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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

Text

Between Dreams and Sugar

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: Your screams will haunt his dreams until the day he dies.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Torture, gore, angst, violence & death, suggestive joke, fluff, happy ending, rescue fic but who rescues who...>:)

A/N: Guys, I have a confession - I don't think I can write Ghost properly lmfao. This is horrifically mid.

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

There was so much blood coating your body that you had forgotten where the wounds were and weren’t. It flowed from you like viscus water—a homogeneous mixture of congealed shades of red like rubies except for the simple fact that this was not beautiful; it was not desired or sought after.

On the ground, soaking in indistinguishable pools of crimson, ripples are sent out when your limp foot twitches mutely in its clutch. That was all you could do now. Twitch. Writhe. They didn’t even bother tying you to the chair anymore—just let you slouch half out of it like a school kid who had gotten too drunk the night before.

Hell, you wished you were drunk.

“Sergeant.”

You wished you could feel your fingers. You wished you could move your neck up from its bend position as if it was a wilting flower; hair stuck to your skin. Blood dribbles out of your mouth. Drip…drop…drip…drop.

You’d bitten your tongue open in a vain attempt to stop yourself from screaming, hadn’t you? You…you can’t quite remember.

“Sergeant!” Groaning long and low, the violent chills that wrack your form only serve to make yourself bleed out faster, tension forcing precious life fluid out from burst veins and slashed ankles.

Cuts far span your legs and shoulders. Your back is nothing more than a painting of burns coated with sweat and infection; puss sticking you to the backrest of the chair like yellow-colored adhesive. Your clothes are the opposite idea of modesty. Tattered, torn by blades to create harm. Fuck, could you even breathe properly anymore?

Lungs only create a wheeze—you’re not getting enough oxygen to function.

A dark growl bounces off the walls.

Ghost struggles against his binds, uniform also in a state of disarray with very obviously broken ribs and bruised chest. Splotches of yellow-white mounds signal blunt trauma over the pale skin that’s already laced with old scars.

They’d all but anchored him to his chair—and even then the red marks that blister are a signal of the brutality of the large man as he peels back his skin to try and struggle himself out.

You whine, the loftiness stuck in your brain addictive; to pull back that curtain was as much of a struggle as staying awake. That harsh Manchester accent was something to draw closer to, though, professionalism a key to the lock on your failing consciousness. The reminder of companionship.

“G…” Your vocal cords fizzle, “Ghost…”

“Open your eyes.” Every word was enunciated, deep and guttural.

Parting your lips, more blood drowns your lap in thick globs, and soon your battered throat vibrates with coughs that make you see stars, mild panic the moment you realize that you can’t breathe.

Jerking forward, you gasp, eyes snapping open as your neck bends ahead in desperation. Mucus and other bodily fluids spray over your lap, tinged scarlet, but the blockage in your throat is dispelled as your broken ribs quiver in agony.

Whimpering like a kicked dog, you wonder how long it’ll take for Ghost to realize getting you to focus on him was pointless. If this all continued, you’d be dead within the day.

But you entertain him.

Head slowly balking back as your jaw hangs loose, you rest it on the wooden frame behind you as softly as you’re able with a most likely concussed brain and a fractured skull. Only one eye opens, and even then it’s half-glued to your cheek with dried blood.

Ghost’s balaclava had been ripped off. It felt wrong to see him in the open like this. Exposed. It was quite obvious he disliked it just as much as you did.

Blue eyes blazed at you; blonde hair going this way and that as crimson fell down the swell of his Adam’s Apple from a very broken nose. That gaze was unrelenting, and even with your blurry vision, you knew it would be unwise to look away.

His stubbled jaw sets as a heart can be seen skipping beats in his breast. You were totally out of it, enough so that you missed the way his lungs slightly released when you had pulled yourself back to the present.

The gulping sigh.

“That’s it, Sergeant.” You cough once more, wet and haggard, and your head falls back to your chest before you have to force it back up on shaking muscles. It was getting harder. “Easy does it, then…Thought I lost you.”

“C–can’t,” the useless feet flicker over the ground, sloshing through fluid in unstable jumps as you slur out, “Hurts, Ghost.”

A slow and dark inhalation meets your ears before a sudden grunt of a struggling body; jerking arms as the chair squeals with old nails being torn out.

“I know, Birdie, I know.” His tone is lesser now as he bites back a curse as the blisters on his arms pop, the rope burns turning a vile color as his muscles strain, “But you keep those pretty little eyes on me, yeah?”

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Black Operations were dangerous, yeah, but never had the Lieutenant been so down in the gutter as he was right now. Mainly because of you, no, entirely because of you. He could withstand months of torture—mental and physical—with no problem. He’d done it countless times before.

But never had he been forced to watch someone hurt you instead of him.

They would come in every day, these pitiful excuses for German drug runners, and would make him watch as they ripped open your skin with blunt knives and other tools coated in rust. Questions would be asked—questions that Ghost knew he could not answer even if it was you who would get punished.

Every time you would flinch when the door to this concrete basement opened, it was harder to keep his tongue from wagging. He was watching you die; letting it happen.

Fuck, it made him sick.

Ghost violently reems a shoulder up and down, not caring about the long stripes of now oozing blood on his forearms or the pain that the action brings bone-deep. There was so much scarlet flowing from you. Too much.

What he knows for certain is that he can’t let you die here. He’d never forgive himself for that.

How is she still conscious? The question was utterly genuine as Ghost’s dead eyes narrowed dangerously, sparking with urgency at the uneven risings and fallings from your chest.

“Fucking hell,” the Lieutenant growls, each word punctuated by a desperate attempt to free himself. He had to get you out of this. You were his responsibility; his team.

His…Ghost pants, sweat dripping down his arms.

You didn’t abandon him, how could he do the same to you? When questioned you hadn't given up his true name, hadn’t blabbered to save your own skin so you could avoid a horrible amount of pain. Pain that Ghost knew well.

Pain that was never supposed to be known to you.

Your screams would haunt his nightmares until the day he died.

“Ghost,” blue eyes freeze, snapping away from the sight of the bone around his wrists becoming visible through a thin coverage of remaining flesh. He pauses like a guard dog. Your optic was glinting, flicking with failing consciousness. The movement of your chest sputtered as the man clenched his teeth together. “You’re hurtin’ yourself.”

“‘Bout to do even more damage, yeah?” he gets back to it, working enough blood into the rope to make it slick; dripping. “If it’ll get me out of these bastard things.”

The weak smirk on your face gives his brows a deep furrow, sweat glistening on his forehead.

A part of him hated you. Hated you for the way you had this effect on him. He shouldn’t care if you lived or died—that wasn’t his cross to carry.

But you’d made him soft these last few months. Soft, and weak, and disgustingly concerned for your safety. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t Ghost.

“Gonna b…bleed out, y’know.” Your tongue slips, mind so loose that anything that comes to the front slips out like water from a slip-and-slide. Fingers twitching, your limp body grows so cold that you shiver.

“Negative.” Ghost barks, slipping one hand partially under the restraint and his flesh, acting as a zipper, starts to go with it. He hisses under his breath, body hot and spilling. Mutilating himself. “Shut your damn gob.” Blood splatters to the floor, “I’m gettin’ us out of ‘ere.”

“Tell me a joke.” Blue eyes flicker, blonde lashes slipping over pale cheeks.

You feel another wave of pain shutter through you—one that makes you whimper as quietly as a soft breeze on a summer day.

“Joke?” Ghost hisses, glaring over at you without heat. “The fuck are you on about?” A wobbling eyebrow raise is all he gets.

He grunts feral-like, evocative of a bear that hadn’t gotten his supper. Your lid droops and panic spikes.

“How long can a fish breakdance for?” Ghost slips a hand free, snarling in the back of his mouth as the entirety of his left hand is left ripped open, the fissures itchy and welling. Wasting no time, the limb goes to assist the other, pulling with ripped-off fingernails at the tight knot. A side-eye is sent your way.

Only you weren't moving. Lips snap in a moment of obvious concern, not only by the tone but by the way the man jerks forward in the chair—no matter if one arm and both of his legs were still restrained.

“Love!” The door handle rattles with screeching chains, but Ghost is occupied with raging at you. Ordering you to stay awake with terrifying eyes. It was as though for the first time in a long time there was true fear in his throat. True hatred.

Chucking voices heat veins that he had long since thought were cold, and the Lieutenant composes himself with a sharp pause. He leans back slowly into the chair; jaw so tight his molars almost crack in the back of his mouth like candy. Your face is tilted downward, and Ghost memorizes the make of it, trails his gaze slowly over every slash and cut that mars you. Feet slap off the concrete as multiple people enter the room, but it was like a switch had flipped internally, walls going up.

The mask was still there, even if all that physically remained of it was the black paint in his sockets.

He’d return every mark, from a bruise to an open wound, tenfold. But you needed to wake up first. You…you needed to.

You had to be okay.

Three men encircle the two of you, faces hidden and obviously enjoying a bit of their own product.

“Look at this, Lutz, the man got a hand out of the binding.” Blue eyes travel to stare dead-on into a pair of blown pupils; mind gone.

The second man goes to grip your hair, forcing your head up in inspection. Ghost’s vision immediately travels over, biceps going tense like a dog with its hackles raised and vision going red.

“Don’t worry about that. It’s one hand, what can the Bastard do?”

“Oh,” another laughs, though his body is wound tight, “careful with the woman, Alric—the beast looks like he’s about to snap at you.”

The three share sly looks. Alric, the one with your hair in his grip, shakes your head back and forth, blood flying around in the air as your limp body jerks. Ghost lunges, but he only makes it as far as the chair allows him before he’s shoved back by a hand on his chest.

Moving quicker than an animal, bone snaps, and an agony-laced scream echoes off the walls not a millisecond later.

Ghost had gripped that hand and twisted, making the wrist joint completely flip on itself. Blank blue eyes watch with glints of sadistic glee as the man wails, grabbing onto himself and falling back onto his ass.

The one holding you instantly releases your hair and rushes to his friend.

“Holy fuck!” Everyone divulges into frantic German curses, Ghost making out a command to leave and go see a doctor.

“Cheers. Good luck with that, ya’ Bastard.” Grumbling under his breath, the Lieutenant realized he was probably enjoying this more than he should, but always his attention shifts back to you. How you hang limb, battered face covered by your hair, and loss of blood steadily leaving your hands curling into the palms—

Ghost’s eyes widen slightly as the two still try and calm down their companion. Your hand. It wasn’t curled because of onset rigor mortis. You were holding a blade.

The Brit’s large chest swells with pride; jaw going somewhat slackened as he stares at you. So you were faking it….Fucking hell, Sweetheart.

Slowly, his vision peels to the empty sheath on Lutz’s belt. It wasn’t a big knife—nothing more than a three-inch blade on the end. But you were still conscious enough to hear these goons show up before he had; had used sleight of hand that anyone else in your situation would have just given up on.

It was hard to hold back a low chuckle, but he managed. Fuck, you were something else.

The two unmaimed men shove the third out the door, shouting down the hallway as his sobs and sniffling nose reverberate even as he’s out of sight.

Grunting, the Brit shifts his hips, lips pulling in a snarl at the bouncing electrical wire that goes up his ribs. Many were broken; along with his nose and a dislocated shoulder, but he knows he can deal with it. Getting you out and to the Evac point was his top priority—his wounds weren’t over-the-top life-threatening unless they went too long without treatment.

You on the other hand.

Lids narrow on the way the knife-holding hand shakes with exertion when simply applying pressure. If this was going to happen, it had to happen now.

“That was a nice little show,” Alric growls, standing in the middle of the two in the chairs and keeping a considerable distance farther from Ghost than you. Blue eyes blink blankly, emotions swiftly wiped away. “One-handed? I’m impressed.”

Ghost raises a single blonde eyebrow, “More where that came from.”

Alric smiles.

“Emil—get the gun.” Legs slowly tense, but other than that there’s no outward display of nervousness.

Seconds later a barrel is level with Ghost’s forehead, the chilled metal pressing deep into his blood-coated skin. He doesn’t balk back, he doesn’t even flinch, just watches with a dim flicker in his optics that remains even after he blinks. Like a cat’s slitted pupils.

It would be no use shoving the gun out of this man’s hands—he would fire before the Lieutenant was able to steal the weapon for himself.

“I’m getting sick of this game, Soldier. We’ve been through this day after day.” Alric swipes at his nose, white powder stuck under his nostrils. Ghost can’t stop the small tick of his mouth. “Tell me who you are,” the gun swivels, and the Brit’s heart seizes up. It points at your abdomen. “Or the girl gets a nice new stomach.”

Lips thin into a small line as hidden fury swells.

“Alric…” Emil seems nervous, his feet shifting and hands twitching. The aura Ghost was emitting was like a dark cloud around the room; sheer size and indistinguishable emotions rose to drown out all else when a threat to the beast’s bird was brought into the picture. There had been multiple times throughout the days when the men had been scared to touch you at all for fear of the look that had been leveled their way. Those eyes…fuck it was like a demon was stuck in flesh. In blue so close to gray the color was more like the concrete of a prison cell. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Tell me.” Alric growls as Emil gets closer to you. Ghost stays silent, unblinking as his fingers curl into fists. His knuckles crack from the force. “Tell me!”

Emil bushes your shoulder and you lunge. Bringing the blade into his chest, your form brings the both of you to the floor in a splash of scarlet and twin screams of pain.

The Blonde’s heart seizes at the sound in an aggressive bounce.

Alric whips around, eyes widened and gun loose in his grip. Ghost wastes no time, trusting your judgment, and shoves himself forward. A shot goes off as the Lieutenant rams his shoulder into the man, but the bullet bites into the far wall instead of your back as you dig your knife into Emil’s throat; wrestling for life.

The chair still attached to Ghost was a problem, but his body weight was used to his advantage. Sinew bunched as a growl exits his lips, Alric and him slamming to the floor in a flurry of rabid intentions and the likeness of wolves caught in a trap. Ghost’s eyesight goes red, remembering every cut and beating you went through for him in the reflection of Alric’s eyes. That pathetic drug runner had made you bleed.

His bird doesn’t bleed.

Teeth and nails are tools kept for animals, and now that the gun was too far from grip and you were limp beside the gargling body of Emil, Ghost decided that being a bit insane might do him well at the moment.

He had to get you out of here. And in no world was this man going to get away to live one day more.

“Please, don’t,” Alric begs, clawing at his behemoth build, “I’m not—I wasn’t—!”

Blood-stained teeth snap into the thin flesh of a visible neck as dead blue eyes keep you in sight like a dog does the moon.

—

You don’t recall anything after slashing one man’s neck and even that is a blur of flashing colors; instances of one waxing expression waning into another. Trapped between bouts of failing consciousness and pain that could rival someone getting their bones snapped one by one.

But you know the feeling of moss on your cheek. The shadow that sits above you and the fingers that prod at your back, pressing cooling salves of Silverweed into the burns and cuts. Your eyes weakly flicker, a low moan stuck in your throat.

Every limb is a cinder block.

“Stop your moving.” The command was stiff but quiet, and the pressure on your spine increased. Flinching, the sensation of tight bindings all along your body became apparent to you, slowly but surely.

“That…hell?” You cough, throat bare and dry. Sweat drips down your temple.

Blinking rapidly, you try to focus on the cold wind whipping past your bare skin, the trees in the distance of what appeared to be a glade. The sound of a running stream makes your ears perk.

A canteen was suddenly shoved to your lips and you grunt in surprise, water slicking your closed lips.

“Drink.” You don’t argue, peeling back your lips and letting the liquid drip into your mouth, most falling to the moss under you and getting re-adsorbed into the earth. “...There’s a girl.”

The metal container disappears just as quickly as it showed up, and you lick at the corner of your lips, cheeks burning at the comment.

Ghost kneels above you, bar a shirt, and you narrow your lids to focus on the black and blue splotches completely covering him. He still doesn’t have a mask, and you glance over the blonde stubble; the scars, and the aggressive set of his eyebrows. The blood had been washed away, and you wondered if the stream in the background of this place was still stained with crimson and the telltale black of eye paint.

“Simon,” whispering seemed appropriate, though you don’t know why. Your voice was better now but still, your body refused to listen to your instructions. Every plea to move your arms or legs was denied, sharp needles poking into your flesh that made you shake. “What…?”

Blue eyes blink down at you, something hidden in the depths. A finger curls to flick a stray hair from your face slowly. Skin brushes skin.

“Snagged what I could before I ran off. Wasn’t much.” That harsh voice, the gravel in it. You frown weakly, your lids heavy. “Bandages. Extra shirt. Blanket I used to stop the bleeding.”

He won’t tell you he was begging you to wake up when he’d been stuffing old fabric into your open wounds.

Coughs wrack your frame, whole body jerks that overtake what little peace there was to be found. A hand tilts your head back to the ground, patient as the other grabs your hair, peeling the strands away as a flood of vomit escapes your mouth.

Eyes burning and face hot, you sputter as a thumb runs deep circles over your scalp.

“Easy…” Ghost whispers, tattoos like obsidian in the darkness of the world around the two. Late afternoon and this was the first time you’d woken up since he’d been carrying you. A nail was taken out of his heart.

Seeing your eyes flicker, even filled with the tears as they were, was a blessing he’d thank whatever God that was out there for. “Easy, Sweetheart. Breathe for me.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, shaking more than a leaf. “Fuck it hurts, Simon.”

He shifts you slightly away from the bile, the familiar words burning his lungs.

“Evac point is four miles.” It felt like a death sentence to you, your eyes going buggy at the thought. “I’m carrying you there.”

“Bullshit,” you pant, wheezing. “Your arms are destroyed.”

Ghost blinks before scowling, sending a glance to his limbs. They’re both raw and skinned, just like his fingers; red with burst blisters the size of rocks. One hurts far more than the other.

“They’re nothing.”

“Nothing pretty to look at,” blue eyes narrow on you in annoyance, but the dry-humored Brit doesn't miss a beat.

“Seems you’re in good spirits, Sergeant. Fancy walking on your own?” Your lips flick, delirious and high off of whatever pain meds that Ghost had found when he had been carrying you out of the basement of that house.

Try as he might, the feeling of your dead weight was worse than he ever could have imagined. So, outwardly, he stayed numb but knew that every little look from you was as beautiful as a sunrise.

“Want me to try?” Palms begin to shift, a hand pressing deep into the moss that bends and yields to your form.

Ghost snaps forward.

“Fucking Bastard!” He puts weight on the back of your shoulder as you hiccup dull chuckles, “Quit it! Else I’ll leave you here to annoy the damn plants.”

The threat was empty, and your eyes softened as they spread their fatigued gaze over the span of the Brit’s visible skin, glee leaking out. Ghost sighs, shaking his head sharply at you, agitation stuck in his skull as it always was.

So beastly, this man, but his hold on you was about as gentle as you could imagine.

Your attraction to him was anything but one-sided. You knew his emotions as well as your own; it was quite obvious to everyone but him. The long looks, the concerned glances. His touch freely given.

He had given you his name and, to you, that was about as close to a proposal as a ring was. You’d kissed; you’d shared beds and shared skin. You knew when he was being horrible to himself deep in the confines of his head.

“Simon,” you whisper, and a blue gaze stays stubbornly away, glaring at your burns with venom. A tired smile peels your lips. “Simon.”

A huff is all you get, a bush of skin as breath wafts over your bare back. Your hand goes to touch his knee, brushing softly over the torn fabric. The flinch would not be noticeable to anyone but you. Brows pull slightly tighter.

“I had a dream about you, y’know.” Speaking hurt, but the attention that is finally brought your way was worth it. Birds chirp in the distance.

“What’s that?”

“Hm,” you lightly nod, cheek ruffling moss as you take down slow inhalations. Staring into each other’s eyes you for a moment forget the agony under your skin. “You were trapped by a giant fish underwater.”

A Blonde eyebrow raises, slow smirk unable to be hidden. It was impossible not to be entirely taken by you. How you speak, how you breathe. Even like this, you had placed a spell of black magic over him, binding the darkness that made up Simon Riley—Ghost—to your every action and whim.

“That right, Sweetheart? What happened, then?”

Chuckling, Ghost’s hold goes to your neck, massaging the skin so delicately that you lose your train of thought for a moment as shivers erupt, “I had to save you.”

Lips press to your scalp, a bent nose digging despite the shifting cartilage as lion limbs shake with a want to drag you to him. Such a rabid beast that devotes himself to your life.

“You tend to do a lot of the savin’, Love.” It’s muttered into your hair, softly, lowly. Compliments are rare—Ghost prefers actions above all else—but they’re treasured.

You know what he means.

“Yeah, I love you, too, you brute.” Deep chuckles dance in your ear, and you both stay there for a while, simply breathing in each other as the sky bleeds into the earth. So content, your heart had slowed, the salve in your wounds and the bandages compressing the areas with the most problems and forcing them to be numb.

When you had nearly fallen asleep, Ghost had peeled back to look down at you; eyes malleable as they slipped over your battered body.

“Hm,” he hums, reaching to his side and grabbing for the shirt he had stolen. After a few minutes of quiet curses and apologetic kisses, the large piece of fabric was over your top. The Lieutenant had begrudgingly admitted that the scraps of pants you had on now would have to do until you got proper attention.

“Giving the squirrels a show, then, Simon?” The man rolls his eyes deeply at the sarcastic comment, rubbing up and down your legs to keep circulation going as he readies to move you.

“They better keep quiet ‘bout it,” Ghost grumbles, running a hand through his hair, “Else I’ll have to rip a few tails.”

“So violent,” You wince when your shoulder is gripped, neck limp as your upper half was rotated. Gnashing your teeth, the Lieutenant shushes you comfortably, raising your body to rest in the crook of his large arm. Muscles tense and loosen, your cheek now resting on your Lover’s pec. You hear him hiss silently at the pressure on his broken ribs as guilt hits you. “Not the squirrels’ fault.”

“It is if they keep looking at ya. Only I get to see you like that.” Your pain-laced laugh is cut off when you’re lifted, large hands under your knees helping equalize your body.

A strained whine exits your lips, straining to get air as you pant and clench your eyes shut. Ghost wasn’t doing much better—gritting his teeth and tilting his head back.

Feet stumble before righting themselves, lids opening as lashes flutter over bloodless cheeks to stare down at you.

The word seems to stop.

“...Tell me you’re alright.” You heard that for what it was—Tell me to keep going, because if you don’t then I won’t be able to.

Blinking up at him, your nose slots under his chin as you feel him shake with exertion, lips pressing deep into his raging pulse. You swallow down saliva as his grip on you tightens, pressing you closer; giving you his body heat.

“I’m okay, Simon. Not…not lost yet.”

“Good.” He lets his eyes close for a moment, taking you in as he lets his nose be coated in your scent, the flesh under his fingertips. Ghost knows some of your wounds reopen, and, thus, his bare feet start off into the woods. His men would still be at the Evac point waiting for them. Price would have given the order. “...I’ll be needing you ‘round. Might lose my head otherwise, eh?”

“You do seem to have a few loose screws when I’m not near.”

“That was an exaggeration,” Simon grumbles.

You scoff, trying not to puke at his limping steps. The word swirls, but the man carrying you stays ever clear. “No,” you whisper, “No, it wasn’t.”

Scared lips pull up, but the birds respond for him.

Less than ten percent out from the Evac point is when you drop a tidbit of a thought to the man.

“Y’know what I want, Ghost?” The large Brit side-steps a downed tree, sweat dripping down his chin to splatter to your skin.

“What is it?” He pants, sparing you a glance as his eyebrows are constantly furrowed in concentration. Your talking made it easier to push on.

“A fucking cake. A big one.” Blue eyes blink and his feet nearly stumble to a stop before he forces on. A gasp of a chuckle makes your heart skip a beat as voices start up from the next tree line.

“Keep talking to me, Love, and I’ll buy you the whole bloody bakery.” Soldiers burst from the bushes, and Ghost calls out identification as everyone gapes. Guns immediately lower.

Medics rush forward, but still on high alert, the Lieutenant snaps at them, bringing you closer into his hold as he pushes onward.

“Where’s the fucking heli?!” Everyone stops and points. Huffing, Ghost shoves forward.

“The whole bakery?” You slur, giggling and feeling the kiss on your head.

“Every bastard pastry’ll be yours. Count on it.”

—

“Simon, you promised.” Your wheel-chair bound form pouts as the man in question deadpans from behind you, leaning on the handles. His balaclava can only hide so much.

The air is sweet with the scent of desserts and bread.

“Birdie, you can’t eat all ‘O that, you’ll explode like you took a .308 round to the head.” The woman behind the counter pales, pulling at the collar of her shirt with her smile becoming strained.

“Is that a challenge?” You glance over your shoulder, smirking wide.

“No,” Simon blanky states, the skin over his nose bridge and under-eye completely black and blue.

“I think that was a challenge.”

“It wasn’t.”

The customers grind their palms into their eye sockets, some tuning around in line and leaving entirely.

“Simon,” you intertwine your hands and lean to show him, eyes wide and pleading. “Please.” Drawing out the word, you smile with everything you can.

The both of you connect in a battle of wills—you with that infectious innocent and sly nature, and Simon with a tight glare and tired eyes. A blatant will to please you in every aspect and a need to see you happy at all times. This goes on for a full minute before a loud sigh echoes off the walls, shoulders deflating. A hidden kiss is pressed firmly to your head.

You giggle loudly at the authoritative order.

“One of everything.”

TAGS:

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midnitemarauderz · 1 year ago

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you are in love | cedric diggory x fem!reader (part 1)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Cedric was content with what he had. He was prefect, quidditch captain and the unspoken partner of yours. He wouldn't want to risk a thing with you because everything is so good as it is. But when other students are thrown into the equation, at the end of the day, is he truly yours?

warnings: two dummies in love, reader is a Gryffindor

word count: 2.5k

a/n: This is my first fic published so I'm nervous!! But I'm going to try to make multiple parts for this one because it was just getting too long and I have so many ideas for Cedric (bc we were robbed!) Also not proofread! ₊˚⊹♡

Fred pushed the list of self made “Prettiest Girls at Hogwarts” in the new first years’ faces. The tiny moving portraits of the Hogwarts girls looked a little silly in the first years’ minds but the twins insisted that pictures solidify their case.

“These are who you lot should be aiming for,” he stated with confidence, utterly prideful of the list, “aside from y/n of course, she’s off limits.”

“Off limits? She said she didn’t have a boyfriend while she toured us though?” a small first year girl chirped. The twins exchanged a knowing look before chuckling slowly.

“The beautiful Gryffindor prefect, my little unknowing friends, is off limits because ah, right on time as usual” George dramatically cocked his head in your direction.

You had been eating your breakfast alone quite peacefully when you felt someone in yellow dawned robes slip into the open seat beside you.

“Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff prefect, quidditch seeker-“

“And captain” George sang.

“And just all around dream boy. All the girls think he’s bloody fit.” Fred concluded.

“He has kind of an unspoken dibs on y/n. Has had one since last year when they became prefects. No one has even tried to make any advances on her cause of it.”

“Why’s that?” the first years were now all huddled close to the twins, listening with intense interest.

Fred rolled his eyes, “because look at the bloke!” A couple of students from neighbouring tables looked curiously in the direction of the loud proclamation. Looking around he leaned in closer to whisper, “Rumour has it he’s planning to put his name in for the Triwizard Tournament this year too. He’s as fit they come!”

“Not to mention he’s so bloody nice that you can’t even hate the bloke for being so perfect.” George finished as the rest of the table nodded along, absorbing the precious information.

“He’s not perfect you know.” Everyone whipped their head to see Hermione chiming in, not even looking up from her books.

“If he was the dream boy you all say he is, they would’ve been together by now. Personally, I think he’s too comfortable for his own good.”

“What’d you mean by that Hermione?” Fred asked.

She shut her book with a thud and sighed, “Yes he’s attractive in all ways, but how long do you reckon he’s going to keep stringing her along like that? He’s been flirting with her for as long as he’s known her but won’t do anything about it. It’s sad really.”

The twins paused while exchanging confused looks, not understanding what was so sad about the two perfect prefects’ relationship.

“Ugh, boys!” Hermione, exasperated, gave up and opened the thick novel to continue her literature.

It’s not like Cedric didn’t like you. He liked everything about you, but Hermione was right, he was comfortable with how things were. He wasn’t cocky, not in the slightest, but he was always far from worried when it came to you and other guys at the school. Everyone knew about you two, so he’s never been challenged for your attention. He in all honesty, guiltily enjoyed the lack of complication that the two of you had when it came to your relationship status. There wouldn’t be anything to lose if he didn’t start anything, so he stayed in his comfort with you.

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“Morning y/n!” Cedric’s presence instantly made you feel relaxed and warm.

“It’s such a pleasure seeing you here at my house’s table this morning Diggory.” you teased. It wasn’t completely unnatural for Cedric to join you at the Gryffindor table, but he usually felt that as a prefect, sitting at his own house table was almost a requirement.

“I came bearing quite honourable and exciting news y/n,” he was beaming, so excited that it seemed like he was going to jump out of his seat, “I’ve decided to do it this year. I’ve officially made up my mind that I’m going to throw my name out for the Triwizard Tournament.”

He was ecstatic, to say the least, and it was difficult for you to match his energy as you had just heard the worst news you could’ve expected from him. The Tournament has had students die while participating, so it wasn’t surprising that you didn’t want the boy you cared so much about to have a chance at it.

He caught onto your uncertainty fairly quickly; you were obviously smiling but it didn’t reach your eyes. He let out a breath and carefully reached for your hand.

“I know that you may feel hesitant about it but believe me, I know the risks but there is so much for me to gain from this experience. So please trust in me y/n.” his pleading eyes were too difficult to resist.

“I do, I do trust you Cedric,” you mustered as much support as you could in that moment, “the Goblet would be stupid not to choose such a fine competitor.” Your words seemed to satisfy Cedric as he jumped out of his seat, gave you a quick kiss atop of your head and sped off to the Hufflepuff common rooms.

He had made his mind up and the only thing you could possibly do was to try to hex that stupid over-gloried cup in your mind as you prayed to Dumbledore for Cedric’s name not to be pulled.

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The news that students from other schools were coming to Hogwarts excited the masses. It wasn’t every day they got to see such new faces. Especially faces as attractive as the Beauxbaton and Durmstrang students.

Everyone was bursting with excitement in the Great Hall, awaiting anxiously for the foreign students to arrive. You on the other hand were busy glancing at Cedric who was chatting happily with his housemates.

“You’re staring you know.” Hermione’s deadpan voice made your head turn to face her, your eyes lingering just a second longer on the Hufflepuff table.

“Honestly y/n, we have some of the greatest wizarding students coming in for a tournament that only happens every five years and your focus is on Diggory? Merlin y/n if anything, focus on the OWLs instead.” Hermione wasn’t annoyed, but instead truly baffled as to how you could easily ignore such a large celebration for one boy.

You held up your hands in defense, but before you could retort, Dumbledore had already started introducing the new guests.

The vision of blue overwhelmed your senses and you were stunned for a second, only being snapped back to reality by the hollering of the surrounding boys. You shifted in your seat in an attempt to see Cedric’s reaction to the Beauxbaton girls, but the rowdiness of the male students blocked your vision. Sinking back in your seat pouting, you wondered if Cedric was enjoying this as much as the other boys were. I mean, Ron was practically drooling. You didn’t have much time to sulk over the issue as you got simultaneously shoved on both sides by Hermione and Ginny. You craned your neck to see what was causing this female commotion.

“Oh Merlin y/n, it’s Viktor Krum! And he’s even better up close!” Ginny whispered excitedly. You stared at the older boy not really impressed but you giggled with Ginny nonetheless, feeling left out of the Viktor-Krum-is-so-handsome festivities that were happening at the table.

From across the grand path of new students, Cedric stared at you as you giggled and whispered with Ginny. Following your line of sight, his eyes were met with the stiff, soldier-like, famous Viktor Krum. Groaning, he hung his head in his hands as the noises of the Great Hall faded in his ears. He was beginning to think, maybe he was, in fact too cocky when it came to you.

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Your friends were whispering excitedly in the courtyard when you had joined them.

“What’s got you lot so excited?” you asked while squeezing to sit between Hermione and Ginny on the ledge.

“Viktor Krum! What else?” Ginny chirped excitedly. Just at the mention of his name, the other girls squealed in pure bliss. You observed your young friends’ excitement happily. You hadn’t had much time to observe the new Hogwarts guests, as the reality of Cedric putting his name into the goblet this year became more and more clear to you. A warm hand delicately tapped your shoulder from behind you, breaking you from your worries temporarily, and you looked up and behind to see Cedric standing behind you while giving you his most infamous, heart-stopping smile.

“Ladies” he nodded to the group of girls in acknowledgement before bringing his full attention to you. Content, you leaned your head back into his chest as you looked up at the boy who seemed to be radiating sunshine.

“Cedric! What are you doing here?” you were beaming. He looked like honey. You couldn’t really describe it, but he was just so warm and so sweet. Beautiful really. Especially in the courtyard sun.

“I thought you could perhaps lend me your potions books for today?” he grinned lopsidedly at you as you sighed and pulled out the heavy book. How could you ever say no to this boy?

“You’re the champion of my heart y/n, you know that?” you laughed when he clutched his heart with his free arm. Your heart bubbled with warmth. You let yourself bask in the feeling only for a moment when Ginny moved to head back to the common rooms first. Feeling rather amorous, you told her you would meet her back there soon. You wanted to share your bubbly feelings with someone and Ginny always loved listening to it.

“Not just your heart Diggory.” Hermione teased quietly seeing that you were distracted with Ginny for a moment. She gestured Cedric towards a pair of Durmstrang students. One in particular seemed to be taking quite an interest in you. As the Durmstrang boy kept glancing at you, Cedric’s hand on your shoulder unconsciously became a little stiffer and he pulled you a little closer.

Cedric then bent down to reach your ear and whispered lowly, “I really do appreciate it y/n. You’re not only the champion of my heart but also the one who holds my mind, body and soul in all completion.” The cheesiness of his words had you giggling. You knew he didn’t truly mean what he was saying, but the light tinge of pink on your cheeks was evident.

Stretching back up to stand Cedric held his gaze on the Durmstrang boy, feeling rather confident and accomplished as he watched the boy’s friend pat him on the back consolingly as they walked away.

“Oh, Merlin! I forgot that I told Ginny I’d meet her in the common room!” you frantically gathered your things and hollered rushed goodbyes. “Don’t forget to return my potions book Cedric!” you reminded and he chuckled lightly to himself in response.

As your sporadic figure grew smaller in the distance, Hermione turned to face Cedric. “You know Diggory, every guy at Hogwarts may know of your guys’ relationship, but the ones at Durmstrang don’t.” Hermione stated matter-of-factly, making Cedric’s grin falter.

“What’s that supposed to mean Granger?” Frustrated, Hermione groaned, “It means that although the boys at Hogwarts don’t fancy y/n, that doesn’t mean that the boys at Durmstrang won’t. You can’t pull that kind of stunt again with every Durmstrang boy she comes in contact with. Godric, boys are so dim sometimes!” she huffed as she turned on her heel to leave.

Cedric rubbed the back of his neck, feeling quite sheepish for being caught in his rather childish act. Hermione was right though, he wouldn’t be able to keep every single guy away from you. So what was he supposed to do?

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The night of the choosing of names came all too fast for you. You knew he put in his name. You knew he really wanted this. And for some reason, you felt like you knew he would be picked. This weighed heavily on your mind and you honestly could not for the life of you, pay attention to who the other two victors were.

The paper flew out and Dumbledore caught it. The dread in your stomach increased to a nauseating level, the chatter of the students ringing in your ears and then the room went quiet. It wasn’t actually quiet but suddenly you weren’t able to hear the cheers of your peers as you watched the boy you yearned for so dearly, walk through the aisles in celebratory fashion. Your head started spinning, how many students had entered their names? What were the odds? How was it possible that the one student, the one student that you couldn’t risk being out in that tournament, had gotten picked?

Cedric was on top of the world at that moment. He wasn’t too interested in becoming legendary or glorified through the Tournament but was simply elated to bring pride to the Hufflepuff House. He would be lying though, if he said that he would gladly take on the glory if it meant you would see him as such. Thinking of you, he searched quickly for your head in the crowd. When he finally spotted you, his grin widened but as he saw your fallen and disconnected expression he grew concerned and tried to move his way through the crowd to your spot. Unfortunately, it was a lost cause as the Goblet erupted once more and the wave of confused students swept Cedric further away from you.

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“Krum’s got a yes!” Cedric turned his attention away from his house tablemates to the rowdy group of Durmstrang boys that were chirping excitedly.

“Who’s the lucky woman Viktor? I mean half of this school wants to be your date to the Yule Ball! You have to tell us who you ended up asking!” the boys leaned in eager to hear more about Viktor’s proposal.

“Who else, I asked the pretty Gryffindor I said I would ask.” he replied shortly, seemingly unamused by his friends.

“Bloody hell, he’s asked y/n!” Cedric whipped his head around to the first-year Hufflepuff who had also turned to listen in. Cedric’s facial expression dropped.

Glancing at Cedric nervously one of the older Hufflepuffs questioned the girl, “How in Merlin’s Beard would know that? Krum didn’t even say that he had asked y/n.”

“It’s obvious!” she smiled as she hurriedly reached into her pocket and fished out a piece of paper.

“Prettiest…Girls…At…Hogwarts” one of the Hufflepuffs read aloud slowly. Unbeknownst to you, the twins have not only been solidifying their list with the Gryffindor first years, but ALL the first years.

“Look!” she pointed to your tiny moving portrait on the paper.

“It says right there: y/n, 6th year, Gryffindor. If Viktor Krum had been talking about a pretty Gryffindor, it had had to be her. She’s a prefect, he would absolutely go for her!” the tiny girl smiled proudly at her findings as if she had cracked a hard case.

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Sitting alone in the Hufflepuff common room, Cedric was deep in thought.

Had Viktor Krum really asked you to the ball? Had you really said yes? He knew he hadn’t asked you at all but he had assumed it was only natural that the two of you would’ve gone together. Right..?

The more he questioned you and himself the more miserable he became.

#cedric diggory #cedric #fanfic #cedric x reader #cedric x y/n #cedric x you #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory x you #cedric diggory x female reader #harry potter #harry potter imagine #cedric diggory imagine #hogwarts #hogwarts houses #hufflepuff #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #cedric diggory fluff #cedric deserved better

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specialagentlokitty · 9 months ago

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Aizawa x reader - newfound secrets

I've been a sucker for that man. Like reader is a pro hero too, probably in the top ten ranks with some sort of magic like quirk(mage?) And reader just randomly opened a portal while he's in class to drop him lunch or forgotten paperwork or his precious sleeping bag. And 1-A is shocked to find out their teacher has a lover, much less a hero who's a complete opposite of him. Either gf/bf/neutral or married is completely fine! - Anon💜

You were wondering about your apartment doing some cleaning now that you had a few free days from work.

You were slowly making your way from room to room, doing what had to be done in each room, and as you got to the kitchen you paused as you looked at the kitchen table.

With a small laugh, you shook your head slightly and picked up the bright yellow sleeping bag that was on the table.

You had warned Aizawa time and time again if he kept leaving it on the table he’d forget it one day, and true to your word he had.

Holding it under your arm, you activated your quirk, a purple orb appearing in your hand as you tossed it at the wall, opening a small doorway which you walked through and in less than a second you were in his classroom which was bustling with chatter of the students.

“Hey it’s Druid!” One of them shouted excitedly.

Immediately all of the teenagers turned to you with curiosity, some with excitement.

“Hey guys, where’s your teacher?” You asked.

“He’s behind his desk sleeping!” A stern looking blue haired boy called out.

You beam brightly at him, walking over to the desk and looking behind it, and just like the student said, there was Aizawa fast asleep propped up against the wall.

With a gentle sigh, you walk over and crouch down in front of him.

“I wouldn’t wake him up, he gets pretty annoyed when someone wakes him up…” a girl mumbles.

You wave your hand dismissively.

“It’ll be fine.”

Setting the beanbag down, you reach out, gently tapping on his forehead with the back of your knuckles.

“Hey, wake up for a moment…”

Aizawa lazily opens an eye, looking at your tiredly.

“Why’re you here…?” He mumbles.

“Missing something?” You grin, holding up the beanbag.

“Was wondering where I put that…” he mumbled.

Aizawa took the sleeping bag from you, climbing inside of it and laid down again on the ground.

Reaching out, you zipped the sleeping bag up for him, and pat his forehead a few times which earned you a slight huff from him as he closed his eyes again.

“Thought you had work…”

“That’s next week, I’ve got a few days off this week. Seriously Shouta how you actually manage to function is beyond me. Have you eaten?”

“Yes…”

You raise a brow, standing up to look at his class.

“Has Aizawa had lunch?”

“No!” They called out.

From the ground you could hear him grumbling about them being traitors, and one of the girls raised her hand.

“Yes…?”

“My names Mina! Why did you have Mr Aizawa’s sleeping bag?!” She asks almost a little too excited.

With a small laugh you rubbed the back of your head slightly, ignoring Aizawa’s warning glare he sent you.

“Well, that’s because we’re married, and he left it on the kitchen table.”

Immediately the class burst out in shouts of shock, confusion and disbelief that their grumpy, almost emotionless homeroom teacher had actually managed to find somebody to marry him.

Aizawa gave you a slight glare, but you could still see a small bit of softness behind his tired gaze.

Everybody was shouting out questions to you, wanting to know everything and you laughed a little bit, raising your hands to try quiet them down.

“Hey, hey quiet down. You’ll get your answers, but for now I have to go, but I’ll be back soon and then we can talk, promise!”

They all nod excitedly, and as you walk back to your portal you hear Aizawa mumble something out about bringing him some jelly pouches and coffee which makes you roll your eyes.

You closed the portal as you stepped back into the apartment and quickly work on making a simple and easy lunch for Aizawa, putting on a pot of coffee as well.

While you were there, Aizawa had to deal with the unfortunate consequences of you telling his class you two were married, and he zipped his sleeping bag fully up covering his face knowing his students weren’t stupid enough to try and unzip it.

After about 15 minutes, you open another portal and step through, setting a box of food on Aizawa’s desk, along with a cup of coffee, and dropping a few jelly pouches on his sleeping bag.

He let out a grumble, but unzipped his sleeping bag just enough to grab them and put them inside, it was like watching a squirrel hiding its food in a tree.

Sitting on the floor next to his desk, just slightly behind it so you could still keep an eye on your husband, you turned to his class.

“Okay, questions one at a time.”

Immediately they all raised their hands and you picked them out one by one, answering their questions and learning their names along the way.

While you talked with them, you saw Aizawa out the corner of your eye sit up in his sleeping bag, grabbing the coffee and the food from the desk.

He then shuffled over, resting his back on his desk as he ate still half asleep.

Every so often his head would droop, and you’d have to slightly nudge his knee to wake him up.

When he finished half the food, he set the box in your lap, handing you the chopsticks as he focused on drinking his coffee now, watching your carefully.

“Eat…” he mumbled quietly, just loud enough for you to hear.

With a small smile, you start eating while still talking to his class while he kept a watching eye on you, rummaging through through your pocket, pulling out whatever you had in there.

His class seemed very invested in their teachers love life and carried on spilling out questions, and you knew for a fact Aizawa wasn’t going to be living this down any time soon

#my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia x you #my hero academia imagine #mha #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha x you #mha imagine #Aizawa #aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #Aizawa imagine

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robo-writing · 4 months ago

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Sometimes I sit here and think about baby Logan, you know the one from the first X-men movie? With the grey hoodie? Yeah that baby Logan. Anyway, I think about Deadpool pulling worst Logan into more time shinaganen shit and of course worst Logan’s gf (who was his gf in his last universe but of course died during the attack, but this one either never met her universe Logan or something) and somehow, she runs into baby first Xmen Logan wearing the grey hoodie and running around clueless as where the hell he is, until he bumps into a surprisingly pretty woman who for some reason is cooing over him and calling him a precious baby,(and did she just pspspspsps at me?? I’m not a fucking cat? No the hair doesn’t look like cat ears?! The hell wrong with you lady?!) and he only gets her name before a older version of him in a gaudy yellow suit shows up to grab her and take her away, grumbling about having to keep track of two overgrown toddlers while a mouthy guy in a red leather suit says some stupid shit before following after the older version of Logan into some strange portal. Of course soon after baby Logan gets found by Xavier and when he ask who the woman named y/n is, Xavier just looks at him confused. (Of course perhaps that Logan will meet y/n a few years down the road, or he never sees her again, a shame really, she was quiet a looker, despite being so weird, he can stand being called a baby or a kitten by her again)

Waking up in a strange building is one thing, but walking out of an elevator to find a woman starting him down is another—especially when she keeps calling him kitty.

“Oh my god, look at you! You’re so young!” Her voice is high-pitched, oohing and ahhing at him like some kind of attraction. Maybe it’d piss him off more if you didn’t look so cute doing it.

“Cute lil kitten aren’t you? And your ears are so fluffy!”

You reach up to touch his hair, and he would grab your hand if someone else didn’t already beat him to it.

A gaudy yellow suit is the first thing he sees, then—what the fuck?

“Doll, I told you not to go wandering off,” the stranger says, and it’s now that his day goes from bizarre to fucking impossible because he’s staring at himself. Older, sure, but his voice, his body, damn near everything—

“Oh peanut! It’s time to go!” Says another man in a bright red jumpsuit, and he can hear the other man groan in response.

“Alright, you heard him.”

“Aw,” you complain, following after the two of them. “Wanted to pet him before we go.”

You wave to the younger man behind you, giving him a wink along with your name. “Come find me when you’re all grown up kitty! I’ll be waiting for you!”

“Wait—!”

His words fall on deaf ears, the trio disappearing soon after in a yellow doorway. His jaw drops, unsure of what just happened was real or if he’s just high as a fucking kite.

After a couple of introductions and many confused glances, he finds out that the three people he met are not students or professors, and that no one in the room had ever seen them before. Years pass along with many, many, life changing events and his odd welcome party becomes a memory of the past.

That is, until he finds out Charles has hired a new school counselor, and she looks just a bit too similar to be a coincidence. Once he gets over the shock he extends his hand, to which you accept.

“Names Logan.” He says, and you give yours in return, the same name you gave him all those years ago. It’s now that you point to his hair with a small smile.

“Do you style your hair or does it always come out like that?”

His eyebrow raises, unsure of the line of questioning. “Not really? Why do you ask?”

You open your mouth, then close it with a shake of your head. “Forget it, you’re gonna think it’s silly.”

“Oh yeah?” Logan replies. “Try me.”

You bite your lip, debating on whether you should speak, eventually choosing to bite the bullet. “Well, it’s just that your hair kinda looks like ears. Y’know, like a cat.”

His chuckle is instant, evolving into a laugh. You’re getting more and more nervous, afraid you said something wrong until his hand gives you a good pat on the shoulder.

“Y’know, you’re the second girl to tell me that,” he muses, leaning in close. “But come to think of it, ‘kitty’ has a better ring to it, don’tcha think?”

#robo speaks #ask #robo writes #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #wolverine x reader #if the writing style seems off I literally wrote this in 20 minutes no editing #it’s 3 am 🫠

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thedensworld · 8 months ago

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I need your fluff scoups please🥺

Time for the Rose | C.Sc

Pairing: Scoups x Readera

Genre: Fluff, established relationship

Summary: you found out how he always got you flower at the perfect time.

Not only are you dating at the perfect time, but you are also dating the perfect man. Seungcheol loves giving you flowers ever since he discovered your secret fondness for them. It was during his first visit to your place when he noticed a bouquet of fresh flowers laying on your kitchen countertop. His mind immediately raced, wondering, "Who's the guy brave enough to give you flowers?" Especially when he thought he had made it clear to everyone that you were his.

"I got those myself after work," you explained, noticing the puzzled look on his face.

Seungcheol tilted his head, still uncertain. "You got them?" he asked, seeking confirmation. You nodded enthusiastically, taking the bouquet and showing it to him.

"Isn't it pretty? I usually get roses, but they were sold out. So daisies are my second choice," you said with a bright smile.

Seungcheol smiled back, charmed by your excitement over the flowers. To him, they paled in comparison to your beauty. In his eyes, you were the most beautiful thing in the room.

From that moment on, Seungcheol made it a point to bring you flowers regularly. It became his way of showing his affection and making sure that the sight of fresh blooms never left your kitchen countertop.

He loves seeing the flowers he gives you sit in vases around your house. Sometimes they are red, pink, or white. You always say that the kind doesn't matter, but he knows you love it every time he hands you red roses. The smile on your face that reaches your eyes, the sound of your laughter every time he shows up from afar with a bouquet in his hand—these are the moments he cherishes the most.

Oh, how he loves those moments. He makes sure to keep them forever, capturing each one in his heart like a precious photograph.

Besides that, Seungcheol loves that you get flowers for other people, a fact that makes him fall even harder for you. It was lunchtime when he picked you up from work to have lunch together. On the way back to the office, you asked him to stop at the flower shop.

"Didn't I get you some flowers just a few days ago, love?" he asked, worried that maybe he was forgetting something.

You nodded with a smile. "These are for Minji. It's her birthday today."

Seungcheol watched as your smile grew wider the moment you entered the flower shop. Your eyes closed with every breath you took, savoring the scent of the flowers. He couldn't help but look at your face closely, feeling grateful to be the man standing beside you with your arm linked to his.

Seeing you this happy over something so simple made his heart swell with love. He couldn't imagine anyone else being in his place, sharing these precious moments with you.

"What do you want to get for her?" he asked, his mouth drawing closer to your ear, a habit he had whenever he spoke to you.

You turned your head to him, your eyes sparkling. "I was thinking of getting yellow roses, but everything looks so pretty here," you said, your mouth pouting in a way that Seungcheol found utterly adorable.

"Why do you like flowers so much?" Seungcheol finally asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"They're pretty," you said simply. "And they have meaning. You know I love things that are subtle and symbolic."

Seungcheol nodded. You always had a penchant for the symbolic, for gestures that spoke volumes without needing words. It was one of the many things he adored about you.

"Like yellow roses for friendship, sunflowers to show adoration, and irises to show faith and hope," you continued.

Seungcheol smiled, his thoughts drifting to your favorite flower. "How about red and white roses?" he asked.

You pondered for a moment before selecting yellow lilies and white daisies for Minji and asking the staff to arrange them into a bouquet. You shifted your attention back to him and smiled. "Love and purity."

Seungcheol shook his head in disbelief, guiding you out of the store. Though he prided himself on his masculinity, he found himself considering learning about flowers just for you. Every time he saw the joy they brought to your face, he knew it was worth it.

You finally visited Seungcheol's office after a long time. He had sent you a text earlier saying he would be busy today and couldn’t pick you up for lunch. However, you asked if it would be okay to visit him instead, and his response was ecstatic. Seungcheol just loved having you around.

Seungcheol waited for you in front of the elevator, a wide smile spreading across his face as soon as he saw your figure revealed by the opening doors. He immediately took everything from your hands, the lunch you brought for the two of you, as he walked you to his office. His staff mostly knew who you were by now. Seungcheol had made it clear that he was dating someone amazing and had proudly introduced you to everyone. They seemed to enjoy the sight of their boss looking completely smitten every time you visited.

Once inside his office, Seungcheol set the lunch down on his desk and turned to you, his eyes filled with affection. "I’m so glad you came," he said, pulling you into a warm embrace.

You two were conversing comfortably as you savored the lunch you brought. You asked him about the job that had kept him busy, and he explained it to you in detail. While talking, your eyes wandered around his office and landed on something that piqued your interest. A single red rose sat in a vase on his desk.

"You have a rose in your office?" you asked excitedly.

He nodded with a smile. "That's your flower."

You didn't understand, so you asked, "What do you mean, my flower?"

"I always take one of your flowers and take care of it just like you do, so I know when it's time to get you another one," he explained.

Your body felt like it had stopped working. That's how he knew how long they would last.

Everything made sense now. He always seemed to know the perfect time to get you a bouquet of flowers—always exactly a day before your current ones began to wilt. Typically, your flowers would last 10 days to two weeks, but sometimes they withered sooner. Yet, Seungcheol always had another bouquet ready, as if he had been with you, watching over the flowers together.

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth and affection. "You really pay attention to everything, don't you?"

He shrugged with a modest grin. "I just want to make sure you always have something beautiful to look at."

You reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Thank you, Seungcheol. For everything."

He leaned in, "anything for you," he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity.

You looked him in the eyes, your gaze full of adoration, and you couldn't help but pull him closer and kiss him right away. He seemed flustered and mumbled, "We're at my office, love," but you didn't care. You loved him so much and felt an urgent need to let him know.

"I love you, babe," you whispered, smiling as your palm rested on his cheek, caressing it slowly.

Seungcheol closed his eyes as his smile grew wider. "Fuck it, I love you too, love," he said before grabbing the nape of your neck and pulling you in for a kiss.

A kiss at lunchtime in his office.

Seungcheol was glad he had installed blinds in his office two weeks ago.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #densworld🌼#seventeen scenarios #seventeen series #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen imagine #seungcheol scenarios #seventeen seungcheol #scoups x reader #scoups imagine #scoups fluff #scoups imagines #seungcheol fluff #scoups fic

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 7 months ago

Text

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝙺𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚈𝚘𝚞 | Chan|Minho

Chan x Gn!Reader, established relationship , (mother used in context of parental structure norms) Minho x Gn!Reader, established relationship

Anon Request: Thanks for the wonderful request sunshine, enjoy <3.

Warnings: Mildly Suggestive, Slight Cursing *Minho*

Word Count: 3.6k

~X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X ~

𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯

Agree or not, I see Chan as being the member most likely to take things slow. He tends to look down on himself a lot, finds himself underserving of love, and puts others before himself constantly. But I feel like he has enough emotional maturity to realize this; and realize that having a sense of inherient inferiority can be a hinderance in any romantic pursual or commitment. So if he truly loved someone, he would take things slow- extremely slow. While he is the member who feeds most into the playful side of romance, being flirtatious and having the tendency to indulge in delusions I feel like in a serious situation of romance he would be afraid of navigating those waters due to the majority of his life being spent focusing on his career. So him being his perfectionist self would probably internally feel extremely romantic and lovey-dovey but his rational side would look at the execution love as something that could be handled more logically; and would take practical steps in trying his best to make the relationship last. So in terms of something like kissing- while I feel like he would have the urge to do it early on he'd let his doubts control and wait. But when he finally has the courage to act on that impulse when he feels the relationship is firmly founded he would kick himself for not indulging sooner because my God is he in love with the feel of his s/o's lips on his.

It was a cool evening, and you and Chan were taking a leisurely stroll along the riverbank. It was one of those rare times that Chan had time on his hands. But it was common that when he did have this precious time it would be spent solely with you.

The sun had just set, casting a beautiful array of colors across the sky, and the city lights were beginning to reflect off the water. The oranges yellows and pinks were a masterpiece, and your mind wandered slightly to Hyunjin, thinking he would enjoy the natural masterpiece displayed in above you.

As Chris held the role of the father of the group, you had easily become the supposed "mother" role of the of the group in the sense that Chan disciplined, you nurtured - even Minho quickly falling into the habit of referring to you in the likeness that you heard from Jeongin and Felix. You liked gifting them things as if they really were your children and made a mental note to ask your boyfriend if there was any supplies he figured Hyunjin would appreciate at the moment.

You walked hand in hand, enjoying the serene atmosphere and each other's company in a silence that was in no way awkward. And when you guys did talk, the conversation came easily, filled with laughter and shared stories, in a flow that mirrored that of a couple who had been together decades rather than just over eleven weeks.

Six weeks had felt like an eternity to you. But in a good way.

You and Chan decided to take things slow. And so far...it had been going extremely slow. Going into the relationship you had known the nature of Christopher's job. You knew he was busy and for the first few weeks of you being official it hadn't felt all that different from your friendship other than you went to more places alone, without the guys tagging along.

By the fourth week things had started to progress. You understood that Chan was scared. He admitted that to you upfront. He was assured of his attraction to you. Of his love even- although he didn't pressure you to respond to that immediately- but he had been so career focused the majority of his life that he was afraid to put work before you. He was tentative of what you guys were becoming, while fully being excited and anticipatory for it.

And you understood. You promised him you understood.

To anyone else they'd be surprised that you guys hadn't done anything more than hold hands and hug. With the occasional cuddle- usually when you were his company on the late nights at the studio. Any normal person would look at you and just assume you were very close friends.

But you knew the reasoning behind the way your relationship worked and knew the depths of his affection so you weren't worried. You weren't in a rush; you were content to take things as slowly as possible as long as it made Chris feel comfortable and loved.

As you walked, you couldn't help but steal glances at Chan, taking in his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. The light haloed him and brought out an unreal beauty you wished he could see at his lowest moments of insecurity. He was handsome. Beautiful. He looked peaceful, and yet there seemed to be a hint of something deeper in his eyes, as if he was lost in thought. You squeezed his hand gently, bringing him back to the present. He smiled at you, and your heart fluttered.

"Is everything okay?" You asked softly.

"Let's sit for a bit," Chan suggested, leading you to a nearby bench that overlooked the river. You both sat down, still holding hands, and took in the beautiful view. The sound of the water lapping against the shore was calming, and for a moment, you both sat in comfortable silence. Your mind was for the most part still, but you were always worried for Chris. And you hoped he was okay.

Chan turned to you, his eyes reflecting the shimmering lights. "You know, I've really enjoyed tonight," he said softly. "Being with you like this… it means a lot to me. These past three months have been indescribable really." He brought his other hand to the one he was holding and traced yours softly while looking at them.

You felt your cheeks warm at his words. "I've enjoyed it too," you replied, your voice equally soft. "It's been perfect."

"Do you mean it?" He mumbles. "I feel like I'm a coward. And undeserving of you. I feel like I've never been happier yet...I feel like...like you're not getting anything out of this relationship. I feel like I'm...not...like maybe you're...I..." He struggled to look for the right words.

"Love," You murmured pulling your hand away from his and guiding his face to yours. You brought his eyes right to yours.

There was a brief pause as you both looked at each other, the air between you filled with an unspoken understanding.

"I'm happy. Truly. Don't doubt that."

Chan's gaze dropped to your lips for a moment before he quickly looked away, almost shyly. He chewed on his cheek for a minute. He had a slight hunger in his eyes. It was a side of him you hadn't seen before, and it made your heart ache with affection.

"Can I… can I kiss you?" Chan asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His usual confidence was replaced with a hint of vulnerability, and it made the moment even more precious. As if he was scared that you'd say no.

Does this man know who he is? How many people would kill to be sitting in front of him as he stared at their lips asking if they could capture them in his own?

Your heart skipped a beat, and you nodded, unable to find your voice. Chan's face lit up with a small smile and he swallowed, his adams apple moving up and down slowly. He leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to back out if you wanted. But you didn't. You wanted this just as much as he did, you eyes closing in anticipation.

As his lips met yours, you felt a spark of electricity shoot through your body. What Chris meant to be a quick peck quickly turned into something much deeper. The kiss was gentle at first, but as the seconds passed, it became more passionate. Chan's hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. He had told himself just a peck. Take things slow. But the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in that moment; and filling Chris with a fulfillment and satiation that he hadn't know he needed.

You could feel the love and adoration pouring from Chan as he kissed you. It was as if he was trying to convey all his feelings through that single kiss. As if there was some chemical in your lips that seemed to cause a reaction in your body. As if he desperately needed this. The intensity of it took your breath away, and you found yourself leaning into him, wanting more. Just as he did.

Chan's other hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer. The kiss deepened, and you felt his tongue gently brush against your lips, seeking permission hesitantly. You parted your lips with an urgent willingness, allowing him in, and the kiss became even more intense. It was a dance of passion and tenderness, a perfect blend of everything you felt for each other.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. Chan rested his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed as he caught his breath. "Wow," he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips. "That was… amazing."

You nodded, unable to find the words to describe how you felt. Instead, you leaned in and gave him another quick peck, savoring the way his lips felt against yours. Chan chuckled softly, his eyes opening to look at you with pure adoration.

You watched his throat work. "I've wanted to do that for a while," he admitted, his voice still a bit breathless. "I was scared. I'm glad I finally did it. Although...I'm kinda pissed." He said with a chuckle. "If I wasn't so scared then I could have been doing that for much longer...damn you past Chris." He teasingly cursed.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I'm glad we waited," you said softly. "In a sense I feel like it made our first kiss even more special to me. I know you love me enough to have patience to make sure that this becomes forever." You said holding your hands up. "So again, don't ever doubt us."

Chan pulled you into a hug, holding you close as you both sat there, basking in the aftermath of the kiss. The world around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you and the tension in the air. It was a moment you would cherish forever, a memory that would always bring a smile to your face when you thought of it. And if this is what it felt like to take things slow; then as long as you were with Chris you'd be content with waiting forever.

~X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X x X ~

𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘰

The way I see Minho's love is like a perfectly aged whiskey. At first glance, it might seem subtle and reserved, with a smooth and understated presence. It’s not flashy or overtly romantic, but its depth and warmth become apparent the more it ages, and the more you indulge in it. Just like a fine whiskey that reveals complex flavors and a rich character over time, Minho's love is something that gradually unfolds, showing its true depth in moments of quiet intimacy and unspoken understanding. It’s not about grand gestures or constant declarations; it’s about the steady, comforting assurance of his presence, the way he makes his s/o feel cherished in the smallest, most meaningful ways. Whiskey is something that is basic and foundational. Something simple that can be paired with many different things and different pairing bring out different levels of flavor; just how the context of the situations will bring out different levels of his character. Whiskey is something familiar- and something that becomes known deeply just with familiarity- just like Minho. The longer him and his s/o are together, the more his s/o appreciates the nuanced, understated beauty of his love, which, much like the whiskey, grows richer and more profound with time. But whiskey can also be something that brings waves of warmth and intoxication - especially to someone who is new to drinking. And with intoxication comes impulse. If he's the whiskey, his s/o is the compound that brings his inebriation; and in those warm, euphoric flashes he'll be passionate and impulsive- and when he kisses his s/o it's something just as in the moment as drunken mistakes- except he wouldn't akin it to a mistake.

The evening had been planned for a romantic date out, but an unexpected delivery expectance threw a wrench into your plans.

Minho had to dash back to his house to pick up a package that had arrived at the last minute and needed to be signed. It had slipped his parent's mind that it would be coming that day, and they had travelled out of town for the week, and asked Minho to grant them this favor.

It was a minor inconvenience, Minho was slightly irritable about having to move reservations around, but you decided to be optimistic, since you could finally meet his number one pride and joy.

You were rather excited to meet Minho's cats for the first time. You had heard so much from him about them, and while you knew he had wished to introduce you to them when you had become official (the crazy thing is he wanted to introduce you to his cats before his parents) the opportunity hadn't come in the past few weeks you had been a couple due to the nature of his work, and your commute to your own job.

You had become official only a week before Minho left on a PR tour, going to numerous fashion shows, interviews and collaborating with international artists. This was the first official date you guys were going on, although you meshed so well that your relationship was progressing even when you were temporarily long distance.

As you settled into Lee Know’s cozy living room, the cats immediately took an interest in you. Dori was sniffing at you suspiciously. You sat and let each of them come to you, trying your best not to make sudden movements and frighten them.

You weren't expecting any of them to take an immediate liking to you. But Soonie jumped up to where you were sitting and started kneading your thigh. You couldn’t help but giggle as you petted Soonie- Doongie joining next and Dori rubbing up against your foot; feeling completely at ease in the warm, cat-filled environment. Lee Know's house was filled with the comforting smell of home— the one smell that was particular to every house- a smell you couldn't describe, a hint of catnip and fur, bleach, and some lingering air freshener.

You nibbled on a snack you had brought along, savoring the moment of relaxation before Minho returned. As you were enjoying your snack, your boyfriend finally walked through the door, his arms full of packages. He looked a bit irritated, but relieved to be back.

"Sorry for the delay," he said, setting the packages down. "I hope the cats haven’t been too much trouble."

You laughed, shaking your head. "They’ve been great. Actually, they’ve been keeping me very entertained." Minho’s eyes widened slightly then softened as he looked at you, his attention momentarily captured by the sight of you surrounded by his furry friends. He took a deep breath, clearly relieved to be seeing you so comfortable.

It awakened a desire that needed to be dealt within him.

With a playful glint in his eye, he walked over to you, still holding one of the packages. He placed it on a nearby table and then leaned in close, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.

His muscles were flexing in a plain black dress shirt that due to a laundering mistake shrunk slightly, but you like it. His toned arms were noticeable with the fabric taught over them.

"Mind if I join, kitten?" he said, his voice low and teasing; the new pet name rolling off his tongue as if it was something he had called you before. His lips tilted up in a seductive smirk. Before you could respond, Minho leaned in and, without warning, licked your cheek.

His tongue was warm and slightly damp, and he pulled back with shit faced grin.

"Ew, Minho!" you exclaimed, wiping your cheek with a laugh. Your eyes wide in shock. He still caged you to the couch, subtly leaning closer, his muscles straining slightly to keep his body hovering just inches above your own. "What was that for?"

The cheshire like grin on his face widened as he playfully shrugged. "You’re saying 'ew' as if this tongue isn’t ever going to touch your own, kitten." You blinked, a mix of surprise and amusement on your face. A little shocked at his sudden confidence. The sound of your new nickname doing something to your stomach.

His boldness and playful attitude were part of what made him so endearing. But you had only seen it in small doses. He leaned in even closer if possible, his gaze intense and affectionate; hungry.

"Seriously though," he said softly, the teasing tone leaving his voice. "I’ve been thinking about kissing you all day." Without waiting for a response, he leaned in again, his lips meeting yours in a soft yet intense kiss. It was gentle at first, filled with warmth and tenderness. You felt your heart flutter as you responded, wrapping your arms around his neck. The second your fingertips made contact with the hair at the nape of his neck, the kiss quickly grew deeper and more heated, with Minho's hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer, nearly straddling you as his tongue found his way to yours.

His cats, curious and a bit envious of the attention you were getting from their favorite person started to crawl over you as Minho straddled you on the couch. Soonie even tried to nudge between you and Lee Know, swatting playfully at him as if to remind him that you they were his favorites not you.

Although times were changing.

Minho’s kisses were filled with a tense heat yet laced in a playful energy, each pull back for breath accompanied by a soft chuckle or a gentle murmur or moan. His kisses were sloppy and fervent. The nature of them giving away the impulsiveness behind to action.

The cats seemed to add a touch of chaos to the moment, their paws occasionally brushing against your legs or curling up beside you. You couldn’t help but laugh as one of the cats tried to join in on the action, its tiny paws batting at Lee Know’s arm.

Despite the interruptions, the kisses remained connected and tender; your tongues moving in a sultry and erotic rhythm, and full of emotion, each touch and caress conveying the depth of Minho’s feelings for you.

Conveying just how much desire was hidden in under his calm demeanor.

Eventually, you both pulled back, breathless and smiling, looking slightly deranged and messy.

Your boyfriend's eyes were fogged with affection and desire and a hint of mischief. Rather than discussing what had just happened, his thumb trailed across your mouth to gently and he changed the directory of any conversation that you could have brought up.

"I guess I’m not the only one who’s crazy about you," he said, glancing at the cats who were now lounging contentedly around you, giving up on their owner. Doongie and Dori looked down their noses as Minho while resting their paws on you; as if they were trying to communicate a sense of betrayal in a petty fashion. You laughed, running your fingers through the fur of the cat who had claimed your lap once Minho had hopped off of it to adjust himself.

"I guess not. But I think I’m okay with that."

Minho smiled leaning in to steal another quick kiss before reaching to grab his car keys.

"Good, because I plan on making you realize just how crazy I am about you everyday from now on. Im sure my babies will do the same." The cats continued to snuggle around you, their purring creating a soothing background to the warmth Minho's presence. It was a perfect, chaotic moment of affection—a first kiss that was uniquely Minho, playful, tender, unexpected and filled with the joyful presence of his feline friends.

"We need to get going, I have a schedule for us, and we're running a bit behind." He said. "I wonder why."

You got up and adjusted yourself, giving a few last pets to the cats, Dori and Doongie releasing soft mews in unison.

You were about to walk out the door when Minho stopped you again.

"You got something on your face, kitten." He said, swiping his thumb once across your cheek, wiping away some saliva with a wink.

Tags <3

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel

#skz stay #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz reactions #christopher bang #skz minho #lee minho #skz bangchan #skz requests #stray kids fanfic #stray kids #skz #stray kids x y/n #skz x gn reader

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peepawispunk · 21 days ago

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Pedro Character sex headcanons Part 2

Part 1 here

My masterlist

Max Phillips has always loved using his mouth, even before he was turned into a vampire. Not just on a cunt, but everywhere. Now? It's intoxicating. He can taste the sunshine on your skin. Can smell the arousal, the release of oxytocin and dopamine in your blood when he touches you. He makes a study of you, cataloguing how to make your blood taste the best. He spends as much time as he can touching you, kissing you, talking you through it. The payoff is worth the build up - like slow cooking a meal on a cold winter's day. Making you come until you're lax, body flooded with satisfaction. Then, and only then, does he bite you. He never takes too much from you, savouring the richness of you on his tongue with slow, deep pulls. These few mouthfuls could sustain him for a week at least. But you'll beg him to do it again tomorrow.

Ezra never shuts up, so it's no surprise that he likes to talk you through it. He makes a game of it; teasing you all day with innuendoes and offhand comments.

He's got clever hands and he uses them well, confident and competent as he tweaks your nipples, manhandles your hips to tilt them just right, and circles your clit.

"Birdie, look at this precious little gem. Look how she sparkles for me." He breathes in awe, pulling the hood of your clit back to expose the pearl within.

He talks you through your first orgasm before he even presses himself inside of you. What surprises you the most though, is what happens when he gets close to his peak. Losing all ability to speak, like he didn't have the most extensive vocabulary you've ever seen. He devolves into whimpers and whines and guttural moans as you clench around him, and it's finally your turn to talk him through it. It's practically the only time you can get a word in edgewise with him, and you've saved up all of your filthiest thoughts for this moment.

Afterwards, when you're laying side by side, catching your breath, he huffs a surprised laugh, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"I had no idea my little birdie could be so loquacious."

Max Lord is so eager to please you, and he knows just how to do it. He's a well practiced lover - so determined to be good at something and so hungry for praise that he's completely unselfish in the bedroom. He likes to tease you, pressing you down into the mattress, grinding his thick, uncut cock against your cunt, forearms bracketing either side of your head as he claims your mouth.

He rocks against you until you're so wet that it's pooling underneath you, then he feeds your cunt the thick, fat tip of him, smirking at the noises you make.

"Awww, pobrecita. She's trying to suck me in. Needs it so bad, huh?" He teases, loving the way your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

He's all smirks and cockiness until you start praising him, telling him how good it feels, how much you love it, how much you love him. His teasing falters when you praise him, but his patience absolutely shatters when you call him a good boy, brushing the sweaty brown curls out of his eyes. You tell him then that he's so fucking gorgeous as he is, that you're so glad he's stopped wearing that godawful wig.

He's thrusting into you with abandon now, begging you to come. When you contract around him, you tell him "I love you, Maxwell Lorenzano", and he makes a sound like you've gut punched him, flooding your cunt with warmth as he comes.

Don't be fooled by Marcus Pike's soft guy image. He's definitely great at soft, slow sensual fucking, don't get me wrong. But what most people don't know about Marcus is that he likes to take charge. He's a pleasure dom in every way, but he's not necessarily a *soft* one.

He's big on the traffic light system - red, yellow and green, because the kind of play you both like needs firm boundaries and clear communication.

Marcus's favourite way to unwind after a long day of work is to come home, shower, and change into his grey sweatpants and white t shirt. Then, he sits on the couch with a book, one hand in you hair, playing with it and smoothing it down as your mouth keeps him warm.

You take him in your mouth when he's still mostly soft - you love to feel him throb and twitch against your tongue as his hardness grows in your mouth. You're supposed to stay completely still, but you forget sometimes (or maybe you just enjoy the sharp, punishing tug at your hair when you break the rules).

When Marcus has finished today's chapter of his book, he'll start guiding your head, slow and gentle as he fucks your throat. When he finally comes, he pulls you off, checks that you've swallowed like a good girl, and then he sits you on his face, hands digging into your hips as he helps you ride his tongue, nose grinding on your clit.

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels is a cocky motherfucker that knows how to lay some pipe.

He's adventurous and up for almost anything - which makes sense considering he fucked you in the bathroom at the bar the first night you met him.

He's all charming grins and winks around other people, keeping his cool even as he's whispering filth in your ear as he fingers you in the booth you're sharing. His other hand nurses his drink, taking a sip every so often as his eyes scan the bar, making sure no one has noticed what you're both up to.

When you're close, he withdraws his hand completely, sucking his fingers clean and then dropping some cash on the table to cover your tab.

You get as far as the car before you're both out of patience, and he presses your chest up against the far side of the car, furthest from the lights of the bar. He doesn't even bother removing your panties, just flips your skirt up and shoves them aside with one hand, guiding himself inside you with the other as he sets a punishing pace. He murmurs filth into your ear, how you're such a good, dirty girl, taking him so well, how you're so fucking wet it feels like he's already filled you up. Your hands are pressed up against the cool metal of the car, and he covers them with his own, body pressed as close to yours as it can be as he fucks you through your orgasm, pounding against your cervix.

"Fuck, sugar." He pants, lips brushing against your cheek. "Fuck...'m gonna come. Where d'you want it?"

You tell him to fill you up, pressing your ass back against him as best you can, and he sucks a bruising kiss into your shoulder as he shoots hot ropes of cum inside you.

Dieter has a bit of a reputation - for being an easy lay, and for having the biggest dick in Hollywood. By the time you're underneath him though, the size of his dick is the last thing you're thinking about. Sex with Dieter is a spiritual experience - and not just because you're both high.

Dieter is into that tantric, drawn out, fuck all day kind of sex. When he takes his time, he really takes his time. He starts out by giving you a massage - both of you naked in his huge bed - and he's fucking good at it too. His hands are big and strong, and work your knots out like he works the clay he sculpts with, until you're melting into the mattress. Then he rolls you over, using both his hands to massage your pussy until you've made a mess of both of you - Dieter loves to make you squirt.

So yeah, by the time he's notching himself at your pussy and pressing inside of you, you've forgotten just how much of him there is to take. Your breathing falters as he pushes in and it just keeps coming, thick and long and stretching you out like no one ever has before or will again, because how could you be with anyone else after seeing what sex *should* be like?

"That's it, baby. Open up for daddy." He praises, thumbing at your nipple as he finally slides home, tip kissing your cervix. "So fucking wet, you like this dick, huh? Yeah, you love it." He's smug and smirking as you writhe underneath him, begging him to *move already*.

Oberyn loves sex in all its forms, group sex included. He's always been great at sharing, firmly of the belief that pleasure shared amongst others is multiplied. The first time he takes you to his bed though, he decides that this is one thing that he will not share. One thing he will keep for himself and himself alone. He lays claim to you in a way he's never done before with a lover; by putting the seal of his house on a pendant you will wear around your neck, always. When he presents it to you, the gold pendant on a delicate gold chain, bearing the symbol of his house, he asks you to be his.

He will never marry, but this is as close as he will ever come to such a commitment. When you accept his claim, he's filled with such euphoria that you don't leave his room for days.

He stands behind you, fastening the clasp and letting the necklace settle on your collarbone. Then, he's planting kisses along your shoulders and up your neck as his hands snake down to grab your hips, pulling you back against him so you can feel his desire for you.

He parts your folds and finds you slick and sensitive, responsive and making the sweetest sounds for him as he coaxes your pearl to full attention, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it and making you gasp.

When you beg him to stop teasing, he bends you over the side of the bed, dropping to his knees and licking your sweet cunt from behind, parting your cheeks to see it glisten as it drips down your thighs. He chases it with his tongue, not wanting a drop of the sweet nectar to go to waste.

"Look at you" he growls, slapping your ass before spreading your cheeks again. "Pussy so delectable it brings a Prince to his knees."

When you finish, he leads you to his favourite armchair, sitting down and bringing you into his lap. "Show me how you ride a cock," he guides you onto his hard length. "There's my good girl. Fuck, you have the tightest cunt in Westeros." He praises, rocking you in his lap. "Going to fill you up with my seed every day until it takes. Then I'm going to keep filling you just for the pleasure of it."

#max phillips #maxwell lord #ezra prospect #dieter bravo #jack whiskey daniels #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #headcanons #oberyn martell #marcus pike #pedro pascal cinematic universe

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hurthermore · 10 months ago

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»»------► 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝙰𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝 (18+)

A/N: 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚊𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝙰𝚄 𝚘𝚏 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 '𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝' 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 (𝙷𝚊𝚣𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝙷𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚕)

𝟷𝟾+ 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚕, 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕, 𝚜𝚘 𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Extremely caring, Alastor will kiss every part of your body whilst trying to stay inside you as long as possible whilst he holds you like you mean the world to him; usually gets hard again if so. If it was a rougher session, he will run a bath for you and help you relax whilst he massages soap into your skin whilst whispering about how well you took him.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

This man is a cannibal; so obviously he's a thigh and chest guy. Alastor loves the thickness of your thighs and wants to bite into them to see how they taste. He likes your chest purely because your heart remains there, and he loves to feel the rapid beating that thumps from your ribcage as he fucks you. I’m regards to his own body, he likes his face the most; he’s a cocky bastard and he knows he’s attractive, what can I say?

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Alastor will never cum before you; purely because he can only derive his own pleasure from the pleasure you feel. His cum is almost acidic in taste. After he enters hell, it becomes yellow instead of white simply cause I said so.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Wants to fuck you in the remains of everyone who dares to take you away from him; but it's not something Alastor would enact. Not unless you wanted him to.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Literal virgin. Never touched another person or himself romantically or sexually before you, so Alastor wouldn't be the best at first; but his charming and dominate demeanour makes up for it. Would become a god at sex after a while, and would memorise exactly what makes you tick.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position where he can look at every expression that envelops your face; Alastor gets off on seeing how much he's pleasing you, so although he will hit it from the back if you asked, he wouldn't enjoy it as much.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Alastor can't help but make a bad dad pun if the time arises for it; but typically he likes to keep it serious and passionate.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

No one is going to convince me Alastor shaves down there; and once he dies, it definitely changes into tufts of fluff instead of pubes.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He's a natural gentleman, so Alastor would be extremely romantic; groaning how well you're taking him, treating you like the most precious thing alive and dead as he defiles your body.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Alastor wouldn't touch himself with a twelve foot pole like that, and doesn't like you jacking him off either; it doesn't feel good for him, he'd much rather pound his fingers into you as seeing you on the brink of an orgasm makes his cock twitch to the point of wanting its own release.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Despite his want to please you, Alastor does have some rather fucked up things he'd like to do to you and for you to do to him. Definitely has a blood kink, choking kink, and pain kink, a sadomaso at heart.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In the privacy of a room, Alastor wants to keep your body and moans all to himself, but if you need reminding that you belong to him whilst you're in public, expect to have his hands touching you rather inappropriately.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Honestly? If you're blinded by rage, covered in blood, or start acting a bit crazy, he gets hard immediately. Other than that, he can't really get hard unless you make it clear you want him like that; you'd have to initiate every time or drop heavy hints for him to initiate, but Alastor is more than happy to make love to you whenever you ask - even if he's busy.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Would not partake in a three-way or more. You're all Alastor needs, all he wants, isn't he good enough for you? You'll break his heart asking this. Expect to be locked in his cellar if you have the stupidity to ask.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Alastor will only enjoy you giving him head if you get off on it, if not, he can't enjoy it. In contrast, he loves going down on you; loves tasting the natural essences of your body. He's surprisingly good at eating you out even from the first time he does it. With his acquired taste for human flesh, he will always suggest you sit on his face whenever it's that time of the month.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

In a normal initiation of sex, Alastor is extremely passionate and slow, he makes love to you whilst going so deep you can see stars, if you ask him to go harder or faster though, he will. In the case of high emotions, maybe the two of you had a lovers spat, or he's just killed someone from pure jealousy, expect to be fucked into oblivion; his pace will be relentless and you're always unable to walk straight the following day.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Prefers to savour you, take his time with you, and the only way you're going to get a quickie out of Alastor is if you start grinding against him before he, you, or both of you have to go somewhere. He also likes the thought of having his cum still inside you whilst you both go about your daily lives, and quickies defiantly help him live the reality of that fantasy.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes and no? Alastor, being the murderer he is, knows the limits of the human body when it comes to anything that has the potential to kill, so he will never pass that limit with you; like choking you, for example. Because he knows these limits, its not necessarily a risk for him. In terms of potential voyeurism, he does like the thought of getting caught fucking his cock into you so whoever walked in on the two of you knows you belong to him - especially so if it happens to your first husband who walks in.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

At first, Alastor cannot last that long, so at the start of your intimacy, he spends a lot of his time with his face between your thighs, trying to bring as many orgasms as he can from you. After a while, his stamina will build, being able to last for a few hours and a few rounds. Will even fuck you if it hurts him, he just wants to please you that much; luckily for him, he's a masochist, and besides, you're too nice to let him be in pain... aren't you?

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Despite sex toys being relevant to the time of both of your lives, Alastor never saw the point in sex toys, doesn't understand the need for them. He can only get off to you, and he is very capable of bringing you to orgasm, whether it be through his mouth, fingers, or cock. Will be a bit offended if you ask him to use one, maybe if you beg, he might be open to using some on you though.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Will tease you in the sense of asking you what you want from him. He'll ask you where you want him to touch you, how bad you want him, will even make you beg for him if you've been bad. Also, Alastor loves to tell you how good and perfect you are whilst his cock is thrusting in and out of you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Let's out a lot of low groans and grunts like a wild animal if he's fucking you hard, if he's slow and sensual, Alastor will breathe heavily to the point it's all you can hear, even if you yourself are moaning.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Has a husband/wife kink. Basically, he wants to be your husband; wants you to be his wife, and wants you to call him your husband whilst he fucks you. He craves for you to forget about your first marriage to the point where you believe Alastor is the only husband you've ever had. Also kinda likes to smell your sex...?

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Alastors cock is very girthy, heavy and veiny, with a curve that hits you just right; he's got a very pretty cock, and in my mind, he's your desired size, but if I had to give him an approx length, i'd say he's sporting a good seven inches whilst he's alive. When he's dead however, and sporting his demon form, not only has he grown a full foot taller, but his cock has an ombre of red and has somehow gotten fatter, now with a couple more inches to it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Honestly, Alastor can live his entire existence without having sex; it's not something he's too bothered about, as long as you’re by his side he’s content, but his desire to please you and become one with you is something that has him drooling, so he's willing to do it whenever you wish.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After some well done aftercare, Alastor will only fall asleep once you have drifted off, he doesn't like thinking of you being awake without him. When he dies, he doesn't sleep, so once you drift off, he will just watch you sleep instead.

I didn’t even need to see the outcome of the poll; y’all just bashed tf outta that yes button soakskos so here he is; are there any hints here for the story? Idk probably not ;)

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #reader insert #hazbin hotel #x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut #wrote this whilst getting ready for uni #smut #alastor x y/n

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