#it's not a fic it's a braindump | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spikeymarshmallows · 4 months

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wholeass Edizzy brain-dump that I posted into discord once, but I wanted to share with people, about subdrop, topdrop, all those very very fun and shitty emotions yayyyyy.

Just imagining they're maybe still just... fucking. or hell, they're together properly, and they've been doing kink shit for ages. and it's great and hot and fun.

They kiss all hot and nice just inside Ed’s door before they part ways for the day. Izzy has bruises across his butt and down his thighs. Ed had really gotten him worked up the night before, and they'd gone way harder than they had before. It had been so fucking hot, Izzy pleading pleading pleading, and Ed kept expecting Izzy to hiss in the way that Ed now knew meant "slow down, just a little, but don't fucking stop"--but it just never came. [he's not aware he's doing these mental checks, but there's a moment through the haze of INTENSE HORNY that he's like "....Is Izzy okay??" but nope, Izzy is doing amazing, this isn't a self-harm through kink thing, he's just SOARING]. Ed's arm is kinda sore from it, if he's honest with himself.

Maybe it was something about the constant prostate-milking-edging Ed was doing. Who knows, certainly not Ed. (certainly Ed. >:)))) )

Either way, they're both on their own highs the next morning. Deep, hard kisses before work that have Ed pushing Izzy up against the door, gripping the back of his thigh to swing his leg around Ed's hip, fuck fuck, no, no, we gotta stop, can't be late again or the crew are going to give him so much shit.

Izzy's on cloud fucking nine all morning. He keeps leaning on the railings of the ship in such a way that it'll press on his bruises, and he's so glad he’s got a good poker face about these kinds of things. He's kept his facial expressions under control, but he's definitely enjoying the bruises too much.

The tiredness starts to hit that afternoon, but that's fine. It IS afternoon and they had been up just past midnight fucking each other stupid.

Hmmm. He hopes Ed isn't too tired. He'd mentioned through a laugh that morning that his shoulder was sore from laying into Izzy so hard the night before. He'd laughed, kissing Izzy and calling him a needy little slut. Izzy had glowed, laughed, rubbed at Ed's shoulder and dug his thumbs in as Ed cuddled against his tummy. Ed had been tracing the edges of the marks that he could reach as they lounged that way.

Ed had laughed then, and Izzy had too. But... did Ed think he was needy? like, actually needy? Izzy knew he could be needy, but Ed had always said he liked that. He liked being wanted so much, that Izzy made him feel wanted and desired, that Izzy was always ready to jump on Ed's dick at a moment's notice, that he couldn't seem to get enough of Ed as Ed couldn't seem to get enough of Izzy.

Okay, but... but... what if Ed did find him needy, and not always in the good way? Like, Izzy actually didn’t mind helping the crew out, particularly when some of them were absolute naturals and listened to everything Izzy said, actually took it on board. Izzy liked feeling like he was needed and wanted, that they respected him and his knowledge and experience, but... yeah, some days, he kinda wished they’d just run their fucking drills without needing him to watch their every move, could just do the shit they needed to do without being told all the time.

And Ed, Christ. Izzy loved Ed so much but he got annoyed at her needing him sometimes. Ed was constantly changing his mind, chasing after this whim and that, doing absolutely ridiculous shit. Sure, it always worked out, and it cemented just how brilliant Ed was to Izzy, but Christ alive, it annoyed the fuck out of Izzy some days.

....Ed and Izzy weren't even in love. Ed didn’t love Izzy the way Izzy loved him. Surely Ed got annoyed at how needy Izzy was.

Izzy just... he just wanted to know like, Ed wasn't mad at him. That he didn't think Izzy was annoying, and he'd had fun last night. God, what if Izzy had pushed him too far by continuing to ask for moremoremore? What if his arm was actually sore? It was funny that morning but maybe it was really bothering him today. Shit, that’d be just like him—Ed had started complaining about his knee a few months ago too—what if that was something Izzy had done too?

He kinda wanted to see Ed, then. Like, really badly. They hadn't made plans to see each other that night and Izzy had the last watch, but it was pretty normal for them to hangout about half the nights of the week. But... hmm. Jack had been sailing with them the previous few weeks; Ed hadn’t had a night alone in weeks. He probably wouldn’t mind a night alone, certainly didn’t need Izzy coming in with his… *emotions*. (he hadn't said as much, but Izzy knew. ....Izzy didn't know, but okay, maybe he was spiralling a little bit, checking the same number of barrels in the hold over and over again, forgetting what his count was halfway through each time).

And anyway, poor Izzy is standing there, suddenly doubting everything. A thousand questions that really amounted to "am I too much???" swirling in his stressed lil head.

He was clenching his jaw so hard that he was starting to get a headache behind his right eye. Ed always poked his jaw when he noticed Izzy doing that, sometimes laughed and used it as an excuse to shove his fingers in Izzy mouth. "Protecting your teeth, baby" he'd joke sometimes, pulling Izzy's cheek in weird directions, just to be a pest. Sometimes he'd use the fingers in his mouth for.... other purposes

anyway, Izzy spiralling. He goes back to his room.

For the first time in months, he doesn't breathe a sigh of relief when he shuts out the world.

He's usually SO GLAD when he gets to his room. He's spent all day around the crew and shit, and here he can just… relax. Enjoy the darkness, the quiet.

But now? The room is empty. and dark. It doesn’t feel safe. It feels… empty.

That's fine, Ed usually asks for him around sunset.

But the sun sets and he tenses, half-hopeful, every time he hears the sound of someone walking near his room. No knock comes.

Izzy changes out of his clothes, puts on his other set, these ones a little cleaner. The bruises look amazing, Ed will be thrilled. Knowing him, he'll probably rub against them gently, then the fucker will bite them because it's funny to watch Izzy huff and squirm.

He's all clean now. But his stomach is tight and he's not hungry.

And nobody has knocked on his door.

Ed's probably just busy....

Or maybe he just needs a break from Izzy. Maybe he just needs a quiet night. Last night had been intense, and Izzy knew it took a lot out of Ed sometimes. Sometimes he needed to decompress. Months ago, when Izzy had heard him say that for the first time, and had made excuses to go. Ed had huffed and pulled him by the vest to sit his ass back down, Ed meant "decompress as in smoke with you, not be left alone with my own miserable thoughts".

Maybe he needs a break from Izzy.

That's fine.

Izzy is fine.

Eventually, someone opened his door—Ed never fucking knocked, and it didn’t usually bother Izzy, but tonight it fucking *did*. Izzy is sitting stiffly at his desk, trying to have a Normal and Relaxing Evening Damn It. He's picking at his dinner that he’d brought back to his room.

He almost doesn't want to turn to look at him. He could show Ed he's all Independent. He doesn't rely on Ed for his comfort. Hell, he doesn't need comfort, he's strong and capable of taking care of his own emotions, thank you! Not to mention, if he needs to be comforted afterwards... Maybe Ed will go easier on him. And Izzy doesn't want that. Izzy wants to keep doing all the weird and intense shit they're doing. He wants to do more. Wants to go harder.

God. Does that make him a freak? Or more of a freak? He knew the stuff he liked was weird. He'd never tried it with any of the whores he'd slept with... He knew how the crew would talk if they *knew*.

If what he liked was normal and okay, people wouldn't talk. If they knew Israel Hands, first mate to Blackbeard, the bastard they respected and feared, liked to bend over like this, *loved* the ways that Ed hurt him, brought him to his knees and degraded him… Well, they wouldn’t respect him anymore. If Izzy was the one giving the pain, it wouldn't be as big of a deal.

Shit.

He really did like some fucked up stuff, didn't he? What kind of person liked to be hit while having sex? What kind of person begged for harder hits across the backs of their thighs? What kind of person liked a little blood in their fucking, loved the burn and the ache? What kind of person came without permission when someone worked them up and *finally*, after what felt like hours, spat in their mouth? That was some real fucked up shit. God, and he sometimes... sometimes... when he was really far under... he'd call Ed "Daddy". Not always. He never meant to, it just... sorta.... slipped out.

But Izzy didn't even like his father! Gross! He'd never thought of his father that way, what the fuck!! So why did he sometimes call Ed "Daddy"?

Ed clears his throat.

Ed's there, acting all... fine. And Normal. He was thinking of going here, and the weather was perfect for it, shouldn’t take them more than a day or two, and sorry he hadn’t seen Izzy all day, there’d been endless distractions and drama from a few of those new blokes they’d picked up a few weeks back, anyway, did Izzy wanna hang out that night?

"Nah, I'm okay. I'm... gonna have an early night, I think."

"Oh. Yeah. That's fair. Totally cool, man." Ed sounds a bit funny. He doesn't sound relieved, like Izzy expects. "Tomorrow night then?"

"Uh, yeah. Maybe. I'll... I'm pretty tired, I'll have to see."

"oh. Yeah. Cool. That's cool."

SO. Izzy goes to bed early that night.

He does not sleep well.

Next day, much of the same. He's feeling brittle and fragile, and he's snapped at everyone, even Charlie, who is by far Izzy’s favourite crew member, and his head hurts because he slept like shit and he clenched his jaw real bad when he did.

He hasn't heard from Ed.

Sure, he hasn't gone to find Ed either. But he's trying not to be needy. He can handle his own feelings.

....He just... he wishes he didn't feel so gross and disgusting for calling Ed "Daddy" in the heat of the moment. And did he have to cry just before he came? God, so pathetic. And Ed's shoulder was probably still fucked. Had Ed even had fun?? Had Izzy given him what he wanted from that? Like, sure, Ed had come (twice) but... was he just... humouring Izzy?

The day passes miserably. He keeps pressing his bruises, and biting his tongue when he does because it stops tears springing to his eyes.

Gross. He's going to cry again??? Well, that made him feel more pathetic. God, he was so stupid.

This whole thing was so stupid.

He goes back to his room.

When it comes time to eat, he struggles to swallow it, even though what Cook’s made is actually pretty decent. It keeps getting caught in his chest.

Ed comes to his door again.

Ed launches into a story about his day, about this place Jack had said was worth a visit, that maybe they should consider getting a cat for the ship because there were rats, and Ed wondered if rats could be trained, and wouldn’t that be fucking cool, to train the rats to attack people, just set out a plank and the rats would take care of the rest, and yeah, actually, he was gonna try that, yeah, never mind the cat idea, this was way better.

Izzy hums as Ed talks, doesn't say anything. The tightness in his chest eases a little as Ed is talking to him the same way he always does. Ed doesn't... doesn't sound mad at him. He doesn't sound like he's sick of Izzy and thinks he's needy and gross and awful.

Eventually, Ed stops for a breath, exhales heavily. "Shit, sorry, I've been talking at you for like... fifteen minutes straight. Don't think I took a breath there."

"You gasped just before you asked if rats could be trained to attack for you." Izzy feels miserable, but a tiny tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he says that.

"Oh cool, okay, one breath in fifteen minutes, that's not bad, right? Reckon I could make a decent swimmer, Izzy? S’longer than you, I reckon."

"ha."

Ed's voice gets softer, gentler. "How're you feeling? Sleep okay last night?"

Izzy swallows. He wants to bite out some excuse, find some way to end this conversation, before he can annoy Ed.

He must be silent for longer than he thinks.

"Iz?"

Ed so rarely calls him that, unless he's trying to annoy him. Sometimes he'll call him that after Izzy calls him "Daddy" too...

"Um. No, I didn't really sleep well." Izzy finally chokes the words out. He's impressed at how normal he sounds. That sounded normal, right??

Ed is silent for a long moment. "Hey, uh. Wanna crack into that fancy wine we got last week?" Something is off in his voice.

Izzy's gut drops.

This is it. Ed is going to end things. He wants to soften the blow on Izzy with liquor.

Izzy wants to make up an excuse, a reason why he can't, but his ears are roaring and he's gonna be sick. Eventually he agrees, light and easy.

Izzy doesn't know what to do with himself, says he’ll go get the wine so Ed can get comfortable.

He takes a swig of it as he makes his way back to Ed’s cabin. Another one just before he knocks on Ed’s door.

Ed looks good, legs propped up on the desk. God, he always looks good. Nervous, a bit hesitant.

"Hey."

Izzy doesn't think to move to let him inside.

"Uh, wanna come in?" Ed asks eventually.

"Oh. Right. Yeah. Sure."

Izzy stands helplessly just inside the door. Ed’s standing, and Izzy doesn’t know if he should sit down across the desk, or if they should go sit on Ed’s bed; they often sprawl there, but usually much later in the night. Besides, Izzy isn’t there for… for *that* tonight… This is… This is the end.

Izzy isn't sure conversation between the two of them has ever been so stilted. Eventually, Izzy sets the wine down on Ed’s desk, pours them both a drink.

When he turns around, Ed is standing an arms length away, looking so sad.

"Can I... hug you?" Ed asks tentatively.

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. This is it. He's gonna hug Izzy, try to soften the blow, surely.

Izzy nods mutely, even though he wants to be sick.

The hug is awkward, and Izzy's arms feel wooden as he rests his hands on Ed's hips. He keeps expecting Ed to let go. Ed doesn't. Instead, he takes a big breath in... exhales long and slow.

And Izzy doesn't know what happens, but something in him just breaks.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying so hard to stop the stupid tears. He pushes away from Ed, or tries to. Ed lets out a little sound that could almost be described as "wounded". He pulls Izzy back in.

Izzy is shaking, and trying so so hard to keep it together. He's trying so goddamn hard and Ed is just holding him, and it's so stiff and weird, and Izzy is going to fucking break if Ed doesn't let go of him soon, he needs to get out of there, but Ed is still holding him and--

"hey, hey, it's okay...." Ed is murmuring against the spot where his jaw and ear meet. "I'm here, I've got you."

And Izzy isn't crying, but he can't stop shaking, and his knees feel weak and standing is so hard and Ed is trying to pull them back towards the bed, not letting go of him.

Izzy isn't really sure how they make it those few steps, but Ed is pulling him onto the bed, shifting him so that Izzy is basically cradled against him, his legs thrown over Ed's thighs. The whole time, his other arm doesn't leave Izzy's shoulder, not until they're settled on the edge of the bed. Izzy can't stop shaking, and fuck he's crying now, not a lot, but he's sniffling and his nose is stuffy, and he can't quite breathe right. And Ed is just holding holding holding him.

"It's okay, I'm here. It's okay, I'm here. You're okay. You're safe. You're so good, Iz. You're so fucking good."

And it's so stupid, it's so fucking stupid, but every time he thinks he's hit the final breaking point, he splinters again. Ed just keeps holding him, and saying sweet words and kisses his temple and now his hands are running through Izzy's hair, blunt but calloused fingertips running over his scalp.

Izzy expects to sob. He feels like his chest is cracking open, and he's still wanting to be sick. But he doesn't sob. Tears just start running down his cheeks, and they won't stop. He's given up (for the moment) trying to push Ed away, Ed's grip on his shoulder is so tight, it's almost like Ed needs to hold Izzy as much as Izzy needs to be held.

Ed keeps pressing kisses to the side of his head, the top of it, holding Izzy harder even than the way Ed holds him down and fucks him.

Izzy finally manages to get a hold of his emotions, is able to somewhat stem the tears. Afterall, if Ed is here to end things.... he... he'd rather get it over with.

"Sorry," Izzy chokes, sitting up a little more and furiously rubbing at his leaky eyes with the heels of his palms. "I dunno what's wrong, just. It's stupid." He laughs, but it's empty.

Ed narrows his eyes at him. "Izzy..."

Izzy gives a tight smile, shifts back a little to put some space between them. "Sorry, shouldn't have done that. But uh, thanks?"

Ed is looking at him weirdly. "What?"

Izzy shakes his head quickly, as if he's shaking off the sadness, the tears. He smiles, or tries to. "Sorry, um. Why'd you want the wine? Do you... need to talk about anything?"

Ed blinks. "I... should I... not? Want the fancy wine?"

"Well, I dunno. I just wanna say... I've... appreciated. Everything we've done. And everything you've shown me. It was... uh. Really cool."

Really cool. Wow. What a ringing endorsement.

Ed blinks again. The silence stretches.

"What the fuck is going on?" Ed asks, voice almost squawking the way it does whenever he's mad or confused.

Izzy isn't sure what to say. How to word it. Words aren't his thing, those are Ed's. He wishes Ed would just start the whole "hey, it's been really great what we've been doing but...."

But Ed isn't saying that. He's just looking confused, annoyed--oh god, he's looking annoyed. Any of the warm feelings Izzy hadn't even known were filling him dropped back to ice. Ed was annoyed at him. Fuck. Shit. Fuck, shit.

"I'm sorry," Izzy finally says, closing his eyes.

"For what?"

"I..."

Before Izzy can fumble his way through more words, Ed is yanking him forward again and pulling him back into Ed's arms.

This time Izzy sobs.

Two days--in many ways, it feels like two decades--worth of tears start forcing their way through his chest and throat. He's crying, snotting against Ed's shirt, and the sounds he's making are so gross and big and ugly, and Izzy hates it, and hates that they won't stop, and that he just feels so stupid, and weak, and pathetic, and stupid, and pathetic, and needy, and fucked up and broken.

He barely realises it but he's just saying he's sorry, over and over and over, and Ed is holding him, rocking him a little, telling him every time that it's okay, it's all okay, he promises.

Ed's lower back must be hurting him because he shifts them further up the bed when Izzy calms for a brief moment. Ed still won't let go, just lies back against the blankets and pulls Izzy against him, keeps Izzy against him by wrapping both legs tightly around him.

When Izzy finally calms, his head is throbbing. And Ed is still there. Ed pushes up a little, pushes until he's sitting. Holds Izzy's face in both of his hands, wiping the damp hair at his temples, wiping the tears that keep leaking down Izzy's sore face, presses kisses to his forehead and lips.

"Oh Iz," Ed whispers, pulling him back in. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Through tears, Ed finally coaxes words out of Izzy. How shitty he's felt the past two days. How gross and awful he feels. How, fuck, how he wishes his stupid mouth hadn't told Ed that because he loves what they do and he doesn't want them to stop just because he's feeling gross. How he hates how fucked up he is.

....How he's sure Ed is here to end things with him. How he's sure Ed thinks he's a pest, and Izzy's stupid feelings of being gross and fucked up are a bother.

And Ed is just so very "what in the actual fuck??? Ending what we do???? are you insane? Did I hit you too hard the other night? We have rules against anything hitting your face or head for a reason, but did I somehow do it accidentally??" He probably doesn't have the language to know about "drop" per se, but he totally knows the feelings that Izzy is talking about. How sometimes he'll crawl into bed, stare off into space, wonder what the fuck is wrong with him that hitting someone gets him so fucking hard. How seeing those marks on Izzy, hearing him cry out in pain makes Ed feel lightheaded with power and arousal. Like, he knows he's fucked in the head, but yeah, he always feels kinda shitty after they do this stuff. But after a few days, he's usually okay again. He usually tries to see Izzy as much as he can the few days after, because it comforts him. Izzy is always so fucking happy to see him, and usually still glowing from the fuckery they got up to. And it's harder to condemn himself, to hate himself, when Izzy seems so delighted at what they do. Izzy doesn't hate him for doing dark, fucked up stuff to him. Ed isn't evil, or a monster. Izzy still likes him.

And he tells Izzy all of his... admits he feels a bit weird and clingy... how he's always asking to see Izzy every night for a few nights after they've gone hard. Yeah, he knows it's not super badass pirate of him, but like, the day after Izzy called Ed "Daddy" for the first time, Ed had had a panic attack about What That Said About Him and whether he was even worse than his dickhead of a dad.

Once the adrenaline has worn off, he always beats himself up. And he feels bad that he hasn't told Izzy all this, but he didn't want Izzy to think he didn't like what they did. He just sometimes needed a few days to feel okay again. He didn't want to stop what they did, and he always worried that if he told Izzy about these feelings, maybe Izzy would want to stop. Izzy was always so soft and doting with him, didn't like Ed to suffer, which, by the way, Ed found totally adorable.

so. YAY. Communication. Izzy curls against him and cries a little more, and Ed keeps telling him he's so good, he's so good, he's amazing and, he loves him, and----

shit.

well, he hadn't meant that. wait, no, like, he meant it. he just... hadn't meant to tell Izzy yet, because... like, as he said, weird and clingy, and he knew Izzy liked him but.... Ed was probably seeing something that wasn’t there and---

Izzy kisses him, shuts Ed's anxious ramblings up. Whispers he loves him too.

It's not the sexiest either of them have ever felt. But they're soon peeling off clothes, and pressing into Izzy, and it's sweet and gentle at first, but then Ed's fingers brush over the bruises at the back of Izzy's thighs when he goes to move Izzy's leg higher around his waist, and... Izzy gasps and hisses. Ed grins, digs his fingers in a little, enjoying the sounds Izzy makes and the way he tightens around Ed like that...

And yeah, they'll definitely have to talk more later, but they're at least being honest with each other about how they feel after these things and want to continue and maybe next time... well, next time, they make plans to see each other for the next few nights. Just in case.

#edizzy #this is not even slightly edited #it's not a fic it's a braindump #it was just me shooting the shit in discord many moons ago and I swore I'd make it a fic #well I know myself and I know I won't anytime soon but #I wanted to share this SOMEWHERE so... soz for the 4k words of rambles lul #overshare hour with spikey #spikey writes

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r2d2lover · 11 months

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The Truth Slips

Paring: Fred Weasley X Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Shameless smut without plot. Loss of virginity. Prevalence of a drinking game.

Summary: request: “i wanted to request a fred oneshot where reader is shy/bashful and a virgin and fred's his usually cocky self but sorta fuckboy-eee and yanoo they do the dirty… my guilty pleasure”

My guilty pleasure as well. Fuckboy Fred is my creme de la creme. uncanon fun silly Fred one shot.

Part 2

You nervously watch the bottle in the middle spin around. And around. And around. Until it jolted with a stop on you.

Your glance hesitates as it trails up to meet the bottle’s spinner, who’s green eyes light up with glee.

“This is gonna be so good,” Fred Weasley exclaimed with a wicked smile. He leaned back on his elbows, waiting for your next move. Gulping nervously, you reach towards him wondering how a post-Quidditch party turned into a scene from your nightmares.

Everyone who decided to partake in the game whoops and hollers as you finally reach in the middle of the circle and claim your shot glass of the clear liquid. George had suggested that the house play “Veritaserum Roulette” with a stolen bottle of the potion. While preparing N.E.W.T-level potions was a grueling task, the fun came in seeing who was able to snag a bottle from the professor’s watchful eye to share amongst the house. You decided not to inspect your shot glass and threw the liquid back down your throat, then set the shot glass upside down on the ground like you saw in the Muggle movies. You immediately felt your face get hot but you knew it wouldn’t be because you ingested any serum, rather it was the pressure of having all the 7th year Gryffindor staring you down with intense concentration.

“S-someone has to ask a question,” You stuttered, picking the shot glass back up to fidget with it. Initially when the game was introduced, it was simply truth or dare. You could’ve easily backed out if that. Now, you couldn’t stop anything that was to come out of your mouth if you chose the glass with Veritaserum. You hoped that the two questions chosen for you would spare you any embarrassment.

“Do you fancy anyone at this moment?” Angelina leaned forward, taking her hands off of Fred. She was laying herself across Fred all night, non-discreetly showing off the fact that she was his latest… “conquest” as you overheard one of his friends call the girls that swooned over the redhead. Fred shot to popularity after bringing the Gryffindor Quidditch to back to back championships and it only inflated his ego more so than it already was. Despite his poor reputation, you couldn’t deny that the girls dreaming about Fred were warranted in their pursuit. Fred and George didn’t become the star Beaters without a rigorous workout regiment that hardened their muscles and broadened their shoulders. Their rugged appearances paired with their reliable and goofy personalities made them unstoppable.

Fred also happened to be your first friend at Hogwarts, finding you crying after a particularly embarrassing flying class during your first year. He sat with you and assured you that it wasn’t a show of your skills but the result of faulty school broomsticks. From that day, Fred guided you on flying while you tutored him in Potions.

All this time later, you didn’t need flying lessons anymore, but Fred still needed Potions help. You would never admit it, but your favorite part of the week was sitting in the library with Fred absolutely engrossed in homework. You would steal glances as he nipped the end of his quill in deep thought or when he would push his falling hair out of his face. Fred’s worst trait was his lack of spatial awareness and he’d always lean in too close while you explained the more difficult concepts to him. He was always chewing a sharp minty gum and smelled of a piney cologne that reminded you of Christmas. It distracted you often and made you turn beet red when he noticed the change in your diction. This would only make Fred lean in closer, inquiring about your odd behavior. All this time, you fought off any feelings you could have developed because you were realistic. You weren’t the Quidditch player, social butterfly types that Fred dated. Angelina was a prime example. Speaking of her, your desperate attempt to avoid answering her question was null and void when you felt as if you were being puppeted to speak.

“I do,” You squeaked out. Your hands flung to your mouth, but the attempt was feeble. Everyone quickly muttered amongst themselves to figure out the next question to ask you. At this moment, you felt like a criminal on trial. The easy next question was “who?” but the chatter alluded to a deeper question. It surely appalled everyone that you had a crush. You largely avoided the dating scene despite the relentless attempts from Oliver Wood. You thought Oliver was sweet and went on a singular date with him last year, but he was only focused on Quidditch. Much like Fred.

“Who is it? Is it Oliver? If it isn’t, who?” A younger Gryffindor blurred out in excitement and you felt the same puppet feeling in your gut and as you began to answer, Fred reached over and clamped his hand on your mouth. Your face was burning so hot at this moment you were sure you were sweating.

“Hey! We can only ask one more questions. We gotta make them good. Don’t answer those,” Fred instructed, removing his hand from your face. He brushed a piece of hair that fell out of place back behind your ear, making your stomach flip. This was such a ridiculous feeling. “Did you ever bed Oliver?”

“No? N..no!” You raised your eyebrows at Fred, appalled he would ask such a question. Once you opened your mouth, more words flowed out like a broken faucet. “I’ve never bedded anyone. Oliver was always on the Quidditch Pitch and it isn’t exactly the sexiest place in the castle.”

Your statement made the room laugh, which only increased your self consciousness. You shrugged and admitted you weren’t embarrassed at the fact for never having done anything with Oliver or any man. You were already covering your face with both hands, definitely sweating at this point. The group decided to refill on butterbeer, leaving you to seal your mouth shut with a cup of water. Fred stayed next to you, his green eyes filling with a mischievous glint.

“Has the Veritaserum worn off?” Fred asked, tilting his head up to look at you. He kept unwavering eye contact that made your mind go blank.

“Not yet,” You answered, still under the influence of the potion. Hopefully Fred wouldn’t press any further or that it would wear off before then.

“Ah… So, while I have you here, you really never slept with Oliver?” Fred leaned in closer, a smirk forming across your face. You shook your head and reaffirmed what he already knew. “Why not? And don’t give me the Quidditch answer.”

“I was waiting for the right person,” You said lamely, unable to fight the potion’s effect. Fred lifted an eyebrow.

“You’ve never fantasized?” Fred blocked you from grabbing a cup of water that would render you voiceless.

“Not about Oliver. Wh-why are you asking?” You fought your thoughts hard to answer Fred’s question as vaguely as possible.

“Hey, I thought I was asking the questions here. I just wanted to know what makes the timid girl that tutors me in Potions tick,” Fred moved so close to you that you could clearly smell his cologne. Luckily, his statement wasn’t laced with a question and the potion took no effect, allowing you to shake your head shyly.

“So you said not Oliver, so who do you think about?” Fred figured out how to narrow his question and before you could stop, your mouth betrayed you.

“Us,” You said, feeling like you broke the dam. Fred’s eyes grew wide, but his body language didn’t change. You were waiting for him to recoil out of instinct or turn red. But he continued to look at you coolly, turning a cup of butterbeer in his hands. Your heart jumped to your stomach and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your flight instinct kicked in, but before you could flee from the conversation, Fred grabbed your arm and forced you back down.

“What do you think about us?” Fred’s eyes darkened with an excitement you’ve never seen before. Arousal. You could only take a big gulp before your dirty fantasies about the boy you tutored that you kept locked away spilled out of your mouth for the world to hear.

“I think about you sliding a hand up my skirt in the library. Telling me to be quiet. I want to kiss you until I can’t feel my lips. I want to see you without a shirt on. I think about you pulling my hair back to look at you while you f-“ Your mortification overtook your entire body and you collapsed before you could finish your sentence with a yelp. Fred took a hold of you before you could hit the wall, making sure to take a long look at you. His face still had the cocky smile that you’d grown to love. His strong arm that was wrapped supportively around your waist and got tighter as he tried to figure out his next question. Your squirming didn’t help and you had no choice but to be stuck in his investigation.

“Are you thinking about it right now?” Fred’s eyes flitted from your eyes to your lips and if your heart wasn’t beating out of your chest, you would’ve had half the mind to kiss him.

“Yes,” You practically slurred, unable to calm down from the situation unfolding before you. Fred ran a comforting hand up and down your back, soothing your nerves only slightly.

“Do you want to go up to my room to show me some of these fantasies?” Fred said blatantly. Of course you did and of course you let him know.

“Yes but,” You took a large inhale trying to ease your racing heart. “But what about Angelina?”

“I don’t want her. I want you,” Fred said definitively, sending a chill down your back. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to pressure you into anything just because you don’t have control of your thoughts right now.”

“I want you, Fred,” You said with a confidence that surprised even you. The words were genuine, the feeling of being puppeted by your mouth was gone. As you focused on Fred’s words and realized what he was proposing, you felt a simmering heat between your thighs and that you had been rubbing your thighs together to cause a reliving friction between them. But the clarity brought another realization. “You… you don’t even like me. I’m. I’m not going to be one of your conquests or whatever.”

“Gods, really are clueless are you?” Fred laughed at your out-of-character quip. He used his free hand to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. “Did you really think I was spending all this time in the library thinking about Potions? Why the hell would I take N.E.W.T-level Potions if I was bad at it? I just had to pretend enough for you to keep studying with me.”

Fred’s confession stunned you silent. Without second thought, you wrapped your arms around Fred’s neck and leaned forward to meet his lips with yours. He gave an amused noise, kissing you back gladly. The kiss was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You were fulfilling a need you didn’t know you had, pressing deeper and deeper into the redhead’s mouth. Fred skillfully nipped at your bottom lip, slipping his tongue into your mouth when you moaned at the unfamiliar feeling. You were a little intimidated by his knowledge and your lack thereof, but the hand he was rubbing on your waist made you forget about anything besides him. He started to move a hand towards your chest and smirked wildly when you whimpered because he pulled away.

“My room. Now,” Fred said breathlessly, practically dragging you up the stairs. He hastily cast a locking and silencing charm before pushing you on the bed. Fred hovered over you, obviously delighted by your misshapen appearance. He had you pinned to the bed with one leg between your thigh and his arms at either side of your head.

The burning in your stomach only grew and Fred continued to kiss you, tasting every bit of you. He snaked a hand up your shirt, palming you through the fabric of your bra. When you least suspected it, he pulled the fabric down, pinching your firmed nipple in between his forefinger and thumb. The sensation made you moan loudly into his kisses and buck your hips up on his thigh.

“That’s a good girl,” Fred purred, continuing to flex his fingers around your breast. “Stop me if you want at any moment.”

“Take off your clothes,” Your voice was so whiny with need that you hardly recognized it. Fred only chuckled and moved his hand away from your chest to start removing your clothes instead of his. You batted his hand away and ran your fingers down his broad chest. You slowly undid his buttons, shaking from nervousness and exhilaration. Every button revealed more of his tanned muscular body that made your mouth watered. Fred continued supporting himself over you, enjoying your desperation.

When you finally managed to shed his shirt, you could barely focus. Your eyes trailed down his chest to the trail of hair on his stomach that pointed directly to the tension in his pants.

“I… I don’t know what to do,” You admitted to Fred, tangling your hands in his hair nervously.

“It’s okay. I think it’s time for me to teach you something to thank you for the last few years,” Fred said cockily, amazing you at how he stayed the same while you were falling apart under his touch. He quickly removed your clothes, tossing them somewhere in the middle of the room.

You felt vulnerable laying there in only your underwear, but Fred dragged his Quidditch-calloused hands down your body as he planted reassuring kisses on your mouth. His mouth followed his hand down until his lips were biting at the sensitive skin of your neck and his hand was rubbing circles on the soft skin of your inner thigh. You moved your hips down to meet his hand pleadingly and he took pity on you.

Fred moved his hands up to feel your arousal, circling his finger just around the bundle of nerves that begged to be touched. He knew exactly what he was doing and held your hips down with his free hand when you let out a whining groan. After teasing you, Fred slipped your underwear to the side, dragging his middle finger up your slick.

“Just how long have you been fantasizing about me?” Fred joked, breathing in as you moaned. He was barely making any movements and he had you reacting like this. Fred dragged his finger back and forth a few times before slowly pressing his middle finger into you, making sure to look up at you in order to spot any discomfort. You squirmed a little at the feeling, but once Fred started curling his finger, your body relaxed around the pleasure.

“More,” Your head sunk into Fred’s bed as your body grew accustomed to the feeling. Fred audibly smirked as he slipped his ring finger in as well, kissing you deeply. You realized his pants were still on and his fingers were speeding up from impatience. You reached down tenderly, running your fingers gently over the tent in his pants. He let out an airy breath before breaking the kiss to look at you.

“Feel it,” Fred encouraged you. His working fingers paused as he directed your hand with his free hand to his pants. Fred placed his hands on top of yours, simulating a squeeze. You copied his movement, earning a low groan from him. “Fuck… I need you right now.”

You shed your undergarments as Fred fumbled with his belt, too overtaken with lust to focus on unclipping the buckle. He finally released the leather binding and dropped his pants quickly, letting his cock fall as well. You watched with big eyes and Fred took your hand again to wrap it around his base.

“Just like that,” Fred praised as you moved your hand up and down. The friction was uncomfortable for you, so you pulled your hand back to lick a stripe up your palm and return it to his cock. The action made Fred roll his eyes back into his head and let his head drop as you continued to pump your hand up and down. “You’re so good, baby.”

Fred’s praise only made you want him more and the wanting in between your thighs got to be unbearable. As Fred was closing his eyes in bliss, you sneakily reached a hand down towards your folds to mimic his earlier actions in an attempt to ease the pressure. Fred felt you moving and quickly opened his eyes, catching you in the act. He tsked and removed your hand, pinning it by your head.

“Impatient are we, love?” Fred chuckled, sending vibrations through your stomach.

“Please,” You begged. “I want to feel you.”

Fred was impatient as you were and shifted his weight back to line himself up with your entrance. You were filled with such an excitement and nervousness that you subdued by reaching up for a kiss. Fred dragged the head of his cock against your slick folds, almost as if he was waiting for permissions.

“Fred. Fuck me,” You drawled, dizzy from anticipation. Fred let out a string of curses, then entered with a slow thrust. You let out a cry at the satisfying pain of feeling your walls stretch around Fred. He checked in again with you to make sure you were comfortable and you gave him a kiss on the cheek for assurance.

“You feel so amazing,” You slurred, eyes shutting from the pleasure. Fred slowly rolled his hips against yours, intertwining his hands with yours. He still had your hand pinned against your head and he was starting to lean forward, delivering soft grunts to your ear.

“You’re so… tight,” Fred mused aloud. You bucked your hips up to meet the friction the penetration was creating and Fred took that as a sign to go faster. He picked up his rhythm that made you sing a chorus of moans that melted into his name. Fred let curses fall out of his mouth and he picked up the speed of his thrusts, fully fucking you into the bed. Your cries only encouraged him.

Fred planted his lips on yours, creating a messy and heavy kiss that dripped with want. You tangled your hands in his hair, tugging whenever he would move to a certain spot that made your vision blur. A knotted feeling built up in your stomach like you never felt before.

“Fred… I- I’m-'' Fred understood what you were trying to get at and dropped a hand to your clit, rubbing soft circles that only tightened your stomach. With a cry, you broke from his interlocked hand and wrapped your arms around him as you nipped at his shoulder from the immense wave that washed over you. Fred laughed with such confidence it brought you back to life as he slowed down his thrusts.

“I’m almost there. Do you want me to keep going?” Fred panted, brushing a hair out of your face and kissing you on the forehead.

“Yes, please,” You relaxed back, feeling absolutely crazed. Fred dropped his head again and you reached up to trail kisses down his neck. “You fuck me so well, Fred.”

Your praise sent Fred over the edge and he unsheathed himself with a groan, spilling himself on your stomach. Fred collapsed beside you with a heave, then moved quickly to help clean you off. He climbed back into bed with you, pulling you close with a kiss.

“Telling the truth pays off, huh?”

“That, or Potions class.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fic #veritaserum #shameless smut #fic braindump tbh i needed to write #i’m sorry if the formatting is weird i’m on my phone #i chose some random pic as the header sorry it’s a deep fried pic of shots lol

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xiaoluclair · 9 months

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20. clumsy attempts at flirting for lestappen pretty please?

okay confession, i have no idea what clumsy flirting even is beyond accidentally knocking over an avalanche of canned jalapeños onto you and your crush in the middle of a bend and snap. so i have a feeling this probably is not quite clumsy flirting but also i did not want to let the flow get away from me so eeeeeeenjoy!(?)

clumsy flirting attempts // lestappen // [ rating: T ] word count: 2.5k . yeah. not beta read either or checked over very well 😁

Max opens his front door and steps on a green bean. It's lying a foot away from a litre Tupperware box of... Max squints. Green beans.

He gives the hallway a cursory glance, then hefts the box into the kitchen and shuts the window his sister must've opened before she left the evening before. Something about needing more fresh air. Whatever, thinks Max, and grabs a pen to tick get green beans off the to do list on the refrigerator. He's not trading pneumonia for a tablespoon of chilled plant piss.

"Hey." Dilara gives him a smile, little Jerry stood between her legs and intently jabbing at a Samsung screen. Some garbled trumpet plays whenever he presses it. "How much were the beans?"

"Beans?" asks Dilara. "Oh, for your shopping? Around nine euros for a pack from Vie Claire."

"And you had, what, nine hundred euros to spend?" laughs Max. "Can you text me your account details for money transfer? My mum would probably shunt my d— um, dining table if I let someone spend that much on me."

At first, Max thinks he is about to get a smack for nearly cursing a three year old's ears. Then Dilara says, "I think. I am not sure what you are talking about."

So Max paints the picture from this morning and little Jerry stops trying to break his mum's phone with his thumbs to listen too. "You were the only one I talked to about it," as the elevator doors open and the three of them spill out into the little lobby.

"Someone might have overheard?" offers Dilara.

"Piano has beans," little Jerry informs Max sagely and Max.

Max snaps his fingers and says, "Of course, thanks mate."

Because piano has beans. Duh.

Max does not so much forget the bean incident as have a million other things piled on top of it. And then it gets lost somewhere. Maybe under a cupboard, or shoved between the radiator and the wall.

"It is broken, I think," says Max. "And the plumber said he is not free until the twenty second, so I guess that is me in socks and coats for the next three days."

Peter makes a delighted sound, a very different reception to Max's earlier lamentings on the lack of cat food in stock. "Did I ever tell you how my wife and I met?"

"Yeah," says Max, "on Gwyneth Paltrow's second cousins's niece's friend's friend's yacht's coach."

"Really?" say Peter. "Wow, that must have been fun. But the other time we met was — can you guess?"

"No."

"When my plumbing broke, of course! She was my neighbor, said I could take the left side of her bed for sleeping because the guest room had a fresh coat of paint. Of course," his jaw makes a quaint leer, "there was not much sleeping at all."

"Lovely," says Max, "I am going to get more gin. Happy birthday again."

Cue the next evening, and the doorbell rings. The peephole shows a slightly stretched suit, slicked back brown hair into a dramatically wide ponytail. Max sets down the last of the bean casserole, opens the lock, loops out the chain.

"Hello," he greets politely.

The woman with, actually, a normal sized ponytail gives him a grin. "Broken radiator?" She picks up the handyman's box of utensils next to her foot. G. MANNI, reads the orange block along the side. "I've got you covered."

"Are you a friend of Peter's?" asks Max.

"Who?" she says.

"Just a— never mind." Max waves her in.

What a bewildering scenario, he thinks later as he tugs off the three pairs of socks from his feet.

The radiator scenario would probably have suffered the same fate as the beans if Max did not, only the next morning, find 7kg of cat food waiting on his doorstep.

"Like angels dancing on my eardrums," Arnaav is saying when Max goes to wish them. "I asked him to record me a song as a present as a joke and he actually said I could listen to a demo."

"Wow," says Gertrude, "you lucky thing, you."

"Arnaav," says Max, "congratulations."

Arnaav beams. "Thank you."

"What was it, three years? Four?"

"Five actually. Masters with industrial placement. A dockyard up in Andora, lots of very ripped Italian men."

Max grins. "That sounds very lovely."

"Of course," continues Arnaav, "it seems like very ripped men are closer to home than I remember."

Gertrude giggles at that. Max feels his eyebrows arch together.

Arnaav gestures them both to follow into the kitchen. "Seriously," they say as they pass Frankie tying up a bright blue sausage balloon into a bright blue sausage dog to little Jerry's delight, "do you think I should shoot a shot? There is no way a guy like that is single though."

They are looking at Max imploringly. Max says, "Go for it." Then, "Who are we talking about?"

Gertrude chokes mid-chew on a bite of grape and gouda. "Gamer boys," she sighs, "always stuck in their computers."

"For once, I agree." Arnaav shakes their head. "I would point him out, but he's at his brother's for the weekend."

Dilara and Mag come laughing in then. "Mag," says Gertrude urgently, "Max does not know about the new tenant."

Which is how Max finds out, in the following five minutes, that the hottest man on the planet (Dilara's words, not his) has apparently been living two floors down from him since early November.

"Always fingering his music into late hours of the night," says Mag with a flushed sigh. "Have you ever wanted to be music so bad."

"Okay," says Max, and he takes the bottle of vodka and chugs for a little while.

The scenarios keep scenarioing. Max finds a wheel of cheese and two pounds of tomatoes in the mail. A couple days later, thirteen rolls of cat-patterned wrapping paper to replenish his dwindling stock. Then a stack of coupons for free petrol refills at any Shell in France.

It comes to an apex when he gets called down to the lobby to pick up an €800 gaming headset. Max takes it back up to his apartment and leaves it by the couch while he unlocks his phone.

Whoever keeps buying me things, it is very kind but please stop.

It is pretty late, so Max does not expect any replies. Does this have anything to do with the beans? says Gertrude barely a minute after he has sent it.

I think so, says Max.

amx is being sent things? asks Peter. *max.

Do not be jealous peter, says Dilara, I am sure we can find you your own courter.

Max blinks. Courter?

Person who courts someone else. Gives them presents to woo them that sort of thing.

I do not have a courter.

Sure you don't ;D

I don't.

HEY, Arnaav comes barrelling in, SHUTU P AND LET ME ENJPY THE MISIC.

its very lovely, agrees Peter.

Hey, has anyone added Charles? asks Mag.

Max, who does not particularly care for any person named Charles at the moment, least of all whether or not they've been added or deleted, whacks up the heating on his way to bed. He is about to turn off the light when a smack sounds from the balcony. Sassy makes a petulant expression when Max turns on the outside light.

"Idiot cat," he tells her, then slides opens the door. Immediately, the lethargic sound of piano floods into his ears. Sassy slinks inside as Max blinks.

His phone buzzes again. Mag: God I want him to play me like that.

So apparently Max's entire apartment complex spends their nights having a massive orgy to the new guy playing the piano. Charles, he gathers, playing the piano.

Charles gets added to the WhatsApp group too, renamed JDM GC (NOT FOR THIRSTING). His profile picture is black and white and contains three people, none of whom Max has seen before. He thinks they must be brothers.

not for thirsting? is the first thing Charles says. is this an inside joke i need to beg to be updated on? 😂. Max sees Mag is typing... pop up then disappear.

A few minutes later, he finds himself in a new WhatsApp group. JDM GC (FOR THIRSTING). Charles is not in this one. I'd make him beg, says Arnaav into it.

Same, says Mag, 💧.

Max thinks the exclusion is probably for the best.

He flies back in from iRacing contract negotiations a day before the Christmas Party. In the time left, he unpacks, laments to Dilara on the lack of green beans in store (“Christmas time,” she sympathizes), streams until two in the morning. Periodically checks his doorstep just in case.

Everything is fine. Then he returns from another green–beanless escapade and on his mat, is a parcel. Inside the parcel, is a dark blue wooly sweater with an outrageously bright design of red and green animals and a manger on the front, yellow sheen emitting from the neck hole.

There is a note.

Merry Christmas x.

Max takes it in, puts it on. Stares at himself in the mirror. Takes it off, wraps it up, and leaves it on the torn parcel paper to return later. He can give the money to the New Year's party.

When he takes the elevator down to Dilara's apartment, he is immediately accosted by Gertrude and slightly less accosted by little Jerry. "Max!"

Mistletoe hangs from the ceiling. Max takes the kiss she plants on his mouth with his hands on her arms to make sure it does not turn into Human Bowling, then blows out a breath. "Do you know who keeps giving me shit?"

Gertrude's brow furrows. "The beans?"

"The same person, yeah." Max rubs his temple. "It is starting to piss me off. I asked them to stop and they have not."

"Maybe it is someone not in the building?"

"Unless they bugged the place, no." Max sighs. "It was always ridiculous but now it is even more ridiculous. The whole 'courting thing' too is just stupid."

Litter Jerry looks up, Samsung held slightly precariously in his chubby fingers. "What about—"

"Charles!" erupts Gertrude brightly, looking into the distance. Max twists on the spot but there's just empty hallway. The stairwell door swings a little. Gertrude sways on the spot slightly.

"Let's get you inside," says Max and herds her back into the celebrations. At the jerk of his head, little Jerry sighs a great sigh and ducks under his arm, back into the loud apartment.

Nothing. Max opens the door: nothing. Max enters the lobby: nothing. Max gets his mail: nothing.

Max gets on with his life. Nothing.

Max sits on the balcony at night and listens to the silence. He checks the messages on his phone. Maybe he broke his hands, muses Dilara.

both of them at the same time? says Peter.

I just saw him, reports Mag, in the elevator. His hands are fine. Really really fine.

Back in JDM GC (NOT FOR THIRSTING), Charles simply says he has taken a break due to 'lack of inspiration'.

I will gladly inspire him, says Arnaav in JDM GC (FOR THIRSTING).

Not if I inspire him first, replies Mag.

Max keeps out of that one. Max keeps out of most of it, and: Nothing. The little Merry Christmas note stays in his nightstand and Max just. Forgets to take it out every single night. Whatever.

By the time Peter's New Year's party rolls around, life has settled and Max starts the year off drunk, happy, and listening to little Jerry toot Anaconda on the trumpet while next to him, Peter makes out with his new fiancée as of three seconds ago. Max has never seen her in his life.

The next morning is a slow one. For one, it is already eleven when Max cracks open his eyes. He rolls over. A chilled breeze stirs the hair on his arms.

He blames the alcohol for accepting that as he does. Getting out of bed, taking the wrong door to the bathroom and finding a closet instead. Taking the right door to the bathroom and the Palmolive soap has been replaced by a pot of L’Oreal Paris hair mask.

Then the cold wind comes back again and Max peers past his headache to see the window cracked wide open. He looks back to the mirror. He is naked.

“Shit,” says Max, with feeling.

A snore comes from the bedroom. Apparently Max bypassed an entire human being too. Stupid, useless alcohol. He’s going to go back to his place, take his stash of gin, chug it to forget this ever happened.

For now, he puts on his clothes. Rumpled, clearly discarded without much care. But on. Then he takes a look around. Lots of red. A centerpiece of fake roses sits atop an electric piano. The front door is the same as his. A shelf of photos over the TV contains the same three recurring men. In the corner of the kitchen, there is a large cardboard box held shut by a loaf of 50/50. Max moves it off and takes a peak. Inside is roughly two hundred bags of green beans.

The mop of brown hair forms a person eventually. Max has found an OralB tube by then and used his finger as a makeshift brush.

"Morning," says Max when they arise.

Charles takes one look at him before falling back onto his pillow. "Shit."

Max spends the first afternoon of 2024 swallowing Aspirin and slightly burnt Eggos. Suffice to say, Charles is a terrible host. And yet Max is still here. Pretty privilege. Hottest man on the planet, remembers Max. Yeah, okay.

He swallows, nods to the box in the corner and its counterpart bread loaf. “So were you the one stalking me?”

Charles chokes on his protein smoothie, glowers. “I was not— stalking, I was just. Courting.”

“Courting,” echoes Max. “Dilara’s going to have a fit.”

Charles stares at him. He was not in the WhatsApp group at that point so he wouldn’t know. Real funny, Max thinks to the universe. Great planning.

“So you, what,” he says, “bugged the building?”

“I just overheard sometimes,” says Charles. His cheeks are a vibrant, sick red. Fucking fresh air lovers.

Max thumbs his own temple. “What do I owe you?”

“What?” asks Charles, stupidly handsome and stupidly stupid. His fingers wrapped around the bottle are messing up Max’s already messed up mind.

“For all the shit you got me. If you say anything less than a thousand, I will know you’re lying so what do I owe you?”

A moment passes in which Charles blinks at him, Max realizes Jimmy and Sassy are probably upending the microwave, and Charles blinks some more. Then: “A date?”

“You are the worst flirter I have ever met in my life,” Max tells him sincerely. He slides off the stool and kisses him on the mouth. Charles drops the protein smoothie. The bottle breaks all over the floor.

Max buys him sixteen more.

#fic: mv1.cl16 #f1 rpf #xiao: writes #lestappen #this got far too out of hand im sorry #it's just SILLY #ladies and gentleladies . it is just. silly.#i think bc it has general similarities with another fic that my wife let me braindump into whatsapp so i was already feeling the vibes #god bless same sex marriage etc etc

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stairzzzz · 7 days

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Venti x angel!reader

idk how tf to write a proper fanfic and i’m like really tired so idk i just wanna share my idea/brain dump for a fic LMAO fic below image :3

picture this, like user is initially like rahh i hate these darn archons gods i’m gonna be the next god cause these darndid losers think they’re so cool i’m gonna kill the anemo one rahh and like upon seeing him users like omg actually he’s kinda.. no i gotta kill him! ohh but… runs away from the situation and hides away in the forests and cries through internal conflicts and turmoil cause user is like a piss baby or smth

and then venti “accidentally” finds user and is like dear angel why do you weep? and user is like aggressive at first but venti sees that user genuinely won’t do much to him- past some mean words ig and like he gently talks with user and makes them open up and then users like, tbh i am lost celestia, sent me down and yet i have no guidance, i should believe in celestia heavenly principals rahh yet i don’t.. i feel like shit blah blah trauma

 and ventis like, yo, let’s go drink our worries away, the wine in mond is like totally epic. like they slowly fall inlove but user meanwhile is like grr i wanna kill him.. oh but like one more hangout… rahh but he’s so lame… i’m lying to myself.. no i’m not!! yes i am…

and eventually venti saves user from an attack or smth and like users like ohmahgah i owe you my life blah blah and ventis like oh, no dw bro it’s the land of the free don’t be pressured and users like stfu i worship you now cause you’re so cool and epic i do this from my own free will

time serving and shii. user protects mondstadt like an honorary wind? direct warrior angel thing for venti? shit hits the fan and venti does his 500 year nap?? LMAO and user like goes to zhongli for friendship for 500 years as like a mini side plot relevance thing cause users like still kinda like humans are mid lowkey the heavenly principles celestia whatever the fuck made a mistake with them LMAO they die so fast they’re so delicate they’re so lame And UGLY and STINKY lmao whatever have it

And like so far venti and user has had a fair few intimate moments throughout their interactions and it’s like implied but it’s still mostly platonic and like close close close besties homies typa thing?? (users kinda stupid piss baby so they’re like yo wtf is this feeling? oh it’s just my love and worship for jesus barbatos)

venti wakes up and comes back and users like emeerger i sense a change in the wind- where is he?? where is my beloved i mean where is my god? cue them searching mond and finally seeing venti and like user runs into his arms and is like omg barbatos!! i knew the wind had returned and ventis like oh my dear user you sure have missed me LMAO

emotion relief slightly and venti is like and i go by ventii as my human disguise lololol and user is like oh should i have a human disguise as well?? lmao??? and like he’s like ahh nahh.. maybe actually if you gonna hang round me like this LMAO

they have a catch up, user trauma dumps like i thought i’d be forever lost again- i wanted to die yadda yadda whatever yunno. they have a vulnerable moment and they finnally kiss like

user is yapping like oh barbatos ive loved you since we had our first drink even though i was lowkey murderous LMAOAHA and ventis like ily too since our second and like yeah but you couldn’t ever harm me cause you’re stinky like that HAHAHHA. yunno? like a fell first fell harder thing. they kiss again more cheesy romance yadda yadda fluff

then say gex

i hope you liked my brain dump HHAHAH I KNOW ITS BAD 💀💀💀

#venti #venti x reader #venti x y/n #braindump #ideas #fic ideas #shitpost?#it’s so bad #i’m brainrotting

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smooth-boob · 5 months

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#me: *hitting my blorbo with a stick*#I figured out the chapter! how it connects and how it ends! I think!#Anthony gets to be fucking unhinged in public (unfortunately necessary)#and still show Kate how much he cares about her (see? things are looking up!)#and I still get to hit him with a stick for most of the chapter #emotionally bludgeoning this man in perpetuity #unfortunately hyacinth’s adorable scene might get cut AGAIN sorry girl #maybe I’ll post it here bc those are my beloveds #and I just have these sweet little bonding scenes in my drafts waiting for their moment 🥺#this is about ‘for shame’#aka the panic attack proposal fic #.braindump

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ooey-gooey-angel · 3 months

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Happy Cursed Event!

thank you @naughtystiel for hosting this and happy 28th birthday!!; I didn't write this with the intention for posting but it fits right in so I thought I'd share this wretched little thing @youmakemewishicoulddisappear and I wrote at 4 in the morning :) is this cursed enough for you?

1089 words, can be read below the cut or here on ao3

rating: Explicit

tags: Crack, a/b/o, non-traditional a/b/o, dom/sub undertones, dom!cas/sub!Dean, blow jobs, bad dirty talk, riding, shameless smut, crack filth, office au, office sex, overuse of ~ symbol, satire, not serious, daddy kink

absolute cringefest travel at your own risk but it's a fun cringefest I assure you

have fun! 🥰

The Boss’ Omega

Dean was the only omega at the office. Castiel was the most powerful alpha there was. He was the boss.

“I need to see you in my office.” Castiel said in a gruff voice.

Dean followed his sexy boss to his office, trembling at the scent of Castiel's pheromones. He had no choice, really, but to follow the orders. Castiel’s alpha nature was too overwhelming to ignore. So, with his tail between his legs, he walked through the door, looking at the ground.

His tail was the most sensitive part of him, and all the alphas in the building loved to tease him for it, coming up behind him to pull it, touch it. No matter how many times he snarled, “Don’t fucking touch my tail,” they ignored the whimpering omega.

Once in his office, Dean took a seat across from his boss’ desk, impatiently waiting for the other man to speak. He was shaking in his seat, his eyes, which change color depending on his mood, were a dull gray-blue, showing just how anxious he was for this talk. Though, the dark colors hid the pink around his irises. He was attracted to this alpha.

“Dean,” The alpha began, “Do you know why I called you in here?”

“N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no…” He stuttered out.

“Gah, you’re so pathetic. Just a whiny little omega who can’t even speak properly. You can’t speak or do your job well, can you?”

“N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no sir, I can’t. I can never do anything right. I’m not like the other guys. I’m not big or strong. You probably think I’m ugly, too.” He sighed and looked away.

“You’re right. I called you in here because your performance has been lacking.”

“W-w-what d-d-do you m-mean?”

“I mean,” He started darkly, “I need you to change your performance. Do you think I need to punish you? I think I should…”

“A-a-a-a-a-alpha please…how are you going to punish me?”

“You can start by coming over here and kneeling before me.”

Dean trembled but obeyed the alpha’s orders, wobbling on his feet and stumbling over to where the alpha was sitting with his legs spread in his chair, thick cock already tenting his slacks. Dean licked his lips and knelt in front of him between his feet, looking up at his alpha with glossy, doe eyes.

“Take me out.” He ordered.

Dean gulped hard and went to work. He reached forward and unbuttoned the man’s pants, slowly tugging the zipper down to reveal his long, hard, thick. veiny cock. It sprung out and tapped Dean in the nose, earning a surprised gasp from the trembling omega. He let out a soft whine at the sheer size and girth of his cock. The alpha let out a rumbling groan at his cock finally being free and exposed to the cold air of the office.

Dean gripped that cock tight and raised it from the perdition of not being touched.

“Suck it.” The alpha snarled, gripping onto his omega’s hair, pulling harshly.

Dean whimpered at the order before cautiously taking Castiel’s cock into his mouth, his eyes watering from the stretch of wrapping his lips around the entire girth of it. Castiel got impatient and shoved the omega’s head down, savoring how he gagged around the cock

“A-a-a-alpha please i can’t take it that hard~ You need to be gentle…”

“You will either choke on my cock or you don’t get it at all and we can be done here. Your choice~.”

“Ngh alpha~”

“Do it or else, little omega.”

Dean moaned aloud and went back to sucking that huge cock. He lapped at the head, making his way down the shaft to where the alpha’s knot was steadily growing. The omega lapped happily at the swollen knot, appreciating the loud groan he earned from his alpha when he did.

“Oh, such a good little slutty omega for me, aren’t you. You’ve wanted to be in this position for a while, haven’t you? I could smell your slick a mile away, always so strong when i’m near. I know you have, little omega, always such a filthy whore for me, huh? Can smell it even now, wanna see how tight that little ass is for me.”

“Oh~ Alpha please~”

“Get up here.”

Dean knew what he wanted and quickly stood to shake his pants and boxers off, sitting himself in the alpha’s lap and slammed himself down to the alpha’s knot, both moaning in unison.

“Oh~ alpha, your cock feels so good.”

“So wet for me, little omega, so tight on my cock. You feel so good on my knot.”

Dean started slamming himself down frantically, riding his cock like his performance depended on it, which it did.

“So good for me, gonna knot you, fill you with my alpha sperm.”

“Please, alpha, want your alpha sperm, only yours. Never wanted anyone else’s, oh–alpha im–”

“Good omega, cover me in your omega sperm~”

They climaxed in unison, Dean whining with a high voice and Castiel groaning lowly. Dean fell limp on his alpha, satisfied and taking in the smell of his alpha’s pheromones, the scent intoxicating.

“How’s that for work ethic improvement?” Dean asked coyly.

“Not bad.” Castiel grumbles, clearing his throat, embarrassed of how good that felt.

“Good enough.” Dean grunted in reply, slumping further against his alpha.

Then suddenly Gabriel busted in the room with a stack of papers in his hand, ready to throw them on his boss’ desk, planning to stay and chat for a moment. But, no. Instead, he was met with the sight of his boss and coworker, both covered obscenely in each other’s sperm.

“Oh cool I’ll leave you two to it, but lock the door next time.” He left as quickly as he had come in.

“That was your first lesson: no more doing stupid shit like forgetting to lock the door. Next time you do, I’m firing you for real. Dick or no dick.”

“N-next time?”

“Keep talking like that and there won’t be a next time”

“S-sorry.”

“Get out.”

“W-w-w-wha?”

“I said get out. What did I just say about talking like that to me?”

“No! Please! I’ll do anything! Daddy–”

“...What did you call me?”

“D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-daddy?” He gulped nervously.

“Nevermind. Stay.”

“Yes, daddy alpha.”

“Good boy.” He placed a kiss on his omega’s head, Sighing happily. They relaxed in one another’s arms, enjoying the other’s company. Work could wait, they’re paid a salary anyway.

Boss makes a dollar, worker makes a dime, that’s why they fucked on company time.

#cursed28event #i am so sorry for this #please be kind to me this was just a silly braindump #a horrific braindump but. yeah #heehoo #my writing #my fic #my ficlet #i hope you guys like the last sentence lmao its my fav of all and was a perfect way to end this nightmare #long post

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vspin · 5 months

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I love opening my dash and seeing people post and be genuinely excited about whatever they are working on...fics, art, OC content, screenshots, gifs, etc...

#i follow one blog that is cataloging drow lore love it #love seeing people post snippets or braindumps about their fics and OCs #venting about software #love reading responses to asks #also their thoughts on shows/books/games #this is what keeps the website exciting #my posts

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57sfinest · 1 year

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Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Jean Vicquemare Characters: Harry Du Bois, Jean Vicquemare, Chester McLaine, Mack Torson Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Canon-Typical Behavior, Pre-Martinaise Harry Du Bois, Pre-Martinaise Harry Du Bois Is an Asshole, Codependency, Unhealthy Relationships, Substance Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, just typical shit for them., Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, there's a lot of talk of suicide and violent impulses etc so please take this warning seriously, their relationship is very complicated., Implied Sexual Content, doesnt explicitly go any further than undressing but it's implied

Summary:

He imitates cocking a gun with his free hand and holds it to his head. “Y’know those fuckin’, dollhouse type murders? Posed up like they’re waiting for you. I’m gonna stage it. Give ‘em a fucking scavenger hunt or something.” This, unfortunately, is not difficult to imagine him doing. “And you’ll kill yourself when they find you?” He nods slowly, thoughtfully. “There’s an idea,” He says, staring into the bottle he’s holding. “I meant I’d already have blown my fucking brains out, but that’s something. You’re a natural, Vic. You should do it with me. Really give ‘em something to fuckin’ remember.”

#okay you fucking animals. eat up #harry du bois #jean vicquemare #kiwipost #my fic #jeanharry #i guess it's time to give em the tag huh.#this is 11k words of pure stream of consciousness jh toxicity so sorry if its like. weird #it's purely a braindump #disco elysium #disco elysium fic #i had SO much fun making this. and now i have another one to finish #pls reblog if u can. i want to talk to people about this one #EGOIEGOHIENLK

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mothfables · 8 months

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some title ideas:

- Tea and Apples

-Autumn and Orchards

-Apple-picking for Heroes: A Guide

-Legend & Warriors Bond Over Inane Things While Spending a Day in the Orchard

#mod speaks #listen i’m just braindumping here #i want this fic to be silly and fun so i want the title to reflect that #but maybe i’ll write a second one that’s a little less silly/more feelingsy #...if that makes sense #edit: looking back over it i love that they just get longer and sillier #truly just putting whatever came into my head #...that’s a lie i agonized over the last one for like ten minutes #title ideas

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milflewis · 2 years

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exactly one (1) person has asked for my valtteri/lewis/guanyu thoughts so here you go @hungerpunch <3 it is mainly just the brainrot of what i wrote in fran n kyle’s dms but i hope you like it !!

so like. valewis. they’re a thing. because of course they are. they’re valtteri bottas and lewis hamilton. guanyu sees lewis when he’s over sometimes. slipping into valtteri’s motorhome. chatting with some of the mechanics as he waits for val to finish up. roscoe hanging around, napping on valtteri’s feet during briefings, lewis nowhere in sight. watches val’s eyes follow the man around the paddock. not that he can blame him. guanyu has a hard time not looking at lewis too.

he becomes friends with valtteri who is kind and patient and so fucking funny and doesn’t care when guanyu has a thousand questions and is on a mission to make guanyu a coffee drinker bc he cannot take another year of having a teammate who doesn’t appreciate good brew.

and guanyu isn’t, like, in love in love with him, not really. it’s a crush !! it’s cool. it’s fine. val is just soft and smells really good and hilarious and has the bluest eyes and his alfa romeo shirt sometimes stretches across his shoulders in a way that distracts guanyu for a few seconds everytime he sees it. it’s cool. it’s fine. he’s doing fine.

and with lewis. well. lewis has always been lewis hasn’t he. he’s been in guanyu’s wet dreams longer than pretty much anyone else but cmon, look at him. and he’s so fast and brilliant and loud, louder than anyone else. and he’s done so much that means guanyu’s road in this sport is a little easier and even when it’s not, lewis is there, smiling, in his corner. and knowing lewis? knowing lewis the person? the one that makes valtteri laugh and blush and stutter and remembers guanyu’s mom’s birthday (he had it put into his calender bc “my memory is so shit man, i swear,” he says, laughing, hand tugging at his ear. that, guanyu realises months later, was probably when he should’ve known he was fucked) and messes with mick in way that guanyu knows mick appreciates, doesn’t look at him like he’s expecting someone else, and chats to animals like they’re ppl?? that lewis is even better than what guanyu imagined but like. it’s cool. it’s just a crush !!

and even if it wasn’t. even if guanyu actually liked one of them it doesn’t matter bc they’d never notice him even if they didn’t have each other.

but.

sometimes.

sometimes guanyu wakes up to like 50 messages from lewis all about fashion and design and colours and patterns and he knows other younger drivers, drivers that have been here longer, don’t get this from lewis.

(he remembers a few years ago when lewis first stepped out into the paddock wearing smth bright and colourful and not very macho and the whispers that follow him normally grew deafening and it was all he could think about for weeks. the colour. the style. the defiant set to lewis’s jaw as he smiled, purple draped across his shoulders, hair curly, hands in pockets. lewis’s clothes are so loud that it can be easy, guanyu knows, to remember how vulnerable they make him look. what it costs him to wear them)

and he gives that to guanyu, and doesn’t ever ask for anything in return. sometimes when lewis turns up at the track and he’s wearing smth cool and different and guanyu grins at him. says smth along the lines of oh i like the shape here. the shoulders. the bit of lace. and hopes to god he doesn’t sound as infatuated like he feels. hopes he doesn’t sound like pierre. lewis just. lights up. like he was waiting for guanyu to say smth. like he cared what guanyu thought. like he put these clothes on in the morning, piece by piece covering tattoos and skin and bone, valtteri lying shirtless on the bed, drinking his coffee, and thought of guanyu.

sometimes there’s a quiet moment in the garage and guanyu is tucked away in a corner, doodling, designing his next helmet, making a pinterest board based solely around an interesting fashion trend that he wants to explore, texting the old prema lads scattered across the globe. and valtteri sits down beside him with a book, or a coffee, or his ipad. looking over his own plans for the house he’s building, the one with only one bedroom to avoid having guests over, and they don’t talk. not really. sometimes guanyu asks him smth about clothes and val with his years spent around lewis can normally give him a pretty good opinion or val asks him smth about the design of the house he’s building. and it’s small and quiet and calm and valtteri doesn’t exactly enjoy a lot of ppl. they tire him out, guanyu knows. but. but surely it must mean smth that val comes to him when he’s done with other ppl. surely that means guanyu is more than most.

sometimes. sometimes.

and then !!

val invites him over. to the house with only one bedroom.

the house that val is building for lewis with his little home gym and wide big windows and insulation and perfect state of the art heating. the house that val is building for himself with its sauna and lake nearby and snow all around. the house that val is building for them both with it’s one bed and no neighbours.

and guanyu doesn’t really know what’s going on. doesn’t know where he’ll stay if there’s only one room and val said, he SAID, guanyu heard him, that he doesn’t want guests there. so is guanyu not a guest? but then what is he?

but he says yes bc he can’t not when val is grinning at him, cup in one hand, blushing slightly in that way that he does when he’s nervous but trying not to be.

he texts lewis, like, a week before he’s supposed to be there, asking what hotels are good to stay in nearby. lewis tells him to not be ridiculous. that there’s lots of room with them. and don’t worry about it. we got you. and well. lewis has never lied to him before so.

what if guanyu comes over n lewis shows him his clothes. let’s him try some on.

standing behind him as guanyu looks at himself in the mirror. lewis adjusting the jacket on his shoulders. val is watching them from a chair by the window.

“suits you,” lewis says. eyes crinkling, heat from his smile lingering there. guanyu swallows. “what do u think vb?” lewis grins, voice low and quiet. “go on.” lewis pokes at him. “give him a twirl.”

and guanyu does. the blocky leather of the coat heavy, shifting over his mesh shirt, over lewis’s shirt. his long silk skirt fanning out, air cool against his right thigh where a slit cuts through the material. val smiles at him, smth soft and careful tucked into the corners of his mouth, eyes dipping low and dragging up his body slowly. “yeah,” he says. “looks really good.”

guanyu is supposed to be leaving in a few hours. (he doesn’t have a return flight booked) (he was hoping —)

lewis reaches out a hand, rubbing his thumb along the leather, fingers pressing into guanyu’s palm. “you should keep it,” he says. smile growing smaller, smth that looks suspiciously like nerves tensing along the line of his jaw. he breathes in, shoulders settling. oh, guanyu thinks. oh. he remembers val’s blush when he asked guanyu over in the first place.

do you know, guanyu doesn’t say. how alike you two can be? is this what happens when you spend so much time with a person? when you know them inside out? i want to know you, he doesn’t say. lewis’s eyes flicker down to guanyu’s mouth, staying there for a heartbeat. two. three. five. his hand warm and soft and big around his. guanyu wants to feel them around his waist. lewis looks him in the eye, defiant and bold and beautiful. valtteri is still in his chair. waiting. watching. guanyu chews at his cheek.

“are you,” he asks, not bothering to hide his smile. “trying to buy my affection? bc i think i’m worth at least two valentinos. and definitely,” he says. “more than three diors.” running a hand down his chest, brushing his nipples, mesh catching off the light. lewis grins, rolling his eyes.

valtteri laughs as lewis tugs him closer. so close he can count the freckles along his nose, dotted on the thin skin under his eye, lightly bruised by sleep. “he’s already got you all figured out,” valtteri laughs again, relief curling the edges of the sound. he’s slouching in the chair, tension gone. guanyu is momentarily distracted by the way his legs are spread wide, thighs stretching his sweats. his barefeet are flat on the floor, dusted with fine blond hair. “i’m an open book,” lewis says, hand coming up to hold guanyu’s jaw, fingers splayed along his neck, thumb on his cheek. valtteri laughs again and guanyu feels a little split open at the sound. at the way lewis is looking at him. warm and soft and heavy. “are you going to kiss me or,” he says and lewis rolls his eyes again. “patience my dear padawan,” he half whispers, pretending to frown. bc lewis is nothing if not dorky and kisses him, long and deep and slow. as valtteri sighs long sufferingly behind him.

“always with the star trek,” val says. and guanyu presses up against lewis to distract him from protesting that its star wars, val !! not star trek. cmon you know this !! leaning further into him, all muscle and heat and dense, hand on his stomach. lewis’s sweater is so very soft. lewis grumbles in the back of his throat but melts into him, tilting guanyu’s head back, licking into his mouth until guanyu unfolds before him.

valtteri’s hands are hot against his skin, sneaking up under his shirt, plastering himself against guanyu’s back, caging him in. he presses hot wet open mouthed kisses along guanyu’s neck, humming quietly. lewis pulls away as guanyu’s shirt scrunches under val’s movements.

“oi,” he says. blinking, a little dazed. guanyu feels all shivery at the thought of making lewis hamilton lose his focus. “that shit is expensive. be careful.” guanyu can practically hear valtteri roll his eyes behind him.

“well then. guess we’ll just have to take it off.” guanyu grins. “what a shame.” turning until he’s leaning back against lewis, who spreads his legs a little, planting his feet, hands curling around his waist. valtteri’s fingers are light and ghosting as they push the coat off of guanyu’s shoulders, draping it over the chair nearby. pulling the shirt over guanyu’s head, running a hand through his hair. grinning as guanyu shiver when his fingers get tangled for a moment.

“beautiful,” he says, hands on guanyu’s ribs, and guanyu pulls him in by the laces of his sweatpants, kissing him. valtteri tastes of mint and coffee. lewis’s fingers drawing small circles on his stomach, nose tucked behind his ear. valtteri’s thigh slipping in between his legs. guanyu just holds on and lets them hold him in return

#i just. yeah. here u go. v v unedited im sorry #basically just a braindump lmao #hope u like it tho…#what’s their name hmm #valewyu #????#f1 rpf fic #stuff i wrote

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