Your average goddess @stephyra - Tumblr Blog

Jul 31, 2021

𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗳𝗳 || dark!Niki Lauda x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | you had something to prove, and that was where it all went wrong. (or, niki and the reader set to find out if women can drive as well as men.)

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 4.6k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (dubcon, specifically coercion through a bet/deal), misogyny kink (please dni if this bothers you c:), slapping (both face and pussy), degradation, creampie, kinda overstimulation, multiple orgasms, a bit of housewife kink, rough sex, some exhibitionism/semi-public sex, anal mention, minimal plot, poorly written racing (sorry I know about 100% more about street racing than track racing ack), period-typical sexism (and then some)

The group of men and their hollers and chatter fell into silence as you passed by, a few of them looking you up and down silently while some of the others not-so-subtly mumbled or gestured to each other. You ignored it like always, even though some small part of you enjoyed the attention— not in the way they probably assumed you did, just in the sense that you found what joy you could in standing out in the boy’s club that was the racing world.

Niki Lauda was the last to look up, only paying you any attention when someone elbowed him in the ribs.

“Hey,” he called out to you.

“...hey?” you returned, having waited for a moment before speaking since you expected something with a bit more substance.

“What are you doing on the track? Are you a flag girl or something?” he pressed, his accent even more pronounced than how you remembered it from on TV.

“No, I’m a driver.”

A brief pause, and then Niki’s face cracked into a crooked grin. “A driver for what?” he chuckled.

“For F1!” you explained incredulously.

“Sweetheart, you’ll be a comedienne before you’re a racing driver,” he offered, reaching to grab your arm, but you grimaced and pushed his hand away.

“I happen to think that women are just as good of drivers as men,” you stated firmly, frowning and feeling your face burn hot with rage when he began to laugh.

“That’s preposterous! Women can hardly drive on the road, let alone the track,” he scoffed.

“Forget the road; I could drive circles around you in a dirt lot,” you sneered. “I’ve seen you race, you know; you’re good but you’re not great.”

“I’m the best in the world,” he reminded you, clearly angered by your comments yet outwardly calm.

“And to get as far as I have as a female driver, I have to drive better than the best,” you promised sternly.

“If you’re as good of a driver as I am, you should have no trouble racing me,” Niki shrugged.

“You’re on,” you sneered, and that seemed to surprise him— in fact, he didn’t move at all, like he didn’t believe you, until you tossed him his helmet.

“You’re not serious,” he rolled his eyes.

“I absolutely am! Suit up and meet me on the track,” you demanded, but you were stopped from walking away by his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling you back.

“Wait,” he hissed. “If we’re going to do this, there needs to be something in it for me.”

“Proving yourself right isn’t enough?” you frowned.

“I’m already right, I need to win something.”

“Fine, we’ll race for a grand,” you decided, and when you turned he grabbed your arm. “Goddamnit, will you quit doing that?” you hissed, shoving his hand away again.

That seemed to give him an idea, and his eyebrow raised just before he began to smile. “I don’t need money, so we’ll need to race for something better than that. Thankfully, I think I have a solution: the winner of our little race today can make the other do whatever they want, just for the afternoon. What do you say?”

The way he was smiling at you put you slightly on edge; it looked like he was trying to look unsuspicious, which was highly suspicious. “What would you have me do?” you asked nervously.

“If you’re as good as you act like you are, you won’t need to find out,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t argue with that logic... and you smiled as you imagined what you would have him do; oh, it would be so fun to have him call an emergency press conference to announce that he was a sexist pig and would be taking the year off racing to contemplate his choices and atone for the stress he must be putting on his poor mother by being such a little cuntwaffle. Yeah, a chance to make that happen was worth the risk of having to scrub the floors of Niki’s garage for the rest of the day, or whatever dumb thing he’d put you through if you lost.

You extended your hand for a shake, and he seemed a bit offended by it at first; like he didn’t think he should shake a woman’s hand. But he finally did, and you both slipped on your balaclavas and your helmets as you walked to your cars.

One of the mechanics waited at the start as you two pulled up slowly to the line. You spared him a glance from behind the helmet’s clear shield; he didn’t look back at you.

The mechanic counted off with his fingers, dropping his hand quickly at the last second— and with the roar of engines that vibrated right down to your bones, you were off.

From the beginning, you were ahead. Presumably because you were so wired with anger at the awful things he’d said, you were driving it like you stole it. Reckless, brutal, sharp; you were pushing the car to its limits, and it almost made you feel guilty. You even mumbled an apology to the poor thing when you flooded the engine, but it was a necessary sacrifice to get the speed you needed to overtake a car like his.

You almost caught a moment of his shocked glance when you passed him, and it made you suppress a smirk under your helmet. You could hear him revving to try to gain some momentum, and it got him a lot closer, but you were a half-length ahead and in a straight line, nothing would change that.

But the track wasn’t a straight line.

You had him, you had him, you almost had him— but the hairpin turn was coming, and you both knew it was his chance to overtake you and win at the last second. You tried to block his path, but you didn’t hit the brakes hard enough and ended up spinning out: you crossed the finish line, after all, but backwards… and obviously, a couple seconds after him.

Tears already threatened to burn your eyes as your car came to a screeching halt. “Fuck!” you yelped, slamming your hands on the wheel as you saw him come to a stop and hop out of his car, all but floating and with a smile that was somehow visible through his helmet.

You took your helmet off and leaned back in the little driver’s pit of your car with an exhausted sigh. He appeared beside you with his helmet under one arm and the other extended to help you out of the seat. You scowled and got out yourself. “I won’t hold you to the bet,” he offered, “it was just a little fun.”

You figured he had more fun winning than you did losing. “Sure,” you agreed, “what’s a quick race between drivers anyways?”

He smiled slightly, in a way that was undeniably condescending. “Oh, sweetheart… only one of us is a driver.”

It was bait, you knew it, and if you were a better person you wouldn’t have fallen for it. But something about this man and the way he just made himself comfortable getting on your nerves… you couldn’t let it end like this. “If I had won, would you have tried to forget the bet?”

“No, not if you hadn’t wanted to. It’s just a courtesy,” he explained. But you knew the difference between courtesy and charity; you knew the difference between respect and pity.

“I’m a driver,” you assured him. “I’ll hold up my end of the deal. It’s what we do.”

He seemed less surprised than you had imagined. “Alright. Follow me, then.”

He led you back off the track and through the side entrance of the facility, passing his group of mechanics again who seemed noticeably more smug than the last time you saw them.

The winding tour through the building ended in a small office, mostly empty, with one chair and one modest desk— like someone had just moved out. He opened the door for you, some ironic charade of gentlemanliness, and you stepped inside. The hairs on the back of your neck were standing up from the moment he shut the door behind you (and himself). You knew you’d just made an awful mistake, one that would cost you a lot more than losing a race. But he simply sat down in the only chair and left you standing awkwardly across the desk from him.

“Strip,” he demanded, grinning smugly from his seat. Your whole body was hot, burning from the inside out, as your gut sank.

“Really? That’s how you’re going to use this?” you shuddered, trying to sound mildly irritated instead of letting your real terror show.

“Yes, I’m going to show you something women are much better at than driving,” he assured darkly. “I’m going to show you what you’re really good for.”

His heartless words made your stomach twist, and your hands were shaking slightly as you reached up for the zipper at your neck, moving it down over your chest and abdomen until your sports bra underneath was the only thing covering your upper body. Toeing off your boots and pushing the jumpsuit down to your ankles, you were left only in the bra and undershorts, feeling utterly exposed to his piercing gaze.

You reached up to cover your midsection with your arms, but he clicked his tongue and waved his finger. “None of that, you don’t need to hide anything from me.”

It wasn’t just being nearly naked in a drafty office that made you shiver; his gaze traced over you slowly, his chin resting in his hand like he was… appraising you, that was the word.

"It's a shame you dress in those drab crew jumpsuits, because you actually have a nice body,” he finally announced, “one that deserves to be shown off in pretty little skirts and dresses, like a proper lady wears."

You wanted to roll your eyes, but you were a little too afraid to.

“Go ahead and take the bra and panties off, and step over to the side here,” he instructed plainly, motioning to the other end of the desk where his view of your legs wouldn’t be obstructed, “I’d like see all of you.”

You choked on your own throat the first time you tried to speak. “Niki, this is too—”

“If you were a man, I would hold you to your word,” he interjected firmly. “Don’t you want to be treated equally?”

“If I was a man, you’d never ask me to do this,” you reminded him.

“Well, that’s true, but if you were a man, you might just have had a chance at beating me,” he winked, though he returned to his stoicism quickly. “Get naked, now; I won’t be asking again.”

Sighing shakily, took a few steps closer before you lifted the bra over your head and tossed it aside, hearing him hum quietly at the sight of your breasts before you pushed your panties down to the floor and shivered slightly.

“Why don’t you give me a little twirl?” he smirked, and you grimaced but eventually got over yourself enough to spin briefly.

He stood up and approached you slowly, lifting your chin with his fingers when you instinctively looked at the floor. “Are you done?” you whispered nervously.

“I think you must know that I’m not,” he answered coldly. “Bend over the table, little girl.”

Although it took a few tries to swallow the lump in your throat, you did as you were told, bending at the hips slightly to place your hands on the table; but as he circled you to stand behind you, ominously just out of view, he pushed down between your shoulder blades until you were only on your elbows— significantly less dignified.

After his hand left your skin, you heard him unzip his own jumpsuit and you whimpered. “Niki, I—”

“Shh,” he soothed, not that it was particularly soothing.

His foot kicked your legs apart, and you jumped when you felt the spongy head of his cock bumping up against your entrance.

“You’re wet,” he cooed mockingly.

“Just make it quick,” you breathed out sharply.

Solemnly, your head hung between your shoulders as he pushed inside you: this defeat felt so much more deep than the one on the track… literally.

He was thick, so much so that you bit your lip and fought not to squeal as he tore into you.

"Mm, you feel good, little girl— nice and tight around my cock."

The unexpected praise had an unexpected impact: you got even wetter, and your walls clenched quickly.

"Oh, do you feel that?" he grinned. "See, you like making me feel good. You like pleasuring me with your body, it's in your nature. It's what you really want, more than anything."

When he pressed his hips against yours hard, trying to get as deep as possible, you whined a little.

And then he pulled back and slammed forward, and you almost screamed.

His pace was brutal: not fast quite yet, but threatening to reach the end of you every time.

"Fuck, what a sweet little cunt— so much sweeter and kinder to me than you ever were," he grunted, grabbing your shoulders to keep his leverage against you. "We would've gotten along so much better if I'd known what a lovely pussy you were hiding from me."

Now that you believed; but you had no desire to get along with him at all, especially on these terms.

"I should've taken you like a real man the second I saw you— bent you over the car when you first talked back to me. Would've saved myself a lot of trouble."

“Was it really that much trouble?” you snarked breathlessly.

“No, you’re right— defeating you was no trouble at all. Trivial, really... but it would’ve saved me a bit of time, and I wouldn’t have had to humour your desire to prove yourself with a useless race. It’s a waste of fucking petrol is what it was.”

You couldn’t really blame him for that one, you’d led him right into it, but that only made you hate him more for it. And yet, the more you hated him, the wetter you seemed to get— and much to your chagrin, he clearly noticed.

“Look how needy your little pussy is already,” he smirked, “so wet for me— she likes me more than you do.”

That, unfortunately, you couldn’t deny; not that you were going to openly agree with it, either.

“Yeah, she fucking loves me, huh?” he added, rougher. “Mm, you’re fucking tight, I should’ve known… clearly nobody’s been fucking you right or you wouldn’t act like such a bitch.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but a moan came out instead.

“I’ll fix your attitude, sweetheart,” he promised as he began to speed up his thrusts. “That’s what you needed, isn’t it? To be put in your place…”

You just forced your eyes shut tight and tried to ignore him; but of course he wouldn’t allow that.

“Tell me you love it,” he demanded.

“I fucking hate you,” you sighed.

He chuckled against your neck before biting down on it until you yelped. “I’m sure you do. To be honest, I think it’s sort of sexy… you’re so adorable when you’re angry with me. But I can’t wait to see the way you look when you finally give in and admit you need me.”

In retrospect, talking back to him was a mistake. “I need you like I need a hole in the head,” you sneered.

“On second thought,” he decided suddenly, "I think you'll learn your place better if I fuck you on the floor."

Before you could protest to that, he picked you up and all but threw you down, forcing you onto your knees where he shoved your face down into the carpet and pulled your hips up to meet his own. This time when he slipped back inside, the angle pushed him even deeper into you and you sobbed instantly.

“Niki, please— s’too deep,” you slurred, your whole body shaking with each thrust, “slow down, I-I can’t take it…”

“But this is what you’re made for,” he grunted. “Don’t tell me you’re not good at this either. Can’t you do anything?”

“P-please, I just need a break…”

“No, I won’t stop until you’re full of my seed, little girl,” he promised between heavy breaths, “until it’s dripping out of you. You need to remember your purpose.”

You couldn’t even worry about the last part of that when you realised he was going to come inside you. Thank god for the pill, but he didn’t know you were on it— and he sure as hell didn’t care, that was obvious. What would he have even done if he knocked you up? You tried not to imagine that… partially because it terrified you, mainly because you didn’t like the way it made a sick, guilty arousal burn in your gut.

“You’re meant for so much more than driving, sweetheart, you’re meant to be mine,” he explained, “mine to fill and use however I like. And you like it, too, don’t pretend you don’t when I can feel how desperate you are for it.”

“Why do you— fuck— why do you even care?” you breathed. “What does it matter to you what I do?” Why didn’t you just leave me alone?

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt, little girl,” he cooed. "Racing is very dangerous, much too rough and dirty for a sweet and delicate thing like you."

Ironic of him to worry about what rough and dirty activities you might be exposed to when he was fucking you like this— so hard he had to hold you tight against his body to keep you from falling forward.

“Why do you even want to drive?” he wondered aloud.

“S’all I ever wanted to do,” you answered between panting breaths, “it’s what I was born to do. It’s my purpose… it’s my dream.”

He laughed at you again, squeezing your hips for a moment. “You know that’s not true, deep down. Doesn’t this feel so much more natural? Doesn’t pleasing and serving me sound like such a better use of your life?” He purred against your ear as he continued. "You'd make a pretty housewife, I think. Once you gave up on driving and stopped scowling all the time… fuck, keep gripping my dick like this and maybe I'll make you a housewife myself," he taunted.

Niki Lauda's housewife, what a pitiful existence that would be… yet you struggled not to moan as you pictured it.

"You can keep my bed warm, I'm always looking for ways to relieve my stress," he breathed.

Your eyes rolled back into your skull. You wanted it, fuck, you wanted to be his stress relief more than anything, and you hated yourself for it.

"But if you think you'll be one of those wives who spends all her husband's money just to make him sleep on the couch, think again, little girl. You'll be a good wife, one that always keeps her legs ready to spread whenever I ask. And you'll get on your knees too, so I can fill that mouth better than you do with your dumb words about how women can drive like men."

It wasn't in spite of the shame and hatred that your body shuddered with pleasure, no, it was because of it. You hated him so fucking much that it made your head spin, but he was fucking you so good that you found yourself desperate to submit to him regardless.

"And maybe if you were a really good wife, you'd let me use your ass, huh?"

Your teeth bit into your bottom lip when he said that, but it wasn't enough to hide your moan as you felt his thumb gently circling the hole in question.

"Oh, you really are just a filthy little whore," he laughed, "your cunt got tighter when I talked about fucking your ass. Is that what you want, then? Or maybe it's just that she got a little jealous? You'd miss my cock ruining your precious cunt, is that it?"

He reached down to rub your swollen clit for emphasis, and your whole body began to shake. "Niki, s-stop," you begged breathlessly, but not because you exactly wanted him to stop— you were going to come if he kept going, that was your problem.

"You really can't help yourself," he laughed mockingly as he realized that you were close. "How long has it been since you were properly fucked, hm? You were trying too hard to be equal to men, you never let yourself relax and enjoy it. See how good it can feel, to be inferior?"

You whimpered at his words, but properly whined when he gave your clit a slap. So he did it again, and again, not just to hear you scream but to feel your walls clutch at him with each impact. “Oh god,” you moaned, “f-fuck, Niki…”

His name just sort of… came out, you couldn’t seem to stop it; and you couldn’t stop your orgasm, either, feeling it bloom from your core to surround every part of you. Your back arched as everything else seemed to tighten up and relax all at once, your eyes felt watery and heavy, and you made a humiliating little squeal that echoed around the empty room.

"Oh, fuck, what a fucking whore you are," he sneered. "Filthy little bitch."

"Fuck!" you sobbed, his words hitting right in your gut and keeping you suspended in the deepest parts of your pleasure.

"You're coming so hard because you're learning your place," he explained darkly. "It feels good to be owned by a man, doesn't it? It feels right…”

“Niki,” you whimpered, a stammered plea for him to at least take mercy on your mind while he ravaged your body. Wasn’t ruining you physically enough? Why did he have to go after your morals and philosophy as well?

He was fucking you so hard now that you wondered how he wasn’t running out of stamina, but then again you’d heard he kept in excellent shape. You definitely believed that now, with him railing you senseless yet barely breaking a sweat. Even when you thought your body might give out, even when you wondered if his ever would, he just kept going; and so did your orgasm, until you were so sensitive that every movement made you want to scream. By this point, it had managed to bypass the part of your brain that understood how horrifically offensive this all was, and awakened something primal— something innate, and powerful, and filthy. Most of all, something that didn’t give a single fuck how wrong this was… it just wanted more of it.

He leaned forward and put more of his weight in the hand pinning your head down, tugging at your hair occasionally. When he did, addictively-pleasant shivers ran down your spine and straight to your core. You were sure you hadn’t been into this shit this morning, what had he done to you to make you respond to him this way?

Maybe he was a warlock or something. That would actually explain a lot.

Ripping you from that train of thought, he grabbed you by your hair and turned your head, pressing your other cheek into the floor. “Look at the crack in the door,” he demanded lowly, “you can see it can’t you?”

You blinked rapidly to get the tears out of your eyes, and gasped when you saw what he must have been referring to— in the hallway on the other side, you saw shadows and, when you squinted, soles of work boots.

“My crew is just outside, aren’t they?” he assumed. “Listening to you come for me.”

You bit your lip and shut your eyes, though that was quite brief since a slap to your cheek made you gasp and shoot your eyes open again.

“So say my name a little louder, darling, let them hear who you belong to.”

He hit you again, just for hesitating for a moment. “Niki,” you sighed, but it wasn’t anywhere loud enough.

“Speak up, whore,” he instructed as he hit you two more times.

“Niki,” you sobbed, definitely louder— he gave your face a break to spank your ass instead, so hard you stammered over his name when you spoke it again: “N-Niki, oh god… Niki, Niki—”

He wrapped his arm around your neck suddenly, pulling you back as his chest pressed into your back and his elbow held your chin up so he could bite your ear. Your channel pulsed again when he did it, and you felt him smile as you both realized he had you on the edge again already. He grunted from exertion as he fucked you faster, harder— chasing his own pleasure, using your body… just the thought of it made your head spin. "Admit you'll never drive as well as me," he demanded through his teeth. "I want to hear you say it when you come again."

Whatever part of your brain felt shame and wanted to preserve your dignity was gone, replaced by the growing portion of your brain that could only think of him and his cock fucking into you. "I'll never drive like you, Niki, nobody drives like you…"

"Because…?"

"Because you're a man," you whimpered, "but not just that— b-because you're the best, Niki… you're the best driver in the world."

He groaned and fucked you faster, rougher. "Say it again."

"You're the best in the world!"

“Fuck, I’ll come. You want it, don’t you?” he taunted between heavy breaths. “You want me to come inside you?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak so you only nodded a little, moaning louder when he grabbed your hair and tugged it hard, forcing your back to arch.

“Then beg me,” he demanded. Before you could even refuse, he explained why you had no choice. “I won’t stop until you beg me to come.”

“Come, Niki, please come,” you panted; it was easier if you closed your eyes, like you could drift off in your mind and not really think about what you were saying or who you were saying it to. “Come inside me, I’m yours, fuck, I’m yours!”

For maybe the first time ever, he did what you’d asked him to; with a groan, he slammed his hips into yours one more time and painted the deepest parts of you. You could just barely sense the heat of it, beginning to feel fuller than ever as he stayed inside and gave you everything— which ended up being more than both of you expected.

He sighed and pulled out slowly, and you winced at how sore you already were, along with the feeling of his warm come starting to leak out of you already.

As soon as he let go of you, you fell forward limply. What else could you do? You felt wobbly and weak all over, completely spent; your ears rang and your skin tingled with burgeoning numbness. And so you laid there, crumpled on the floor, as he caught his breath; you glanced over at him briefly, watching his chest rise and fall, scattered with errant blonde-ish hairs and glistening from a thin layer of sweat.

He looked back at you, and for the first time he gave you a smile that was almost genuine— not that it wasn’t condescending, it had to be given the context, but it was much kinder than before. “Remind me of your name?” he requested hoarsely.

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