it over to that side of town today, I’m slammed.”

“Yeah? You’re so slammed you had time to come here and harass me?”

Geralt reaches forward to ruffle Lambert’s hair, and Lambert knocks his hand away. “Not harassment. Just brotherly concern. Have you seen the wikipedia page for competitive eating? And you expect me not to worry?” Geralt scoffs.

Lambert rolls his eyes. “Stop being so over protective, mom.”

“Deal. If you return my book.”

Lambert rolls his eyes, but he takes the book. He looks down at the title, then back up at Geralt, raising his eyebrows. “Really? Twilight?”

“I didn’t even think you knew how to read, Lamb,” Geralt deflects.

Lambert huffs. “I don’t know if I want to embarrass myself by returning this, but whatever. If anyone asks, it’s my sister’s book. You owe me.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one in the lead on favors.”

“I doubt it.”

Lambert makes a show of taking the book between his pinched thumb and forefinger, Geralt rolling his eyes all the while. “I know, I know. You hear vampire, and you can’t help yourself,” Lambert says.

Geralt shrugs before clapping his hands on his thighs. “All right, I better get going. I have to pick Ciri up from school.”

“And you couldn’t have gone after to the library with her?”

“She has martial arts.”

Lambert sighs. He can help Geralt out this once, he supposes.

Geralt leaves and Lambert eyes the book setting on his coffee table. He guesses he might as well go now, and he can poke around and see if there’s anything that catches his eye. He hasn’t been to the library in nearly a year, but it might be a nice change of pace.

Lambert clambers to his feet, stopping to grab his wallet and keys before walking out to his car.

He hits every red light between his apartment and the library, and his good mood has nearly evaporated by the time he gets there. That changes when he walks in the door and sees who’s sitting at the front desk. “Aiden?” he doesn’t squeak.

Aiden looks up from where he’s typing furiously at a computer, and his face breaks out into a wide grin that makes Lambert’s stomach flip. “Lambert!”

Lambert looks down at the book he’s carrying and immediately hides it behind his back. Aiden quirks an eyebrow at him. “Got a return?”

“Yes, well, I mean, no—”

Aiden stretches out a hand, and Lambert resigns himself to his fate. He gives Aiden the book. Aiden barely glances at the cover, just gives Lambert a small smile and scans the barcode.

“I’m returning that for my brother,” Lambert can’t stop himself from saying.

Aiden glances back up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Aiden nods once. “Likely story.”

Lambert splutters and then stops when he sees the shit eating grin Aiden’s giving him.

“Hey, all reading is good reading,” Aiden says. “I’m not going to rag on you.”

“It’s my brother’s,” Lambert mumbles again, but he shakes his head in defeat.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

Lambert would normally rather die before asking for help, but he thinks it might be okay if it's Aiden he’s asking for it from. He wouldn’t have offered if he was busy or something, right?

The organ harvesting alarms start going off in Lambert’s brain again, but he dismisses them. Someone so nice surely isn’t going to cut anything out of him. And even if he does, Lambert would bet Aiden would give the good drugs, so he wouldn’t even feel it. He seems nice like that.

Yeah, that’d be okay.

Lambert moves farther into the library, going between the stacks where no one can see him. He’s not sure what books he should get to try and recover the remaining shreds of his dignity.

He whips out his phone and searches long classic books. He scrolls down the page a little frantically until he lands on War and Peace. He’s heard of that before. He’s pretty sure it’s a well regarded book. What if Aiden thinks he’s a pretentious dick? Okay, maybe he is, a little, but he doesn’t want to give him that impression right off the bat. Lambert’s already ruined his first, and second impression, he doesn’t want to mess up the third.

Lambert makes his way down the aisles, squinting as he looks for the Ts. He pulls out the book with a flourish after he finally finds it, weighing its impressive heft in his hand. He cracks it open and finds it to be suitably dense. He makes his way back up to the circulation desk, where Aiden’s scanning in returns from their self service slot.

Why didn’t Lambert just use that? He could slap himself. Well, he guesses he wouldn’t have seen Aiden if he did that, so at risk of sounding like a creepy stalker, he’s glad he came in.

Lambert thunks the book down on the counter. Aiden looks at it, then up to Lambert, a grin spreading across his face. “Just a bit of light reading for you then?”

Heat rises to Lambert’s cheeks, not sure if he’s being mocked or not. He shrugs. “It’s been on my list.”

Aiden holds a hand out, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Uh…”

“I need your library card,” Aiden says patiently.

“Right. Um, let’s see here.”

Lambert hasn’t been to the library since the last time he came with Ciri to pick out movies they were going to watch while she stayed with him, and he pulls out his wallet. He holds it open to thumb through it, wondering why the fuck he feels the need to carry so many gift cards around that he’s never going to use. Foil crinkles as he goes through everything, and he resolutely does not make eye contact with Aiden.

It’s no use, though. “You’re not supposed to carry those around in your wallet, you know,” he says conversationally. “Wears holes in them.”

There’s a quip on Lambert’s tongue about using them often enough that he doesn’t have to worry about that, but he bites it back. He’s not a creep who would say that at someone’s job.

After another painful ten seconds, Lambert gives up on finding the card. He thinks he remembers them giving him a miniature one for it, too, so he looks on his key chain instead, filled as it is with at least twenty different discount cards and various baubles Ciri’s made for him.

“I can tell you’re a fine connoisseur of our goods,” Aiden comments.

“Shut up,” Lambert grouses, finally finding the little card and setting the whole thing down for Aiden.

Aiden scans it, keys and cards jingling against each other, and frowns. “It’s expired,” he says apologetically.

Lambert wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole, especially as Aiden fingers the rooster on it that Eskel gave him after he came out. He should get around to cleaning off his keyring.

“I guess I know you really were returning that book for your brother?” Aiden offers.

Despite himself, Lambert smiles. “I guess you do.” Lambert swallows. “So what do I have to do to renew it? I think I might have to start coming here more often.”

Aiden gives him a tiny grin, and they get the card renewed, then the book checked out. “I’ll be expecting a report on how it was when you return it,” Aiden says of War and Peace, tucking the receipt into the book.

Lambert’s not sure if he had been entirely convinced he was actually going to read it, but he finds himself saying, “You bet.”

Aiden flashes him a smile that Lambert would best describe as feral, and as he walks out to his car, Lambert wonders what exactly he’s gotten himself into.

Later that night finds Geralt back on Lambert’s couch. “I thought you were so busy,” Lambert complains.

“Well, Ciri’s at her martial arts class now and your apartment was close. What do you have to eat?”

Lambert rolls his eyes and resists the urge to shove Geralt’s feet off his coffee table. “Nothing for you.”

Geralt gets up to survey the refrigerator.

“If you put a finger on my burrito, I’ll end you,” Lambert threatens.

Lambert can practically hear Geralt rolling his eyes as he heaves a heavy sigh. “Do not drink out of the jug either.”

Geralt groans again. “Like you don’t?”

“Well, I’m the one who buys it. All you do is come over and eat my food like you don’t have any of your own.”

Geralt comes back to the couch after some muttering and putting something in the microwave. Lambert resists the urge to strangle him. When Geralt comes back, it’s with chinese takeout that’s been in the refrigerator for at least two weeks. Lambert doesn’t say anything.

He watches with a raised eyebrow as Geralt slurps down the noodles, mildly impressed at his stomach of steel. He’s always thought Geralt would be a good competitive eater.

When Geralt finally puts the chop sticks down and comes back up for air, he brightens and reaches into his pocket. “Here, I saved this for you.”

Geralt hands a folded up newspaper clipping to him, and Lambert scowls upon seeing the picture of the hot dog eating contest sign. He crumples it up and tosses it at Geralt’s head.

Geralt’s hand automatically comes up and bats it away, making it fall to the floor. “Jeez, I try to do one nice thing…”

“Don’t act like being nice was your motivation.”

Geralt gives him a cheshire cat grin. “You’re too easy to rile up, you know that?”

“Yeah, thanks a lot for that, shit lips. By the way, you’re welcome for taking back your book. I nearly got laughed out of the library.”

Geralt smirks at him. Fortunately for Geralt, there’s nothing for Lambert to throw at him again within arms reach.

“I see you even got a book. That’s some heavy reading,” Geralt says, a look of mock seriousness pasted on his face.

“Shut up.”

“That’d take you at least three years to read.”

“Shut up,” Lambert says again, putting his hands over his ears.

“Almost seems like you got that just to impress someone; I’ve never known you to have an interest in the classics before.”

Lambert looks at the book sitting on the coffee table and considers just braining Geralt with it. Surely a jury would be understanding that sometimes you just have to hit your stupid as fuck brother upside the head with a three pound book.

Not guilty, for sure.

Lambert snaps out of his daydream to look pointedly at the clock. “Exactly how long is Ciri’s class?”

Geralt checks his watch. “Shit, I gotta go.”

Lambert grouses as Geralt puts on his jacket and leaves his bowl on the table for Lambert. “I’m not a maid!” he shouts after Geralt’s retreating back.

Geralt flips him off and then blows him a kiss, leaving Lambert to wonder if he’s just broken a record for the world’s longest eye roll.

Lambert looks back to the book. He guesses he has nothing better to do…

Lambert makes it through the book much more quickly than he anticipated; once he gets past the dry as fuck language, it’s actually kind of interesting.

He’s excited but also dreading going back to the library. This time he should probably be better prepared when he goes in, so he doesn’t have to frantically flick through his phone hidden in the middle of the stacks trying to find something to check out that’s not going to make him look like an idiot.

He searches for something interesting sounding, but maybe something that’s not going to make Aiden laugh at him this time. Well, maybe he can make him laugh in a good way instead of making fun of him, Lambert muses as he scrolls through book titles.

And so, the next time when he goes to the library, he surprises a laugh out of Aiden when he slams A Treatise of Cocks and Hens onto the counter to check out.

“You into animal husbandry now?” Aiden snickers.

“I’ve been considering some laying hens,” Lambert says in mock seriousness. “Why, you got any advice?”

“Ah. Eggs, nature’s perfect food,” he says sagely. “I am sure that is the only reason why you’ve chosen this particular book.”

“Yep.”

Aiden grins. “Huh. Very interesting. Well, I’ll be expecting a report back. By the way, how was War and Peace?”

“Surprisingly not terrible.”

Aiden drums his fingers on the counter, scrutinizing him. “Huh.”

“What do you mean, ‘huh?’”

“A man can’t say ‘huh’ without being ruthlessly interrogated now? What is this country coming to?”

Lambert shakes his head at the dramatics and finally remembers to hand over his library card. Aiden scans it, then his book, a small smile still playing at the corner of his mouth. The receipt prints, and Lambert holds out his hand for it, but Aiden takes it and scribbles something down before tucking it in the book.

“Just...personalized service for our valued members,” he says with a wink.

“I’m not paying for anything; I don’t think you need to try that hard.”

“Are you complaining?”

Lambert shakes his head hastily. “Definitely not.”

Aiden slides the book across the counter to him. “Come back soon,” he says with a cheeky wave.

Lambert barely resists the urge to stick his tongue out at him, and where did that come from, but he manages to make it out of the library without making a total ass of himself. When he gets out to his car, he slides behind the wheel and takes the receipt out of the bag.

On it is a number, one Lambert hopes like fuck is Aiden’s and not just some cruel joke, and the words, Text me what you learned from this book. I want to learn all about it (;

Lambert traces his fingers over the word cock on the cover.

He can’t believe that actually worked.

When he tells Geralt the news, Geralt howls with laughter.

Predictably, Geralt is eating his food again, and is being absolutely no help in assisting Lambert with choosing the clothes he should wear on his date. He had somehow worked up the nerve to text Aiden, and after a week of sending waffling texts back and forth, they’re going to a bar together. Shit, Lambert hasn’t been on a date in forever.

“Calm down,” Geralt says around a mouthful of pasta from Lambert’s bed, watching his eyes dart back and forth around his closet. “Wear a button down,” he advises. “That’s respectable.”

“Not like I’m trying too hard?”

Geralt hums. “Maybe.”

Lambert scowls at him. “Why are you even here if you’re not going to help?”

Geralt points a fork to his bowl. “Dude, you made bolognese. Where else am I going to be?”

“Don’t you have a kid or something you need to watch?” Lambert asks, but it’s without heat.

“She’s with Yen tonight. I wanted a front row seat to this shit show, and they’re going to an opera or something. I don’t ask questions.”

“Wow, thank you for your enthusiastic support.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you care this much before,” Geralt observes.

“Yeah, well, he’s nice. I’ve never dated someone who’s nice before.”

“I can only hope he rubs off on you.”

Lambert nods. “We can only hope.”

Geralt throws a pillow at him. “Don’t be a pervert.”

“Hey! You’re the one who said it, not me.”

Geralt sets the bowl down, balancing precariously on Lambert’s bed and claps his hands over his ears. “I do not want to think about you doing any of that. You’re going to be 12 to me forever.”

“Geralt, you are six years older than me.”

“And?”

Lambert shakes his head as he pulls out a polo before discarding it.

Why the hell does he even have that? He wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a fucking polo.

In the end, Lambert settles on nothing too out of the norm from his typical style. He doesn’t want Aiden to get the wrong idea, and he’s sure Aiden won’t hesitate in making fun of him if he tries too hard. He wets his comb and runs it through his hair, but it’s really too short to stick up in odd angles, which is exactly the way he likes it.

He shoos Geralt out of his apartment as he leaves. “I can’t leave you unsupervised to poke through my things,” he says, and Geralt doesn’t even argue with him about it, which is highly concerning because that means it’s true.

Lambert’s heart is jackrabbiting against his chest as he walks out to his car. He gives Geralt a gruff goodbye before ducking into his car, plugging his phone into the radio and cranking the volume up. He tries to focus on the lyrics instead of the pounding in his chest that he can feel pulsating in his wrists. He scrolls through his songs until he finds something by Minor Threat so he can turn it up and drown out the rest of his thoughts.

He’s meeting Aiden at the bar, because Geralt told him it was weird to pick someone up on the first date, and that Aiden was an Independent Man, whatever that meant. He probably shouldn’t listen to Geralt.

He beats his fingers in rapid bursts on his steering wheel in time with the music until he gets there, and then he checks his phone to see it’s way too early to go in yet. God, he’s messing this up already. He scrolls through his social media feeds while he waits until his phone buzzes with an incoming picture. He clicks over to it, to see—himself, hunched over behind the steering wheel of his car. It’s taken through a window, and it’s sort of definitely mega creepy.

Aiden: you coming in, or do you just plan on sitting out there all night?

Lambert checks the time again and verifies that no, he’s still 20 minutes early. A small smile crawls across his face.

He gets out and walks into the bar, looking around. Aiden waves to him, and he’s sitting at a booth, not even at the bar.

“Wow. Classy.” Lambert comments as he slides in next to him.

Shit, should he have sat across from him? Aiden apparently doesn’t mind by the way he immediately presses against Lambert.

“Can’t believe I got you out of your academic setting,” Aiden smirks. “How goes the chicken husbandry?”

“I’m considering building a coop,” Lambert says on reflex.

“I can’t even tell if you’re joking.”

Lambert grins. “Only mostly. Don’t you think that would be cute, or whatever?”

“What, you in a frilly apron collecting eggs? Yeah, I could get behind that.”

Lambert’s face gets hot almost instantly. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I think it should be.” Aiden quirks an eyebrow at him in challenge, one which Lambert immediately cops out of.

“What do you want to drink?”

Lambert stands up with Aiden’s order and goes to the bar to get it, wondering what Geralt’s opinion on how the bill should be split is.

When he comes back, Aiden’s checking his phone, but he quickly sets it down when Lambert slips in beside him again.

“Just letting my friend know I’m not dead,” he says brightly. “I sent her the picture of you, and that’s already shady enough to be perfect for America’s Most Wanted, so I’d keep that in mind.”

Lambert snorts. “Noted,” he says, passing over the beer.

Aiden takes a gulp, and Lambert’s gaze doesn’t linger on how Aiden’s lips wrap around the bottle, not one bit.

Aiden sets the bottle down on the table with a clunk, liquid making its way dangerously close to the top, but none splashes out.

“So tell me about yourself, besides the fact that you eat too many hot dogs, read long books in the hopes of impressing librarians, and are blue printing a chicken coop.”

Lambert drums his fingers on the table and shrugs. “I’m not that interesting. And who said I was trying to impress you?”

Aiden shrugs and takes another drink of his beer, setting it back down and swiping a finger through the condensation. “Aren’t you?”

Lambert stands up abruptly. “Come on, pool table’s empty.”

“I think you’re going to have to show me how to handle my stick.”

Lambert groans and shoves at him. “That was so bad. That was terrible. I’m not rewarding you for that.”

Aiden grins at him, and they play pool, with Aiden exaggerating his cue handling the entire time. If Lambert has to watch him run his hands down its length one more time…

“What exactly are you angling for, here, hmm?” Lambert asks, sidling up next to him and nudging him out of the way so he can take aim for the cue ball.

Aiden shrugs. “Whatever you’re willing to give me.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. “I’m easy.”

Lambert squeezes his eyes shut for a second at the mental image that provides before gulping. “I, uh, haven’t really been with anyone in a while. Might be a little rusty.”

Aiden crowds behind him and wraps his arms around Lambert’s waist. “Just like riding a bike,” he says into his ear.

Lambert leans down and hits the cue ball, knocking the black eight into the middle pocket. “Well, shit.” They both know he did it on purpose.

Aiden takes Lambert’s hand for a second, and Lambert has to make a conscious effort not to short circuit. “Meet me in the bathroom,” he murmurs before turning away, leaving Lambert to fidget uncomfortably. He knocks all the balls into the pockets and hangs up their cues, dithering a little to try not to make this too obvious. Jesus, he feels like he’s 22 again, only this time he’s doing it with someone he actually likes and not just to get a reaction out of his dad when he found out.

Lambert sets his hands on the pool table and takes a deep breath before heading to the bathroom. He walks in, noting that no, this isn’t a single stall, and anyone could walk on them. His heart beats a little faster.

Aiden’s at the sink washing his hands, and Lambert walks up behind him, mouthing at his neck and wrapping his arms around him.

“Took you long enough,” Aiden says, leaning back into him. “Come on.” Aiden tugs him into a stall and slides the lock shut behind them.

It’s a tight squeeze, two grown men in one tiny stall, and to be honest, it’s a little disgusting. Lambert leans past Aiden to close the toilet seat so he doesn’t have to look at the piss stains.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does that offend your delicate sensibilities?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

Aiden’s grin drops for a second. “You want to do this, right?”

Lambert tugs Aiden against him sharply and kisses him hard before pulling back. “Oh, yeah. Enthusiastically. Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

Lambert yanks Aiden’s shirt out of his pants, putting his hands on Aiden’s torso, enjoying the soft flesh and moving his way up until he can brush his thumb over Aiden’s nipple. Aiden leans back in to kiss him again, shoving his hands down Lambert’s pants where he’s growing steadily harder.

Aiden strokes him inside his underwear, and Lambert forgot how fucking good this feels. He still has one ear on the door, waiting for someone else to come inside the restroom. He’s not sure what they’re going to do if that happens, so he supposes he better move this along.

Lambert leans his head back against the stall door as Aiden jerks him to full hardness, their kiss turning into something uncoordinated and sloppy.

“Feel good?” Aiden murmurs.

“Fuck, yeah,” Lambert says, and his eyes get wide as Aiden drops to his knees.

Aiden pulls him out of his pants, finally unbuttoning them and relieving some of the pressure. Lambert winces as he looks down at the mystery stains on the floor, but Aiden’s unaffected. Lambert bites down on his lip as he looks down at Aiden, leaning forward to take him into his mouth.

“Wait,” he says, and his voice sounds far away. He fumbles for his wallet, thumbing through it to find the condom from the other day.

Aiden laughs and quirks an eyebrow at him.

“It’s a new one,” Lambert says defensively.

Aiden takes it from and tears it open, rolling it down Lambert’s length. “Good?” he asks, and Lambert eagerly nods.

Warm heat envelopes him, and he instinctively threads a hand through Aiden’s hair. Aiden seems to like that, and he starts doing something to the sensitive spot just under Lambert’s head that has him panting after a minute.

The door to the bathroom creaks open then, and Lambert tugs on Aiden’s hair urgently, but Aiden doesn’t let up, if anything, just increases whatever he’s doing down there until Lambert can barely see straight, let alone keep his noises to himself.

There’s the sound of someone unzipping themselves, and Lambert looks down at Aiden incredulously. Does this person really not notice them? Judging by the intensity of the stream they let out, Lambert’s guessing not.

Aiden brings his hand up to stroke the part of Lambert’s cock not in his mouth and keeps up the steady rhythm of his mouth. It feels incredible, tight wet heat around his cock, and Lambert’s concerned his lip is going to bleed if he keeps biting it this hard. A whine starts emanating from him as Aiden increases his speed.

The urinal finally flushes, and Aiden determinedly licks at the underside of Lambert’s cock, making him gasp. Lambert gives a little yank on his hair; he knows Aiden did that on purpose. Aiden looks up at him as innocently as he can with a mouth full of cock.

It’s obscene.

The person doesn’t even wash their hands before they leave, but Lambert can’t find it in him to bemoan their lack of hygiene, he’s just glad for some semblance of privacy again as he lets out a broken moan.

Aiden keeps it up, bobbing back and forth and twisting his hands around Lambert’s cock until he gasps, coming as his legs nearly give out from underneath him. “Fuck,” he says vehemently, panting as he tries to catch his beath. “Mild mannered librarian by day... But you’re sure something else at night, huh?” Lambert tugs a hand through Aiden’s coarse curls, delighting in the way they’re so pullable and soft.

Aiden hums and pulls off, Lambert’s eyes catching on the trail of saliva that follows Aiden’s lips, still connected to Lambert’s cock. “I don’t know about mild mannered.”

Aiden pulls off the condom and knots it, tucking it back into its original foil and putting it on top of the toilet paper dispenser before Lambert fists a hand in the collar of Aiden’s shirt and pulls him to his feet, kissing him messily and reveling in the taste of Aiden’s mouth. He reaches down between them, surprised to find Aiden still fully hard. He maneuvers Aiden around until his back is to the stall door instead of Lambert. Lambert squeezes him before getting to his knees himself, clumsy and unpracticed.

It’s been too long.

Lambert’s knees hit the hard floor, the cold tiles leaching warmth from his legs, even through his jeans. He finds himself not even caring about the ever present ammonia stench and the piss stains everywhere he looks. He unbuttons Aiden’s pants and unzips them, trying not to roll his eyes at the fact that he wore slacks to a bar. How difficult does he think Lambert is to impress, exactly, because Lambert would be the first to tell you it’s not that hard.

Speaking of things that are hard...Lambert jerks his fist along Aiden’s cock a few times, before pulling out another condom and putting it on him, moving forward to take the head into his mouth.

“Jesus, how many of those do you carry around?” Aiden asks, a little breathless.

Lambert pulls off for a moment. “I used to be a boy scout.”

“Liar,” Aiden hisses, but then his head is thudding back against the stall door as Lambert does a particularly clever twist of his fist. He keeps it moving along Aiden’s cock as he gets the head sloppy with spit, paying special attention to the sensitive spot on the underside.

Aiden twitches under his ministrations, and Lambert looks up at him, satisfied as he sees Aiden’s head is still leaned back against the stall door, his eyes squeezed shut.

Lambert hums as he takes more into his mouth, bobbing his head back and forth as he moves his hand farther back to play with Aiden’s balls. He rolls them gently in his hands, running his thumb over the soft skin.

When he looks back up at Aiden, he’s staring at Lambert with undisguised want and he’s visibly restraining himself from being louder. Lambert’s just glad that no one else has come into the bathroom. There’s no question about what’s happening here, not with the slick sounds they’re making.

Lambert starts to suck on Aiden’s cock, then, and a quiet swear comes out of Aiden and his hands fly down, scrambling for purchase in Lambert’s hair, but it’s too short for him to do anything but comb at it uselessly. He ends up with one of his hands on the back of Lambert’s head, just resting there, his fingertips coming down occasionally to brush at Lambert’s neck.

Part of Lambert rebels at the tenderness, but another part of him revels in it, and he keeps the steady motion up until Aiden’s hips are starting to jerk minutely.

Lambert presses a hand against him, holding his hips in place against the stall while he tongues the vein on the underside of Aiden’s cock. He comes after what seems like both a small eternity and no time at all, a moan punching out of him.

Aiden brushes his thumb over the corner of Lambert’s mouth and brings it back up to suck it into his own, Lambert tracking the movement with the corner of his eye. Lambert buttons up his pants and attempts to straighten his shirt, but it might be a lost cause with how many wrinkles are in it from how Aiden had rucked it up. Lambert pulls the condom off and wraps it in toilet paper, setting it on top of the one from earlier.

Lambert cracks the stall door open to throw the condoms into the trash, wincing when he misses.

“That was literally three feet away, dude.”

Lambert scowls at him as he gingerly picks it up and places it in the bin. “Don’t call me dude after I just sucked your cock.”

Lambert shuts the stall door again, waiting for Aiden to be a little bit more presentable.

Aiden tugs his shirt down and smoothes his hand over it, and Lambert tucks him back into his pants and buttons up his pants for him. “Thanks, babe,” he says with a shit eating grin.

Aiden pats Lambert’s hand fondly, and it gives Lambert a warm feeling even as he rolls his eyes. Lambert unlocks the door, and they stumble out together. Aiden leans against him, still very much in Lambert’s personal space and with his hair a mess. “So. You want to do this again sometime?”

All Lambert can do is nod.

“Sometime” happens quite frequently over the next several months. After...years of not being in a relationship, and certainly not having regular sex, Lambert’s not complaing.

He brings Aiden lunch at the library occasionally, since he has to work weekends, and Aiden ends up at Lambert’s cooking meals for him more than once in a while. Geralt appreciates the variety, at any rate.

When Geralt met Aiden for the first time, Geralt did a double take, and Lambert still doesn’t know what that’s about, and he doesn’t think he wants to know, either. If Geralt has ever slept with Aiden, he...doesn’t know what he’ll do. Scream, at the very least.

They’re at Aiden’s tonight, and Lambert’s digging through his refrigerator. “Why the fuck do you have all this lettuce? You’d think you were the professional eater,” he gripes as he shoves no less than six heads of the lettuce out of the way to get to the milk.

Aiden snorts behind him. “You’d think, huh?”

Lambert’s distracted from the discovery by Aiden’s arms wrapping around his waist. Lambert turns around in the hold to put his arms around Aiden’s neck and tug him even closer. Aiden grinds his hips against him, but Lambert pushes him back a little. “We haven’t even eaten supper yet,” he chides.

Aiden sighs, a long, put upon thing. “I’m going to die of blue balls.”

“I think you’ll be just fine.”

“What’s next? You say you have a headache?” Aiden puts a hand over his forehead dramatically.

“No, I’ll just tell you to fuck off if I’m not interested. Don’t worry.”

Aiden leans in to bite at Lambert’s ear lobe, and Lambert shoves his face away. “Fuck off.”

“Aw, Lamb,” Aiden wheedles.

“Food, then sex. God, you’re insatiable.”

“Thank you.” Aiden looks entirely too pleased with himself, and Lambert rolls his eyes.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t, you love me,” Aiden says in a sing song voice.

Lambert groans, burying his face in his hands. “I never should have told you that.”

Aiden sobers for a moment. “I’m so glad you did. I love you, too.”

“Stop being such a sap and help me make supper.”

Aiden rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, I get it; you’re allergic to feelings. I see how it is. You tell a man something once after the best blow job of your life and then just expect him to forget about it.”

“It was really nice,” Lambert admits.

“That would be because I am the number one wiener eater,” he says proudly.

Lambert shoves him. “Don’t be disgusting.”

Aiden just grins at him unabashedly, pulling the chef’s knife out of their drawer and brandishing it a little too familiarly for Lambert’s comfort. Lambert rolls his eyes. “Here, chop these for me.”

Aiden sets to work and within an hour, they have a comforting meal pulled together. Lambert portions the pasta out onto plates, and they make quick work of it, both of them having tiny portions. Lambert is mainly on semi solids and liquids in preparation for his next contest, and Aiden, he guesses, is being supportive. When they’re done, Aiden looks at his watch and stands up, yawning. “I’m going to have to take a rain check, if you’ll survive.”

Lambert rolls his eyes at him. “I think I’ll live. It was your idea, anyway.”

Aiden makes a face at him, but pulls him into a kiss anyway. “I have a few last minute prep things to do for tomorrow.”

“Like what? Do you need help?” Lambert asks, frowning, wondering if Aiden is making a celebratory cake for him, or something. That might be jumping the gun a bit.

“Hey, I can’t give away all of my secrets, can I?”

“I suppose not,” Lambert says, squinting at him.

“All right, well, I’ll see you then. We can ride together, okay?”

Lambert nods his assent as Aiden practically shoos him out the door. It’s still light outside, and this is possibly the first time he’s left Aiden’s apartment while the evening light has shined on him the whole time he’s known Aiden. He squints into the sun as he clambers into his car.

Well, whatever. He has stuff he should be doing, anyway. Eyes on the prize, he coaches himself as he pops in a few sticks of gum. He’s got this. He’s so, totally got this, and nothing is going to distract him from winning.

The next day finds Lambert frowning at his phone, as Aiden tells him something, speaking way too quickly. “Sorry, I know I said I would ride with you but Gunther is out sick and I’m going to have to work up until, like, the very last minute before the contest…”

“Well, you don’t have to come,” Lambert says, concerned that maybe expecting Aiden to attend is asking too much, especially when his work is short staffed.

Aiden just laughs. “I bet you’d just love that, huh?”

Lambert is a little puzzled on why Aiden would say that, and he’s trying to think of a reply when someone shouts something in the background of the call. “Hey, I have to go. Love you, bye!”

There’s the beep of a disconnected call, and Lambert brings the phone down from his ear to stare at it. That was… a little bizarre. Well, whatever. He can’t have anything distracting him now. There’s no way he’s going to lose two contests in a row, not after he had to wait months for the next one to come around.

Lambert drives to the contest, pointedly not noting how empty his passenger seat is without Aiden in it. He looks forward to spending time with him, so to have it cancelled always leaves him feeling melancholy.

He clenches his jaw and turns up the radio, his fingers tapping a frantic rhythm on the wheel.

By the time he arrives, anxiety is coiling in his gut and he’s already sweating. He sits in his car for a moment, blasting the air conditioning. If he loses again, is he officially a has been? He takes a deep breath as he gets out, walking up to the judges and turning in his paperwork.

He turns to look for Aiden in the crowd, but he doesn’t see him, so he must not be here yet. Lambert sighs as he searches the table lined with hot dogs for an empty seat, stopping when he sees—Aiden?

Lambert stares at Aiden with a slack jaw. “You’re—you—competing? What?”

“Lamb, what are you talking about? Are you okay? You don’t look so good.” Aiden pushes his chair back and hurries over to him, bringing a hand up to put on Lambert’s forehead, but Lambert swats him away.

“When did you sign up?” Lambert finally gets out.

Aiden squints. “Right after the last one? For real, are you alright?”

“The last one?” Lambert echoes.

“Yes. The last one. The one that I won?”

Lambert’s mouth flaps.

“That you won?” he practically screeches. He’s feeling a little dizzy.

“Did you get hit on the head?” Aiden asks, looking around nervously like he’s trying to find someone to ask for help. “Who do you think won that last contest, Lamb?”

Lambert sputters. “I don’t know; I was a little preoccupied!”

“Did you not look it up after? Oh my god, I thought you knew,” Aiden says in horror.

Lambert wants to cry, honestly. “It was you?”

“I felt bad when you were throwing up! You were puking and you didn’t even win! Sue me for being nice!”

Realization dawns on Lambert that this is why Geralt could barely contain his laughter after meeting Aiden. He did try to give him that newspaper clipping, after all. Surely it had a picture of the winner in it.

“Why did you think I was even there in the first place?” Aiden finally asks.

Lambert lets that settle over him for a moment. He still feels a little sick, but inexplicably he feels better, now that Aiden is in this with him. He pauses for a second of it. Now that he’s aware Aiden is in this with him. “Well, no one is allowed to beat me but you.”

“Deal. Hey, what did I tell you?”

Lambert groans. Aiden tells him lots of things, and his brain is not exactly cooperating with him at the moment. “I don’t know.”

Aiden nudges him with his elbow and gives him a meaningful raise of his eyebrow. “No, I think you do. Go on, don’t be afraid to admit it.”

What it must be pops into his head, and Lambert heaves a long suffering sigh, and he hopes it's one he’s going to be continuing to give for quite a while. “You’re the number one wiener eater.”

Aiden beams.

#the witcher #lambert #aiden #lambden #modern au #humor #contemplative writing

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xxbig-shotxx · 3 years ago

Note

It's me again, you already know who and seem to like to make me a "meme" so I shouldn't have to mention who I am to you. I did NOT appreciate that art you spat out of me and you, it's gross just like your treatment of women in your comic! You have one ONE female character and yet you constantly sexualize her why do you draw her bra and breasts all the time!?

I was going to let it slide, but but the more I thought about it the more problems I had and it was actually making me gag. This comic is fetishism of mental illness which you have proven by having you, let me remind you ONLY FEMALE CHARACTER having a breakdown in her underwear which is something that you just thought was 'okay' to put in, it is not.

What does the mental illness fetishism even add? Nothing but fuel for your perverse desires just like making the characters, who mind you, don't have canonn genders In the game, gendered it's gross and perverted and of course you demonize the only woman when the male characters can kill people and get absolutely zero repercussions for it, while the female character gets hate by you, the writer and the readers for what? Being a woman? A less than ideal mother? You're all sickening.

Not even to mention that you only quote-on-quote "intersex" character, who is the MAIN character of your fic barely gets any focus on agency in their own story and instead gets put to the side for your writer's pet, suffering-fetish character. Not even to mention that them being intersex still plays absolutely zero role in the story and also never gets brought up because he might as well be just a man anyway. I don't care what other people say defending you, they're clearly your white knights and your not as good as you think you are about tackling sensitive subjects since things like suicide, incest and now murder and mental illness is nothing more than a way you get your sick kicks. Either take a psychology course and a writing course or stop.

Yes, I'm judgemental, because your not above criticism and the minute you get off your podium and learn how to not be a creep is the minute your writing can improve~

They actually did this yesterday but I didn't have the energy or a funni drawing

I did skim through this one and I have questions

Are you joking ?

If you're joking I admire your effort but bruh

If you're not joking then I'm really worried about you

Why do you keep reading this is it's obviously not something you enjoy ?

Are...you... reading it ?

Because I don't know if your comprehension is just bad or if you're shitposting because there's a lot that is just blatantly wrong

And finally

You keep bringing up the intersex thing and I do not know in what way you specifically want it to contribute and frankly I don't want to know

#ask #answer #[ sad ] au #not even gonna touch the blatantly untrue parts #bro you have problems #i love and hate you #i both fear you and am deeply intrigued #who are you #what are you #whats going through your head

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onecanonlife · 3 years ago

Text

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (previous part) (next part)

(word count: 3,960)

--------------------

Part Ten: Wilbur II

Wilbur wakes the morning of the election as President of L’Manberg, and he ends the evening of the election as President of L’Manberg, voted back into office by due democratic process.

There are things in between, of course. He reads out the results for all the SMP members to hear, as well as for those who have been following the event from different servers. He makes a speech, promises protection and safety for his citizens, promises renewed growth and prosperity and above all else, freedom from tyranny. He makes a good case for it all, he’s fairly sure, though he forgets the words that he speaks as soon as he leaves his podium.

There’s a bit of a celebration, after. Impromptu, unplanned, but those are the best kind. They all pitch in, scrounge up food and drink and games to play for when they get a bit tipsy, and it’s good.

He smiles through it.

He smiles when Tubbo claps him on the back, hooting and hollering. He smiles when Niki runs up to him and throws her arms around him in an embrace, even though she was running against him. He smiles when Eret sidles up to him, murmuring congratulations and briefly pressing his hand. He even smiles when a few citizens of the Greater SMP come to join in, Sapnap and Punz and Ponk and Karl. He smiles and smiles and smiles, and why shouldn’t he smile?

This is what he wanted. To know that his people continue to have faith in him, that they still believe him best for the job. To hold on to power, but to do it the right way. To be given full permission to assure the safety and freedom of those he loves, and the land that he has made.

The smile only slips twice.

Once: meeting Fundy’s eyes across the way. Fundy breaks his gaze just as quickly, glancing to the side, and he doesn’t come to speak with him. He’s not sure what to do about that. He’s not so blind as to not notice the tension that’s sprung into place between them lately, though he still can’t ascertain its origin. And it’s only gotten worse now, of course—but what did Fundy expect, that he would just let him commit voter fraud? He’s disappointed in his actions, and he can’t disguise that. Shouldn’t have to disguise that, because Fundy ought to know that wasn’t the right thing to do. But that means that his son steers clear of him. And he’ll admit that it hurts. Both for that, and for the fact that Fundy would do such a thing in the first place.

So the smile slips, when no one is looking.

But that is once, and twice comes now: Tommy bounding up to him, grin bright and wild, eyes shining with a light that he hasn’t seen there in—too long. Far, far too long. That light has been present all day, ever since he stepped up to the podium and announced the results, and Tommy let out a whoop and a holler and pumped his fist into the air like he was trying to punch the daylight from the sky, and it was so very Tommy that in that moment, he could feel nothing but relief. In general, Tommy’s seemed very relaxed. Celebratory, jubilant. As he should be.

And now, here he is, beaming, staring him in the face, gripping his arms. Eyes shining.

“How we feeling, big man?” he asks, loud and carefree, and it’s obvious from the way that he asks that he expects a certain kind of answer. Wilbur is more than happy to give it to him. He reaches out to ruffle his hair, and Tommy ducks away, but even that scowl doesn’t last for long.

“I’m on top of the world,” he says, and feels his own smile widen. For the first time in a while, he can look at Tommy and not feel pressing worry, not feel a tightness in his chest and a certainty in his bones that something is very, very wrong, that something has happened, and that in some way, he has failed. “We fucking did it, man.”

“We sure fucking did!” Tommy crows. “You and me, best fucking—best fucking day ever. We’re gonna make sure that L’Manberg’s the best country in the literal history of everything. And you’ll be the best president.”

“Of course I will,” he says. “That’s why they’ve elected me.”

Tommy nods sagely. Still grinning. Still bright-eyed. “It’s all going to be alright,” he says, voice lowering just a little. He sounds so very sincere. “Everything’s actually gonna be alright. You’re gonna do so great. You’re gonna do great, right?”

Of course he will. He will not settle for anything less. This duty has been entrusted to him once again, and he will not let his city fail, nor his people fall. He is the one they look to. He built this nation, and he must protect it. He will be great. He has more than just his own hopes riding on his back, and anything less than greatness is unacceptable, both for his own sake and for that of everyone else, for his own legacy and for the seeds planted in the present.

“We’re gonna do great,” he says. “You and I, and all of us.”

“Hell yeah,” Tommy says, and glances around him, at the celebration, still under full swing. Quackity has somehow obtained a stripper pole, and both Karl and Sapnap are looking on in great interest as he displays his talents in that area. Wilbur finds himself watching for a moment too long before tearing his gaze away. But Tommy doesn’t pay mind to any of that—which is good, because he is a child, a little baby man, and maybe he should go over to Quackity and talk about him toning it down, actually, while the minors are here—and instead brings his focus back around to him again.

“They all love you man, y’know?” Tommy says, voice going softer still. He finds his own expression gentling to match.

“They love this,” he agrees. “They love L’Manberg.”

“Because what’s not to love?” Tommy says, nodding in satisfaction. “Really, though, man. You’re gonna be alright. You’re gonna do great. No reason to worry about anything, y’know?”

“Okay, that’s a little concerning, coming from you,” he says. “Are there any shenanigans I should know about?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Tommy says, swatting at his arm. “I’m gonna go find where Tubbo got off to. But just, have a good night, yeah, Wil? You’ve really earned it. Future’s looking up.”

“I will,” he says. “And you too, Tommy, you’ve earned this just as much as I have. Maybe even more. Go have fun.” He pauses. “And if there do happen to be any shenanigans, let me know, would you? It’s been a while since I took part in any good old-fashioned shenanigans.”

Tommy casts him one last grin, brilliant as any sunrise he’s seen. And then, he’s off, weaving through everyone else. It’s good, that he’s happy. It’s been so long since he’s seemed truly happy. It gives Wilbur hope. Whatever damage was done to him that night, when he chose to give up his discs, maybe he really will bounce back. And he’s noticed that he and Tubbo have been closer again, so maybe that will help, too. Tommy will be okay.

Then, a wave of exhaustion hits him, apparently out of nowhere, and his smile slips.

He brings it up again in the next moment. But the fatigue remains—and he supposes it makes sense. It’s been a long, rather stressful day. Perhaps it’s time he turned it in.

Niki’s the first one he finds, and she smiles at his approach. There is still an air of tension about her—lingering frustration, he imagines, at the stunt Fundy tried to pull. He believes her when she says she was unaware. But she doesn’t seem to have any qualms about him, thank goodness, because he bears her no ill will for the incident. Or even Fundy—he is disappointed to be sure, but he doesn’t love his son any less. Nothing at all could make that happen. Perhaps he ought to make sure Fundy knows that.

Later, though. When they’ve both cooled down a bit.

“Hey, Wil,” she says. “Good party, huh?”

“It is,” he says. “I’m sort of beat, though, so I think I might go hit the hay, as it were. Just wanted to tell someone before I left, in case anyone wondered.”

“Okay,” she says, and her eyes pinch around the edges a little bit. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

She nods. “It’s been a long day,” she says, echoing his thoughts. “I’ll let everyone know, if they ask.” Her smile returns, full force, and she steps forward and takes his hand in hers. “Really, though, congratulations. I’m really proud of you. Anyone can see how much you care about this place, and that’s why they want you to keep leading it.”

His mouth has, unaccountably, gone slightly dry. “I do care,” he says. “But we all do. I mean, you literally made our flag. I don’t think I’ve told you enough how cool that is.”

“I wanted to,” she says simply, though she’s obviously pleased. “You don’t have to thank me for it. Every country should have a flag.”

“And every country should have someone who cares enough to sew it,” he says. “I’m glad it was you.”

“And I’m glad that this is you,” Niki replies, making a gesture toward the festivities around them, and the empty stage over to the side. Her eyes sharpen. “Even if I kind of wanted to be vice president. But you’re a good leader, Wilbur, and you’re a good man. A good friend. You deserve this. So go get some sleep, alright? Make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, saluting, and she rolls her eyes, pushing him away.

“Go on,” she insists, but there is laughter in her voice and a crinkle at the corners of her eyes, and she looks happy, too. Everyone looks very happy. Even Fundy seems to be involved in things by now, and Quackity, his fiercest competition, appears to be enjoying himself.

Everyone is happy. So is he. There’s no reason at all for him not to be.

He tells himself that he’s going to go get some sleep, but his feet take him back to his office, instead. It’s empty, cast in a dim haze until he switches on the light, and just like that, the darkness is gone. His eyes flit across his desk, his chair, his shelves, all the paperwork that he’s definitely going to have to deal with, now that he knows for sure that he will continue to lead. He also has a potted plant, though he can’t quite recall who gave it to him. Might have been Tubbo, but he’s not sure.

He doesn’t sit. He goes to the window, presses himself up against it close enough to see the outside rather than his own reflection in the glass. Torchlight flickers, illuminating the country before him, and the walls are looming giants in the deepening night. He can see the cluster of lights where the others are, too, and he can see their dancing shadows, glimpses of their faces, far away echoes of their laughter.

Maybe he ought to go back. Some part of him wants to. He’s not sure why he’s holding himself away.

It’s probably because he’s tired. Because he is. Tired. Very tired.

It has been a long day.

He watches for a moment longer, and then closes his curtains, shutting out the world beyond this room. He turns to his desk, then, and his paperwork, though he’s loath to actually work on anything tonight, despite the fact that there’s a million things he could be doing. Drafting a formal missive to Dream, for instance, in light of his official election to power. Ensuring continued good standings between their nations—because as little as he likes the man, he’s not going to provoke him again, if it can be helped.

Especially not with Tommy—the way that he is. Not until he’s gotten to the bottom of that, and probably not even after.

So, he should write to Dream. He should also write to Phil. Tell him about what’s been going on. He’s been considering asking for advice on the whole Tommy situation, actually—Phil’s old as balls, so maybe he might know what to do, or even what this could be about. It’s a long shot, of course, but it’s worth a try.

Except he doesn’t particularly want to do either of those things. Not at the moment. But then, that doesn’t leave him with a whole lot of options, so why did he come here in the first place if he didn’t intend to do something? He ought to go to bed, like he said he would.

But then—

“Hey, Wilbur,” Quackity says, and he looks up, blinking. Quackity’s leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. Somewhere along the line, he’s regained his clothes. “Knock, knock.”

“Quackity,” he says. “Good to see you. Here, come in, pull up a chair.”

Quackity quirks a brow, but that seems to be all the invitation he needs. He all but saunters in, grabbing one of the chairs and tugging it right up against the desk.

“I actually did want to speak with you at some point,” he continues.

“Then this works out, doesn’t it?” Quackity says. “I had the same idea. I figured we should clear the air or something like that. If it even needs clearing, I dunno. What do you think?”

“It certainly can’t hurt to talk,” he agrees.

“Right,” Quackity says. “Well, I guess I should start off by saying good job. Congrats on winning.” He smiles, and there’s something sharp in it, something of a challenge. Wilbur can’t say that he hates it; it’s good to be challenged, every now and then. And now, there’s less danger in it, his position secure. “Though I really gave you a run for your money, didn’t I? And Jack, of course.”

Jack’s name is added as an afterthought. He’s always had the impression that Quackity would rather have picked someone else for his running mate. But he left it fairly late, and by the time he decided that he definitely wanted one, there weren’t many people left to choose from. Tubbo wouldn’t have joined him, and Eret stayed out of the whole affair, and in terms of L’Manberg citizens, that pretty much just left Jack Manifold.

He wonders who Quackity would have chosen, if he’d had free reign of the SMP. Somehow, he’s glad that didn’t happen. Good foresight, on Tommy’s part, to add that restriction. And a good idea in general, too.

“You did,” he says with a nod. “It was a good showing. You were the one I was worried about, to be honest with you. If anyone could have beaten me, it would have been you.”

“You’re damn right,” Quackity answers. “We got close. But no cigar, I guess. There’s always next time.”

Next time. Next time.

Right. Elections are a fairly regular thing. He’ll have to do this again.

Right, no, that’s—fine. It’s fine. And it wouldn’t be for a while yet, so he doesn’t even have to think about it right now.

“But I just wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings between us,” Quackity says. He leans back in his chair, tipping it so that only two legs rest on the floor, and he regards him. “I mean, I meant what I said on the campaign trail, and I still stand by it. I don’t know that you’re taking this country in the best direction, Wilbur. I don’t know that it’s not gonna—stagnate, under you, or that Dream won’t come up and declare war again. I meant all of that. But it’s not like I don’t like you as a person, and you’ve won fair and square, so I was hoping we could put our differences behind us. Let bygones be bygones and all that.”

He’s heard everything that Quackity has to say on the matter of his leadership, and hearing it all again is a bit—irritating. But the honesty is refreshing, was then and still is now, and he’d rather these things be said to his face than whispered behind his back.

And also, there’s the fact that it’s Quackity. It was Tommy who convinced him to let him join in the first place, but the man’s grown on him, he’ll confess.

“I would have trusted you to lead,” he admits, and meets Quackity’s gaze squarely. “I disagree with you on quite a few matters, but I believe that you have L’Manberg’s best interests at heart. So as far as I’m concerned, it’s all water under the bridge.”

He speaks nothing but the truth. Quackity is—not precisely the vision he has in mind for L’Manberg’s future. But he cares about this place, that much is obvious. So if Quackity had won, he would have bowed out gracefully, would have established himself some property and entered a graceful retirement, at—at peace. Surely at peace, all of his questions answered and his guidance unneeded. His person no longer required.

His stomach turns, a gut-churning combination of longing and revulsion flooding him, impacting him so intensely that it’s a half-second scramble to make sure that none of it shows on his face, to lock everything back down again, to be interpreted later or forgotten about, depending on his mood.

“That’s great to hear,” Quackity says. “Friends?”

Quackity sticks out his hand.

“Friends,” he agrees, and takes it.

“Fantastic,” Quackity says. “I guess that’s all I wanted to say. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.” He gestures broadly, lips twitching upward. “Niki said you were gonna get some sleep, so I’d do that before she finds out you’re not.”

He can’t help but laugh, and Quackity stands. “I’ll take that under consideration,” he says. “Good night, Quackity.”

“Night, Wilbur,” Quackity says, and turns to go. But then, he stops in the doorway, looking back. “I just gotta ask, though, why all of this? Why have an election at all? Why risk losing? If you wanted to stay in charge, why not just stay in charge? No one would’ve questioned you, but instead, you put on all of this. Just to keep a position you ended up keeping anyway.”

Ah. His mind blanks for a moment, because he doesn’t know how to describe to Quackity the fact that people were already questioning him, if he didn’t pick up on that. But surely, he must have; Quackity himself built his entire campaign around questioning him. His right to lead, his capability, his intentions. And those sentiments could not have come from nowhere.

To be honest, he’s not certain that he has the words to explain it to himself, either.

“I could ask the same of you,” he says, “in regards to your running.”

Quackity stands there for a moment. And then tilts his head.

“I think we both know the answer to that, Wilbur,” he says, and his next smile is a wry thing. “See you tomorrow.”

And then, he’s gone.

And Wilbur does know.

He is not blind to Quackity’s desire for power. His desire to do something good with it, to be sure—he’s never caught any malice in his seeking. But what he seeks is power, and there is no mistaking that. Sometimes, Wilbur looks in his eyes and sees a reflection of himself. Paler, different, slanted, but a reflection nonetheless. He has heard the siren’s call of ambition and heard it well, and he recognizes that in Quackity, and Quackity recognizes it in him.

But it’s not just about power. Not for him, anyway. Or rather, it is power, to be sure, but it’s the power to keep safe. To protect. To be free. And to build something great, something that will outlive him, something that will make him worthy of the looks in people’s eyes when they meet his. That’s what it was about. And that’s why the election mattered.

Though for a moment, he lets himself picture it: retirement. A house, with plenty of room. Time to spare, for everyone and everything. A guitar, finally tuned again. A warm summer’s day, and a crisp autumn’s evening. No pressure, few responsibilities, and an hour or several to sit under his own vine and fig tree.

But he doesn’t think he’s made for things like that, really.

And even besides, these idle speculations don’t matter. Quackity didn’t win, and he remains president of this nation. There will be no quiet retirement, not yet. There is so much work that he has to do, and he can feel all those future tasks piling on his shoulders, weights stacking on his skin, clinging like barnacles on a weathered, abandoned pier.

And it’s all alright, because it’s what he wants.

Without this, where would he stand? With himself, and with the others? They all look to him for a reason, so what would happen if that reason were gone?

No. Best not to let his mind wander down that path.

His ambitions are realized. The elections are over. His people are happy, and they still want him. They still believe he can do right by them. They are celebrating his victory even now. Tommy was smiling, and there was none of that strange, terrifying darkness in his gaze.

He has everything he wants.

He checks his communicator, idly. There’s a few messages from people on the server, those who aren’t at the party. Most are congratulatory. There’s Dream, asking for a meeting already, but he anticipated that. There’s even a few messages from people off-world, and he raises an eyebrow at those—inter-server communication costs a pretty penny, so he’s a bit surprised that Technoblade put the effort in to send a message that just says lame. Or maybe he shouldn’t be surprised at all. And Schlatt’s sent him some snarky congratulations, and he supposes he should answer him, since he went through the trouble. Though he’s not going to invite him, still, no matter how nice it might be to catch up. Not until he figures out what Tommy’s problem with him is, and whether it’s solvable.

But he types out a response to both, a quick Like you can talk, Potato Man to Techno and something a bit longer and properly sarcastic to Schlatt, wincing at the cost of shooting the messages through the void, across worlds, and then sets his communicator to the side. Stares at his desk, then at the covered window. He can still hear them.

He stopped smiling at some point. He doesn’t know when.

He picks up his pen, then sets it back down again. Drags a paper closer with his index finger, and then pushes it back. Slips his hand into his pocket to find his glasses, and then brings it out again, empty of everything but dust.

There’s work to do, and he should either get started or he should go to sleep, but his brain doesn’t seem to want to get the memo. So he sits.

He’s tired. That’s why he’s in this kind of mood. He’s tired, so he’ll just sit here until he feels ready to get some true rest, and it’ll all look better in the morning. Not that it doesn’t look good now.

But he is very tired.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #quackity #nihachu #dsmp fic #/rp #cat writes fic #long post #time travel au #if this fic were divided into acts #this would mark the end of act 1 :)

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