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mellowmusings · 3 months ago

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death bed | coffee for your head

Azriel x sick reader part. 2

A/N- I had the idea for this when I heard the song and instead of sick Azriel I made a sick reader, please don't kill me and let me know if you wanna be tagged. Enjoy :). Warning- Angst, reader is depressed and sick, Azzie baby is depressed too. Mainly a really sad fic (mentions of death due to illness). Summary- You had been sick for sometime now and upon visiting a healer you find out the reason, unsure how much time you have left, you wish to spend every second of it preparing Azriel for the moment you leave.

'Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed'

You were tired to say the least, for the past few nights you hadn't been able to sleep at all, and your sweet mate was worried sick for you, and so you had to change your plans for the day, ditching shopping for a visit to Madja instead.

A bell rang as you step into the healer's shop, the air was thick with the scent of dried herbs and incense, instantly calming your nerves. Soft light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on shelves cluttered with jars, vials, and bundles of plants you didn't recognize. The space felt ancient, yet welcoming, as if it held the quiet weight of countless healing rituals. A small wooden counter sat at the back, covered with bottles and unmarked potions. The faint sound of wind chimes hung in the air, but it’s the stillness that stood out—everything in this room felt intentional, designed to soothe, to listen. There attending to a small plant with the smallest flowers you had ever seen stood Madja.

Yeah, I don't wanna fall asleep I don't wanna pass away I've been thinking of our future 'Cause I'll never see those days I don't know why this has happened, but I probably deserve it I tried to do my best, but you know that I'm not perfect

You felt like throwing up, surely this was a joke? it had to be a joke, no she was lying or maybe you had misheard her, it had to be that way, right? "I know this can be shocking news y/n but like I said it's also a very rare illness" "No,no you're lying please tell me you're lying". She begged. Her voice broke on the last word, she couldn't breathe she felt choked, she wanted to throw up but instead she just fell to her knees and cried her heart out.

I've been praying for forgiveness, you've been praying for my health When I leave this earth, hoping you'll find someone else 'Cause, yeah, we're still young, there's so much we haven't done Getting married, start a family, watch your husband with his son

She didn't know how long she spent crying there with Madja comforting her and stroking her back, she was in shock but more than that she was worried for Azriel, if something happened to her then- No, no she wasn't going to think about that right now but for some reason her thoughts kept circling back to Azriel, to the quiet that would fill the room when she was gone. He’d wake up, reach for her, and feel nothing but emptiness. The bed would be cold, the silence too heavy. He’d feel it in the small things—no more shared glances, no more soft words in the dark.

Would he be okay without her? She couldn’t shake the fear that the grief would swallow him, that the shadows he kept so tightly contained would consume him without her there to pull him back. Would the memories be enough, or would they slip through his fingers? The thought of him unraveling, of him breaking, made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t ignore. She wouldn’t be there to catch him, and that terrified her.

Her gaze caught on a lovely family in the park, children being chased by their dad, their mom laughing at the scene and smiling lovingly at her partner, right, she would never be able to have that with Azriel either. Maybe, one day he'll find someone else, who'd love him just as much as she did, someone who'd start a family with him, give him heirs as lovely as he is. She hoped so because if Madja was right then-

I wish it could be me, but I won't make it off this bed I hope I go to heaven, so I see you once again My life was kinda short, but I got so many blessings Happy you were mine, it sucks that it's all ending

Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed, yeah

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Yeah, I'm happy that you're here with me I'm sorry if I tear up When me and you were younger, you would always make me cheer up Taking goofy videos while walking through the park You would jump into my arms every time you heard a bark

You lay back against the pillows, your chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. Azriel sat beside you, his fingers gently brushing over your hand, but the tension in the air was thick, suffocating. You could feel the worry in his touch, in the way he kept glancing at you, like he was afraid to miss something, afraid to lose you before he could even understand what was happening.

"Azriel," you whispered, your voice trembling as you gathered the courage to finally say the words. "I’m sick." You tried to keep your tone calm, but it cracked as soon as the words left your lips. "The healer said it’s a rare heart condition. Something... incurable."

His face froze, eyes widening with disbelief, and he leaned forward, as if to pull you into him, to somehow shield you from the world. But you didn’t want his protection right now. You wanted him to hear this. To know the truth, even if it shattered him.

"I wish it could be me," you continued softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I wish I could take it all. The pain. The time. But I—" You faltered, and the tears you had been holding back finally broke free. "I won’t make it off this bed, Azriel."

His hand tightened around yours, his breath shaky, but he said nothing, his eyes begging you to take it back, to tell him it wasn’t true. But you couldn’t. Not anymore.

"I hope I go to heaven," you murmured, forcing a small smile through your tears. "So I can see you again. One day, after this... after all of this."

Azriel’s face crumpled with pain, his eyes bright with unshed tears. He reached for you, pulling you close as if he could somehow hold you together, like he could make everything right if he just tried hard enough. "No," he whispered, his voice raw. "No, please. Don’t say that. Don’t leave me." It hurt to see the brave and stoic shadow singer crumble infront of you over such a small matter, he had faced death time and time again, but never had you seen him so broken.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feel of him holding you, but there was no denying it now. You couldn’t keep pretending. You couldn’t keep fighting against what you knew in your bones was coming.

"I’m not ready," you whispered, voice barely audible, "but I think... I think you need to be. This is the reality now, Love. I won’t have much time left."

Azriel held you tighter, but it was clear that he was barely holding on himself. You could feel his heart racing against yours, the fear, the love, the desperation. But you knew, deep down, there was no way to stop it.

"I just need you to be ready," you whispered, your voice barely a breath. "Because I won’t be here for long. I need you to promise me something, Az."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face a mask of agony, but he nodded, clinging to your every word.

"Promise me you won’t forget me," you said, the ache in your chest growing, but you didn’t want him to carry this burden forever. "Promise me you’ll live, not survive, but live, even if I’m not there."

He pressed his forehead to yours, and for a moment, it was like the world stopped moving. "I’ll never forget you," he said hoarsely. "And I’ll never stop loving you, not even after…"

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek, but you could feel the finality of it, the quiet acceptance in your soul that you had already said goodbye. "I know. But you have to promise me, Love. Please. Live, for both of us."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy, inevitable. And in that moment, you let go. You accepted what was coming, not with peace, but with a sorrow that was too vast to express.

Azriel didn’t say anything after that. He just held you, and in the silence of the room, you both faced what you knew was coming, as painful and unbearable as it was.

Cuddle in your sheets, sang me sound asleep And sneak out through your kitchen at exactly 1:03 Sundays went to church, on Mondays watched a movie Soon you'll be alone, sorry that you have to lose me

You were curled up against Azriel, the quiet crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. He held you close, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield from the world. The memories flowed easily now, the ones you both cherished, the ones you were trying so hard to relive, to hold on to.

"Cuddle in your sheets," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, "like we used to, like we did so many times. You’d sing me to sleep, your voice soft, your hand in my hair."

Azriel’s thumb brushed over your skin as if committing the sensation of this moment to memory, the feeling of your body pressed against his. "I’ll sing you to sleep forever if I can," he replied, voice thick with emotion. "But you know... I think the best part was sneaking out through your kitchen at exactly 1:03. I used to look at the clock, and I knew you’d be there. We’d laugh, sneak away like we didn’t have a care in the world."

You chuckled softly, a tear slipping down your cheek at the thought. "Sundays, we went to church together. Mondays, we’d watch a movie, get lost in each other’s company. Simple, sweet. And it was ours." You pulled back slightly to look up at him, a small, sad smile on your lips. "I wish we had more of those Mondays."

Azriel's eyes softened with the weight of your words, his voice barely more than a broken whisper. "We still have now," he said, but even he knew the truth in the heaviness of his words. Time was running out.

You closed your eyes, trying to soak in every moment, every detail. You could feel the pain of the inevitable, but for tonight, for this brief moment, you clung to the idea that you could still make new memories. "But soon you'll be alone," you whispered, a sob escaping before you could stop it. "I’m sorry that you have to lose me."

Azriel’s grip on you tightened, his face pressing into your hair. "Don’t say that," he murmured, though his voice was thick with sorrow. "I’ll never lose you. Not really. Not in my heart."

You nodded, your body trembling in his arms. "I hope so," you whispered, holding him tighter. "But I’ll always love you. Every memory, every laugh, every quiet Sunday. I’ll carry those with me, even when I’m gone."

And for a moment, time felt still, like the universe had paused just long enough for you both to hold on to each other a little tighter, to try and make every second count before it was all gone.

Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Azriel sat beside you, his hand resting gently on your own, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the chill that seemed to constantly settle in your bones. Your breathing was shallow, weak, each rise and fall of your chest an effort, and yet, despite it all, you smiled up at him. It was the kind of smile that told him you were fighting, even when it seemed like there was no fight left in you.

"I don't want you to stay awake for too long," you whispered, your voice thin, but still full of the love you carried for him. "I know you watch over me, but you need sleep too, Azriel." Your hand squeezed his, the action small but intentional.

He looked at you, eyes filled with an ache that ran deeper than the shadows that normally clung to him. His gaze searched your face, searching for something, anything that might bring you back to him, but there was nothing he could do to stop what was coming. His grip tightened, but he didn't speak. What could he say? Every word felt like a lie in the face of what you both knew was inevitable.

"You've been so strong," he finally whispered, voice hoarse. "Please, don’t give up on me now." His thumb stroked over your knuckles, as if grounding himself in the reality that, in his heart, he knew you were slipping away.

You let out a soft, raspy laugh, and though it was faint, it made him want to smile, even though the pain was consuming him. "I’m not giving up," you said, each word a battle, but the light in your eyes still bright enough to pierce through the darkness. "I’m just… trying to make the most of the time we have left."

Azriel closed his eyes for a moment, his chest tightening, but you gently cupped his cheek, urging him to look at you. "Don’t stay awake for too long," you repeated softly, your hand slipping into his as you pressed it over your heart. "Don’t go to bed, not yet. I’m still here. I’m still with you."

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. You felt his warm breath on your skin, a small reminder of how much he loved you. How much he needed you.

"Let me take care of you," he murmured, his voice breaking. "Let me make you coffee in the morning, just like we used to. I’ll get you out of bed. I’ll help you find your strength again, just like before."

You smiled at him, the tears in your eyes blurring your vision. "I’ll make the coffee," you whispered, "when I can. I’ll make sure you get through it, even after I’m gone. I wrote you letters. Letters for the years to come, so you’ll know I’m still with you. So you’ll know that I’ll always love you, even when I’m not there."

Azriel’s heart shattered. "No," he said hoarsely, "No, you can’t leave me." His voice broke at the end, the rawness of his fear leaking through. You were fighting so hard, so fiercely, for him, but he couldn’t stop the truth from settling in his chest.

"You’ve always been my strength, Azriel," you whispered, your voice so soft, but so full of love. "And I’ll be yours, even when I’m not here to hold you. I need you to live. To keep fighting. And when the days feel long, when the nights feel too empty, I want you to read those letters. They’re for you. I’ll make sure you find your way."

Azriel couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He leaned down, kissing your forehead, his lips trembling against your skin. "I’m going to keep you here with me, in my heart. Forever. I promise. I won’t forget, I swear it."

You smiled through the tears, despite the weariness that clung to your body. "I’m not leaving you, Azriel," you whispered, "not really. Not ever."

But the truth, unspoken between you both, was that you didn’t have much longer. And still, you fought, not for yourself but for him, so he could have something to hold on to after you were gone.

"Please," he begged softly, his voice breaking, "don’t leave me."

You brushed a tear from his cheek, as your voice trembled, "I’ll never really leave you, Azriel. I’ll always be with you. In every letter, in every thought."

You paused, a soft, warm breath escaping your lips. "I’ll get you out of bed, Azriel," you whispered, a hint of a smile on your face, "I’ll get you going again. Even if I’m not there to see it."

His tears fell freely now, but there was a quiet peace in the way he held you—knowing, with an ache so deep it felt like it might swallow him whole, that he would carry you forever.

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

A few weeks had passed, and the weight of each day was beginning to take its toll. The glow in your eyes had dimmed, and your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. Azriel stayed by your side every moment, his presence constant, like a shadow you never wanted to be without.

He had been trying to hold on to the last threads of you, keeping the hope alive that maybe, somehow, you would pull through. But he knew. He knew with every soft breath you took, with every fleeting smile you gave him, that time was slipping away from both of you.

Today, though… today it felt like everything was slower. The air in the room was thick with an aching kind of quiet, the kind where even the heartbeats that echoed in the space between you seemed too loud.

Azriel sat on the edge of the bed, his arms around you, pulling you close like you’d always been. His fingers lightly traced the line of your jaw, like he could imprint your face into his soul if he touched you long enough. His lips pressed to your forehead, trying to pour every ounce of love and comfort he could into you, but it felt like it was never enough.

You had grown weaker. Your skin was pale, your breathing labored, but you still smiled at him when your eyes fluttered open.

"I’m still here," you whispered softly, your voice raspy but filled with the love you had for him. "I’m still here, Azriel."

He blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, his throat tight. "You don’t have to fight anymore," he murmured, brushing the damp strands of hair from your face. "I’ve got you. I’ll never let you go."

You smiled faintly, your hand reaching for his, weak but determined. "I know," you whispered. "I know… but I have to tell you something, something important."

Azriel leaned closer, his heart pounding in his chest. "Anything," he breathed. "Tell me anything, love. I’m listening."

"I wrote letters," you whispered, barely able to keep your eyes open. "For the years to come… For you. So you know I’ll always be with you, even when I’m not." He silently promised himself would read every letter you left behind, each one a piece of your love, keeping him alive in a world where you no longer were.

Azriel’s chest tightened, a sob breaking free from deep inside him. "You don’t have to go," he said, his voice raw, breaking with the weight of everything he wished he could say, everything he wished he could change. "I can’t… I can’t lose you."

A tear slipped down your cheek, but your smile didn’t fade. You reached up with trembling fingers, tracing the line of his jaw, as if trying to memorize him the way he had memorized you. "You’ll be okay, Azriel. You’re so strong. You’ve always been strong. Just—just remember that I love you. I always will."

His breath caught in his throat as he kissed your hand gently, his voice cracking. "I love you," he whispered, "I love you more than I could ever put into words."

You closed your eyes, your hand slipping from his, but he caught it again instantly, holding on as if it would keep you tethered to him, keep you from slipping away.

Your breathing grew even more shallow, each one taking more effort than the last. Azriel could feel the tremor in your body, the slow, inevitable shift that told him everything he feared was coming. But he didn’t let go. He couldn’t.

"I’m not ready to let you go," Azriel murmured, his voice hoarse, tears streaming down his face as he held you in his arms. "I’ve never been ready to let you go. Not now, not ever."

You gave him one last, gentle smile, your hand resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. "You’ll always have me," you whispered, your voice barely a breath. "In every letter, in every thought, in every coffee you make. You’ll find me again, in the quiet moments. I’ll always be with you."

And then, as if your body had finally found peace, your chest stilled. Your breathing slowed, and for the first time in weeks, there was complete silence. Azriel’s heart shattered, his breath caught in his throat, and for a long moment, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

"No," he choked out, his voice breaking, his chest heaving with the weight of loss. "No, please…"

But there was no response. Only the soft, quiet sound of his heartbeat echoing through the silence, as if trying to fill the emptiness you left behind. His arms tightened around you one last time, as if holding you could bring you back, as if love could defy death.

For a long while, Azriel stayed there, clutching you to him, his tears falling onto your skin. He couldn’t let go. Not yet. He needed to hold you, to feel you close, to believe, for just a little longer, that you weren’t truly gone.

And in the stillness of the room, as the shadows of night stretched across the floor, Azriel whispered the only thing left in his broken heart.

"I’ll always love you. Always."

The room was silent. Still. But his words lingered in the air, a promise he would carry with him forever.

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Azriel stood at the edge of the balcony, staring into the endless void of night. The stars above seemed to mock him, distant and cold, twinkling as though the universe was still moving forward, as though life was continuing. But for him, everything had stopped.

The wind swept through the courtyard, its icy fingers clawing at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the cold that had settled deep in his chest, in his soul. He had not moved from that spot since… since that moment. The moment she had slipped away from him, her final breath trembling in his arms, leaving nothing but an echo of the love they had shared. The world felt like a hollow, silent place, and he was drowning in its emptiness.

He could still smell her, faintly. Her scent lingered in the air, in the folds of the blanket she had used to curl up in, in the spaces between the letters she had written him, all the things that were now gone—faded into the dust of the world she had left behind.

Her letters. He had read them, over and over, each one a tear-streaked page of her love for him, a love he could no longer feel against his skin, in her touch, in her smile. He had read her last words, over and over, searching for some kind of comfort. But the comfort never came. The words she had left behind—I’ll always be with you, Azriel—only left him feeling more alone. Her absence was a shadow that consumed everything.

"I’ll always be with you," he muttered bitterly to the darkened sky, as if the universe owed him something. "Where the hell are you now?"

He wanted to scream. To shout into the abyss that had taken her from him, to demand it give her back. But what was the point? The universe didn’t care. Time didn’t care. And now, all that was left was his hollow existence.

The days blurred together, the ache of her absence cutting deeper with every passing hour. He had stopped sleeping, stopped eating. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything but exist, moving through each day as if in a fog. The shadows whispered her name—her voice, her laughter, the warmth of her skin against his—and all he could do was shut his eyes and pretend he didn’t hear them.

But the silence… the silence was the worst.

Everywhere he went, there were reminders. The empty corner of the room where her chair used to sit, the books she had loved scattered across the table, the coffee mug she had left on the counter—his mug now, though it meant nothing. All of it was just a reminder that she was gone, and he was left alone, trapped in a world where nothing made sense without her. Without her laughter, without the way she’d tease him in the mornings, the soft way she’d press her face to his chest when she needed comfort.

She had been everything to him. His light, his warmth, his reason to fight. And now…

The darkness pressed in on him, a crushing weight on his chest. His wings, once majestic and powerful, now felt like an anchor. He had no use for them anymore. They had carried him through battles, through pain, through moments of glory. But now they felt like a reminder of how empty he was. How much of a shell he had become.

The weight of the silence was unbearable. He could feel the crushing loneliness clawing at him, desperate to consume him whole. And as he stood there, staring out into the endless night, he almost wished for it to. He almost wished for the silence to swallow him, to take him with her, because what was the point of living in a world where she wasn’t there?

“I can’t keep doing this,” he whispered to the darkness, his voice cracking. His breath came in short, uneven bursts, each one a reminder that he was still alive—still breathing, even though every part of him screamed to be gone. To be where she was, wherever that was, because life without her felt like a slow, torturous death.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it as if the physical pain would distract him from the ache in his chest. But it didn’t. Nothing could.

The weight of everything pressed on him—the guilt, the anger, the regret. He had promised her, promised her, that he would take care of her, that he wouldn’t let her go. But in the end, he had failed. He hadn’t been enough to save her. And now, she was gone, and all he had left were the memories. The hollow echoes of her voice, her laughter, her touch.

“I wasn’t enough for you,” he whispered, a raw, broken sob escaping him. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, his wings folding around him like an armor of despair. “I couldn’t save you. And now… now I have nothing.”

He curled into himself, his arms wrapping around his knees, his head pressed against them as the tears came in waves. His body trembled with the force of it. Every sob was like a shard of glass digging deeper into his heart, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

The world had moved on. The stars had continued to shine. The wind had continued to blow. But for Azriel, it had all stopped. Because she was gone, and no matter how many times he whispered her name into the darkness, no matter how many times he begged for her to come back, he knew the truth.

She was gone. And he was broken beyond repair.

Time would pass, the seasons would change, but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered without her.

And as the silence closed in around him, Azriel made a vow to the shadows, to the darkness that now felt like home.

He would never forgive himself. He would never forget the way she had died in his arms, the way he couldn’t save her. And as the cold night wrapped itself around him, he whispered through clenched teeth, “I’ll make the world pay. I’ll make everything pay for taking you from me.”

But even as the words left his lips, he knew they wouldn’t bring her back.

And he would have to live with that.

Taglist: @anarchiii @er1023 @siriuslystyle1989 @velarisdusk @scorpioriesling @starlightazriel

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ericshoney · 10 months ago

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Accident~ Brothers!Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: You loved to colour anything but accidentally ruin one of Nick's Space Camp designs.

Warnings: shouting, crying, angst with a happy ending

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were a very tame three year old. You never really got into trouble, sometimes loud, but never troublesome. You also loved being close to your brothers and loved being in LA with them, which is where you are right now.

You sat at the table colouring some pictures that Chris got you, your brothers were filming a stream in Matt's room but said if you needed anything to get them, as your parents had gone out for a bit to explore LA.

You then saw a piece of paper, which you thought was free to use, so you grabbed it and started drawing all over it, not realising it was a new design for Space Camp.

"Hey kiddo!" Chris exclaimed, as he walked in, closely followed by Nick and Matt.

"Hi! Look!" You replied just as cheery, showing him the pictures you coloured.

"Look amazing, sweetheart." Matt said, softly kissing your forehead.

"Then I draw this!" You added, showing them the drawing you did.

"That looks coo-" Nick began, but froze as he saw the designs on the back.

He quickly took the piece of paper from you and looked, seeing you had drawn all over his new designs for his meeting in a week.

"You not like?" You questioned.

"These are my new Space Camp designs." He said.

"Can't you actually use your brain for once kid! Look at what you've done!" He shouted.

"Hey calm down, she didn't know." Matt said.

"Of course she did! It's obvious these are new designs!" Nick responded.

"You always mess up! Always gotta colour something! This was for a new line and you completely ruined it!" He continued.

You frowned and felt tears in your eyes, none of your brothers had shouted at you before.

"I sorry." You said quietly.

"Dude, back off." Chris said, tugging the eldest back.

You ran to Matt's room since it was the closest and curled up on his bed, crying into the pillows. Both Matt and Chris looked at Nick.

"Bro, she's three." Chris said, disappointed with his brother.

"She ruined something big for me." Nick tried to defend, but the guilt was already setting in.

"She couldn't tell. You also left it out for anyone to use, what if I accidentally wrote a list on it?" Matt called.

"I....I fucked up, didn't I?" Nick asked, both Chris and Matt nodded.

"Yeah dude, again, she's three. She can't always tell what's right and wrong." Chris answered.

"You go cool down and we'll calm her, then you talk to her when your ready to apologise." Matt said.

Nick nodded and went to cool down in his room for a bit. An hour later you had calmed down, not crying anymore as you sat with Chris and Matt watching Looney Tunes. There was a soft knock on the door and Nick poked his head in.

"Can I come in?" He asked.

Matt nodded as you curled up to Chris more, scared he would shout again. Nick frowned and came over, kneeling on the floor.

"Hey sweetheart, I'm really sorry for shouting at you. I didn't mean it and I'm sorry I scared you." He apologised.

"Accident." You mumbled.

"I know, kiddo, it was an accident and I was a horrible big brother by shouting and blaming you for something you didn't fully understand. I got you something as a sorry." He said.

Nick then pulled out a Taz stuffed animal. You smiled as you reached for it, making him smile a bit.

"Thank you." You whispered.

"Your welcome and I'm sorry again." He replied.

You smiled and hugged the eldest triplet, making Matt and Chris smile, knowing things are okay now.

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iznsfw · 1 year ago

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Ms. Kang Hyewon

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 3 - Kang Hyewon

IZ*ONE's Kang Hyewon x Male Reader Smut

9,122 words

Categories | femdom, mommy kink, degradation, angry sex, choking

Content warning | blackmail, degradation, Hyewon isn't so innocent here

Well, well, well, look who came back with Day 3.

My promise remains. Expect more, but on separate days. I won't run away with your money like a certain pre-

Thread isn’t claustrophobic. It slips through spaces not even your fingernail could pierce apart. Effortlessly, too. It isn’t afraid of being knotted up. It just needs guidance: a pinch to lead it through the eye and a pull to seam it through the hem.

You wish you wielded the same fearlessness. It’s thinner and more fragile than you (highly debated) yet it’s hardened to its life. The only thing you’re granted as a similarity to it is the need for guidance, not all of that shit about courage.

Maybe that’s why you became a fashion designer.

Needles have their own strengths, too. They’re not cowards to inflicting pain for aesthetics. Why do you think they stab so effortlessly through fabric and silk and skin and whatnot? They sharpen themselves through softness, and all that edge goes straight into the process.

And sometimes, your fingers.

“Fuck.” Your reverie is broken at last. From your thumb, a trail of red leaks. You’re used to the minor cuts and wounds, but the blood really does something to you. It reminds you of how fragile human anatomy is. One uncalculated move can end it all.

“You good?” asks Eunbi.

Suck on your thumb. A metallic taste settles over your tongue. She peers at you curiously; wave your hand at her dismissively to tell her it’s fine. This is everyday for you, like you said. Your heart will pump anxiously but that goes away, too. It’s all a vestige of time.

Flatten the vest top on the table. Wait, it’s not exactly a top yet if fringes of thread splay from the edges. You still have to work on that. Nothing is something when it’s not completed. It’s either you finish it grandly or leave it in pathetic tatters.

“You sure you're okay?”

“Just a little nervous,” you reply.

“I mean,” Eunbi laughs as she fixes her short hair into a ponytail, “she is Kang Hyewon.”

Not that she needs to remind you. Your nerves are in a wreck already. You’ve been replaying the pros of the situation in your head like a favorite song. Working for Hyewon would look good in your resumés. If time sees fit, you’d have your own line and everyone would want to wear it. Your name could be a staple of fashion, the god of gods. Something like that.

It only sucks that you’re painfully new to this world. This is the first time you’re this far from your family and friends. Seoul’s a far cry from your humble town. It’s the home of everything that matters. Nights of staying up drawing and designing couldn’t harden you for an industry that sways and shakes out the unfit.

This is your chance to find out if you’re one of them.

“The superstar who’s about to wear my shitty clothes.”

“They’re anything but shitty. You have seriously good ideas.” Always, Eunbi comes in to reassure you. That’s why you see her as a mentor. “She wouldn’t turn down wearing couture if she didn’t see potential in what you make.”

See, you would never have agreed to any of this. You’re a fresh graduate from some fashion school, and the only models you’ve worked on are the runway rejects. Fixing a sloppy first draft on a stick-thin, soulless girl is different from designing and dressing up Kang Hyewon.

She’s everything—model, actress, singer, and idol. She’s a gem for every brand out there. They’re all dying to get her to be their ambassador. Every director with a complete brain wants to cast her for their new drama.

And it’s her who can lift you to heights in your career. So you’d be an idiot not to seal the deal.

“Have you worked with her before?”

As your needle sews a story of fabric, Eunbi’s words whittle her story with Hyewon. Turns out, this is only her second time working with the star. She confirms that Hyewon is truly gorgeous in person with those god-given full lips and hardset eyes.

Apparently, first impressions are right after all when it’s with her—she’s a silent, withholding woman who doesn’t talk outside of necessity. Eunbi tells you her nerves were in knots the first time, but also informs you that as long as you do your job for her properly, there isn’t gonna be any problem.

“Just be careful in what you do and say,” Eunbi whispers. She peeks over at your nearly finished piece. “That’s turning out really nice, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

Look proudly at your handiwork. It’s a sleeveless top fashioned from denim, with a V-shaped curve at the stomach. You’ve attached strips of more denim on the front that are sewn on with threads that match the blue of the ocean, embedded into the chest to prevent dullness. You think it’s turning out pretty good, too.

You would’ve gone on smiling if it weren’t for what you remembered. “Wait, why do I have to be careful?”

“She’s not, like, shy or anything. Just really unfiltered when it comes to feedback. She told me the eyeliner I did on her was shit, and that I shouldn’t come back if I planned on doing that again.”

Doubts about the beauty of your design rise. It might look good in your eyes, but what if it doesn’t in hers? She’d probably see the lack of color and call it a monstrosity. She’s got the type of power to get away with brutal words, to leave your little self-confidence in pieces.

The leg-hugging jeans and vest now look painfully average to you. There’s no debating that she’d look good in it, but there’s that constant back-and-forth argument in your head about whether or not Hyewon would like it.

“Were you hurt?” you ask.

Eunbi wipes red lipstick from the edges of her mouth with the mirror’s reflection as guidance, then smiles. “She’s the kind of woman I’d let do more than hurt me.”

You don’t know what that was about, but you’re not one to pry. You don’t have the time anyway.

Assistants have poured into the room. It’s your sign to put in more work—their arrival means that Hyewon is about to come very soon. They’re all dressed in their uniforms, the kind that looks good but not too good that it takes away the fact that they’re just staff.

Eunbi shifts her weight from one stiletto to another. “Are you done?” she asks. She gazes over at your sewing as she taps anxious rhythms on the vanity table. Notice how she’s taken off her acrylics and in turn shows her cruelly bitten fingernails.

You huff. “I’m trying.”

Stick a red-studded pin through the denim to keep the vest in place. What shade of blue did you use again? Staring for lengthy minutes at your messy table doesn’t help you find it. Your chalks have left pink powder on the wood. Your threads are unspooled and everywhere. In the midst of it all, the star’s vest sits, still waiting to be finished.

“She’s getting here in five!” Yena shouts.

“Any updates there?” Eunbi says pleadingly to you, eyes full of tears.

“I said I’m trying, Eunbi.”

“Then try harder, fuck!”

Her hands have abandoned their rhythms and are squeezed up into tiny, helpless fists. She keeps peeking out of the dressing room as if she’d die on the spot if Hyewon were there already. This is the first time you’ve seen Eunbi this beside herself. Even her crew is shocked. Her fear infects them too and now all sets of scared eyes are on you. They’re depending on your speed for their careers. If you fall short, they fall short, too. It’s a domino effect of failure.

Yena pushes aside the hangers of clothing to frisk for the makeup kit. Chaeyeon has her hands in her air while Minju whimpers behind her. They all know one thing for sure: you’re never gonna finish on time.

Your needle fits and slips, fits and slips, fits and slips—

“Can’t you go any faster?” cries out Eunbi.

The thread almost pulls the rest of the fabric along it when you pull furiously. “Unless you want me to get stabbed in the fucking wrist,” you say, “I can’t.”

You prick yourself multiple times trying to speed up. Push the layered denim down. It’s like drowning a needle, letting it go up from the waves of clothes for air, then drowning it again. However, you don’t care for any casualties right now. You don’t care for deaths either. All you want is to do is finish this piece.

You hear three short knocks on the door. Your world stops, but your sewing doesn’t. You can do this. You can still make it look somehow finished.

“Ms. Kang!”

Curl.

Thread.

Knot.

You’re done. It’s safe to turn around.

All of the women along with Eunbi have bowed deeply. Standing in front of them is the straight-postured form of the adored celebrity. The assistants look like they’re an estranged cult of some sorts who’s worshiping a goddess who’s come to earth.

Strangely, you find out that, as you stare at Kang Hyewon, you understand.

You can now grasp the idea why she’s ventured into so many fields: she can do it all. She can be it all.

Her hair is as black as night, and so are her irises. Her expression tells you no background, not even of a troublesome drive or a good meal. No, not any of that, for Hyewon’s face is a serious little look of professionalism. It’s the kind people of her status wear—celebrated doctors, movie stars, activists. But for some reason, it looks so much hotter on her.

It would take skilled mathematicians and scientists to find out what’s behind her neutral expression, but it doesn’t take a degree to know that she’s downright beautiful.

The pictures her dedicated fansites take of her truly don’t do justice to her attractiveness. Her face is smaller than a child’s. The nonchalant stare in her eyes makes her look out of this world, which could be said too for her preppy clothes. She’s a fashion icon for the younger generation after all.

A natural pair of plump lips doesn’t show a sign of a smile. Nevertheless, she’s a beautiful woman. You assume that it’s how it is for her everyday, just like drawing is your daily routine.

“Hello.” Hyewon’s voice is surprisingly feminine yet husky. She looks at you all indifferently, then places her bag on a nearby chair. Each action of hers is minimal and measured.

“Would you like to get dressed, Ms. Kang?” asks Eunbi, her voice a pitch too high.

She nods.

You hand over the jeans and shirt. Make a beeline for the exit. There’s a reason why an all-female staff was hired for Hyewon. You were taught in school that you best not dress them up directly if they’re a celebrity and you aren’t known in the industry yet. There’s all the reason to fear: hidden cameras and microphones, leaked footage, the like. While you’re not a man whose intentions are dark, you still follow protocol.

“What are you running away for?”

Your shoes stop paving the way to the door. Was that Hyewon? “What?” you say.

Eunbi winces. Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. You don’t state that in that tone to a woman of that class.

Hyewon sighs audibly. “Can you look me in the eyes when I talk to you?”

You’re cold yet trepidation prickles your skin like fire. Slowly, almost comically, turn around. Her coat is off, leaving her in a skirt and a sleeveless undershirt on which she’s crossed her arms above. So how can you look at her directly? That body of hers is shockingly easy on the eyes.

“You’re the fashion designer, right?” she asks.

Smile awkwardly. “I, uh—”

“Then why are you leaving? Come over here and help me. I want to see if you know what you’re doing.”

“I’m, a little, uh, actually—”

“You’re actually what?”

Your mouth’s dry. Eunbi and her crew look too scared to remind her that you’re an amateur. You haven’t dressed up a star and you definitely aren’t a professional.

But what can you do? Look at her—a woman who could crumble your career into shards if she said so and blacklist you from the industry forever—and tell her no?

So, you approach.

Is it a blessing that you’re granted the honors of removing her underclothes? Or a curse?

As you undress her, you’re given the affirmation that her body is more than easy on the eyes. It’s fucking to die for. Her waist isn’t concerningly tiny, but shows a defined curve that elevates to her torso. Her breasts are large for her frame, barely fitting the size of her lace bra.

“Woah, what are you doing?” you say, eyes wide at Eunbi suddenly unclasping said bra. You feel like a Victorian man catching sight of ankles.

Eunbi looks confused. “Didn’t you say a bra would ruin the look? And that we should use nipple tape?”

Hyewon stares at her, then looks at you, waiting for an answer.

“Oh, right.” You chuckle tensely. “Sorry.”

Your lips are pursed to keep you from hissing in embarrassment. Now you probably look like a creep. Your fright and wariness are taking control, and you have no idea what to do.

You conveniently close your eyes when the bra’s taken off. Take the vest from Yena and raise it above Hyewon’s head. No matter what, you’ll keep your eyes up. Not below, where her breasts are sure to catch you off guard; not to the side, where they might be assuming you’re everything bad; but up. Nowhere else.

“It looks beautiful on you.” Minju’s smile is less nervous now that the job is done.

Her remark is nothing short of the truth. The garment slips onto Hyewon’s body like water. The defined carve of her clavicle stands out above the conservative neckline. Still, her bare arms alone will already have people thinking of something. The jeans accentuate her slim long legs elevated by a pair of expensive heels. She doesn’t need makeup to look good in what you sewed for her. Her body and face do the job.

Hyewon doesn't respond to the compliment. She simply sits down on the swivel makeup chair, crosses her legs, and pulls out her phone. Her thumbs twiddle with a game you’ve seen her advertise before. She’s true to her endorsements.

Minju carefully fills the brims of her eyelids with sharp cat eyeliner. Hyewon still doesn’t look up from her phone. You guess she’s used to people adapting to her and not the other way around.

You like the touch of the fierce red lipstick Eunbi applies on her later on. It’s a bold statement, something that goes like: It’s me, Kang Hyewon; this is the face of a woman who can destroy you, and I promise that you’ll love it.

“You look great, Ms. Kang,” Eunbi compliments her cheerfully, clicking the lipstick back.

Hyewon stares at herself in the mirror. She’s a silent observer, taking in her reflection and studying it closely.

A lunar eclipse personified, a smile stretches on her lips that releases your held breaths. “I know.”

Mirrors lined with shining diamonds. Words that spell the house of fashion emblazoned in lights. Expensive makeup behind glass. Bags that are worth your tuition sitting on displayed pedestals as if they didn’t know their own worth. The event is a never-ending sea of vanity for the wealthy and the west. You can’t believe you’re playing a part in it, although you’re a sheep among well-dressed wolves.

Crowds of reporters and photographers wait at the main hall. There’s no questioning who they’re here for. Although Jang is undoubtedly a big name, so is Hyewon. They were right to recruit her. You’ve never seen a crowd this big, even for fashion. You wonder how much they paid her to be the ambassador. Must be millions when all the other houses are dying to have her. She doesn’t look like one who kindly allows lowballing.

Neither does this man. He’s grand in his custom Victoria Jang and shoes that have the glimmer of stars themselves as he stands at the center. He must be the MC; he has a name tag to his breast pocket and a mic in his fist.

“Dude, did you know Anya Taylor-Joy’s gonna be here?” Rafael tells you.

“The chick from that cool chess movie?”

“Yeah,” he replies. He gestures to the small screen that shows her holding a lipstick to her jaw. It would be hard to see it behind the scrambling reporters. Luckily, as the designer, you scored a nearby spot backstage. “Jennie, too!”

The two are gorgeous, but you’re honestly more interested in Hyewon. If people see she’s wearing your clothes, they’d want to hire you, too. She doesn’t follow the trend; she is the trend. Soon, you’ll see Korea filled with women wearing the same shirt, the same jeans, the same style…

“We’re proud to present Jang’s first store in Korea,” says the MC. Yep, you were right. “This is a monumental stepping stone for our founder, Ms. Jang Wonyoung. Please welcome her with a hearty applause!”

You know all about Jang Wonyoung. She’s a self-made woman whose passion for beauty got the attention of the public, especially the western world. She’s always busy despite her tender age of nineteen: performing onstage with her group IVE, traveling, founding a new school in meager areas. She’s almost at the same level as Hyewon in terms of stardom.

Wonyoung comes out from the background, dressed fashionably as always. A polite smile decorates her glossed lips. It’s caught by the flashes of cameras and the reporters’ cheers.

“Hello, thank you for coming.” She brushes back her fringe and folds her hands. “Opening a branch here in my home is an achievement I’m forever grateful for. I would like to thank you all greatly for the success it’s brought about.

“Please,” she says, “take the time to immerse yourself in our array of products. Try a new trendy look with Jang Beauty—”

She extends an arm to the variety of products protected under firm glass. There’s powder, eyeliner, and blush. Actually, there’s a little of everything. There’s colors fit for every complexion, dark or light, and a palette of rainbows.

“—or flaunt your own style with our new arrival bags and purses.”

See, they’re the bags which immediately give the impression of expensiveness. The accessories are reserved to warm or light hues accompanied with Wonyoung’s signature rabbit logo. One even features her signature, stylishly drawn on quality canvas.

“Our helpful staff are here to answer your questions and assist you, but for now, please meet our muses.”

The camera shutters multiply when Kim Jennie enters the frame. Another “it” girl, she’s from a globally loved K-pop group whose influence couldn’t be denied even by the worst liars. She made all the buzz for Jang when a news article that quoted Wonyoung’s adoration for her was released. As expected, social media received the news happily. They made parallels with Wonyoung and Jennie, created fan accounts, and bought from Jang, even if the house initially opened in the United States.

Wonyoung’s smile is wide. You think you see a little of yourself in her. There’s certain pride in seeing someone loved and adored wearing your design.

Jennie waves briefly to the crowd before settling in a poised stride stage left.

Anya Taylor-Joy comes in next. Rafael makes a joke about how the press would have a difficult time trying to translate her name into Hangul characters correctly. She answers a question from the crowd sweetly with a translator’s help, and stands a yard from Jennie. Seeing the two women side by side stuns you—Jang really did emphasize how there’s beauty in everything and everyone, including those from different sides of the world.

“And finally, we would like to present Jang’s new ambassador.” Wonyoung’s beaming positively. “Welcome to Jang, Kang Hyewon!”

Suppressed screams fill your ears. The women at the mall can’t believe a friendly outing to the mall grabbed them a chance to see her in person. She’s the kind of girl who’s everywhere, and still manages to make you look. To make you want to be her or be with her. Perhaps those two at the same time?

You stare at her. Hyewon is flawless. Her slight tan is a nice break from the whiteness of the cameras. Her eyes seem to single out everybody in the crowd. The ambassador stands next to Wonyoung, a hand on her own hip, and lets a slight Mona Lisa smile paint her face.

Perfection.

How does she do so little but still attract everyone? You’re not an exception. You find yourself forgetting that you made those clothes—she owns them now. They’ll be associated with her name and not yours.

Do you even have a problem with that?

“Jang’s vision is to highlight beauty in everyone,” Wonyoung says. “Ms. Kang Hyewon is the perfect ambassador. She is an idol, singer, dancer, model, muse, and everything you can think of. She is the personification of beauty and versatility. We are proud to have her.”

You would be, too.

You were here to make a name for yourself, not fanboy over her. Here you are anyway doing it.

Hyewon stands next to Wonyoung and nods humbly. “I’m honored to be named the ambassador for Jang.” She bows deeply. Her hands are together on her stomach. “Please expect more from us because we will deliver.”

Perhaps that’s a statement bolder than the red painted on her lips.

“To the name of beauty!” a reporter raises a glass and chugs it. You don’t know where that came from, but it draws collective giggles.

Wonyoung laughs. “To the name of beauty!”

Hyewon jokingly raises an imaginary shot high in the air. The simplest actions don’t bar her from being beautiful. Just look at how her hair falls perfectly over gorgeous shoulders, how her hips stick out at the sides of the jeans—

How the sound of fabric ripping loudly stuns the crowd.

Your eyes go wide. The left strap of her top has torn apart. The two aidless halves collapse on the sides uselessly. The attire sags from the front and leaks the view of one of her breasts. Maybe they should have told her to keep the bra on—her left tit with nothing but nipple tape on is painfully shown off to hundreds of people.

Hyewon’s eyes fill with alarm. All confidence is lost as she tries to cover her exposed breast up. But the deed is done. Worse, the flashes don’t stop. The photos will soon take to the internet and, regardless of her power to bend things to their will, can never truly be eradicated. The articles will go viral, too. No one will forget this moment of Kang Hyewon finally showing vulnerability.

“Ms. Kang—” Wonyoung says in a thin voice. She didn’t imagine this special day would take a drastic turn. She awkwardly laughs, because what else can she do? As rich as she is, she can’t pay a crazed scientist to implement a memory-erasing chip in these people’s brains. The event is officially ruined.

And it’s all your fault.

Still, she generously steps in front of Hyewon to help. Similar to every attempt to salvage her dignity, it’s useless. The ambassador she relied so much on is already walking away. She’s leaving everything behind and won’t look back. Tonight is a night of many firsts, and right now, this is her first time retreating.

Aside from the sounds of phones and camcorders, all that’s left to hear is the furious clicking of Hyewon’s heels. Her strides are short and quick.

One step, five steps, ten steps… then thirteen.

It takes a total of thirteen steps for Hyewon to exit and come to you.

You couldn’t be an unluckier dead man.

Hyewon is the grim reaper. She wields fury instead of a scythe, wears now defective clothes instead of a dark cloak. The imminent loss of life is frightening regardless of being faced with a pretty woman. Anyone would get on their knees and resort to the unthinkable to experience this with the celebrity right now. So why are you as cold as a corpse?

“You.”

One word is enough to make you want to die early.

You look forward while your steps go backward. Your feet can pave the longest reversed path and you’d still be left with no escape. Hyewon is faster than you are. The rest of the staff are in the crowd or in another room; they can’t help you. Nobody can tell her to stop.

You doubt she’d listen anyway, and you know because you’re looking in her face: the face of death. Gone is the blasé mood surrounding her, the mystery in her that people would pray rosaries to venerate. What’s taken its place is an Ares-born wrath that’s at odds with her Aphrodite visuals. Her eyes are large with anger and short angry rasps leave her mouth.

“Ms. Kang,” you say, your words a mute plea. “Really, I apologize—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Hyewon’s forearm knocks into your neck and catapults you to the dressing room door. The wood gives way, much to your horror. You barely make it on the plush chair with how your feet struggle to keep upright.

She looms over you hauntingly, tall in her black heels. It’s a reminder that she really is above you in everything: positions, status, wealth—

Intimacy?

Why is she straddling you? You don’t know what you’re supposed to feel, much more where to look. Adding to her center literally being seated above your crotch, she didn’t even bother to fix her wardrobe malfunction. There’s no might left in you when her fingers curl into your collar and tighten it up to your neck.

“You little shit.” She coils the fabric around your throat harder. Wracked coughs fight their way out of you. “An incompetent one, too. This is all your fault.”

Her voice is rougher when she’s angry. It’s like she has a switch that she clicks on and off to be what she has to be: the Kang Hyewon everyone idolizes; and the one people would be afraid of. It doesn’t take a wicked guess to figure which one you’re encountering now.

“Ms. Kang,” you say weakly, “please.”

You inhale raggedly through your nose. Hate how comforting her expensive perfume is to your senses when she’s doing everything but making you at ease. Hate how attractive she is. Hate how you ruined the day that was supposed to change your life forever. Hate how a small part of you doesn't hate being under her.

For others to understand you, they need to put themselves in your shoes. If an A-list star who’s as gorgeous as Hyewon was snugly seated on their lap, wouldn’t they feel the same? Wouldn’t they feel the stir in their pants, the heat in their chests?

You’re fucked in the head. But she is, too. You’re a match made in the depths of hell.

“I-I can explain.”

Your pulse beats beneath her palm. Its faltering rhythm brings cruel satisfaction to her, making her face spread into a wicked smile.

As Hyewon’s almond eyes close into tyrannizing slits and her lips pull at the ends into a closed smirk, you realize why she rarely grins. You’re fucking terrified. It’s a simper reserved for little satisfaction and great anger. How can a woman be this beautiful yet this cruel?

“Explain then,” she allows. The ampleness of her lips has little distance to your mouth. “But if you think for one second I’m letting you go, you’re as dead as your career.”

Your career never started. You were young once. You had dreams of making yourself known and making your family proud. If today never happened, if your needle seamed the thread just a bit tighter, you still would have had a chance to go on.

Now you’re neither young nor old, with neither a future or past.

Your dreams are broken, just like her clothes.

“Please, Ms. Kang. I was in a rush. I didn’t think it would undo like that.”

She laughs. It’s another rare occurrence that scares the shit out of you. It transforms into a sarcastic little scoff when she meets your eyes again. “I gave you days. I gave you a fucking chance to prove your worth when I could’ve hired any dickhead out there. And what did you do? You screwed it up.”

With each word she spits, your collar wrings around you more compactly. You feel hot and breathless but to Hyewon, your skin is deadly cold to the touch. Nevertheless, she doesn’t let up.

“I’ll pay for the damage,” you offer bleakly. “I’ll apologize. I’ll admit that I was wrong to… hahk, to the media. Just please don’t blacklist me.”

She shakes her head. “That isn’t enough.”

It isn’t? What could you do? You’ve already said you’ll pay more than you can to amend. You told her you’d go to the press and bare your wrongdoings. What else does she want? She already has everything.

“You wanted to see me naked, didn't you?” Hyewon snarls. “You planned it all out.”

You choke, and it’s not because of her hands digging into your flesh. “N-no! I swear—”

In the olden days, prophecies were told by an oracle. People would go on quests and seal their fates in accordance with them. Now, they’re in the little things, like jokes that suddenly bleed into reality, and, in your case, deja vu.

You say deja vu because you know the sound of ripping fabric all too well.

It interrupts your words and catches you by surprise. Hyewon has wrenched apart the buttons of your shirt down to your stomach. The band of your underwear peeks out above your pants, as well as the stomach you haven’t taken the time to tone in a while.

“There,” she says. She slinks down your lap till her knees touch the floor and she’s tearing your pants, too. More buttons are sent flying in the air. “Now we’re both naked. Isn’t that what you wanted? To get to say that you fucked Kang Hyewon?”

Your pants add to the pile of clothes and buttons on the ground. You can’t even blush or protest; Hyewon is unstoppable when she’s angry. Her soft hands, unlearned in the ways of hardship, somehow have the strength to cut and slice and pull at your clothing. She’s not leaving one speck of fabric on for modesty.

“I, I don’t want to fu– to have sex with you, Ms. Kang.”

“Baby.” Hyewon deadpans, laughing a little as she traces the curve of your cheek. “Everyone wants to fuck me.”

She takes off her shirt and tears off the nipple tapes. Her pretty brown nipples are uncovered, and you can’t stop staring. Her body is a model of perfection in every category. You’ve got her flat tummy, curved waist, wide hips, and breasts that really should have a warning sign lest you harm yourself looking at them. Unfortunately, they don’t have a warning label, and Hyewon catches your wandering eyes.

“Fucking pervert.”

You look away, but there’s nowhere else to stare, so you say, “No, please, I didn’t… no, I didn’t—”

“I know what I saw.”

“I’m sorry, I really am.”

“That’s not how you say it.” Hyewon suddenly wraps her hand around your stiffening cock. Her squeeze is painful. “You sit there, bow your head, and say: ‘Sorry, mommy.’”

You’re flabbergasted. “What?”

You yowl when she squeezes harder and starts to pump you to full mast. It’s a painful pleasure, a guilty danger. Hyewon’s eyes trained on you are even more so.

“You heard me. If you want to save your career, do as I say.”

You whimper into the eerie silence as the woman curls her fist around your member as if she were choking it. How did you land into this situation? How were you so fucking stupid that you thought a week would be enough to finish the piece?

Now you’re here, in this enclosed dressing room, with a celebrity cruelly torturing your penis and demanding that you call her mommy. Look to the right then to the left and see that no one’s coming to your rescue. This is the real world, and as absurd as it is, you’re on your own.

Hyewon’s fingernails threaten to pierce the sensitive skin. “Be a good boy,” she growls.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, mommy.”

(You mean it, you mean it, you mean it.)

“That wasn’t so hard. But I’m not done with you just yet.”

She leans forward. Your face twists while she wraps her soft tits around you. Her cleavage is so deep, so full that your length is completely lost in it. You moan embarrassingly, and it’s too late to cover your mouth when she’s already smirking.

“Because you wanted to see my tits so bad,” she says, rubbing her tits in opposite directions on your member, “I’m gonna fuck you with them. I don’t care if you cum like a little bitch or not; I’m not stopping.”

You’re starting to leak. Hyewon’s sweat combined with your precum lubricates you and allows for more delicious, slippery friction. She pushes herself up and down repeatedly, continuously trapping your cock between her amazing boobs. She could do this forever. On the other hand, you’re close to losing it.

“I’m not gonna stop. You brought this upon yourself. You understand me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

A deserved silence. Her eyes speak of an immediate death that follows a wrong answer.

Close your eyes. You know what you’re supposed to say. “Yes, mommy.”

Strangely, she’s exactly the type of woman who deserves that title. Her stony expression doesn’t evaporate from that beautiful face although sweat’s started to roll down it from how mercilessly she titfucks you. She shows no signs of sympathy for your situation. Why would she when she’s accustomed to control, and you’ve just taken that from her? You took her control from the people who’ve made her famous. This is your punishment.

Each pleasured expression you make draws a haughty smile from her. It’s as inspiring as critical acclaim to her, for she cups her tits tighter around your shaft and pumps away. You’re her toy for tonight. If she can’t regain her control over the public, she’ll show you why she deserves to have it:

One, she’s tireless.

Her lower lip is under her teeth as she spills effort into persecuting your cock. She’s unblinking—she’s too focused on your reactions to close her eyes. It’s not like she’d care if your reaction is violent or pained or good. Hyewon would still go on fucking you.

“Of course you like this.” Spit covers your cockhead, a sign of her distaste. “You perverted virgins are all the same.”

“I’m not perverted, mommy.”

“What’s next? You’re gonna tell me you’re not a virgin?”

“I’m, n-not a vir—”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

She continues grinding her pillowy breasts on you. Their undersides touch your balls while her nipples brush against your stomach. Whatever move she does makes you shiver.

If you had no escape from the enigma that is Kang Hyewon, neither did your cock. Her bust makes sure of that. It surrounds it as if determined to suffocate an ejaculation out of it. The precum from your tip just isn’t enough.

Two, she doesn’t rely on anybody.

Nobody told her to fuck you. Nobody told her to strip and use you. Those are the choices she made by herself, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t perform them with dedication. She doesn’t need anybody’s help in ruining you when she can do it herself.

So she does. Hyewon sinfully lets saliva drip from her chin and onto her chest to help speed up what’s already a vicious pace. The cold drool makes you hiss. Her warm breasts are both a reprieve and retribution. They carry out soft comfort but give out your quick punishment at the same time. It’s funny to think how they’re as versatile as she is.

Three, she’s the only one who’s ever made you cum like this.

“Mommy!” The word was never intended to be said. But it’s unavoidable; Hyewon’s too hasty, and it’s becoming too much. You can’t hold back on letting her know her ownership of you.

You can’t hold back the messiness of your cum as well. Bursts of white jet her chest and her neck. You whimper to your wits’ end and she doesn’t stop in spite of it. She keeps overstimulating you till the leak of semen becomes a mere dribble.

Hyewon climbs on your lap again, her vagina placed just in front of your spent shaft. “You’re getting used to it, huh?”

Your eyes are on her, as everyone else’s are when she’s under the lens of a camera. You’re horrified; almost every part of her torso is covered with your cum. Her tits are coated grandly with strong splashes. The white liquid drools down her tummy, then to her jeans.

You just came on Kang Hyewon.

Push her away, cursing quietly. You’ve no reputation left to save now. No dignity, no image, nothing. You should have fought back. A junior stylist shouldn’t be getting intimate with a superstar.

“Ms. Kang, I should go,” you stammer. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

None of this was supposed to happen. You wish you could have turned back time and stopped yourself from going to fashion school. If you didn’t go, you wouldn’t have gone on the path of designing and wouldn’t have accepted her invitation to design for her and Jang. It’s all so fucked up that you’re actually reconsidering religion.

Hyewon considers this. To your relief, her professional tone returns. You’re able to breathe now. It’s over.

“You’re not gonna help me clean up?” she says finally.

“Oh… yes, I’m sorry.”

There’s no tissues or washcloths around. You have to be resourceful. It’s painful wiping up something so inappropriate with the shirt you designed, but it’ll do. The semen embeds into the denim during your dutiful clean-up. It’s humiliating—the only thing that comforts you is that, after this, you and Hyewon will part ways and never speak again. You both have something to hold over the other. Keeping your mouths shut will keep you safer than sorrier.

More worries surface. Did someone hear or see you? Are there hidden cameras here? You’ll have to inspect the place, especially after you think you don’t remember Hyewon locking the door.

“Thank you.” Hyewon crosses her arms and looks down at the stained vest that started all of this. “Now suck your cum out of it.”

You want to cry. This is far from over. You’re not done here, and you won’t be until she says so.

She cocks her head. “I paid for it, and I don’t want flaws,” she says matter-of-factly. “So you either suck your filth out now or I might just drop the Somun magazine editor a visit.”

Stare at her with tear-filled eyes. What can you do?

Attach your lips to the blemished denim. Suck on it forcefully. The taste brings more tears and some even slide in pathetic drops down your face. How did it all come to this? The amount of hard work you put in school surely did not earn you this, right?

You were raised too soft. Maybe hanging out with the rebellious boys back in elementary would have saved you her domination. You could have negotiated with her, maybe even argued that you weren’t allowing this to happen to you. But those happen in parallel universes, where you’re a little stronger, a little wiser. Here, you’re just a man who’s not particularly excellent.

“Good job,” Hyewon says. “I guess you’re not that much of a lost cause.”

Her backhanded praise is sweet to your ears rather than mocking.

She clicks her tongue. “All that cum should have went in my pussy, you know.”

You hang your head to hide your blush. You’re glad thoughts aren’t visually presented. Otherwise, Hyewon would put you down further.

Hyewon places a finger below your chin and tilts it up. You’re forced to meet her eyes. There comes all the hate again. It pours into your heart freely like a fountain. It’s not hate for her, but for yourself. If you didn’t crumple that easily for women like Hyewon—women who like control and give orders and get a kick out of humiliating other people—maybe a whole other fate would have been in store for you.

Fright always gives way to yearning. She’s a bitch who thinks too highly of herself, although understandably so. She hurt you so much and through it all, you still want to hear her praise you.

She smiles.

Yep, Kang Hyewon is irredeemably, irrevocably evil.

“And you owe me a whole lot of it,” she says, and adds, in a sickeningly sweet voice, “baby boy.”

No horror film can scare you like she does. She’s a phantom of beauty and power who will haunt you forever. All this could be done and you’d still think about her. You’ve become another one of Hyewon’s fanatics who allows her to do anything and everything to them.

Hyewon shoves you on the dressing table. The cold white surface cools your skin, but you know it’s about to get heated soon. She’s spanned her legs over your hips again. Her aggressive hands grip your shoulders. Somehow, you never want them to leave your touch.

Then you’re kissing her. The other way around, you mean—Hyewon initiates it by closing the distance and biting your lip. She’s a starved kisser who devours you like a wolf. Her tongue curls around yours and she dives in deeper. You’re deprived of any breath, any source of oxygen. Part your lips to kiss her back, but she’s already locked her mouth on them.

Hyewon sweeps her hair back, readying herself for the final act. If mirrors could blush, you have no question that they would upon seeing her. Attractiveness is a natural thing to her—you can see it in the sway of her arms, the thickness of her thighs, and the way she carries herself. She acts like she’s entitled to everything, and that includes your cock.

She’s too fucking hot that you’d ignore all her cons and give it up to her.

She knows that. She circles her core around your tip. You moan immediately. She feels so good, and you’re not even inside her yet.

“You like that?” she sneers after she pulls away. “You like my pussy on your cock?”

She grinds her slit along your cockhead. Her moans are surprisingly sensitive, high in pitch and airy. You’re granted exclusive listening to them when you hit her clit. She moves it there particularly, because those moaned questions she asked you are just for her own ego. She only cares for her own pleasure, and it just so happens to be ignited by a weak man whose type is crazy, unhinged women. Whose type just so happens to be her.

She’s so wet that sounds of drenched squeaks fill your ears. You’re nothing else except certain that she really, really gets off on being such a bitch. Her wicked leer couldn’t ever fade from her face, not if you keep flashing those exhausted needy expressions.

“Answer me,” Hyewon says. She glides her fingertips from your broad shoulders to your neck. A threatening grip, a deadly fate. “You know mommy doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

“Yes, mommy.”

“Do you want me to ride your cock, hm?” Every fragment she speaks makes her choke you harder. She’ll send you to heaven then hell, where you’ll meet her all over again. “Do you want me to keep you inside me until I’m all done and satisfied?”

“Yes… oh fuck, please!”

“I fucking thought so.”

She sinks herself down in one go. You cry out. Hyewon’s tight pussy welcomes you and traps you right up to the hilt. The hard grip of her cunt disallows you a break; her pace is one of anger that’s unrelenting and harsh.

Her thighs crash down on your lap and rise, a cycle that never ends. You’re left even more breathless by her soft breasts smothering you. It’s the best way to go out. They bounce marvelously in front of your face, your nose pressed to the little space between them and your mouth kissing wherever it can. You lick at her tits until you’ve licked all the cum that might have remained on them.

Your lips attach themselves to her nipple. As an effect, the star’s cunt clamps around you with the hold of a guilty pleasure, a taboo vice. It doesn’t intend on letting go unless you decide you want it to go. But you have the feeling that your probable pleas won’t budge Hyewon’s heart.

“Mommy’s baby boy,” Hyewon says. Her tightness grows and so does the volume of her heavy gasps. “Mommy’s slutty baby boy who’d do anything to get this pussy.”

You want to tell her that what she said is far from the truth. You didn’t want to cause a wardrobe malfunction. You didn’t want to anger her. But now, when presented with the heat of her impossibly wet vagina, you realize you actually would. You try to meet her expectations, nursing on her nipple and guiding her movements with your hands on her wide hips. What you want is for this to be enough, but it just isn’t. Hyewon always wants more.

You can see it in the crash of her butt on your thighs, the shouty cries that she lets go of, the grip on your neck that she doesn’t. A woman accustomed to the scrutiny of the public eye would never let a strand of her hair go knotted. But when it comes to punishing people, to making them the accessory she carries, she doesn’t care anymore. Her usually prepared and counted movements become frantic. Her quietness isn't a case of the current times when she’s using you as her little fucktoy.

Kang Hyewon is a mess, and you are, too.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy!” Your yells crack and fade—she doesn’t.

Hyewon doesn’t let up. Her fluttering walls make sure to leave your legs stagnant. You can feel her manicured nails scrape your skin and her thin legs hug your hips. The hours she spends in the gym can’t be that long for her stamina to remain this strong. Maybe she has a personal trainer, a healthy diet. Maybe she owns some weights around the house.

Maybe she owns you.

“You sound pathetic. Just keep sucking those tits.” She removes her hand from the base of your neck, but leaves you asphyxiated anyway when she pushes her face into her breasts.

The mirror bears your combined weight. You try to lift your head. Hyewon chases your movements. You’re forced to inhale through your nostrils, taking in her powdery perfume and lightly sweaty scent, and keep your mouth busy on her boobs.

You flick her nipple with your tongue. She holds you to her chest and promises no escape. To be fair, you could stay here, smothered by her breasts forever. You’d have little complaint when they’re heavy and soft and sweaty. Your mouth stays attached to them and brings her on the road to orgasm.

“Greedy little boy,” Hyewon scoffs. “You’re about to cum, aren’t you? I bet you held it out just so I could keep riding you.”

Your cock feels sore already. Although her insides are warm and soaked enough for the entering and leaving to be slick, you’ve been trying to hold back for so long you think you’ll cry. You have to tell her. Perhaps it’ll lessen her anger.

“I’m gonna cum, please, mommy.”

She cruelly bounces faster. Her hips are that of a veteran dancer’s, grinding to and fro and rotating. You’ve figured it out: the reason why she’s never had a dating scandal is that no man would be able to handle her. She’d drain him nightly. She’d treat him like a sex toy to use when she pleases. Everyone wants to be hers, but no one is ready for her.

“Do you deserve to cum inside this perfect pussy?” she asks. She splays her lips and grinds upwards. You groan loudly. “You’re lucky if I even spit on you. What makes you think you can explode in mommy?”

“Please, I’ll do anything!” You tighten your core to hold it back. It’s useless. Your orgasm is coming anytime now, and Hyewon won’t let it happen. “Mommy, let me cum, mommy, please!”

She slaps you across the face. Why did the sting turn you on? You’d argue her words sting more. “You made me look like a cheap slut out there!” Hyewon shouts. “I gave you a chance and you ruined it, you little shit. So now you have to earn your fucking worth!”

Her riding becomes intense by the minute. She was angry earlier, and now she’s furious. You’re her canvas for a fuming painting. But in her eyes, you’re not a masterpiece. She’ll do away with you to the point of destruction. You’re very near to crumbling.

“I’ll do anything, please!”

You’re desperate. Your stomach’s starting to ache from the violence. You can’t quite feel your legs. All you feel is an impending heat that squeezes your insides. Your hips jerk needily and tears fall from your face. This is the first time you’ve felt this humiliated and aroused. Something about Hyewon makes the two emotions merge and leaves you wanting more.

Hyewon’s close to cumming, too. She’s shaking as her chaotic bounces are sloppier than before. “Say it, say you’re my little boy toy! Say you’re a slut for mommy!”

You’re a quivering body beneath the celebrity. You’re letting her use your cock and choke you and slap you, all without repercussions. There’s only one kind of man that would let someone do that to them. You can’t believe you’ve become one.

“Yes, yes, mommy owns my cock!” you scream, nodding over and over. “I’m her toy and she can do w-whatever she wants to me, I won’t mind!”

Her juices roll down your cock and wet your pubic area. She’s spiraling out of control. The only thing she can control is you, making you say the most humiliating things. Her wild eyes lock onto yours, and through them you could finally see some backstory: Kang Hyewon was born into wealth and control, and she’ll die with them, too. She’ll always fight to have them when they’re taken away from her. She isn’t afraid to cross limits.

“Yes, yes, yes! More!”

“I only want mommy’s pussy even if I don’t deserve it! I only do what she says, I’ll give up everything to be mommy’s plaything, please!”

When she cums, she looks frenzied, shaking all over the place and spasming around you. Her cries of pleasure become erratic. They almost sound not human. A human would not dare do what she does to you. She fucks you like an animal, frightens you like a supernatural phenomenon, and moves like the waves of the sea.

Kang Hyewon is out of this world. You’re an unnamed rock floating in the galaxy she navigates.

You bust just the second she removes herself from you. Abashing strings of sticky whiteness land all over yourself. They’re paired with needy groans that you can’t stop even if you wanted to.

Hyewon observes your ejaculation unamusedly. She takes a step backward when a jet of cum sprays in her direction. Look down at yourself—look down at your lap and the table blotted with your orgasm—and think of how dirty you are. You’re so dirty and pitiable that you came all over yourself, like you just masturbated in front of her. That’s why she doesn’t want to touch you.

“Y-you didn’t let me cum inside,” you say disappointedly. You did everything, said everything, and risked everything for nothing. An orgasm isn’t worth it when it isn’t done inside Hyewon.

“Like I said,” Hyewon replies, apathetic, “you don’t deserve it.”

Stare at her. It’s through staring at her with surprise that you realize you’re dirty on the inside, too. Hyewon can live her life secludedly and fade from the industry. She can leave this country, reinvent herself, marry somewhere, and you’d still be thinking about her. You’d always think of this night that left her appearance and yourself ruined.

That’s her charm. She’s permanently going to be in your mind—you’ll always picture her wet cunt, her alluring breasts, her beautiful face. You’ll strive for her again and again while she doesn't even care if you live or die.

Women like her… why do they have to be who you want?

“You have no future in this industry,” she continues.

She pulls her jeans up her legs and slips the button through the hole. Oh, you really will remember this night. You see you and Hyewon in the little things. She searches through the closet for a spare shirt. Watch her slim fingers that previously wrapped like ribbons around your throat now wrap around a hanger. She slips her arms through the tweed coat and seals it around the front.

“But your drawings aren’t… horrible,” she says. That’s the best compliment you can get from her. You know not to expect more. She shrugs as she closes the buttons together. “Maybe you’ll end up as a painter.”

A painter? You’re a fashion designer, not Van Gogh. Dresses and pants are your forte. You can’t switch to a whole new job when sewing is what you know.

Your heart sinks. You really broke the first step to a career you worked your whole life for. It’s just not your path to take anymore.

Hyewon looks around for something to write with. She settles for the eye pencil lying on a table. She forces you to open your palm and writes something on it. She closes your fingers above it.

“There you go. Consider this a farewell gift.”

She came into your life fast and she exits it just as fast. You can’t help but feel a strange sense of yearning. After all she’s done, you don’t want her to go. Why do you despise her departure when you prayed for it earlier?

Who would take you now?

You sigh. Peek at your hand curiously. In tidy handwriting, Hyewon’s message says:

KIM MINJU - CURATOR

XXX - XXX - 2001

830 notes · View notes

darkshrimpemotions · 10 months ago

Text

Sometimes I remember everything season 5 gave us and I lose my mind all over again. Like:

Nandor thinking he forgot Guillermo’s birthday so he makes everyone go to dinner to celebrate and then buys Guillermo something he said he wanted to surprise him.

Nandor being extremely jealous of Guillermo’s time and attention.

More Nandor dick lore: not only has Guillermo seen it and given it his stamp of approval, re-designed it, and is all Nandor can think about when he uses it...Guillermo has also now circumcised it. 💀

Nandor going to space to impress Guillermo because he's jealous of all the time he's spending with Laszlo.

Nandor and Guillermo walking home together after the Pride Parade to find their housemates in the midst of an orgy, and Nandor inviting Guillermo to join.

Guillermo being a dad again.

Guillermo saying he loves Nandor the most.

Nandor once again trying to goad Guillermo into defending his importance to Nandor and being visibly taken aback and disappointed when Guillermo doesn't bite.

Nandor being all smitten and dreamy-eyed as he describes Guillermo slaughtering a theatre full of vampires for him like it's a fond memory.

Nandor begging the Baron to show mercy to Guillermo.

Nandor clutching at one of Guillermo’s sweaters like a security blanket and looking distraught at the thought of losing him.

Nandor falling to his knees, holding Guillermo's head so gently in his lap, stroking his hair, crying when he thought he was dead, and arguing that Guillermo was more than just a familiar to him.

Nandor staring sadly out his window wishing Guillermo well, thinking he's lost him forever.

Nandor's face and the way he says Guillermo’s name when Guillermo pops out of his coffin.

The fact that when Guillermo was in danger he ran to the safest place he knew, and it was NANDOR'S COFFIN.

Nandor having a card Guillermo gave him over a decade ago memorized word for word, proving once and for all that he has ALWAYS cared more for Guillermo than is considered seemly for a vampire, even from the very beginning.

Nandor declaring he knows Guillermo better than anyone.

Nandor calling Guillermo "good boy."

The tears in Guillermo’s eyes when he confesses what he did to Nandor, and how afraid he was of hurting him.

Nandor's look of absolute heartbreak when Guillermo confesses that he asked someone else to turn him.

The implications of "you could have asked me!" in the context of the fact that Guillermo hadn't actually brought up his turning to Nandor at all between 3x10 and 5x01 (the implication being if he HAD asked again, Nandor would have done it).

Guillermo finally admitting that being a vampire had become more about being closer to his found family than about vampirism itself for him.

Nandor knowing all along how to get Guillermo to come to him but not using it until he had decided not to kill him.

Nandor forgiving Guillermo for something considered utterly unforgivable, accepting what is considered a massive humiliation, and getting over it for Guillermo’s sake.

Yerno Nandor looking at Guillermo’s baby pictures with his mother-in-law.

Nandor putting his life in Guillermo’s hands and speaking to him in Farsi.

Guillermo instinctively hypnotizing his own mother to protect Nandor.

Nandor inviting Guillermo home with him and declaring he will live with them all as an equal.

Nandor knowing immediately why Guillermo wasn't a vampire, and how to fix it (implying he HAS thought of turning him).

Nandor being so excited at Guillermo’s transformation, quite literally happier than we've ever seen him.

Nandor looking out for Guillermo after his transformation and knowing something was wrong, then revealing he has always feared Guillermo would not thrive as a vampire (essentially reframing his whole attitude toward turning Guillermo all this time).

Nandor giving Guillermo a choice and another chance, creating a whole ceremony for him because he DOES know Guillermo, all while looking sad the entire time and utterly devastated when Guillermo chooses not to remain a vampire.

Nandor breaking the only real taboo for vampires in front of half a dozen witnesses for Guillermo’s sake.

Basically just...absolute confirmation that Nandor loves Guillermo back and has always cared about him.

#wwdits #nandermo #wwdits s5

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theladyofmanyfandomsafterhours · 1 year ago

Text

More Than We Thought.

Shanks x Reader

Explicit | NSFW | 18+ only

Warnings: Heavy (but ‘delicate’?) smut under the cut - trust me. There’s no build up, we just dive right in.

A/n: It’s purely self-indulgent. I’m hiding under my covers so you can’t see me - is it working?

Inspired by Dirtier Thoughts by Nation Haven.

I’ve written clean fanfic over 6 years so I’m terrified to post something so explicit. But we’re allowed to branch out right?

For less steamy fics, try the main blog.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Shanks pressed his hand just under your belly button, his fingers lightly tracing the outline of where his hard length had entered the most intimate part of your body. He could feel himself squeezed inside. He moved forward slightly and saw the bulge underneath his palm follow the movement.

He glanced up at you and saw your head laying on the mattress, chin tilted up and lips between your teeth. He pushed in deeper and the bump grew slowly. You hummed at the sensation. Heels adjusting on the edge of the bed as you spread your legs as much as you could to let him in.

Taking the positive signs, Shanks kept going further - keeping an eye on the way your hand gripped the sheets. But his main focus was seeing how high the bulge under your skin could go before there was no more space. He wanted it to reach your belly button but even the human body had its restraints.

Bit by bit, he pushed until you let out a soft gasp when he had hit capacity. Shanks looked down at where you were connected, a small frown settled on his face - there was still a bit more of him left.

“Shanks.” You whispered. “What’s wrong?”

The Red-Haired pirate smiled. “I’ve filled you but I...” he leaned forward to kiss your neck. “I’m bigger than we both thought.”

There was a pause before you gave a breathy response. “Push it in.”

Shanks peppered another slow kiss beside the first letting his tongue linger just a little. “Are you sure?”

Looking down, you finally met his eyes since it all started. “Push it in and then repeat it.”

Shanks laughed softly and caught your mouth with his. Nipping the bottom lip when he pulled back. “You’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow if I start.”

Lifting your head up slightly, you copied his kiss and tugged at his lip lightly. “I dare you to have me not walk for a whole week.”

The grin on Shanks’ face distracted you for a split second until there was a sudden harsh pressure in your core as he forced the rest of himself inside you. The fit was undeniably tight and Shanks knew it. He hit the one sensitive spot that made you react in a way that made his heart race. Head thrown back, eyes closed, your mouth opened but was unable to voice a desperate scream. Only managing a short and sharp, “A-Ah!”

“Are you okay?” Shanks asked just to be sure.

You took a few seconds to catch your breath and adjust to his size. “Fine - a little warning would have been nice.” You told him honestly. When his smile dropped a little, you grabbed his chin and smiled. “But where’s the fun in that, right? Do your worst.”

“Looks like you’re not going to be able to talk for a week either.” Shanks returned with a smirk.

He pulled out carefully and when his hips moved a second time, he slammed himself into you - this time getting one hell of a scream from your lips. Then he did it again - pulled out to the tip before ramming back inside - and then again, determined to make your legs tremble until they wouldn’t hold you upright for the next week…or more.

Each thrust sent your voice screaming spirals into the air sometimes as a cry of pleasure other times just his name - and it only spurred him on. When Shanks started to speed up, your hands found his body. Nails clawing into his skin with a dull pain but it was nothing compared to what he was pounding into you.

If it became too much, you would shout the designated safe word but until he heard any part of that phrase, you were at his mercy. His hard length diving in and out of your body -

…until you couldn’t speak.

…until your legs quaked.

…until you had no more of your juices to release.

…until your insides were drowned in his hot spend.

And until your body was newly shaped to fit all that he was squeezing.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

A/n: Still in shock I wrote that. Sweet dreams x

#opla!shanks smut #opla!shanks x reader #opla!shanks imagine #akagami no shanks smut #opla shanks imagine #opla shanks x reader #shanks imagine #shanks imagine smut #shanks x reader smut #shanks smut #shanks x reader #opla imagine #opla smut #opla x reader #one piece x reader #one piece smut

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imaginehappyhavoc · 7 months ago

Note

Heya! Could i ask for some headcanons of the thh boys with an ultimate crafter reader that likes making little trinkets for them? -🔥

A/N: Naww Crow!Reader!! (◠‿◠✿)

Pairing: thh boys x Reader

Genre: Fluff!

Warnings: N/A

Makoto Naegi:

♡ Oh, this makes him SO HAPPY.

♡ He’s the type to love absolutely anything homemade. Art, cooking, you name it.

♡ It’s honestly comedic how fast his face lights up when you say “I made something for you.”

♡ Just immediately the brightest smile he can manage, and all but running to see what it is this time.

♡ Sometimes he’ll even make you things in return! Though, it normally doesn’t come out as good as he’d like. His damned luck cycle gets in the way.

♡ He keeps everything you make him, no matter how much space it takes up.

Byakuya Togami (platonic):

♡ No one’s… ever done that for him before.

♡ He was raised to recognize an item’s worth by its price tag. Mainly because no one in his life actually cared enough to take time out of their day and make something for him.

♡ He’s honestly flabbergasted every time you do this tbh.

♡ He’ll just hold whatever you made in his hands, staring at it for a just a bit too long. It’s the only time you’ll ever see him speechless.

♡ You tell him it’s okay if he doesn’t want to keep it. He says he won’t.

♡ He does.

Yasuhiro Hagakure:

♡ Did you mean: Ultimate Hype Man?

♡ He’ll get a gift from you and he’s bolting to the common room of the dorms to show it off to everyone.

♡ Always something along the lines of “look at what my SUPER amazing, SUPER talented partner MADE for me!”

♡ He loves anything you have to give him, obviously, but especially if he doesn’t know what the fuck it is.

♡ The things he treasures most in the world are useless lil trinkets that look funky and cool. So if you like metalworking, he might marry you on the spot.

Leon Kuwata:

♡ He loves it so much he loves you so much and no he is totally not about to cry shut up-

♡ Leon is an unexpectedly emotional guy. He reacts to everything, especially positive things, with so much enthusiasm.

♡ So when you come up to him and sheepishly give him a small trinket you made for him, his “cool guy” front just melts.

♡ He’ll like. Hop. Just bounce in place like a really excited rabbit, because that’s basically what he is in this moment.

♡ He keeps it on him wherever he goes. Either he’ll fashion it into an add on for his chain necklace, or he’ll make use of one of his many pockets.

♡ Anytime someone asks about you, he’ll smile so wide and take it as an invitation to show them everything you’ve ever made for him.

Chihiro Fujisaki:

♡ Hugs. Just the tightest, most love-packed hugs you’ve ever experienced in your life.

♡ They try really hard not to cry, they really do, but they can’t help it. It just means so much to them that you would go out of your way to do that!

♡ They’ll ask you to teach them how to make stuff like what you make, so that they can return the favor.

♡ Whether you agree or not, Chihiro’s riding the high for the rest of the week.

♡ They go to class the next day and wait so impatiently for someone to ask about the new charm on their school bag so they have an excuse to ramble about you.

♡ Another person who will keep your trinkets with them all the time.

Mondo Owada:

♡ What a coincidence! He loves making things for you, too!

♡ Only difference is that, while you love to make small trinkets, Mondo likes to make larger, wooden trinkets.

♡ It’s a match made in heaven, honestly. Biweekly gift exchanges.

♡ When you give your gifts to him, it’s kinda like watching a big dog trying to play with a much smaller animal.

♡ He’s so excited, and he knows he has to be gentle, but it’s so hard for him to contain himself! He’ll hold it so gingerly so as not to break it, but every other part of his body’s wiggling because of how happy he is.

♡ He admires your craftsmanship so much, and he loves being able to see all your little design quirks in the things you make for him.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru:

♡ He will straight up cry, and he does not care how many people look at him weird because of it.

♡ It was rare that Taka received gifts at all, never mind gifts that were so personal!

♡ That was, until he met you.

♡ Any gift that you make for him by hand will be treasured so dearly, but especially things that are related to his interests.

♡ You once made him a keychain in the form of a teeny tiny Kendo sword. He kissed you for a solid ten minutes because he was so deeply moved by your affection for him.

♡ He insists on repaying you in some way for everything you make him, though he doesn’t quite know how.

♡ He settles on: anything you need, you get.

Hifumi Yamada (platonic):

♡ The crowd goes WILD.

♡ Of all people, Hifumi can appreciate handmade gifts. He’s given so many of them before, after all.

♡ He loves your trinkets so much that he actually— and stay with me here cause this is a doozy— takes down his figurines and puts your crafts up instead.

♡ Your classmates are convinced you just triggered The End Times because of that but whatever.

♡ He shows them off just as proudly, too.

♡ Like: “Hey, Yamada, what’s all that on your bookshelf?” “I’m SO glad you asked!” *pulls up a 300 page PowerPoint essay.

♡ In return, you get any art you want. Free of charge. You lucky dog.

114 notes · View notes

gothicxreylover · 3 months ago

Note

I got another idea for a request. Yandere hashira plus Aoi, kanao and the wives with a kakushi reader who likes building secret rooms and hideouts under peoples homes. Please and thank you.

Here’s your request and I hope you enjoy!

Giyu Tomioka (Water Hashira)

Giyu is the quiet, brooding type, but your habit of sneaking off to build secret hideouts sets off alarm bells in his mind. He’s convinced you’re preparing an escape route to get away from him.

• “If you ever feel unsafe… you can stay by my side. There’s no need to hide from me. I won’t let anyone take you away.”

• You’d find Giyu lurking near your hideouts, observing in silence. Eventually, he’ll corner you, offering a mix of protection and veiled threats about never leaving.

Shinobu Kocho (Insect Hashira)

Shinobu finds your creativity fascinating and even compliments your craftsmanship, but there’s a sinister undertone to her words.

• “How interesting. Do you think these secret rooms would be enough to hide from me? I wonder how long it would take for me to find you.”

• She’ll playfully test your hideouts by sneaking into them herself, only to show up behind you with a sweet but unnerving smile. “Found you~”

Kyojuro Rengoku (Flame Hashira)

Kyojuro is overly enthusiastic and supportive of your skills. He genuinely sees your work as a valuable asset, but his obsession with keeping you close turns into a problem.

• “Your talents are incredible! But why do you keep disappearing into these hideouts? I must know where you are at all times—to protect you, of course!”

• He might even suggest building a hideout together, only to subtly design it in a way that traps you inside.

Tengen Uzui (Sound Hashira) and His Wives

Tengen is fascinated by your knack for secret rooms, calling it “flashy in a unique way.” His wives, however, take a more possessive approach.

• Tengen: “Secret hideouts? How bold! Show me what you’ve built—I want to see this masterpiece myself.”

• Makio: “Are you trying to run away from us? Why else would you need to hide?”

• Suma: “Please don’t leave us! I’ll cry forever if you disappear!”

• Hinatsuru: “If these are for safety, that’s fine, but we’ll all use them together. That way, you’ll never be alone.”

• They’ll eventually take over your hideouts, turning them into shared spaces to ensure you can’t escape their overwhelming affection.

Mitsuri Kanroji (Love Hashira)

Mitsuri adores your work and sees it as an expression of your individuality. However, her intense love for you manifests in obsessive ways.

• “Wow! You’re so talented! But… why are you hiding? Do you think I wouldn’t find you if you disappeared? I’d search the whole world for you, you know!”

• She starts spending more time in your secret rooms, sometimes decorating them with personal touches to make you feel like you belong there—with her, forever.

Muichiro Tokito (Mist Hashira)

Muichiro is initially indifferent but becomes hyper-focused once he notices your actions. He doesn’t understand why you feel the need to hide, and it bothers him more than he admits.

• “You’re building more hideouts… Are you trying to avoid me? That’s unnecessary. I’ll find you no matter where you go.”

• You’d frequently find him already in the hideout you’re working on, his blank stare unnerving as he calmly states, “You’re not going anywhere.”

Sanemi Shinazugawa (Wind Hashira)

Sanemi is furious when he discovers your secret rooms, mistaking them for escape routes. His anger stems from his overwhelming fear of losing you.

• “What the hell is this? Are you planning to run away? Over my dead body!”

• He’ll destroy parts of your hideouts, demanding you explain yourself, but deep down, he’s terrified of you leaving. He may end up guarding your secret entrances obsessively.

Gyomei Himejima (Stone Hashira)

Gyomei is calm on the surface but deeply emotional about your actions. He views your secret hideouts as a sign that you don’t feel safe with him, and that thought breaks his heart.

• “Why do you feel the need to hide? Do you not trust me to protect you?”

• He’ll subtly make it harder for you to access your hideouts, praying silently that you’ll rely on him instead.

Obanai Iguro (Serpent Hashira)

Obanai is deeply possessive and paranoid about your hideouts. He’s convinced you’re preparing to leave him, and he can’t bear the thought.

• “You’re making these to hide from me, aren’t you? I won’t allow it.”

• Kaburamaru, his snake, will be tasked with monitoring you, ensuring you never get too far. Obanai will even use your own hideouts as traps to keep you close.

Aoi Kanzaki

Aoi is baffled by your obsession but secretly admires your ingenuity. Her tsundere nature makes her lash out at first, but her possessive side surfaces when she realizes how skilled you are at disappearing.

• “Why are you so good at this? You better not be thinking of running away from me!”

• She might try to guilt you into staying put by playing up how much work she does for you.

Kanao Tsuyuri

Kanao silently watches your work with fascination. Her yandere tendencies are subtle but deeply unsettling. She memorizes every secret room and might start using them to ambush you.

• “Why do you need to hide? Are you trying to leave me? I won’t let that happen.”

• You’d often find her waiting in one of your hideouts, her soft voice cutting through the silence: “You won’t get away from me.”

67 notes · View notes

writeforfandoms · 2 years ago

Text

Fear Not This Night

Find my CoD masterlist

Being part of the 141 pack meant you watched out for your boys, always. As their medic, it meant you sometimes flew into danger for them. When someone uses that knowledge against you to separate you from your pack, you pay the price.

Warnings: Blood, treating wounds, medical inaccuracies, shifter biology, shifter dynamics, psychological torture, physical torture, being blinded (hood over head), brief self-harm (pulling feathers). This one is a bit dark so if you would like more in depth warnings, come ask me.

Word count: 7.6k

Harpy eagle f!reader x 141 poly

You soared over the trees, sharp eyes watching for your team. You’d gotten the call that they needed you a few hours prior, so you knew they’d likely moved some from their last coordinates. But you doubted they’d gone far. You weren’t even tired yet, broad wings carrying you and your pack.

Finally, you spotted Soap, in a convenient space between trees. Good man, making your life easier. You didn’t cry out in recognition, because that was dangerous. But you did dive, tucking your wings close and waiting until the last possible moment to pull up, flapping down to land on your pack. It was specially designed to be sturdy enough for you to land on, fortunately.

“There ye are,” Soap murmured, grinning at you and reaching out one hand to stroke the top of your head. You blinked at him, chirping. “C’mon. Someone got a lucky hit on Ghost.”

You hopped off your medic pack, hopping a few steps away before you shifted. “How bad?” you asked, opening up your pack and throwing on clothes. For the chill more than for modesty.

You had no modesty around your boys anymore.

“Price wants ye to check, because Ghost is bein’ an ass.”

“I heard that,” came the grumpy growl from Ghost.

You rolled your eyes and picked up your pack, which looked more like a picnic basket when you carried it this way. “If you’re alive enough to growl, you’re alive enough to behave,” you pointed out. He still had his mask on, but he wasn’t arguing lying down, either. Hmm. Must be feeling worse than you thought.

You settled on your knees next to Ghost, giving him a quick once-over. Bandages had been packed down against his thigh, though you ignored them for the moment. Nothing else looked out of place.

“Anywhere hurting besides the thigh?”

“Took a round to the vest,” he admitted, a little reluctant and a lot grumpy. Probably mostly grumpy that he got hit.

“Just bruised,” Gaz said as he crouched a little to the side of you and behind you, out of the way but ready to assist. “Didn’t even crack a rib.”

“Lucky bastard,” you agreed, shifting your attention down to his thigh. “And this?”

“A graze,” Gaz said. “But it bled a lot, more than normal.”

You hummed acknowledgement, leaning closer. Ghost shifted, and you cooed softly, almost reflexively. He huffed but settled.

The wound wasn’t bad under the bandages, but it was in a tricky spot, just above his knee. You couldn’t see any real reason why it would have bled more than normal except use, which was kind of inevitable. But even so, just to be on the safe side, you smeared it with ointment and rewrapped it.

“How far do you have to go?” You packed up the rest of your supplies after forcing Ghost to drink more water.

“Little ways yet.” Price shrugged, planting his hands on his hips.

“I’m fine to keep going,” Ghost said, because of course he did.

“You finish your water,” you said, poking his hip. “Then we’ll see.”

He huffed, eyes narrowing at you. But he subsided. Mostly because you both knew Price would side with you.

“If you left now?” You raised one eyebrow at Price.

“We’d make it by dawn.”

You puffed out a breath. That was not too bad. Ghost was tough, you knew he could last that long, especially since he’d already been forced to rest (and probably to eat something, knowing the rest of the pack). “I’ll scout ahead,” you said, pushing up to your feet. “Circle back and follow behind, make sure you’re fine.”

“I’ve got your pack,” Gaz offered before you could say anything more. You rolled your eyes at him but didn’t protest. You knew better.

You also knew better than to shift again without eating something, so you ripped open a protein bar and ate it as fast as possible under Price’s approving eye. Tossing your clothes back at Gaz and grinning at his playful huff, you shifted back and took off again.

The route forward to their exfil point was clear and quiet, even to your keen gaze. Turning to circle back, you made sure to check back in on your guys as you flew above them.

No enemies behind, either. They’d done a good job of either killing everyone who’d tried to follow, or losing them. You expected nothing less from them.

Pleased, you made a few big circles just to be sure. Still nothing. No sign of enemies. You took your time following your pack to the exfil point.

True to Price’s prediction, just as the sun broke the horizon the pack made it to exfil. You dove down to join them, landing next to Ghost. Gaz tossed your clothes to you as soon as you shifted, and Ghost shoved water at you.

“You all are mother hens, y’know that?” you grumbled without any heat, grinning, even as you double-checked Gaz’s straps.

“Says the biggest hen of us,” Soap pointed out with a wicked grin.

“Now now, just because my tits are the best–” you started playfully.

“Enough,” Price interrupted, sitting on Gaz’s other side, between him and the opening. Smart man.

You and Soap subsided, though you did both roll your eyes. “Everybody good?” You looked around at them, meeting each gaze squarely for a moment, to make sure none of them were lying. They all tolerated it, well used to you by now. Satisfied that none of your guys were about to keel over, you settled back for the trip back.

Flying in a heli had never been your favorite thing to do. You much preferred to fly on your own. But you had to admit that the heli was faster - you’d tried once to keep up, and couldn’t. Which wasn’t actually surprising, just disappointing.

This flight was not bad. Not too long. Which was good, because you were getting antsy. Ghost had caught a nap on the heli, but you still wanted to make sure he was fine in better conditions than you’d had before.

As soon as the heli landed, you were out, watching Ghost carefully. He wouldn’t accept help, not in front of others, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t check in.

“‘M fine,” he grumbled at you very quietly as you fell into step next to him.

“I’m sure you are,” you agreed. “And I’ll be more sure after I get to look you over.”

Soap leaned closer, waggling his eyebrows. But he didn’t say anything, because he couldn’t. Not here. Not where people could overhear and get the wrong idea.

Simon was fine, as it turned out when you finally got him to medical. Heightened metabolisms were good for some things, after all, and that included faster healing.

But you still bullied all your guys into the nest to take a nap.

“Stop fussing,” Price grumbled, lifting his head to pin you with a look. “And get in here.”

“It is literally my job to fuss,” you grumbled right back, although you did stop messing with the pillows and observed the nest. There was a good spot next to Simon. You carefully stepped over Gaz and Price before you settled down with a soft chirp, nestled between Simon and Price. There. That was better.

Price’s soft huff made you grin to yourself. At least until Simon tucked you under his arm and started scratching your scalp. Then you relaxed into him.

Okay. Maybe you could take a nap too.

One good thing about having pack-only spaces was that you could be with your guys without fear.

Simon had been ordered to stay and rest and finish healing while the other three went on what was supposed to be a quick mission. A day or two all told, is how Price had phrased it. You didn't know the details, didn't need to know the details, but you did know that Simon hated this.

"Relax," you murmured to him soothingly, scratching your fingers against his scalp. "They'll be back soon."

He grumbled wordlessly, one hand curling against your thigh where he was also using it as a pillow.

"Easy, Simon," you murmured, low and soothing. The little bit of grooming helped both of you, you knew. And it was almost all you could do for the moment.

Until you got called to help with exfil.

You hated leaving Simon, knew he'd be all but climbing the walls in his anxiety, but… needs must. He understood.

This time you went without your med pack - supplies would be available after exfil.

You weren't even sure Price had called for you. But the order came from higher up, so off you went to go help.

From high in the air, the battlefield looked bad. You could see bodies still laying where they'd fallen, a visual indication of the path of retreat. It took a little time to find your guys, the three of them huddled together behind a half-burned building. There were no immediate threats, but you could see where enemies had set up to hinder them.

It was not an easy situation, nor an easy fix. You flapped your wings a few times, changing your trajectory.

You needed to give them a distraction, a chance to get out. Most people didn't look up - you could use that, get a good sneak attack or two in. Cause a little chaos in the line.

It would do for now, until you came up with a better plan.

You flew a little higher, using the angle of the sun to help disguise your descent. And then you dove, aiming for one soldier a little apart from the others. He never saw you coming.

But he screamed as your talons ripped through the vulnerable skin of his scalp and neck.

You flapped hard, leaving him to bleed out even as shouts started up around you. You managed to vanish into the sun, flying up high again. You'd be harder to hit that way.

Of course, now they were on alert. Damn. That hadn't quite been enough of a distraction for your guys to get away.

You needed something bigger.

Scanning the ground, you looked for something out of the way to pick up and drop on the enemy line.

It was a good plan, and it even worked.

Until you were flying away. Someone must have been watching, because there was a sharp pain in your wing, enough to make you screech. Your wing faltered and you fell, just able to slow yourself enough that you didn't injure yourself further.

You hit the ground in a flurry of blood and feathers and screeching. Your wing hurt, leaving you unable to fly.

Behind enemy lines.

The first man to lunge at you got your beak to his throat, blood hot as it splashed across your face and chest. Maybe you'd have time to get to safety, maybe you could shift and–

Something heavy fell over your head, completely blocking your vision. You screeched, loud and angry, but more heavy things landed on top of you. Something held your wings firmly down against your sides, the pain sharp enough to make you try to jerk away. But you couldn't, too many hands grabbing you and securing you.

Blind and trapped, you could only feel as you were picked up and moved.

But you weren't dead yet, which was terrifying.

People handed you off between them, and you tried to flap your wings or flex your claws or anything. But movement of any kind resulted in you being squeezed to the point of pain.

With no way to see where you were or how many of them there were, you gave up. Conserved your strength, so you'd have a better chance of escape once you could see again.

An engine rumbled to life, and you got squished in against a body.

"Try anything funny and I will break your wing," a man hissed to you in heavily-accented English. You didn't doubt that he, or someone, would.

So you behaved, because you wouldn't be able to escape if you had a broken wing. You listened to the occasional chatter in Arabic. You tried very hard not to panic.

Sooner than you expected, the car stopped and you were once again handed off. The thing never came off your head, never let you see anything.

But you could hear more people, orders shouted in Arabic, more movement.

Oh this was bad.

Someone carried you somewhere cooler. More movement around you, and for a brief moment you could see as the heavy thing over your head was yanked off - you could see two men in front of you, one of them grinning to show off two empty spaces where teeth should be.

Then darkness again as a hood was secured over your head. You'd never been put in a falconry hood, but you knew immediately that's what it was, just from the feel of the leather and ties around your head. You screeched, trying to flap your wings.

"Enough of that," a sharp voice scolded. You nearly startled to realize it sounded like a woman. There was another flurry of Arabic, orders it sounded like, and then hands grasped your right wing, the one with the bullet hole. Big hands held you in place, wing extended, other wing pinned to your side.

You had no idea what they were doing until you heard the snip, snip, snip. You screeched, enraged and despairing and agonized. But they didn't stop, and there was nothing you could do.

"There." The woman sounded far too smug, too pleased. "Now you can be my bird." She laughed, low and throaty and sadistic.

You shivered, tucking your wings in as tight as you could, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. Bells jingled as you moved and you froze in horror.

Hood and jesses. They were treating you like a falconry bird.

If you could, you might have thrown up. As it was, you made a tiny distressed noise.

A door shut somewhere nearby, leaving you with the terrible feeling that you were alone.

You tried to pace off the room, but the fucking bells kept breaking your concentration. You could stretch your wings, at least, though the right one hurt. And the way the air moved around your wing was… wrong.

That was all the confirmation you needed, even as you pulled your wings in tight again and huddled in place, shivering. They’d clipped your primaries.

Even if the hood was gone, you wouldn’t be able to fly.

You had no idea how long you stood there, alone in the forced darkness. Time was meaningless as you mentally went in circles. Simon knew you’d gone. There was a chance the other three had seen you or heard the commotion. People knew you were gone.

Someone would come for you.

Or you’d be killed first.

But you didn’t want to die, your pack needed you, you couldn’t leave them, they’d never forgive themselves if you died here–

The door opened hard enough that it slammed into the wall, and you jumped, wings flaring in agitation.

“There’s my pretty bird,” the woman from before cooed, over-sweet and mocking. “Hungry yet?” Her steps were deliberately loud as she approached you. You stiffened, holding yourself tense, but didn’t move. “Now, are you going to cooperate? Be a good bird?”

You didn’t reply, but you figured that lack of fighting would be a response. Because you had no idea where you were, and you held almost no power here. You knew that if you got too uppity, they’d make your life worse. Probably not kill you - they’d had plenty of opportunity to do that, and hadn’t yet.

But you could think of plenty of things they could do to make things worse for you.

The hood was pulled off your head, and you blinked rapidly as you adjusted to the light. The room had no windows and only one door. The artificial light washed everything yellow.

And, most importantly, left you no way to know how long it had been, how long you’d been gone.

The woman in front of you wore khaki and brown, simple clothes that were more functional than fashionable. Brown eyes held yours, a smirk slowly stretching her lips when you refused to look away first. But she didn’t seem to care about a dominance game. She just stepped further into the room, setting down two bowls for you.

Like you were a pet.

Your stomach turned and you stayed very still, head tipped, watching her closely.

“Well? Go on. Eat while you can.” Her grin had stretched into a cruel thing, showing too many teeth.

You shuffle-hopped forward, the bells on the jesses setting off every nerve you had. You hated this. Hated her. But this wouldn’t be forever, you knew it wouldn’t. You needed to eat, needed the fuel to heal and save up for your escape (as soon as you had a decent plan).

So, much as it grated on you, you ate from the bowl, keeping your gaze on her as much as you could. It felt demeaning, dehumanizing.

You felt like some exotic pet. The feeling made your blood boil, made you seethe. But you were careful to do so very quietly, only to yourself.

“Good bird,” she cooed mockingly. “We shall see how long it takes to train you.”

Before you could do more than flare your wings in protest, the hood was shoved back on your head, plunging you into darkness once more. You flapped your wings twice, momentarily off-balance.

The door shut. A lock clicked.

And you were alone again, in darkness and silence.

It was impossible to track how much time had passed. You could hear only occasional muffled sounds beyond your room, had no way to mark the passage of time.

The only breaks from the darkness were for food, always far enough apart that you were hungry, always the woman and one underling. Always demeaning. Always difficult.

You suffered through five meals. Five meals. Each one worse than the last, with more taunting, more mocking. It was harder every time to not just leap at her and rip into her.

But you remained patient, somehow.

The muffled sound of gunfire drew your attention, and you moved back and forth restlessly. It was hard not to get your hopes up, after however many days of being stuck here.

When the gunfire got louder and you heard the muffled shouts outside your door, satisfaction surged. That was probably your pack, coming for you.

And if it wasn’t, well… There was more than one way out of here.

You waited for a lull in the fighting, in the shouting and gunshots and chaos. And then you screeched, as loud as you could.

There. If that was your pack, they’d know it was you. If it was anybody else… You’d deal with that when you could.

The fighting and gunfire got closer, and you backed up slowly, carefully. The jingling of the fucking jesses still grated, but it was easier to ignore with the fighting outside.

There were two shots outside, two thuds. Your heart beat faster and you half-spread your wings, talons clicking against the floor.

“Found her,” came Soap’s voice from the door, and the breath whooshed out of you all at once. “Fuck,” he ground out, as angry as you’d ever heard him. “Okay, ‘s just me, sweets. Ah’m gonna take this off, yeah?” Hands fumbled with the hood for a moment before it was gone, leaving you blinking and near-blinded by the sudden brightness.

And there was Soap, clothes a little bloodied, expression torn between rage and sympathy. He spared a moment to smooth a hand over your head.

“Can ye shift?”

You clicked your beak and awkwardly held out one leg, jingling the jess still attached.

His expression immediately darkened. “Ah’ll burn the whole place,” he swore, rapidly removing one jess, then the other.

Relieved, you immediately shifted back. Your arm ached where the bullet hole had mostly healed, and you knew you probably looked a wreck. You felt a wreck, a little shaky and unsteady. But you were also determined to get the hell out.

“Give me a gun,” you rasped, throat dry.

“Ah donnae have supplies for ye,” Soap murmured apologetically, even as he unclipped his handgun and handed it to you. “Keep close.”

You nodded silently, pushing down everything else. You’d deal with everything else later.

Warm wetness on your feet made you look down as you followed Soap out of the room that had been your prison for however long. Two guards, both dead. Clean shots. Blood had pooled in the hallway. Your upper lip curled and you stepped carefully through the hall, not wanting to slip on anything.

Soap motioned you to wait as you came up to a corner, and he peeked around first. A gunshot had him jerking back.

“Counted eight,” he murmured to you. “Wait here.”

“But–” Your shoulders raised, and if you’d had feathers they would have been floofing out.

“Ye have no vest, no protection,” Soap pointed out, soft but firm. “Jus’ got ye back, sweets. Donnae ask me this.”

And you deflated again. As much as you wanted to kill every bastard in the building yourself, he had a good point. “Okay,” you agreed quietly, grip tightening briefly on your gun. “I’ll wait.”

Soap pressed a quick, hard kiss to your temple before he was gone, picking off one before he even rounded the corner. You could do nothing but listen to the chaos and wait for the all clear to move up.

A scuff behind you had you whirling, gun up. The woman stood no more than ten paces away, teeth bared, a gun in her hand.

“Well well, is this what pretty birdie looks like when she’s not a birdie?” She laughed, the sound unhinged, divorced from reality. “What a waste.”

“Don’t move.” Your voice didn’t shake. Your hands didn’t shake. But your mind… your mind quailed.

“What’s the matter, birdie? Missing your hood?” Her teeth were bloody, eyes fixed on you as she took a step closer.

You swallowed hard, breath coming faster. If you never saw a hood again it would be too soon.

“We can fix that.” She took another step forward, lifting the gun slowly, as if it was much heavier than it actually was.

You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t blink. You shot her, center mass.

She fell.

“Sweets?” Soap sounded only a little panicky.

“Clear!” You swallowed. Then again. You were a medic, yes, but this was far from the first time you’d killed. You’d hoped this would bring a little peace.

Instead you were simply numb.

“Move up!” Soap called after another minute. You obeyed wordlessly, turning your back on the corpse without another thought.

“How far?” you asked softly, stopping behind him, letting him be your shield again.

“Not much farther.” He glanced back at you, worried. “Ye alright?”

“Fine.” Your answer was short, clipped. Because you couldn’t think about being anything other than fine. “Let’s go.”

Soap hesitated a moment longer, gaze searching your face, before he nodded once, slowly. Then he moved, keeping you behind him. You kept close to him, moving as quietly as possible, ignoring the tackiness of blood drying on your skin.

He had you wait as he cleared one more room, and then the two of you met up with Gaz. Gaz breathed in sharply when he saw you but was quick to tug you to him in a hard hug, the edges of his vest and gear blunt and uncomfortable against your skin. You didn’t care, returning the hug with an edge of desperation.

“Here,” Gaz murmured, pulling spare clothes from one of his pouches. “Couldn’t bring extra gear for you, but this’ll do for now.”

You nodded, pulling the clothes on silently. They didn’t actually help you feel any better, but being with two of your pack did.

“Price and Ghost are almost done,” Gaz told Soap, tucking you between the two so you were protected. “Ready to meet up?”

“Ready.” Soap grinned, brief and vicious. “Ye’ll like this,” he promised you, taking the lead. You followed him, Gaz on your six. The building was quiet now, tension thrumming under your skin. But you kept up, swallowing back your nerves as best you could.

“All set up?” Soap asked as he stepped into a room. You followed, a little more cautious.

“All set,” Price agreed, eyes immediately finding you. A bit of tension leaked from his shoulders and he smiled, just a little. “Ready to get out of here?”

You nodded silently, but didn’t say anything. Which didn’t matter, because Ghost was in front of you in a few long strides, one hand gently cupping your cheek to tip your head.

“Injuries?” he asked softly, gaze sweeping over you.

“Just my arm.” And your feathers, but you couldn’t think about that for longer than a moment or you’d start screaming.

Ghost nodded, pulling you into his side.

“Let’s go,” Price ordered, taking point. The others kept you in the middle between them all the way out.

At a safe distance, the group of you turned. Soap waggled his eyebrows at you, grinning, before he pushed down on a detonator.

The entire building collapsed, shaking apart as explosions ripped through it. It was incredibly cathartic to see. Or, well. It probably was. You were… kind of numb.

“Here.”

You blinked slowly to find Price holding out a water to you. Your hands trembled as you took it, drinking slowly under the watchful gaze of your pack.

“It’s not far to exfil,” Gaz murmured, one hand resting on your shoulder. You leaned into the touch, breath momentarily hitching.

“Okay.” You swallowed hard and took the protein bar Price handed over, eating mechanically. You could barely taste it.

You knew this was bad, but. Not much to be done about it yet.

“You alright to walk the rest of the way?” Price asked, glancing down at your feet.

You blinked. You… couldn’t actually feel any discomfort from your feet, though you knew you should. You were standing barefoot on the ground, and it wasn’t even flat ground. “I’m fine.”

Price eyed you for a moment before he nodded. “Let’s get out of here, then,” he murmured. Contrary to his own words, he leaned in until he could press his forehead to yours, taking a moment to just breathe. Then he pulled back, once again taking point.

You followed, a little slow but moving under your own power. At least you weren’t in pain.

Yet.

The heli was waiting for you when you arrived. You shivered briefly against the wind and hurried in, buckling in with shaking hands. Soap dropped down on one side of you, Gaz on your other side. They both double checked your harness.

The flight back didn’t seem to take any time. You sat upright, tired and numb and cold, but unable to show any of that. You would eventually, you knew. You should probably warn your guys, you knew.

But you couldn’t.

The heli set down with a bump and you jolted. Two pairs of hands steadied you, Gaz and Soap both looking at you with concern.

But nobody said anything as they escorted you to medical.

You answered anything directly asked of you, quiet and stiff. The bullet hole in your arm was deemed mostly healed (it should have been more healed, really, but you hadn’t eaten enough), and otherwise you were dehydrated and bruised, but mostly unharmed.

The problem arose when one of the medics asked you to shift.

“No.” The word was only a whisper but you leaned away, hands curling into fists, muscles pulling taut.

The medic paused, eyeing you carefully. You were known to be more easy-going and cooperative, so this? Was unusual. “If you need privacy–”

“No.” It came out a little stronger this time, even as your gaze darted to the door, heart racing. No. Absolutely not.

The medic slowly leaned back, away from you. But their voice was calm as they called, “Captain?”

Price was in front of you a moment later, taking in your posture in a quick glance. He put one heavy hand on your shoulder, ducking his head to look you in the eyes for a moment. “Easy,” he murmured, frowning a little. “You done here?” He glanced back over his shoulder at the medic.

“She hasn’t shifted yet, so we’re not technically done,” the medic explained.

Price glanced down at you, and you shook your head, jaw clenched so tight your teeth ached. “Another time,” Price grunted, gently tugging you off the exam table.

The medic sighed, exasperated but unwilling to fight. “Fine. Make sure she sleeps,” they ordered, moving out of the way. “And eats.”

Price nodded, letting his hand fall from your shoulder. You tried not to focus on that, tried to focus on following him instead. But it was hard. The touch had been grounding, helpful. Helping to pull you back into yourself.

“You should get cleaned up,” Price murmured, heading back towards your quarters. “It’ll help.”

“Yeah.” You couldn’t manage more than that, couldn’t force more out. The numbness was slowly fading, leaving you aching. And tired. So very tired.

Price paused outside your door, studying you. “Do you want someone here?”

You swallowed and forced yourself to nod. You didn’t want to be alone. But you didn’t want anyone looking at you just yet, either.

Price nodded slowly, brow furrowing a little. “I’ll stay,” he rumbled, pushing your door open and ushering you through first. “Get cleaned up, dress down for the evening.”

You nodded wordlessly, slipping past him and grabbing comfortable clothes. You had a bathroom to yourself, something you were extremely grateful for, and you shut the door between yourself and your alpha. And then immediately opened it a crack, because you felt too trapped otherwise.

Hot water felt heavenly, after everything. Getting to scrub your head felt heavenly. Everything else… Well. You definitely overdid it washing yourself, scratching your skin nearly raw in places. You did make yourself bleed again, accidentally breaking open the wound in your arm.

But you finally felt clean enough for the moment and emerged, drying off and wrapping your head in a towel. That would do.

Price was still sitting on your bed when you emerged, phone in hand, though he turned his gaze to you as soon as the door opened. His gaze lingered on your skin, and you knew he was making note of everything. But he didn’t comment.

“Figured we’d go to the pack room,” he said, carefully phrasing it as an option, rather than an order. “Got Gaz and Soap bringing food.”

You nodded. “Food sounds good,” you admitted, walking over to him. You didn’t ask, just plastered yourself to his front, cheek pressed to his chest, inhaling the comforting scent of your alpha. Price hummed softly, one hand cupping the back of your head, his other settling on your back.

“Take as long as you need,” he murmured, low and soothing. “We’ll walk together, hm?”

“Yeah.” You closed your eyes, relaxing into his warmth. Just a minute. You just needed a minute. Price only held you tighter.

You finally pulled back with one last deep breath. “Okay,” you croaked. “Let’s go.”

Price didn’t object, but he did keep you close as the two of you walked to the pack room. Almost nobody was around, which worked out well, because you were starting to use your captain for help staying upright.

No sooner had you stepped into the pack room than you got swarmed. Somehow, you weren’t exactly sure how, they settled you on the couch pressed up against Simon, with Gaz and Soap chattering as they made up plates of food, and Price hovering behind you and Simon.

“Don’t ask,” you murmured to Simon, fairly sure Price could hear too. “Not yet.”

Simon hummed softly, carefully bundling you even closer to his side. “Not yet,” he agreed, about as soft as he ever got.

Gaz and Soap carried the conversation through dinner, both of them settling around you as well until you were entirely enclosed by pack. It should have made you feel better.

It didn’t.

All you could think of were the past eight days. Eight, you discovered when Soap let it slip. Eight days you’d been stuck in that hood and silence but for the jesses, treated like an animal.

It was almost enough to make you sick.

You swallowed down what you could, but ended up leaving food. It was odd - you would have thought you’d be ravenous, after the last days. But you weren’t. You were barely hungry, only ate to try to stave off their concern.

Which didn’t entirely work, from the quick looks and little touches you endured through the evening.

And then you just… settled. Let one of them take your plate when it was obvious you weren’t going to eat more, and relaxed. Simon stayed on one side of you, refusing to move. You leaned more and more into him as your eyes tried to shut, until he simply pulled you in to use his chest as a pillow. You murmured something, half complaint half thanks, and closed your eyes, the soothing sounds of your pack settling around you.

You woke to total darkness.

For a moment you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. If you moved you’d hear those damn bells, and there was no point because you couldn’t get anywhere, you were trapped, and your wings– your wings–

“Hey, hey, s’alright love,” Simon murmured urgently, hands patting at you. Which was when you realized you were keening, breath hitching in your chest. You still couldn’t see but you could feel your pack moving around you.

“Get the lights,” Price ordered. “Simon?”

“Not sure.” Simon put one hand over your chest. “You need to breathe.” It wasn’t until he put your hand against his chest, letting you feel the exaggerated inflation of his lungs that you realized he was talking to you.

The lights flipped on, bright and sudden, and you went limp. You were fine. You were in the pack room. You didn’t have a hood on.

“Love?” Simon leaned closer to you, eyes dark and worried.

“‘M okay,” you gasped, blinking a few times, finally settling back into reality. “Just. A minute.”

Simon didn’t move, just breathing in again. You did your best to follow along, nerves still strung taut from waking the way you did. Soap pressed up close to your side, his head resting near your hip. Your fingers curled gently in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp to help calm yourself. Based on his pleased hum, that’s what he’d wanted in the first place.

“Better?” Price moved carefully closer, doing a quick visual check.

“Yeah.” You licked your lips, very aware of your dry throat now. “Just.” You clenched your jaw. Admitting weakness was never easy, and this was no different. “Couldn’t see.”

Soap lifted his head to look at you. “Sweets,” he started, carefully, like he was feeling for land mines. “Did they keep the hood on ye?”

You swallowed hard. “Except for when they brought me food.”

“Hood?” Gaz asked, handing over a bottle of water to you, expression mostly blank.

“And jesses,” you confirmed before taking a deep drink of water.

“We’ll make sure there’s a light on for you,” Price said, before anyone else could say anything. Which was honestly for the best - you didn’t think you could talk any more about what had happened just yet.

“You should go back to sleep,” you murmured, setting the water bottle down and scratching Soap’s scalp again. “Too early to be up.”

“Hm.” Price tipped his head, looking at you. Then he huffed softly. “Stubborn.”

You only had time to blink before he was settling back in with the rest of you, getting comfortable. The nest was big enough for all of you, because you’d made sure of that, but still.

You didn’t think anyone would manage to get back to sleep, especially with the light on. But they surprised you - Gaz snored gently against Price’s ribs, while Soap used your hip as a pillow. (He always made the oddest choices.) Price didn’t sleep, but he did close his eyes and relax.

Simon just kept you close, his steady breathing helping your own.

Your pack didn’t quite hover the next few days. They did, however, take rotating shifts making sure someone stayed with you. Simon nudged you into the pack room every night. Gaz had pulled up a nightlight from somewhere, the soft yellow light always left on now. They didn’t let you feel ashamed of it, either, though shame still tried to wiggle into your brain.

Things weren’t okay. Wouldn’t be okay for a while. But they were getting better.

Except for your wings.

You managed not to think about it most of the time, focused on staying human and getting through the worst of the aftereffects. Sure, it wasn’t conventional torture, but it was almost worse.

Things finally came to a head when the rest of the pack shifted, Gaz and Soap racing outside immediately, growling playfully at each other. Ghost followed, more placid, looking at you once over his shoulder.

Price stopped in front of you, the bear easily able to meet your gaze. You knew that if he stood up straight on his hind legs, he’d be much taller than you.

“No.” Your smile was small and tight, pained. “You go. I’m not shifting.”

His head tipped, fuzzy little ears flickering back towards the open door and back to you. He grunted softly and nosed your ribs gently.

“Okay,” you agreed. “I’ll come out for a bit.”

Satisfied, he huffed and went first, lumbering out the door. You followed him, briefly squinting against the light before you adjusted.

Gaz and Soap raced across the open space, occasionally trying to trip each other or jump over each other. Soap even got bold enough to bite Ghost’s tail and run for it, angry cat hot on his tail and gaining fast. Price found a nice sunny spot to watch and make sure they didn’t actually go overboard.

Pretty normal. Except for you. You stood stiff and still, watching them and making no effort to join. It was… too much. It wasn’t their fault, or yours. The only people responsible were dead.

None of them looked when you slipped back inside, as quietly as you could. You had one more thing you needed to do, and you needed some privacy to do it.

Your room was far enough from them that you didn’t worry about being found immediately. You carefully took off your clothes, folding them on your bed. One deep breath. Two.

You could do this. Hell, you’d been doing this since you were a child. Nothing would stop you now.

You shifted between breaths, braced for… something. But nothing happened. You didn’t immediately panic.

Okay. So far so good.

You spread your wings carefully, flapping them a few times. You could just see your reflection in the mirror. Your beak was just as sharp, your crest still upright. Bits of downy feathers stuck up from a lack of preening, but you ignored the vague feeling of wrongness. You had something more important to fix.

Your primaries had all been cut on your right wing. Not just some of them. All of them. It would take months for them to molt on their own. Months of being grounded, being flightless, being useless.

The soft, mournful sound ripped free from your throat, and you flapped again. You could hop, maybe get a bit of air. But you couldn’t fly, not like this.

Unless…

No. No, that was a terrible idea.

Except that it wasn’t, really, a terrible idea. The longer you stood there, head tipped, staring at your clipped feathers in the mirror, the more sense it made.

One last deep breath in and you dipped your head, tipping your wing to make it easier. It took a little shuffling and a little preening to get the right feather in your beak.

The first one came out cleanly, a few drips of blood accompanying it. You dropped the shaft to the floor, not giving yourself time to really feel the pain. You just did it again. And again. And again.

Until the floor was littered with blood and snipped feathers, the red stark on the black and white banded feathers. Your wing burned and ached, throbbing in time with your heart, and your chest heaved with your panting, beak open. You felt almost dizzy with it, mind gone blank.

“Sweets?” The panicked yell made you blink and cheep softly, though you didn’t move yet. Your door was unlocked. “Sweets, I smell blood.” Gaz hit the door a moment later, nearly tumbling inside when the door opened easily. He froze when he spotted you, anguish twisting his features. “Oh, Sweets, what did you do?”

You chirped at him, turning carefully, keeping your right wing flared.

Gaz knelt in front of you, ducking down to examine where you’d pulled out your feathers. “Doesn’t look like you’re still bleeding,” he murmured, almost absently preening your feathers. “But why–?”

You chirped at him and picked up one of the feathers by the shaft, showing him the cut end.

“Cut?” He frowned, gaze darting between you and the small pile of feathers, before realization hit. He swallowed hard, rage like a dark thundercloud. “But why pull them?”

You chirped softly, dropping the feather and hopping closer to him. You were not designed for flat floors, dammit, you were designed for trees!

“Do you wanna shift?” Gaz asked, frowning a little at you.

You shook yourself. Now that you’d shifted, you actually felt a little better. Still kind of awful, because you couldn’t fly, but you didn’t feel quite as raw.

He huffed. “Course not,” he agreed with a wry smile. “Can I help you preen?”

You chirped softly again, ducking your head under his hand. He took it as permission, which it was, and began combing through your feathers gently.

“Gonna have to talk to one of us eventually,” he murmured, hands gentle over your injured wing. “Can’t put it off forever.”

You clicked your beak at him and stretched, gently preening his hair. He huffed but allowed it, muttering something about you being a menace.

Gaz ended up letting you perch on his arm as he walked back to the pack room. Price huffed at your wing, gently pulling it to get a better look.

“Did you do this or did they?” His voice was calm, but you knew your alpha. He was not calm.

You chirped softly, looking to Gaz to answer for you.

“She pulled ‘em, but they were clipped.”

“Ah.” Price blew out a breath, fingers gentle as he checked your secondaries. “Force ‘em to come in sooner?”

You chirped a soft affirmative.

“Gonna need to eat more, then.” The look he gave you told you this was not an argument you would win. So you didn’t fight.

You let them take care of you and fuss (not too much), and you just worked on being better.

It took time, but the worst of the nightmares faded. Pitch black still bothered you but it was manageable, rather than panic attack inducing every time.

Things got better.

Your feathers still hadn’t come in yet, but you could be patient a little while longer. You could feel the itch where they were forming and growing. Good enough.

Your first op was supposed to be an easy one. Well. As easy as anything the 141 took on.

You, Price, and Gaz were clearing one building while Soap and Ghost cleared another. It was… not easy, but routine.

Until you stumbled over one man Gaz missed.

The man was in the back of the room, laying low. You probably wouldn’t have spotted him except a bit of light fell right on a very familiar feather. The black and white banding could, hypothetically, have been from any number of birds.

But you knew.

An angry snarl twisted your lips, and you stepped intentionally into the room, barely remembering to call to Price over your shoulder, gaze locked on your target. Your gun was steady on him.

He watched you right back, one hand reaching for a weapon from a fallen comrade in a way he probably thought was stealthy.

The bullet you planted between him and the weapon disabused him of that notion.

“Where did you get that feather?” you asked, voice low and growly. If you weren’t so focused, it would have startled you to hear how furious you sounded.

He looked up at you and grinned, front two teeth missing. You jerked back, body recalling more vividly than your mind the sudden darkness that had followed that grin.

“Easy,” Price murmured from behind you, just to the side. Close enough to support you and take the shot if you needed, but giving you space to do it yourself.

You breathed in deep. And shot him. For many reasons, including not leaving an enemy alive at your back.

But bending down to pull your feather from his shirt was just for you.

“You broken?” Price watched you, giving you space still. Letting you decide.

You tucked the feather in your vest and smiled. “Not today.” You nudged him, tipping your head to rest against his shoulder for just a moment, before you started walking again. “If we finish up before Soap, he promised he’d buy cookies.”

Price’s chuckle followed you out of the room. Gaz called over comms that the building was clear, and Soap started swearing. He and Gaz went back and forth on the matter of the cookies, easy bickering in the middle of everything else.

You just laughed, knowing your pack had you. Always.

#shifter au #f!reader #reader x 141 #john price x reader #simon “ghost” riley x reader #kyle “gaz” garrick x reader #johnny “soap” mactavish x reader

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