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predestinatos · 1 month

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you mean everything - MV1 ೀ⋆｡🌷

summary: max needed a wedding date and you were used to being his fake partner.

tags: max verstappen x fem!reader, fake dating, friends to lovers, max is so whipped, fluff, a bit angsty maybe?, mentions of alcohol

word count: 2k

notes: i've been writing (and thinking) so much about max... my period is coming please give me a break i'm sensitive. also would love to get some feedback if possible so i know if it's worth making a series out of this!!!!

"If you want to make it believable at least hold my hand" you half-whispered to Max, who was buttoning his blazer while getting out of the car, you behind him.

"Sorry, I'm not used to this with you" he said chuckling. His sweaty palm held yours tightly, and the feeling of it was odd. Knowing Max for so long meant that these romantic gestures felt almost cringeworthy to you both, and you both had to put up award winning performances every time you played this game.

The game in question being fake-dating. It started as a funny joke where you both thought it would be great to test out the Get A Champagne Bottle For Free At This Restaurant If You Propose theory (which worked, by the way). From then onwards, you used each other as dates whenever asked by annoying family members, creepy coworkers, or just because you felt like lying.

The talking wasn't hard - you both felt comfortable in that part, lying with words coming off almost dangerously natural - but when it came to acting the part, both of you felt awkward, like kids who found relationships absolutely repulsive.

This time, though, the performance would last longer than usual: it was a wedding. Max's friend's wedding. Max could've just gone along, or bring a friend (even you as a friend). Yet he had told his friend, after one too many shots on his Bachelor's Party, and after being chosen as The Guy Who'll Take the Longest to Settle, that he had, in fact, a girlfriend. His friends didn't believe him, so he showed a picture of you two together - a selfie really, nothing much. And they still said they didn't believe it. So here you are.

You couldn't blame him, even if you wanted to. You agreed to use each other as a fake partner for as long as you could in as many situations as required, although when it all started none of you ever thought it would lead to wedding attendances.

So now there you were, Max's hand on yours, entering the small church. His eyes locked with the groom, who waved and called for you to sit near the altar.

"So you ARE real" he said, nervousness laced in his voice even as he tried to lighten the mood himself. You giggled at the irony of it, nodding as you said your congratulations.

"Just wait until the guys see this" he continued gesturing towards the bench where 3 other men around his age sat. Men you had seen before in some Instagram pictures, men you spent the previous night trying to memorize basic information about so you didn't sound suspicious.

Max's hand now fell on your waist almost instinctively - it wasn't instinctively, he told himself once he noticed its positioning. And if it was, it was only because he took this so seriously, almost as a sort of method acting. Sitting down next to his friends, he noticed how all of them seemed surprised at your presence, and something like pride filled his chest. He loved winning, loved being right even if he was lying; but most especially, he loved how jealous other men seemed to be over the fact that he was (at least in their minds) dating you.

He couldn't deny - though he tried, really - that you two looked good together. His rougher features mixed with your softer ones gave you both an aura of near unreachability, which yes, was pretentious of him to think but he thought nevertheless.

The ceremony was quick and endearing, a smile spread across everyone's faces at the shared loved between the bride and the groom. As the crowd clapped, Max leaned into you, "don't tell me you're crying". "I am, just to think that I'll have to keep pretending to date YOU for the next 10 hours" you replied, his mocking smile recognizing the joke.

The reception hall was beautifully decorated with shades of soft green and violet orchids. Max tried not to think about how much it matched the shade of your dress, how you looked like you had come to life from a classical novel. He tried to feel like anyone but Mr. Darcy as you felt so much like Elisabeth Bennett to him.

Sitting down next to him, you found this part easier - mingling and socializing was something you enjoyed more than he did - especially with alcohol in the mix. It's a wedding, you thought; this is what weddings are for.

So you drank the wine with the main course and sipper champagne to celebrate and ordered a few cocktails when it was time to dance and talk - and you felt it on your body almost as much as you felt Max's hand occasionally sitting on your thigh, but not even close to how strongly you felt his thumb caress your skin as he did so. Truth was, he too was drunk; his eyes looked smaller and his cheeks were flushed, and the amount of times he ran a hair through his dirty blonde hair had caused it to look messier. As you looked at him, you felt he never looks as attractive as when he is like this - loose and carefree, his shirt sleeves rolled up and a smile on his face when he notices people laugh at his joke.

"I have to admit I didn't think it was true" his friend said when Max left to go to the bathroom. He looked drunker than the two of you combined, his words hard to decypher, like a riddle. "He's been talking about you for months now and we never saw you for real so we thought you didn't exist" he laughed, and you laughed back before it registered.

"Months?" you asked him, eyebrows furrowed yet attempting to remain composed. You shouldn't have asked it - a supposedly month old girlfriend wouldn't be surprised but you were his fake month old girlfriend and you weren't understanding it anymore.

"Yeah. He talks about you so much all the time I think even we started to date you" he laughed again, yet this time you didn't find the joke so funny. You were frozen in your seat, merely blinking as if trying to put the confusing puzzle together, the pieces not quite fitting the way you thought they would.

A touch on your shoulder unfroze you, almost like magic, like a disney film come to life. You turned around to find the groom, somewhat sober, smiling at you while also looking somewhat concerned. "He's calling for you... And he's also absolutely wasted" he said, pointing to the door of the hall.

"Shit" you cursed, getting up from your seat at a speed you couldn't believe, worry filling your heart, making you forget the conversation you were just having.

Opening the door to the garden outside, you found Max sitting down against the wall, shirt partly unbuttoned and disheveled hair. When he saw you, he grinned, such genuine happiness laced with tipsiness.

"Lightweight" you mocked as you crouched in front of him, trying to balance yourself on your heels, somehow managing it despite your own drunkness.

"You're laughing at my mis- Shit- my misery" his throat bobbed up and down, exaggerating his own agony with a hand on his chest and another on his forehead like a Shakespeare character.

"I have to admit it's quite fun sometimes" you bit your lip as you fixed his hair as best as you could, hands brushing through its soft, blonde mess.

"You're so– you're so sweet" he said, his words dragged and messy. He brought a beer bottle to his lips but you stopped him before any liquid touched them.

"I think that's enough of that for tonight" you grabbed it and placed it behind you, sitting in front of him.

"See now... Now you're being mean" his hand grabbed a strand of your hair and played with it softly as he pouted.

"Okay big boy I'm gonna get you some water" you say, getting up once again, yet his hand stops you, grabbing your wrist tightly.

You looked at him, startled. His drunken state is visible, and it felt frustrating that you had to be the one sobering up for him. The music vibrated through the wall he leaned against, somehow tickling him, making him giggle.

"Stay," he managed to say, eyes half closed, "I'm so glad we're- Fuck things are spinning so much" his hands rushed to his eyes and his head hung low, "Ah fuck. I'm so glad we're datin- Fuck, no, oops-" he continued laughing despite how sick he felt, the whole situation sounding hilarious when filtered through alcohol.

You giggled along with him, mostly because you wanted to see if you could convince him to move, scared he might feel worse or pass out on the cold floor if he doesn't do so. "Fake dating. Fake dating, I know. I knowww" he continued, his words dragged and his finger pointing at you before poking your nose with such innocent sweetness you were taken aback.

"Max" you tried to sound more assertive but found it hard to do so, your own intoxicated state making the situation lighter than what it actually was. Your heart racing was a symptom of it, one you wouldn't feel if sobriety was an option, you thought. Max's eyes wouldn't seem to stare at you differently were he sober as well, and the way he scanned your features, his gaze staying on your lips for longer than expected, wouldn't affect you in the slightest had you not drank some alcohol.

"I like it when you say my name" he looked up at you innocently, pleading, almost.

"Want me to say it again?" you asked, smiling. You complied with these demands because you knew they were childish whims of an intoxicated man, his happiness a priority in times like these. Upon his nod, you started saying his name, half teasingly, half reassuringly, the leaves rustling in the garden behind you.

"Max... Max!! Max Max-"

He shouldn't. It would complicate things, and he liked when they were simple, clean and organized. He knew he shouldn't even when his whole vision spun and his brain convinced him that he should do things he would never do otherwise. But every time he refrained from saying something he would stumble across all his words and trip and fall and his head would only hurt more, and it seemed as if he could only focus if he kept listening to you and talking to you and looking at you.

The lights shone behind you in a way that made it feel as though he was dreaming, like you were a mirage, too good to be true. Maybe his friends were right - you weren't actually real. He wanted to be sure, in that moment. That you were real and that he wanted you as much as he thought. And though he shouldn't, though it was a terrible idea, he couldn't help but lean over to kiss you.

He tasted like champagne - bubbly and slightly sweet, his movements sloppy given his state, yet you couldn't help but drink it all in. Part of you - a big part - reciprocated the kiss, felt his fingers on the side of your neck, pulling you messily towards him, and tried to steady him, guiding him gently with your own lips.

It was odd, how this felt so right yet the fake hand holding didn't. As Max kissed you, that thought entered his clouded mind - did it feel wrong because it was fake and this was real? Your skin felt so soft, so much softer now he could touch it freely and unapologetically.

"Fuck-" he started, pulling away, his head resting against the wall once again as he stared at you, noticing how it hasn't hit you yet; what you just did, how it affected everything. "I fucking love you" he shrugged as you fixed your hair, pausing with arms raised for a few seconds before smiling softly.

"You're drunk" you replied, looking at his own grin, the gleam in his eyes making him appear both innocent and guilty of so many things.

"I'm drunk and I fucking love you"

"Max..." you started, and he said your name back to you with such tenderness you couldn't believe his lips tasted of alcohol earlier and not something sweet.

"We'll talk tomorrow, okay?" you continued, waiting for the silence to swallow you both.

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vanteguccir · 3 months

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Guess who's is who | Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Y/N participates in the new Sturniolo Triplets tiktok, but doesn't actually appear in it.

Warning: None.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

PS.: I LOVE writing things like this because I really love imagining myself in the boys' life and feed my delulus.

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Y/N closed the door to her shared room with Chris, heading up the stairs as she hummed a Taylor Swift song under her breath, her eyes focused on the screen of the phone in her hands, where Twitter was open and she was reading the new Grammy's gossip.

The first thing the girl noticed when she arrived in the kitchen was the triplets all together, their backs to her and looking at the counter while laughing.

"What are you guys doing?" She asked, putting down her phone while locking the screen, putting it in her pocket, and focusing her attention on the three brothers.

Chris turned around quickly, having been startled by the sudden appearance of his girlfriend, placing his right hand on his own chest while calming his breathing.

"Hi Y/N!" Matt smiled, waving his left hand in a quick wave.

"Hi Matty." She replied with a soft smile, moving closer to the three and looking at the counter, her eyebrows furrowing when she saw several of the triplets' things scattered around the space. "What are you doing?" Y/N asked again, leaning her right shoulder against Chris's chest as she felt his left arm surround her, bringing her close.

"It's for a tiktok, it's a little game where the fans will have to guess what belongs to who." Nick explained, holding his phone with both hands in the air, the rear camera facing the table, ready to take a picture of the first items.

"But there are things of mine in there." Y/N commented, seeing some of her beauty items among the others.

"Yes, that's because Chris carries your stuff everywhere." Matt said with a shrug. "That part of the products are things that we carry in our backpack or in our pants pocket."

A sound of understanding left the girl's mouth as she snuggled closer against Chris, watching Nick take pictures of all the items separately.

It was true that Chris took a lot of her things with him, even if Y/N already stated that he didn't need to do it, it was the boy's habit since it had previously occurred to her that she needed something and felt frustrated for not having it with her at the moment. With that, Chris made it his little mission to always buy two of the girl's essential items and carry one of each with him too, either in his backpack or, depending on the size, in the pocket of his sweatpants or jeans.

Furthermore, Y/N's have also an habit to stick stickers on everything she owned (toiletry and make-up bag, purse, phone or tablet case, etc.), and after her relationship with Chris became something more serious and intimate over a year ago, the girl started sticking stickers on his things too.

It was something that amused her and that the boy loved, he said that when they weren't together, he just needed to look at his wallet or his laptop and he would see a little piece of her with him.

Y/N smiled warmly when she saw each of these things in each picture that was taken:

The first one with the laptops, in the middle of all the colorful stickers there was a teddy bear with a pink bow around its neck;

In the second, the wallets one, Chris's was decorated by the Prada brand and by an small sticker of a striped heart on the upper left;

In the third one, with the jewelry was a hair tie in the color of Y/N's hair;

In the fourth, the backpacks one, Chris's also had a pearlescent keychain hanging with a baby pink tube of hand sanitizer;

In the sixth one with the headphones, Chris's only had one little letter in pink, the initial of Y/N's name;

In the seventh, the care products one, in the middle of Chris's products was a lip gloss from Rhode and a small tube of hand cream from Sol de Janeiro.

Of course, if the girl were to look for her everyday bag right now, she would have a million of Chris's things too, since he was a guy who liked self-care. It was something personal for them, a way of taking care of each other and always carrying a little piece of their lover.

Chris lowered his head slightly, sniffing the scent of fresh shampoo from Y/N's hair before sealing his lips over the top of her head for a few seconds, hiding his smile as he noticed all the little parts of his girl among his things.

The boy shook his head slightly, the comments on that tiktok would go crazy, and he was all for it.

"Now, who's hungry?" The girl asked after Nick took the last picture, smiling when she heard the oldest shout that he was and Matt smiled, nodding his head while saying that he was too.

"Can you make mac and cheese in that way that I really like? Pretty please?" Chris asked, turning her so she was facing him and smiling big.

She nodded while laughing lowly, rising on her tiptoes and kissing Chris's lips quickly before walking over to the fridge, grabbing all the items to make the dinner requested.

A smile spread across her face when she turned around again and saw the triplets glued to each other, smiling as they looked at Nick's phone screen, probably reviewing the pictures he took.

She shook her head in amusement, placing the items in the sink before fishing her phone out of her pocket and taking a quick picture of the three, making a mental note to send it to Nick later, already knowing that it would probably be in the next photo dump.

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Extra - comments:

"the fact that the tiktok was about guessing what belongs to who but it was obvious what was Chris's because of the little Y/N things he has in the middle of his own 😭"

"THIS IS SO CUTE OMG"

"the hair tie 😫"

"you know Y/N has good taste when she uses SOL DE JANEIRO hand cream"

"Y/N the biggest clean girl on this site"

"the teddy bear sticker 🥺"

"I'm sure there must be a picture of Y/N inside Chris's wallet"

~ "petition for Chris to make that trend "picture in my wallet" ✏️📄"

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My asks are open, feel free to send requests!! ♡

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delulujuls · 3 months

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the prettiest boy in the paddock | op81

hi there, here comes the 1.3k of wholesome fluff with the pastry boi. its just-uh, i already know that i wanna write a part two for this so watch out!

summary: oscar is feeling a bit down but little does he know that for two people out there he is the prettiest boy in the paddock

warnings: none

pairing: fem!mclarendriver x oscar piastri (ft. lando)

Oscar never had an opinion about his appearance.

Whenever someone asked him if he considered himself as an attractive guy, he would just shrug. Passing by shop windows, mirrors, or surfaces reflecting his image, he never stopped to check if he looked good. The same applied to taking pictures of him. He never needed to have a say in them; he didn't feel the need to improve any shot, as he might not look favorable in it. If the photographer thought he looked great, who was he to judge?

This, of course, didn't mean that Oscar didn't take care of himself; quite the opposite. The Aussie was always neat, smelled good, and sometimes even used hair conditioner, lip balm or even a hand cream. Looking at him, you could notice a handsome, young man with a well-built, slim figure, a pleasant gaze, and an infectious smile.

The fact that Oscar was attractive was especially noticeable on social media. He was adored by fans. The papaya army loved the McLaren duo, and Oscar was no less popular with the ladies than Lando. If anything, sometimes it seemed like his name was shouted even louder.

His teammates also shared the same opinion. Oscar was a good-looking lad, so it wasn't surprising that during conferences, interviews or casual conversations Lando couldn't take his eyes off him and Y/N took every opportunity to throw compliments at him. However, these compliments were one hundred percent sincere and true and Oscar took them very personally, blushing like never before. These compliments were perceived as harmless, friendly jokes by the public, but both Y/N and Lando believed that their friend was the indeed the most beautiful.

However, this didn't change the fact that sometimes Oscar had a bad day. This was one of those days.

With the hood pulled low over his head, the person in the orange McLaren hoodie entered the dining room. Y/N was slowly having her breakfast, scrolling through social media. She usually went for meals early to avoid crowds and have some time to clear her head. Her surprise was evident when someone pulled a chair next to her and took a seat.

"Oscar?" the girl asked in surprise, barely able to see her friend's face under the hood. "What are you doing here so early?"

"I couldn't sleep."

He muttered under his breath and opened a small chocolate packet, pouring it over his pancakes.

Y/N blinked several times, holding her phone in her hand. Clearly, something was off.

"Is something wrong?"

Oscar shook his head and leaned his elbow on the table. He ate in a hunched position, with his back slouched. It looked like he was hiding from someone. Or hiding something.

"You haven't convinced me."

She replied, putting down her sandwich.

The Aussie ate in silence. Only his chin and chocolate-stained lips were visible under the hood. Y/N looked at him, waiting, but when she saw it was better to drop the subject, she returned to her breakfast and scrolling through Instagram.

When Y/N finished eating, she glanced at her friend one last time. He still sat with his head down, swiping his finger on his phone screen. She gathered her things, planning to leave the dining room, realizing there was no chance for a normal chat with Oscar.

"See you around, grumpy."

As she stood up, she heard a quiet question.

"Can you help me?"

Y/N paused and finished her coffee.

"Of course I'll help you, but first I need to know in what matter."

She replied without hesitation, looking down at him. He raised his head and for the first time that day, she had the chance to look at his face.

"Do you have a moment now?"

The girl checked her phone's clock and nodded.

"To my room, then."

Once they were in her room, she sat on the bed and Oscar, after closing the door behind him, walked slowly into the room.

"I'm all ears."

He took his hands out of his pockets and sat next to his friend. He sighed and took off the hood, turning his face toward Y/N in silence. She looked at him surprised, studying him.

"What? You don't have the answer written on your face."

"I do," he replied tartly "You don't see gow terrible i look?"

Y/N furrowed her brows. She had no idea what he was talking about. He looked exactly the same as always.

"You look cute, just like every day."

She said playfully, smiling, but he wasn't in the mood for jokes. He lowered his head and rubbed his face with his hands.

"Acne," he said, resigned, lowering his hands to his knees. "It's worse than ever."

She gently touched his chin and turned his face towards her. Oscar avoided eye contact. He felt embarrassed, unsure whether he was more ashamed of coming to her with such a thing or of his appearance.

"If you want me to help, first, don't touch your face like you did a moment ago."

The girl smiled and brushed the hair from his forehead with her hand.

The Aussie looked into her eyes and, seeing her smile, he felt a little more confident.

"Can you help me with this? I have no idea what to do."

"You're lucky you're friends with someone who has half a Walmart in their makeup bag."

Y/N smiled and stood up, going to the bathroom. After a moment, she returned with a pink headband, which she placed on Oscar's head to keep his hair away from his face.

"Have you washed your face today?"

Oscar nodded.

"What do you use for face wash? Tell me about your skincare routine."

To be honest, there was nothing much to talk about.

"Uh, I wash my face with water, morning and night, when I take a shower."

Y/N blinked several times and looked at him in shock.

"And that's it?"

He just nodded. To his surprise, his friend smiled and clapped her hands.

"Great, I can teach you everything."

"I don't know if I'm ready for that."

Oscar replied uncertainly, but he obediently stood up and followed the girl to the bathroom.

"Don't worry; it won't be anything crazy" Y/N said and took her face wash gel in her hand "It's gonna be Piastri's friendly skincare."

He listened to her even more carefully than when he analyzed the race result with the strategists. He asked when he had doubts, trying to remember every word she said. When he finished washing his face, she applied a gentle scrub and face mask after. After that, it was the time fot rest of the skincare routine. Y/N took a bit of cream on her fingers, which finished off all the major skincare. She crouched down in front of him and smiled, applying the cream to his face.

"Smile, Osc. You are beautiful."

Piastri involuntarily smiled at her compliment.

"Immediately better."

She added, massaging the remaining cream into her hands. For some imperfections, she applied a clear, specialized ointment and removed the headband from his head. She stood up, taking a brush and combing his hair.

"Thank you, Y/N."

Oscar replied, looking at her from below. His brown eyes sparkled as he raised his head to look at his friend.

"You are welcome, pretty boy."

She replied. She wanted to kiss his cheeks but refrained, partly because of the multi-step skincare routine on his face, and partly because Oscar was her friend. But mostly, it was about skincare.

"And you're beautiful, don't forget that."

"Of course, I am" a loud interjection from Lando was heard as he entered the room, making himself comfortable in it, quickly appearing in the bathroom "What's going on here and why without me?"

"You miss everything because you're the last one to get up"

Y/N replied, putting her things back into her cosmetic bag.

"Not true, don't be mean."

Lando retorted, but quickly his gaze turned towards Oscar and the Brit smiled at the sight of him "Wow, Osc, what a glow, mate!"

"Y/N did her hundred-step skincare on me."

"Really? Why are you torturing our friend?" Norris asked, sitting on the edge of the bathtub next to the Aussie.

"I asked her myself," the younger boy replied before the girl spoke up, ready to throw some sort of retort at her friend, "I wasn't feeling very confident this morning, my acne was killing me a bit and it's gotten worse lately."

Oscar admitted, still a little embarrassed by his problem.

"Aw, Oscar," Lando wrapped his arm around him and kissed him on the cheek. "You'd win the competition for the prettiest boy in the paddock."

Piastri blushed and lowered his gaze. A slight smile appeared on his rosy lips.

"Oh yes, you would definitely win."

Y/N replied and put her makeup bag aside, also sitting next to Piastri and kissing his other cheek, feeling a bit more confident after Lando did the exact same thing. Oscar blushed even more and raised his hands to hide his face, but lowered them halfway.

"I can't touch my face, damn it!"

#f1 imagines #f1 oneshot #f1 #formula 1 #f1 oneshots #f1 imagine #lando norris #ln4 #op81 #op81 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you

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gomzwrites · 11 months

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Task force 141 found out about your soft spots

Summary: You’re one of the members in the taskforce, and you’re one of the more quiet, self-reserved and stoic soldiers among them. They didn’t mind since they respected your personal space, but at some point, they saw just a glimpse of your rather different, softer side. a/n: I’ve had this idea in mind for a long time and just wanted to get this out there, English is not my main language so I apologize for any mistakes along the way! This is also my first fic so feedbacks are appreciated :] Tags: incorrect military terms/training, fluff, can be read as platonic or romantic, x gn!reader, reader's text is in purple Part 2 is out! PLEASE DO NOT RESHARE MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS WITHOUT MY PERMISSION

Captain John Price

You were on a mission with Price in another city, stalking and trailing the target, when suddenly the target decided to take a turn and entered a cafe. With the captain’s signal, both of you followed and took a spot in one of the corners in the warm, bustling cafe. It was a perfect atmosphere; the cafe was not necessarily noisy, but the number of people and music were busy enough for you and your captain to stay hidden and blend in well. You kept a keen eye on the target, noticing that he was in the queue and, so far, not presenting any signs of danger or threats. The captain gave your foot a nudge as he diverted your attention to the young waitress beside the table that you didn’t notice. "Hi! What would you like to order?" The waitress spoke in the local language that you didn't understand, but you knew she was most likely trying to take an order with the way she held a small notepad and a pen. You gave a small nod as you glanced at Captain for a moment, who was also reading the menu. You do the same, only frowning slightly as you couldn't read anything as well, and because you wanted to get this over with, you randomly pointed at one item to the waitress as she smiled and jotted down your order.

When the waitress walked away, you followed the captain’s gaze on the target; it seemed that he was still in line. You're slightly confused but relieved that the target remains in sight. Not long after, the drinks ordered previously arrived, but your eyes remained fixated on the sketchy figure. It wasn't until the Captain cleared his throat that you broke your gaze and stared down at the table. You froze slightly at the sight before you.

You watched a little wiggle action of the foam on top of what you assume is coffee before you. Except it's not the normal flat latte art kind of foam, but a huge bear foam with a cute face drawn with chocolate. You blink once, then twice before releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding.

This is so cute!!

You thought to yourself internally as you felt yourself smiling, before realising the situation at hand as you snapped your head towards the captain, hoping he didn't see you, and to your relief, his eyes were still glued to the target. You take this opportunity to slowly take out your phone and take a quick picture of the drink before doing the same and observing the target again. As soon as you do, the target made its move and headed to the exit, which made the both of you follow promptly, seemed like he had a bag as well which was definitely not good news. You were a bit disappointed that you were not given the chance to try the cute drink, but you know you have a job to do, so you just hope that perhaps you can take a closer look again at the coffee later on your phone.

What you didn’t know was how the Captain noticed the change in your demeanour when you spotted the drink; he honestly wasn't expecting much from you, thinking you might just ignore it. But he saw from the corner of his eyes just how your eyes widen slightly, how they are shining when you realize what you ordered, and the way your cheeks had a shade of pink on it as you smile. He rarely gets to see you smile, and he found it endearing to think a cold soldier like you has a liking for cute things. He smiled internally as he noticed how you took the photo sneakily when you thought he wasn’t looking.

He made a mental note to bring you to a cafe he knows that have those famous latte art drinks after the mission, just to see you smile like that again.

John Soap MacTavish

The military base has decided to bring in military working dogs to aid in the next mission, which involves scouting and detection for drug detection at the port, where secret drug trafficking from a certain group of terrorists has been reported.

"Soap, you’re assigned to Max and Judy; you’ll have to talk to Sergeant Sam about the training," the Captain says as he walks through the compound. You noticed how Soap seemed to tense slightly as he clenched his jaw; you also noticed how his breath hitched as he stared at the two German shepherds standing on the sides of the dog handler; you knew he had a bad history with canines in general when you stumbled upon his journal once; and seeing how uncomfortable he was, you decided to step up for the job.

"Captain, can I do it instead?" The captain glanced back, his beard shifting as he thinks for a moment before nodding and giving you permission. Soap stared at you upon hearing your voice and gave you an apologetic yet grateful look as he breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Aye thanks… Let me know if yae ever need something from meh in the future."

He watched as you gave him a gentle pat on his shoulder as you nodded. Unbeknownst to him, you actually own a German Shepherd yourself, and you’re very much a dog person, and you’re excited to start the training with the military dogs. He stood on the side as you approached the two dogs, nodding along to the instructions given by Sam. As you bent down and extended your hand out, the two dogs gave a few sniffs before finally warming up to you, with their tails wagging as they circle your body. He’s impressed with how friendly you seem with animals, and you were natural with the dogs.

After the training, he went around looking for you as he held a bottle of ice-cold mineral water, hoping that he could give it to you since you were training heavily under the hot, blazing sun. As he turned a corner, right behind the shed, he heard a few barks. He softened his steps as he leant in and took a peek behind the wall, and he was glad he did.

Who’s a good boy? Yes, you are! Yes, you are! Come here! Oooh, such a big boy are you? You did such a great job with me just now~ oh! No wait wait- aH-!

He watched with a grin as he took in the image before him. You, giggling and rolling on the floor as the dogs lick and nuzzle your face and neck, having fun and relaxing with the dogs. He would almost forget that they were military dogs, and yet, with you? They looked domestic. On top of that, he has never heard you laugh or speak like this before; sure, you were using a baby voice and all as you cooed the dog, but he didn’t care because you have the softest yet brightest giggle, a stark contrast to your usual stoic self. He left after watching you for a while, smiling as he walked away to let you have your moments with the doggies. Next time, he’ll definitely want to join you in the training if it means getting to see this side of you more often.

Kyle Gaz Garrick

You groan as you sit on the passenger side as Gaz drives the Jeep. It was almost 9.30 pm as you were both ordered to buy a few furniture pieces, tables, and chairs specifically as an emergency thanks to Soap breaking them when he was messing around earlier.

"Why can’t we buy it tomorrow?"

Gaz asks as he, too, frowns and crosses his arms as a yawn escapes his mouth.

"We have a meeting with the other members from London tomorrow, and we can’t make them sit on the floor now, can we?"

Captain replied with a sigh as he frowned; he too was tired and annoyed with the situation, but he has a point. Gaz has asked you for help since the furniture needs to be carried, and you followed along (not without silently complaining).

The day has been terrible for you, it seems like bad luck was looming around your shoulders in every moment. Just this morning, you stubbed your toe and you couldn’t find your left sock, then sprained your shoulder slightly during the sparring session with Ghost. Not only that, the sandwiches that you always order for dinner were out of stock, so overall, you’re not having the best day. But who can you blame? You just decided to suck it up as you nod and follow Gaz.

After parking a spot in IKEA, both of you decided to split up to find the respective wood and parts of the tables and chairs that, thankfully, the details of them have been sent to you by the Captain, so that the process can be faster before the store closes for the night. You sigh as you place the last part of the table in the trolley, crossing off the last serial number and name. You walk towards the place that Gaz told you to meet up with before stopping when you walk past the kid's section.

There it is, in all its glory: Djungelskog and the other notable plushies in the corner. Truth be told, you actually own two Blåhaj (they're in your house) and a baby Blåhaj in the quarters. You’re a big fan of plushies, especially the ones from IKEA and Miniso. You just haven't saved up enough cash to bring the big brown bear home. You take a step, then another, inching closer to the tray, until you’re right in front of the bear. You glanced around to make sure no one is around before you gently pick up the bear, thankful that there weren't many people in the first place due to the late hour. Without a second thought, you gave in and squish your face into its tummy as you give a big sigh and hug it tightly, smiling to yourself as you feel the stress dissolving away. Something about burying yourself in the soft cushion of cotton is healing for you; it gives you a safe, warming feeling, and it reminds you of the comfort that you never got much of as a kid.

You gave it a few more squeezes before finally parting ways with the bear, softly nudging its nose a few times as you whispered softly:

I swear I’ll come and bring you home next time I come.

You smile and place the bear back in its original position, glancing at it one last time as you spot Gaz in the distance, then swiftly push the trolley towards him. Gaz pays for the parts, and both of you head to the car. You get ready in your seat and fasten the seatbelt before Gaz speaks up.

"Oh, I forgot something. Give me a sec"

You haven’t even had the chance to ask back as he bolted back into IKEA. What did he forget? All the parts have been bought, and the store is nearing its closing time as well, but whatever it is, you waited patiently.

Maybe it's because of the long day, but as you rested your head on the window, you dozed off while you were waiting and didn’t wake up until you heard the driver's side car door open.

"Sorry it took awhile, we’ll go back now"

You nod sleepily as you murmur. "What did you forget?"

"Oh, don't worry about it", Gaz replies as he presses the gas pedal and promptly drives back to the base. You didn’t question further; you figured he probably needed something himself.

You went straight to bed after dropping off the equipment for Soap and Ghost to handle, immediately passing out as you landed on the soft bed.

The next morning, you were getting ready for the day as you stretched, satisfied that at least the sleep last night was good enough. As you open the door, a soft material lands in your room with a soft “umph” sound, you immediately look down cautiously, and that's when you see it.

Djungelskog, with its head tilted to your side as its fluffy hand remains on its tummy, on your floor. You were confused, and frankly, you were not awake enough to fully comprehend what just happened. But once you connected the dots, you smiled to yourself as you lifted the bear up and hugged it.

You make sure to buy Gaz something next time as a thank you.

Simon Ghost Riley

The day was mundane; after a few gruelling missions, the task force had many reports to do. You’ve opted to do them in one of the empty meeting rooms; you liked doing work in these rooms more than facing the concrete wall of your own quarters. At least here, the table was wide and it was fairly quiet; sometimes Ghost will join you as he feels the same. You enjoy his presence because, unlike the rest of the group, he is one of the few people you like spending time with in silence. Today was no different.

The hours go by quickly with the room filled with nothing but paper shuffling and turning pages. You sigh as you place down your pen and give a big stretch, deciding to take a break as you stand and move towards the door. The big man himself also follows along; you don’t question it; you figured he might need a break too.

As you walked away from the room, you decided to go to the bathroom. You passed by the training hall as you overheard the Captain and Laswell talking over some topics for the upcoming mission, but something caught your attention.

"....My wife brought cheesecake; it's in the fridge…."

Your ears perked up to the sound of cake; you haven’t had any dessert recently, and you do like cheesecake. You make a mental note to take a trip to the mess hall after using the bathroom, hoping to have a slice yourself.

As you make your way to the fridge silently, you approach the kitchen and let out a soft sigh of relief when the place is empty. You slowly open the door of the fridge as you poke your head in and search for any sign of cake. You were about to give up when you couldn’t see any, but you jolted slightly when you felt a pat on your shoulder. You quickly turn around, only to be met by Ghost again, with a plate in his hand. As you look at the plate, which has a slice of cheesecake, your eyes blink with hope as you slowly glance back at him. He gives you a nod as he hands you the plate, and you nod back as well with a smile, happy and grateful that he saved you a slice. You take a seat at one of the stools and grab a fork as you eat the cheesecake happily. Ghost leaned against the counter opposite you as he makes himself a cup of coffee. He watched silently as your mood seems to improve. Earlier, he saw how you stopped in your tracks when you overheard the conversation, how your eyelashes fluttered, and how your steps grew lighter. He immediately went to the kitchen when you head to the bathroom and managed to pry one last slice of Soap before he finished them, hoping to save you a piece when you come by later. As you take the first few bites with your eyes closed, you give a hum of approval as your shoulders drop. It’s not like the cheesecake was extremely good, but you can tell from the texture that it was homemade. You miss baking yourself; the last time you did it was with a roommate before you joined the military. You missed those silly moments as you clumsily mixed the ingredients and argued with your friend to stop adding too much sugar into the batter, or the time your friend made fun of you for baking the hardest brownies that can break cement if thrown at them. You also tend to have favouritism towards home-cooked stuff, no matter who made it; you always liked how the food tends to taste just slightly better. Is it because of comfort? Or the memories that flood your mind when you take in the smell? You honestly don't know; maybe it's both. Or maybe you like the thoughts and love people put into the meals when they cook. You were so lost in thought that you didn't realise you were swinging your feet idly on the stool. The stool was slightly taller than the regular one, and your legs barely touched the floor.

Ghost finds the view a bit charming—to see you relax and content over a slice of cake. It's not that he is complaining; he just never really saw you this comfortable before. He observes you silently and takes note of how you like to munch on your right cheek more than the left, making it puffy. He chuckles to himself when you start swinging your legs too. He's glad that he managed to snatch the last piece of cake, and perhaps in the near future, he’ll bring you some cake to share with you.

•·················•·················•·················•·················•·················•·················• a/n: that's all! Let me know what you think!! like a part two or something, have a nice day/night! :>

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astraystayyh · 7 months

Text

Say yes to me

after your seven minutes in heaven, hyunjin wants to plan out how he'll finally confess to you. except you come knocking on the door of his rented cabin unannounced. at 10:53 pm. the perfect time for love, he comes to learn.

pt. 2 of say yes to heaven. highly recommend reading it first (it's short i promise and it sets the mood ajsjd)

a.n: and if i told y'all i wrote this in one go... when i say hyune possesses me i MEAN it... these two pics sit at the same table for me, and three people asked for a second part and i can't say no to you guys!! ENJOY, feedback is highly appreciated as always <33

There are a lot of things that Hyunjin wishes he could say to you.

How he loves you is first.

Hyunjin never planned on keeping secrets from you. Ones he carefully tucked away at the corner of his mouth, ready to spill each time your gaze met his.

He still remembers when it all started vividly- how the friendship blossomed into something more for him, the way petals shyly unfurl on the first days of spring.

You were sitting next to him on the bench of your favorite park, ice cream in your hands. Hyunjin intently watched as you rambled about your latest essay, and the world seemed to fall into a tranquil silence, save for the sound of your voice.

Hyunjin suddenly found himself enthralled by the way the sunlight gently grazed your cheeks, painting them with the softest golden hue. One he tried to replicate many times in his paintings, but to no avail, as they could never live up to you.

How the light breeze danced upon your hair, swaying it gently from left to right. How your lips moved with each word, pulling him into an unyielding trance. Those very lips that graced his skin with kisses, months later, scorching themselves into his memory.

Sometimes it still felt surreal, almost too good to be true, that you left traces of yourself on him. That he had you graze his jaw and collarbones, tentatively, as if you were afraid to dive in fully. "I'd catch you", he wanted to say, "even if it meant I'd drown in the process."

He wasn't ashamed to admit that he took a picture of the lipstick stains you left on him. He didn't even realize they were there at first, that is until he went to Changbin's bathroom. There, under the dim lighting, he found that the blush creeping up his neck matched the shade of your lipstick. His body seamlessly entwined itself with everything that made you.

He felt like a shaky tree branch at your hands- dainty leaves falling at your feet, each one scribbled with love notes for you. And he could no longer contain this feeling within him. He was tired of this five month old secret. He wanted to be an open book, one you could read or toss around, as long as you'd touch it.

But he needed to gather his thoughts and plan how he'd say it. How he'd free this scary confession from the confines of his heart. He told you that you'd talk about it later, and it's already been twelve days since he's last seen you. He had to do it soon.

So he went to his cabin, the one he rents on the weekends when he needs to get away from the world. It's small, nestled away in a remote part of the town, with a golden chandelier dangling in its living room- it's where Hyunjin feels most like himself.

Hyunjin doesn't hear your car pulling up into the driveway. Or your hurried steps to the door. But he hears your urgent knocks, and he's confused as he pushes the doorknob down. Then he's worried when he notices that it's you, with puffy eyes and a slightly runny nose.

For a moment, he stood there, too stunned to articulate a proper question. You don't give him the time to properly organize his thoughts, anyways, as you take timid steps towards him, before wrapping your arms around his waist. Your cheek rests against his chest, right above his heart, and you're crying. Hyunjin can tell from the slight tremors coursing through your body; the very one he's hugging right now, tightly, securely, until you're pressed to him, like two pages of the same book.

His large hands are rubbing soothing circles on your back, and a myriad of questions swirls in his mind. But they can wait, until you stop crying- the one sight that can bleed his heart dry.

"You- you said we'd talk later," you say through hiccups, as Hyunjin's hand moves to the back of your head, gently smoothing down your hair.

"I did," he hums, slightly rocking you from left to right.

"Then why didn't you? You just... stayed silent. For two weeks."

"Twelve days."

"Hyune," you whine and he giggles slightly, pressing a soft kiss onto your temple.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you were waiting for me."

"Of course, I was," you lean back, the sides of his black shirt scrunched up in your hands. "I was tipsy but I... I remember."

"What do you remember?" he asks, as his thumb gently brushes away your trailing tears. He knows what happened that night, he replayed those seven minutes in his head so much that he could recite them by heart. Every breath you took, every shaky exhale you let out. He remembers it all too well.

"What you said to me."

His eyes soften at the quiver in your tone. "Why are you crying then, hm?"

"Because you didn't talk to me and I thought you didn't mean it. And I- I can't handle anyone else lying to me. Especially you."

Hyunjin shakes his head, as the strings of his heart dance to the erratic rhythm of his pulse.

"I could never lie to you. Not when it comes to this," he says with the utmost sincerity he can muster. He pauses, a gentle smile etched on his lips. "I have tea."

"Tea sounds good," you respond quietly.

"Come in, then."

He let goes of you, but you remain close, your shadows merging together on the wooden floor. Hyunjin smiles softly at the sight- he too wishes he could become one with you.

His hands are shaking slightly as he brings the water to a boil. You're wandering around, admiring the cozy interior, and the questions in Hyunjin's head can't seem to stop. What does this mean? he wants to ask. Do you want me like I want you? But he bites his tongue. Not until you've fully calmed down.

One minute.

"Here," he says, handing you a steaming cup of Jasmine tea. He leans his head against the wooden wall, as the steam fogs up his glasses.

"Thank you," you smile, settling into the seat opposite of him. "I like your ponytail."

"Oh," his hands reach up instinctively to his hair, tugging slightly at the ends of it. "It kept getting in my eyes so I tied it up."

"It suits you," you smile softly, and Hyunjin finds that the galaxy's stars are all shimmering in your eyes. He imagines the milky way weeping for the loss of its twinkling lights; but they look prettier in you, he thinks.

"How did you know I was here?" he asks, bringing the sweet drink to his mouth.

"Changbin told me," you reply.

Hyunjin nods, his eyes holding yours over the rim of his cup. He's nervous, a shaky mess from within, and he's unfolding right in front of you.

Two minutes.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you believe in love at first sight?"

His question seems to take you off guard. Your eyes slightly widen, before softening around the edges.

"It seems too unrealistic. But I'd like to think it exists. And you?"

"Despite being a hopeless romantic..." Your chuckle interrupts his words, and he finds that the sound of your laugh is much warmer than the drink in his hand. "I never believed in it. Because love is much deeper than a superficial level. It could be infatuation or a crush. But not love," he pauses, idly circling the rim of his cup with his finger. "But then I realized I was wrong."

His eyes captivate yours as he leans back, his sole attention on you. "They don't call it love at the first look, but rather love at first sight... You know, the first time you truly see someone. And I saw you."

Your breath hitches in your throat.

Three minutes.

"I saw you. I see you. how kind, gentle, and full of life you are. How you turn the most mundane sceneries into extraordinary ones, because your eyes are filled with colors we cannot see. But I saw them through you."

He smiles softly, his hand reaching out to the middle of the table, right where yours rested. His thumb gently grazes your palm, as he starts to speak again.

"It hurt me to see you with someone else. But he made you smile, at least at first. And I love your smile, so I was happy for you despite it. Because you deserve joy in your life, even if I'm not the one behind it. But then he hurt you," he pauses, his eyes tightly shut as if it physically pained him to utter these words. "And it hurts me to see you in pain. Because you deserve a love as gentle as you."

Four minutes.

"Hyune..." you trail off, and he shakes his head, a reassuring smile on his face.

"You don't have to say anything. You're confused and still hurt but I just needed you to know that."

"Know what?" you ask breathlessly, your hand now on top of his. You're hanging desperately onto his every word, you needed to hear it.

"That I love you."

Your fingers intertwine with his, and Hyunjin believes he has never truly breathed before this moment.

"I want to love you too, I do," you're quick to say. "You make me feel safe like I could hand you my heart and you wouldn't hurt it. But you also make me feel alive and I regret not seeing you first. Not when my love was still whole and not bruised."

"So you could love me?" he asks, a beaming smile brightening his face.

"I came crying to you because I thought you left me, and I couldn't bear it. You have your answer," you giggle sheepishly.

Five minutes.

"And you want to love me?"

"I do. I want to see you and notice a new detail about you every day. But I'm so scared, Hyunjin."

"It's okay to be scared. I don't want to rush you. I can wait."

"What if you get bored? Or if someone else catches your eye. I can't ask that of you."

Hyunjin squeezes your hand and the thoughts in your head go silent.

"I've waited for months for you. If it's you I get at the end then I can wait for an eternity."

"So you'll do it?" you smile incredulously. "You'll wait by my side?"

"Mm. I will."

Six minutes.

You're both quiet for a while, and he's too lost in you to count down the seconds. But then you clear your throat.

"Can we start waiting tomorrow?" you suddenly ask, walking up to him.

"What do you mean?" Hyunjin questions, the butterflies in him fluttering so intensely he's close to flying away.

"We're both here now," you whisper, as you sit beside him, his thigh brushing against yours. He licks his lips nervously.

"Can I try something?" you ask again, but this time you aren't drunk. You are less heartbroken and more sure of your feelings for him. You want this.

"I'm yours."

Your fingers reach up to cup his face, thumb grazing his cheeks gently. His hands hold your waist, beckoning you closer.

"I see you," you whisper, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry it took me so long to see you."

"Love at first sight," he responds breathlessly as your lips graze his, and his heart threatens to burst out of his chest- they'll find your name carved in his veins.

"I believe in it now, Hyune," you grin, before crashing your lips onto his.

Seven minutes.

There are a lot of things Hyunjin wished he could say to you. Sappy things, like how he believes you invented colors, that it drips down from your fingertips grazing his skin- explaining the red and yellow dots dancing before his closed eyes.

How everything seems to be heightened with you- the taste of the Jasmine tea imprinted on your lips, or the breaths escaping his body, eager to be released and to finally mingle with yours.

Or that he wishes that you were wearing your red lipstick so that your mark on him would last longer. A physical token of what you do to his heart.

But there was also much simpler words he wanted to say, ones that he managed to whisper in between tender kisses- "thank you for seeing me."

One year.

Your arms encircle Hyunjin's broad back, as you rest your cheek on his shoulder blade. "You know it's criminal for you to look this good in a simple white tee," you sigh wistfully, Hyunjin's perfume enveloping you both in an intimate cocoon.

"Good thing I'm yours then," he chuckles and you beam in reply, although he can't see you. Hyunjin is yours- he waited just like he promised he would. And now you're back in his cabin, where it all began, and he's making you Jasmine tea.

"And I am yours," you plant a kiss on his back and he turns around, a wide smile on his face.

There is still a sense of relief you find sometimes in Hyunjin's features when you tell him that you love him. As if he can't still quite believe it, even after a year of dating. It is the look traced on his face right now- a slight awe as he looks down at you.

"You said yes to me," he says so faintly, as if speaking to no one but himself, and you nod, placing a gentle kiss on his wrist.

"I'll always say yes to you."

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagines #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #hwang hyunjin fluff #hyunjin fluff #stray kids fanfic #skz reactions

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Note

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually.

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body.

You pretended to be dead.

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky.

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly.

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands.

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it.

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.”

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up.

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening.

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest.

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort.

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.”

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character.

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it.

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up.

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood.

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?”

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull.

Missions were rarely a failure.

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.”

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?”

“None. Just us.”

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.”

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway.

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it.

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it.

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation.

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room.

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly.

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off.

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin.

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction.

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.”

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue.

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in.

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight.

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends.

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore.

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him. “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh.

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why.

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden.

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions.

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them.

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too.

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue.

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch.

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined.

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you.

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like.

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse.

This couldn’t continue.

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side.

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.”

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air.

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met.

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires.

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?”

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?”

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up.

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.”

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth.

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas.

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless.

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds.

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up.

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though.

On the second week, it got easier.

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area.

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over.

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table.

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally.

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails.

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind.

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you.

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces.

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair.

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse.

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up...

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring.

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!”

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp.

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor.

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers.

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated.

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug.

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly.

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air.

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure.

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.”

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly.

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward.

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game.

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching.

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet.

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table.

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?”

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.”

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you.

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss.

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.”

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it.

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking.

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second.

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos.

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint.

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat.

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages.

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out.

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.”

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?”

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room.

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out.

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently.

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.”

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation.

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back.

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat.

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney.

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly.

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful.

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand.

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing.

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.”

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair.

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back.

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine.

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts.

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high.

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river.

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask.

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare.

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it.

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh.

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already.

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk.

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…”

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be.

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.”

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip.

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able.

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second.

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table.

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion.

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?”

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer.

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix.

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob.

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.”

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality.

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer.

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.”

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own.

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies.

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep.

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.”

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though.

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect.

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt.

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you.

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back.

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw.

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms.

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile.

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.”

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting.

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial.

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action.

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot.

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad.

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you.

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute.

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

@emerald-valkyrie , @anna-banana27 , @blueoorchid , @cryingnotcrying , @writeforfandoms , @homicidal-slvt , @jade-jax , @frazie99 , @elmoees , @littlemisstrouble , @alpineswinter , @phoenixhalliwell , @idocarealot , @lavalleon , @facelessmemories , @h-leigh, @20forty9 , @glitter-anon-asks , @emily-who-killed-a-man , @neelehksttr, @aeneanc , @escapefromrealitysm , @i-d-1-0-t , @pparcxysm , @hawkscanendme , @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney , @sanfransolomitatm , @maelstrom007 , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet , @pheobees , @glitterypirateduck , @uselsshuman , @fan-of-encouragement , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger , @kopatych11 , @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop , @knightofsexyness , @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons , @330bpm-whiplash , @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu , @tiredmetalenthusiast

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reallyromealone · 1 month

Text

Title: ducky

Fandom: hazbin hotel

Pairing: Lucifer x reader

Warnings: reader is Jessica rabbit coded, make reader, sexual themes, reader hates Valentino, softcore nsfw, crack treated seriously, Lucifer is a simp, reader cross dresses, reader wears lipstick, the word daddy

Notes: the amount of rewrites boy howdy

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

After every show, (name) had gifts waiting from fans.

Flowers, expensive jewelry and other things were always there but one thing always stuck out to him, an adorable rubber duck dressed like him, wearing an adorable version of the show he did previously. Todays was his pink dress, the jazz singer loved cross dressing and it seemed his admirer noticed every detail of his outfits... It had him swooning! "Oh the note!" He said looking for the rose gold paper with black ink, another joke that was corny and wishing him a good day... Oh he was so wonderful!

It was the best part of his day, really it was.

Before this, his eternity was always so drab... Singing his songs and nothing of interest happening.

"It's time" one of his security guards said seriously and (name) nodded, placing the duck in his suit pocket before leaving with the men and out the back area of the club where the limo was waiting for him.

Not before catching eyes with the one person be despised and was sadly obsessed with him, Valentino smirked as he stepped out of the limo across the street as (name) got into his own faster, not wanting to deal with him especially after a performance. He couldn't stand that moth! The demon had been obsessed with (name) for years along with his little picture box friend, he remembered when they sent him molds of their erections! Disgusting!

(Name) Made sure his driver left faster, not wanting to deal with that man any more than he needed to.

"Your father requested your presence" the driver said to (name) who looked passive "what for?" He asked as a smile found its way in his face as the driver explained about some project the demon was partaking in and wanted (name)s help, the jazz demon excited to see what was taking all his father's time these days "then let's go see, shall we?"

(Name) Was not expecting some hotel on the edge of town "Hazbin hotel?" He mumbled curiously as he walked into the hotel, his driver going on his break and (name) wasn't expecting his father to be arguing with a small blond man "papa?" He asked with a passive Expression, where Alastor smiled (name) kept passive "(name)! There you are!" Alastor said dismissing the other immediately to walk to his son "how was your show little one?" He asked his son who let out a soft huff, amused "it was quite well, what's this shindig?" He gestured to the group of people and his dad grinned.

"I have someone for you to meet"

Everyone knew who (name) was, he was on every billboard across pentagram city and Angel dust knew how obsessed Vox and Valentino were with him, throwing tantrums whenever their wooing attempts went south.

But what they didn't know was that (name) was Alastors son.

"Wait son?! Sinners can't procreate?" Charlie asked curiously as Alastor laughed robotically "he was my son when I was alive, sadly I died when he was little--"'--and I was raised by grandma!" (Name) Continued and they were curious on how (name) was in hell but decided not to prod on that and now that they looked at them, they could see the resemblances.

Height being a main one, (name) just a bit shorter than his dad.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all, now why am I here?" He asked his father curiously and the radio demon grinned wider "well you see, we need someone to notice this place and what better than the most popular jazz singer in this place!" Alastor said merrily and (name) raised an eyebrow but sighed "I will on a condition" Charlie was vibrating with excitement as she nodded "whatever you want!"

"I'm looking for someone, I don't know who they are but I have a few clues" (name) pulled out the notes and the duck from his pockets "this person botherin' ya?" Husk asked suspiciously and (name) shook his head "quite the opposite actually!" Charlie and Alastor looked at each other and then the rubber duck in realization as Lucifer looked increasingly uncomfortable.

"Dad, is that your duck?" (Name) Drew his attention to the now panicking fallen angel who looked back at (name) stressed out "I think we should talk" (name) said to the blond man who followed nervously, the two going off somewhere as everyone processed what just happened.

"I can expla--" (name) stopped him with a kiss, gently holding Lucifer's face and his thumbs stroking his cheekbones before pulling back "I uh, I don't understand?" Lucifer said dumbly and (name) grinned "I never got a chance to tell you how my day was, awful rude doll~" he whispered to Lucifer and smiled at the smudged red lipstick from his performance on Lucifer's lips "s-so does this mean...?"

"Oh darling, I'm not gonna let you go... But I gotta ask, what's your name? Or should I just call you ducky?" (Name) Teased the other who looked incredibly flustered "maybe baby? Or daddy?" He teased and Lucifer was deeply confused at how this walking sex symbol was related to fucking Alastor but the kiss he was being pulled back into made him forget it all.

"They have been there awfully long" Charlie fretted and Angel dust snorted "he's related to smiles over there, god knows what's happening"

"I'm gonna check on them" she said nervously and Alastor followed, fatherly instincts kicking in as they went to the room the two wandered off too, hearing gasps and grunts and the sound of something knocking over. In a panic Charlie opened the door and Angel dust couldn't hold his laughter at Alastor and Charlie's horrified faces at the scene before them.

(Name) On-top of Lucifer with his suit half off his body and Lucifer was no better with an exposed chest and unbuttoned pants connected to (names) full lack of pants, Lucifer sporting Hickey's and red lipstick all over his body.

"DID IT HAVE TO BE HIM?!" Lucifer was exasperated as the two quickly put themselves together and Charlie was traumatized at the fact she saw her dad... Like that.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x male reader #lucifer x reader #Lucifer x male reader #male reader #x male reader

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qatarsprint2023 · 18 days

Text

Birthday morning— OP81

Waking up early isn't Oscar's thing, especially not on his birthday, but he's always, always up for cuddles — Oscar Piastri x f!reader, sleepy Oscar, no use of y/n, implied nsfw content word count: 1.6k a/n: Please ignore that I didn't actually post this on his birthday because I kinda forgot I wrote this in the first place

A soft groan slips past your lips as you slowly wake up, the sun tickling your face. You try to stretch your body but find yourself trapped in Oscar's arms. His embrace is nice and cozy, his bare chest warm against your skin.

Your eyelids flutter a little as you try to get used to the light filtering into the hotel room through the small space by the window you must've forgotten to cover with the curtain last night after you and Oscar got back from the track.

Instinctively your hand reaches for your phone and you squint as the screen lights up, displaying that one picture of you and Oscar his mum took when you were in Australia over Christmas. It was very weird celebrating Christmas in the middle of summer at first. Well, for you at least.

Your eyes flick up to the time. 7:12

With a sigh you let your head fall back onto the soft pillow. Oscar's got you trapped in a hug and you can't even get up to close the curtain in order to darken the room, so going back to sleep is going to be impossible. Great.

You turn in Oscar's embrace so you're facing his chest that rises and falls gently with every soft breath he takes. His hair is a little tousled and his face squished against the pillow. He looks so beautiful with the light from outside gently illuminating his skin in a soft morning light.

Your eyes travel over his features that look so gentle and innocent as he sleeps— he's got a bit of acne like so many people your age, the freckles that adorn his cheeks aren't that visible yet, but as soon as summer comes around and he sees some sun they'll be more noticeable. His skin is smooth, the stubble he was trying out now gone after you convinced him to shave it.

You let your eyes travel down to his arms as you lazily trace your index finger along one, noticing the firm muscles that tense and relax under your touch until you reach his hand. Your hand reaches for his and you absentmindedly start playing with his fingers, admiring how nice his hand looks.

A quiet groan escapes you as your eyes land on the window again. Sleep isn't on the table anymore. Once the sun is up, that option is out the window.

Your finger trails up Oscar's left arm once more, gently grazing his skin with your nail as you do so. He stirs a bit, a quiet grumble making it's way past his lips.

"Happy birthday," you greet him softly as a smile spreads across your face, careful not to startle him. Your boyfriend however only lets out a soft hum of acknowledgement and keeps his eyes closed as he pulls you in closer and buries his face in your neck.

"Come on," you giggle a bit and brush some of Oscar's hair away from his forehead, a soft smile making its way onto his features at the tender touch. "It's your birthday."

"No..." his voice is drowsy, a bit of a lazy whine as his lips curve up slightly into an almost pouty expression.

The sheets rustle a bit as he shifts in bed, trying to get closer to you. His body is so warm, his skin so soft, and you can't help but smile as you wrap your arms around him, stroking his hair with one hand.

"Yes, it is," you chuckle in reply and place a soft kiss against his temple. "And I'm not gonna let you have a boring birthday morning before Qualifying."

"Can it be boring if I'm just with you?" he mumbles, his words muffled and barely understandable with his face pressed against your neck.

Oscar lets out a soft happy sound and his hand squeezes yours, pulling it towards him. "Mh... comfy..." he mutters and moves his head out of the crook of your neck a bit, only one eye open. "What time is it even?"

His words are laced with sleep, his voice raspy, coated thickly in his accent. It always comes out more when he's just woken up.

"Like, 7:15?" you reply and shrug, not bothering to actually check. "Come on, Osc.. Be excited or something."

"I don't wanna..." his words trail off as he mutters something else from under the blanket he's got pulled up over his chin. "It's too early... And you're comfy." In a smooth motion, he runs his hand up your torso to give your waist a gentle squeeze and feel your soft, warm skin against his.

"And you're being boring," you sigh and let your head drop against his. "What if I had something planned, mh?"

A lazy chuckle leaves Oscar's lips as he snuggles in closer to you. "What if I just wanna stay here with you?" he hums a little and lets his body sinks into yours.

"What would you even plan that's better than sleep?" he queries, his voice still a bit raspy and his face scrunched up as the light shines into his face through the window.

"I'm sure I could come up with something," you shrug and nuzzle your face against his hair, pressing a soft kiss there. Oscar's body begins to relax more, melting into your embrace as he holds you close to his chest.

"Does it involve having to leave this bed before I have to head to work?" he asks with a sigh as you start to gently scratch his scalp. "If so, my answer's no. I'd say I'm rather content here."

"Come on, birthday boy," you let out a chuckle and tilt his face towards you, your lips brushing against his. "Cheer up. You're 23!"

"I know... don't remind me," your boyfriend grumbles, but can't help the hint of a smile that tugs at his lips when yours brush against them.

"But it can't get better than this... It's warm here.. and comfortable.. and you smell nice.. what else do I need?" His voice trails off into silence as he relaxes in your arms, sighing contently.

"Aw, so sweet," you chuckle teasingly, nose lightly bumping against Oscar's as you lean forward, causing him to scrunch up his face.

"Mmhh... don't laugh," Oscar grumbles and lets out a soft whine as his lips curl into a pout. He reaches up and his hand finds your cheek, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb. "I'm still tired, and you're being mean."

"How am I being mean?" you laugh and prop yourself up on your arm to get a better view of his face.

"You're literally laughing," he huffs but you know he's not being serious. "I just wanna sleep in a bit with you..." His thumb continues to gently rub soft circles on your cheek as he lets the other hand come to rest on your hip, his arm and hand curling around you to pull you against him so you can get a bit more comfortable.

"Alright, alright," you say defensively and scrunch up your face when he leans down and his hair tickles your face. "If that's what you want."

"Exactly. It's my birthday and choose staying in bed," his voice is still a bit raspy, but he's obviously no longer on the verge of falling asleep again. He doesn't seem to want to talk that much, he's content with just holding you in his arms, cuddling.

Oscar nuzzles his face against you again, taking a deep breath. "You smell nice," he tells you again as his hand pulls your hip a bit closer, his eyes closing as he leans his head a little more into you. "Like... lilac."

"I should hope so. I paid some good money for this perfume," you reply with a smile and lean in to give Oscar's lips a gentle kiss. They're soft and the way his hand lands behind your neck almost instinctively makes you feel safe.

Your boyfriend lets out a soft hum of agreement, his lips pressing against yours a little harder, taking the kiss in as he leans his forehead against yours. His grip tightens around you, holding you close as his hand finds your hip and squeezes ever so slightly, his fingers gently tracing the soft dip of your waistline.

You twist in his embrace to grab your phone once more and check the time, which allows Oscar's arms to snake around your waist from behind.

"Almost eight," you mutter with a sigh and rest your head on the soft mattress once more before shifting out from underneath the covers, finally stretching your arms.

"Hey, hey, where're you going?" Oscar inquiries and blinks a little in confusion, his hand reaching out to grab yours as you sit up.

"I gotta shower, baby," you sigh and swing your legs off the bed. "I still have to get ready and we need to go down for breakfast and you have to be at the track by ten."

The smile on Oscar's face falls slightly as you slip away from his embrace, his fingers wrapping around your own as you make your way out of the bed.

"But I just like being in bed with you," he complains somewhat half-jokingly, his other hand reaching out to you as he tries to stop you from escaping.

"Come on, just a bit longer," he whines and lets his head fall back onto the pillow where he lets his body sink into the mattress once more.

"You can come with me if you want," you suggest with a small smile and the most subtle of winks before turning to leave the bedroom in the direction of the bathroom.

At the mention of joining you, Oscar is wide awake, sitting up in bed with an excited smile as he watches you leave the room, his gaze following your figure before he rolls out of bed himself.

You feel a smile tugging at your lips as you take notice of the footsteps behind you and feel his strong arms wrap around your waist, his lips finding their way to your neck, knowing you did manage to make his birthday morning not so boring in the end.

#f1 #mclaren #f1 x reader #fluff #oscar piastri #qatarsprint2023 #op81 #japanese grand prix #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #birthday #a relationship like this is all I ask for

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sincerelyneo · 28 days

Note

omg hello! i missed you so much!!! 💖 would you consider reposting arcade again?? it was legit the best thing i’ve ever read omg i was so sad when i couldnt find it anymore

its fine if you cant tho!! im glad youre backkkk💖💖💖

ofc i can, i’m glad you liked it <3

arcade | p.js

“i’m out of control, full power up”

💿now playing: arcade by nct dream

❯ summary: Jisung’s been nothing but busy lately, so when you hear he got the weekend of your anniversary off, you can’t help but plan something to spend time with him. Expect, the only thing jisung wants after his busy month is you — and he’s not gonna let your silly arcade date get in the way of that.

❯ pairings: jisung x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut, fluffish.

❯ words: 3.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, fingering, exhibitionism, reader uses she/her pronouns, use of the name baby, jisung takes pictures whilst fingering reader in a photobooth idk???

"You brought us to an arcade for our three year anniversary?"

You look over to Jisung standing by your side as the pair of you stood in front of the arcade entryway with the giant neon sign above your heads.

"Yeah, surprise - who doesn't love a date night with pizza and an arcade?" You grin, trying to hide the look of nervousness fighting to show once you notice his frown.

“Baby,” he groans, whiny, “I thought we were gonna go home after the pizza.”

You may have lied to him about that.

When you told Jisung about tonight’s date, he originally objected. He wanted to have a chilled night in with just the two of you — alone. Something he hadn’t had for the past four weeks he’d been strung up at work. Yet, you insisted that the two of you celebrated your three year anniversary just like you had done for your first and second.

So instead, the two of you came up with a compromise: head to your favourite pizza place, then come home and watch a movie snuggled together on the couch. In Jisung’s mind ‘watch a movie’ was code for letting his hands roam all over your body whilst he watched you whither and squirm, but he figured it was best to not discuss the minute details.

But don’t get him wrong. Just because he wanted to have a quiet night in didn't mean he hasn’t missed you — because oh he has. He’s only bothered the rest of the dreamies with his annual ‘I miss her’ speech every other hour.

And whilst typically Jisung loved to spend every passing minute of the day with you; right now, all he could think about was how much he wanted to be balls deep in the cunt he’d missed so much — not spending his time in some arcade.

"I haven't been inside one of these since I was a little kid," you tell him. “Please Sungie, just for an hour.” You begin tugging on his hands.

“I don’t know, Y/N. Aren’t we a bit too old to be playing in the arcade?” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Pretty please!”

You hope the small flutter in your eyelashes is enough to win over the hesitant man. And you know it will because he’s told you several times not to give him those signature doe eyes, because he can’t ever bring himself to say no to them.

"Fine."

He grasps your hand, threading your fingers together as he starts to lead the two of you inside. You're instantly greeted with the loud electronic sound effects from the various games, along with the random music playing inside.

There's lights flashing everywhere, and you notice a bunch of people sitting at the bar and in booths near the front of the arcade, along with a bunch wandering around all of the games.

Jisung looks sideways before gesturing his head to the row of retro games, "what do you wanna play?" He asks.

“You can pick first, because I’m such a good girlfriend.”

He can’t help but smile at you — because he knows you're right.

“How about we play some pinball?

"I take it back," you say with a pointed look, "I’ve seen you play that with Chenle and I’m definitely gonna lose.”

“Too late, you’ve already given me the power,” he shrugs and pulls your arm over to where the game is situated.

“Ugh, Jisung. There’s no point, I already know I’m gonna lose,” you try to protest.

“Stop complaining,” he grasps your hips to turn you around to face the pinball machine then comes to stand behind you.

He takes your hands and places them on the buttons either side of the machine in front of you. You feel your cheeks flush when you feel Jisung’s chin rest on your shoulder, as he guides your fingers over the controls and silently coaches you through the game.

You don’t know how he always does it but even here, he's managing to create some form of sexual tension between the two of you at a pinball machine.

“Jisung..” you whisper as he places teasing kisses along your neck.

“Shhh, I’m just trying to help you out,” his lips brush against your neck as he continues hitting the buttons at a constant steady speed. “Besides, I think I’ve found my new favourite way to play pinball tonight."

Eventually, the ball shoots straight down between the two flippers, drawing the game to an end. He’d been doing so well that you wanted to turn around and kiss him but he pressed you harder against the machine, dipping into the crook of your neck to tease your ear.

"You've got no idea how badly I wish I could bend you over this and fuck you right here, right now."

It sent shivers down your whole body as you felt him grin against your skin when he noticed the sharp inhale of air you sucked in at his words.

Jisung knows you're shy, so he’s not surprised that you try to snake away from his grip at his crude remark.

"Look, we got a new high score," he says while he slips his hands from over yours and slides them up your arms. Pretending he didn't just whisper something that dirty. “We make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah ‘cause you did all the work,” you sulk.

You see the red digital writing flashing on the scoreboard, then his arms snake around to link across your lower stomach and pull you firmer against him. To anyone watching you look like a typical couple being affectionate, but the tension makes it feel the furthest thing from innocent.

"You know exactly what you're doing right now, Jisung Park," you huff, trying to control how flustered you feel, "We’re here to play games."

He presses a kiss to your cheek, before murmuring, "I am playing games. And so far I think I'm winning."

As he speaks he lets one of his hands slip down to graze over the front of your crotch, which he swears is an accident when you sternly say his name. But you can’t deny the way the touch made you jolt before he pulls away and steps back. You’d missed his touch — missed being with him like this.

But this was not the place. So you take his hand and turn the two of you to walk off like nothing happened.

The two of you continued to play a handful of arcade games. The classics, retro games, new games — Jisung had even managed to secure you a fluffy teddy bear from the claw game after you mentioned it being ‘impossible’.

You’d been taking it in turns to choose a game each, but when you mentioned the arcade photo booth, your boyfriend had started to get apprehensive.

After some of your amazing buttering up skills with puppy dog eyes, he agreed and he pulled the curtain back for you to get inside, then closes the door on the booth.

He sat down first on the small seat, and when you went to sit next to him he grabbed your waist and pulled you down onto his lap instead. He takes some coins from his pocket and starts putting them in the slot.

You try to get off his lap to sit beside him before the timer starts but he doesn’t let you.

“Just look at the camera and smile."

Once you hear the timer counting down the two of you start posing. But just before the last beep sounds, you get the idea to grab hold of Jisung’s face and let your lips mush against his cheek causing him to scrunch his nose up.

"That’s not fair," he says the second he hears the beeping start again.You stick your tongue out at him and his eyes narrow. “Fine, if that’s the game we’re playing.”

You both look back at the camera and offer smiles, kisses and peace signs. But at the last beep, Jisung gets the idea to move both of his hands to cup over your chest, groping your boobs.

Your mouth falls open as you gasp in shock while Jisung starts laughing.

You try to pull his hands away, "Okay fine, point taken mister grabby hands."

Jisung is practically giggling to himself, whilst you wait for the timer to start again.

“Alright alright, we'll take a serious one now.” He says, placing his chin on your shoulder, as you both look at the camera.

But once again, as the third beeping starts he quickly says, “Do you think people would notice if I made you cum while we're in here?"

Your body stiffens in shock as the picture is taken. Jisung is bursting with laughter and you're taken aback.

Jisung likes sex. He loves sex in fact — especially with you. But he never does this. Sure he teases you when you're out and about — how could he not when you’re so beautiful and perfect for him. But he’s never insinuated doing something so sexual in public like this before.

But here the two of you are. Waiting for the timer to start again, but this time you’re anticipating the shit he was going to pull when the final beep comes — and he does not disappoint. Because his hands slide up your legs, dipping into your inner thighs and squeezing them.

"Jisung," you warn him, "behave yourself."

The beeping starts again, but Jisung doesn't move his hands, and starts to massage his fingers higher.

When the last tick happens, he moves his face to press a kiss to your jaw, and you feel his breath hitting your skin from his nose.

He starts to inch your legs a bit further apart to let his thumbs graze over the crease where your thighs meet your pelvis.

“Ive missed you so fucking much baby,” he whines. “I need you so bad.”

“Jisung not here,” you sigh as his hands start working to warm up your skin.

“Why not? Wouldn’t you like the thought of me getting you off in here? Trying not to get caught?"

If his face wasn't so close to yours you wouldn't be able to hear him over the loud music in the arcade and how low his voice has gotten.

You give him a confused frown, thinking he surely can't be fucking serious but when you do he takes the opportunity to press his lips against you, kissing you while the camera snaps the last picture.

Your stomach is knotting along with your heart beating faster and you feel that familiar heat between your legs but you’d never tell him that — and he’d never tell you that he knows you keep it from him.

"Would you?" He asks again when he breaks the kiss.

You look at him like he's lost his mind. "You're joking right?" You can't be serious - Jisung people get their pictures taken in here, someone could walk in, you can't-"

He makes your words stop and your breath hitch in your throat as he moves his hand up under your skirt and cups his hand between your legs.

"That's not what I asked you," he says letting his eyes trace over your face, then leans closer, "Would you enjoy it?"

“Jisung, this is so unlike you, are you even hearing what you’re asking me?”

He moves his leg a bit and wedges his heel against the edge of the door so it can't be pulled open, "I know exactly what I’m asking you, so answer me."

"We’re supposed to be taking pictures, Sung,” you try changing the subject, and ignore the pressure of his hand pressed against you.

"Oh god we will," he says like it should be obvious.

And now you’re looking even more caught off guard.

“I'd fucking kill to have some pictures of you getting off. Have them to look at them whenever I’m needy and miss you.”

Jisung starts to massage the heel of his palm very slowly against you, adding more pressure over your underwear as you try to squeeze your legs closed but he holds them with his other hand to keep them apart.

"We can't-" it takes very fibre in your body to attempt to protest this, but you easily allow him to cut you off.

"Yes we fucking can," he has that sly look on his face, "But if you don't want to, we won't. It's up to you. Should I stop?"

You exhale a weak breath as he replaces the heel of his palm with his fingers dancing over your underwear, massaging slow circles that make your hips shift.

"Won’t people think it's weird if we're in here too long." you fumble over your words which makes Jisung smile while he bites on his lip.

"Don't worry I'll be quick," he says knowing you’re only making excuses instead of admitting what you really want.

Your eyes drift closed as you sigh, feeling his fingers move against you to create a friction that's only making the throb between your legs worsen. You have absolutely no common sense when it comes to this man and his fucking fingers.

"Should I stop?" He repeats in a low voice, moving his mouth to start to kiss along your jaw.

As usual with him, your functioning brain checks out while your subconscious takes over and you shake your head feeling your breathing start to go shallow.

"You want me to make you cum, yeah? Is that right baby?" His words are slightly muffled as he moves his free hand from your inner thigh and brushes your hair back over your shoulder so he can move his mouth to your neck, "I need words baby."

You should be rational and tell him to stop. But you don't. You wouldn’t dare. You didn’t want him to. So instead you say what you do want, and breathe out a quiet "yes."

Jisung’s own breathing is getting heavier, and the tension in this small enclosed space feels like it's compressing both of you closer together. When he hears your approval, his hand between your legs bunches up the front of your skirt. When he slips it up he snakes his hand over your stomach to push down into your underwear.

A faint groan echoes in Jisung’s throat the second his fingers feel your bare skin, exploring around your underwear to feel the slickness there.

"You’ve made a mess. Missed me this much, huh?” his voice is low, while he drags his warm lips up your neck.

You only manage to nod your head, your brain focused on squirming your hips to find some kind of friction again. He finally rests the pads of his fingers against your throbbing clit, starting to tease circles that force a quiet whimper out of you. Your eyes are still closed as excitement and neediness flood your nerves.

For doing something that should be wrong, it feels so damn right, and it's all you can think of. Feeling him is all you can think about.

"You sure I can take some pictures?" He checks, keeping his movements steady as your hips start to circle against his hand,

You don't respond at first—you can’t—too caught up in how this is feeling, and when he dips his fingers down to your pussy to collect more arousal on his fingers before moving back to your clit and applying more pressure, your head falls forward as you pant out a strained, "You - fuck, yes, you can."

He chuckles hearing how fucked out you are for him, and he’s only just started. But it’s when you hold onto the thigh he’s been using to pry your legs open that his eyes darken with need.

He keeps his fingers moving while he manages to get some coins he had in his pocket, reaching forward to put them into the coin slot, then pressing the button to start the timer.

When he relaxes back he applies a firmer pressure, and starts to massage your clit in quicker circles; making your mouth drop open with a gasped moan. You can barely hear the beep for the picture anymore, everything around you turning blurry, and all you can hear is your heart beat mixed your heavy breathing.

"That's it baby," he coos, with a gravel to his voice from the tension in it, "God I wish I could fuck you right now. I’ve been dying for it.”

Your skin is burning up, and all you can manage in response is the pants from your open mouth, desperately trying to keep yourself quiet.

You start to grind yourself against him as his fingers work, and feel the hard bulge forming in his pants underneath your ass.

He wasn't kidding when he said he'd be quick, he's already building the pressure in your lower belly, making your stomach muscles tighten, while he moves his fingers in the exact way he knows you love it.

That knot in your lower half tightens, and your legs start to tremble as a louder moan you can't stop comes out of your mouth.

"Fuck—Jisung," you whimper, with your chest starting to heave with rapid uneven breaths.

He only quickens his fingers driving with determination and speed, making sure to keep repeating the same movements that are getting the best reactions from you and when your head falls back as you moan again; his free hand comes up to cover your mouth.

"Shhhh—quiet, remember?" He hushes against your ear, groaning at the feeling of you grinding against him, "I know you wanna cum baby, but there’s no way I’m letting anyone else hear how you sound for me.”

All you can manage is a muffled "mhm" against his hand as your eyes squeeze tighter. That familiar sensation starts to ripple from your centre down your legs and into the rest of your limbs.

The orgasm is speeding towards you, faster than anticipated causing your back to arch up as your hips writhe. Your mind is foggy only able to make out quiet whispers of encouragement coming from Jisung.

As the release ripples through your body and your moans are muted against his hand, Jisung groans again, feeling you shake on top of him. He can’t help but snap his hand away to grasp at your jaw to turn your face and kiss you hard while you ride through your climax.

The kiss is mostly open lips grazing against each other, or trying to connect in messy motions with both of your laboured breathing mixing together. His fingers only pause when you try to pull yourself away from them.

Once your eyes drift open to see Jisung’s, the look in them makes you want to squeeze your legs together again if you could move them currently.

Jisung brings his hand up, and grazes his pointer and middle finger he just used to send your body into a frenzy against your lower lip as a silent request for you to open your mouth. You don’t deny it, taking them into your mouth to taste yourself.

“Fucking hell,” his eyes dart back and forth from your eyes to your mouth. His head rolls back against the wall behind you and he whines in the quiet, "God fucking help me."

Your body is still buzzing, floating down dazed from the high it was on, and you watch Jisung bite down on his lower lip as his brows knit tight together, as his hips shift beneath you.

"Everything okay, Sungie?" It’s the only thing your mushed brain can think of saying as you look down at his strained pants.

"Fuck no," he mumbles, looking like he's trying to compose himself, "But it’s my own fault. I suggested we do this. I’ll deal with myself later.”

"Later?" You ask.

Jisung lifts his head back up, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek as he rubs his palm up and down your thigh, "Yeah, later. When we get home and we watch that movie you promised me.”

He thinks you don’t know that he uses the movie thing as a code to fuck you — but you do know — and that’s why you’ve never protested when he puts on another one of those Harry Potter movies he loves.

"You sure you'll be able to wait that long?"

Jisung’s lips lift up at the corners, "I’ve waited weeks for this, I’m sure I can manage a couple more hours.”

He hugs you against him with his arms around your stomach, and back against his firm chest.

"But then again,” he begins “Now I have the memory of how fucking hot watching you get off in here was. That makes waiting like some kind of sick torture to me."

You let out a weak laugh, feeling your cheeks flush more than they already were, "I still can't believe we just did this."

"I can, and there's pictures to prove it," he smiles, pulling the strip of three black and white photos from the dispenser.

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