#drag race wallpaper

[justdavina]

Need a cool wallpaper for you phone? Justdavina may have something right up your alley>>>

LA GRANDE DAME Wallpaper!

[queens-of-lockscreens]

❈ Trixie & Katya appreciation ❈

(like/reblog if u use, kay?)

[ricardolima]

[lipsyncforyourlife]

[olafsings]

Music History Today: February 16, 2023

February 16, 1998: It's Raining Men: The Sequel by Martha Wash and RuPaul was released in the UK.

[saintslewis]

❝ 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 - 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒 ❞

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x fem!reader

summary: when he comes back from arguably most demanding races of the season, he truly wants to be cuddled up with his girlfriend especially when they haven't seen each other in two weeks.

warnings: established relationship!, mild smut (18+ MDNI), cussing. the usual. typos.

wc: 2.6k

requested: yes | no ~ this lovely request right here!

saint team radio: i wanna scream, this was supposed to be out in SEPTEMBER!!! but now it’s here 🤭. lil one shot before releasing “Break my Soul” and i hope you guys enjoy this one. plus i’m getting used to writing smut now 😧 anyways bye! love ya!

taglist: @non-stop-imagines @lorarri @thisismeracing @httpsserene @mauvecherie-writes @yeea-nah @queenshikongo3 @cherry2stems @planetmimi @alika-4466 @arshiyuh (lmk if you wanna be tagged!)

pls like, comment and reblog! 🫶🏽 (i’m watching you 🤨)

-

"I know what you are." You gasped as you watched Bella confront Edward in the forest. The morning sun was shining its rays through the large windows and sliding doors of the large house. The couch was slowly sinking you into it, the packet of cookies from your favourite bakery nestled next to your comfortable figure.

Understandably, it was quite early in the morning, 9 am to be precise, to be watching Twilight and munching on cookies but to be fair, Roscoe had woken you up for early morning snuggles. Deciding to check the time on your phone, you became distracted by your wallpaper of Lewis with you next to him with the green mountains of Bali right behind you both, flowers behind your ear to celebrate your birthday.

You truly missed him a lot, these past two weeks felt as if they dragged on and on the longer you waited to see him. Only being able to see him on your phone screen and tv, his fashion becoming a staple for you to follow almost every week. When his face appeared on screen for a post race interview, you would find yourself admiring him and completely closing off to whatever he was saying into the mics. Even seeing his car drive around gave you butterflies, just hearing his name would make you stop in your tracks every single time.

Lewis' face quickly invaded your mind, no longer focusing on the movie before you. Although you had tried to distract yourself with giving yourself tasks to do along with completing some work you probably missed, doing those things were just always better with your boyfriend around. Physically being on each other's space was something you needed desperately, a true connection when realising that you both had the love language of physical touch.

During these two week, you would resist the urge to touch yourself in thought of Lewis, deeming him to be the only one who could find your sweet spots so much better than you could. Embarrassingly enough, you had resorted to watching fan edits of him just for you to feel something. All you did was like a single video on your feed then you fell into the rabbit hole of his fans being extremely talented and feeling the way you felt but you would sleep better knowing that you had him all to yourself at the end of the day.

Snapping you out of your daily daydream about your boyfriend, your phone buzzed with a notification from the front gate of the house to say that a car has entered the driveway and you immediately jumped up in excitement, alerting Roscoe. "Come on boy, Dads is home." You smiled to the energetic dog who was eagerly waiting for you to put your slides on.

Opening the front door wide enough, Roscoe ran right past you to greet Lewis as the man was taking his luggage out of the trunk, giving his affection to his dog before standing up straight (with a bit of caution) to look at you standing just a few feet away. He studied you from head to toe, the Nike pro shorts were barely visible underneath the +44 sweater that you helped design. Your braids were fresh, nails done and from what he saw, a small but new tattoo on your hand and he swore his stomach flipped at the sight of you.

"Hey baby!" You expressed as you threw your arms around his neck, his head buried itself into your neck and your scent filled up his nostrils. "Hi." The tired voice vibrated through your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His large hands were resting on your lower back moving ever so slowly, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. Moving your heads back, you gave him a sweet peck as he looked into your eyes afterwards. Studying his face a little, his eyes were a little droopy and his face wasn't as bright as you saw it on facetime hours ago. Letting go of the hug, you moved to help him with his suitcases but noticed that he seemed to walk a little funny as he walked into the house.

Finding him in the kitchen drinking a glass of water, you chose to lean back into the counter next to him. "Knowing you, I can tell you didn't eat so how about you go shower and i'll make breakfast?"  You suggested and all the man could do was smile and lean in to kiss you, tasting your strawberry chapstick before going upstairs with his hand on his back.

-

A hearty breakfast and him talking about how the race went in terms of strategy then a few discussions of random stuff, you both opted for chilling on the couch to catch up on a bit of TV. Lunch was ordered and you two spent the afternoon just being in each other's presence. You then decided to showcase the clothes you had bought during the two weeks he had been gone, each dress and skirt getting shorter than the last with his exhaustion preventing him from wanting to take you right then and there.

Changing back into the original outfit you had on, he quickly changed into his gym wear to work out in the home gym he had built in before you had moved in. "Will you be okay to workout, Lew?" You asked, filling the glass with small heart shaped ice cubes, ironically matching the tennis bracelet you were wearing. "I'm fine sweetie, I promise." He muttered as his eyes trailed down to your chest, the +44 sweater long gone as the day became hotter. "Eyes up here, babe." You giggled as he didn't even seem to hear you say anything.

"What?" He snapped out of it, making you laugh a little harder. "Go do your workout stuff, you dork. When you come back, we can do some skin care." You smiled as he held your hips with his grip tightened. "I can think of something else-"

"Lewis, I'm gonna bite you. Go." You narrowed your eyes at the man who walked away giggling as if he heard the funniest joke.

Nighttime was slowly approaching and dinner was already prepared, finding pesto really easy to make. Lewis was still in the home gym, your phone buzzing with instagram telling you that he posted on his story. Clicking on it, you saw how your boyfriend took a full body mirror picture with his shirt completely off and he looked a bit breathless. The lights glistened on his abs and tattoos, accentuating his tan even more. The v line was showing as his shorts sat quite low on his waist and you were left speechless, gripping the blanket so much that you could barely feel your hand anymore. Rubbing your thighs together, you tried to relax your thoughts by reminding yourself that he still has what seemed like an injury on his back.

But to be fair, nothing could stop him, not even an injury.

You tried distracting yourself from the instagram story by playing some music and doing some online shopping. Hearing his heavy footsteps enter the room, his sweaty self looked at you with a look you knew all too well but you decided to not do the deed tonight because you thought he needed to be well rested for this.

"You gonna go shower?" You stopped what you were doing and faced him with crossed arm with a little smile on your face. He came a bit closer and you backed up. "Lew, get away. You're sweaty." Your cheeks started to hurt from the smiling and all he did was open his arms as he came closer to you. "Lewis, I'm so serious. Babe wai-" You didn't even finish your sentence before you bolted, heading up to your shared bedroom and he chased after you with both your giggles filling the air.

"Baby, stop moving. I can't put on the under eye mask." You pouted, holding the cold cucumber scented applicator in your hand. "It's just cold." He muttered, holding the back of your legs as you stood between his legs. "C'mon gramps, it'll take like 5 minutes then you'll forget it's there." Knowing how he'd react to the nickname, you received the nastiest side eye you've gotten from him. Doubling down in laughter, you held onto the bathroom sink counter for dear life as you continued to laugh with him.

As the laughter died down, you fixed your braids into a bun and put your hand out for him to give up his hair tie that he has had on the whole day. "I like your earrings, love. When'd you get them?" He asked, now standing behind you as you made eye contact in the mirror. His eyes still had the same look as when he came out of the gym. "Remember that one bracelet you brought back from Milan last month? They opened a store in Central london so I think it was Thursday." You nodded as you told him, removing both your under eye masks to then fully wash and moisturise your faces.

Lewis opted to watch you complete your routine as you did like to take your time with it, the scented candles creating the perfect atmosphere. His left hand came around your waist, his other hand holding onto your hip and his head dropping into your neck with small butterfly-like kisses peppering your skin. You stopped everything you were doing to feel exactly what Lewis was doing to you, his large hands lowering down your body with each kiss.

"Lew, baby. You need to rest." You whispered, unable to speak from his soft kisses. "Missed you so much, just wanna feel you.” He whined into your neck. As he picked up his head to kiss even further, you already turned your head to look at him, your face filled with worry.

“Can you not make that face?” You slightly jutted your lip out, his face sending a completely different message. “Is it working?”

“No.” You tried your best to hide the smile from your face, your boyfriend’s face dropping at the answer. Backing away from his embrace, you walked into the bedroom, fully aware that he was following right after you.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you watched as Lewis stood in front of you then locked eyes with you. “Love, can I at least eat you out?” His whiny voice sounded out and you were fully taken by surprise. You had yet to experience this side of him in the bedroom but if it meant hearing that voice all over again, you were all in.

Not even waiting for your words, the man dropped down onto his knees, holding your thighs as balance as he maintained the eye contact with you. “Please, please baby. I’ll be so good, I promise. Won’t tease you, I’m starving. Just wanna taste you.” He rambles, his eyes slightly closed as his voice drops the closer his face gets to your thighs.

You couldn’t believe what was actually happening, so much so that it took you a few seconds to even think of a response. His chocolate eyes looked up at you with such anticipation, eagerly waiting for you to say something, anything. All you could do was nod and within seconds, he began kissing up your thighs, silently thanking the universe for bringing the two of you together.

Between her slight panting, you remembered that his back was in pain from earlier in the day, giving you an idea. “Lew.” You called out, his head rising to stare at you once more. “Lie on your back, don’t need you to hurt it more than it already is.” You said, slowly guiding him to stand up with you then push him down onto the bed by his chest. He huffed out a slight chuckle at your eagerness.

Once the clothes were off, you crawled up to straddle him but catching him by surprise, your lower body was closer to his face than he thought. Your legs were on each side of his head, your dripping core was hovering right above his mouth, he could’ve sworn he was in heaven. Gently holding onto his braids, you lowered yourself slightly yet not fully sitting, afraid that he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

“Y/n baby. Sit on my face, please.” Lewis groaned from underneath you, his breath hitting your core making you slightly shiver. His large hands creeped up onto your ass, bringing you down onto his face with a grip. Once you had gotten used to him devouring you like a touch starved man, you eventually found your rhythm and began moving in perfect harmony with his tongue, slightly pulling his braids when you felt the all too familiar knot into your stomach .

Your orgasm ripped through you, your moans bouncing off the walls of your shared bedroom. When wanting to lift yourself off of him, he continued to lick and suck on your sensitive clit, overstimulating you quite a bit. Your moans grew into whimpers and that’s when Lewis knew that you were beginning to feel tired, your body slightly shaking from the intense sensation of your release.

Now having a bit more energy, you actually lifted yourself up from his mouth and wanted to go down on him as you craved to have something that would give him the same sensation that he gave you. Before you could even reach his hard on, he held onto one of your hands. Kissing your palm, he spoke up. “Can you please just fuck me? I need to feel you around me, sweetie.” Lewis asked, the same look from before wooing you so easily.

You continued making your way down on him until he suddenly flipped the both of you. “Lew! Warn a girl next time!” You wanted to roll your eyes at him but he just smiled and leaned down to give you a breathtaking kiss, feeling butterflies in your stomach once more.

“I’ve got you, baby. Just let me make you feel good.” He smirked, holding your legs to go around his waist. Once entering you, it truly felt like this should go on forever, have this night replay in your mind like a broken record. His hips snapping against yours would bring you back to reality, seeing stars once the familiar knot returned to taunt you. With the way he was pounding into you, you would’ve never thought he had back pain the whole time.

You screamed upon your 4th release, your body flopping against the sheets as you tried to catch your breath. Lewis emerged from the bathroom with a warm and slightly wet towel to gently wipe your pussy, you sucked in a breath as your sensitive clit felt the material against you.

Once fully done with aftercare for you and himself, you looked up at the man as you layed on your front to look at him laying next to you. “I truly love you, Y/n. Couldn’t thank the stars enough for you.” He expressed, the look in his eyes sending a deeper message into your soul.

“I love you so much, Lewis.” You responded and you could feel the love radiating off of each other.

This was love and you could forever drown in this feeling with Lewis right by your side.

[divinelyparkjimin]

— craving you [m] | jhs.

◦ summary ↠ getting involved with the mafia means trouble—and their dangerously sexy boss might just be the most tempting trouble of all.

◦ pairing ↠ hoseok x reader

◦ word count ↠ 6.4k

◦ genre ↠ smut, angst, fluff

◦ content warning(s) ↠ mafia au, dom!hoseok, sub!reader, suggestive/explicit content, dirty talk, penetrative sex, ejaculation, f. and m. orgasm, fingering, alcohol consumption, aggressive sex, oral sex, slave kink (?), face-fucking, deep-throating, unprotected sex

a/n: i'm back after ten years lol. hope you guys enjoy!

masterlist

You woke up with a pounding headache, your surroundings unfamiliar. Blinking against the dim light, you took in the room: a simple bed with worn but elegant dark wood, a matching desk, and a vanity. The furniture looked aged but still somehow charming, as though it had once belonged to someone with taste but had been neglected over the years.

The last thing you remembered was being out at a club with your friends. You’d had a bit too much to drink, and everything after that was a blur. Now here you were, in a strange room that felt too odd to belong to someone’s home.

You rubbed your temples, trying to piece things together, when the door creaked open. A boy with a ruffled bowl cut stepped in, his expression unreadable.

“Hoseok is waiting for you,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

Your brows knitted together. “Who?” you asked, sitting up on the bed. “Who are you? Where am I?”

For a moment, he looked just as confused as you felt, his lips parting as though to answer, but then he seemed to think better of it.

“I’m taking you to Hoseok,” he said instead, stepping further into the room. Before you could react, he grabbed your arm.

“Let go!” you barked, pulling against his grip, but he was much stronger than he looked.

“Am I a prisoner?” you snapped, glaring up at him.

“Somewhat,” he replied with a small chuckle, his tone so nonchalant it made your blood boil.

He dragged you out into a hallway, the floor creaking underfoot. The place was massive, the walls lined with intricate carvings and faded wallpaper. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and something musky, almost intoxicating. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystals catching the dim light and scattering it across the room like shards of broken glass.

“Where are we?” you demanded, but the boy—who still hadn’t given you his name—remained silent, leading you through the labyrinth of hallways until you entered a large sitting room.

There, lounging casually on a leather couch, was a man with an aura that immediately put you on edge. His sharp features were softened by a devilish smirk, and his eyes sparkled with amusement as he took in the sight of you being dragged in.

“Thanks, Jungkook,” the man said, addressing the boy who had brought you. “Hope she wasn’t too much trouble.”

Jungkook merely nodded, releasing your arm before stepping back.

“What am I doing here?” you demanded, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound strong.

The man—Hoseok, you presumed—leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. He held a glass of red wine in one hand, swirling it lazily as he studied you.

You’re here because your little friend couldn’t keep their word. It’s that simple.” he said, his tone almost cheerful.

“That doesn’t explain why I’m involved,” you shot back.

He tilted his head, a mocking smile curling at the edges of his lips. “Oh, but it does. You see, they offered you as collateral. And who am I to turn down such a… lovely arrangement?”

You flinched at his words, anger bubbling in your chest. “You’re insane. I’m not some object you can just—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, his voice suddenly cold and commanding. The shift in his tone made you falter. "You’re here now, and you’ll stay until the debt is paid.”

You glared at him, refusing to back down even as your heart raced. “And what if I refuse?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t really have a choice. But don’t worry—I’m not completely heartless. I take good care of what’s mine.”

He took a step closer, and you instinctively took a step back, bumping into the edge of the bed. “You’ll find it’s not so bad here,” he continued, his tone lightening. “You’ll be working directly under me. My personal attendant, you could say.”

“Attendant?” you repeated incredulously. “Yeah, right.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. I’m not that bad. In fact, I can be quite… generous.” He reached for a small box on the bedside table and tossed it to you. “Here, something for you to change into.”

You opened the box, your face flushing when you saw the contents: a skimpy, silk dress with lace trim that barely qualified as clothing.

“You’re joking,” you spat, glaring at him.

“Not at all,” he said, his smirk widening. “Jungkook will show you to the changing room.”

Jungkook escorted you to a room down the hall. Once inside, you reluctantly put on the dress, feeling both humiliated and strangely curious. Why was everything in this place so luxurious, so well-kept? It didn’t match the idea of being a prisoner.

When you emerged, Jungkook was waiting, his face immediately flushing red at the sight of you. He avoided your gaze, clearing his throat awkwardly before leading you back to Hoseok.

You were taken to a room, one that seemed to be Hoseok's. This was soon confirmed as Jungkook gripped the handle of the wooden door, swinging it open. He gave you a nod yet again, as if signaling you to enter. Your feet felt glued to the ground, your nerves unable to actually make a step forward into the mystery of a room.

Once you'd finally taken a peek into the room, you immediately took notice of Hoseok leaned casually against the edge of the bed, his gaze raking over you like a predator sizing up its prey. The dress clung to your figure, its delicate lace and silk leaving little to the imagination. You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, wishing you could disappear, but his dark, unreadable eyes pinned you in place.

“Well,” he drawled, his voice low and smooth, “you look even better than I expected. Perfect, actually.” The door shut behind you, and your heart pounded harder within you.

You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him despite the heat rising to your cheeks. “If you think I’m going to play along with this, you’re delusional,” you snapped.

He smirked, amused by your defiance. "Oh, sweetheart, you can play hard to get all you like. It only makes this more interesting for me."

Your breath hitched as he pushed off the bed and closed the distance between you in a few strides. His presence was overwhelming, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you like a haze. When he stopped just shy of touching you, you felt the heat radiating from him, your pulse quickening despite yourself.

His eyes softened for a brief moment, though his smirk remained. “You know,” he murmured, his tone soft yet dangerous, "I could have given you to one of my men. But I chose you for myself. That should tell you something."

Your lips parted to respond, but the intensity of his gaze stole your words. He tilted his head, waiting, and then leaned in just enough to brush his fingers against your arm. The featherlight touch sent an unwanted shiver through your body, and you hated the way he noticed.

“I chose you because I always get what I want,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And right now, I want you.” He took your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes.

The way he looked at you made your knees weak, and you hated how much your body betrayed you. You wanted to hate him, to push him away, but the magnetic pull between you was undeniable.

"Get over yourself," you managed to say, though your voice lacked conviction.

He laughed, a deep, rich sound that sent shivers down your spine. "You're adorable when you try to act tough," he said, releasing your chin and stepping back. "But we'll see how long that lasts."

He walked to a small cabinet and poured himself another glass of wine, the muscles in his back flexing as he moved. "You look tense," he remarked, turning back to you with a wicked grin. "Would you like me to help you relax?"

Your cheeks burned at the implication, and you turned your head away. "I’d rather die," you muttered.

He stalked back to you, setting the wine glass down on the bedside table. "Don’t tempt me, darling," he whispered, his voice laced with dark humor. "I might take you up on that offer."

Before you could retort, he leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "But I’d rather hear you beg for something else entirely."

Your breath hitched, and you felt his smirk against your skin. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark and unreadable. "Now, be a good girl and get some rest," he said, his tone suddenly lighter. "You’ll need your energy for tomorrow."

He turned away, heading toward the bathroom, but not before throwing a final, teasing glance over his shoulder. "Unless, of course, you’d like to share my bed tonight. I promise, I don’t bite... unless you ask me to."

The door closed behind him, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts and a pounding heart. You hated how much his presence affected you, how much his teasing had stirred something deep within you.

The room was quiet after Hoseok left, the weight of his words lingering in the air. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door he had disappeared through. Your pulse still raced, a mix of fear, anger, and something you didn’t want to name swirling inside you.

A soft knock broke the silence. You stiffened, your heart leaping to your throat. The door creaked open, and Jungkook stepped inside, carrying a tray of food. His expression was softer now, a hint of guilt shadowing his face as he set the tray down on the small table near the bed.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he said, his voice low.

You eyed him warily. “What’s this? Poison?”

Jungkook flinched, his lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s not poisoned,” he murmured. “Just eat."

You crossed your arms, still glaring at him. “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping him?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple,” he said, his tone tinged with frustration. “Hoseok… he’s not as bad as he seems.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not as bad as he seems? He just told me I’m his collateral. What part of that isn’t bad?”

Jungkook hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I know how it looks, but… he has his reasons. He doesn’t hurt people unless they deserve it. And trust me, the people he deals with usually do.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Yeah, because kidnapping innocent people is so noble.”

He winced again, looking genuinely remorseful. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t agree with this. But once Hoseok makes up his mind…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked, softening slightly at his sincerity.

He looked back at you, his dark eyes earnest. “Because you’re not just some pawn to him. If you were, you wouldn’t be here, in his personal quarters. He… he sees something in you.”

You frowned, unsure how to respond. Before you could ask anything else, Jungkook turned toward the door. “Just… try to eat,” he said over his shoulder before leaving you alone again.

You stared at the tray of food for a moment before reluctantly picking up a piece of bread. It smelled fresh, and your stomach growled in betrayal. As you ate, your thoughts churned, trying to make sense of everything.

The door creaked open again, and you looked up to see Hoseok stepping inside, now dressed in silk pajamas that hung loosely on his frame. They were matching to your own, something that you audibly scoffed at. He looked relaxed, his earlier edge dulled by the casual attire.

“Enjoying the food?” he asked, his tone teasing.

You glared at him, though the corners of your mouth twitched. “As much as someone in my situation can.”

He chuckled, closing the door behind him. “Fair enough. But I hope you don’t think I’m completely heartless.” He gestured toward a couch on the far side of the room. “I’ll take that tonight. You can have the bed.” The couch dominated one corner of the room, its size nearly rivaling the bed itself. It was upholstered in deep, rich velvet, the kind that looked invitingly soft to the touch, with intricate stitching along the edges. The cushions were plush and overstuffed, creating a luxurious sprawl that promised comfort beyond reason.

You blinked in surprise. “What? No more threats or innuendos?”

He smirked, crossing his arms. “I’m full of surprises, darling. But even I need to sleep.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “So all that earlier? It was just bluffing?”

His smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a flash of something that looked like amusement—or perhaps respect. “You’re braver than I gave you credit for,” he admitted, walking toward the couch. “But don’t push your luck.”

You laughed softly, more at the absurdity of the situation than anything else. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, settling onto the couch. Despite his earlier bravado, he didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable, draping an arm over the backrest as he reclined.

You climbed into the bed, sinking into its softness. As your head hit the pillow, you felt a strange sense of calm, even in the midst of the chaos. Hoseok’s presence, infuriating as it was, didn’t feel as threatening now.

The next day, Hoseok kept you busy. As promised—or threatened—you shadowed him as his personal attendant, though most of the tasks were menial. You were getting a glimpse of the operation he seemed to run: shadowy meetings, coded phone calls, and a surprising amount of charm that he wielded like a weapon.

Late in the afternoon, Hoseok asked Jungkook to bring you something from another room, leaving you alone for a moment. It was then that you felt someone’s gaze on you. A man with sharp eyes and a cruel grin approached, his steps deliberate. He was dressed in black, and his aura screamed trouble.

“Well, well,” the stranger purred, his voice smooth but unsettling. “Hoseok’s latest… acquisition. He always did have good taste.”

You tensed, instinctively stepping back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Oh, but I think you do,” he said, circling you like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’re new here. That makes you vulnerable. And that means... I could help you, for the right price.”

Your stomach turned as he moved closer, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. You slapped it away, glaring. “Don’t touch me.” The man slipped a hand into his pocket, pulling out a pocket knife, to which you flinched at the sight of.

The man’s smile only widened, as though your defiance amused him. “Feisty. I like that.”

Before he could say more, a voice rang out, cold and cutting. “Step away from her. Now.”

You turned to see Hoseok standing a few feet away, his face devoid of its usual playful smirk. His eyes burned with barely contained fury, his posture tense.

The man raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, boss. I was just saying hello.”

“Your greetings are unwelcome,” Hoseok snapped, his tone lethal. “Touch her again, and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever do.”

The dealer’s grin faltered for the briefest moment before he backed away. “No harm done,” he said, retreating with an air of false nonchalance.

Once he was gone, Hoseok turned to you, his expression softening slightly. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded, though your hands were trembling. “Yeah. I… I’m fine.” He stepped closer, his hand hovering near your arm as though debating whether to touch you.

For a moment, you saw something in his eyes—a flicker of genuine concern that sent your heart racing. You muttered a quiet “Thank you,” but he only nodded and turned away, leaving you with an unsettling mix of emotions.

As days turned into weeks, you found yourself increasingly drawn to Hoseok. His care for you, however begrudging it seemed at times, was impossible to ignore. He wasn’t the monster you’d initially pegged him as—he could be cruel, yes, but also fiercely protective and surprisingly thoughtful.

One evening, you had found Hoseok seated at his desk, staring at the reports before him. His fingers run through his hair in frustration. Another failed deal. Another betrayal. The day's losses have piled up, and he’s feeling the weight of it all. Normally, he could compartmentalize—keep his emotions in check, maintain control. But today, seemed like you were seeing an entirely different side of him.

The door creaked open. He didn't even need to look up; he knew who it is. You.

You'd been working with him for a while now—part of his inner circle, trusted, competent, but not someone he’d let too close emotionally. Until recently, things had changed. Maybe it was the way you always knew when something was off with him, when his temper was too short, when the pressure was mounting. Maybe it was the way you didn’t flinch when the violence around him got too real. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because, in your quiet moments together, you saw through the ice and stone he built around himself.

Today, you found him in a rare vulnerable state. His usual composure seemed to be gone—he was leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, looking lost.

"You okay?" you asked softly, standing in the doorway. He didn't respond immediately. The tension in the air was palpable. You were used to the cold, dangerous version of him. But this... this was different.

He finally glanced up at you, his gaze heavy. "No," he muttered, the word hanging in the air between you. "It’s been a long day."

You stepped closer, your presence a silent offer of comfort, a safe place amidst the chaos. The silence stretched, but was not uncomfortable—just heavy. The unspoken understanding between the two of you had always been there, but now, it was almost as if it was pulling you closer.

He stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back, his usual sharp movements somehow slowed, drained. "I don’t need sympathy," he muttered, his voice rough, like he was holding something back. "I just need… something to take the edge off."

For a moment, you don’t move. You could feel the weight of his words. The tension between you both was unbearable—too close, too intimate, a fine line you’d never crossed before. And yet, there was no turning back.

You take a step toward him, standing just within arm's reach. The air between you crackled with tension. Without thinking, you lifted your hand, brushing his jaw lightly, feeling the softness of his skin beneath your fingertips.

Hoseok’s breath hitched, and for a split second, the hardness in his expression softened. He reached up, his fingers brushing against your wrist, guiding your hand down gently until it rested against his chest. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingertips, the tension, the frustration still lingering in his veins. He was holding himself back, but for how much longer?

"Are you sure about this?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His lips were dangerously close to yours, and you could feel the pull between you.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you closed the distance, your lips brushing his in a soft, tentative kiss. The kind of kiss that said more than words ever could.

Without breaking the kiss, he moved his hands under your thighs, firmly guiding you into his lap. You could feel the weight of his body, the tension in every muscle, and the way his hands tightened around you.

His hands traced over your body with a mixture of reverence and possessiveness, moving to the buttons of your shirt. "You really think you can tease me like that?" His voice was low, laced with a playful challenge. His hands paused for a moment on your waist before undoing the buttons, pulling the fabric open just enough to expose the soft skin beneath.

"You’re not wearing a bra?" he teased, a grin tugging at his lips as he met your gaze. His hands roamed more freely now, his touch confident, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. "You’re full of surprises." He let his fingers skim over the soft skin of your breasts, the touch light but filled with intention. You let out small, soft moans with each graze.

The soft touches soon turned rougher as both of his hands were put to work, one on each of your breasts. He began fondling them, an expression of delight evident on his face.

"Fuck, who knew my little assistant had such beautiful tits?" He praised, his fingers beginning to twist around your nipples. The tingly sensations caused higher-pitched moans to escape your mouth, your hands gripping harder around his toned arms for stability.

You didn’t respond, allowing your breath to catch in your throat as you felt the heat radiating off him. You grinded your body against his, feeling his hard member under you. It tickled you, teasing you before it even got the chance to make an appearance.

He smirked, noticing the effect he had on you. "You really think you can just walk in here, all innocent, and not expect me to notice?" His lips brushed against yours as his hands roamed to your waist, pulling you closer still. "I don’t think you realize just how much trouble you’re in."

You met his teasing gaze with your own challenge, teasing him with a smile. "Maybe I like trouble," you moaned breathily. Your fingers grazed his chest, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric.

You tore it off of him, gliding your hands along his chest. Your hands lowered to his belt, tugging on it a bit. Your lips continued to reconnect, hands roaming along one another until Hoseok finally picked you up off of him. The two of you were now standing up, still practically devouring each other's faces. You took turns sucking each other's tongues, your pulse quickening by the second.

His lips brushed against yours once more, and as he deepened the kiss, you felt his hands move to the waistband of your pants, his fingers tentative at first, as if asking for permission. You nodded and not even a second after he grasped the waistband of your pants and pulled you closer, effortlessly tugging them down. The movement was quick, decisive, leaving no room for hesitation.

Your hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it with an eager, but controlled urgency. The space between you was shrinking, the intensity of his touch making everything else feel distant. You slid out of your own bottoms, now standing before him in only the barest of clothing.

As the kiss broke, Hoseok’s eyes lingered on you, intense but with a hint of mischief. He gave you a slight smirk, his hands sliding down to your hips as he guided you toward the bed.

With a gentle but firm push, he helped you sit down, the bed soft beneath you. He stood before you for a moment, eyes flicking over your body, his chest rising and falling as he took in the sight of you. Then, with a quiet, almost teasing chuckle, he knelt in front of you.

“You won't be needing these anymore, right?” His gaze directed at your lace panties. His voice was low, a playful edge in his words. His fingers slid to the waistband of the garment pulling them down with a slow, deliberate motion.

You shivered slightly as he discarded them, his gaze never leaving you. He stood again, his movements still confident and purposeful.

"Why don't you help me with this Y/N? You are my personal attendant." His hands cupped over yours, bringing them to the waistband of his boxers.

"Fuck, I'd love to." You said, your voice low and filled with longing, as you leaned closer. Slowly, you pulled them down, your breath catching as you were met with a surprising warmth and firmness.

His length was better than you could've imagined, its tip glossed with pre-cum. You admired it, every vein and crinkle of flesh. Your hand reached out to touch it before Hoseok interrupted you with an eyebrow raised, smirking with that dangerous grin of his.

“Getting eager, aren’t we?” His voice was low, almost a growl as you nodded impatiently. He didn't let you continue as his hands quickly found your hips, giving you a firm pull as he hoisted you up. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, giving you immediate tingles from the direct skin contact.

Before you knew it, you were pressed against the wall, your back against the cool surface, but Hoseok's body was anything but cold. He gaze lowered as he positioned himself to enter you, before looking back up at you to assure your readiness. You nodded, biting your lip seductively in anticipation.

As soon as he got your approval, he roughly thrusted himself into you. You could feel him forcing your tight walls open, folds rubbing against the soft skin of his shaft. Your quiet exhales grew in volume, before forming into full-fletched moans.

Your body naturally moved with the rhythm of his, bouncing on his hard cock to increase the roughness of each thrust.

As the intensity of his movements grew, so did the volume of your moans. Your hands instinctively wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as your lips met in a fierce, passionate kiss. The sensation of his tongue dancing with yours only added to the overwhelming pleasure that was building inside you.

Hoseok's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging deep into your skin as he continued to drive into you with unrelenting force. The sound of your bodies colliding echoed through the room, a rhythmic slap of skin on skin that seemed to match the pounding of your heart.

Your back scraped against the wall with each thrust, but you didn't care - the pain was a distant second to the pleasure that was consuming you. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your muscles tensing in anticipation of the release that was to come.

Hoseok's eyes locked onto yours, his gaze burning with an intense desire as he watched you unravel beneath him. His movements became more frantic, his thrusts shorter and more rapid as he chased his own climax. You could feel his cock swelling inside you, the pressure building until it became almost unbearable.

As Hoseok's eyes burned into yours, his voice dropped to a low, husky growl. "You're mine now," he whispered, his words sending shivers down your spine. "You're mine to use, mine to fuck, mine to play with.”

"I always was, wasn't I?" you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, but laced with a hint of defiance. You tried to sound brave, but your voice trembled slightly, betraying your true feelings. Hoseok's eyes flashed with excitement, his gaze burning with an intense desire, as he took in your response. He seemed to like the fact that you were standing up to him, even if it was just a little bit.

Hoseok's eyes never left yours as he took a step closer, his body towering over yours. You could feel the heat emanating from him, and your skin prickled with awareness as he reached out and grasped your hips. His hands were like grips, holding you in place, as he pulled you into him. You felt a rush of excitement as your bodies touched, and you knew that you were in for a wild ride.

He spun you around, pinning you onto the bed, his body covering yours as he gazed down at you with an unyielding intensity. His hand slid between your legs, stroking your inner thighs, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as he touched you. His touch was gentle, yet firm, and you couldn't help but moan as he began to explore your body. You felt yourself getting wetter, your body responding almost immediately to his touch.

"How many can you take?" he whispered, his voice low and husky, as he slowly inserted one finger into you. You gasped, your body arching into his touch, and he smiled, his eyes glinting with excitement. "Two?" he asked, his voice dripping with anticipation, as he slid another finger into you. You felt yourself stretching, accommodating his fingers, and you couldn't help but moan as he began to move them in and out of you. His touch was gentle, yet firm, and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

As he fingered you, his other hand began to rub your pussy, a pair of two fingers applying gentle pressure to your clit. You felt yourself trembling, and you knew you were on the verge of something explosive. His fingers quickened in pace, stroking your inner walls, and you felt a sense of pleasure that you had never experienced before. You were so caught up in the moment, so lost in the sensation of his touch, that you didn't even notice when he added a third finger.

Your body coiled with anticipation in response to the overwhelming feelings of pleasure that were coming over you. His touch was like magic, weaving a spell of pleasure around you, and you knew that you were powerless to resist. You felt yourself trembling, your body shaking with pleasure, as he brought you to the brink of orgasm. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. Hoseok's fingers stilled, his hand ceasing its gentle rubbing, and you were left feeling frustrated and unsatisfied.

Hoseok's fingers slowly slid out of you, and he brought them to his lips, tasting the wetness that coated them. His eyes locked onto yours, a spark of desire igniting within their depths. With a gentle smile, he leaned forward, his mouth descending onto your sex.

His tongue dragged along your folds, tracing a slow path of sensation that left you breathless. As he reached the apex of your thighs, his tongue swirled around your clit, sending shivers coursing through your body. The pressure was building inside you, and you could feel yourself tightening with each passing moment.

The sight of him between your thighs was a lovely one, a position you never expected to find yourself in, despite the growing lustful thoughts you seemed to have for him. He kept his tongue extended, bobbing his head in a gentle rhythm as he licked you.

The sensation was intoxicating – the soft lapping of his tongue against your sensitive flesh sent waves crashing through your body. You felt yourself melting into the touch, your hips rising to meet the

Suddenly, Hoseok's mouth closed around your clit, suctioning onto it with a gentle yet firm pressure. You moaned out loudly as the sensation washed over you – the suction sending sparks flying through your nerves. Hoseok's response was to suck harder, his mouth closing tighter around your clit as he drew on it with increasing intensity.

The sound that escaped your lips was almost primal – a raw expression of pleasure that echoed through the room. Your body arched upwards, pushing against Hoseok's mouth as you sought more contact. The suction grew stronger still, until finally you felt yourself reaching the edge of climax.

As you crested over the peak and began to tumble down the other side, Hoseok slowly released his suction on your clit. His chest rose and fell with ragged breathing as he gazed up at you with eyes that burned with desire.

"Touch me," he whispered urgently. His voice was low and husky, and you knew exactly what he meant. "Didn't forget about pleasing your master, right?" he asked, his tone dripping with expectation and a hint of warning.

"Of course not, master," you replied, trying to sound calm despite the excitement building inside you.

"Good girl." He smiled, a small, satisfied smile. You reached down, your hand wrapping around his cock, and he let out a low growl of pleasure. His eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire as he gazed at you, his pupils dilating with desire. As you held him in your hand, you could feel his cock growing harder and thicker, the veins standing out in stark relief. The skin was smooth and hot to the touch, like silk wrapped around steel.

You smiled to yourself as you began to stroke him, your hand moving up and down the length of his cock in slow, teasing motions. You took your time, savoring the sensation of having him in your hand. Your fingers explored every inch of him, tracing the curves and ridges of his cock. You could feel the pulse beating within him, a rhythmic throbbing that seemed to match the beat of your own heart. As you stroked him, Hoseok's breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling with ragged gasps.

After a few moments of stroking him, you leaned forward, your mouth opening to take him in. Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and he let out a hiss of pleasure as you began to suck him.

His hands tightened around your head, holding you in place as he began to thrust his hips upwards, fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate strokes. His breathing grew more ragged, his chest heaving with excitement, and his voice dropped to a low, husky growl. The sensation was almost overwhelming - the taste of him filled your mouth, rich and earthy and utterly masculine.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, his words torn from his throat as he felt himself getting closer to the edge. "My slut is so good," he panted, his hands gripping your head tighter as he pulled you down further onto his cock. "You're so fucking perfect, you know that?" He thrusted deeper into your mouth, his hips jerking upwards.

You couldn't respond with words, but your expression said it all - you were his, completely and utterly, and you loved every moment of it. Your gaze was filled with a mixture of adoration and submission, your eyes sparkling with a hint of excitement and pleasure.

"You like sucking my cock, don't you?" he growled. "You like feeling me deep in your throat." He thrusted his hips upwards, even harder than before, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. "Take it all," he ordered. "Take every inch of my cock, princess." His words were like fuel on a fire, making you burn hotter with every passing moment.

Each thrust was like a wave crashing over you, basking in the feelings of bliss. Your mouth was stretched wide around him, but you couldn't help feeling a thrill of excitement at the way he was using you. The sensation was almost too much to bear, you couldn't help but crave for more.

Despite the pleasure that was building inside him, Hoseok's patience soon wore thin. He pulled his cock out of your mouth and grabbed your shoulders, pinning you back down onto the bed. His eyes blazed with need as he gazed at you, his face twisted with desire.

"I need you right now." he growled, his voice rough. You felt a sense of power, knowing that you had the ability to make him feel this way, and you reveled in it. In a swift movement, he flipped you onto your back and settled between your legs, his cock nudging against the entrance to your sex. His eyes locked onto yours, burning with an inner fire that seemed to burn brighter with every passing moment.

"You're mine," he whispered urgently as he pushed himself inside you. "Every inch of this body belongs to me." His words were like thunder in the background. Maybe it was wrong, maybe it was shameful, but all you could think about was the need to be used by him, to feel him deep inside you, to let go of everything and just give in to his desire.

Hoseok’s hand began blocking your head from banging against the headboard as he began to fuck you with a ferocity that left you breathless. The room was filled with the sound of your bodies colliding, the slap of skin on skin, and the heavy breathing that accompanied it. It was a primal, animalistic sound, and it only added to the excitement that was building between you. You felt yourself getting lost in the moment, lost in the sensation of his touch.

As you approached the edge, Hoseok's thrusts became faster and harder, his body pounding into yours with all his might. You couldn’t seem to contain the feelings of pleasure that spread throughout your body. And then, in a moment of pure ecstasy, you came, your body exploding into a thousand pieces as Hoseok's cock pulsed inside you.

His hand held your head in place, his fingers tangled in your hair, as he watched you come apart beneath him. Your body vibrated with the aftershocks of your orgasm, as you felt the warm liquid fill you up, his cum spilling into you like a gentle flood. It was a sensation that was both comforting and exhilarating, as if his very essence was merging with yours. You felt his warmth spreading through you, a soothing balm that calmed your trembling muscles and left you feeling languid and relaxed.

As you lay there, embracing the glow of your orgasm, Hoseok's expression softened, his eyes filling with a deep affection. He caressed your face, his fingers tracing the curves of your cheeks and the line of your jaw, his touch gentle and soothing. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, sweet kiss, and you felt your heart melt at the tenderness of the gesture.

For a moment, you two of you simply laid there, wrapped in each other's arms, the only sound being the gentle rhythm of your breathing. Then, Hoseok's face broke into a cheeky grin, one that you knew came with nothing but mischief.

“Wanna go again?”

a/n: hi, thank you for reading! let me know guys what you think and feel free to request something new <3

masterlist

[sapphichotmess]

IBLBM

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x plus size!f!reader (Bonnie)

Semi-inspired by “Talk” by Hozier

18+ mdni

5k+ words

Warnings: horrendous writing with very little dialogue (bc idk how to human), dubious consent (both drink alcohol but are not drunk), oral (f! receiving), unprotected piv (pls be careful), unexpected feelings?? (i was feeling fluffy at the end ig, bc it wasn’t supposed to end happily). 

The sounds of mindless chatter and loud laughing ring in Soap’s ears as he sits on the bar stool that creaks as he fidgets, placed next to the wall in the far corner of the run-down bar he frequents after deployment. Soap sips his whiskey, trying to drown out the distracting thoughts that had invaded his mind, racing through his head as fast as the bullets that had been recently fired at him. His striking blue eyes seem sunken and his cheekbones more pronounced in the dim lighting; his rugged features turned more harsh. The memories of the recent mission weigh heavily on him, seeing as his usually upright posture is wilted and slouched. Still, the laughter around him seems to provide a temporary escape.

Leaning against the peeling wallpaper, he absentmindedly runs his fingers across the sticky bartop in swirling patterns. At the same time, he brings his glass of whiskey up to his pouty lips to take another sip of the burning liquor; his blue eyes focus on something other than the bartop: the bonnie lass with her head thrown back in laughter at something one of her friends said, chubby cheeks squished as she smiles widely causing her eyes to almost disappear. The vivid joy of her laughter contrasted with the dark thoughts that haunted Soap. His mind wanders, succumbing to desires and fantasies that watching the lass offers—a brief respite from the harsh realities of war that usually storm his thoughts.

Soap takes another mindless sip of the amber liquid in the glass in his hand; the burn of the whiskey provides a physical distraction, a reminder of something tangible amidst the war and chaos of his thoughts. His blue eyes, ordinarily sharp and focused, betray a hint of vulnerability, softening as they follow the curves of the young woman's body, fixated on how her ample body seems to spill out of her seat in the most tantalizing way. The contrast between his wandering mind's harshness and his yearnings' softness is lost as he gets lost in the pretty lass, pink tongue darting out to lick his dry lips hungrily. 

Steamin’ Jesus, how he wanted to bury his hands in the pillowy softness of her hips and ass, drag her malleable body against his firm, unforgiving muscles. 

Soap tried to shake off the intrusive fantasies, lifting his gaze from the enticing scene. With its peeling wallpaper, sticky bartop, and the influx of civilians and soldiers alike, the bar offers a refuge of anonymity, a place where he could momentarily forget the weight of his responsibilities. 

Yet, the pull of desire lingers, weaving an intricate web of softness around the hardened soldier in that dimly lit corner of the run-down bar. Shooting the rest of his liquor to the back of his throat, Soap stands, wincing at the loud creak of the stool. The Scot takes a second to breathe deeply, making sure his posture is straight, his brown mohawk is neat enough, and his rakish smirk is perfect before swaggering over to the lass he had his eyes on; he knows that he will have a distraction in the form of plush thighs and whimpering sighs tonight. 

Soap's army-regulated boots make a subtle, purposeful thudding sound against the scuffed floor as he approaches, stopping just behind the object of his affection. The hum of conversation around him seems to dull in his ears as the air charges with an unspoken tension. His piercing blue eyes focused on his objective. This is not unlike having to seduce a mark when he’s undercover. 

The bonnie lass, oblivious to his presence, continues chatting animatedly with her friends. However, the sudden pause in her friend’s response is palpable as Soap's tall, broad-shouldered presence commands their attention. Their curious gazes turn toward him, and a hushed silence settles over the immediate vicinity. Every eye is turned to Soap as you turn to see what had caused the interruption, the laughter lines around your mouth and eyes fading into wrinkles between brows as you meet Soap's eyes with a curious gaze. 

Looking into yout eyes for the first time is like an atom bomb exploding—something beautiful and dangerous lighting up his irises, blocking out anything else. Soap feels as though time herself has stopped for him to have this moment, looking deeply into the most beautiful eyes he has ever seen. His rakish grin has fallen from his face, a drop-jawed, open-mouthed, and wide, starry-eyed look taking its place. 

“Lass” is the only thing he rasps out in a rough, accented voice, charming confidence washed away. 

Your friends giggle at the man’s loss of words, glancing at each other with smirks. 

One woman says, “If you keep your mouth open like that, you’ll catch flies.” 

This seems to break Soap from his haze, prompting him to snap his jaw shut with an audible clack of teeth. His cheeks burn like an inferno, red rising from under his shirt all the way up to the tops of his ears. The lass’ friends giggle more at his embarrassment. 

The bar, with its worn-out decor and the lingering scent of alcohol, resumed its normalcy. Sounds of creaking and conversation that had faded from Soap’s ears came ringing back. Soap, however, now stands on the precipice of a different kind of explosion—the unpredictable chemistry between two souls in a crowded, dimly lit bar, where a simple gaze has the power to alter the course of an ordinary evening. 

Shaking his head and sending his once-neat mohawk astray, Soap tries again, “Would ye dance with me, hen?” 

Your friends turn their attention back to you, who, by now, has lost the curious gaze and now adopts one similar to Soap’s from earlier—though you manage to keep your mouth shut. 

“I–umm…” is all you can stutter out in your confusion; what does a man like him want with a woman like you?

“I just…uhhh…I saw you from over there, hen,” Soap explains, pointing to ‘his’ corner of the bar, “and I just had to have a dance with ye. Yer body—steamin’ Jesus, Bonnie—ye could be a goddess just on looks alone. And yer laugh. It’s like faeries tinklin’ in my ears.”

Your face has heated to a nearly volcanic level because of the unexpected attention from such a specimen of a man; he wore a compression t-shirt that fit snugly around his arms and torso, bringing your attention to his hard, bulging muscles and black sweatpants that clung to his thighs like a second skin. Soap was pure sin, your mouth watering as you eyed him up and down. 

​​The vivid imagery of his words, combined with the genuine warmth in his eyes, sends an erupting flush of heat to your cheeks like a volcano boiling over. Soap's unexpected flattery, though eloquent, leaves you feeling both surprised and complimented.

Your friends exchange sly glances, perhaps recognizing the rarity of such a moment. Not only was a man asking you for a dance rare, but you reacting to a man with such awe was, too. 

Not above using his words—and his refined talk—to his advantage, Soap begins again, “Lass, ye ‘ave stolen my full attention. I’ve gotta ‘ave at least one dance with you. Please, Bonnie. I’ll get down on my knees and beg if that’s what ye want. Anything for just a taste of ye.” 

Glancing at your friends, who all give you looks telling you to go, you mutter, “Fine,” before getting out of your chair and standing before the behemoth of a man, “But I don’t even know your name.” 

Soap flushes darker at his misstep. “My name’s Johnny.”

“Well, Johnny boy, let's get dancing before you fall on your knees and beg.” 

Perking up like a dog whose just been given a bone, Soap squares his shoulders and runs a hand through his mussed mohawk, shuffling on his feet. He knows he has you in his grasp and will bring you home. He’s already got in mind all the things he wants to do to you, imagining the noises you will make as he wrings pleasure from you. 

Feeling a mixture of nervousness and excitement, you allow Soap to take your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. As he leads you through the crowded bar, the familiar sounds of mindless chatter and laughter become distant echoes. The atmosphere shifts as you approach the small, rarely used dancefloor, a space that seems to exist in its own pocket of the world.

Soap's grip on your hand is firm yet gentle, guiding you with a quiet—though dominant—confidence. The flickering lights overhead cast a soft glow on the worn wooden floor, and the notes of an old, familiar song begin to play.

The dancefloor, usually abandoned in a corner of the bar, becomes the stage for an unexpected lust between you and Soap. 

Without a word, Soap places his free hand on your waist, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. The distance between you dissipates as he pulls you gently into his body, your plush softness smooshing against his stiff muscles. The warmth of Soap's hand on your waist is comforting and electrifying. Now softened by the dim lighting, his blue eyes hold yours with an intensity that speaks volumes. For a moment, the world's worries outside the bar seem distant, and you find yourself captivated by the unexpected charm of the rugged soldier.

As Soap leads you into a slight sway to the music, keeping his body solidly on yours, the silence becomes even more grating. 

​​Soap breaks the silence with a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating through your intertwined bodies, causing a slight shiver to race up your spine. "Never thought I'd find myself dancing in a place like this," he admits, lips lifting in a slight smirk, his voice carrying a hint of gruff amusement.

You manage a small smile, feeling a mix of emotions—surprise, joy, and a twinge of vulnerability. "Me neither," you reply, the music providing a gentle backdrop to the exchange.

As the two of you continue to move in harmony, Soap's gaze remains fixed on yours. "Ye know," he begins, his tone sincere, "sometimes ye find something good in the least expected places." His words linger in the air, prompting a thoughtful pause. "And sometimes," he adds, a playful glint in his eyes, "ye find yourself dancing with someone who makes even the dimmest corners feel bright."

In a fluid motion, Johnny leans down, his movements both deliberate and yet surprisingly gentle. The scent of whiskey and gun oil hangs in the air as his battle-worn hand glides from your waist to your jaw, cupping it with a rough tenderness. He can feel the heat in your cheek as he brushes his thumb across it. 

Johnny’s touch is commanding and caring, the callouses on his fingers a testament to his countless battles. There's a quiet assurance in how he holds your face as if trying to convey a depth of understanding beyond the spoken word.

Simultaneously, his other hand grips your hip firmly, sending a thrill through your body.

You and Jonny share a few breaths, looking at each other through lowered lashes. The dim lights cast shadows on your faces. Then, Johnny grabs your face tighter and pulls you up to meet his lips with yours. The first touch is light, just a graze of his chapped, cracked lips on your lips. The next is all heat and passion. 

Johnny uses his grip on your jaw to force your mouth open so he can slip his tongue into your mouth, tasting the sugary drink you had been sipping on and the essence of your flesh. His lips tasted of strong whiskey, potent and intoxicating, something you could get drunk on. 

Johnny's movements are deliberate, each touch calculated to evoke a response. He slides his hand from your jaw to the back of your neck, large, thick, and calloused fingers fanning out over the back of your throat, possesively firm but gentle. Your gasp is swallowed into the greedy kiss. Johnny barely lets you breathe, pulling back to adjust his grip on your body before he’s diving back into your mouth. His tongue explores the contours of your mouth, leaving no inch untouched, licking behind your teeth and coaxing you into tangling your tongue with his. Slick pools in your underwear. 

Suddenly, almost as if he knows your reaction, Johnny pulls away with a slick sound, a string of saliva binding you two together until he swipes his tongue across his lips, drinking in your taste. His eyes are pools of dark blue, a raging sea of blue covered almost entirely by black. He looks crazed, like a hungry wolf; his mouth is set in a barely perceptible snarl, brows pulled down as he focuses on his meal: you.

“Bonnie, I’m gonna be honest…I gotta have you. Taste you. Worship you for the goddess you are.”

“Johnny, I’m not sure…” you trail off nervously, “I mean, my friends are here, and I didn’t drive here.” 

“I ken ye are worried, but you don’t ‘ave ta be worried. Ye're aff yer heid if you think I’d do anything to a Bonnie lass like ye” Johnny looks into your eyes before purring into your ear, “Imagine being loved by me.” 

His rough, accented voice right in your ear sends tremors throughout your body, slick soaking through your underwear as your lust grows. 

“Okay” 

With that breathy word, Johnny has his mouth on yours again, subtly grinding his erection against your midsection. You let out a breathy whine at the feeling of his length. 

Johnny takes a deep breath and steps away from you, “I would take you right here if I could. But I cannae. So, we should grab a cab to your place before I fuck you in front of everyone.” 

Drunk on lust, you can only nod your head rapidly, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the door. You only remember to wave goodbye to your friends right as you open the door and step outside into the chill of night, letting the door slam behind you. 

Letting you drag him into the cold night air, Johnny chuckles at your enthusiasm, his Scottish mutterings carrying a sense of amusement. "Ye ken that I havnae gotten a cab yet, right, Bonnie?" he remarks, the humor evident in his voice.

Your response is a content hum as you huddle into his body, seeking shelter from the biting winds. The warmth of his embrace starkly contrasts the cool night, and you find comfort in the proximity.

Amused by your eagerness, Johnny pulls his phone from his back pocket, his other hand ensuring you're nestled close to him. The desire for closeness is palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the connection forged in the bar. The faint glow of his phone illuminates his features as he orders a cab after asking for your address, the anticipation of what lies ahead adding an electric charge to the air.

As you wait for the cab, the world around you becomes a blur of dimly lit streets and the distant sounds of the city. In this pocket of time, suspended between the closing door of the bar and the arrival of the cab, the connection between you and Johnny continues to simmer, a flame that refuses to be extinguished by the cold night air.

Soon enough, Johnny is protectively ushering you into the back of a cab, climbing in right after you so as to not be too far from you. The warmth of the vehicle envelopes you both, a stark contrast to the chill you left behind outside—though it doesn’t hold the same feeling as being held in Johhny’s arms.

As the cab weaves through the late-night streets, the cityscape passes by in a blur of lights and shadows. Johnny sits close, the space between you minimal, as if he wants to ensure you feel his presence beside you. His hand holds the meat of your thick thigh, kneading the flesh there and teasingly dragging his fingers closer and closer to your core before sliding back down, a smirk placed on his lips. 

The cab comes to a smooth stop in front of your house, the engine humming softly as it idles. The quiet neighborhood surrounds you; the journey from the bar to this quiet residential street feels like a transition from one world to another. 

The glow of streetlights casts a soft illumination on the surroundings, creating a gentle ambiance. As he steps out of the vehicle, Johnny glances at your house, eyes filled with curiosity. You get out of the car and into the crisp night air is crisp next. The cab door closes behind you, the vehicle pulling away and leaving you and Johnny standing in the cool night air. The world outside is hushed, as if holding its breath, and the energy between you two remains palpable. The moment is pregnant with possibilities. 

You drag Johnny to your house by the hand, unlocking the door with only the moonlight to guide you. Leading him into your house, you take your shoes off in the entryway, waiting for him to do the same. When Johnny is done taking off his boots, you lead him to your bedroom in the dark, heart beating faster and faster the closer you get to your destination. 

Without bumping into anything, you reach your room, quickly running to turn on your bedside lamps. The few times you had a chance like this, you opted for the softer lighting of lamps over the harsh luminescence of the overhead lights. 

The ambient glow accentuates your soft, round features, casting a gentle radiance upon you. The warmth and subtlety of the lighting create an ethereal ambiance, turning the ordinary into the extraordinary. Johnny, momentarily caught in the beauty of the moment, watches you with wide, twinkling blue eyes. 

As his brain catches up to the visual feast before him, his eyes sharpening with hunger for a taste of you, Johnny rushes to you, pulling you into a searing kiss. He commandeers you with unspoken authority and leading hands, their touch firm and possessive as they steer you wherever he wants. And where he wants you is on your back, on your knees, and on top; he doesn’t mind as long as he gets to have you. 

He will have you. 

Pulling away from his bruising kiss that lingers as you move, you take one of his hands—the one he had gripping your waist—in yours, walking backward toward your bed. When the back of your knees hit the bed, you plop down on your plush ass, giggling as you bounce a bit. 

Your laughter is a melody that makes Johnny smile, his white teeth showing as his lips curl. As you settle into the bed, Johnny positions himself between your legs, his wide stance forcing them further apart. He forces your head up as you lean back on your hands, bringing your lips together once again. Johnny cants his hips into yours, thick erection tenting his pants and pressing against your core. The breathy moan you let out in response to the stimulation allows Johnny to slip his tongue into your mouth for the second time tonight, eager to taste more of you. 

Johny continues dragging his dick against your core while he releases your lips from his, sliding them down to your jaw. He begins licking and nipping at the juncture where your jaw meets your skull, pulling breathy moans from you. 

Johnny's lips trace a path from your neck to your earlobe, where he delivers a gentle nip. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and his warm breath against your ear makes your heart race.

"Keep making those noises, Bonnie," Johnny whispers, his voice a low, seductive murmur that resonates in the intimate space between you, "and ye won’t be gettin’ rid of me."

You let out a nervous giggle in response as your body rocks against his, following his easy movements. Your giggle gets cut off with a choked whine when his cock hits your clit just right. Johnny huffs hot air into your neck as he works to keep the angle just right so he can keep hitting your clit. After a minute of this, you shove Johnny back by his shoulders, sitting all the way up. 

As Johnny stumbles to keep his footing, you stabilize him by placing your hands on his hips. After he was steadied, you use your hands on his hips to your advantage by slipping them underneath his shirt to feel his scarred abdomen. 

The soft glow of the bedside lamps casts a warm hue over the room as you sit back, a smile playing on your lips. Johnny's muscles jump under your touch as you glide your hands up his torso, rucking his shirt up with them. Johnny allows you to slide his shirt off. His arms lift in cooperation, and the fabric is discarded, revealing his defined physique. The soft illumination accentuates the contours of his body, making his abs appear extra defined in the gentle light.

You glide your hands back over his stomach going down towards the low-sitting waist of his sweatpants. As you go to palm his erection through his pants, Johnny grabs your hands in one of his larger ones. 

“Not yet, Bonnie. I wanna taste you first.” 

After Johnny states this in his rumbling, accented voice, he releases your hands from his grasp and pushes you fully up onto the bed, your feet no longer dangling as your back hits the bed. Breathing heavier and your pussy pulsing with need, you watch with lidded eyes as he crawls towards you on the bed, a predator hunting his prey. He looks like a god as the lamplight illuminates the sharp features of his determined face, mouth shit in a tight line, and eyes focused solely on you. 

Johnny stops just before you, hands wandering up your covered legs. 

“Can I take these off, Bonnie?” he asks, fingers pulling at the waistband of your pants and underwear. When all you do is whimper in response, he tuts and shakes his head. 

“I asked you a question, lass. You best answer it.” 

You manage to breathe out a “Yes, please, Johnny” in response. 

Johnny nods his head in approval of your verbal queue, hastily fumbling with the button of your pants before tearing them—and your sopping panties—down your legs. He watches as your thighs spill from the fabric covering your lower half, the flesh jiggling slightly from the force used to rip the pants and underwear away from you. He is practically drooling and growling, desperate to get a taste of you, to get to see all of your soft body on display for him. 

Deciding he wanted you naked before he ate you out like a wolf starved, he crawls a bit farther up the bed to tug your top from your body with warm hands on flesh, matching your steps from earlier. When he’s got your top,  pants, and panties off, he leans back to leer at your uncovered body, laying so pliant in just your lacy underwear. 

All for him. 

Matching his thoughts, Johnny cups your breasts through your bra and thumbs your peaked nipples, purring, “Is this all for me, Bonnie?”

You nod your head with a shuddered breath before remembering his command. 

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” 

Johnny continues his assault on your nipples, tugging and tweaking them to total hardness through your bra while kneading the fat of your breasts in his large, warm hands. He doesn’t forget his objective, though—he never fails the task he is given; he stops the assault on your top half to slide under you, forcing your back to arch prettily, thrusting your covered breasts towards him. Johnny uses the space to unhook your bra with one hand, helping you remove it from your arms before diving head-first into your chest, nuzzling his nose into the crevice between your tits, and inhaling through his nose noisily. 

“Steamin’ Jesus, Bonnie, you smell so good.” 

His words cause your body to heat up, squirming in his hold. He opens his mouth and laps at your skin like a dog, groaning throatily at the salty taste of your skin. 

“Johnny!” you squeak. 

Johnny pulls back with a smirk, mockingly saying, “Bonnie!” in a high-pitched voice. Then, looking straight into your eyes with his stormy blues, he orders, “Be a good girl and open yer legs for me.”

You’re useless against his accented voice, following his order without thought. Your thick thighs part, making a slight sticking noise from the wetness left from your weeping cunt. The glistening sight and moist sound of your wet heat causes Johnny to groan deep in his chest, his dick throbbing in his sweatpants. If he wasn’t careful, he would end up fucking you sooner than he wanted. So, instead of waiting any more, Johnny scoots down the bed, his feet hanging off the side, and lays down flat. His broad shoulders force your legs wider until he has your chub squished in his hand, dented with the force he’s exerting, dragging your legs over his shoulders, hovering by his ears. 

“Don’t be shy, Bonnie. I like it rough,” he says with a wink before diving into his meal. 

The first hot, slick swipe of his tongue over you has you keening, hips bucking into the feeling. However, you can’t move far because Johnny’s got his hands fastened across your hips like a seatbelt, holding you to his starving mouth. He continues licking from the bottom of your pussy all the way to your clit, flicking his tongue once he gets there. His scruff burns against your thighs, but it only makes you hotter. Your head is pushed back into your bed, neck bared, back arched sensually, and one of your hands grips Johnny’s brown mohawk with trembling fingers, the other gripping your sheets tightly. 

Your breathy noises and tangy taste drive Johnny crazy, right along with the way you feel: soft, pliable, squishy in his hands, so malleable and willing. You submit to his every word, every touch, every breath, and he can’t get enough. Gripping you harder at the hips—probably leaving bruises, though he’s a little satisfied by the thought of staking his claim—he drags you impossibly closer, burying himself in the smell and taste of you, muffling his groans in your skin. 

Moving on from lapping at the whole of you, Johnny instead focuses on your dripping entrance. He drags his tongue over it several times before dipping into you, hips bucking into the bed at being able to taste you from the source. Johnny continues dipping the tip of his tongue into you until you’re whining loudly, pleading for more. 

He sticks his whole tongue into your pussy, swirling it around and scooping more slick into his mouth as his eyes roll to the back of his head; Johnny could die here, and he wouldn’t be mad. Shaking his head back and forth, he rubs his nose on your clit, making you cry out. 

“Fuck, Johnny, please!” 

Following your pleading cries, Johnny eases his tongue out of you, instead latching his mouth onto your clit and sucking hard. Your eyes close in ecstasy, completely missing the sly smile that graces Johnny’s lips as he—reluctantly—removes one of his giant hands from your waist.

Suddenly, your eyes are flying open, and you’re nearly screaming as you’re filled with two thick fingers. 

“Mmmm, Bonnie, yer squeezing me so tight, and yer so wet. I can’t wait to break you on my cock.” he mumbles against your skin. 

With the thought of you stretching around his cock, Johnny ups the ante, pumping while crooking his fingers to hit the spongey spot at the front of your tight passage just right and sucking on your clit like it was his favorite candy. He has you screaming in minutes. 

Johnny’s fingers slow down to a gentle coaxing, and the suction of his mouth becomes gentle licks, helping you ride your orgasm down. He has wrung every drop of pleasure from you, leaving you relaxed and breathing heavily on the bed, thighs twitching with his gentle caresses. But he isn’t done with you yet. 

Popping his wet fingers into his mouth and sitting up, Johnny moans at the taste of you. 

Slapping your red, beard-chaffed thighs lightly with wet fingers, watching them jiggle, Johnny says, “Damn, lass, you taste so good. I could lay between your legs until I die.” 

Not waiting for a response, Johnny slides out of his sweatpants and releases his erection. Your eyes widen, and a dull throbbing begins at the bottom of your stomach as you watch him slap against his taught stomach. He is huge—huger than you’re used to—not the longest, but certainly the widest; Johnny’d had to have the fattest cock you’ve ever seen, brownish in color with an angry red, drooling tip. 

Noticing your look, Johnny says, “I ken, Bonnie, I ken. I’m a lot ta take, but we’ll make it fit.” 

At this, Johnny shuffles back between your thighs, lifting your legs so they fit over his hips. Taking a hold of his dick, Johnny pumps himself a few times, smearing his pre-come around his cock. Then, he slides it through your wetness, teasingly bumping your clit as he does, just to see your pretty lashes flutter as your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

And then he’s telling you to “Kepp those pretty eyes on me, lass,” using one hand to stroke your overheated cheek.

Your eyes snap open at his gentle command; the air of confidence and authority lacing his gravelly voice catches your attention through your haze. You would do anything he said—jump off a bridge, go running into a house fire, or set your home ablaze—if he used that tone. 

Now that he has your attention, he can finally get to splitting you open. Looking down at where you two meet, Johnny places his dick at your weepy entrance with barely-there pressure, causing him to groan slightly. He shakes his head to clear it before looking back at your eyes. 

“Can I, Bonnie? I promise I’ll be gentle.” 

A weak “mhm” is all you get out before the pressure builds, and he’s slipping his thick cock inside your tight pussy. Your eyes slam shut at the burning sensation, hands latching onto his muscular thighs and leaving crescent moon-shaped indents. One of his hands comes up to tap your cheek, reminding you to keep your eyes open. Then he’s bottoming out, curving just so that his head hits a spot you didn’t think existed. 

Johny sits, fully embedded into your fluttering cunt, breathing through his nose so as to not cum already. He leans down, pelvis hitting your clit, and catches you in a searing kiss, waiting for you to get used to the feeling of him stretching your gummy walls. When you start bucking your hips against him slightly, he pulls back from the kiss while pulling his hips back slightly before he’s sharply thrusting back into your wet heat. Your sharp exhale spurs him on, eyes lighting up in victory and a smirk curling at his lips. 

You can barely hold on as he rapidly picks up a punishing pace. Johnny angles his hips just right to consistently slam into the spot that makes you see stars, his hips slamming into yours with loud slapping sounds. Your whole body jiggles with his movements, entrancing Johny with the subtle movements. He knows he won’t last long, being as pent up as he is. But you’re close, too; he can tell with how tight you’re squeezing him. 

“I can feel how hard yer squeezing me, Bonnie,” he rasps, “I ken yer close…cum for me.” 

Johnny’s words, along with his authoritative tone and the hand he snuck between your sweating bodies to rub at your clit have your back arching and eyes snapping shut. A primal scream of his name leaves your throat while you’re cumming so hard that all you can see is white, and you lose your hearing. 

You’re squeezing Johnny so tight he’s almost pushed out of your wet heat, walls spasming so hard and so frequently. Your almost unintelligible moans of his name are what send him over the edge, folding him in half so he’s growling his release in your ear. His eyes are shut tight, blue eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his hips twitch sloppily as he rides out his orgasm, painting your innermost walls white.  

The world returns to focus as your hearing returns, and you flutter your eyes open blearily. The room, once a blur of shadows and soft glow, slowly sharpens into view. The sounds of heavy breathing and the rhythmic beat of your heart fill the air. 

Johnny, now pulling out and watching hiss cum dribble out of your fluttering cunt, is a silhouette against the ambient light, his features softened in the aftermath. A gentle calm settles over the space as the echoes of passion subside. The soft illumination bears witness to the aftermath of an unexpected encounter that unfolded in the shadows and soft glow of the night.

The night's warmth, both in the embrace of Johnny and the aftermath of shared intimacy, provides a comforting cocoon. As you lie cuddled up with him, the realization of how utterly fucked you are dawns upon you — you've grown attached in just one night. Unbeknownst to you, Johnny’s having the same thoughts as he cradles your soft body closer. 

As the night deepens, you and Johnny find yourselves entangled in each other's arms, sharing the same thoughts of attachment and connection. The soft glow of the room envelops you, casting a gentle light on the intertwined figures lost in the quietude of slumber.

The echoes of the night linger in each of your dreams. As you fall asleep in the embrace of shared warmth, visions of a life together dance through your subconscious. The dreams weave a tapestry of shared moments and whispered promises.

The room, once a witness to the intensity of passion, now cradles you both in the tranquility of sleep, the words once muttered by the Scot, “Imagine being loved by me,” ringing in your ears.

taglist: @tinygarbage @pamasaur @cool-iguana

[totothewolff]

Season of Love (5/?)

+18 | Toto x reader fem!teamprincipal, romance, comedy, and some good drama.

Summary: One night on a pier in Monaco, while admiring the sea under the night skies, you tell Toto: "I came to the conclusion that love is simply not meant for me." That's the answer to a question you have been asking yourself for the longest time. But what if he proved you wrong? Author's note: This is a multichapter Toto Wolff x team principal reader fic set along a season of F1. It's a very immersive story full of drivers, team dynamics, races, mystery, and smut. You just bought the Williams team, but nobody really knows who you truly are.

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Dances with Wolff Arc Chapter 5: Cold tires, warm heart

UK

The weather stays cold all day long at Silverstone; the crisp air bites your skin, causing shivers down your spine, and your breath forms small clouds before you as you walk briskly to the campsite area where the luxury motorhomes & RVs are parked, yours included, huddled in layers of warm clothing, feeling drained as the rest of the grid feels, seeking an opportunity to lay down and rest. 

Everyone warned you the mid-season was tough on the body, and they were right! As you drag yourself inside your luxurious, trendy, and sophisticated RV. The sleek and clean design aesthetic greets you; it's a zen monochromatic color scheme space full of high-end finishes, innovative storage solutions, elegant sofas, and a large comfy bed with a kitchenette and bathroom, creating the perfect getaway place for you away of the chaos at the paddock.

You share your location and access code with Toto, but he doesn't reply to your text. You assume he must be busy, so you fall soundly asleep on the bed there until you feel a pair of muscular arms hug and softly spoon you, half-waking you up.

You feel Toto's firm body against yours, with no inch of space between you two, as he wraps you in a tender and affectionate display of intimacy; your bodies intertwine as he seeks your warmth.

—I missed you so much —you turn to tell him, kissing him softly. —It feels wrong not having you by my side —you find the courage to let Toto know how you felt these past days without him, breaking the room's quietness, then burying your face in his neck, feeling shy and vulnerable and softly smooching it. 

He caresses your cheek with his index finger and slowly kisses your lips, leaving you breathless after a few minutes.

Toto seems exhausted as you peek at him while patiently waiting for him to comment on your confession, but he only looks pensively at your words as he rests his temple on yours. You sense his right hand caressing down your arm on its way to hold your hand. Then he pulls you closer to his chest, where you get cozy and fall asleep again.

-

One text, two texts, five texts.

—She is not answering —Michael says, a bit taken out.

One call, two calls, five calls.

—He is not answering —Niki says, quite concerned.

-

Once again, you wake up after a bit, feeling dozy and disoriented as you hear an iPhone ringing in the distance, still nestled in Toto's embrace, overwhelmed with tranquility and happiness but fucking annoyed at that damn ringtone. 

The softness of the bed, the heat of Toto's closeness, and the gentle rise and fall of his breaths make it a cozy heaven you don't want to leave, but that goddamn annoying phone doesn't let you nap and is about to wake him up too, and you want him to rest.

So you bravely drag yourself to your feet, hating life, and walk straight to Toto's duffel travel bag to search for his iPhone buzzing inside. To your surprise, you find it next to a torn and used voucher for "Cocktails for 2" at The Savoy Hotel in London, along with his passport. 

As you pick up his phone to turn it off, you wake it and notice that Toto still hasn't changed his wallpaper; he appears there posing in a pottery studio couple session, all smiley, with Susie wrapped in his arms, both of them looking in love and joyful as the professional camera lens captures their handsomeness, they look like they belong together. 

You can't avoid the sting of pain and insecurity washing you over, but you take the thought off. It's probably nothing, you try to convince yourself. So you finish turning his phone off and leaving it where you found it.

Then you turn off yours, ignoring all the red bubbles in it, on your way back to Toto's arms. All you want right now is him and you, and fuck the rest of the world. This "relationship," if you can call it that, is meant to crash soon, so you want to hang on to it as much as possible.

-

Two hours have passed since then, and Toto's hands are now roaming across your back, guiding your movements as you are in a cowgirl position on him. At the same time, his tongue dances erotically with your tongue, adding a sweet and sinful layer to your passionate embrace.

Your moans echo throughout the RV, blending perfectly with the rhythmic creaking of the bed frame beneath you. Toto's breathing grows heavier as you ride him hungrily, showing how much you miss him.

As he explores your curves, Toto begs you: —Bounce on my cock —with a voice husky with desire and with trembling hands, and you give him what he craves, exploding with pleasure as each time more desperately you go up and down his shaft.

Your nipples stiffen, them peeking out from beneath the fabric of your dress; this time, you didn't even care to take all of your clothes off; they were begging for his attention. Toto can't resist it; he leans in, pulls down the upper part of your dress, and captures one in his mouth, sucking it gently as his tongue teases its sensitive tip.

—Oh, God! —you cry, arching your back with pleasure. —That feels heavenly.

Toto releases your breast, looking up at you with a sultry grin. —Wait till it's my turn to show you how much I missed you —he purrs, hands dancing all over your ass.

As you are about to reach an orgasm, you can't escape the guilty thought in the back of your mind. —We shouldn't even be here, less doing this —you say in between tiny breaths and moaning a bit. —It was irresponsible for me to text you to come over —you protest weakly. —This could be no good for our careers —releasing a big moan as you finish the sentence, not being able to stop rocking yourself on Toto, moving now your hips in circles. His dick is so hard, and it feels so delicious all the way inside you.

Toto shrugs nonchalantly, then growls, his eyes smoldering lustfully, enjoying the sight of you going all over him. —I was planning to look for you anyway. Do you want us to stop and leave? —he replies, out of breath.

—No.

Toto gives you an "I agree" in the form of thrust, hitting you with such force that causes you to scream out in pleasure and unstabilize you, making you quickly place both of your hands on his chest to not fall on his face.

Then, his strong arms wrap you around the waist, holding you steady as he moves in rhythmic strokes that push your boundaries. Each withdrawal leaves you craving more, and each entry pleases you; he starts speeding up, making you moan out his name many times as the sounds of your body colliding fill the air. It's a symphony of pure passion.

—You make me feel so... complete... and free... and loved —You gasp out, voice shaking as Toto's powerful thrusts drive you deeper into the realm of satisfaction.

For some reason, feelings are bursting out of you in the form of words lately, freeing your thoughts without thinking much about the repercussions, being weirdly open and sincere for once in your life. Maybe it's because your period is near, and you always feel more emotional around that time; you lie to yourself, not wanting to admit falling for him because you know it will hurt more when it's over, which is sadly approaching.

It's not only the sexual part that makes you feel so whole with him. It's also his small displays of affection, his caring texts every morning to know how you slept, to let you know you are one of his first thoughts of the day, or the long conversations about anything you two share, the pictures you send to each other of the most mundane things to share life.

That makes you always feel him present and being taken care of. Also, the many times you advise each other, from billionaire businessman to billionaire businesswoman, or the quiet moments when you two are silently wrapped in each other's arms, just enjoying your presence and bodies.

—Toto, I'm so close! —you moan loud as he manhandles you around; you feel yourself dripping and so warm, like your pussy is burning. Your pussy folds, rubbing around Toto's shaft, who positions himself to pound you against the mattresses.

Then you feel him shifting his entire weight on you, topping you, and placing his thumb finger inside your mouth for you to suck it. —Then cum for me —he whispers, hot against your ear. He starts to fuck you hard like that, making your ass wable, and the bed squeaks so loud as he pins you down against the sheets, but all get muffled by the sounds he is provoking you to release. You feel a bit of pain in your hips and lower back as he slaps hard against you.

With a big moan, you cum all over him, all red and sweaty.

Toto has never had this before, someone so willing to please him, in all senses, someone so light-spirited and carefree. He is trying so hard not to fall for you, too. You please him like no one else in bed but also outside of it. You are the whole fucking package. 

If change didn't fright him, he would be willing to try.

He would venture for more if he weren't so scared of failure.

Toto feels a responsibility for Susie and her feelings and heart; she counts on him for this, and Toto has never missed his duties since he was a young man, even if his heart desires something else.

He ended up agreeing to try the "open relationship thing" after saying no to it at first and breaking things with Susie because she showed up very distressed one night at his hotel room door, crying and saying how much she still loves him and how hard this is, that he shouldn't punish her for not wanting children. Toto felt so guilty; that wasn't his intention, but what if she was right?

But you happened in the middle of this. By accident or destiny is a cruel joker. This fling started like that, and it was supposed to stay there, not this. 

He pays attention to you more than you think; he has noticed the meaning and sentiment of your words lately and can't avoid feeling guilty for not being as open and honest as you deserve and how you are being. But Toto knows you will end it as soon as he lets you know you are his free pass on an open relationship agreement, so he is hanging on to you as much as possible. It's selfish and wrong, but he doesn't know how to quit you, how to say no to this, how to say goodbye.

Only if Toto knew.

Only if you knew.

-

—Is Torger still in London?! —Niki asks out loud, now absolutely annoyed, addressing Sam in the middle of the circus inside the Mercedes garage as he tries to manage everyone for the opening ceremony of the F1 anniversary race, set to start in about 20 minutes. 

Toto is always on time and never misses something without previous notice; this is uncharacteristic. Niki hadn't seen him all day; they had different schedules.

Lewis and George are scheduled to make donuts driving along with the other grid drivers. They all will do the same simultaneously to create a fog while AC/DC performs on a high-stage platform.

—Toto is here. I saw him a couple of hours ago. His phone seems out of reach —Sam has sworn never to lie to Niki. She quickly picks up her phone to call you, knowing you are also missing after being asked for the fourth time by several Williams team members if she had seen you around. WHAT A COINCIDENCE! It is evident for her where you two are. 

Since you don't answer the texts she bombards you with, she takes action and puts her feet in motion.

"You can't act this recklessly!" Sam thinks and looks visibly irritated. People are going to start wondering, especially when you two idiots arrive late with "we just fucked" hair and satisfied expressions at the paddock, and God forbids you two to show up together at the same time! Or worse, you two do not arrive at all.

-

Sam shows up at your RV's door, almost tearing it down, betting Toto and you were in there this whole time.

—Are you mental?! —Sam tells you, looking stressed, as the door's mechanism finishes opening.

—I'm sorry —you honestly apologize, knowing quite well what she refers to.

—Niki is furious! —she informs you, still at the bottom of the stairs and out of the RV's entrance, with no visible intention to come in. —Toto is still in there? —she asks in a low voice, pointing with her head.

You nod.

She comes closer to you, almost whispering to your ear. —Please don't get offended. I love you, but I know you are not here because of the sport, nor do you care which team wins or not; I know this is not your actual job. But please, could you...

You interrupt Sam, finishing for her in a sad tone. —Not interfere?

—I... —Sam sighs; she doesn't want to blame you or make you feel bad; she gets it, knows what you are going through, and wants more than anyone else for you to be happy. —Listen, our team is working its ass off; there are thousands of us relying on performing the best, and this is our livelihood; it worries me that this could...

—It won't happen again; I get it. I know we acted unprofessional. Sam, you understand how hard it has been for me... I'm just... I'm just trying to enjoy life for the first time, to feel happy and free for once; YES! I'm sorry it wasn't the place or the moment, but...

—I know, I know —she quickly adds. —Listen —Sam gets a little nervous and hesitates before adding. —I think you two, really, should talk openly and honestly about your "situation." I don't wish any of you hurt. Please talk —she sounds insistent, which worries you a bit.

—Yeah. Okay. I agree.

—Are you showing up for this Massi's wet dream? —Sam tries to lift the mood and return to the main topic.

—Toto is —you inform her. —He is finishing getting ready in the bathroom. I'm not. I will watch it at the hotel —now is your turn to come closer to Sam's ear and whisper. —I have to prepare for the call; Pascal set the meeting at 2 a.m., and we will rerun the scenario.

—It's good to know; I hope it all goes as planned and well —Sam says, looking relieved as she hugs you goodbye and leaves before bumping into Toto.

-

Toto claims "food poisoning" to excuse himself and that he spent hours feeling nauseous at his motorhome, as he makes it just in time at the garage. It's a white lie everyone buys. Actually, this happened once to him in Spain after going out for dinner.

Niki notices he has far too much color on his cheeks, for that matter, but chooses to let it go. Toto has been far more than responsible for many years, which has significantly cost him a lot in his personal life; Niki feels he deserves and needs some recklessness and happiness in his life. So, he plays along.

He softly pats Toto's shoulder and gives him a small smile as he sits beside him at the workstation and places his headphones and gear on.

The show is about to start.

-

The F1 anniversary's opening ceremony is the most glamorous affair! Bringing together a star-studded guest list of celebrities, like every big name, is there. 

And there are way too many influencers wandering around the garages for Michael's likes; he lets you know as soon as you call him back, excusing yourself for leaving the circuit, calling it a personal emergency.

Minutes later, you turn on your hotel room's TV to watch the start of the ceremony. A spectacular video mapping and drone display showcases the sport's rich history on the circuit track. It displays iconic footage on the many kilometers of asphalt as broadcast to millions of viewers worldwide. 

This is followed by a visually captivating driver's parade in which current drivers donned old-fashioned racing suits representing different eras of their teams, paying homage to the evolution of the sport as they get driven around interloped with cars with performers giving it all and working the crowds, till they make it to the main stage, where AC/DC comes out to close the show. 

In the middle of their set, all the grid drivers exhibit their coordination skills, making donuts together as the cherry on the cake, leaving fans ecstatic. You must admit it looked so cool. Massi must be shitting his pants!

Your room service order comes just in time as the race starts; you asked for too many desserts and sweets along with your salmon; you are feeling low and are taking comfort in the delicious food you savor, an unhealthy habit of yours, eating your feelings. 

Toto let you know before leaving, in between kisses, that he was attending a Mercedes team dinner after the race to celebrate with the team so that you would be sleeping alone tonight. You were so grateful for it, avoiding the trouble of making out an excuse to be able to attend the late-night meeting in private.

Sam is right; you aren't taking any of this seriously enough. 

-

The entire Mercedes team gathers in one of the most glamorous and lavish restaurants in London, "Amazónico." It is the coolest place Sam has been in a while, full of foliage-festooned walls and decor inspired by the rainforest of Brazil. Gorgeous velvets, greenery environments, and deco touches give the place an exotic yet luxurious vibe.

The mechanics and engineers, usually in their sports attire, look sharp in elegant outfits, and the mood is ON! Drinks flow as Toto gives a motivational speech to start the night, congratulating the team for their performance so far and inspiring them to give their all to secure the championship, acknowledging the fierce competition from Williams and Ferrari.

Susie and Toto are by the bar; she is sitting on the stool with her arms resting on the shoulders of a standing Toto as they chat, almost mouth-on-mouth, looking joyful.

Niki looks bemused as he watches them from afar, already sitting at the main large table the venue arranged for them and where they are about to have dinner. He addresses Sam, sitting to his right, without moving his gaze from the couple. —Weren't they..?

—Apparently, they are not —Sam gives him a look as she looks for something in her purse.

Niki looks as disappointed and surprised as she is as he nods to her, lets out a small, barely audible sigh, and sips his bourbon.

-

As Sam gets hammered with Bono and Annalise, Toto reaches them at the booth near the back of the place. He stays on his feet, waiting for them to finish their round of shots on a spinner wheel, and then bends to talk to a very comfortable, sitting, and tipsy-looking Sam with pink-red cheeks.

—What are your plans for tomorrow? —he asks her a bit loud, over the set the DJ is playing.

—Nothing, just chilling and recovering from this night; why?

—To hang out and tourist around, like we always do or did, how about that?

—Aw, you miss me, asshole?

—You are a necessary evil, but yeah, I miss you. 

—Why does everyone seem so emotional lately? I hope it's not contagious.

—We have lots to catch on to; I feel it's been ages and pure work between us.

—Please tell me if it's terminal.

—No, you moron, I'm totally fine —he swings his hand a bit too hard, spilling some of his drink.

"Then tell your eyes, liar! Yeah, all drunk at a work event? Sure, you are TOTALLY fine," Sam thinks. —I'm free, then. Will she join us?

—Who? —Toto looks taken off guard, thinking of you instead of Susie, whom Sam refers to.

—Sus, since she is around again.

—Sam, I...

—Oh, no, it's none of my business. I would rather it that way; I'm just asking.

—No, she isn't; it will be just us.

—Good —she ends the conversation.

"Is Sam mad at me? She sounded like it." Toto thinks. It's always hard to read her.

-

As the night is about to end and everyone seems drunk, Toto comes to cool down and relax after being forced to hit the dance floor against his will. He is not feeling it tonight, so he chooses to sit next to Niki and chat with him.

Toto is not on his usual dumb and lively drunk ass; he is weirdly somber. In the middle of their casual conversation, Niki asks him: —So, who changed their mind? —knowing what's up as he looks at Susie dance with George.

—About?

—Having children.

There is a long silence while Toto looks at Susie, laughing and throwing some moves around the dancefloor.

—I'm giving it a try.

Niki slowly nods and says nothing, and Toto stares at him. He recognizes Niki's disappointed face when he sees it, and Toto takes another big sip of his drink, swallowing hard.

-

You wake up late the following day after falling asleep around 5 a.m. once the call ends, feeling emotionally drained and not wanting to leave the bed. But when in Rome, you mean London. Nothing will lift your spirits more than going shopping; you are a shoes and purses maniac, and that new Miu Miu collection screams your name.

You are in the middle of buying half of Harrods when you receive a text from Toto.

"I won't be able to stay with you these days as I was hoping, I'm expected at Brackley. See you on the weekend. I miss you already."

Great, just what you needed.

-

Still in the UK

The British GP is here! And most of you already feel like you had enough Silverstone already.

Since Lewis swept the floor with everyone on the anniversary race, a similar result is expected for this weekend.

The FIA calls you all into one of the now traditional meetings, but this time around, Massi is expected to join in.

So when you arrive at that sad meeting room, he is standing right there next to the door; you are the last one to join, so he is facing you while waiting for you to finish stepping in to close the door after you, and you don't let go an opportunity like that.

As you step in, you hand him your coat and purse as if he were the receptionist and thank him, motioning to tip him as the entire room laughs.

Massi looks so confused and appalled at you, getting taken entirely off guard, but follows along, not knowing what else to do, or if you are serious or just messing around, still holding your things in his hands, and places your coat on the hanger and your purse on the empty chair next to yours.

—The nerve —Sebastian tells you in a low voice and takes a discrete bow at you with his hands as you sit on your chair next to his. Vettel is hiding behind Charles in the row in front of him, trying so hard not to burst out laughing. Both your eyes sparkle as your looks lock and smile at each other. Seb has the most gorgeous eyes on earth.

Then the meeting starts.

-

After being freed from that, you are walking down the pitlane on your way to free practice, chatting and fooling around with Carlos, Lando, and Mick, but suddenly, you stop just meters away from the Mercedes' slot. 

Lewis and George join you as soon as they notice you guys and come out of their garage, staring amusedly at a very frozen you as they reach you.

—Is that..? —you say, peeking inside the Merc's garage. —Oh, my God! Is that ROGER FEDERER?! —you let out in a funny and pitchy little scream.

George starts to laugh behind his hand, covering his mouth. You sound hilarious, and he looks at you in delight as you act all star-struck. Who would tell?

Carlos takes a few steps nearer you and closes your mouth, softly pushing your chin up with his index finger. —You are drooling —he jokes.

You go all red, tomato red, as you return to your senses.

Lewis sees the perfect opportunity for mayhem. —Oh, I'm so introducing you two! —He returns to the garage as quickly as possible to look for Roger.

—WHAT!? NONO! —you say way too loud as you watch him go, causing a couple of mechanics to raise their heads and look your way.

Lewis abruptly interrupts the engaging conversation Federer is having with Toto.

You start hyperventilating as Lewis walks alongside Roger straight in your direction. Toto observes the scene from the distance, with his muscular arms crossed. You feel his dark eyes on you.

You can't even form a greeting sentence when the Swiss introduces himself to you. A funny sound comes from your lips that sounds like a "Hi!" 

Millie looks at you, astonished, as she comes closer with Normani after the guys pointed at her with their hands and arms a "Come see this, please." She pivots her gaze from you to Normani and back with an "I think she broke" expression.

Meanwhile, your brain goes: "Roger is tall, hot, hot. Jesus, that smile! Is that chest real? Oh god, don't you dare peek down at his grey sweatpants!" as you stand there like an idiot without moving or saying something.

There are a couple more seconds of pure and awkward silence till Lando's stupid, mocking little laugh gets you out of your trance. Oh, the group is living for this!

—Delighted to meet you, Roger. I'm Y/N!

The group burst out laughing at your expense, enjoying the spectacle from afar, watching you try to act human around Federer until he turns his head their way. Now, they are all gathered together, sensing their stares, and the group quickly goes apart, acting like nothing has happened, returning to their activities.

—Is it me, or is Wolff not enjoying their interaction? —Normani asks Millie as they both intertwine arms and walk away together.

—Toto!? —Millie turns her head, looking back at a serious-looking Austrian inside the garage. —I don't think so. He always looks serious. I guess it's just his resting face, but he is such a cinnamon roll.

—A cinnamon roll? What language do you speak?

—English, Miss Posh Britain Got Talent.

Normani rolls her eyes at her. She is bonkers.

-

—In my defense... —you start to tell the table later, as all of you try to fit into a tiny table in the McLaren cafeteria; this time, Lando is sponsoring the lunch, and as you munch your veggies wrap.

—There's no defense —Carlos mocks you.

You toss your arms in the air, mouth still full of food, to protest as everyone laughs again at your interaction with Federer.

—We witnessed one of your canonic events —Mick jokes, making Millie almost fall from her half of the chair they are sharing.

—Oh, it was hilarious —Lewis adds.

—A masterpiece —Lando admits. —That coming from me —he points at himself with a thumb finger. —It means A LOT.

You finish passing the food and clear out your throat before continuing. —In my defense, Roger was wearing the slutiest thing a man could wear, and my brain was trying to process it.

All the boys look inquisitive at you with a please tell us more face.

—The grey sweatpants! —Millie and Normani answer for you simultaneously, agreeing with your statement.

—See! —you give them all a funny face.

—I still don't get it —Lando says.

—OH GOD! Go put on a pair of grey pantsuits and look down at your dick, and tell us —Sam teases him, done with him.

—Don't you remember that viral Lewis "I have an anaconda down here" mirror Instagram selfie with the grey sweatpants? —Millie says.

—That a friend told you about! —Seb jokes, addressing Millie.

—THAT A FRIEND OF HERS TOLD HER ABOUT! That that friend isn't me —Normani joins in the fun.

—With all due respect, Sir —Millie adds, looking at Lewis, who is laughing and trying to hide his red face in the gap his flexed arms are creating, lying on the table's surface.

—So... Do you like your men in grey sweatpants? Good thing I have four of those to wear —Lando tells you, moving his eyebrows suggestively up and down several times.

—OH GOD, PLEASE NOT! —the entire table screams.

-

Toto joins you that night in your hotel room; the two of you don't feel like doing anything fancy; just spend the evening together. After playing a competitive round of "Talk, Flirt, and Dare," as you stack up the board game cards for the next round, he asks you. —So, Tennis? Of all sports... Tennis?!

—Yeah, it's fun! —you slowly approach Toto; he is sitting on the rug next to the game placed on the coffee table between you in the living area, looking comfortable, relaxed, and shirtless after taking a dare card, currently only wearing his briefs. 

You slide a hand on his neck and chest before sitting on his lap, facing him. He wraps your waist with his toned arms and pulls you closer. Whispering against your lips —How?

—Well

—If you say so... —he shrugs. —For me, it's boring; there's not much adrenaline in it.

—Well, not all sports have to be lethal, you know? I thought you would like it since it is fast-paced —you make a thinking gesture by rubbing your chin.

—You have seen him play?

—Who? —you reply, trying to act dumb.

—Federer —he says pretty sternly.

—Several times, yeah.

—Are you one of those girls who follow him around? He told me about his groupies —he teases, but there is a jealous undertone.

—What? No, no. I don't like him like that.

Toto gives you a look that you read as "Really, girl? Closed fist, big long acrylic nails." —Uhm! If I remember correctly, you went all over him today; I think I have never seen you smile that big before —he adds. —You must look delighted in those selfies you took with him before you gave him that private tour of the Williams garage. Did he really get into the car? He passed with us. Did he like the driver's helmet you gifted him?

How on earth did Toto know about all that? That man has eyes everywhere.

—Hey, listen, I met one of my heroes FOR THE FIRST TIME and, AND, I got a bit excited! —you comb your hair with your hand. Toto's eyes can't avoid peeking at your tits as they wiggle with your arm movement. You also ended up shirtless; that sheer bra leaves nothing to the imagination.

Then he arches an eyebrow at your answer. A "bit excited" is downplaying. —He made you lose words, at first, then got you all over him, but sure "a bit excited", so, he looks better up close, or..?

—AND I got carried away. I admit it was a little embarrassing —Yep, Toto is envious. —He is okay, yeah. Are you jealous?

—Yes, completely —he purrs dangerously against your mouth, and you feel his warm breath brushing your lips. —Lucky for me, that guy is off the market —he looks intensely at you.

You kiss Toto, melting for him inside. —I wouldn't pick him over you —you pause to reassure him and keep kissing him. —I wouldn't pick anyone else over you —more kissing. —You are all I want.

Toto reacts weirdly. He gives you a look you don't know how to read; it's full of devotion, but there's something else, like anger. Is he that possessive, or is there something else?

You feel like following Sam's advice, and this may be the perfect moment for it.

But he senses you are about to open a conversation he isn't ready to have. Toto hates himself for it, so he quickly and softly moves you to get on his feet and asks you if you want another glass of wine. He is already taking your glass and walking to the winery, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

[queens-of-lockscreens]

Adore in some vintage pictures ≈

(like/reblog if u use, kay?)

[fanfictionstuff]

Gingerbread Houses

Amaimon x Reader

I promise I'm working on the Rin and Mephisto fics.

SFW but NSFW is implied a couple times.

This is going to be 1/? I wanted to write something cute with Amaimon and Reader for Christmas. So, I have a couple ideas, and if you want to suggest something, feel free.

I don't know if you've seen Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964), but it is mentioned. If you haven't seen it, a quick Google search of the name and add the year you can see the animation style.

I can't wait for Sunday! He was so cute last week; I just wanted to hug him. This is the wallpaper for my computer and phone lmao

Sitting in class, you can hardly contain your excitement as you eagerly await your boyfriend's arrival. Just last night, the realization hit you like a bolt of lightning: Christmas is just a week away! After a quick moment of panic about finding the perfect gift for Amaimon, you remembered one crucial thing—he’s never truly experienced a modern Christmas here in Assiah.

The door swings open, and in strides the demon king himself. Your excitement bubbles over as you leap to your feet, rushing towards him with outstretched arms. You wrap your arms around his neck, your heart racing with joy. "Do you know what next week is?” you exclaim, a wide grin spreading across your face, unable to contain your thrill any longer.

“Winter break?”

“No, well, yes, next week is Christmas!”

Amaimon nods as he places his hands on your hips. Christmas decorations have been popping up all over town for the past few weeks, making them hard to overlook. Mephisto also mentioned that Amaimon needed to find a gift for you earlier this morning.

“So, do you have plans?” You question him.

“My plans always revolve around you," he replies flatly. Ever since Mephisto granted Amaimon a taste of freedom, you’ve somehow woven a spell that ensnares the demon king. But oddly enough, he doesn't seem bothered by it at all.

You nod enthusiastically, a smile spreading across your face. “I was thinking we could make gingerbread men and houses tonight?” As the words spill out, you reach into your pocket with your right hand, your left arm comfortably wrapping around Amaimon. “Look,” you eagerly turn your phone toward Amaimon, showcasing a vibrant Google image search filled with enchanting gingerbread houses is displayed. “I found a recipe that’s perfect for making gingerbread houses!"

Amaimon stares silently at the screen, absorbing the assortment of miniature, edible homes before him. A slight crease forms on his forehead, revealing that he's lost in thought, perhaps even a bit perplexed. He reaches into his pocket with his free hand, pulls out a piece of candy, and pops it into his mouth. His sharp gaze shifts from the phone back to you before he ultimately decides to speak. 

"Why? It seems pointless," he asks, tilting his head curiously to the side. His tone is not mocking or dismissive; instead, it conveys genuine curiosity. 

You respond with an amused glance before quickly explaining, "It's a tradition for some people during Christmas to create and decorate gingerbread houses. They're fun to build, and you get to eat them afterward." You gesture toward the images on your phone again, smiling at the thought of making one with Amaimon. 

He hums in response, seeming content with your explanation yet still looking a bit baffled. "I saw that in a shop; we could just buy one," he drawls lazily, searching for loopholes in this tradition you've drawn him into. 

"Yes, but making it ourselves is part of the fun," you counter, firmly tightening your hold on him. Now that the idea of making gingerbread houses together is on the table, you can't imagine spending the weekend any other way. Seeing your unwavering resolve, he simply shrugs and presses his lips to yours. “Okay.”

As soon as school lets out, you nearly drag Amaimon off the school grounds, your excitement bubbling over, making it difficult to contain yourself. Realizing that you don’t have most of the ingredients you need, you lead Amaimon to a grocery store not far from your apartment. His curiosity, combined with a hint of skepticism, causes you to chuckle every now and then.

Although Amaimon may not fully understand your excitement, he can’t help but enjoy observing your enthusiasm. He often wonders how humans find joy in such ordinary activities.

As you begin shopping for the ingredients, Amaimon wanders around the store, casually holding the basket. He occasionally adds snacks that catch his eye, mostly sweets and junk food. It seems he is more interested in the edible aspect of the project than in the building process itself. 

After gathering all the necessary ingredients—flour, baking powder, ginger, cinnamon, molasses, brown sugar, butter, and eggs—you lead Amaimon to the checkout counter. As you wait in line, he curiously examines the vibrant Christmas decorations near the register and, without much thought, adds a box of candy canes to the basket. 

"Are we going to use these also?" He asks, sounding perhaps just a smidgen interested. 

"Well," you say, glancing at the candy canes before redirecting your gaze back to Amaimon with a slight smile. "They’re often used to decorate gingerbread houses. We could insert them like little poles or something similar." 

Amaimon raises an eyebrow, contemplating this new information briefly before dismissing it with a casual shrug. He doesn't understand why people invest so much effort into such a fleeting celebration, but if it makes you happy, he supposes he could tolerate this strange human tradition. 

As you finish paying for the groceries and step outside, Amaimon casually slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. His fingers idly play with your hair as he considers what you’ve persuaded him to join in on. He pops a lollipop into his mouth, then grabs the bag of groceries. You raise an eyebrow at him, but seeing him enjoy the candy makes you smile. “Amaimon?” 

“Yes?” 

“I love you.” 

Amaimon hums softly in response, his lips curling into a subtle smirk as his burgundy nails playfully tug at your hair. 

"Me too," he mumbles, the words muffled by the stick of candy he's lazily rolling in his mouth. There's an unmistakable ease in his voice as he speaks. No blushing, no stuttering, no overly dramatic declarations—just a simple, nonchalant confession that feels entirely natural coming from him, as though he were merely sharing an everyday fact rather than unveiling an emotion that poets have written sonnets about.

As soon as you stepped into the apartment, Amaimon set the bag of groceries down on the kitchen counter with a satisfied thud. You stepped into the kitchen, excitement bubbling up as you skillfully gathered the bowls needed for the task ahead. “This recipe says the dough needs to chill,” you explain with a grin. “Since tomorrow is Saturday, we can make the dough tonight, and then tomorrow, we can bake and assemble the houses. You’re spending the night, right?”

With these words, you cast a sideways glance at Amaimon, eyebrow raised in anticipation of his response. Amaimon made a show of considering your question before answering. “Yeah, but I wasn’t planning on us getting much sleep.” He gives you a knowing look. 

With a playful smack on his arm, you chuckle at his less than innocent implications. "You should learn to control yourself, demon king," you tease. 

"It’s difficult when my queen is present," Amaimon replies with evident amusement, popping another candy into his mouth. He pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist as he attentively reviews the recipe on your phone. As he glances through its contents, a contemplative expression crosses his face, as if he’s genuinely contemplating the instructions. 

You gently pull away from his hold to gather the ingredients. You direct Amaimon throughout the process though he rather quickly gets the gist of it. 

“Here, you mix the dry ingredients while I prepare the wet ones.” You slide the dry ingredients to the end of the bar, gently guiding your touchy demon king towards the ingredients. 

With his eyes still fixed on the recipe, Amaimon casually reaches for the bowl of dry ingredients and starts to stir. In line with your earlier instruction, he maintains a careful watch over his work, breaking from his usual carefree approach to most activities. Watching this unfold causes your heart to swell—you're certain this is a moment you'll cherish for years to come. 

You carefully measure out your wet ingredients, ensuring you have just enough for a large batch of cookies. However, as you go to set the jar of molasses down on the counter, your grip falters, and it slips from your hands, shattering on impact. Molasses and shards of glass scatter across the kitchen floor. You glance at your hands, then at the broken glass, and finally at Amaimon. You want to avoid cutting yourself on the sharp fragments, but the sticky mess makes it difficult to see clearly. 

Without missing a beat or uttering a word, Amaimon kneels down on one knee, carefully picking up the shards of glass. He’s fast, unfazed by the potential danger of the shards cutting into his skin. 

“Did it break into a lot of tiny pieces?” It’s nearly impossible for you to tell from your position. 

Amaimon shakes his head as he stands with a handful of broken glass, “No, it’s fine now.”

You nod and quickly dampen a cloth before bending down to try to clean up the molasses. It’s not easy; it’s thick and sticky. Clean-up takes a lot longer than you would’ve liked. “Well, this will make for a fun story to share with our future kids about our first Christmas together, spending half an hour cleaning up molasses," you joke.

“Tell our future kids how clumsy you are?” Amaimon questions, a memory of you dropping another item a few days ago crosses his mind. You claim you’re not clumsy but just a month with you has hinted otherwise. 

“It has only happened twice before; the second time was because you were making me laugh.” You had been holding something fragile when Amaimon discovered that you were ticklish and found your reaction interesting. 

Amaimon raises an eyebrow and pointedly glances at your knees, aware of the bruise on your left knee, but you didn’t see the ice when you were walking up the steps. “Whatever, just mix everything now. Let’s get it done and wrapped up. We can roll it out tomorrow morning.” With the demon king and his annoying sleep schedule, sleeping in on weekends is no longer an option for you. He wakes you up in the mornings when he starts to get bored. You’ve established a rule that he has to wait until sunrise. 

Once the cookie dough is put away, you try to think about what to do next. “Next year, I’ll have to get a Christmas tree.” You sigh, feeling a bit disappointed in yourself for not considering getting one this year. “Let’s watch Christmas movies.” 

Amaimon winces at the high-pitched sound coming from the TV. You’re watching the 1964 classic, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," and, for some reason, when Rudolph's nose lights up, a jarring noise disrupts the scene. He turns to you with an unimpressed expression, clearly not a fan. The movie not only seems strange to him, but the animation is awful. “You like this?” 

Do you like it? Who knows—it’s a classic, and not watching it just seems strange. However, considering how Amaimon is looking at you, you feel he won’t agree with the other older movies. “It’s nostalgic..." 

The demon king shows no interest, but fortunately for him, he knows how to draw your focus to him and him alone. That’s how you find yourself pressed against the sofa, his warm lips on yours.

As always, his kisses are full of a boldness that sends warmth curling down to your toes. And, as always, you reciprocate with just as much fervor.

Amaimon pulls away first, just enough for you to catch your breath. His golden eyes shine intensely in the dim light of the room, still holding that same playful spark. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear—words woven with tender adoration and veiled promises. The sensation of his voice dancing across your skin sends shivers down your spine, leaving you yearning for more.

"Let's call it a night," Amaimon purrs, yet there’s an invitation in those simple words that implies sleep isn’t his intention at all.

“______, wake up.” You groan as Amaimon softly nibbles on your ear, coaxing you to rise. His arms encircle your waist, and his tail lightly caresses your thigh. “What time is it?” 

“Does it really matter?” he whispers, planting gentle kisses over the bite marks he left the night before. “We’re supposed to bake the cookies today.” 

“Amaimon, what time is it.”

“Just after six.”

You groan in annoyance at being awoken so early. "Couldn’t you wait at least another hour before waking me up?” Feeling Amaimon shake his head in disagreement, he replies, "I’ve been watching you sleep for hours now." You can’t help but comment, "You know that’s a bit creepy, right?”

He shrugs. “I took some pictures, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I had to remove the blankets, but that’s okay, right?”

You jump up at that, holding the blanket to your chest, and glare down at him. “I’m naked.”

“I know.”

“Amaimon, did you really take photos.”

“No, but you’re awake now.”

Amaimon reaches out to tug the blanket away from you. You let out a startled yelp, yanking it back protectively. “You can be such an asshole sometimes.” However, your indignant tone only seems to amuse him further.

Your scowl deepens as you glare at the demon king lounging lazily across the bed, a mischievous grin stretching across his face. The urge to punch him is overwhelming, but you know better than to provoke Amaimon. Engaging him would be a battle you’re destined to lose before it even begins.

With a defeated sigh, you slump back on the bed, pulling the blankets snugly up to your chin. "Fine," you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You grumble under your breath as you roll out of bed and reach for a nearby robe. It's far too early for this level of mischief from Amaimon, but fortunately for him, you’re also easily tempted by sweet treats. “You’re lucky I love you.” From the corner of your eye, you can see Amaimon nodding in agreement,

“Let’s get started then; grab the baking sheets, and I’ll get the cookie cutters and dough.” Once everything is set up, you stare at the dough; you know how to make gingerbread men and women. That’s what the cookie cutters are for. But what about the houses? Do you simply cook a sheet pan of cookie dough and then cut it out? Or should you cut out the houses first and then bake them? After contemplating for a moment, you decide to do both. 

The process is quick and seamless, and you can't help but feel impressed by how swiftly everything gets done. However, as you place the cookies on the rack to cool, something catches your attention. “What are you doing?!" You notice that Amaimon, who was supposed to be placing the cookies meant for the house on the rack, has instead managed to make half of them disappear. "Eating cookies," he replies casually.

“How are we supposed to make gingerbread houses when you are eating the cookies that build the houses?”

“Oh.” 

You narrow your eyes and walk toward the cabinets holding the ingredients to make more cookie dough. “While these cool, you can prepare another batch of dough.” As soon as all the necessary ingredients are laid out in front of him, you hand him the phone with the recipe.

As he concentrates on his task, you seize his phone from the counter and unlock it, checking to ensure that the idiot didn’t take a photo of you. Your eyebrows lift in surprise as you discover his gallery filled with pictures of you luckily, you’re fully clothed in all of them. “Did you seriously have to use this photo of me as your wallpaper?” 

“I like it.” 

It’s a photo of you, eyes wide and looking embarrassed. He had whispered something to you just before taking the picture. 

“It’s the face you make before we-“ 

“Focus on the cookie dough!” You snap, cutting him off. “Wait, are you seriously eating the cookie dough now? Amaimon, why don’t you eat some candy?” 

Instead of answering, Amaimon retrieves the wrap to cover the cookie dough and places it in the fridge. “Amaimon, why aren’t you eating the candy we bought?” You question, stepping closer to the demon king.

“It’s gone.” 

“…all of it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Some of that was for the gingerbread men and houses!” 

“Sorry.” 

[lipsyncforyourlife]

[anothertransauthor]

hiya !! this is a bit of an odd request but is there any chance you'd be willing to write pickles x reader , where the reader has shied away from alcohol / substances all their life until they start embracing them after becoming close with pickles ? all good if not , thank you and have a great day !! o7

Oooh i kinda adore this trope ngl. keep coming with these bangers im so excited!

Only With You

Summary: Dethklok's newest babysitter has been observed to be quite the dildo. They never want to drink with them, smoke, or generally party with them in a significant way. Pickles opens his own investigation into them and starts to genuinely enjoy the time they spend alone. Maybe he'll lower their walls, and open them to some new mind-altering experiences.

Warning: obvious drug and alcohol use, as a general pot user I'm going to be as specific as possible. I'm going to make this as fluffy as possible but there might be some suggestive content. Reader has they/them pronouns

Word count: 2345

"What are you? Schome kind of fucking schquare?" Murderface quipped, a mischievous glint in his eye as he nudged Nathan playfully. "Yeah, come on, don't be a dildo," Nathan retorted, his deep voice rumbling with frustration as he batted Will away from him.

Their banter filled the cramped bar, the air heavy with the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke. Neon lights flickered overhead, casting a dim glow on the worn-out furniture and peeling wallpaper. As the tension between Murderface and Nathan escalated, Toki attempted to intervene, his gentle voice drowned out by Skwisgaar's disdainful remarks about both of them being a "lady dildos." The atmosphere grew increasingly tense, their argument blending with the other patrons' raucous laughter and clinking glasses.

Feeling overwhelmed, y/n glanced around the bar, a headache forming from the noise. Just as they were about to suggest leaving, Pickles came to the rescue, a mischievous smirk on his lips.

"I know a quiet spot; let's dip while they're distracted," Pickles suggested, his voice low and inviting. The air was heavy with the scent of cigarette smoke and distant laughter, creating a hazy ambiance that enveloped them both.

Y/n hesitated, a flicker of concern crossing their features. "I don't know, Charles might kill me for leaving them by themselves," they replied, their voice tinged with uncertainty.

Pickles waved off their concern with a casual shrug. "He'll get over it as long as they don't drive. Then again, they wouldn't leave without me. So therefore, we can hang out in a cool alleyway while they drink themselves to the ground."

With a sigh, y/n bit their lip, their mind racing with conflicting thoughts. Despite their hesitation, the allure of escape beckoned, tempting them to leave the chaos of the bar behind.

After much internal debate, y/n finally nodded and walked with Pickles into the alley. It was nothing spectacular, but the relative quietness offered a welcome respite from the clamor of the bar. The cool wind brushed against their skin, causing goosebumps to rise on their arms.

"So uh...this is where you run off to when they get loud," y/n remarked, their breath forming wispy clouds in the frosty air. "Shoulda known to check the alley."

"Aww, you look for me?" Pickles teased, his voice laced with amusement as he pulled a joint from his pocket.

Y/n watched in awe as Pickles took a long drag, the smoke swirling around him like a halo. The air was thick with the scent of cannabis, earthy and pungent, mingling with the sharp bite of the night air. "For as much as you brag about being rich, you think your lighter could use an upgrade?" y/n teased, their voice laced with amusement.

"Eh... this lighter and I have a history," Pickles chuckled softly, leaning against the cold brick wall. "I smoked my first ever blunt with this Zippo... would you believe I stole it from my dad?"

As Pickles continued to talk about other crazy stories, y/n found themselves drawn in by his easy charm and effortless charisma. They watched as his fingers traced over the worn metal, the flickering flame casting dancing shadows on the alley wall.

"Yeah...I believe it," y/n replied, their voice soft with admiration. "So you've been smoking a long time, huh?"

"For as long as I can remember, y'know, before I got into the other shit," Pickles admitted, nudging a crate beside him. "You've been standing a while; you should sit."

Their body moved instinctively, gravitating towards Pickles as they settled onto the crate beside him. With a sigh of relief, y/n felt the tension begin to melt away, replaced by a sense of calmness in Pickles' presence.

The silence between them was almost palpable, the only sound the soft rustle of the wind and the occasional clink of cans on the ground. Despite their attempts to enjoy the tranquility, y/n couldn't shake the nagging feeling of restlessness that gnawed at their mind.

"Wow..." they laughed awkwardly, their fingers fidgeting with their sleeves. "A whole five minutes without being asked to partake...must be a new record."

"No sense in pushing it; it's a waste of good pot," Pickles remarked casually, his demeanor relaxed and nonchalant. "Besides, the first high will be shit if you don't know what you're getting into."

Y/n nodded in agreement, their gaze drifting down to their hands. "You just make it look so easy..."

Pickles tilted his head, the crimson strands of his hair falling over his shoulder as he regarded y/n with a knowing smile. "Make what look easy?"

"Everything!" y/n blurted out, their words tumbling out in a rush of emotion. "Just...everything you do is effortless. You make it look so easy to talk to people and operate under pressure like nothing affects you. I want to relax, and I want the rest of the band to like me...and I shouldn't be rambling right now, but it's like I can't stop myself because my brain just won't—"

"Shut up?" Pickles interrupted gently.

Y/n blushed brightly, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "S-sorry..."

"No...like your brain just won't shut up? I get it. Hell, why do you think I smoke this stuff?" Pickles reassured them, nudging them with his shoulder. "It's not easy being so laid back; it takes practice."

"Practice?" y/n echoed, their curiosity piqued.

Pickles nodded, his gaze steady and unwavering. "Gotta practice not worrying what other people think. I'm fucking famous; who cares what nobody at the bar has to say? It's vain, I know, but it works. It's easy to be friends with people when you can shut off that little nag in the back of your head. You just have to stop assuming people are out to get you."

Y/n nodded in understanding, their thoughts swirling as they absorbed Pickles' words of wisdom. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, the silence punctuated only by the soft sound of their laughter and the occasional drag of the joint. Despite the cold, y/n felt a warmth spreading through them, a sense of peace settling over their troubled mind. As they sat side by side, y/n couldn't help but admire Pickles' easygoing demeanor and the way he seemed to effortlessly navigate through life's challenges. For a moment, they forgot about their worries and insecurities, lost in the simple pleasure of his company. And as they took a hesitant puff of the joint, feeling the smoke fill their lungs and the tension melting away, y/n realized that maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

Their eyes wandered over Pickles, taking in every detail with an almost reverent appreciation. Each freckle, every smile line, and the faint scars that adorned his skin told a story of a life well-lived, adding to his allure in the dimly lit alleyway. Despite the chill in the air, the warmth emanating from Pickles enveloped them, comforting and reassuring like a soft embrace.

As they sat there, a thought lingered in their mind: why was everything about him just so perfect? His casual demeanor, his effortless charm—it all seemed to come naturally to him, effortlessly captivating those around him.

Caught off guard by Pickles' quizzical expression, y/n felt a blush creep into their cheeks as they realized they had been caught staring. But Pickles' playful demeanor quickly put them at ease, his snicker breaking the tension that hung in the air.

"You see something you like?" he cheesed lightly, dramatically waggling his brows.

"No- I mean yes- I mean- shit.... uh-"

"Relax, I'm messing with you," Pickles chuckled, his voice laced with amusement. "I gotta teach you how to flirt."

"Heh...um, actually, I was maybe wondering if I could try..." y/n trailed off, their gaze flickering towards the burning joint in Pickles' hand.

"Holy shit, you actually wanna smoke with me?" Pickles exclaimed, genuine surprise coloring his tone.

"Well...kinda. Maybe it won't be so overwhelming if it's with you..." y/n admitted, their nerves beginning to dissipate in Pickles' reassuring presence.

"I'll take care of ya, don't worry," Pickles reassured them, passing the dutchie with a gentle hand. "Don't try to show off, ok? Baby hits..."

After calming their shaking hands, y/n carefully placed the joint between their lips, their senses heightened as they inhaled deeply. The taste was harsh, earthy, and unfamiliar, causing their shoulders to tense with each choppy cough.

"Deep breath. You're gonna choke no matter what, you got virgin lungs. 'S normal," Pickles reassured them, his voice gentle and reassuring.

"It tastes like dirt..." y/n grimaced, their discomfort evident in their expression.

"Well, it's weed; it's gonna taste bad," Pickles shrugged, his easygoing demeanor soothing y/n's nerves. "Take one more, then pass it back."

With a nod of determination, y/n took another deep breath, the smoke swirling around them in ethereal patterns. Despite the initial discomfort, a sense of calm washed over them, easing the tension in their shoulders and allowing them to relax fully in Pickles' company.

Pickles extinguished the joint with a flick of his wrist, the ember sputtering out as he tucked the carton back into his pocket. Leaning back against the cool brick wall, he regarded Y/n with a curious expression. "So, short stuff, how do you feel?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine interest. Y/n raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in their eyes. "You're one to talk," they scoffed, a small smile playing at their lips. "I feel…slow, but in a good way. Like, I can finally think clearly, funnily enough."

"Yeah?" Pickles raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Yeah...is this how you feel constantly?" y/n returned the question, genuinely curious about Pickles' experience.

"More or less," Pickles snorted, kicking around some cans on the ground with a lazy gesture. "I could get used to this," y/n mused, a sense of contentment settling over them like a warm blanket. "It feels…easier to talk as if a barrier was temporarily moved to the storage room of my brain. This is nice. Thanks, Pickles." "Hey, any time," Pickles replied, a genuine smile gracing his features. "You remind me a lot about myself, actually."

Y/n tilted their head curiously, they scooted closer to Pickles, craving his warmth in the chilly night air. "How so?" they asked, their voice soft and curious. Pickles paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as he considered his response. "I used to worry about how everyone perceived me," he began, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "I was always so…strung up, like the world was out to get me." He chuckled softly, the sound rough and raspy in the stillness of the alley. "I know I'm nothing but a pampered, rich airhead," he admitted, his gaze flickering away for a moment before returning to meet y/n's eyes. "But I know this job keeping us out of trouble isn't exactly the easiest. If no one else is on your team, you can relax knowing that the world's best drummer is." Y/n felt a flutter in their chest, their cheeks flushing as they met Pickles' gaze in the dim lighting. His words were simple, yet they held a profound depth of meaning that resonated with them. "Pickles, I—" they started, their words catching in their throat as they struggled to articulate the whirlwind of emotions. They leaned away slightly, suddenly self-conscious about intruding on his personal space. But before they could retreat too far, Pickles grinned cheesily, his eyes sparkling with warmth. "Geez…you really are the coolest," they blurted out, a shy smile tugging at the corners of their lips. Pickles' grin widened, his laughter echoing off the walls of the alley. "You think?" he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

The air between them crackled with anticipation as y/n struggled to find the right words, their gaze locked with Pickles' in an unspoken exchange of longing and desire. In that moment, everything else faded away—the noise of the city, the chill of the night air—leaving only the two of them, suspended in time. Pickles waited with bated breath, his heart pounding in his chest as he silently urged y/n to speak their truth. He could see the turmoil in their eyes, the raw vulnerability laid bare, and he felt a surge of tenderness wash over him.

Finally, y/n took a deep breath, their voice trembling slightly as they found the courage to voice their feelings. "Everything about you has always been cool," they began, their words soft and hesitant. "I wish I could say I was jealous, but…I don't think that's it." A flicker of understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken attraction that had simmered beneath the surface for so long. Pickles' heart soared with a newfound sense of hope, his gaze never wavering from y/n's as he silently encouraged them to continue.

"Oh?" he prompted, his voice gentle but filled with anticipation. He knew what they were about to say, could feel it in the way their gaze lingered on him, and he silently willed them to take the leap. Y/n hesitated for a moment, their mind racing with a new uproar of butterflies. But then, with a surge of determination, they pushed aside their doubts and fears, allowing their heart to lead the way. "How do I say this…" they trailed off, their voice barely above a whisper. "Other than I just don't want tonight to end…" And in that moment, the weight of their confession hung heavy in the air, the tension between them palpable. But before either of them could say another word, Pickles closed the distance between them, his lips capturing Y/n's in a tender kiss.

Time seemed to stand still as they melted into each other, the world fading away until nothing was left but the warmth of their embrace. And as they pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, y/n felt a sense of peace settle over them, knowing they had finally found the courage to speak their truth. "Me neither," Pickles whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of longing and affection. "Let's make tonight last forever."

______________________________________________________________

ok that took a really really long time. now time to go back into my writer whole. Leave more requests for me :DD

EDIT: HI so for some fucking reason in the translation from docs to tumblr, half of the fucking fic was just OMITTED. HOW DID I NOT NOTICE UGHHHHH im so sorry yall if the pacing felt weird. thats what i get for not proof reading before i post but i was SO EXCITED to have another bomb fic doneeeeee.

[mytrinityphelps]

Frozen beneath you.Oliver phelps

phelps masterlist

Summary:

In the winter of 2008, Oliver Phelps drowns his pain in alcohol, using the reader’s innocence as his escape. Consumed by guilt, he knows he’s dragging her down, but he can’t stop himself as he spirals deeper into darkness.

The snow outside fell like a shroud, cloaking the city of Birmingham in silence, interrupted only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional howl of wind. The flat was cold, both in temperature and in atmosphere, the peeling wallpaper and stained carpet remnants of a life once lived. Now it was a sanctuary for Oliver Phelps—his escape from the world, from his past, and from himself.

You had no business being there. The sharp bite of winter clung to you, seeping into your bones as you stood in the doorway, watching him from across the room. Oliver was hunched over a bottle of whiskey, the liquid swirling in the glass like poison, reflecting the dim light of the single lamp in the corner. The room smelled of stale alcohol and the faintest trace of cigarette smoke.

You didn’t belong here, yet here you were, drawn to him in a way that made no sense. You, with your wide, innocent eyes, your pale hair falling loose around your face—a face so pure and untouched by the ugliness of the world, almost reminiscent of some porcelain doll. But he needed you. In his own twisted way, he needed you to keep the darkness at bay, even if it meant dragging you down with him.

Oliver’s fingers curled around the glass, and he threw back another mouthful of whiskey, the burn doing little to numb the gnawing void inside him. His eyes, glassy and bloodshot, drifted to you, standing so still, like an apparition. “Why do you keep coming back?” His voice was low, rough, slurred from the alcohol but edged with something more dangerous.

You didn’t have an answer. Or maybe you did, but you couldn’t say it aloud. You shouldn’t be here, not with him like this, not when the walls of his world were crumbling around him. But you stayed. You always stayed.

“I shouldn’t let you in,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His hand reached for the bottle again, and he swore under his breath as his fingers fumbled, knocking it over. Whiskey spilled onto the floor, soaking into the carpet like a stain that would never come out.

You stepped forward, your voice soft, almost hesitant. “Oliver, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” he growled, standing abruptly. His eyes locked onto yours, a storm of emotion swirling beneath the surface—anger, guilt, and something darker. He took a few unsteady steps toward you, the alcohol making him clumsy, but his intentions clear. “Don’t tell me what I need.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he closed the distance between you. There was a wildness in him tonight, a raw, untamed need that scared you—but also pulled you in. He was using you; you knew that. He had been using you for months now, every time the weight of his demons became too much to bear. You were his release, his escape from the torment he couldn’t face on his own.

His hand gripped your arm, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of the power he held in this moment. He towered over you, his presence overwhelming, and the scent of whiskey on his breath made your head swim. “You think you can save me?” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “You think you’re some kind of angel?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his lips crashed against yours. There was no tenderness, no warmth—only desperation and a hunger that had nothing to do with love. His hands were on you, rough and unyielding, pushing you back until your body collided with the cold wall.

“Oliver, stop…” you whispered, but your protest was swallowed by his mouth on yours, his fingers digging into your skin. You were trapped, pinned between him and the unforgiving wall, your heart racing as fear and desire warred within you.

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. This was how it always was. He would pull you in, take what he needed, and leave you feeling empty, discarded, like the bottles littering the floor. And yet, you never said no. You let him use you, because somewhere deep down, you thought you could fix him—that you could be the light to guide him out of the darkness.

But tonight was different. Tonight, there was no pretending. No illusion of affection or connection. There was only raw need, and Oliver was drowning in it. His lips moved from yours to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, “I don’t deserve you.”

You wanted to cry, to push him away, to make him see what he was doing, but you couldn’t. Your body betrayed you, your heart betraying you even more. You wanted to save him, even if it meant losing yourself in the process.

The room was cold, the winter air seeping in through the cracks in the windows, but you barely felt it. All you could feel was him—his hands, his lips, his weight pressing down on you like the snow piling up outside. You were his salvation, but you were also his victim.

When it was over, he stumbled back, collapsing onto the couch with a heavy sigh. His head lolled to the side, his eyes glazed over, the alcohol finally pulling him under. You stood there, your back against the wall, trembling as the reality of what had just happened settled over you like a dark cloud.

You felt dirty, used, but more than that—you felt powerless. This was who Oliver was. This was who he always would be. No amount of love or innocence could change that.

The room was silent now, save for the sound of his labored breathing. You looked down at him, passed out on the couch, his face twisted in pain even in sleep. He was a man haunted by demons you could never truly understand, and you were the angel he dragged down into hell with him.

You pulled the blanket off the bed and draped it over him, your heart aching in a way you couldn’t explain. Maybe you should leave. Maybe you should walk out that door and never look back. But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

Because in some twisted way, you needed him too...

pt.2

(Oliver phelps my dearest xoxo)

[chadillacboseman]

Sniper's Nest II

Pairing: Timur "Glaz" Glazkov x Enemy Combatant/Sniper F!Reader Warnings: Mentions of combat/violence, angst, enemies to lovers eventually, but no real pairing in this chapter. Explicit language. Summary: Glaz finally gets the upper hand on the sniper who's had him pinned down. Reader is GN at the moment, no descriptions of build, gender, or race (though reader is mentioned to have a 'pallor' about them from bloodloss.

Word Count: 2.5k

PART ONE

--

The shot hurtled through the hole in the brick and connected with your shoulder. You cried out and dropped to the floor, letting your rifle drop alongside you with a clatter.

"Son of a bitch-" the bullet had gone right through you; blood was blooming onto your fatigues as you scrambled for your med-kit and jammed a length of gauze into the hole with a hiss.

You sat up and edged your way backward, dragging your rifle along with you until you were hidden behind a cabinet.

The bastard had finally wised up. His muzzle flare had come from one floor below and far back into the room.

Fuck.

It just had to be your trigger arm.

You gritted your teeth as you shoved the gauze further into the bullet hole until the blood flow stopped. You needed to get out of there and fast before the other sniper figured out how badly he had injured you.

You reached for your discarded binoculars and peered around the filing cabinet carefully. You activated the night vision and scanned the room one floor below where the soldier had been before.

He was gone.

You let your head loll back against the cold metal and sighed before tossing your binoculars back into your bag. You'd have to wait through the day and into the next nightfall before moving out.

--

Timur peered through his scope and watched for any sign of movement across the street.

Nothing.

He had retreated to the kitchen area of his new post and bunkered down to try and sleep- he hadn't rested in what felt like days, waiting for the other sniper to make a move. The sun was beginning to paint the faded wallpaper in the apartment in a bloody orange glow and he knew dawn was rapidly approaching.

Timur clutched his mangled hand to his chest and winced as he examined the bloodied bandages. He couldn't even be sure he had hit the other sniper- he had taken a wild potshot on a gamble after seeing the scope flare.

His eyes were so heavy.

"Only for a minute-" he mumbled to himself. He set the timer on his watch and closed his eyes, "Only...a minute."

You changed out the bloodied gauze in your wound and swallowed a half tab of hydrocodone from your trauma pack. The wound ached, spreading a dull pain down your arm and into your chest.

It was now or never.

Your radio had been dead air since day two, and you were betting the other sniper's was as well. You paused to count the windows across the street once more and jotted the floor and number onto the back of your hand.

--

Across the street, Timur twitched in his sleep as the alarm on his watch beeped faintly, jammed under the rucksack in his lap.

For so long, he had been without sleep, that when it finally overtook him, it was deep and uninterrupted.

You sprinted across the street through the darkness, recounting the windows again and again.

If he saw you...

Outside the door to the apartment, you slunk, catlike, and tried the handle. It was unlocked. It seemed too easy- surely he wouldn't have let his guard down this thoroughly.

You turned the handle as quietly as you could and pressed the door open into the pitch black apartment. Your arm throbbed, the dull ache surging down into your fingers that were slowly becoming pins and needles as the hours ticked by.

You flipped your night-vision goggles down over your eyes and with a high-pitched whine they came to life, illuminating the room in green light. To your disbelief, the other sniper was fast asleep, his injured hand pulled close to his chest and his rifle at least three feet away.

You were his enemy, but you weren't a monster- killing him now would be like shooting a man dangling from a parachute. You unsheathed your knife and crept slowly toward him, silent as a predator on the hunt.

If you woke him up and he was quick on his feet, you'd be at a disadvantage- your dominant arm was beginning to feel like a leaden weight, and every movement was agony.

You hovered over him for a moment, still in awe of his ability to sleep so soundly. Cautiously, you tapped his thigh with your boot and he grunted, his face twitching. He muttered something in Russian and you rolled your eyes.

"Wake up," you said it loudly enough that he jolted awake and rolled away from you, scrambling for his sidearm. You were faster, more well-rested, and kicked it from his hand before he had a chance to train the sights on you.

He swore in Russian and reached for his knife, shuffling quickly to put some distance between the two of you. A bright glow stick flared to life in his hands and he tossed it to the floor to illuminate the space.

"Why did you wake me?" he spoke with a heavy Russian accent; his eyes wandered to your bloodied arm and you thought you saw the ghost of a satisfied smirk flit across his features.

"Should I have cut your throat while you slept?"

"Thought that was what your people did," he spat.

"I'm not a savage."

"The Masks aren't known for their mercy," the other soldier began to circle and you did the same, each of you poised to leap if the other made a move.

"Then be glad that rumor isn't true of me," your arm was now entirely numb from the elbow down, and it felt cold and limp as it dangled at your side.

Timur was smart, he knew you weren't in fighting condition- your arm hung like a leaden weight, and your face had a pallor that suggested significant blood loss.

Perhaps this was more like two men dangling from parachutes, knives brandished.

"You're in no shape to fight" Timur gestured at your wounded arm.

Your gaze narrowed, trying to read his expression through his dark eyes, all that peeked out from above his balaclava. The grease paint around them had been smudged in some places and completely wiped off in others.

He had a kind face.

"I'll make you a deal, Russkie," you lowered your blade and he followed suit hesitantly, "we go our separate ways right now. I don't shoot if you don't."

"Will you stab me instead?" Timur asked and you laughed bitterly, nodding to your bloodied fatigues.

"Wouldn't be very effective if I did."

You backed away slowly and he watched you with caution, eyes darting furtively between you and the door.

"Wait-" he cleared his throat awkwardly and you paused, cocking your head to hear what he had to say, "do you have any water?"

"What?"

"...water," he repeated rather stupidly, "mine is gone."

You contemplated for a moment. Your canteen was still half full, but your first aid kit was depleted.

"I do. What's left in your trauma pack?"

Timur turned to fish through his rucksack and pulled a hard metal case from inside. He hadn't even dressed his own wound properly.

But he was so fucking thirsty.

"Couple of rolls of gauze, antibiotics -"

"Antibiotics!" You cut him off a little too eagerly, but you didn't care. Shame wasn't going to kill you, but gangrene would.

Cautiously, he slid the case toward you across the wooden floor, and in exchange, you rolled the canteen in his direction. You knelt and rifled through the contents until you landed on the bottle labeled 'moxifloxacin, 400mg'.

You swallowed a tablet dry and rocked back on your heels as you watched him guzzle the water as if he'd been without for some time.

"What's your name?" He asked when he'd exhausted the water supply.

You told him and he repeated it back, once, twice, and then a third time, his thick accent sometimes stumbling over he consonants.

When he was satisfied with his own pronunciation, he offered you his own, "Timur. But they call me 'Glaz' at Rainbow."

The two of you sat in silence for a moment before you spoke again.

"Quite the move you pulled on me, moving units," you nodded to the gaping hole in the exterior wall, "I would have never guessed."

Timur chuckled and gestured to his shredded hand, "How did you do the curtain trick?"

"Some shitty old war movie I watched as a kid, never thought I'd get it to work. Guessing you saw my scope flare?"

He nodded and fell back into a seated position, letting his back rest against the dilapidated fridge, "You're a good shot. You could have had me plenty of times."

"I was having fun," you admitted, suddenly feeling a wave of white hot shame as it zippered down your torso.

"I could tell," Timur didn't sound judgemental, "had you been as reckless as I was, I might have done the same."

There was a pregnant pause as you contemplated whether to depart and return to your own post.

"Has your radio been dead air?" You weren't sure he'd answer truthfully- after all, you'd effectively just revealed that yours had been.

"Since day two."

"Maybe they think we're dead," you offered, and he shrugged.

"Maybe."

"We'll survive a lot longer if we pool our resources," you gestured through the hole in the exterior wall to your post across the street, "I've got more supplies."

"What you're suggesting would have me strung up at Rainbow," Glaz cocked an eyebrow, "and I don't think the White Masks would approve."

"I don't think they're coming for us, friend," you tapped your watch, "by my count, my people moved out over 32 hours ago."

"Quick to call me friend," Timur mused. His eyes were soft as he said it.

"As far as I'm concerned, we're two comrades in a foxhole right now, but it's your loss."

You rose to your feet and retrieved the antibiotics, from the floor, offering him one final glance. He watched you, his still-soft eyes following your every move as you made for the door.

"Have any vodka over there?" Timur asked before you hit the threshold, only half-joking. He could use a swig, or twenty, to ease the pain and take the edge off.

You paused in the doorway and offered him a Cheshire grin.

"No, but the previous tenants did."

--

The streets below were, indeed, deserted, as Timur prowled beside you, eyes flitting from window to window as if expecting an ambush.

"I was the only one posted, so you can relax," you offered.

He said nothing in return.

An uneasy alliance, tiptoeing on the high wire of a promise of cheap vodka in some long-abandoned liquor cabinet. Truly, even the old war movies couldn't dream up something like this.

Your post was in better shape than his had been; the lathe and plaster was mostly intact, but there was a gaping hole in the floor that you could view the apartment below from while in the kitchen.

It was how you'd tricked him with the moving curtain. You showed him the rope rigged up and he chuckled, amused at the simplicity that had almost cost him his life.

The liquor cabinet was in the dining room, a faded old wooden hutch covered in a thick layer of dust. Timur rummaged through it, clinking bottles aside until a small 'aha!' escaped him and he retrieved a bottle bearing an image of the Kremlin and Cyrillic text.

"Good stuff?" You asked and he scoffed.

"No, it's dogshit, but it tastes like home."

"Fair enough," you gestured at the cabinet, "Any tequila in there?"

He rummaged for a moment until he produced a bottle of Patrón; the cork was rotted and the bottle was covered in dust, but it was probably the most expensive thing in there.

Timur passed you the bottle and you uncorked it, cringing at the sharp smell that greeted your nostrils.

"Cheers, comrade," you imitated his Russian accent and he chuckled as he matched your swig with a grimace.

"There it is. Tastes like turnips filtered through misery," Timur set the bottle aside and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

"How'd you end up stateside?" You asked before taking another swig.

"Rainbow," he answered simply, "recruited me from the Spetsnaz."

"Spetsnaz? Impressive."

"Not really," he sounded... remorseful? "I joined up after the Beslan Siege. Nothing motivates you like 200 dead kids."

The Beslan School Massacre. You knew of it- enough to know that it had been absolutely botched by the Russian government. It struck you that the people involved probably had similar morals to your own employers. The thought made your stomach churn.

"Your arm-" Timur gestured to your bloodied shoulder, interrupting your train of thought, "How bad is it?"

You shrugged your flak jacket off and revealed the wound. He made a face that was something between disgust and concern.

"It needs to be cleaned properly. Stitched."

You gestured rather awkwardly with your non-dominant hand and he rose to his feet. He rummaged first through his own trauma kit, then yours, until he had collected what he needed.

"Sit," he pointed to the dilapidated armchair on the far side of the room and you acquiesced, slumping into it and sending a small cloud of dust skyward.

Timur pulled his balaclava down under his chin to work and you took in his features in earnest for the first time. He had a sharp, angled nose that sat over stubble that had grown out over the days he'd been holed up in the apartment. His brows were full, set low over his eyes that shone against the dark grease paint smudged around them.

A sharp prick in your skin snatched you away from your analysis as the hooked suture needle pushed into the flesh around the bullet hole.

"Can't believe I hit you," Timur mused.

"I can't believe how heavily you sleep."

He shot you a look and you smirked until the next pass of the needle made you grimace.

You softened your approach.

"How long had it been? Since you slept?"

"Four days."

"I'm sorry," you offered. You weren't sure what else to say.

"Why didn't you kill me back at the apartment? Why wake me?" Timur's voice was level, but there was something hidden behind it, threatening to jump out if he spoke further.

"Why kill a sleeping man? You couldn't defend yourself."

He glanced up into your eyes and you were taken aback by how blue his were. When he spoke, genuine emotion was woven into his voice.

"Thank you."

Timur finished stitching your wound and hit it with a wash of iodine before placing a bandage over the sutures. His knots were irregular, but held firmly when you flexed the muscle.

"Sorry, they're not perfect," he gestured to the now bandaged site, "I only know how to sew."

You chuckled at the thought of him, clothed in his fatigues, hunched over a sewing machine with a rifle at his side.

Exhaustion began to seep in around the corners of your brain as you slumped back into the chair. Your eyelids felt as if they were weighted with lead, and even the gentle throb of your arm couldn't keep you from closing them.

"Sleep," Timur patted your knee gently as he sat back to observe you, "We will figure this out when the sun rises."

So you did.

[game-weaver]

Requiem of a Soul Room

Despite feeling like he hadn't done much at all, aside from get eaten by a tree, Yugi had been pretty tired. Maybe it was from his magic that was going unchecked, or purely because of the gut wrenching fear he went through, but either way, snuggling up into Atem's arms for the night was the only place he wanted to be. Thankfully, as his mind sleepily wondered over their discussion of soul rooms, he slipped into the darkness of sleep fairly quickly.

Until he inhaled sharply and awoke in bed. Rubbing his eyes, he groaned, not knowing how long he had been asleep. "Ate'?" But he was alone. Blinking, he looked around, had he gotten up in the middle of the night? That had to be right?

Stifling a yawn, he swung his legs out of bed and got up. Trying to shake the sleep off, he stumbled over to where the lightswitch was, tripping over something along the way. Flipping the light on, he looked at the floor, tilting his head in confusion when he saw it was a chess board. When did that get there?

Looking around again, he noted other things scattered about while Atem was still no where to be seen. Puzzles, a board game here or there neatly tucked away, a couple stuffed animals…Something clicked. He was dreaming, had he successfully gotten into his soul room? He felt awfully awake for dreaming, and normally if someone realized they were dreaming they woke up, right? At least, that's how he thought it was supposed to go.

Well, if it was a dream, then there was no danger here right? No reason to be afraid as he explored it. There was his bed and the games he had noted, no windows, a floor length mirror rested against one wall, and on the other a curtain covered something. The wallpaper, now that he looked at it, seemed weathered, decaying along the ceiling and starting to peel. And the games on the worn wooden floor were covered in dust.

That made him sad for some reason.

Going to the curtain first he noted it, too, was quite dusty and chewed as if moths somehow had feasted on it. Taking hold of it, he pulled it to the side and couldn't understand what he was seeing. It was a door, but it was barricaded, boarded up with thick nails and chains, as if Yugi had been keeping something out. He wondered why? Why would he do that?

For now, he left it alone and wandered carefully around the games and by a desk, dragging trails through the ash and mildew with his fingertips as he went. Going to the mirror, he noticed this side of the room was a bit darker, as if the light couldn't quite reach it fully. Wiping the dirt and grime covered surface with his palm, he tilted his head at the eyes staring back him. His eyes, violet with gold flecks, seemed sharper than he remembered.

Continuing to clean the tarnished surface of the mirror, a shiver suddenly went down his spine, as if he was being watched. Movement caught his eye and he realized that there was suddenly grass under his feet, vines growing from behind the mirror and around its edges, digging roots into the wall and further tearing the rotten wallpaper.

"What-"

When he looked back at his reflection he realized the one staring back at him was… Different. Pointed ears and pale as the moon skin, eyes that were sharp and mischievous bore into his own…And wings that rustled against his back. Yugi's eyes widened as he suddenly felt like a fist gripped his heart.

Stop. Running.

It shattered. Shards of mirror and glass rained around him, slicing at his hands and face as Yugi covered his head with a yelp. Light poured in from beyond the mirror and he could faintly hear the sounds of wind in trees…But before he could look up and see what was on the other side, the floor keened and cracked, giving way and suddenly all he could hear was his own scream as he fell.

Air left his lungs in a rush as he slammed onto a cold, hard surface. His vision spun as he writhed in pain, curling up tightly as pain raced down his back. Managing to get onto his knees, he tried to figure out where he was, but all he saw were iron bars and all he heard was horrific laughter.

No…No-

His heart was in his throat and he couldn't scream, couldn't cry out for help, it was like he was paralyzed. Hands reached for him from all angles, the flash of a blade in one hand and he knew he was going to die-

With a crack of thunder and a blinding light that shredded all around him, Yugi shot up in bed, skin slick with sweat and panting. Scrambling out of bed he practically ran for the light…

Only to see his normal room. Everything where it was supposed to be. His door was normal, there was no mirror, early morning sunlight was filtering through the windows, and Atem laid in bed where he had left him.

Covering his mouth with a shaking hand, he tried to make sense of the dream.

He felt like he was going to be sick.