#Alley Mercedes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thedeviltohisangel · 17 days

Text

All The Things I Did (8): That Girl Is Going, Going, Gone

a/n: ok a bit of a different chapter! this is more cass than john & cass until we get to the main event. i PROMISE the next chapter will pick up right where this one left off (don't be mad, be excited!). lots of warnings for this chapter and hopefully you guys don't change your love for her after reading about berlin. please let me know your thoughts & send in any interlude (aka novels) requests. always open. love ya xoxo

warnings: murder, blood, death of minor character, smut

Cass looked at Will with horror as he opened a black briefcase and set it on the ground of the alley way. It looked a lot like a gun.

“Will, no one said anything about an assassination.” She had shot a gun before. Had been shot by a gun before. But she had never pointed one at another human being and pulled the trigger.

“Cass, you’ve got this. You stay steady and you’ll be fine.” She rolled her eyes. Of course he would think it was so simple. He wasn’t the one expected to pull the trigger. To take a life.

“Walk me through the plan again.”

“Dressler comes through this main drag on the way to his country estate. We track him to the edge of the woods where your asset has placed an obstacle for the car and when he gets out, you take the shot.” Cass knew it wasn’t going to go according to plan because things like this never did. Because Dressler had been on OSS’ target list for almost a year and they were the third pairing of agents to try and accomplish this task. “You scored better than me on the range. Don’t think for a second you aren’t the right choice for this.”

“And we avoid the fatal flaws from previous iterations. Don’t approach the vehicle. Maintain surveillance detection tradecraft. Make the exfil window.”

“That’s kind of a big one, isn’t it?” he smiled. She was too busy testing the weight of the weapon in her hand to notice. “I meant it when I said I’d get you back home to him.”

“You got someone to get home to?” Will shrugged.

“Thought I did. Then I got a letter last week…it’s for the best. Loving someone in this line of work isn’t for everyone.” Cass gently palmed his cheek.

“Then we’ll get you home to find someone who will make it work.” Find someone who would love those doubts right out his head the way John had for her. Find someone who’s passion for their work matched in kind. Find someone who would help him clean the blood off his hands when the war was over.

----

It was Sunday and the roads were filled with people going to and from church. Cass was in a white dress, Will in a suit, as they each smoked a cigarette while they waited for mass to let out.

“When did you start smoking?”

“I didn’t. Still don’t really drink either.” She dropped the cigarette onto the sidewalk and pressed it beneath her foot. “They take away your control over yourself. I don’t like the way they make me feel.” But she thinks she was learning to like the smell of smoke on the collar of John’s jacket. The bitter whiskey on his lips when he kissed her. The way his face flushed and his curls pressed to his forehead and his hands wandered after a night of them both. The doors opened and people began to exit the church.

“I’ll go get the car,” Will said, slipping into German with ease. Cass nodded and removed a compact from her purse. She pressed the powder to her nose as she caught sight of Dressler over her right shoulder. She counted two men who looked like SS hovering around him for protection. They escorted him to a waiting Mercedes, Will pulling up to her a few minutes after their departure. “Let’s go kill some Nazis.”

They took the occasional turn to ensure no one was following them, maintaining a safe distance from the target who was following the route from church to his compound outside of Berlin just the way they had mapped it.

“Final weapons check.” Cass pulled the chamber to ensure a bullet was loaded before releasing it back into place. “Will…if something goes wrong, we abort and get to the airfield. We don’t need to force this.”

“Copy, Lieutenant,” he smirked. “But it would be nice to be the one to knock Dressler off the list.”

“I agree but-” Her hands flew to brace against the dashboard as he slammed on the brakes. An overturned horse cart was blocking the Mercedes path and the car sat still as the occupants determined what to do.

“Come on,” Cass whispered, “Get out of the goddamn car.” The door opened and one of the SS officers got out and walked towards the cart.

“Close protection remains,” Will muttered. When the second SS officer exited, Cass began to get nervous. He walked towards her side of the car and she rolled the window down with a smile.

“Good morning, sir. Is there a problem with the road ahead?” The pistol was hidden in the fold of her skirt, her thigh acutely aware of the metal.

“Yes. We’ll need you to turn around so we can go back the way we came.” She knew there was no other way to get to the compound. Knew they were really just clearing them from the area. She opened her mouth but the words were silenced as Will whistled. The third door was opening.

Will pushed the car into reverse and rolled over the foot of the man by her door. He dropped quickly with a yell. It took one second for her to lean her body out the window. One second for Dressler to look in her direction. One second for her to shut down her humanity, inhale, exhale and pull. Between his eyes and he was gone. A man who only answered to Himmler. It was automatic for her to move the gun to the man on the ground. He had seen their faces. Looked her in the eyes and stared at her legs. A loose end and he was gone, too.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she screamed as Will took them backwards down the road as quickly as he could. The second SS officer in the car and chasing after them as quickly as he could. “What did I just do?”

“What you had to, Cass!” They both ducked as the first bullet hit the front of the car. “Hang on.” The car pulled sharply to the left as they raced through a field, another bullet pinging off the exterior of the car.

“Two minutes until takeoff.” Her watch seemed to be ticking faster than usual. As if the universe was trying to close the gap between here and home. The Mercedes gained ground and nudged the back of their car, spinning them in a circle Will couldn’t regain control of.

“Run!” They could see the clearing in the not too far off distance. Her knees hit the ground before she pushed herself up with urgency and took off at a sprint. She heard the consistent popping of a gun behind her but she kept running.

Cass collapsed on the open hatch of the low profile plane and let herself slide down as it closed, Will stumbling in right behind her.

“Do you think we did it?” she asked after they had settled for a moment. “Will?” She turned her head and noticed he looked a little pale. His breathing was labored. He turned and looked at her and he was afraid. She repeated his name again before she noticed his hand pressed to his side and the red blooming out from underneath it.

“You guys good back there? Going to be bumpy if you can hold onto something.”

“Where’s your medical supplies? My partner’s been shot!” Cass pressed her hands with all her strength to the wound. She grunted as they took a tight turn and they slid to the wall of the plane.

“Orange bag!” She grabbed it, the zipper slipping through her bloody fingers. Cass grabbed as much gauze as she could and the scissors, cutting Will’s shirt to get a better sense of what she was dealing with.

“I’ve got to look and see if there’s an exit wound.” She rolled him slightly as he yelled in pain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said but there was a hint of relief to her tone as she found a matching wound in his back. She took a deep breath as she cleared the blood in search of the bullet’s entrance. Once she found it, she held the gauze to it and tried not to wince as his breathing sounded like it was growing ragged.

“Cass…” The gauze in her hands turned red, a pool of blood seeping out from underneath him. The wound wasn’t clotting and the rudimentary kit had no platelets to help.

“You’ve got to hang on. Save your strength. We’ll be back before you know it.” An hour and she was out of gauze, cutting fabric from her skirt in its place. Wil was sweating. Paler. Taking a long time to inhale after he exhaled. “Do you remember back in school when I almost quit? You stopped me on my way to the Colonel’s office and told me the OSS needed me, that Europe needed a free spirit to bring back their freedom. Now, I need you to do exactly what you told me. Pull up your boot straps, keep your head in the game and fight through it.” His hand weakly rested on top of hers.

“You…did…”

“I’m right here. We can talk about it all when we get back.” A tear rolled down his cheek and a matching one rolled down hers. “Don’t do this, Will. Please.” His hand dropped to his side and there was no longer light behind his eyes.

“Lieutenant, we’ve got wheels down in 30!”

“Tell the control tower that Captain Foster is…” Her hands were on his chest as she tried compressions. Her tears were coming quicker now. She watched them drop on his face and he didn’t react. All she could hear was her own heartbeat and the silence of Will’s as she pressed and pressed and pressed and nothing happened. She didn’t notice the plane landing. The pilot calling her name. She kept pressing and pressing and pressing.

“Cassandra.” Harding’s use of her full name pierced through the fog. It was soft and familiar and safe. “Cassandra, you have to let him go. Let the doctors look at him.” She couldn’t even imagine how she looked. His blood all over her arms and clothes. Her dress ripped from when she was trying to make bandages. Tears dried to her face and snot dripping from her nose.

“Where’s John?” she asked. That was who she wanted to see. The only person who could offer her comfort in this moment.

“He’s probably halfway to Norway by now taking a second strike at those submarine pens for you.” She choked out a laugh. No doubt John would be willing to do an extreme act of commitment such as this. “Come with me to get some water? Maybe some food?”

“That sounds good.” He offered her his arm and she gripped it like without him she would collapse, letting him escort her out of the plane. There was a group of people waiting and watching. The mechanics to make sure Cass was alive and well. The medical team. Extraneous personal who just wanted a glimpse of the covert American intelligence officers.

Harding led her to the mess hall, the orderlies freezing at the sight of her before scurrying to set the table. He pulled a chair out for her and she sat and avoided his gaze when he took the chair across from her.

“Were you successful?”

“Yes, sir,” she croaked out as the food and drink was placed in front of her. Harding waved off the second plate they brought. “I apologize I wasn’t here to give the briefing this morning. I should have been available for their questions.”

“You can’t be in two places at once, Lieutenant. You were where you were needed most.” She nibbled on a bite of eggs and chased it with a few gulps of water. “They’re going to want you to talk to a shrink.”

“I’ve talked to them before. Know how to play the game.” He reached for her hand across the table and she offered it, wanting the reminder she was here and she was okay. He looked like he was inspecting the blood dried into her knuckles and caked under her nails. “He was a friend. An old friend.” The loss would sting for awhile.

“The world is a better place for the task you two accomplished.” Cass took a shaky breath and blinked back tears.

“Then why do I feel so awful?” Harding knew the general feeling of taking a life. He had dropped bombs and shot guns and watched the havoc with a smile. But he had never looked another human in the eye and watched the life leave it. “Why do I feel like I did something wrong?”

“War is not natural. The role we play in it won’t be either.” She nodded with understanding. “You feeling up to interrogation?” They would want a look at her before she was able to change and clean the blood from her skin.

“I don’t have a choice.” She hoped it would be the first and the last time she had to relive the traumatic moments this day had brought. “Thank you, Colonel.” He indulged himself for a moment. Held her chin between his thumb and pointer finger. Looked into the eyes that he had found himself learning to love.

“You should get going,” he whispered. Before I say something I might regret.

----

“How you doing, Bubbles?” The medical wing was the first stop John had made after landing. He hadn’t been able to find Mary to ask for an update on Cass and Colonel Harding had disappeared almost as soon as the last B-17 touched down.

“Never better, sir.” His eyes were flickering to the door at the end of the wing. A private exam room. Crosby was also oddly quiet. They had seen Lieutenant Cooper be escorted back there almost an hour ago and she hadn’t emerged. They hoped nothing was wrong because they didn’t want to be in the radius of John Egan when he found out.

“That’s good. I was actually looking for you, Crosby.” John paused as both men continued to shift in their seats. “They not keep you comfortable?”

“No, sir, I mean yes, sir, I’m fine it’s just-” Bubbles stopped as the entrance opened and he recognized the secretary from Lieutenant Cooper’s office. She looked vaguely horrified to see John Egan.

“Mary! I stopped by but you weren’t there. Any word from Spook?” Bubbles, Crosby and Mary all looked at each other. “Clearly, I’m on the outside of whatever this is.” John’s finger twitched as his side. He wasn’t liking the feeling in his chest.

“Colonel Harding didn’t talk to you, sir?” He liked that even less.

“No. Mary, whatever is going on, I need to know right now.” Her gaze dropped to her feet.

“I can’t, sir. It’s need to know at this moment in time.” His chest heaved at her words.

“You can’t?” He spun back towards the airmen. “Then why do you two look like you know something?” Why wasn’t anyone telling him anything? What happened that they were keeping from him.

“Sir, we don’t really,” Crosby started.

“Someone just please fucking tell me if I need to start grieving.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily, Major.” She is trying so hard to smile because John is who she has been wanting all day. But he turns to look at her and he looks so relieved and she hasn’t felt safe enough to show emotion since she left his arms a few days ago.

“Cass…is that…blood?” He walks towards her slowly. They had let her wash the blood from her arms and face but there was still some dried into her hairline and soaked into her dress. She nods as a sob rips from her throat. “Oh, Cass, baby.” She collapses into his chest as soon as he is near enough.

“Will’s dead,” she sobs into his neck, “I tried so hard. I wasn’t good enough.” His arms were iron around her, the only thing keeping her standing.

“I know you did everything you could.” He kissed the side of her head and stroked his hand down her hair. “I’m sorry you lost a friend today, my love.” The word felt like a slap across her face. She was so undeserving of his love after what she had done. She had taken the life of another, twice over. She could scrub at her skin but the blood would never wash away.

“Will you take me back to my room?” He slid an arm under her knees and lifted her so she was in his arms, her arms around his neck and her head resting on his shoulder. “Don’t let them take me away from you. Please.”

He noticed the stares and whispers that followed as they made their way to her billet. He didn’t put her down until they were safely behind her closed door.

“We should get you cleaned up,” he noted as she sat on her bed and looked through her wardrobe for her shower kit.

“How was Norway?” she asked quietly.

“Successful. Had to leave Biddick in Scotland but he’ll be fine.” He found the basket of her toiletries and a towel.

“Good. I’m glad you guys were able to use the information.” She smiled. “I’m sure Curt will find his way around quite well.”

“I can stand outside the door. Make sure no one bothers you.” John was offering her a few moments to shed her armor and embrace the emotions that were still heavy in her chest.

“Outside the door will be too far.” Cass stood and pressed her forehead against his lips, asking for the strength of his touch during this weak moment.

“I don’t want to be intrusive.”

“I’m asking you to take a shower with me. That’s all.” They had seen each other naked. Shared a bed. Expressed the very real feelings between them. What was one more facet of domesticity gracing their lives?

Cass undressed and stepped under the water and watched it run red down the drain until John’s chest pressed against her back. He wrapped one arm around the front of her chest and the other around her hips. She rested her own hands on top of his.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Her head turned so she could look at him.

“They sent me there to kill someone,” she whispered. John stiffens for an instant before he recovers. “I killed him and his bodyguard because he saw my face.” She hates that in the moment she had been thinking about the fact that they would remove her from the field if they thought her identity had been compromised. That she wouldn’t be able to do the job the way it was meant to be done anymore.

“It’s okay you don’t feel good about it.” Cass smiled. He was the only one so far to not try and convince her that she had done the right thing. That she had made the world a better place and shouldn’t let the specifics bother her. This was why she had sought him out in the first place. This was why she loved him.

“They’re grounding me. Desk duty until further notice.” He reached for the shampoo and lathered it between his hands. She titled her head back into his waiting hands and let his fingers work through the roots of her hair, the last of the red going down the drain, her eyes closing as he soothed the ache away.

“Bet you’re as happy about that as I was being Air Exec.”

“Touche.” Next was a bar of soap, Cass turning around and John dragging it across her skin and focusing on the few spots of dried blood she hadn’t been able to scrub off in her haste earlier. He seemed to get lost in a trance, circling her breasts a few extra times and moving it slowly down her torso before letting it slip into the wispy curls between her legs. “So much for just a shower,” she whispered as her legs spread a little further.

“I’ll stop, Cass.” He moved his hand and she grabbed his wrist and moved it right back.

“Make me forget, John.” The soap was discarded out the shower stall, his fingers dipping between her folds and relishing in her warmth. Her forehead dropped to his chest as she shuddered.

“Remember what you said to me before you left?” His fingertip circled her clit and she nodded. “Said I could show you how much I love you when I get back.”

“I did say that,” she gasped as he slipped a finger into her and the heel of his hand rubbed her bundle of nerves with every thrust. “Oh, I like that a lot.”

“I want to show you, Cass, show you properly.” She brought him in for a kiss as she felt herself getting closer and closer. “Take my time and love you the way you deserve.”

“I want that too, John, please.” Her hips rocked at the same gentle rhythm of his hand as she chased the feeling stirring low in her belly.

“I missed this sight, baby.” He had her like this once before, had only been separated from her a few days, but it had been too long. “Love having you like this.”

“John, I-” The words caught in her mouth as he hit that sweet spot with a curl of his fingers and stars danced across her vision. He held her as her knees buckled, his fingers not stopping, as she kissed him to try and keep quiet if only slightly. “Take me to bed. Take me to bed and make love to me, John Egan.”

He would be happy to oblige.

#masters of the air #john egan #callum turner #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #callum turner fanfiction #mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #john egan fanfic #mota fanfic #john egan x oc #john egan x reader #cass and bucky

56 notes · View notes

joelswritingmistress · 5 months

Text

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 8

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

My appetite had betrayed me. I tried to enjoy being on a formal date with Dr. Miller, if that's what it was. I knew I should have been more grateful. I was. I was flattered that he wanted to take me out properly. No, not flattered. Honored. My mind, however, had fallen victim to the honeymoon phase - an element so excitingly unfamiliar and barely explored.

“You want to get out of here,” he said matter-of-factly, cutting through the last piece of steak on his plate.

“I love it here,” I said honestly, toying with a sliced potato and glancing at the fire a few feet away.

“You've barely touched your chicken.” Dr. Miller motioned with the knife. He then forked the last bite from his plate and extended an arm across the table. “Maybe the steak is more up your alley.”

I leaned forward and let him serve me the bite of meat. My teeth grazed over the metal fork and I saw him watching the movements of my lips as I pulled it completely into my mouth.

“Mmm..” came his one syllable response as if he was the one enjoying it. I echoed the noise and drew my hand across my lips as I began to chew.

“How is it?” He asked.

I smirked when his Adam's Apple rose and fell in his throat as I took a small sip from my wine glass. “Delicious.”

Dr. Miller winked and I made the bold move to snake my foot just a few inches up the leg of his pants. The expression on his face suddenly changed and he swallowed hard again.

“You're going to get us kicked out of here,” he growled quietly. “I have a difficult time controlling myself.. especially around you.”

His tone was playful but I could see that he was serious about the lack of control thing. A part of me wanted to push his limits; to see just how much he could take.

“Well, so much for taking my napkin off my lap.” His eyebrows lifted with playful accusation and I couldn't help but giggle.

“I'm sorry.”

“You're fuckin’ gunna be.” He drank down the rest of his bourbon like a shooter and smacked his lips, waving down the waitress as he did. “Check please.”

The two words made me weak in the knees. What was to come next? I couldn't wait. Since meeting Dr. Miller my life felt like one giant wild ride; and I couldn't get enough.

When I offered to pay he laughed and kept the check to himself before leading the two of us out of the little restaurant. It was then that it dawned on me that it might have come across as rude for not eating much of the meal he had bought for me.

The Mercedes quickly came into view on the street and I sighed. “I'm sorry I didn't eat. It's just-” Dr. Miller cut me off, pulling me to him with the force of ten men and our lips connected in a hard, needy kiss. It left me breathless when he finally released me.

My eyes were still closed and I felt his hand on my face. When they reopened he was still there in close proximity. Our noses almost touched and his touch was so soft - a drastic contrast to the red hot kiss he had just initiated.

“Don't apologize for not eating when you're not hungry,” Dr. Miller instructed and then added, “Get in the car.”

I couldn't move from the spot until he made the separation first. I craved his touch, his comfort, his closeness. I craved his praise, his lips, his demands..

The ride back to his house left me constantly adjusting in my seat. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to touch him. With every turn onto a new street I knew we were closer but I didn't know how close.. until we pulled up to a set of steel gates at the dead end of an uninhabited back road.

Dr. Miller rolled his car to a halt and turned to look at me in the darkness. “I'll be right back.”

I nodded and watched as he vacated the vehicle. Every horrific scene from the horror movies I’d seen over the years played in my head like some fanmade TikTok or YouTube video. Doubt began its rapid descent into my brain as I sat there alone in the dark.

I barely know him. Is this his house? Where are we? Could he be dangerous? He said I would be sorry. Did I completely misread what he meant by that?

A loud, heavy clunk made me jump and my already-surging adrenaline went into overdrive. Dr. Miller reentered the car and closed the door. His presence simultaneously made me feel safer and more uneasy.

“Is, uh.. is this your house?”

“Yes.” He motioned to where the headlights illuminated the gates as they had begun to ease open. “I just had to unlock the gate.”

I gave a nod. It didn't give way to the angst that had suddenly made my body feel tense and every other part of me feel vulnerable. No one I had ever known personally had steel gates blocking the entrance to their house. Dr. Miller's suddenly strained posture contributed to the subtle glance I made over my shoulder.

The gates closed behind us, much to my dismay. I didn't even know where we were. If there was an emergency of some kind I didn't even know how I would begin my getaway.

What are you branding him as? You were ready to marry the guy ten minutes ago.

My own erratic ways of thinking had me worried. Nothing about my actions were rational and here I was breaking every single rule in the history of lectures given to women.

Strange man. Check. Telling no one where you would be. Check. Middle of nowhere. Check.

I glanced down at my cell phone, partially expecting there to be no service but I was pleased to see that I had full bars and plenty of battery.

“You enjoy your privacy huh?” I asked with a nervous laugh as we drove slowly up a windy driveway. It felt like we were climbing a mountain.

Dr. Miller laughed. “That I do.” He glanced in my direction now and looked me up-and-down. “The code to get out is 2003.”

“Oh..” I toyed with the hair on the side of my head. “Umm.. okay.” Did I look that tense?

The short ride to the top felt like a twelve-second panic attack. When the oversized dwelling came into view, however, my jaw dropped. “This is your house?” I couldn't hide my state of astonishment.

The house was made of stone and had two stories with a third, smaller level that sat at the very top. An unattached garage sat tucked away under a collection of tall oaks and maples. Everything about the property was extravagant.

Dr. Miller gave a modest nod and used a clicker from the visor to lift one of the oversized garage doors. My eyes drank it all in. His garage was nicer than my house.. and probably comparable in size.

There were two flatscreens on the left and right walls, a bar, a loft that went to places I could only imagine, not to mention two other lavish cars and an oversized truck.

What did he do to get all this money? I knew salaries for professors weren't at all adding up to what the estate was worth - not even close.

Inheritance?

When Dr. Miller killed the engine I raised my eyebrows at him. “Are you.. are you Batman or something?” There was a nervousness in my voice and in my attempt at a laugh.

He smirked but didn't say anything and exited the vehicle. “Come on.”

I took a deep breath and exited the Mercedes with one, swift movement as if I was ‘ripping off the band-aid’, so to speak. My eyes danced over the lavish nature of the garage’s interior though Dr. Miller's hand quickly found mine as he towed me out into the darkness.

The questions I had were piling up in my head, though as a new one entered it was as if another disappeared. By the time we reached the front steps my mind was blank.

There was no turning back when the heavy, oversized door swung open, making way to a magnificent interior; again, the type of thing you would see in a magazine. I was waiting to turn the corner and find a waterfall full of money with models sitting around sipping champagne.

“I can take your coat,” he offered, extending an arm as we stood by a coat rack a step inside the front door. With a fine click seemed to echo off the walls we were left alone inside.

“Thanks.” I slipped my arms out of the jacket and those same warm, fuzzy feelings finally returned when his hands grazed my shoulders. My imagination had temporarily taken the fun out of my fantasy evening.

Enjoy it, I instructed myself, stop thinking so negatively! I then quietly added, and dark.

Dr. Miller shrugged out of his own coat and took me by the hand. “Not to be cliche but do you enjoy champagne?”

I nodded. “We have Asti at every family holiday party.”

He turned and gave a genuine smile as we entered the kitchen. It was up to par with the rest of the house. “What are your family gatherings like?”

The question made me feel more at ease. It was light; genuine.

“Umm..” I grinned as he carefully removed a bottle of champagne from the stainless steel refrigerator and then reached for a pair of glasses from a cabinet above. “It's very low key most of the time.. well, all of the time. We usually have appetizers, a drink or two.. then the main course. There's lots of laughing and bringing up old, embarrassing memories.”

I could feel myself beaming as I spoke of my family. “Then there's usually dessert and coffee.. a night cap and some type of card game or board game.”

Dr. Miller popped the champagne and smiled again. “Sounds nice.” It was a simple reply but I could tell he was being honest.

“It is,” I agreed. “I just wish we got to see each other more, ya know?”

He nodded. “I do.”

“Do you live alone?”

“I do,” he repeated.

I watched the bubbly beverage fill the glasses, nearly to the brim, and could tell he wasn't going to elaborate. Maybe there was nothing to elaborate on.

“Thank you.” I accepted the glass and was pleased when he towed the bottle to a cozy living room. The lights were dim. A fireplace sat waiting to be lit in front of an oversized, espresso sofa. The only thing that separated the two was an industrial, wooden coffee table. It felt.. romantic.

Dr. Miller set the bottle and his glass down on the coffee table, sliding a coaster in front of me. I sat down on the very edge of the couch as he got the fire started.

When he turned he let out a chuckle and reached for his glass before slinking in beside me. “You can get more comfortable than that,” he motioned to my stiffened posture as he sat all the way back on the couch. One foot rested on his knee and his arm extended across the back of the couch.

I took the most subtle deep breath that I could manage and leaned all the way back, feeling his forearm against my shoulder blades.

Dr. Miller raised his glass. “What do you want to toast to?”

I was speechless. All of my feelings for him had returned in full force. If it was even possible, he looked even better in the dim light with the fire’s dancing flames casting shadows on his face. I couldn't think of anything.

Cat got your tongue? I taunted myself in my mind.

“How about to.. trust.” He suggested when I didn't respond. It was a rather serious, abstract request; but I thought it was rather fitting.

“To trust.” There wasn't a thing he said I could disagree with.

Our glasses touched with a gentle clank and neither of us looked away from the other as we indulged in our first sip of the Dom Pérignon Rosé.

The evening felt far more romantic than the encounter within the university classroom’s walls. Still, the images, the sounds, the physical nature of that night were still fresh in my mind as we sat so close together in the firelight.

“Tell me about yourself.” Dr. Miller encouraged. He sipped from his glass again and held my gaze.

I couldn't keep a wide smile from my face as I turned more directly toward him. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything,” he went on, “What's important to you? What do you like to do?”

“My family.” That was an easy one, “I have a brother and a sister. I'm close with my parents. I have a nice circle of friends. A good job.” When he continued to stare at me as if waiting for more I fished through my brain for more, “I enjoy watching sports. I.. “ I gave a shrug and his dimples made home on his face again as he freed me with a smile.

“Does your family live nearby?”

“About an hour away. My brother is still living at home. He graduates from Ithaca this year. My sister is a cop.”

“No shit.” He huffed a laugh.

“No shit.” I nodded. “I got out of a ticket two years ago thanks to her.”

“Wow.” Dr. Miller scratched the bridge of his nose and glanced at the fire before our eyes found one another's again.

“What about your family?” I sipped on my champagne and waited eagerly for his response.

“Father was a welder. My mother worked in a tile factory and as a lunch monitor some days.” He shrugged. “And I have an older sister.”

Welder and a lunch monitor. Well, I thought I could rule out inheritance with regard to the miniature castle we were sitting in. His response, however, made me feel at ease; like at least our families were on the same playing field.

“What's your sister’s name?” I asked.

“Carol.” He gave a fleeting smile.

I smiled back. “Are you close with her?”

“I am.” Dr. Miller continued to smile. He then nodded his head just slightly. “Why did you agree to come here tonight?”

“So I could spend more time alone with you.” The sentence rolled off my tongue with above-average speed and grace - at least for me. I thought the one-sentence synopsis covered the book that was going through my mind of all the reasons I was sitting there beside him.

Goosebumps traveled down my extremities when Dr. Miller's fingertips came in contact with my shoulder while he enjoyed more of his champagne. “My first impressions are usually correct. And if I'm going with my best judgment, I'd say you and I could really have a good thing.”

That same heat filled my cheeks. Adrenaline and dopamine shot an eight-ball of warmth through my veins and I was certain I was glowing. “I do too.”

“Well, alright then.” The swig of champagne he took went down easily and he set it back down on the coffee table.

I did the same. Our hands were empty; bodies close. Could I touch him now?

“What did you think of the other night?” Dr. Miller asked.

My cheeks couldn't blush any harder than they already were. In that sense I felt camouflaged. “I was hoping something like that would happen,” I confessed. “And then when Trevor showed up-”

His laugh suddenly cut me off and I smiled wide. I was sure I knew of Dr. Miller's thoughts of Trevor, though he didn't elaborate after the hearty bout of laughter.

“I wouldn't mind doing something like that again,”I added. He appeared amused by the timid way that left my mouth from the Cheshire-cat like grin that was plastered across his face.

His eyes traveled the length of my body as I sat comfortably beside him on the sofa. I acted quickly when his hand snaked up from my shoulder to my face and his thumb danced on my lips.

This was like the beginning of every Dr. Miller-infused fantasy I’d had as of late. I accepted the tip of his thumb into my mouth and swirled my tongue in slow, calculated patterns.

My eyes focused on his and I was pleased to see that intense, eager look on his face. Everything about the man oozed sex. I wanted to rip my clothes off and jump on top of him - or rather have him do the first part for me.

“At dinner you told me I'd be sorry,” I muttered silently, partially hoping he hadn't heard me. It wasn't in my nature to be straightforward and I certainly didn't view myself as sexy. Still, I wanted to entice him. I wanted to draw out every intense, deep, dark part of him to unleash onto me.

Dr. Miller's four fingers tightened around my jaw and his thumb popped out from between my lips. It was quickly replaced by his own lips that mine welcomed to embrace like an old friend.

The fireworks returned. My body felt hot; all senses went numb except for touch. A bomb could have exploded outside and I wouldn't have heard it.

I let a moan out into his mouth, less embarrassed this time. There was no sense in holding back. We both knew what we did to the other. We both knew what we wanted. The feelings, the understanding, the primal need.. it was all a mutual concoction of lust.

When he pulled away I felt needy; I craved more. It was like just a nibble of my favorite candy. My entire oral cavity felt deserted; betrayed.

“We should take this someplace else.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @amyispxnk @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115

#joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal x y/n #joel miller #joel miller x oc #pedro pascal x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro x reader #joel miller x original character #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x f!reader

115 notes · View notes

livetogether--diealone · 5 months

Text

why everyone is being interviewed in a dark alley with just a torch light while mercedes gets a nice shot of the marina with twinkling lights and pretty boats?

#idk it's hilarious #also this one is for the ferwis girlies #am ones felt like a good example because i'm not using rb ones #f1 #abu dhabi gp 2023 #also i keep reading yas marina as in yaaas and i think about those pics of drivers with long nails and hoop earrings #jo.text #lewis hamilton #fernando alonso

85 notes · View notes

oh-saints · 2 years

Text

bowling

what were the odds of the one and only sir lewis hamilton sparing you some time for a mini lesson on mercedes' annual bowling session in japan?

lewis hamilton x merc-crew!OC

word count: 2.3k

tw: nothing

note: blurbs because that particular gif above still sent me UGHHH istg pls sir i just wanna finish GR's part 2 and the mason story i have in mind :(

“who hasn’t had any turns?”

susie wolff was still beaming as she scanned the bowling alley the team had reserved beforehand for the mercedes-amg petronas f1 team’s annual bowling session. the matron—god bless the woman—was visibly trying hard to involve everyone and making sure everyone’s involved, not leaving everyone behind. at the end of the day, the bowling session was an initiative to bring the mobile crew members closer as well as an outlet to let out their stress after going through halfway around the world for a full season of racing.

“you!” susie wolff pointed at the girl at the far back, just as the girl intended to until susie discovered her wishing the earth to swallow her whole so she didn’t have to participate the sport. “how dare you try to slip away from my sight! aletta, you’re next!”

“no, no, no, no, no,” aletta shook her head ferociously she could feel her head going dizzy from the violent shake. “please, no. not me.”

“why not?” george—god, the mischief george—discreetly challenged her to give the rest of the crew a good reason as to why she had to be excluded. she knew because, even without many explicit words being said, george liked to rouse an emotion from her. for god knows what. “are you scared to lose?”

“no!” at george’s raised brow, aletta pursed her lips to give herself a moment to think how to answer george. as much as she enjoyed their bickering, aletta didn’t want to fuel any fire george might be lighting up soon. “it’s not that.”

everyone was expectant of her, of her answer, because everyone had bowled their turns.

except for sir lewis hamilton.

which made everyone realise they were short of one person playing, when the team had registered an even number of people to play today.

fuck it. lewis was brilliant at this—the entire bowling session was sparked by his motive to introduce the crew to one of his favorite sports—and there was no way she could cover her disastrous skills and experience. she didn’t see any choice but to heed to george’s next question.

“then what is it?”

“i can’t bowl for life, okay, george?” aletta let out a heavy huff from her nose. “happy now?”

“then at least try,” susie came down to aletta’s seat before clutching aletta’s hands in hers. “please? for me?”

who was she to deny THE susie wolff, anyway? if she did, she might upset susie, which would upset toto. and upset toto wasn’t the easiest hulk to put down to sleep. god help us all when his emotions were spiked.

“okay,” aletta gave in, pursing her lips hesitantly. “but please teach me how.”

“oh, lewis can teach you!” susie jumped up from the seat beside her and dashed for lewis’ attention. “lewis, will you please give aletta the basics of bowling?”

lewis’ signature light-weighted voice resonated well like it was music to aletta’s ears. “you’ve never played?”

aletta stepped forward timidly, every step she took signalled she was succumbing to the embarrassment of being defeated by susie wolff and her eyes blinking rapidly—a sign she was utterly nervous; not just because she was to humiliate herself in front of hundreds of people, but she was about to step up to sir lewis hamilton. as the new junior social media officer, she was usually attached to george russell instead of handing the meticulous and particular job for the senior driver.

“no…?” aletta instinctively reached for a ball—my days, that is flipping heavy!—to the nerves threatening to spill all over the floor. gross, that would’ve been a whole new level of humiliation. “is that so hard to believe?”

aletta wished lewis wouldn’t catch on how she was struggling to hold the ball but the light vibrations under her feet told her the otherwise.

“nope, wrong ball,” lewis grabbed the shiny object from her hands and put it back where it belonged. “where do you hangout with your friends then?”

“you don’t want the answer to that.”

lewis, for unbeknownst reason to aletta, laughed at her submission before turning around to give her another bowling ball. “try me. but is that still too heavy for you?”

aletta’s eyes widened as she weighed down the ball. she didn’t know there were different types of this thing. “this one’s perfect, thank you.”

lewis nodded in acknowledgement. “you’re holding it wrong but answer me first then we’ll start the basic.”

the younger woman was surprised that the sir lewis hamilton was willing to hear how she lamely spent her time. “we read books together and have a discussion about it.”

“okay, look at how i hold the bowling ball. make sure it’s these three fingers that you put inside those three holes because you’ll hurt your fingers if you don’t,” lewis went ahead to demonstrate it for her before he put it down and corrected the digits she placed in those little, ugly black holes. “ah, yes, i heard your book community.”

“you did?!”

thank god lewis was still holding the hand she placed on the bottom side of the ball, stabilising her as his words sent every fibre of her being out of this world. god knows what’d happen if she dropped the heavy object right to his feet—oh the thought she could’ve jeopardized his next race header raised hairs all over her body.

aletta, in fact, built a strong online community centred to feel woman empowered from books they read. every week she would determine which book to be read to be discussed on the next community discussion. the fantastic engagement on the social media she created for the community was one of the reasons why mercedes hired her in the first place.

but she had no idea—none, nada—that there was a famous figure watching over her account, especially as famous as lewis hamilton. not even george, whom she had been working together from the beginning of this season, knew about the existence of her digital persona.

the shock even alternated her mind from the fact that lewis hamilton was holding her hands. in other circumstances, aletta would’ve gagged at this whole “the prince and the pauper” scene.

“yes, i think it’s impressive how you can unite people through books,” lewis pushed her towards the alley when he was done showing her how to hold the ball. aletta guessed lewis would’ve shaken his head at how ridiculous she was—how could one not know bowling? “you can even make them feel empowered from the characters a fiction book creates. what you do is amazing, is that so hard to believe?”

“it’s more of i can’t believe you’ve heard of the community,” aletta took a shaky breath as lewis corrected her posture this time, to stand a bit straighter. “no one here knows about them except my manager and the hiring team.”

“you really should tell me how you go incognito like that when in reality you have almost half a million followers,” lewis laughed under his breath, probably at his own irony. “now, you’re ready to bowl?”

“never.”

and there was the carefree laugh—the one people always said it sounded like a grandpa wheezing—but to her it was rainbow coming to life. at that moment, aletta got reminded of her sister’s answer to her question of “when do you know you like him?”. the other woman smiled dreamily as she answered, “when you just want to make him laugh all the time.”

“here, watch me.”

it turned out lewis hamilton truly graced the pedestal to teach her how to bowl properly. heck, lewis hamilton went galactic and beyond to lift her from the brink of embarrassing herself further. he went step by step to make sure she got the right posture to get a strike.

susie was the one to call it off the mini tutoring session between lewis and aletta as soon as the matron realised aletta now possessed enough of skills to bowl her first ball without rolling it to the gutter. lewis pushed the small part of her back gently before aletta took her bowling stance—three steps from the line, just as lewis instructed—for the first time ever in her short span of life. but as soon as she let go of the ball, aletta didn’t have the heart to see how many pins she managed to knock out. she didn’t want to get her hopes high after being taught by lewis, only to find george laughing at her result.

but simultaneous cheers she got instead. then the machine voice boomed. strike!

aletta had never turned around so fast in her entire life that it made her head spinning in dizziness. she saw that the machine didn’t lie and that she had, indeed, violently put down the entire set of aligned pins. she could feel her jaw slacking before she realised what she was doing.

on the background, lewis was definitely laughing at her reaction but clapping nonetheless. “you sure this is your first time? you’ve got it in you!”

aletta shook her head. “no way i did that.”

“yes way, missy,” lewis stepped up with his own bowling ball before rolling the shiny object on his own lane. “this is going to be a fun game with you. now it’s your turn again.”

lewis recognise aletta was about to dash for her life so he got a hold of her wrist to stop her from going anywhere. aletta groaned at how fast lewis moved to retaliate her initiation. “can somebody take my place instead?”

“why?”

“because i suck at it, i can feel it!”

“you just hit a strike, who does that on her first ever attempt to bowl?”

“it’s called beginner’s luck, lewis,” aletta rolled her eyes, half with the intention to forget the feeling of lewis’ hands lost from her skin. “we all have that.”

“alright, ms. partypooper,” lewis rolled the sleeves of his black customised sweater and may god forgive aletta for ogling at the sight. “tell you what. if you roll the dice once more and you fail to hit another strike, you can have me do whatever content you’re planning for the next race week.”

her senior social media officer—the one who was responsible for lewis’ appearances on all of mercedes-amg petronas f1 team’s social media—and their direct social media manager jumped elatedly at lewis’ offer in exchange of the challenge. they immediate shouted you can do this! to aletta, even though they were metres away from where aletta and lewis stood. aletta couldn’t even hide the fact that she was tempted at the prize waiting for her at the end of the line because everyone knows lewis didn’t do any more social media stuffs to gain engagement, interactions, or anything that could possibly land him another sponsorship.

(oh to be legends, aletta sighed.)

“you’re being serious?”

lewis raised his eyebrows, giving her what the fuck look. “do i look like i’m joking?”

“nooooooot really… but what’s in it for you?”

lewis only answered her question by handing her another ball fitted for her size as he said, “one way to find out, no?”

aletta could simply lose by not performing well and got the content we all had been waiting for. the thing was, lewis taught her too well for a first-timer that aletta didn’t know how to downgrade the skill she had gained from the world class athlete. she couldn’t even pretend she didn’t know how to bowl anymore, her acting prowess would put pornstars on any podium.

hence, another strike.

this time, aletta didn’t have any time to turn around and avoid digesting reality. everything happened to fast as she focused on not slipping after she threw the ball on the alley that when she stood up, the pins had all already been on the floor, colliding against each other. she gasped at the incredible sight, remained rooted to the ground while the machine swept away the pins clear because fucking hell. aletta didn’t have any athletic bone and now she striked twice?

“told you you’re a natural,”

hairs stood up once more at lewis’ voice came up behind her, gentle as usual but a hint of something more laced behind it. like she should be scared of it. like she should be scared of lewis, for the first time in forever. like she should be scared of what would happen with their dynamics. but may god forgive her for her disinterest to succumb to the fear and wanting to find out what’s in the bag for them. like she just wanted to scream fuck you! to the world and listen to the devil for once.

the pause was killing her because she knew—god did she know—lewis still stood behind her. his breath tickled the back of her ear the only way he knew how, the only way her body alighted at the subtle touch. she wished he’d get this done and over it because my days, aletta couldn’t stand the pregnant tension between them. she was so afraid if she breathed, it’d scatter the bubble and ruin the life of her and she had to walk down the walk of shame.

but maybe aletta should’ve listened to what her mother says. pray in detail; how would God know what you want? aletta had to remind herself to exhale the breath that was caught in her throat, now panting as a result, because bloody hell did she not expect the seam of lewis’ lips grazed down the shell of her ear so featherily she would think she was dreaming if it wasn’t for the next string of words.

“seems like i get to take you for a dinner sometimes. after all, you still owe me the tricks to go incognito.”

#sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton #lh44 #team lh44 #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton oneshot #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton blurb #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton smut #oh-saints writes

616 notes · View notes

prolix-yuy · 1 year

Text

The Booth (and All its Misuses)

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader Editor "Murch"

Summary: Dieter is pushing boundaries with the roles he takes. And with you.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, heavy fantasizing including oral sex (m and f receiving) and allusions to PiV sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk like whoa, male masturbation, allusions to female masturbation, Dieter's voice is a weapon.

Notes: That fucking cat show waltzed on in here and made me imagine Dieter recording those ridiculous lines and here we are. It's such a role for him I couldn't resist. This Dieter and Murch are from my series Best Laid Plans, and this story takes place before the events of The Plan. I also have to thank @boliv-jenta for being part of the inspiration for this fic with her hilarious Claude story that I've been giggling over for a couple days now.

Cross-posted on AO3

Best Laid Plans Series Masterlist

“What stupid thing did you sign me up for?”

Dieter’s agent blows a sigh into the phone that makes him wince. He’s still a little hungover despite the IV service he ordered this morning, the grease-laden breakfast sandwich, and the lazy handjob he gave himself in the shower. He thought today was a light day, maybe a press junket in the afternoon he could roll into once the edges of his vision cleared. But instead he’s ushered into a Mercedes and finds himself on the way to a studio to record…

“The voice of a bald horny street cat?” he asks, flipping through the short script.

“It sounded up your alley…cat,” she quips back, and despite the low ache in the base of his skull he has to admit he enjoys the over-the-top dialogue. A little slutty, artistic, dramatic? Yeah, his agent’s got him pegged well.

His thoughts drift for a moment at the suggestive wording. He should really call Mitsy for another night in.

By the time he exits the car his head has cleared a little, aided by the coffee he whined to pick up and a few more minutes of shuteye. It looks like it’ll be a quick read, only a few pages of dialogue. He sweeps in, heavy brown cardigan flapping behind as he greets the audio tech and director. Their handshakes are straightforward, professional. The tech settles him in the sound booth, testing levels and microphones as the director walks Dieter through the scenes. It’s exactly how it sounds; a lascivious street cat wooing a plump pink hairless counterpart. He’s scrungly but smooth, devilish but dashing. Dieter raises an eyebrow at some of this - are people supposed to be horny for the cats? - but makes no comment.

The read is pretty fun for a one-off job. He leans into the ridiculousness to the director’s delight, and ad libs a few responses. The “follicle divergent” line was a favorite addition. He even turns on the bedroom voice for a few takes. If some classic Dieter filth gets him on their good side, maybe he’ll score something less ridiculous next time. Connections, connections, connections as his agent always says.

As he finishes up the final page, a door opens on the other side of the glass. His eyes flick up briefly before the words slog to a stop in his mouth.

What are you doing here?

“Problem, Dieter?” the tech asks through Dieter’s headset. It sounds further away than before, like a string between two tin cans instead of Sennheisers. You lean over to address the director, his quick nod dismissing you to sit on a chair in a darkened corner. Dieter swallows hard, shaking off the stumble.

“How do you want me to pronounce ‘gordita’? Throw more accent on it?” he asks, directing their attention away enough to sneak a look at you. Your phone screen illuminates your face, harsh blue light carving your pretty features into something sharp and focused.

He wants you to look up so he can give you a little nonchalant wave, like it’s no big deal the cute girl who keeps showing up on his movie set and making him laugh is here when he’s reading for a syphilitic cartoon cat. He tries to think up a good line to shoot you when he exits the booth - so this is where you hang out when you’re not on my set, Murch? - but even that falls flat in his head. Plus there’s something about calling you Murch in front of people who don’t know you that makes him cringe. You’ve got enough working against you in Hollywood, you don’t need him tossing out pet names that could lessen their respect for you. He respects the hell out of you in the first place; how hard you work, how everyone likes interacting with you, the trust people have in you to do your job well. Murch is just between the two of you, its own sign of respect.

He can admit to himself it’s also a sign of a little more than that. Only for him.

He throws himself into the last fifteen minutes of the recording, flourishing his vocals for peak laughs. He wishes you had some headphones on so he could make you roll your eyes or snicker with him, but you’re tapping on your phone up until the tech ends the recording. Dieter gathers himself and feigns casual energy as he exits the booth.

“Need any more takes? We’re running early on my schedule,” he says breezily, letting his gaze fall to you almost by mistake. “Oh, hey, didn’t see you come in. Elias doesn’t have you working today?” He offers a friendly smile, the most professional he’s even been with you.

“Running drives today,” you say simply, hovering next to the tech while he transfers the audio to a slim hard drive. “The DIT has my footage until 6, so I’m sneaking some extra hours in.”

Right, you’re still “working your way” in the business, putting in hard days for not enough pay and expected to be happy about it. He’s seen you with lunch orders on set, filling in for a PA or making calls in the home office when shoots are delayed. You’re happiest behind your computer, hands fast on the keyboard and eyes darting over a timeline as you help massage a masterpiece out of the mess. But you’re still working towards that being all you have to do to survive in Hollywood. Maybe after this film you’ll be able to breathe easier. Maybe he could win an Oscar for it and you could be an award-winning editor. It would be nice to win an Oscar for you.

Not for you. For himself. That would just be some icing on the cake, to give you a leg up in the industry where he can. That’s all.

“That’s all Dieter, you’re wrapped. Sean, take off, you can still make your kid’s game,” the director says, the tech smiling gratefully as he snatches up his bag. A little flash of an idea, born out of wandering thoughts and attraction and foolhardiness, crosses Dieter’s lips.

“Hey, could I use the booth for a little while longer? I’ve got some pickups I need to record for an audiobook and I forgot to book a space,” he asks, silently hoping this moment of assholery might work out. The tech sighs loudly, rubbing a hand over his face, before you chime in.

“I can wait around, I’ve seen Sean do this enough I can figure it out. And I’ll lock up as we leave,” you say, sunny expression lightening the dour mood. It only takes a moment of shuffling for the others to leave, Sean waving a thanks to you as the door swings shut.

Shit, he only planned this far, now what?

“Well you better hop back in, you’ve only got…17 minutes,” you say, settling into the swivel chair and pulling the huge headphones over your ears.

“Not even a, ‘hey Di, nice to see you, thank you for brightening up my day with your dramatic cat-acting’? …Cacting? Ooh, I like that,” he says, leaning in the door frame. You smirk and roll your eyes.

“Hi Di, it’s always a pleasure to see your shining face, and whatever you rolled out of bed into. That’s a comfy looking sweater,” you smirk back, redirecting your attention to the soundboard. “Now can you get in there and do your lines so I’m not late getting back?” you say.

“Yes ma’am, thanks again,” he says, shutting the door behind him. A little smile settles on his face that she liked his cardigan, actively dashing it off before he pulls over a chair to the microphone stand. He’s got a reputation to uphold, and getting gooey over a compliment isn’t part of his brand. Settling back into the seat, he pantomimes opening his phone and placing it on the stand in front of him.

There’s no script, it’s just a ploy, something to get you to stick around and talk to him more. He always enjoys the handful of minutes he gets with you on sets as you wait for dailies or a script revision to bring back to post-production. He wishes you were one of the actors sometimes, stranded on set while the crew reset or shuffled you around, leaving time to chat and open up. He wants to ask you what your favorite memories were, discuss a new art exhibit at length, pop a few edibles and get high enough that your minds could melt into each other, followed by your bodies. But you’re always moving, a skip in your gait like you’re worried about being a step behind. He dreads the day Hollywood tries to beat that drive out of you, make you step on something precious to get ahead. He wants to put his hands on your shoulders and tell you it’s okay to slow down, to walk instead of run, that you don’t deserve to fall into bed exhausted every day just to get up and do it all over again.

“Do you need me to keep an ear on your recording?” you say, hand hovering over the button as you look at Dieter through the glass. He twists a crooked smile onto his face, his improvisation skills helping him navigate the conversation.

“It’s an erotic audiobook, so I’ll leave that up to you Murch,” he says, winking. You roll your eyes again, hitting record before reaching to mute yourself. “Wait, before you do that, how’s your day been?” he asks, slouching into his chair with spread thighs. He likes to see if you’ll look, give him any hint that you may be as interested in him as he finds you.

“Not too bad, Di, living the dream,” you say, leaning forward on your elbows with a smile. “Post’s coming along good, you’re getting better at not spitting every time you shout at Alé.”

“They keep asking me to drink during that scene, it gets me all drooly!” he retorts, the tinny laugh coming through his headset warming his chest. He really likes the way your eyes scrunch up when he gets a good giggle out of you, that you’ll laugh with your whole body if he gets it right.

“Besides that, nothing special. You looking forward to the scenes you get to shoot in Rome?”

“Looking forward to being told I can’t have any pasta. What else are you supposed to eat in the city of love?” You laugh again, goosebumps tingling along Dieter’s neck at how intimate the sound is coming through his headphones.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Paris.”

“Tell me you’ve never fallen in love with a pasta alla vodka.”

“You eat all the things you love, Bravo?”

“Some of them,” he purrs, dropping his voice down an octave and tilting his head. You shake yours with an exasperated sigh, but he thinks he sees your eyelashes flutter. He’s about to elaborate - I do love pussy, and not just the weird cat I’ve been reading for - when the glow of your phone directs your eyes down.

“Shit, I’m blowing up,” you curse, scrolling quickly. “Are you good to go?”

Dieter nods his head, squaring up his chair and adjusting the microphone stand down to his level.

“I’ve got it Murch, you take care of business. Thanks for doing me a favor,” he says, trying not to let the disappointment bleed into his voice. You shoot him a tight smile before muting yourself, red light blinking in his view. You watch the screen for a moment before taking off your headphones and diving back into your phone, alternating typing and scrolling.

The silence of the room lays heavy on his shoulders, the warmth of your voice slowly fading. He feigns opening up something on his phone, a blank webpage all that actually stares back at him. Wetting his lips, he wonders what the hell to say to make it look like he’s not just dicking around in here.

“Hey Murch,” he finally settles on, keeping his eyes glued to his phone, now dark enough to reflect his face back at him, your blurry silhouette in the corner of his eye.

“It’s nice to see you today. You haven’t been on set in a bit. Things must be ramping up in your edit bay. They’re keeping you busy, that’s for sure. Or you’re keeping yourself busy. Because you know, you work really hard. I see it. Everyone does.” He clears his throat briefly, eyes snapping up to you. You flick your own up, a question on your face, but he just thumbs-ups you.

“What would you do if you got a break? What does the lovely Murch do on a day off?” he says, his throat catching a little on lovely. “I think you like a big breakfast, something with fruit in it. You like…mangos, right? I’m pretty sure you said that once. Or peaches.” The phantom flavors drift along his tongue. “And then I’d bet you’d want to do something outside, especially if it’s nice out. Get out of that dark basement. Wear something light and breezy.”

It occurs to Dieter he’s never seen you in anything more than jeans and a t-shirt. What would you look like with your shoulders bare, legs on display, breasts scooped into a flattering neckline and ass swishing along? Did you even like pretty summer dresses? God he hoped you did. You would look fucking delicious.

A tightening in his groin alerts Dieter to a path his brain probably shouldn’t go down, but it’s the Wizard of Oz in there and his libido is following the yellow brick road. He licks his lips at the thought of you turning to wait for him, a flirty hemline skimming along your thighs. If a little breeze kicked up the skirt would flutter just a little too high for your liking, making you smooth it back down. And he’d be helpless to stop from falling to his knees and ducking his head under it.

His cock is at full attention now, straining against his slacks. He tries to shake off this train of thought, redirect to something that will refocus him, but every time he glances up to take in your features, your attention elsewhere, only hardens him more.

“Fuck, you’d look good in something like that. You look good all the time.” Dieter’s hand clenches on his thigh, dangerously close to crossing a line. An irrelevant notification lights up his screen - ten more minutes of studio time. He squeezes his eyes shut, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth.

He shouldn’t. You’d be grossed out if he did, violated. Probably scream at him, call him a filthy little slut.

Fuck, his pesky degradation kink’s not helping.

“Shit, Murch, you got me hard in a fucking sound booth. I can’t even get this hard this fast watching porn. What the fuck have you done to me?” he husks out, running a hand over his face. His cock bobs in his pants, the mistake of even alluding to porn in the same breath as your name furthering his thoughts. Because now that he’s said it, all the little scenarios he lies to himself about jacking off to come to the forefront unbidden.

The way the slip of your tongue over your lower lip makes him want to follow it with the head of his cock, fat and weeping at your hot breath.

How your hands moving along a keyboard make him wonder how they’d look wrapped around his shaft, pulling him to the brink expertly before easing him back.

The fact that there’s a couch in that dark little room you work in that calls for him to fuck you on it over and over again.

You put down your phone right as he’s spiraling, imagining how you’d look spread on your back on that beat-up monstrosity as he hovers over you, and slip your headphones back on. He coughs once, hoping his face isn’t too red.

“You doing okay Di?” you ask, a note of concern coming through.

Busted.

He shifts in his chair, his erection thankfully hidden by his low seat and the little stand his phone rests on.

“Hah, yeah, just…getting through some of this dialogue.”

You smirk, chin in your hand.

“What, a little too spicy for THE Dieter Bravo?” you say, and have the audacity to pull the corner of your lip between your teeth.

Well never mind then. He was going to be the gentleman and suffer in silence. But if you were going to insist on egging him on when he was just imagining how sweet your cunt would taste, then he’s going to play a little dirty.

“You can be the judge of that,” he says airily, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“I’ve read my fair share of romance novels. I don’t think you’ll surprise me.”

Oh, it’s really on now.

“Then listen in. Maybe you’ll learn something new.”

You settle back into your chair, motioning for Dieter to begin. He rolls his shoulders, putting both hands on the stand and pulling focus to his phone. His grayscale reflection is remarkably confident for how rippling his insides feel. Pulling from memories of early gigs that were a hair shy of softcore pornos and his own racing thoughts, he writes you a story.

“I fucking want you. Keep telling myself no but I fucking want you,” he growls, puffing hard out his nose. Your reaction is immediate; your eyes snap wide, mouth parting. He wants to look you in the eyes as he improvises a scene but doing that and trying to keep his composure above the waist is proving too much. His lips brush hard against the microphone, his whiskers scraping along the sensitive instrument.

“I’d make it so good for you, make you mine so many times you’d have to spend the night. Would you like that? For me to take care of you so fully, so completely, you wouldn’t be able to walk out after? Because I want you like that every. Single. Day. Let me make you feel so fucking good, baby.”

You’re trying to keep a neutral face but he can see it. The tremble of your lower lip. The rigidness of your posture. He would bet his summer house you were squeezing your thighs under the control table. God, he wants to be on the other side of the glass and saying these things in your ear, lips brushing against your skin. Filthier things too, like how he wants you to cum so hard it drips down your legs for him to lick up. That he’ll stretch you so good on his cock, make you drunk with pleasure every moment you let him.

“Because you deserve to feel like a goddess. You do so much for me, baby, let me give you even an ounce of that back to you. I’ll be so good for you, sweetheart, treat you better than that goddamn shithead of an ex that was never worth your time.”

Dieter’s running his mouth as close to the truth as he thinks he can get away with, sneaking glances up to see how you react. Your arms are folded in a picture of ease, but he can see how your fingers dig into your bicep. He drops his voice into a lower register, rumbling deep but with a gentle quality he enjoys utilizing for narration.

“He lets her ride his buttery slick thighs, buried so deep he can’t tell where her pleasure ends and his begins. He doesn’t care as long as she keeps throwing her head back like that and crying his name. If his heart gave out now he’d die happy with the musk of her on his lips and her velvet walls clenched around him. Even though she’s already cum twice he urges her into a third with his clever thumb and a grin when she shatters.” Dieter’s half impressed at himself for thinking on his feet, the words quickening the rise and fall of your chest. Your cunt must be on fire from this, he hopes he’s not the only one aching. You can’t be unaffected, not with the way you can’t look away, gaze tight on his face when he looks up. He’s got one more tiny idea that could get him in trouble, or make the tension thread between you finally snap. Leaning forward, he looks through his lashes at you. You’re holding your breath.

“Be a good girl for me, baby.”

Your reaction is instant. Blinking hard and flaring your nostrils, your grip gets even tighter. Your skin must be blazing hot, the heat between your thighs unbearable. He wants to soothe it with his tongue, quench it with his fingers as you fist his hair and tell him how good he’s making you feel. His cock is hard to the point of exploding in his pants, the telltale tingle in his hips warning him that it’s all too possible.

A question hangs on the tip of his tongue, one he’s so prepared to ask:

Want some help with that Murch?

You jump suddenly, the faint clanging of an alarm on the other side of the glass a shock to his own system.

MotherFUCKER.

“Sorry Di, time’s up. I gotta get moving,” you stammer, shakily pressing buttons to stop the recording and transfer the data. He tosses the headphones off quickly, taking the briefest of moments to wrap his cardigan around his middle to hide the prominence of his erection. He saunters back into the room with a smug smile.

“Now who’s gotten all flustered?” he teases, hopeful you won’t bolt from his sight. The balance is precarious now, a tiny nudge in the direction he desires setting everything off balance. Thankfully you chuckle and shake your head.

“That’s really paying your bills? I swear I’ve read better online for free,” you say, sticking in a loose USB stick and transferring the “audiobook” over for him. Dieter hovers in case you open the file, but you only hand him the drive with an overly bright smile. He takes it from you, searching your face for any hint of the titillation he caught earlier.

“You’ll have to send me your favorites, I’ll record them for a good price,” he drawls, leaning on one hand in your space. It’s a dance he’s done with you in the past, but never with so much charge in the air. He can almost taste the electricity between you, and when you meet his eyes there’s a flash of something deeper, something you won’t let come to the surface so you tamp it down with a dramatic sigh.

“Why would I want my scorching hot erotica in your voice?” you joke, his hands coming up in mock hurt before he winks at you. You shake your head and put the hard drive you came here for in your bag.

“See you on set?” he asks, and god he sounds pitiful to his own ears but you tilt your head and smile, hand on the knob to leave.

“I’ll be around,” you say before leaving him in the booth in silence and his own tangle of thoughts.

A bolt of arousal claws down his spine, a filthy moan falling from his lips.

“Sweetheart, I’m so goddamn hard for you. I need you to look at me. Look at me and I’ll cum so hard. Just fucking look at me. See me. See what you do to me?” His hand moves faster, fingers catching along the thick ridge of his head, the need almost painful as his mind conjures the image. Your lips pursed, eyes still cast down as he whimpers into a microphone.

“Want you to put those talented fingers inside your panties and rub your clit on the other side of this window. Let me whisper all the fucking depraved shit I want to do to you, how I want to lick and finger and fuck every hole until you beg me to stop. I’ll be…such a…good boy for you.” He’s on the knife’s edge, looking down into the chasm, heavy breaths making it harder to hide. “Let me…be your good boy, sweetheart. Please, look at me.”

And in the moment before he cums, you look up and catch his eye.

It’s a livewire to his cock, and he empties onto his stomach with ragged cries. He’s begging it to hurry up, be as fleeting of an orgasm as when he pumps it into some starlet wanting a night with his publicity, but it keeps rolling and rolling over him, shuddering breaths and clamping legs. Tears come to his eyes because even with how fucking good it feels, he knows it could be so much better. He knows a night with you would be a million fucking times better than his hand and his phone next to his ear playing the soft laughs he coaxed out of you. That you’d make him cum, but you’d also make him smile, and preen, and maybe even glow.

Shame burns along his chest at how fucking sad this must look, legendary playboy Dieter Bravo, who could open his hotel room door and have anyone on his cock that he pleases, covered in his own cum while your voice tells him Paris is the city of love.

Stopping the recording, he flops an arm over his face. He’s gotta get you out of his system, invite you to one of his parties for one really good fuck then send you on your happy little way. You could brag about bedding him, about how many orgasms he gave you and how much he’s ruined you for other men. And he could scratch the itch buried between his shoulders that flares when you trade good-natured barbs. Clear his head of this weird little infatuation he hasn’t experienced since he was 25 and drunk off his first love.

That’s it, he’ll do what he always does. Make you feel like the center of his world for a night and part happy and satiated. It might finally ease the giddiness you bring with the swing of your hips. Maybe it will finally feed the emptiness inside him when the drugs peter off and his skin feels too tight and all he wants to do is find the next high or low to distract him.

But first, he’s gotta get you to accept his invitation.

END

#dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x fem!reader #best laid plans series #prolix fics

217 notes · View notes

dark-elf-writes · 1 month

Note

This is a bit of a random question, but have you read the Valdemar books by Mercedes Lackey? I feel like they might be something you would enjoy. Sad and traumatized children get adopted by magical horses, and this is a central thing to most of the books. There's magic of both the psychic and arcane variety. Soulmates are a thing in the setting - they're rare, and they're called lifebonds, but they exist.

Sorry if this is a bit random, and feel free to completely ignore this. I just wanted to offer you knowledge of a book series that I like.

I have not heard of this and I am frankly stunned this is the exact kind of thing I feel like I would have heard of before now because it is extremely up my alley. I will have to look deeper into them because they sound interesting

#the elf talks

9 notes · View notes

powerofhats · 2 months

Text

I saw this being already posted but I needed to shared it again to rant about how AWFUL the situation at Mercedes is. Lewis has no real alley in the team , he spent years to make the team a more inclusive and welcoming place and now are his projects will be thrown in the bin and every racist assholes will be welcome inside. Not surprised at all by Toto , I feel like he never really understood Lewis' struggles but still this terribly DISAPPOINTING . ( The comparison with Lauda is distasteful too) .

#F1 #Mercedes f1 #lewis hamilton #tw: racism

9 notes · View notes

shirohige-pirates · 8 months

Text

Birds of a Feather

CisFem Reader x Marco

CW: Violence, blood, language, adult themes and scenes.

Summary: Life has not been kind to you. After a string of bad relationships, you're a little jaded and a little depressed in all honestly. The worst day of your life seems to be the turning point, but the roller coaster ride that follows could either throw you soaring free, or have you caged forever?

Chapter 2: Friendly Terms

“Thank you again, doctor Marco.” You say for the third time as you get into his car. It’s a 1972 Mercedes 300 SEL and you’re almost afraid to put the plastic bags of your ruined clothes in it, despite Marco’s insistence it was okay. “You really didn’t have to go this far.”

Marco hums a little. “You could’ve kept on walking by that alley, yoi.” He says, putting the car in gear and heading out of the hospital’s lot. Your home address is already in the car’s Log Pose, quietly giving directions. “You were already having a bad day, helping that dog only made it worse.”

“No,” you interject, looking out the car window. “Not helping that dog would’ve made it worse. This was the best way the day could’ve gone.”

Marco’s silent for a moment and his eyes are on the road when you look away from the window. “How long before you’ll know if there’s an owner for her?”

“Well, we’ll know today if she’s chipped or not.” He explains. “Even so, the office team is already making calls and checking missing dog resources. They’ll reach out today and tomorrow, and we’ll post pictures once she’s awake. If you want to claim her it might take a couple weeks before we can promise full ownership but if you want to surrender her to the hospital, you can do that in a couple days.”

“I’ll probably surrender her.” You answer. “I don’t have a roommate or anything, and my job can run long some nights. It wouldn’t be right to leave her alone that much.”

“We have some cats, if you’re looking for a pet.” Marco says, a smile on his face. “A couple short hair domestics will keep each other company while you’re at work and still be happy to see you when you get home, yoi.”

You grunt. “I’ll think about it. How many pets do you have?”

“With an answer that surprises everyone, none.” He says, glancing over at you with a smile. “Every time I’ve ever tried to have a pet one of my brothers takes a liking to it. Now, whenever we have too many surrendered pets, I just walk them through the hospital and have them pick something out.”

“Ho- how many brothers do you have?” You’re not sure you want to know the answer.

“Lots.” He says with that same smile. “My foster father took a lot of boys under his care. Not many of us are blood-related, a few here and there, but we’re all Pops’ kids.”

“Oh wow. Sounds like a good man.”

“He was,” Marco answers evenly.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. A couple of my brothers took over the legacy, and the house is still full of sons and daughters.”

“That’s good then.” You smile. “I… really appreciate this, by the way.”

“Mm, you’ve said thank you quite a few times, yoi.” His grin takes on a devious tilt. “If you give me too many more thanks, I’ll be back to owing you again. Before you know it, I’ll owe you dinner at least.”

You flinch and then laugh. “That’s fair, ah… right, food.”

“Hm?”

“I was wondering why I was so hungry, and then I remembered.” You say with a soft grunt. “At least now I’ll have the time to make something, unlike this morning. Ah, there it is, on the le- oh hells.”

“You have company, it seems.”

“Yeah, I do.” You grumble.

“You going to be okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, no, I’ll be fine. He only looks like the world’s biggest delinquent.” You assure him. “Kid runs a car repair shop, and my car got towed there this morning.”

“Friend then?”

You deadpan at Kid as Marco pulls into your drive. “Enough of one, yes.” You turn to Marco and smile. “Thank you again, I-.”

“Dinner it is then?” He prompts with a smile, and you feel the blood rush up to your face.

“Th-that, I, it is-.” You stammer.

Marco laughs, and admittedly, dinner sounds like a great idea. “Don’t let me bully you into it, yoi.” He says with a smile. “It was my pleasure.”

“I’ll be by, ah, not tomorrow, but the next day.” You say, trying not to say thank you again, and gather up your bags of clothes before letting yourself out. “Th—see that you’re careful g-going back.” You manage and Marco smiles.

“Of course, yoi.” He replies as you close the door and turn toward Kid.

“The hell are you doing here?” You grumble at Kid, walking over to him.

“Your car comes into the shop, and your work says you’re in the hospital!” He snaps back at you. “Then you don’t answer your fucking phone!”

You pat the scrubs and realize they don’t have pockets and hold up the bag. “Phone’s in the bag, I didn’t hear it. I’m fine.” You assert. “Damn, did you talk to Buggy?”

“Yeah.” Kid grumbles, crossing his arms against his chest. “The fuck happened?”

You turn and smile, waving to Marco before he backs out of the driveway. “My car broke down on the way into work, once I got it towed I started walking.” You explain opening on the bags and grabbing your keys. Kid’s face crinkles at the smell.

“I came across some teenagers beating on a dog, and chased them off. Took the dog to the vet, and ended up caving in and calling off work.”

“What happened to your clothes?”

“The pittie bled on me, and then I threw up on myself.” You explain, unlocking your door and stepping inside. “Come on you bastard, I’ll make you some tea and you can bitch to me about my car.”

“I’ll toss your stuff in the wash for you.” He offers, coming in behind you and locking the door for you.

“Nah, it’s going to have to be pre-washed and treated, otherwise that blood’s never coming out.” You grumble. “But!” You add hastily. “I appreciate the offer.”

“Want me to order some grub?” He offers, and you can hear a bit of irritation in his voice.

“Planning on staying the day?” You toss back. “My car needs fixing.”

“Not for the whole day, just long enough to make sure you eat!” He snaps back. “Why’re you so fucking testy?”

You turn to look at him, giving him a flat look. “I didn’t sleep last night, my coffee had grounds in it this morning, my crockpot broke, my meager breakfast was a breakfast bar, which I threw back up once it sunk in that I was covered in blood, in a hospital from carrying a pit bull terrier for two blocks. I was fucking testy before I saw you in my drive, you asshole.”

“Fucking hells.” He swears, pulling out his phone. “Soup, sandwich or sushi?” He questions, much less irritation in his voice.

“Sandwich is fine,” you reply. “I appreciate it.”

Kid grunts, but doesn’t say much else as he puts the order in. “Are you finally going to buy a new car?”

“Is it unsalvageable?”

“If I say yes, will you buy a new car?”

“Only if you’re being honest. Otherwise, you’ll just have to charge me hourly.” You say, going through the motions of making tea as Kid sat on the dining table.

“Honestly, if I’m going to fix it this time I’m just going to buy all the parts I can’t refurbish in the shop. By the end of it you’ll have the car of Theseus.” He explains.

“A new car without buying a new car.” You muse. “Sounds good to me.”

Kid pinches the bridge of his nose. “What have you got against buying a new car? I mean, at this point you’re going to owe the shop so much you might as well have bought a new car!”

“Ah yes, but this way your shop gets the money and not the flashy dealership and it’s shady salesman.” You muse, turning toward him. “Oi! Off the table! Sit in a chair like a normal human.” You snap and Kid slides off the table and grabs one of the chairs, sitting in it backwards.

“I mean, it’s your money.” He grumbles. “You really want to support my business that much?”

You shrug. “Better the devil I know,” you say with a grin. “Besides, someone has to make sure you have enough money to keep Heat and Wire fed.”

“Not Killer, eh?”

“Oh, he can fend for himself, I’m sure.” You say with a grin.

Kid grunts. “Well, if that’s what you want.”

“It is, I like the car.” You admit. “It’s a classic at this point.”

“It’d have to be more metal than rust to be a classic.” He snorts. “You want me to restore it while I have it?”

“How long would that take?”

“Couple weeks.” He says. “But it was going to be a week to get all the parts and do the refurbish work as is.”

“Yeah, I’ll make it work then.” You say, pouring two cups of tea.

“That old Firebird worth that much to you?”

“Aye, and more.” You admit, setting a cup down on the table behind him, sitting down and forcing him to turn around properly in the chair to face you.

“Who was the dude?” He asks and it takes you a second before you roll your eyes.

“Vet.” You say, taking a sip. “He patched up my arm, got me clean scrubs so I wasn’t stuck in puke clothes, and even got me a toothbrush so I could clean up a little.”

“He wasn’t busy with the dog?”

You shake your head. “He wasn’t the vet that was taking care of her.” You say, leveling a dangerously unamused look at Kid. “You gettin’ jealous?”

“Tch. I’m allowed to worry about you.” He grumbles and your expression softens.

“As long as you stay in your lane, you’re not wrong.” You agree.

“Yeah, yeah, but why did your arm need patched up?”

“I was trying to stifle the dog’s bleeding and I hurt her. She bit me, he cleaned it up and bandaged it.” You explain, lifting the sleeve of the scrubs up and showing it to him. “Nothing major, no stitches.”

“You want a loaner for the next two weeks?” He questions.

“I’ll get a rental, sure.” You counter.

“You know, friends do things for each other like loaners and shit.” He grumbles.

“Kid, I have money, I have nothing I want to spend it on, I think the least I can do is spend it on my friends and help them out.” You counter.

“Tch.” He clicks his tongue, and gets up. “Thanks for the tea.”

“… You’re not staying for lunch?”

“I only ordered the one sandwich, I’m going to get working on your precious car.” He grumbles, biting off the words more than you know he means to.

You and Kid had dated for a few years off and on. It was always volatile. You were oil and water, or oil and oil and just too much alike in some ways to really get along. He’d get jealous far too easy for your liking, and you couldn’t understand why he wasn’t just direct with his feelings. He was smart enough and his vocabulary was certainly large enough, but it didn’t matter.

Everything tended to devolve into an argument. The sex was great, but without anything else to support it things would fall apart. After the last break up you swore him off to his face. You wanted to cut all ties entirely, but Killer had intervened and convinced you both to remain friends.

As it was, you made pretty good friends, but the sexual tension would bubble up sometimes, and it made it hard to be around him. He wasn’t just good looking, he was confident in his good looks, and his devil fruit powers aside, that confidence was magnetic.

You blamed living alone for your weakness, but you were rough around the edges yourself, with half the charisma as far as you were concerned, so the number of people willing to put up with you was very small. Ivankov and Buggy liked you well enough, but you stood staunchly by the saying that you didn’t get your honey where you made your money.

Besides, Ivan was entirely too much for you. You couldn’t keep up with him even if you wanted to. You weren’t sure anyone could, that Queen’s energy had energy, and as for Buggy – well, you were stressed out enough on your own, honestly. You didn’t need him adding to it.

“Dinner it is then?”

The veterinarian’s voice rings in your mind, and you shake your head, trying to toss the sound loose. The last thing you needed to do was waste more time dating. Someone in a job that had to be just as demanding on his free time as yours was, wasn’t going to be a good fit. You’d be dating in name only, never having a spare moment to even see one another anyway.

“Bah.” You grouse up at the ceiling, finishing the last of your tea.

#Birds of a Feather #Marco x reader #x reader #reader insert #marco the phoenix #marco the pinepple #modern au

20 notes · View notes

skitskatdacat63 · 2 months

Note

I just saw a post of yours about the Habsburg and also because of your boy king au I think what I’m about to say might interest you. (Why do I sound like I’m giving out a great prophecy or like some shady back alley deal ffs 🤦🏽‍♀️ but anyway)

It lives rent free in my mind that the current heir apparent to House of Habsburg-Lorraine is a racing driver himself and has won Le Mans (I think in LMP2 but I’m not into WEC so don’t really know)

Just blew my fucking mind when I learnt about this.

AND his sister is married to Jerome d’Ambrosio so every time I see Jerome in the Mercedes garage I’m always reminded of it

YES omg this haunts me too, like how the hell is a Habsburg a racing driver??? 😭😭 Apparently I can't avoid racing nor Habsburgs no matter what I do. I've actually talked about it a bit on here before

Well the craziest thing to me ig, is the fact that now that Mick is on the same WEC team as Ferdinand Habsburg, the irl Habsburg Emperor that boy king Seb is based on is now only six degrees of wikipedia separation away from actual Seb LOL. Not that it makes it an any better or legitimate of an AU, but just the fact that they're actually not that far removed is so crazy to me. Because there definitely wasn't this close a connection back when I made the AU, so the fact that it's developed like this is funny to me. The six degrees to me are:

Charles VI(guy who boy king Seb is mainly based on) -> Francis I(his son in law) -> House of Habsburg-Lorraine -> Archduke Ferdinand(WEC driver) -> Alpine A424(WEC car) -> Mick Schumacher -> Sebastian Vettel

#the lore of boy king au grows deeper every day 🤧#catie.asks.#boy king au

8 notes · View notes

desdemonafictional · 5 months

Text

See, you might not know this, but the blue Fiat was Fujiko's to begin with.

Back then, Lupin the Third was still driving the Mercedes-Benz SSK, the car of tyrants and kings--two-seater, murder in a straight line. It was all class and old school elegance, a flashy stand out calling card. Back then Fujiko drove a blue Fiat. If you imagined her up in her penthouse apartment, draped in silks, admiring a diamond as big as her fist under the silvery moonlight, and then compared the car tucked inconspicuously in the corner of the parking garage below, well... a common little thing like that wouldn't seem to be the right fit. Fujiko spent money like it was water, bought cashmere when cotton would do, wore her Prada shoes to the beach. Nonetheless, the Fiat was hers.

Reliable. Hairpin turn radius, not much for racing a straight line, but indomitable on a curve. Sedan, four seater. Family car.

They'd been married once, a long long time ago. Back at the beginning. Before the others came along, before the Third was a household name, even before the blue Fiat. Six weeks of a whirlwind romance, a first conversation on a French balcony in Japanese, promises--they'd both been so young then, and mean. Ambitious kids with the fingers of the world between their teeth, ready to bite down. He'd killed a man for her, and it wasn't nearly his first. He ran with assassins, kept company with killers. There was so much to prove, and every hour burned down with the desperation of youth, half believing the future would never come. Anyone who'd known him then could tell you he'd been crueler, quicker to anger, unreliable and petty. He asked her to marry him on a whim. He'd stolen her a wedding ring from the hand of Monsieur le Dictator's mistress. She'd made him feel like a king.

He'd known even then that she was running from something, although he didn't know what. He'd thought he was better than that, whatever it was. Murder in a straight line, engine roaring, he could outrun anything, beat anything, be anything. He never missed what he aimed for.

The first mistake every man makes with Fujiko: she’s not an accessory. She’s a crime.

She'd left him bleeding out on the beach of a private island, her shape dark against the stars as the rope ladder rose away. But she'd thrown down the first aid kit from the helicopter, rusty metal spraying up the sand, and that was how he'd known for the first time she loved him. She loved him, and she was still running, and if he couldn't keep up, he was going to fall behind every time.

He found her in Morocco, and they spent the night in desperate, resentful reunion. Three weeks later, her ring arrived in the mail. The setting, anyway—empty 14 karat fittings and lipstick on an envelope.

Lupin doesn't dwell on the past. What's done is done, what's over is over--the first time Jigen met her, Lupin thinks he probably said, that's Fujiko, my ex wife. Isn't she a dream.

Once you know someone like that, you can never really un-know them. He hadn't really loved her until the divorce papers in the mail, delivered in a scented envelope with a kiss-mark on the seal.

Nearly ten years later, he'd dump the SSK and pile everything he loved into her Fiat in a side street in Tokyo, with the sirens wailing and lights flashing a quarter mile behind them, and she would hit the gas--Jigen in the front seat, Goemon in the backseat with him, nothing in the trunk--and take them all with her, as she made her escape. Indomitable on a curve, smaller than the clearance of an alley way, quick and light and inconspicuous in a crowd.

Four seater. Family car.

When it came time to buy himself a new one, a life and a continent away from the garage where he’d found the SSK, Lupin got a Fiat. In Yellow.

#lupin iii #part one #thinks too much about cars and goes into a fugue state #I believe they were married before part 1 okay I’m a L/F marriage truther

11 notes · View notes

blackswallowtailbutterfly · 10 months

Text

Plant names that are used as names or might be nice as names

Abelia (Abby, Bibi, Bel, Bee, Lia)

Achillea (feminine of Achilles; Lea)

Aletris (like Alexis or Beatris; Al, Allie, Tris, Trissy)

Alisma (Al, Allie, Lee, Alis, Lissy)

Alliaria (Al, Allie, Lia, Lee, Ria)

Amaranthus (actual name already; Amy, Mara, Anne, Annie)

Ambrosia (actual name already; Amy, Rosie)

Ammophila (Amy, Phil)

Andromeda (actual name already; Anne, Annie, Andy, Mimi)

Angelica (actual name already; Angie)

Anise (Anne, Annie)

Anthea (actual name already; Anne, Annie, Thea)

Apple (actual name already)

Aquilegia (Gigi)

Aralia (Lee, Lia)

Argemone (Gem, Gemmy, Monnie)

Argentina (Gen, Genny, Tina)

Arisaema (Aris)

Aronia (Ro, Nia)

Artemisia (actual name already; Art, Arty, Mimi, Missy)

Ash/Ashley (actual name already)

Aster (like Esther)

Barley (like Bartley)

Betula (Bett, Bettie, Tula)

Bluet (Blue, Bett, Bettie)

Blossom (actual name already)

Calla (Cal, Al, Allie)

Callirhoe (Cal, Al, Allie, Ro)

Caltha (Cal, Al, Allie)

Calystegia (Cal, Al, Aly, Gia)

Carya (actual name already)

Celastrus (like Celeste; Cece, Cela)

Celosia (like Celeste; Cece, Cela)

Celtis

Chelone (Lonnie)

Cherry (actual name already)

Clarkia (Clark, Kia, Kiki)

Claytonia (Clay, Toni)

Clematis (Clem)

Cleome (Cleo, Clem, Mimi)

Clintonia (Clint, Lin, Toni)

Clover (Clo)

Comandra (like Cassandra; Anne, Annie, Andy, Maddie, Mandy)

Commelina (Mel, Lina, Melly, Lin, Lee)

Cotton

Dahlia (like Delia or Thalia)

Daisy (actual name already)

Dale (actual name already)

Dalea (like Delia or Thalia)

Daphne (actual name already)

Datura (Dottie, Tura)

Della (actual name already)

Dianthus (Dia, Dianne, Anne, Annie)

Dicentra

Drosera (Dro, Ro, Sera)

Dryas

Erigenia (Eri, Gigi, Gen, Genny, Genie, Genia, Nia)

Evadne (actual name already; Eve, Evie, Eva)

Fern (actual name already)

Filipendula (Fil, Filly, Flippa, Penn, Penny)

Flower/Fleure/Flora/etc. (actual names already)

Forest (actual name already)

Gale (actual name already)

Ginger (actual name already)

Grindelia (Dede, Delia, Lia)

Halesia (Hal, Hally, Al, Allie)

Hazel (actual name already)

Heather (actual name already)

Holly (actual name already)

Hydrangea (Hydie, Angie, Gigi)

Iris (actual name already)

Isotria (Izzy, Tria)

Juniper (actual name already; June, Junie)

Laurel (actual name already)

Lavender (actual name already; Lav, Vendy)

Leafie (actual name already)

Lemna

Liatris (like Beatris; Li, Lia, Tris, Trissy)

Lilac (like Lilah)

Lily (actual name already)

Linaria (Lin, Linny)

Lindera (Lin, Linny, Lindy)

Linnaea (Lin, Linny)

Lobelia (Lo, Lola, Bel, Lia)

Lonicera (Lon, Lonnie, Cera)

Lotus (actual name already; Lottie)

Lunaria (Lulu, Luna)

Magnolia (Maggie, Nola, Lia)

Malia (actual name already)

Maple (like Maybel; May)

Meadow (actual name already)

Melia (actual name already; Mel, Melly)

Melothria (Mel, Melly)

Mentha (actual name already)

Mertensia (like Mercedes)

Mitchella (feminine of Mitchel; Mimi, Mitch, Chella)

Monarda (Monnie, Mona)

Montia (like Monty; Monnie, Monty, Tia)

Myrtle (actual name already)

Myrica (like Erica)

Nemesia

Nyssa

Oakley (actual name already)

Olive/Olivia/etc. (actual name already)

Pansy (actual name already)

Peach (actual name already)

Peltandra (Pel, Tandy, Andy)

Persicaria (Persi, Kari, Carrie, Caria)

Petunia (actual name already)

Phyllis (actual name already)

Picea

Pilea

Pontederia (Ted, Teddie)

Poppy (actual name already)

Praline (Lina)

Primula (Prima)

Prunella (Nel, Nelly, Nella)

Robinia (Rob, Robby, Bob, Bobby, Robin, Nia)

Rose/Rosa/Rosaria/Rhode/etc. (actual names already)

Rosemary (actual name already)

Salvia (like Silvia; Sally, Vivi)

Sibara

Sida

Silvia/Sylvie/Sylvaine/etc. (actual name already; Vivi)

Tansy (actual name already)

Thuja

Tilia

Valley (Val, Al, Alley)

Vallisneria (Val, Valli, Al, Alli, Allis, Lissy, Neri)

Verbena

Veronica (actual name already)

Violet/Viola/etc. (actual name already; Vi, Vivi)

Willow (actual name already; Will, Willie)

Yarrow

Zea

#long text post #list of names #list

41 notes · View notes

livetogether--diealone · 8 months

Note

"i've heard you've been touching my car" but make it ball and it's the merc bowling night in japan + seb having a "for R? R i didn't know" level of embarassment

I see the vision, I am manifeting, I have thoughts

“Sebastian I heard you’ve been touching my ball”

He froze at the phrase, because while they were in a bowling alley and George already had made enough terrible balls jokes to put some of Sebastian’s puns over the years to shame, having Lewis Hamilton saying touching my ball looking up at you, legs a little to wide for comfort and a smirk on his face made Sebastian uncomfortable in places he wasn’t too keen on showing to all the Mercedes people there.

That something playful in Lewis’ eyes turned into a more genuine smile as he pointed to the purple bowling ball Seb was about to grab from the line up. Of course he would have a dedicated one, of course it was purple, it probably had his initials somewhere too or a morphed photo of Roscoe on it.

Sebastian took a moment too long to get his head out of the gutter or mostly to get his head clear of the previous night. “Oh” his eyes so wide and hint of pink on his cheeks, he started stuttering “this ball, wha- other ball you could me-, no, I now will” a hand already going to his ear he was now backing up towards the sitting area, almost tripping on the step before the wooden deck.

In the meantime, while he collected knowing looks and a couple of coughs from Mick and Bono, Lewis was fully laughing at him, head thrown back, a hand smacking his own thigh. His laugh filled the space and something tugged at Sebastian’s heart, strong enough to pull the side of his lips into a wide smile. Witnessing Lewis completely giving into a moment of joy was already a gift in his own right, being the cause of it was something Sebastian was never gonna get tired of discovering.

He shook his head at the Brit and went back to pick a different bowling ball from the rack, putting his eyes on the blue one and he was going for it when he felt Lewis’ arm brushing his side to grab the purple one. “For the record I definitely felt it when you touched my balls” and so Lewis left him with a patt on his ass and a too competitive grin on his face before scoring a strike on the first try. At least if they didn’t make it to the hotel room later that night he could blame it on Lewis for once.

#so here we are #also thinking about that set of pics of them in japan which are unrelated to eachother but if u put them together it looks like a date #i know you know which ones #anyway #bye #lewis hamilton #sebastian vettel #sewis #f1 rpf #japanese gp 2023 #jo.fic

29 notes · View notes

pinkierre · 1 year

Note

Bodyguard AU + almost kiss for Georgierre 🐼💕

Sorry for a long wait, my love! Had to find the georgierre inspiration again (thank or blame @whoreforpierre for it, I guess. Katie, this is on you. But also to tempt you into georgierre faster. muwhaha.) This is slightly circus au coded, ngl. the dynamics at least! formula1 driver george x bodyguard pierre (vague hints to wag pierre)

Pierre gets it, when he looks at George. He understands why George might’ve needed a bodyguard.

He knows George is an athlete, in the gym on a daily basis if it isn’t more than once per day. So technically, he knows George isn’t physically weak.

Yet when he looks at George, he sees lanky limbs attached to a thin body.

How was he going to protect himself?

Post covid, a lot changed in the Formula 1 paddock. Fans were allowed back and no one seemed to think of the consequences for the drivers. How they would be hounded in a place that was supposed to be safe for them.

Mercedes witnessed it going from grabby hands to what looked like kidnap attempts and said enough is enough. If Liberty and the FIA weren’t going to do anything, they would do it themselves.

They hired a bodyguard for each of their drivers. They hired Pierre for George.

It’s the seventh race of the season and during a weekend, Pierre spends each waking moment trailing behind George. Except for when he’s in the car, though George had already joked they should install an extra seat in the car so Pierre can stay with him all of the time.

They’d become familiar enough with each other. Pierre had noticed everything he needed to about George’s habits on and off track. How early he liked to get up in the morning, the amount of extra time he liked to have at the circuit before any sessions. What he would eat and when.

He started noticing more, though. How he would tap his hands on his thighs when he’s nervous. Or how he would want his feet clean before stepping into his F1 car. Or how he would run his hand through his hair whenever he would look at Pierre.

For the first five races, it was business as usual for Pierre. It wasn’t until the last race that George admitted to him when they were ambushed while in the car, driving into the track, how happy he was Pierre was there and how much safer he felt, that Pierre’s heart started beating faster whenever something of note happened.

Now, every shadow moving in the wrong direction put him on edge.

George had asked him if Pierre could walk next to him.

He refused. It wasn’t protocol.

George had asked him if Pierre would follow him everywhere.

He said yes. It was his duty.

George led him into a rare alleyway in the paddock, one that seemed rather abandoned. Pierre didn’t know if it was a one way alleyway or if the other side was open.

George stopped walking. Pierre tried to scout the other side of the alley before George hooked a hand into his shirt and tugged him back. George’s other hand also found a way into his shirt, pulling him closer.

“How many times am I going to have to ask you before you give in?” George whispers.

Everything in Pierre is screaming at him to step back. To not cross this very unprofessional line.

But George’s mouth is close and looks so soft. If he just… leans forward just a little. If he would just… pull George down by his neck just a tiny bit.

He wants to. He wants it so badly.

But he can’t.

He doesn’t know how, but he pulls himself away.

“A couple more times, please.”

#georgierre #meecamille #ficlets #forgot the tag oops

27 notes · View notes

totowlff · 2 years

Text

chapter twelve — a proper start

➝ two years after their story began in a penthouse in the middle of vienna, elisabeth and toto go back to the start.

➝ word count: 3,6k

➝ warnings: mentions of smut

NOVEMBER, 2014

Elisabeth parked her black Mercedes on one of the streets running parallel to the Stephansplatz. The streets were quiet at this time of night, a sharp contrast to the hustle and bustle of tourists who crowded the square surrounding the cathedral during the day, right in the historic center of the city.

She grabbed her bag from her passenger seat and took one last look at her makeup in the rearview mirror. Highlighted lashes, a light touch of blush on the cheeks and a subtle shine on the lips. “Perfect for a first date”, she thought, running a hand through her hair — that she'd spent nearly an hour trying to get into a satisfactory hairstyle until she just left it down — one last time before getting out of the car.

The idea of a first date with Toto had come up on one of the nights they had spent together at a hotel room. They were both naked, lying on the bed in her suite in São Paulo, catching their breath after yet another mind-blowing orgasm for both of them. Elisabeth’s head was resting on his shoulder as she traced invisible figures over his chest with her fingertips, her eyes fixed on his face.

— What’s your idea? — she asked. He looked at her.

— How do you know I had an idea?

— Every time you start coming up with some idea, you look at a point in the middle of nowhere. And then, when it comes to you, you smile — she replied.

He stared at her for a few seconds, and he smiled again.

— I was thinking about asking you out on a date.

Elisabeth raised her head, confused.

— Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?

— What do you mean?

She sat up on the bed and gestured between their naked bodies.

— Well… We kind of skipped a few steps, don’t you think?

— And there’s nothing to stop us from taking them now, right? — he said, his fingers caressing the base of her spine. The smile he gave her made her legs turn to jelly.

“How could I have resisted you, Toto Wolff?”, Elisabeth thought, walking down the alley leading to the square. The cold wind that blew through the center of the city made her pull her black coat more tightly around her body. She walked a little faster until she reached the entrance of his building.

As she stood in front of the dark wooden door, Elisabeth punched his apartment number into the numeric keypad on the intercom panel. It rang a few times before a familiar voice answered.

— Yes?

— It’s Elisabeth. Could you open the door? It’s cold out here.

— Of course, Liesl — he replied. It sounded like he was laughing a little.

She put her hand on the handle, pushing open the door as soon as she heard the lock buzz and click. She closed it quickly behind her to escape the cold air. Walking through the elegant lobby towards the elevator, she couldn’t help but feel a certain anxiety about being there, in that building, once again. She stepped into the copper-colored elevator after pressing the “up” button, and her memory went back to that New Year’s Eve, almost two years earlier.

A lot had changed since that night. She’d traveled the world, grew to appreciate motorsport, and become part of history — not only part of the history of Formula 1, but also the history of a world-renowned brand. However, fate seemed to dictate that, even with so many changes, she returned to the same place where everything started. Elisabeth was no longer just a guest at a party, but now, she meant something to the host.

“It’s all come full circle”, she thought, smiling at her own reflection in the elevator mirror.

She exited the elevator and turned right, walking toward the only door on the floor. With two gentle taps on the black wood, it wasn’t long before she heard the sound of movement inside the penthouse. A sound of metal clashing, cursing in German, hurried footsteps, and a lock turning. Then the door opened.

— Good evening, Liesl — Toto said, leaning against the doorframe. His hair was disheveled, his glasses were askew and halfway down his nose, he had an apron tied around his waist, and a dish towel slung over his shoulder. It was almost comical — he looked more like a housewife than a Formula 1 team principal or a millionaire executive and investor.

— Good evening — Elisabeth laughed, completely disarmed at what she was seeing in front of her — What is this?

— Come inside and find out — he smiled, stepping out of the doorframe for her to enter the apartment.

She walked past Toto with a smile on her face, quickly pressing a kiss to his cheek before stepping inside the entranceway. Inside the penthouse, she started to divest herself of her coat as she listened to him close the door and lock it. Elisabeth was unbuttoning the last button when she felt a pair of hands help her remove it.

— Let me take care of that for you — she heard Toto say behind her — Do you want me to take the scarf, too?

— Yes — she replied, pulling the garment from around her neck and handing it to him. She watched him carefully hang them on a metal coat rack in a corner of the entryway.

— And your bag?

— Yes, let me just get my phone — Elisabeth replied, going to unzip it, only to be interrupted.

— No — he said, seriously.

She looked at Toto, one eyebrow raised.

— What do you mean by “no”?

— I set this night aside for just the two of us — he replied, approaching her and taking the bag from her hand with a smug smile on his lips — No phones. No work. No family. Just us. Do you think you can handle that, Liesl?

The thought of being out of communication with the outside world made Elisabeth nervous. It was something she wasn't proud of, but she was a person who lived connected, especially considering the volatility of her profession, which involved civil aviation. However, that night was special. Unique. She didn’t want to be responsible for screwing up everything Toto had planned.

— Yes, I can manage — she said quietly, watching him put away her bag along with her other belongings.

— Great — Toto replied, offering her his hand — Would you like to accompany me to the kitchen?

— Sure — she said, lacing her fingers through his with a smile.

The apartment’s kitchen was expansive, with a fabulous view of the terrace and the lights of the night time Vienna skyline. Elisabeth passed the spacious dining table, set with a beautiful arrangement of white peonies and two plates on gray placemats. She stood at the white marble island, where two glasses were set beside a bottle of red wine. However, the biggest surprise came from the fact that there were two steaming pans on the stovetop.

He was cooking dinner for them.

— I’m guessing you weren’t expecting this, right? — Toto walked past Elisabeth toward the stove.

— Well, I thought you were going to order something, because…

— You thought I didn’t know how to cook? — he added, stopping to stir the contents of one of the pans.

— Yeah — Elisabeth laughed, sitting on one of the stools at the island. She watched Toto move around the kitchen, her eyes absorbing the details, such as the way his shoulder muscles moved beneath the fabric of his shirt or the way he put his hand on his waist, seeming to analyze his work.

— Liesl, I’ve been a divorced man for almost ten years, and I’m a father of two. I know how to cook a few things.

— Putting a frozen lasagna in the microwave isn’t cooking, Toto — she teased, a mischievous smile on her lips.

— Funny, I don’t see the microwave on. Do you? — he replied, dropping a spoon into the sink and leaning back against it, a smug smile on his face.

— Well, if we’re not going to enjoy some delicious frozen lasagna you bought at Billa’s, what’s on the menu for tonight, Chef Wolff?

Toto approached the island, resting both hands on the white stone.

— On the menu tonight, we have… An authentic spaghetti alla bolognese — he pronounced each word carefully, in heavily accented Italian. The mention of the dish made Elisabeth smile — And to go with it, a Lagrein Riserva, 2012.

She looked at the bottle, then at Toto, then back at the bottle.

— Did you mean… Red wine?

— You could also call it that — he smiled, picking up the bottle — Would you like a glass?

— Yes, I would — she answered with a shy smile.

After producing a corkscrew from one of the drawers, Toto deftly opened the bottle, pouring some reddish liquid into each glass. Then he handed one of them to her, a wide smile on his face.

— To us — Toto said, raising his glass in a toast.

— To us — Elisabeth replied, clinking her glass to his.

She took a sip of the wine, enjoying its boldness and dryness on her taste buds. Toto studied her expression carefully.

— What do you think?

— Excellent choice — she said, smiling.

— I’m glad you like it — Toto answered, setting his glass down on the marble counter and returning to the stove to check on the sauce — I chose this one because it paired with the pasta.

— Since when do you know so much about wine? — Elisabeth asked.

Toto turned to face her, smiling.

— I’m a longtime fan.

— A wine fan in the land of beer?

— We produce great wines here in Austria! Of course, French and Italian ones are also good. Oh, and Portuguese wines, too.

Hearing him chatter about wine had the same effect on Elisabeth as the conversation about tires the night they'd met at Edvard. With her eyes fixed on him as he spoke about the earthy notes of the drink, she began to observe the way he gestured, as well as the gleam in his eyes. Elisabeth was sure she would never tire of hearing him speak.

— Liesl? — he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

— Yes?

— Is everything okay?

— Yeah, everything is fine, I was just distracted.

— Distracted by what? — Toto asked her, turning his head to her, an eyebrow raised.

— You — Elisabeth whispered, before taking another sip of wine, eyes fixed on him. She was sure she saw him blush.

— Me?

— Yes.

He was silent for a few seconds, drying his hands at the dish cloth in his shoulder. Then, he approached the kitchen island, an embarrassed smile on his face.

— Sorry, you must have no idea what I'm talking about, and here I am, chattering away.

— It's okay, I like to hear you talk — she said, smiling at him.

— You do?

— Yes. I can see your passion in the way you talk about the subjects you care about. I really like that.

His lips curved into a shy smile.

— I also like to hear you speak about the things you like.

— Well, that’s good.

— It is?

— Of course, now we found one thing in common between us on our first date — Elisabeth said, laughing.

— Only one?

— I'm sorry to say, I'm not a big fan of wine, not like you.

— Well, what do you like to drink?

— Alcoholic or non-alcoholic?

— Alcoholic — Toto said, taking another sip of wine.

Elisabeth tilted her head as she thought. Aside from her introversion, business acumen, and blue eyes, she also inherited Niki's aversion to the taste of alcohol. She even drank socially, at dinners and other occasions, but never too much. She couldn't stand the burning sensation running down her throat.

— Whiskey and Coke.

Toto raised an eyebrow.

— I definitely didn't expect that.

Elisabeth laughed.

— It was the first alcoholic drink I had in my life. I was 14 years old and I mistook my glass of Coke for my dad's. Let's just say… I realized something was wrong when the drink burned as it went down.

— Your mother must have gone crazy.

— She wasn't happy about it, that’s for sure.

— What about your father?

— He basically shrugged his shoulders and said that if I hadn't gone into an alcoholic coma yet, they could rest easy.

Toto chuckled.

— However, when I turned 16, which was the legal age in Spain, he gave me a glass of whiskey and Coke, to celebrate. Before handing me the drink, he said that if I ever drank till I threw up, he would never let me drink again — she said, giggling.

— I am guessing that the ever-responsible Elisabeth Renate Lauda never drank herself sick, I’m sure — Toto said, a teasing smile on his face. Hearing him say her full name made her heart leap in her chest. It looked even more beautiful on his lips.

— Never. You?

— Let's just say… I wasn't the best-behaved young man in Vienna.

— You weren’t even the best-behaved mature man in Vienna — she murmured, a suggestive smile on her face.

— Are you insinuating something, Miss Lauda?

— Just pointing out a fact, Model Man.

A smirk appeared on Toto's face. After a messy divorce, he had been a bachelor once again. He certainly didn't squander the opportunity to date the most beautiful women in Austria. Before, he appeared frequently in the economics pages, but soon, his name began to feature in the social columns of newspapers and gossip magazines, always accompanied by a woman, usually models or pageant queens. Before long, he’d gained the reputation of being somewhat of a playboy, rich and well-connected, who liked fast cars and gorgeous women.

Toto's past hadn’t bothered Elisabeth at all, but knowing that her partner's ex-girlfriends were the most beautiful women in the country wasn't a very pleasant realization, especially considering her relationship with the mirror.

— You know it's all water under the bridge, don't you?

— It is?

— Of course — he smiled — Now I’m only Elisabeth Lauda’s man.

— Are you, now? — she asked, as she got up from the stool and walked around the island, approaching him.

— Yes — Toto said, turning his body to hers — I’m yours, Liesl. Only yours.

Elisabeth stopped in front of him, wrapping her arms around his waist and nestling her chin on his chest. She felt his hands at the base of her spine, and looked deeply into Toto’s brown eyes. She could see in them an inexplicable heat in them. A deep affection. A warm tenderness. “Love”, she thought, before swallowing hard and pushing the idea out of her head.

It was a very strong word. Too strong for their fledgling relationship.

— I am yours, too. I always will be — Elisabeth whispered. Putting a hand on her cheek, Toto brushed his thumb against it a few times, a thoughtful expression on his face. After some seconds of consideration, he took her lips in a slow, gentle kiss, the taste of wine dancing on her tongue.

Enveloped in his arms, Elisabeth felt completely safe. Completely happy.

His movements were delicate as his fingers gently caressed her face, as if she were something fragile, that required all the care in the world to handle. As the kiss deepened, Elisabeth's senses heightened. The wine's taste on Toto’s tongue seemed stronger, the musky scent of his cologne more pronounced, as well as a bitter smell that filled the air.

A smell reminiscent of something burning.

“Burning?”, she thought, before realizing what was going on. Moaning against his mouth, Elisabeth’s hands slid to his chest, pushing Toto away from her body.

— Our dinner! — she gasped, freeing herself and going to the stove, turning off the burners on both pans. Watching the pasta water and the bolognese sauce stop bubbling, Elisabeth felt her heart pounding in her chest. Then, she turned to him with a disapproving look — My God, Toto…

— Sorry, Liesl — he muttered under his breath.

— Toto, you can't be careless like that.

— You know, I got distracted by something hotter than what was in the pans.

As she looked at him, she could tell he was trying not to laugh.

— You could have set your apartment on fire! — she replied, approaching him and slapping his arm. He made a mock grimace of pain as he pulled her closer to him by the waist, placing a kiss on her cheek.

— I still can — Toto replied, a sly smile on his lips.

— Toto…

— I just need to take off your clothes and take you to my bed — he completed.

Elisabeth looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

— Very bold of you to think I'd have sex with you on our first date.

— You’re saying an awful lot for a woman who didn't even need a date to end up in my bed in Sochi, Miss Lauda — he replied, returning a mischievous smile.

Elisabeth rolled her eyes.

— You're a dick, Wolff.

— I'm sorry, did you say "I like your dick"? — Toto asked — Because I'm pretty sure that’s what I heard.

She couldn't resist laughing at him, shaking her head, before pulling his face down and kissing him again. Then, stepping back, she smiled at him.

— Finish dinner first and after we eat, I'll let you know whether or not I like your dick — she whispered.

Not even 15 minutes later, she was sitting at Toto’s table with a plate of pasta steaming in front of her. She also had a man who was staring at her with anxiousness in his eyes, awaiting her verdict on the meal he had prepared.

— You're making me nervous looking at me like that — Elisabeth laughed, picking up her fork.

— And you're making me nervous with your delay in trying my cooking.

— Toto, you know I'm not just going to get up and walk out on you if your cooking is bad, right?

— You won’t?

— No, of course not. I'll probably just order pizza while you do all the dishes — she laughed, taking a forkful of spaghetti. The plate was beautiful, at least. The red sauce contrasted nicely with the green of the parsley leaf he'd put on top of the dish as a garnish. It only remained for her to find out if it tasted as good as it looked and smelled.

Taking a bite, Elisabeth chewed slowly, enjoying the taste and texture. As she swallowed, she smiled at Toto, as she lifted her glass.

— What do you think?

— It's alright. It’s edible — she said, sipping her wine.

He blinked.

— Are you serious?

— Yes, it's edible.

— It can't just be edible.

— Well, first you used spaghetti and not tagliatelle, which is more porous and soaks up more of the sauce, so that’s your first problem. The sauce is very tasty, but it lacks a certain… sweetness. Did you use carrots?

— No… — Toto muttered.

— Got it — she said, taking another forkful to assess.

— Anything else?

— No, those are my observations.

— I thought you were a businesswoman, not a food critic — he said, poking the parsley off his plate with his fork.

— Let's just say I'm familiar with Italian dishes, especially from the Emilia-Romagna region.

He looked at Elisabeth, his expression surprised.

— You forgot I lived there, didn't you? — she said, giving him a sympathetic smile.

— I did — Toto muttered.

Elisabeth laughed.

— Where in Italy did you live? — he asked her.

— Modena. When my father was hired by Ferrari as a consultant in 1992, he wanted to move down there by himself, but my mother refused to stay in Vienna with us, so we all moved to Italy with him.

— How long did you live there? — Toto asked, picking up his glass and taking a sip of wine.

— Five years. My dad couldn't take the pressure of the constant fighting with Jean Todt. In fact, to this day, I still think Todt is somewhat to blame for my father's poor health at that time.

— What happened to Niki?

— His kidney started failing and he needed a transplant. Luckily, my uncle Florian was a match, so he didn’t have to wait very long. But seeing my father so sick and weak like that was cruel.

— I know what it's like — Toto said quietly, looking a little sad. Elisabeth knew precious few details about his childhood. She knew that his father had passed away and that his mother had taken care of him and his sister alone, as well as that he had taken responsibility for them as a teenager. He had endured a lot in silence.

Almost unconsciously, she reached out and took his hand, looking into his eyes silently, hoping he would see everything Elisabeth was feeling in her eyes.

Admiration.

Pride.

Respect.

Love.

He smiled.

— Let's change the subject, Liesl — Toto said, squeezing her hand lightly before releasing it and picking up his fork again — Tell me more about Modena. Is it a good place to live? Did you like it?

They had a pleasant conversation, with Elisabeth telling about her adventures in Italy, as well as the trouble she had gotten her father into by asking, in front of Jean Todt, if this was the imbecile he always complained about at home. The situation made Toto laugh, trying to picture the Frenchman’s reaction.

After eating, they cleaned up the dishes and took them to the sink. Elisabeth made a motion to grab the sponge to start washing the dishes.

— You're not washing anything, Liesl — Toto said, taking the sponge from her hand.

— But… why?

— Because… we still have dessert.

— Dessert? — she asked, raising an eyebrow.

— Yeah — Toto said, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear.

— What’s for dessert, then?

He bent down slightly until his lips were at her ear level and said enough to send a wave of heat through her body.

— You.

#toto wolff #toto wolff fluff #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fanfic #wlffog #natsversion #f1 x oc #formula 1 x oc #toto wolff x oc #scwlff

70 notes · View notes