#girl was like “you afraid of needles? no? good.”

[artdcnaldson]

back……. mayhaps……

thinking about bsf!artrick (as usual)………. and fooling around w them. just for funzies!!! maybe it’s summer before stanford maybe it’s at stanford maybe it’s still at the academy!! u guys get drunk/high/whatevs and then get soooo handsy! u all pretend it didn’t happen the next day or like u don’t remember. sigh

-🩰

How life feels when 🩰 is back 🙂‍↕️🩷

thinking… getting high with patrick and art except in this scenario it’s Art who’s the inexperienced one… fumbling his way through a made up story about hooking up with Hannah from his AP bio class when you and Patrick keep needling him for details and digging in on inaccuracies until he admits he hasn’t gone further than a few sloppy makeout sessions.

And he’s embarrassed bc of course you and Patrick can’t help but gush over how cute that is (which he hates. And he loves. It’s very confusing). And he’s just crossed enough that he’s able to let all his feelings spill— how he wants to, but he’s afraid he’ll do stuff all wrong and it’ll be mortifying and how he thinks he’d die if he came too fast with a pretty girl.

So you and patrick offer to help. It’s not even much of an offer, as it is a slow gravitational pull tugging the three of you together. Blame the vodka, or the weed, or blame the inner workings of the universe. Clearly the three of you aren’t to blame.

Slow, sweet kisses that are more like attempts to map the inside of your mouths with your tongues. Guiding Art’s hands up your shirt while Patrick palms him through his sweats.

Art can’t go any further than that. He tells you both he feels so good he thinks he might die. Your mouth on his neck, his big hands on your tits (over your bra, because he can’t cross that line yet), patrick stroking him through layers and layers and still it all feels so intense.

He does cum fast. But you and Patrick aren’t Hannah from AP bio. You live for it— the stuttery ruts of his hips as he tries to grind against Patrick’s palm for friction, the pretty moans spilling from his lips, the half-lidded gaze as he pants and comes down.

He has the self-awareness to feel a little bashful about it, to blame how crossed he is for cumming so fast. He changes the topic and you all move forward like Art didn’t just cum in his boxers, like you and Patrick aren’t turned on out of your mind (a problem which you’ll both find a way to take care of later).

And in the morning, when Art pretends to forget, you do too.

[digenerate-trash]

Haha blood test time---

[bi-writes]

ghost is off limits. not just emotionally or romantically, but physically. you have seen the aftermath of when someone so much as bumps into him or brushes past his arm in a tight hallway. they learn very quickly that lieutenant riley isn't to be touched, not even a little, not at all. (18+)

ohhhh but not for the medic. your touch is clinical. necessary. ordered. ghost glares, but he does not tell you to go away when you make your way into captain price's office. it's late; they just touched down not even ten minutes ago, exhausted and burdened by an op that took a few weeks of their absence.

he smells like sweat, like grime, and you can taste the sand in the air when you take a seat next to him. even seated, he is taller than you. he takes up a ridiculous amount of space, dwarfing the office chair he sits in. you set your kit down on your captain's desk, turning to face your lieutenant.

"uhm...could you show it to me?"

he huffs in annoyance before he pulls his tactical vest over his head, tossing it onto the floor. you swallow, blinking, focusing, as he unzips the jacket he wears and lets it fall at his feet. your lips part a little as he reveals the strength of his arms, tight muscles straining against the shirt he wears and showing off the sleeve of ugly military tattoos that are sunburnt along one arm.

gorgeous, giant man, but then your eyes take interest on the nasty gash along one arm, a jagged wound that stretches nearly from shoulder to elbow. it looks angry and irritated, much like the look in his eyes.

when you put your hands on him for the first time, he flinches. not because he is in pain, but the feeling of skin against skin is so foreign, like a wound of its own. you blink up at him, soft and sweet, and you show him your hands, what you're doing with them.

"just going to clean it out and stitch you up, lieutenant. promise i won't take too long."

but he likes it. the way your soft palm cups his scarred forearm, running a cloth over the lines of blood that trace along the length to his wrist and drip onto the floor. the warm drag of your fingers pushing his skin together so you can hook the needle through and stitch him up solid and effectively. those easy, gentle strokes, threading through skin as you would hem a skirt, a pattern that you have not forgotten that is now being weaved onto his very body.

he'll wear your stitch pattern like a patch he has so dutifully earned. and you will wear his marks just the same, yes she will, the good girl that she is.

when you finish, he grunts, flexing his fist to gauge the tautness of his skin and the way the wound burns as he stretches his arm. he tilts his head to the side, glaring. your hands rest easy there, still pressed up against him, and he nods at you expectantly.

"open y'r mouth, sergeant."

and you do. because he's your lieutenant, and he has given you an order. he hikes his mask up, revealing a disgusting grin and the sharp edge of a torn lip, a face mangled beyond recognition. when he spits in your mouth, he tastes just as you expected--like sand and smoke.

"now swallow."

and you do, but not because he's your lieutenant, it's something else, something more. not afraid, but intrigued, somehow not put off, but needing sustenance.

when he crowds you in the infirmary later that night, you don't understand. you don't understand the sudden need to touch, the way he grips your ass, the nasty way he bites at your jaw and pushes your pants down your thighs and puts his cock between your thighs.

he promises he won't fuck you, promises he'll be nice this time, but it's hard to discern between reality and heaven when he lets the tip catch on your clit with every frantic stroke. you squeak with every rough thrust, pressing your ass against his pelvis as you arch your back, wanting to see his face, wanting to kiss him, wanting to make this tender and soft and a little romantic, but that isn't ghost.

ghost is mean. ghost isn't a giver, he's a taker. ghost is made of sharp edges only, broken glass on all sides, it's such a shame his cock is so nice and so big and so good, lieutenant, please, i need it--

"need more," is what you beg, even though you know he can't give it to you. you know, but he does it anyway, he slips a big hand between your thighs and opens you up, and you cry when he finally sinks deep, hoisting you up, your back tight against his chest as he learns how quiet the voices in his head are when he's so deep in your pretty, pretty pussy.

he slips another hand around your throat, baring it, giving himself room so he can bite at your neck and lick over the salt and brand you with the evidence of the reprieve he refuses to give, but you don't care, all you can do is smile.

you know his secrets now, the things he would never tell, the things he can't say out loud.

it's almost frightening that you don't really care if he has to kill you to keep you quiet.

[dcangel]

kinda hyper-fixated on riding stiles and calling him a big boy at the same time.

because this man boy would sit there underneath you, bottom teeth scraping at his upper lip as he tries to contain his pretty whimpers that kept escaping him. his fingers gripping, digging into the pudgy fluff of your hips and thighs. “y’so tight.”

your nails scratched at his v-line, deep red lines being left by pretty maroon nails—his favorite colors. “jus’so fucking big, sti…” you breathed out, “such a big boy, hmm?”

“mm-mhm.” he whines softly. stiles couldn’t believe how turned on he was by her dirty words, by how much he wanted to please her. who knew such an innocent, doe-eyed girl could spew such filthy words from such a pretty mouth.

you couldn’t help it, with the way he was stretching your walls and pressing those oh so good spots inside you that your own fingers couldn’t reach, how were you supposed to maintain that ingenuousness?

his nails burrowed into your soft skin, leaving little crescent shapes. his eyes were glued to where he disappeared inside you with each bounce and thrust. the wet squelching noises were squalid, and most times he couldn’t hear much else. only when his view was obstructed by your face did his pull his eyes up to meet yours. you flattened yourself against him; your stomach on his, and your breasts resting on his chest. to stiles, the feeling of skin-on-skin contact was worth more than words. it was the only thing that could bring him back to this planet after you overworked him.

you smiled when you saw those gorgeous brown eyes of his finally connecting with yours. “there we go.”

stiles was overwhelmed; you were on top of him, giving him so many sensations, so many things to touch or relish in. he couldn’t choose. you leaned down to darken the fading hickey right at the base of his neck, having given him one in that spot a few days ago. you simply didn’t see a point in letting it fade. he might as well have gotten it tattooed if he wasn’t so afraid of needles.

a deep-purple mark bloomed right over the spotty red one, and you made sure he would still be able to hide it with his flannels for a few days. your thumb wiped the spit from the bruised skin so you could get a full view of your work. stiles knew he’d be admiring the mark in every mirror he passed by, thankful that it was only one tug of a shirt collar away.

your hips rocked against his, not even pulling up anymore. you just loved the way his tip grazed your cervix—like scratching an itch only he could get—and how your swollen clit ground against his lower abdomen.

“you’re so perfect,” his words came from a place deep in his mind, so breathy, so pussydrunk, “i love you.”

knowing stiles didn’t even care for a response in return, not that he’d even be aware of one, you kissed his swollen lips (both his and your doing) to bring him back down to earth, even if only for a few seconds. you thumbed over the plush skin, purely admiring your boy, feeling both proud of and admirable of his prevailing state.

“you’re so good, sti.” the words weren’t really meant as a praise for him. rather, you said it because you genuinely meant it. “my big boy. fillin’ me up so well.”

you swore you saw something behind his eyes malfunction. his cock twitched inside you as he grasped at your hips, unintentionally taking control for just a few seconds so he could move you back and forth, his dick slapping against your spongy walls. your fingers pressed into his shoulders as you clung around him like a vice.

stiles was whimpering desperately and hastily, each one interrupting the next. it was so refreshing that stiles wasn’t afraid to let those sound freely flow from his pretty mouth or be loud for you. he didn’t care if his noises weren’t deep and guttural, although they certainly could be at times. and you favored either or depending on who was taking care of who; his whiny whimpers and soft moans coming out when he was desperate and being especially needy, or his low, throaty groans and praises when he needed to show you how much he loved you.

“i—shit,” he whimpered, high pitched and needy like you adored. “f-fuck,” stiles groaned deeply. it was so broken up, his voice so cracked, so desperate that it sounded like he was pleading. not pleading for a release, but pleading for forgiveness. you quickly felt his reason for pleading spill inside you: warm and thick.

“sorry, sorry, m’sorry.” stiles’ breaths were reduced ragged gasps as he clutched your waist, his arms finding their home around your body. “love you so much.”

you bit your lip at the gushing feeling flooding your already-filled hole. “hmnn, stiles.” you felt him bury his face in your neck, sweaty skin on sweaty skin as he murmured apologies and compliments of how good you feel.

it was moments like these that softened your heart even through such intimacy; moments where he came without warning or any signs, where his forehead nestled perfectly in the curve at the base of your neck, where he was reduced to muffled, strangled whines and sometimes apologies if he could muster them. and all because of a few words—of course with the help of being inside you, but you were sure you could probably just make him come with your words alone.

somewhere along the way of your cunt throbbing in time with his milked cock, and slowly lifting your hips only to drop them back down lazily, you found your own sweet release. stiles was slightly overworked, slightly overstimulated, but this was such a perfect sight in your eyes.

you took a peek down at where the two of you connected, and a thin, white-ish ring was formed at the base of his length. each time you lifted yourself up, strings of milky white liquid kept another physical attachment with him. the build up was definitely worth it in its own way, but the release was divine. as always, though. stiles, even when he may not be completely all there in the moment, always knew how to send you hurdling toward what you swear is the best orgasm each time. he’s definitely fought you before for who had the better orgasm, ending in round twos all the way to round fives. how you two managed to make it that far was a damn mystery as well as a miracle.

but right now, you were only focused on your boy—your pretty boy, and the alluring noises seeping from those pink, kiss-bitten lips. “’love you more, pretty boy.” you halfheartedly chaffed.

his response was the reason for the returning gibes: a small muffled whine of some muddled words. and stiles never failed to live up to any nicknames or unserious expectations you tauntingly gave him.

[entitled-fangirl]

Chance. (P4)

Aemond Targaryen x reader; Aegon x wife!reader

Summary: Things get messy quickly when she realizes Aemond's plans.

Part 1, 2, 3

Masterlist

..........................................

"Prince Aemond, there's been a riot."

Aemond stood tall, his back to the man. He turned his head slowly, taking in the guard's words. "And?"

"The queens and princess have been returned."

Aemond's head immediately shot to the man, his eye wide, "WHAT?"

…

"Please refrain from movement, your grace. I understand it is difficult."

She let out a soft groan, her jaw clenched so hard that she couldn't bring herself to speak.

The Grand Maester carefully moved the needle back through the skin, completing the first stitch on her brow.

Through the riot, her only major injury was a split brow. Easily manageable, though still painful.

Especially when she had to refrain from furrowing them when the pain came through. 

Sat up in bed for once, Aegon watched from afar as the maester pieced together his wife at her vanity.

He didn't try to speak. He didn't want to. Just watching. 

When the needle moved back through the skin, she took in a sharp breath, managing to not move her face besides the slight widening of her eyes. 

…

"Nonsense! Tell me." Aemond grinned.

"No! It's foolish!" She laughed. 

"I'm sure it's not. Just tell me."

She let out a breathy laugh at the thought of what she was to say, "Fine. No laughter."

He huffed playfully but shrugged, "Very well."

She took a deep breath before closing her eyes to avoid seeing his reaction. "Archery."

His eye widened. "Archery?"

She opened her eyes to look at him once she realized he was impressed rather than mocking.

He nodded, "I did not suspect that of you. Any good?"

She smiled, "My father would help me practice by throwing apples into the air."

"Did it work?"

She nodded with a smile, "Incredibly."

Aemond chuckled, "I'd like to see you with a bow in your hands."

She bit back her smile a bit, "Perhaps after our wedding."

"Oh?" He teased, "Are you trying to trick me, girl? Will I marry you only to find out you're horrid at it?"

She barked out a laugh, "Oh, yes. You've discovered my plan."

He smiled, "'Tis a good plan."

She smiled back, "It is."

…

"My queen."

She turned her head just barely to acknowledge his presence, "Aemond."

He frowned, "So informal?"

She let out a breath in amusement that quickly dropped back to her stoic behavior, "I'm afraid I'm not sure what to call you these days."

He hummed, moving further out on the balcony to join her.

He stared out at the city alongside her, "I heard of your recent… mishap."

She sighed.

He continued, "I am quite thankful you came out unharmed."

She scoffed under her breath.

He turned to look at her in slight anger, "Do my words offend you so?"

She shook her head, "You've no idea."

He let out a frustrated breath, "Then tell me."

She turned herself to look at him fully. The horrid sewing of her brow on display for him and a haunting look to match.

He had to hold himself back from gasping. It was rather horrid now, irritated and red. A striking difference to the usual calmness of her skin. 

"The maester said it may scar," she murmured. She then let out an unamused chuckle, "Perhaps you and I will match."

He gritted his teeth. "My people did this?"

She paused a moment at his choice of words, but continued, "War haunts more than just the warriors who fight it on the field."

"I'll kill them for you."

"You'll kill people fighting in these streets for their families? Wishing to feed their children at night? Do not waste your time."

Aemond jaw clenched. He forced himself to take a deep breath and reconvene himself, "Why do you not know what to call me?"

She stared out at the city, "You're a confusing man, Aemond."

"I'm not sure I understand."

She sighed, speaking with calculation but a tone of casualty, "You are the Prince. You are the King regent. You are my brother-by-law. You are our greatest warrior and fiercest dragon rider. You were my betrothed that I…" she paused as she looked at him, "And I still do not know if I can trust you."

He hummed and looked back out at the city, deep in thought. Finally, he spoke, "I assure you, I am no enemy to you, my queen."

"I have yet to decide that."

His head snapped to her, "How so? What is left to decide?" His voice grew rash, "I have defended my brother in battle and now I rule over his throne until he is well-"

"-He'll never be truly well, Aemond." She argued.

He sneered, "You must let me finish." He took a breath, "I rule in his stead, I fight his battles, and I care for his wife- all things he didn't want nor deserved from the beginning! He is weak!"

Her voice raised as she grew defensive, "Watch yourself!"

His eye scrutinized her form, "Do not pretend you are a threat to me."

"I am the QUEEN!" She yelled. 

"I. AM. THE. KING!" He roared and stepped up to her quickly.

She flinched away, taking a few steps back at the anger in his eyes.

Her voice returned to its quiet tone, "You've stated your fealty just then and there."

His face went from rage to surprise, then quickly to remorse, "I am not your enemy, my queen."

"And I almost married you," she stated. "Perhaps I married the right one after all."

…

She sat on the bed, watching the Maester help Aegon walk for the first time. 

Aegon took slow, painful steps and grunted and whines with each one. 

But a step was a step.

He managed across the room before his leg gave out.

Y/n quickly moved, throwing herself from the bed to help the maester catch him.

Together, they moved him back to the bed.

"He's making incredible progress, despite how slow it must feel to you, my queen."

She sighed lightly, "It is great progress. I am very pleased with it. Thank you."

He smiled, excusing himself quickly.

She turned her attention back to Aegon and ran a hand through what hair he had left, "That was wonderful, my love."

His eyes displayed the pain he was in. The whining continued softly as if involuntary escaping from his throat.

She turned serious suddenly, "I am going to ask you questions, Aegon. And… I don't wish to know the entire truth. You will either shake or nod your head. That is all. Understand?"

"Y… yes."

She look a long agonizing breath. She could ask anything.

"Did you truly slay Meleys?"

He shook his head.

"Is Princess Rhaenys truly dead?"

He nodded.

She sighed. "Did Aemond participate in the battle in any capacity?"

He nodded.

"Aemond and Vhagar killed Meleys?"

He nodded.

She bit her lip. How to word these questions just right?

"You were not caught in crossfire of any kind?"

He let out a grunt but shook his head.

Here it was. Just work up the nerve.

"Vhagar and her rider, Aemond Targaryen, released dragon fire upon you with the intent to kill you, knowing full and well that you were the king, Aegon Targaryen II? His brother?"

Aegon closed his eyes, beginning to hiccup and tears fell from his eyes and down his scarred face.

She stared at him, keeping the pity deep in her gut until she received an answer. "Aegon."

A curt nod.

..........................................................

taglist: @p45510n4f4shi0n, @darktrashsoulbear, @vieenr0se, @pez-unicorn, @marlenees-world, @thatbabydeer, @kahelis, @misspinkonmars

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Never Give Up

Pairing: Rockstar!Jensen Ackles x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: complete fluff, getting blood drawn so needles and blood

Summary: Jensen is in town for his next concert and visit you for a check-up before performing. You two have known each other for your whole life since his sister is your best friend, and he never fails to ask you out every time he sees you. You’ve always said no. It’s his mission to get you to say yes.

Square Filled: rockstar!jensen (2022) for @spndeanbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You grab another vial of blood and mark down in the system which patient of yours this belongs to. Afterward, you place it inside a medical plastic bag and set it off to the side for the lab to pick up later. Today has been non-stop tending to patients, drawing blood, and taking vitals. You’re only halfway through your shift and you feel like your head is going to explode.

“Did you see his post?” another nurse asks as she and her friend walk into the office. “God, he looks so hot. I can’t believe he’s single.”

“I bet he’s fucking random fans every show he does. I could be one of those fans if I got tickets. Can you believe even the nosebleeds are two hundred bucks?”

You don’t need to hear his name to know who they’re talking about. There is only one artist that is big enough in the news right now. He’s been on a steady incline to fame ever since he left Texas for California.

“Do you think he’s good in bed?”

You roll your eyes at that but don’t comment on it. You just want to do your job and go home. You can’t be sitting here thinking about your best friend’s brother and how much of an arrogant bastard he is who thinks the world revolves around him. It doesn’t help that he has a major crush on you, and he isn’t afraid to show it. Besides him telling you every time he calls you how much he likes you, he’ll always try to show you either with flowers, dinner, or other small presents that he has mailed to you.

There isn’t a time that goes by when he’s with you that he doesn’t try and ask you out on a date. If he was just your best friend’s brother, you would consider it. It’s the fact that he’s an up-and-coming rockstar who isn’t near his peak that has you on the edge. You know rockstars. You dated a few of them. All they care about is music, money, and sex. They’ll get it anywhere from any woman who is willing to spread her legs for them. You’re not saying Jensen is like that, but you don’t want to be a notch on his belt.

Still, that doesn’t stop you from using your vibrator and fantasizing about him.

A few days pass without incident when you’re inputting patients into the computer. The same two coworkers who were talking about Jensen before come strolling in with big smiles on their faces.

“What’s got you two looking like that?”

“Jensen is in town for his concert.”

“Did you two get tickets?”

“No, but I know of a way inside. I have someone working security.”

You’d rather not sit here and watch them fangirl over him so you decide to finish your paperwork later and check on the patients. Your best friend, Sabrina, pulls you to the side as soon as she sees you.

“I need you to take the patient in Room 15.”

“Why? That’s your section.”

“Please? I can’t do it.”

“Why?” you ask, your eyes narrowing.

“He’s my brother. They won’t let me work on him.”

Jensen is here. You think about what it might mean if he sees you entering the room and think it’s better than sending the fangirls in there with him.

“Fine. You owe me.” You start to walk away from her with the blood draw supplies and pause. “Don’t tell the other girls. They’ll cause a riot.”

You walk to Room 15 and knock twice before entering. Jensen is sitting on the small table with the paper lined for people’s safety even though half the time, it gets crumbled and tossed out of the way. He is scrolling through his phone but it’s not that that has you staring in awe. He is wearing a tight black shirt that really shows off his muscles and tattoos and dusty blue jeans that you know hug his ass so nicely, all with a backward hat on. His hair peeks out the back of his hat. It was shorter than the last time you saw him.

There’s a new image for your fantasies.

“Growing out your hair, huh?”

Jensen’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice, and he gives you a thousand-watt smile. He immediately puts his phone away so that he can give you all of his attention.

“I was hoping Sabrina would send you in here.”

“Oh, you’re lucky it’s me and not the two fangirls out there. I’m pretty sure one of them wants to have sex with you.”

“What about you? Do you want to have sex with me?”

You smile shyly and grab two latex gloves to start the blood-drawing process. “You wish.”

“Yeah, I do.”

You wrap a tourniquet around his upper arm before grabbing his arm and rubbing the area with an alcohol swab to sterilize the area. Don’t think about his big muscles. Focus, Y/N! You open a packet that contains a new needle and place it where you need to. Without counting down, you stick the needle into his vein and start to grab blood samples.

“So, come here often?” he flirts.

“I work here,” you giggle.

“I know. I just wanted to hear your giggle. So, when am I gonna take you out?”

“Hmm, how about never?” you tease.

“Don’t do that to me, sweetheart. Throw me a bone or something.”

“I’m not even going to comment,” you laugh.

You take out the first vial and shove a new one into the case for more blood.

“I’m serious. When are you gonna let me take you out to a nice dinner? I’ll pay.”

“Oh, you will? How generous of you,” you say sarcastically yet playfully.

“Does that mean yes?”

“No.”

“I’m not gonna stop asking you.”

“You’ll turn blue in the face if you continue that.”

“It’s okay,” he shrugs. “I look good in blue.” You roll your eyes and try to hide your smile knowing he sees it. You finish getting four blood samples before patching him up with a Hello Kitty bandaid. You were just treating two twin little girls and this is all you have. “Nice band-aid.”

“It’s all I have. I can get a different one if you want.”

“No, no, I happen to like Hello Kitty.” You trash your gloves and the needle packet before standing. “Come to my concert.”

“I have to work.”

“No, you don’t. It’s on Saturday and you don’t work the weekends.” You silently curse knowing he’s right. “How about this? I will have a VIP and all-access badge with your name on it. Come if you want. It starts at seven. Are we done here?”

“Yeah, but--”

“Give my love to Sabrina.”

He hops of the table and kisses your cheek as he leaves. The two fangirls see him and fawn over his good looks but when he looks back, it’s at you. He only has eyes for you. He winks and turns to the fangirls who are practically tripping over the other to get to him. He signs what they want to be signed and takes pictures with them before leaving.

Today is only Wednesday but you can’t stop thinking about Jensen and his offer the rest of the week. Saturday comes faster than you’d like, and you find yourself driving with Sabrina to the concert hours before it even starts. There are already people lining up to get to the front of the pit but you bypass the entire parking lot to head to the back where the service entrance is.

“I can’t believe I’m going to this,” you say.

“So, when are you and my brother going to fuck?”

“Sabrina!”

“What? If anyone should be with him, it’s you. That boy is in love with you.”

“No, he’s not. He thinks he is because I don’t want him.”

“Does telling yourself that help you sleep at night?”

“Sabrina… He’s a rockstar. He’s a famous rockstar. He doesn’t want some rundown nurse. He could have anyone.”

“Yeah, but he wants you.”

You’re torn because you do want Jensen. He’s every girl’s dream. Even if he wasn’t a rockstar or famous, you’ve known him since you two were kids. You grew up together. You know who the real Jensen is, the one he doesn’t show anyone else. Still, there is that nagging feeling that he'll dump you once he gets bored with you. 

All of your exes did.

You show security both your IDs and he hands you and Sabrina your access badges before directing you where to park. After you two get out, you follow security to the back where the band is hanging out. You’ve gotten to know Jensen’s band a little over the years. They’re nice guys.

“Bean!” Jensen turns and grins when he sees his sister. His drummer has a major crush on your friend and has called her Bean ever since she told him she hated it. They’re in the “will they, won’t they?” stage but everyone knows they’re gonna be endgame. “Where’ve you been?”

“I told you not to call me that,” she rolls her eyes and hugs her brother. 

“And I told you I don’t care. I like how you blush when I do,” he smirks.

Jensen’s gaze goes over to you and he visibly relaxes at the sight of you. He walks over to you and takes off his hat so that his hair falls over his face.

“Hi, Jensen.” He smiles but doesn’t answer you. “What, cat got your tongue? I know I’m breathtaking but come on.”

“He doesn’t speak before a show to preserve his voice. He has breathing exercises to do,” Josh, the drummer, says.

“What a blessing,” you joke.

Jensen pulls you in for a hug, and you allow this minute to really feel him. His arms have always felt so safe around you, and you find yourself relaxing into his body. He pulls away and takes out his phone to text you since he takes his voice exercises seriously. Your phone pings and you look at the message he sent.

I love that you’re here.

You blush under his gaze and try but fail to hide your smile.

“You know I would have come.”

You and Sabrina leave for the VIP tent on the floor while the band gets ready. The opener comes out and does her performance which gives you time to enjoy the music and get some food before Jensen comes on stage. Since you and Sabrina are on Jensen and Josh’s social media, you’re both easily recognizable. Fans come up to the tent to chat and take pictures with you two. You never had a desire for fame but it’s nice to know you’ve made someone’s day just by saying hi to them.

The entire stadium goes dark and the intro to the concert begins. Immediately, the entire crowd cheers for Jensen. He walks on stage in a different outfit than when you saw him earlier, and you have to admit he looks really good. He’s wearing a classic muscle shirt that definitely shows off how much he’s been working out and his tattoos. Gone is his hat so that his hair can flop around freely.

His eyes immediately find the VIP tent, and he smiles when he sees you. You’ve seen his concerts over TikTok Lives and other social media platforms but nothing beats the real thing. He sings each song with passion like he means every word he’s singing. There is a long catwalk where he walks, and all the girls fawn over him whenever he gives them two seconds of his attention.

By the time he’s at the halfway point of his concert, your feet are hurting from how much you’re dancing and your ears are ringing from how loud it is, but you love it. Jensen is in the middle of a song when he suddenly stops and takes out one of his earpieces.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he pants. The band stops playing and everyone quiets down in confusion, including you. He’s never done this at any of his other concerts. “I’ll get back to the music in a second. I just want to say this is a very special concert because there is someone very special here tonight.”

“Oh, my God,” Sabrina gasps.

“Her name is Y/N and she’s right over there in the VIP tent.” The camera pans over to your shocked face so that everyone in the stadium can see. Sabrina can’t stop smiling. “You see, we’ve been friends since we were kids and she doesn’t know this but I am absolutely crazy for her.”

Cheers erupt throughout the stadium, and you shake your head at Jensen with a smile.

“Now, I’ve asked her this many times but she’s always said no to me. I don’t think she’ll be able to say no in a room full of eighty thousand people. Someone get her a microphone. I want to hear her answer.” Jensen waits for someone to bring you a microphone. “Y/N, will you let me take you to a really nice dinner date?”

You wait for the crowd to quiet down a bit before giving your answer.

“No,” you smile sweetly. “You just won’t take no for an answer.”

“You’re right. I won’t.” He drags one of the barstools to the middle of the stage and sits on it. “That’s why we’re not continuing until you say yes.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I am, sweetheart. I won’t sing another song until you say yes. What do you say, Los Angeles? Should she say yes to me?” Almost every fan in the stadium including Sabrina cheers for you two. “See? Even they think you should.”

“Well if they think we should…”

“Is that a yes?”

“No,” you grin.

“Alright.” Jensen sits and drums his fingers on his legs patiently. “I wonder what I’m going to do next weekend. I think I should take up fishing. My dad always brought me but I never appreciated it before.”

“You’re seriously going to sit there and not continue your concert?” you ask.

“Put everyone out of their misery and just say yes to the date. Come on, everyone. Y/N! Y/N!”

Everyone starts chanting your name, and Sabrina tugs on your arm to grab your attention.

“Has any of your exes done this for you? What are you scared of?”

She’s right. None of your rockstar boyfriends have ever stopped a concert for you. None of them even mentioned you were there. Jensen doesn’t have to say it but he is in love with you and you’re in love with him.

“Fine. Fine. Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.”

“Yes!” Jensen cheers. You hand the microphone back to the stadium worker, and Jensen puts the earpiece back in. “This next song is for you, sweetheart.”

And he plays the song he wrote for you in high school.

x

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[iznsfw]

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

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl

Part Six | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh sucks, unedited (I will get to it later, I promise)

Word Count: 1.2K

Author’s Note: Oof—alright, it's been a hot second, everybody. Apologies for going MIA for a while (life, y'know?). I haven't forgotten about this fic and I know that none of you have forgotten about it based on the amount of notes and messages I get (which I appreciate greatly). Thanks for sticking it out with me guys. Excited for you all to see what I have planned in the coming chapters. In the meantime, let me know what y'all think of this one & let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

“Fuck!”

The expletive escapes your lips before you can think twice about it. You nervously look around the camp, searching for Carl and Sophia. The last thing you need is for Lori and Carol to get on your case because you accidentally taught the children swear words. After realizing that neither of them is in earshot, you let out a sigh of relief. 

You look down at the garment in your lap. Shane had thrown a pair of his cargo pants at you earlier this morning, grumbling about a hole in one of his pockets. You had woken up earlier than him, probably because he had returned to your shared tent far after everyone else in camp had retired for the evening. This was becoming somewhat of a routine for the two of you: Shane sneaking around in the middle of the night thinking you’re asleep; meanwhile, you spend the restless nights in your tent waiting to see if he actually comes back. You never ask him where he was in the morning—knowing that Shane would brush you off by saying he was on watch as if you don’t understand that the shifts rotate every night. Another sigh escapes your lips as you defeatedly throw the pants onto the table before you and turn your attention to your finger, which you had clumsily stabbed with a needle while attempting to fix the garment.

“You ‘lright?”

The sound of Daryl’s rough southern drawl makes you jump. You look up and see Daryl standing a few feet away with his raised hands. He takes a few careful steps toward you—his movements are slow and calculated. Your brow furrows at the sight—did he think you’re afraid of him?

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle ya.”

“It’s okay, Daryl. I was just a little distracted.”

Daryl nods at your words before taking a seat beside you at the table.

“What’d ya do to your hand?”

He leans toward you slightly to get a better look, his concerned eyes raking over your hands, looking for any sign of injury. A small smile spreads across your face as Daryl continues to worry about your well-being. You raise your hands to show him that you’re perfectly okay.

“It’s nothing. Just pricked my finger—Shane has a hole in his pocket, and I was never good with a needle and thread.”

You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly as you speak. Daryl chews on his bottom lip as he looks at the cargo pants on the table. It’s ripped along the seam, an easy fix—he’s done it numerous times for his own tattered jeans.

“Give it ‘er.”

You look at Daryl’s outstretched hand in disbelief for several seconds before handing him the needle and thread. Daryl snatches the pants off the table and gets to work. You watch him curiously—his brow furrows as he focuses on the task at hand. Daryl momentarily lets his attention drift to you; he awkwardly shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with how intently you’re watching him.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?”

His tone is defensive, but it doesn’t make you back down like everyone else.

“Just surprised, is all.”

“What, Shane doesn’t know how to sew?”

He meets your incredulous gaze and can’t help but laugh. The sound is still foreign to his ears, even though it’s becoming somewhat of an ordinary occurrence when he’s with you. He’s much more used to the sound of Merle yelling, music blaring, old motorcycles' roar, and the forest's peaceful ambiance. 

“Well, you shouldn’t have to do everything for him.”

His genuine words should comfort you, but instead, they nag at you. You shouldn’t have to do everything for him. You shouldn’t have to turn a blind eye to your boyfriend’s nightly habit. You shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around him. You shouldn’t have to make yourself smaller for his convenience. And yet, here you are. 

“You have a cigarette?”

The question catches Daryl off guard. He’s only seen you smoke once—that night at the campfire, and he swore it was his fault. Your words from that night still rattle around in his head. You’re a bad influence, Dixon. He completes his final stitch, bringing the thread to his mouth so he can rip it off with his teeth. He places everything back on the table before pulling out his pack of Marlboro Reds from his pocket and offering it to you. You take one from the pack, twisting it in your fingers before placing the cigarette between your lips. Daryl notices your hesitation as he hands you his old lighter, so he waits until you’ve lit your cigarette before pulling out one of his own. The two of you sit in comfortable silence, but something about this doesn’t sit right with Daryl.

“What’s goin’ on?”

You furrow your brow at his question, feigning confusion, but Daryl doesn’t relent. He simply raises a brow at you as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. You let out a defeated sigh before answering his question.

“It’s just Shane…”

You trail off thinking that since it’s relationship drama, maybe Daryl wouldn’t be interested. But he doesn’t try to change the subject or brush you off, instead, he gives you his undivided attention. He watches you quickly look around camp, scooping the area and taking account of who is around. A frown pulls at the corners of Daryl’s lips as he realizes that you’re once again looking over your shoulder for Shane.

“He wasn’t always like this. I mean, he was always a hothead, but he wasn’t always so cruel.” 

“Hey…”

The softness in his tone catches you off guard, and you look up at him. A part of you wants to cry at how attentive Daryl is at this moment. It’s been so long since someone has shown you this kind of care.

“You ain’t gotta defend him to me.”

Daryl watches as a single tear falls down your cheek at his words, and he begins to panic. Did he upset you? Was he out of line? Had he gotten the situation between you and Shane wrong? This isn’t his forte. He wishes he was a different man—a better man, a softer man. He wishes he was more like his mother and less like his father. That she could have lived long enough to teach him a few more life lessons—like how to comfort someone you care for. 

Before he has the chance to spiral completely out of control, he feels your fingertips find his, and his heart damn near stops. He involuntarily pulls away from your touch, and it makes him wince. He sits in the shame of his response to your touch. A better man would have been able to return your affection. Finally, he meets your gaze, expecting to see the hurt he caused by his reaction. Instead, he’s met with a smile so warm and tender that he can practically feel the shame in his body melt away.

“Thank you, Daryl.”

A small, affectionate smile pulls at the corners of Daryl’s lips. 

“It was nothin’.”

You shake your head at his words. What he did for you today was far from nothing, but you let it go, opting to turn your attention back to the cargo pants on the table before you. As you admire Daryl’s handiwork, you can’t help but hope that Daryl knows that Shane’s pocket isn’t the only thing he stitched back together today.

Taglist: 

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@all-will-be-well-love

[chrisisvbun]

marjorie. logan howlett x ftm!reader. part OO1.

synopis: after logan and you passed, Laura thought it would be the time for her to use everything she learned from you two to raise her children or to live her life, not to scold her parents from another universe.

cw: death, grieving, mention of t-shots and needles, angst, scenting. wolverine & deadpool insertion. Reader goes by he him and he is a mutant too, afab terms used. No use of y/n. Inspired in marjorie by taylor swift only by the lyrics.

words: 2.5k

a/n: I'm probably gonna do a series of this bcs this shit is long.

☆☆☆

Laura always knew Logan and you were soulmates. In the second she met you two.

And she only confirmed it when both of you passed.

"Never be so kind you forget to be clever." Logan said to her.

You couldn't deny that the second most beautiful thing about Logan's death was that Laura got in your life. The most beautiful thing was that he could finally rest.

Even though it broke you into pieces when Laura showed up on your door and gave you the news, a part of you was relief for him. He was so tired, and you could see that, you weren't stupid, that's something Logan loved about you.

But he was exhausted, you could see that, you always managed to see right through him from the second he met you back in the mansion. And it was obvious that he had lived too much at that time, and despite your obvious rejection of him leaving you that day, you knew it was for the best. You were satisfied, you knew he knew how much you loved him, and you knew how much he loved you.

You were spiritually connected to him, and you knew that because your grief started the first day he didn't call. You knew, you always know, he would say.

That didn't mean that you weren't grieving harder when you got the news, it just wasn't a shock to you when Laura told you. You would sleep hugging his flannel shirt and squeezing his tags in a fist as you cried, hoping to wake up and that the scent of him there suddenly became him again.

It never happened, of course. Logan was gone.

But Laura was there, staying with you like Logan would wanted. And God, you would've loved to raise her with him, he would've loved that too, you are so sure, you knew him so well. She was a sweet girl, and she became even sweeter under your wing. And you cried all night because she managed to copy some of Logan's manners in the short time he spent with her. They were so alike it broke you even more, but you were a strong man, Logan always told you that.

You knew he was taking care of both of you and that you were a great dad. You knew, somehow you knew. Laura could hear you talk to him some nights when you thought she was asleep, and you cried, telling him how much you wished he could see her, see the smart, amazing woman she had became. Logan knew. You knew it too.

Laura made you so happy, and how couldn't she? She was an innocent girl, craving affection. You gave that to her. Oh, you were the most amazing girl dad in the world.

When she got older, you started to work with Logan's limo plus of the job you had as a lawyer assistant, so money was good at that time, and luckily, Logan had left you a bit of money too. Smart wolf, you chuckled when found the money.

Related to your identity, Laura didn't know and didn't mind, and you made sure she was an open minded kid and explained it to her when she was old enough. And she noticed, when she knew, that you had stop taking your T-shots. You hadn't even realized yourself, and the answer to her question of why you hadn't been taking them, was so freaking sad she could've broke into tears right there.

"Logan used to do them for me." You sighed. "I was always afraid of needles. "You chuckled sadly. She left the topic there.

When Laura adopted a brown cat from the street, you sighed and accepted, feeling that it could make her learn something about parenting or some shit like that. You named it Logan, of course.

You would pet that cat all night long, you slowly stopped crying and began to move on. Gosh, but it was so hard when you got in the limo and it smelled like him. Sometimes you cried, and that was okay, you had lost the love of your life, the man that made you the happiest guy in the world, and grief was long.

He died as a hero.

You didn't tho.

When you fell sick, Laura was on a trip, and you didn't want to worry her, but you didn't have much hope. You had lived a good life, but a wild that, a lot of drugs, cigars, and alcohol, also a lot of wounds, you had faced death plenty of times when you were part of the X-Men. Maybe it was your turn to go with your friends.

When Laura came back, you were already pretty bad. Logan was sitting next to you in bed, your weak hand caressing it's fur with a weak smile.

"Dad..." She cried, kneeling in front of you. You cupped her face in your tough, wise hand. "I don't know what to do without you, please."

You were everything Logan wasn't. You thought with your heart and acted with your brain, Logan thought with his brain and acted with his heart. He had to tell you to stop being so empathetic, you had to tell him to be less impulsive. He had to tell you to 'relax that pretty head of yours', you had to tell him to use it more, as you giggled. The perfect combination of kind and smartness was your daughter, the perfect combination between you and Logan. Individually, you were great parents, and Laura was sure that you've always taught her what Logan taught her before, your ideals and principles collided and combined in the most gorgeous and smoothest dance of all time.

"Are you scared?" She asked.

"Nah, kid, I've faced death so many times it doesn't scare me anymore." You sighed with a chuckle.

A silence got between you two, not an awkward one, for sure, you were her dad, but she didn't know what else to say, or how to feel.

"I get to see that mad wolf again, too."

She bit her lip to retrain a sob. Gosh, how could you say that? Although you were right, it was so freaking sad.

"Cry your eyes out, kid, remember what I taught you." You said in your classical parenting tone.

Laura squeezed your hand as she layed her head in the hospital bed. You stroked her hair as she cried.

"Your dad and I will be watching you, 'lright? Making sure you don't get into so much trouble." She nodded under your touch, still sobbing. You coughed a bit, your free hand stroking the tabs hanging in your neck and sighing in relief. You were going to meet him again. "Look at me, pup." You said.

She raised her face, crying her eyes out as she looked at your serious yet loving grin.

"Never be so clever you forget to be kind." You said, cleaning her tears with your shaking thumb. She nodded under your touch, caressing your hand.

You passed that night, you hand gripping at Logan's tags so hard they had to bury you with them, next to him. The two X's touching in the taller stick, like they were grabbing each other.

You didn't die heroically, but you were Laura's hero.

Grief was so hard. Laura began to understand you. There was so much she would loved to had told you before and she didn't because she thought she had more time. She didn't, but that didn't matter because you knew.

There was so much she loved about you, about your parenting, things that made her feel so loved and heard and that she took for granted and just never told you.

At reunions, you would bump her knee with yours so she knows you are there for her. She regretted every time she told you she was to tired to go see the sunrise because you loved watching the sun go up, and every time she said no to one of your special, unique teas that she would never have the chance to taste now. She hated herself for complaining when you drove her to school and back home, saying it wasn't cool.

She hated that she kept quiet, that she didn't ask you more about you, about how you lived, about how to live. How to be. She regretted that she didn't take notes from your best parenting quotes. But she remembered you were alive, alive in her head.

You didn't ask for a child, and yet you never mistreated her, never raised a hand to her, never complained about having her. She was so grateful for you and so sad that she couldn't tell you that before.

After work, she would hang where you two were buried, to see if maybe any words she said there would get to you. They did. You heard everything.

God, she missed you.

(...)

Wade Wilson was having a really hard time finding one of your versions to take with him. It wasn't that you weren't willing to help him or some shit like that, it was that in every universe, you had a Logan (except in one he found you wrestling under the sheets with that German boy), so you were no use. Why? Because he needed you single or you wouldn't pair to Logan.

It was almost a rule that every Logan needed you, in every universe, in every timeline (except in that weird one with the Nightcrawler but it doesn't matter). So, if Logan doesn't have a you, the prophesy or whatever shit that was making Wade's timeline dissappear, didn't work.

So, every you seemed to have a Logan, Wade was even starting to get jealous, he didn't know if jealous of Logan or of you, or both. You were such a couple of lovebirds it almost made him sick and sad.

Finally, he spotted a you sitting in a cementery next to a grave with an X. Ah, perfect, Wade thought. He never seemed so happy to see you grieving.

"Hi there, sweet pea" he kneeled like he was talking to a puppy.

"The fuck do you want... weirdo in a sex suit?" You frowned looking at him.

"Okay so I lost number in the times I've talk to different versions of you so I'm going straight to the point, sweet pie." He tried to approach to the grave and you showed your fangs, your eyes getting yellow and dilatated, hissing at him. "Whoa, peanut, no need to get feral, not doing anything weird to grumpy's dirt pile, this is no saltburn." He stepped back.

"It's not just him." You said. Wade frowned and looked at the grave. The name Laura Howlett was beneath Logan's.

Even he got speechless.

"What do you want, asshole?" You asked, your claws growing from your nails. "You have a minute before I rip you open".

Well, he wasn't open in half and you were walking with him, so he was convincing, or you were so desperate.

He lied, of course. He didn't told you who you'll have to meet in order to help him, he just said that an X-Men needed help.

Before you can realize, you are dumped in the TVA, and before you can check your side to notice the yellow spandex, you are dumped again into the void.

Wade had knocked you in order to get you into your cian suit, you sighed at the hard spandex around you when you stood up alone in the middle of the Desert. You shaked your hair a bit and began walking, the heat of the place was so freaking uncomfortable, and that suit didn't help either.

"Wade you son of a bitch, this suit is killing m-"

Quiet. You got quiet.

What in the actual fuck?

He was there. Standing in a ridiculous yellow spandex suit, showing his claws inside of Wade as he looked at you. He was there. He.

Whatever emotion was going through you at that moment faded as you frowned at Wade.

"What the fuck is your goddamn problem?" I shoved out your claws from your nails and approached, taking Wade by the neck and sinking your claws into his neck to shove him into the truck there. "What the fuck was going through that empty head of yours?!" You shouted, breathing heavily.

"I thought you'll be happy!" Wade shouted back.

"Happy? I start moving on and you think that what I want to see is my lover in a ridiculous spandex suit? Correction, someone who isn't my lover because he's dead!"

"He is right there, peanut! He is not dead"

"He is not my Logan, not the father of my child!" You shouted in a sarcastic laugh, ignoring the man behind you.

Your Logan. Your child.

What the hell were you talking about? He thought to himself. Not because he didn't now you, but because you were an exact clone of the one he had back in his universe. No change, no modified details.

A clone of you. Of his partner, his lover, his husband.

He was frozen, looking at you while you shouted at Wade things that he wasn't listening anymore. God you were as handsome as he remembered you, he used to love when you shouted to someone (if it was Scott, better). And he could smell your scent, that strong, masculine cologne you used to use that always made his knees shake. It was you, literally you, again, so freaking close to him, enough to scoop you up and take you with him forever.

But that was a ridiculous thought, of course, you weren't really you.

His you.

And maybe the sight of you now made him realize how bad he missed you, how much he had missed that scent of yours, that tone of voice, your hair, your skin, your hands, your eyes. Oh. Those eyes.

And he was trapped with you right there, how was he expected to control himself when you were there? Being as beautiful as you always were.

He still couldn't believe how someone like you could have given him a chance, he was so mean, so rude to everyone, rough and hard as a rock, impossible to cross or see through. But you did, you always did.

You were kind, soft; but also logical and smart when it was necessary. You acted with your brain, and thought with your heart. You were everything he wasn't.

Kind, soft, logical, smart and dead.

But even with that, you were there. He didn't understand pretty well this whole multiverse thing, the only thing he knew was that that wasn't you, but even with that, he longed for you, he was desperate, touch starved; more like you-starved.

He couldn't move, he couldn't speak to you, he was speechless until you looked at him with anger and a hint of affection, love, need, sadness.

"the fuck you looking at?" You said, hardly hidding the crack in your voice.

He sighed. This was going to be long.

[l0vely-sturniolo]

NEEDLES

matt sturniolo x reader

warnings; mentions of needles, being anxious

using my personal experience for this one (kinda).

——————————————————————————

i was in the hospital with covid. matt has been with me the entire time, ignoring my protests for him to go home. i've been here for 2 days already, and honestly, there was no sign of me going home anytime soon.

i looked over to see matt asleep, in what looked like a very uncomfortable position, in an uncomfortable chair. i sighed to myself, he should be at home sleeping in his own bed. it's a lot more comfortable.

i turned on the tv and watched it for a little while, and then i heard movement next to me, i looked over and matt was stretching. "hi baby," he smiled. "how long have you been up?" he asked. "maybe like half an hour? you looked uncomfortable baby, why don't you go home and sleep somewhere comfortable?" i asked him.

"and leave you here alone? no, i'm okay." he said. "but-" "y/n, baby, you're scared of doctors, and anything that has to do with them, im staying here, im not gonna leave you here alone to be scared," he said, grabbing my hand.

"fine," i sighed, squeezing his hand. we heard a knock on the door, and a nurse came in. "hello y/n, how you feeling?" she asked. "okay," i smiled. "good, okay so, we have to run a few tests, which means we have to take some blood from you," she said, and i tensed up.

"how much?" i asked. "we're probably gonna take a few syringes full," she said and i nodded. "the nurse should be in soon, i just wanted to give you a heads up," she smiled at me, before leaving. i looked over at matt, and he was already looking at me.

"it's okay, you'll be okay, i'm right here," he said, getting up, walking over to me. "see? and you wanted me to go home," he smirked. "shut up," i told him. a few minutes later, there was another knock on the door, and another nurse came in.

"alright, y/n, you ready? we'll get it done and over with real quick," she said, and i hesitated, but nodded. i saw her lay everything out next to me, i saw the needles and i started panicking. "baby, baby, you're okay, look at me," matt told me.

"shes afraid of needles," matt told the nurse, and she nodded. "that's okay! this will only take like a minute y/n, i promise," she said. "keep looking at me baby, don't even look over there," matt said while the nurse was wrapping that plastic thing around my arm. "matt," i said.

"you're okay," he said, moving the hair out of my face with his hand. "i'm right here," he reminded. i felt a poke in my arm and went to look, but matt took his hand to make me look at him.

"one done, i just need 2 more," the nurse said. i felt another poke in my arm, and this time i looked over before matt could stop me, and my eyes widened. "y/n," he said, making me look at him. "you're almost done, it's okay," he said. "you're doing great y/n! one more," she said, and once again, i felt another poke in my arm.

"and you're all done!" she said, pulling the needle out, and taking the plastic thing off of my arm. i looked over and saw 3 syringes of my blood, and i wanted to throw up, pass out, cry.

"do you need anything?" the nurse asked as she cleaned up. "no, i'm okay," i mumbled. "okay, we'll be back in a little bit to check on you," she smiled at me and matt, before leaving.

"im so proud of you baby, i told you you'd be okay," he smiled at me, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "i love you," i mumbled, i wasn't a very happy camper right now. "i love you, pretty girl," he kissed my forehead again.

——————————————————————————

tags:

@stayingstromboli

[axelsagewrites]

Robb Stark*Honey Cakes

Pairing: Robb x f! reader

Word count: 1830

Part Two to Cloak however can be read as a stand alone

Warnings: reader being jealous, secret relationship, but mostly just pure enemies to lovers’ fluff

Masterlist Here

At thirteen you despised Robb, more than anyone really, so why is it know you were sat down the table for him trying desperately not to stare at him? Your parents had originally tried to broker a marriage pact between you and the Stark however due to your mutual hatred of each other that plan fizzled and died. No one even knew you liked the boy. Well apart from Robb.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he whispered in your ear, his breath tingling the nape of your neck as he leaned down so no one else would hear as he walked out the room behind you.

Sansa glanced back, raising an eyebrow when she saw the warm flush on your face, but you managed to wave her off. Instead of letting him torture you any longer you grabbed her arms, “Shall we go see if the kitchen has any spare lemon cakes?” you asked, and Sansa quickly grinned in agreement.

You sat in the kitchen with Sansa for a good couple hours, laughing and gossiping about all the people at Winterfell. “Well apparently Alice, you know that Manderley girl. Well apparently, she has a crush on Robb,” Sansa said, gagging at her brother’s name.

Your eyes widened but you soon covered it up as Sansa grimaced about someone potentially liking her brother, “Who told you that?”

“Jane,” she said, picking at the crumbs left of the cakes you had both scoffed, “Apparently, she was hanging around the stables waiting for Robb so she could ask for help getting on her horse. Bit desperate if you ask me. It’s not like Robbs anything special,”

“Huh that’s so weird. It’s not like Robbs dumb enough to fall for that,” You did your best to act natural, but you could see Sansa’s eyes narrowing. “Well, you’d hope anyway,”

“Yeah,” Sansa said, her voice trailing off for a moment, “Then again according to some of the ugh boys,” she said, shuddering meaning you knew she was talking about Theon despite also knowing she had a major crush on him, “he’s had some…women at his room,”

“Oh?” this time you couldn’t not sit up straight.

“Yeah, but he wouldn’t tell anyone who. Theon thinks its some,” she paused to lean in and whisper, “whore,” she said, her eyes whipping around the room, “from the village,”

You sucked in your breath, trying hard not to either find Robb and kill him or cry, “He doesn’t seem like that kind of man,”

“That’s what Jon said but then who was in his room?”

“When was it?” you asked as if you wanted to break your own heart.

That was until Sansa said it, “Last Sunday,”

Fuck. Last Sunday after not being able to sleep and being too afraid of the nightmares to come you turned to Robb for some kind of comfort. Nothing happened but you did sleep in his chambers and then he helped you sneak back at first light. “How strange,” you muttered before trying to change the topic, but your mind still lingered on how good Robbs morning hair looked.

The cook eventually grew tired of your whispering and threw you both out the kitchen. Instead, you went to Sansa’s room to practise your needle point then eventually trudged back to your own room. When you entered your chamber, everything seemed normal. That was until you saw the honey cake sitting beside your bed with a note.

“I tried for lemon, but someone had eaten them all” – it read, making you laugh at the note. You sat on the bed, picking up the cake and smiling at the single wildflower he’d sat beside it.

-

The next morning you arrived at the dining hall before any of the stark children. Your parents were sat with the ned and cat at the head table, so you ended up plopping down in an empty seat and a near by table. “Morning,” an unbelievably smooth voice grinned as Robb sat himself in the seat across you.

“Morning,” you said as you tried hard not to smile too largely back. “You’re almost as sweet as that honey,” you said, lowering your voice.

A faint blush covered his cheeks, “But not as sweet as you,” he said but as he opened his mouth to speak a gritty, irritating, annoying voice spoke up.

“Good morning, Robb,” came the sing song voice of Alice who you had never thought annoying until last night.

Robb barely glanced over his shoulder at her as she walked off, “Morning Alice,” he said as he turned his attention back to you. his eyebrows squinted at the now stoney look on your face, “What?”

“Nothing,”

“Cmon tell me,”

“It’s nothing,”

“Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me,” Robb rapidly repeating, grinning wider at each jab.

You sighed, “Fine. Its just,” you sighed again, “she has a crush on you,”

His face froze for a moment before he burst into absolute laughter, “Oh the gods,” he laughed, clutching at his stomach as both of your parents began to stare.

“Quit it!” you whispered, slapping at his head.

“You’re jealous,” Robb laughed, thankfully quieter, as he swatted your hand away, “Aw honey that’s adorable,”

“I’m not your honey,” you grumbled, “and I’m not jealous,”

“Am not,”

“Are too,”

“Am not!”

“Are too- “

“Youd think by now you two would grow up,” Sansa yawned as she sat beside you, and you were both forced to act like nothing happened.

-

Later that day, for no other reason you swear, you decided to go riding soon after you overheard Robb suggest the idea to Jon. Sansa was thankfully in lessons meaning you quickly changed and heading down to the stables.

“Robbie, could you help me- “Alice began to say as you walked in however, she hadn’t seen you.

Robb however did, “Oh hey!” he greeted, walking past Alice who now wore a deflated look, “Oh sorry Alice, Jon can you give her a hand?” Jon went to step forward, but Alice muttered something about her parents before turning and leaving. “Huh, weird,” Robb half grinned.

“You wanna come riding with us?” Jon asked you as he began to fix his own saddle.

You glanced at Robb before nodding, “Yeah sure lemme get my saddle ready first,”

“I’ll get it,” Robb said, moving to grab it before you could stop him.

Jon laughed and rolled his eyes as he finished his own horses’ reins, “So at what point are you two love birds gonna admit it,”

“Admit what- “

“Save it,” Jon rolled his eyes, “He stinks of your perfume, and you’ve accepted his help in the history of well ever,” he said as he flung his arm around your shoulder, “Aw sister,” he teased as he ruffled your hair.

“Fuck off,” you grumbled as you escaped his grip and tried to fix your hair.

However, Robb walked past and laughed, “Adorable,” he grinned as he kissed the top of your head before fixing your horse. It was actually nice to be able to be open about not hating Robb as you three went around the gods’ woods. However, after a very pointed look from Robb and a lot of teasing from Jon he finally decided to throw Robb a bone and go back himself.

“Are we ever gonna tell anyone we don’t hate each other anymore?” Robb asked, ruining the perfectly good conversation about how gorgeous he thought you looked today.

You grinned at him, “Who said I don’t hate you anymore?”

“The feelings mutual,” he laughed as you finally returned to the stables. “I’m just saying would it be so bad,” he asked as he jumped off his horse, quickly moving to help you down. You swung your leg around, so you were sat sideways on the horse. Robb moved to grab your hips, lifting you down. Your arms went to his shoulders to steady yourself.

“I don’t know. I mean maybe…” you started to say but trailed off as your feet hit the ground, but Robb didn’t step back. His warm breath fanned your face, tickling your cheeks. His hands moved slowly to the small of your back, pulling you in closer till you were flush against him. His lips were only a fraction away and it only took a couple seconds till you felt them brush against yours. you couldn’t wait anymore as you pushed up, closing the final gap.

Sure, you had been flirting all week, but this was your first kiss with him, and you melted into it. if his hands were not on your back you may have collapsed. Just as your hands went into his hair, which was unbelievably soft, you heard a gasp.

You pulled back to see Sansa standing in the stable doorway. “You’re the whore?!” she asked, shocked before her cheeks flushed red, “I don’t mean- “

“Sansa!” Robb half bellowed, turning round ready to tear his sister a new one when you grabbed his arm.

His head span round to face you and you mentally made a note to remember how good he looked with his jaw tensed, “Theres’s back story, I’ll explain later,” you said before turning to Sansa, “It’s not what you think,”

“You were kissing my brother!”

You sighed, “Okay it’s kind of what you think,” you said as you walked closer, “but not as bad as you think,”

“Oh?” she paused before her eyes widened, “Oh! Ew!” she grimaced. “That’s so weird. I thought you hated him,”

“I did but,” you paused, looking at Robb who smile down at you. you reached for his hand which he gladly accepted, squeezing yours lightly, “it’s different now,”

Sansa gagged before turning to Robb, “if you hurt her. I will kill you,”

“Aren’t you supposed to say that to her? you’re my sister,” Robb said incredibly.

Sansa paused for a moment before realisation dawned on her, “Oh you’re going to be my sister one day!” she began to celebrate. You laughed at her as she jumped into your arms but made no effort to stop her, “Do our parents know?”

“Not yet,” you said as you pulled back from her grip.  “Let us tell them know,”

Robb nodded as he pulled you over to his side, draping an arm around your shoulder, “Yeah. I get to brag about her first, not you,”

“No fair,” Sansa pouted but Robb ignored her as he looked down at you with a dopey smile.

“Can’t wait to tell everyone you’re mine,” he said softly, leaning back down for another kiss which you gladly accepted.

“Oh, gods I can’t,” Sansa shivered as she quickly left however you just laughed before turning back to Robb.

Your arms found their way back to his shoulders as his found the small of your back, “Now where were we?” you asked.

Robb smiled, leaning down slowly, “Somewhere around here,” he whispered before his lips fell back onto yours. how could you hate him now?

Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy  @valeskafics @asgards-princess-of-mischief

[f1goat]

his teammate + lando norris x part eleven

In which you find yourself getting closer to your brothers new teammate who's a dick.

lando norris x fem!verstappen (sister) + cursewords + smut

A couple weeks have passed. Things are good between Lando and you. You’re coming closer by telling Max. Last days you already thought about telling him multiple times. You’ve noticed that Lando is getting a bit impatient as well. According to himself he wants to be able to take you out and be seen with you in public. You tried to tell Lando about what that will do to his - and yours - public images, but he doesn’t care about those things. Something you get. 

Lando: come to my drivers room?

Y/N: you’re impossible

You smile at your phone before looking around. Max is somewhere in an office with Christian. Nobody is paying attention to you right now. If you want to see Lando privately this weekend, this might be one of the few chances you get. Without further thinking about it, you walk towards Lando his drivers room. When you’re standing in front of it you look around yourself a few more times, but it seems like you have it easy today. There’s no one around. You open the door and walk into Lando his drivers room.

“Hey babe,” you say without even looking in front of you. You just turned around to close the door. When you don’t get a response as soon as you normal do, you turn around curiously. 

Lando isn’t in front of you. You already thought so. Normally you can’t take one step into his drivers room without him clinging to you. Then you remember he had the same meeting with Christian as Max. Fuck. There’s someone else standing in front of you. You know you recognize the girl, but you need to think about from where. Then it hits you. It’s Maisie.

“Maisie?” You ask surprised.

“At least he told you my name,” Maisie says bitterly, “You must be his newest toy.”

You notice the weird, almost unnatural tone in her voice. Now that she’s standing in front of you, you take the time to look at her. Last time you barely saw how she looked. Now you take your time while looking at the (fake?) ex girlfriend from Lando. You already noticed before that she’s pretty, but now that you have the time you notice that pretty might be the wrong word. The girl is beautiful in a not natural way. 

Was this Lando his type you wonder. It seems like she isn’t afraid for needles. She has no frowns or signs from a face that lives. You’re pretty sure it’s botox. Not that something like that is bad, but it surprises you on this age. Her hair is dyed, the blonde color is nice but starts to fade already. It’s a bit yellowish now you look at it. 

“Aren’t you going to respond?” She asks you.

“I thought you had more to say,” you tell her, “otherwise you probably wouldn’t get me in here with Lando his phone and insult me in the first seconds I’m here.”

“Hm,” she mutters, “You’re a bit more intelligent then his normal type.”

“Thanks I guess?”

“So I guess you already figured out that Lando is in some meeting and left his phone here,” Maisie continues, “and I thought as it of a chance to finally meet you properly.”

“Why would you want that?” You ask her curious. 

“I want to tell you about Lando,” she says, “because I don’t think he has been honest with you.” 

You think about your possibilities. It seems like this girl wants to damage Lando and not you. You decide to play along with her. You’re pretty sure that she will tell you the same things Lando already told you before. But she doesn’t have to know that.

“What did he tell you about me?” Maisie asks you. 

“Uh almost nothing, just your name,” you lie.

“Pff,” Maisie sighs, “What a treatment for his first girlfriend. Well let me tell you, after this you don’t want to get near him ever again. He’s the absolute worst. Did he ever tell you about his family?” You shake your head to lie again. “They have ditched him because he’s an awful person and he doesn’t even care about that. He never tried to make things right with his family.”

“What happened?” You ask Maisie while you know she’s going to tell you only more lies. 

“He became famous during his first formula one season,” Maisie tells you the truth this time, but is quick to continue lying, “and then he slowly lost all interest in his family. He became a dick. In the mean time I met him and we we’re quick to become a couple. So I know all about his family because I saw it happening myself.”

“Okay,” you mutter. You hope Lando will show up soon and stop this nonsense because it seems like a bad idea to leave Maisie here alone with Lando his phone. Maybe she can do even more damage to him. 

“He was always mean to them, he had nothing nice to say anymore. The things his sisters did weren’t interesting for him anymore. He didn’t care about their lives and thought they should be at every race to support him. When they didn’t show up once because of a birthday, he completely lost it,” Maisie lies to you, “He called them up and told them they were horrible people. He said that he wished them dead. After that he blocked everyone of them. Sometimes they still text me to see if I can change his mind since they miss him so much.”

Some parts of Maisie her story make you nervous. This is the ultimate test for you if you really trust Lando as much as you say. What if Lando haven’t told you certain things and Maisie is telling them you now? You’re quick to shake off the thought. You shouldn’t worry about things like this. Lando is trustworthy. You’re sure of that. Some crazy ex girlfriend of his isn’t going to change that.

“And then he did even worse things to me!” Maisie continues with a raised voice. You notice that she walks around a lot and isn’t looking at you all the time. Should you text Max? He can send Lando. You get your phone out of your pocket and unlock it. Maisie turns herself back to you again. You ignore her looks and start to type something to your brother.

Y/N: tell Lando to get his phone, it keeps ringing and is driving everyone around here crazy

“Who are you texting? Are you really that stupid to text Lando right now while I’m holding his phone?” Maisie asks you.

“Oops, fuck I totally forgot that,” you lie while acting clueless. You put your phone on silence and tuck it back into your pocket. 

“Pff you’re just as stupid as him,” Maisie comments, “but I was saying that he used me. He used me for more fame because at that moment I had more followers then him.”

“He did that?” You ask as fake surprised as you can. 

“Yes! You should have heard him when I confronted him,” Maisie says bitterly, “He was such a dick. So I made it my mission to get my karma.”

When the door opens again you’re glad to see Lando coming in. He’s just like you not looking around himself and didn’t notice Maisie yet. He’s focused on you. “Couldn’t you wait till after my meeting princess?” He asks you with a smirk. Normally you would have loved this, but you have a feeling that Maisie isn’t going to like his question. Lando is already walking closer to you when he finally notices Maisie standing in the room as well. 

“For fucks sake,” he grunts, “what are you doing here Maisie?” 

In the mean time he walks even quicker towards you. Lando stands in front of you, making sure that nothing can happen to you. It surprises you how protective he’s acting without even giving it a second thought. It makes you feel safe. Lando makes you feel safe. That’s something new.

“I’m just informing your girly over here about the shitty things you did to your family and me,” Maisie tells him with a big grin, “So she can see that you’re unworthy of her time. Just like you told me I wasn’t worth your time.”

Maybe this is the moment you truly realize that the girl is crazy. She’s a real crazy ex girlfriend. You wonder how Lando will react. He stays silent at first, but turns himself around to look at you. You try to tell him it’s fine with your eyes, that you still have the same opinion about him. But you’re quick to notice that Lando his earlier smirk has already faded away and made place for a sad expression. Is he actually afraid that you believe Maisie over him? 

“So,” Maisie continues to speak, “Are we ready for the best part? Not gonna lie Lando, it’s more fun now you’re here as well.”

“The best part?” You question surprised.

“I’ll summarize it for you. Lando used me for fame and after that he kept using me for sex, just like a billion other girls,” Maisie says, “and I guess you’re the newest one. Did you already get his speech?”

“Speech?” 

“Yeah, the I’ll change for you speech,” Maisie answers with a smile, “He’ll tell you that he’s really trying to better himself. You’ll never see any changes, since he doesn’t want to change. He just lies to you so you stay with him until he’s done with you.”

Lando is still silent. You’re too. You don’t even look at Maisie anymore, you are focused on Lando. Why isn’t he saying anything? You don’t get it why he doesn’t defend himself. Should you defend him? Even after everything Maisie just said, you still trust Lando. After the conversations you have had with him where he showed you his vulnerability you know you can trust him. 

“So, is this the part where you will break up with him?” Maisie asks you.

“Technically I can’t break up with him,” you state, “We’re not official.”

“Whatever,” Maisie sighs, “I don’t care how you call it. But I want to see how you tell him it’s done.”

Lando turns himself to you. You notice the stressed look on his face. He breaths fast and almost seems panicked. “Please don’t,” Lando almost whispers to you, “I.. I didn’t lie. Not to you. Never.” You grab Lando his hand, you draw figures on his skin with your thumb. “I know I’m not worthy,” Lando continues to ramble, “but I’m really trying.”

“Fuck Lan,” you sigh, “I told you before, you are worthy.”

“Sorry?” Maisie interrupts annoyed. 

“You’re a lair Maisie,” you tell her even more annoyed, “Lando already told me what happened between you two and with his parents. And yeah, I got your so called speech but since I know Lando he keeps changing into a better person. So maybe you just weren’t worth changing for?” 

“You’re lying!” Maisie screams angrily, “He isn’t changing for you. That’s a lie.”

This might be the moment you’re actually getting scared of the girl in front of you. You feel a bit alone. Lando is as quiet as before and doesn’t seem to notice anything that’s happening around him. He seems stuck in his own head. You wonder what he’s thinking of. Maisie is sending you a lot of angry glares which make you even more nervous. You drop Lando his hand, which causes him to look up with an even sadder expression. You take a few steps closer to Maisie.

“He is,” you tell her while walking closer. 

“He is using you for sex,” Maisie sneers. 

“Maybe I’m using him for sex,” you sneer back sarcastically, “I mean he’s pretty great at it.”

“Don’t lie,” Maisie replies, “he doesn’t even want go down on a girl. I ask him every fucking time.”

Her words surprise you. Lando and you are quite active and it happens a lot that he goes down on you. He’s always making sure you’re as much enjoying it as him. You wonder if you’re the first girl he has ever done that for. 

“I’m not lying, but I’m also done with this conversation,” you sigh, “and to be honest, I think it’s time for you to leave. You’ve said everything you wanted to say.”

“I’m not leaving before I convinced you about him,” Maisie replies angrily.

You decide to lie a bit more. Let her think that she made a difference, who cares. If that makes her leave faster you sign for it.

“You gave me a lot of things to think about,” you lie eventually, “but you need to understand that I need time to think about those things.”

You don’t know how but Maisie has finally left. You needed to lie a bit more about having to think about everything she said and how it will influence your ‘thing’ with Lando. When she’s finally out of the drivers room, you’re quick to turn your attention to Lando. Who’s still really quiet. You expected him to say a lot more during the conversation with Maisie. He didn’t even defend himself. He only defended you. When you look at Lando it’s hard to miss his unsure attitude. 

“I’m so sorry Lan,” you tell him with a bit of pity, “Are you okay?” 

“Just say it,” Lando says with a soft voice, “Just tell me it’s done.”

“Sorry?” You ask confused.

“You told her you needed time to think, I know you’re just too nice to dump me in front of Maisie,” Lando mutters, “so please don’t sugarcoat it and just tell me.”

“I’m not dumping you!” You exclaim, “I just said that so she would go away.” 

“You’re not?” Lando asks you confused, “Why would you not? She probably told you even more awful details about me.”

“She told me a lot,” you tell him, “but I already knew a lot if it was a lie, because you told me the truth earlier. She tried to confront me with what you did to her and what happened between you and your parents. She lied about those things. She made everything your fault.”

“Do you think that it’s my fault?” Lando asks.

“I still have the same opinion,” you state.

“Nothing changed after she told you so much?” Lando asks confused.

“I trust you,” you tell him, “not her. And when you’re calmed down, we can talk about what she said and then you can tell me what’s true and what not if you want to.”

“So we’re still together?” Lando asks confused.

“You still need to ask me officially,” you joke, “but nothing has changed between us Lan. I promise.”

“I really don’t know how I deserve you,” Lando mutters.

You press a kiss against Lando his lips. He is quick to pull you on top of him. He slides his tongue into your mouth and together you start to make out. You feel his hands toying with your bra clasp, you use your own hands to play with his hair. When you remove your lips from Lando, you’re glad to see that he’s smirking again. 

“I did come in here to do this you know,” you tell Lando, “it’s too bad it wasn’t you who texted me.”

“Let me make it up to you,” Lando replies smugly. He lets his hands wander through your skirt and is quick to pull it up. He moves himself so that he can face your pussy. He teases you a bit by pressing kisses against your string. 

“She was right about one thing,” Lando mutters. He slides his finger against your clit that’s still hiding behind your string. You let out a soft whimper. “You’re the first one I’m doing this for,” Lando continues to tell you. Surprised you look up.

“But I never asked?” You say surprised, “You ate me out the first time without even mentioning it.”

Lando shrugs. “I wanted to,” he says. His finger is still lingering around your clit. “I never had the need before,” he explains, “but with you I wanted to.” He presses a kiss against your clothed clit. You whimper.

“You’re a natural,” you tell Lando, “I’d never have guessed that it was your first time.”

“You’re just giving compliments so I will stop teasing you,” Lando laughs, “Aren’t you princess?”

“Lando!” A shout disrupts your conversation - and the rest of your activities. You realize that the voice sounds an awful lot to your brother. Lando is quick to change his position, while you put down your skirt. The two of you aren’t fast enough. The door opens. 

Fuck you were right. It’s Max and Lando is still sitting between your legs. Maybe it doesn’t seem sexual anymore, but it’s still way too close to believe it’s friendly. 

“Fucking hell,” Max mutters when he walks into Lando’s drivers room. “I won’t need Pierre anymore,” he continues to sigh. 

i think this story is slowly ending :( don't have much to write about it anymoree. i guess one more part :)

part twelve

[storiesfromafan]

Easy On My Eyes - Benny x Reader

A/N: I decided to turn All I Dream Of into a series (?), as I wanted to do Benny seeing the reader for the first time. Also I have a few other idea's, which I am interested in exploring.

I know, so much Benny haha. But I will say I might have a Feyd series in the works...just not sure I can do his character justice. Were as so many stories on here I have read, and they are amazing!

Tag List: @psychocitylights @wavyjassy

She was all that I could see

She was all that was in front of me

Try to climb the mountain peaks

What if I only ever reach the sea?

Would you stay awake and wait for me?

-Easy On My Eyes by Stephen Sanchez

Benny never had an issue with women. They were always happy to flirt and be on the back of his bike. But when it came to his attention, when they didn't get it as much as they wanted, those women would loose it. And eventually they would walk away from him. Always wanting to change Benny, wanting him to be a person he wasn’t.

Benny doesn't ask nobody for nothing. And he doesn't want nothing from nobody. It's not him, never will be. Yet the one thing he wanted was someone who accepts him, all of him. And at times it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Then there was you. A quiet, sweet little thing, Benny had thought when he first saw you.

It had been a warm spring afternoon. He'd pulled up by the curb of the large park in town, his bike seeming to be playing up. Shutting it off, Benny decided to let it sit for a while and hopefully he could get it to Cal. So there he was, leaning against his bike and having a cigarette. The looks he was getting weren't the warmest.

The next time Benny looked up and around he noticed you, walking next to an older woman, who he guessed to be your mother. The pair of you were carrying a few shopping bags, that was when Benny took in your uniform. And it told him you worked at the grocery shop that you both must have come from. The pastel green and blue dress looked good against your complexion, and your hair was pulled up in a ponytail with a few hairs that had come loose framing your face. You must have been working when your mother went in to do some shopping, making you help with getting the groceries home after you were finished work.

Your mother looked to be the one doing all the talking, while you had a look of boredom on your face. You weren’t afraid to show that side. Most women were brought up to always be poised, proper and wear a warm expression on their face. It was an act, a mask that mothers taught their daughters to do. Young women were expected to be perfect ladies. Yet you might look perfect, your bored expression told otherwise. It was a breath of fresh air to Benny.

When you walked past him, your mother looked to Benny before turning away in fear. Nothing new for him. Yet when you looked to him, your expression was blank. But in your eyes, for a brief moment, Benny thought he saw a spark of intrigue. Not to mention that you stared at him longer then most girls would. Then you had passed him. Benny watching the back of you, and your mother, as you walked on. But then he saw you look back at him over your shoulder for a moment.

That was it. From that moment on Benny knew he wanted to know you. And he had told himself every time you were near that he would talk to you. But something would always stop him from doing so. Call it nerves or being self conscious, but Benny would always falter. And then when his chance was lost, he’d kick himself over it.

So when you were leaving the diner, and a few of the other Vandals were making fun of you. That was it for Benny. He got defensive for you. A quiet woman who didn’t seem to speak up for herself. So it was his job to do it for you. And the surprised look upon your face, looking at him had been worth speaking up. Until you got scared and took off.

The guys who’d been teasing you then turned it on him. Laughing and saying he’d scared you off, how afraid of him you were. And Benny thought they were probably right. Yet he could of sworn he saw hope on your face. So he wasn’t ruling you out just yet. Benny was more determined now to speak to you, to learn more about you.

For the first time in a while Benny had something to chase after. And he wasn’t going to give up, or let it go.

[joannasteez]

piercer!cm punk who unintentionally talks you through your appointments. “breathe” he’ll say before the needle shoots through your skin. your body wincing.

your industrial was a bitch of a process but his raspy voice made it ok. maybe even better than ok. “need you to actually take care of this one”, breath warm. slipping over your ear gentle. “so youre not back and forth, havin to see my little old face all the time”. his teeth and the tip of his tongue playing with the labret on his lip. and you swore he was doing it on purpose. to make you squirm. the piercing in his lip shining as he gives you a little smile.

“its a nice face to look” you say. too busy checking your ear out in a handle held mirror.

he snorts. “yea right”, swatting your leg playful like. and you want to melt. his hands warm. fingers long. strong feeling. they must do other things, besides pierce needles.

you’re wincing again when its time for your labret. something you decide to get because you “like how his looks”. and he cant help but to think about how good it’d look on you. hooked over such a cute bottom lip. possibly tasting like metal and whatever lip balm you spread over it.

your lip twitches just before he can apply the antiseptic. his eyes rolling a little. for someone so afraid of the pain, youre constantly putting yourself through it. he may have a little masochist on his hands “relax”, he gives. deep and soothing. the tip of his hand patting your knee. because youre both comfortable enough for that to happen. this isnt your first piercing. youre a regular of sorts. a bothersome regular with poor pain intolerance and a bad habit of letting your piercings close.

he did your ears months ago, and before that a few months prior too. re-pierced your nose multiple times as well as your eye brow. he didnt mind it though. not if it meant seeing you.

he liked your little squirming and the fidget of your impatience. he liked regulating it. getting you to relax for him.

it’s pain when the needle goes through your lip. a whimper escaping that makes him hum. something short and acknowledging of your pain. his hair slicked back and his gaze rolling over the fleshy way of your lip. he cant even help it really. whether hes caught or not. youre just something worth grabbing his attention. something worth a double take. a second or third thought even. temptation.

and he does this thing after he puts the ring through your lip. “atta girl”, a pat-rub combination against your leg. just above your knee, where an intricate tattoo design colors your skin.

you like the way praise slips off his tongue. a little too much.

[circe69]

this goes out to all my migraine babies out there

"I take it you didn't use the medicine when you were supposed to," Soap said as you stumbled into the kitchen, crooked sunglasses sitting on your nose and a large water bottle placed in your sweaty hands.

You were in too much pain to even talk, but there was always room for sarcasm. "What gave it away?" You taunted back, restlessly pulling a chair out from under one of the tables and cringing as the metal screeched across the floor, hurting your already sore eardrums even more.

"You've got to take it at some point, that stuff was bloody expensive."

Price was in the middle of a sports section in his week-old newspaper when he decided it was a good time to rile you up even more. He didn't even have to look up to know that your eyebrows were furrowing so hard they were bound to fall off.

You cleared your throat and took a sip of your ice-cold water before speaking, "Yeah well, I just don't like shots. And that needle is huge, mind you. I'll be fine, I'm sure there'll be a worse one in the future." Price and Soap continued to grunt, along with Gaz as he clicked his tongue at your comment and continued to scroll on his phone.

Ghost walked in a few minutes later and he noticed two things upon entry: your head being on the table, and the epi-pen looking drug sticking out from your bag. He was stealthy without trying, and even though everyone else noticed when he arrived, you didn't.

He knew exactly what was happening, and he was tired of all your excuses, so Ghost did what he did best.

A sneak attack.

He signaled to the rest of the guys what he was about to do and didn't start until he received nods of confirmation. Everyone was on the same page. A few more steps, and Ghost was right behind the chair you were sitting in, sleeping in. He grabbed the injection as Price and Gaz slowly stood up and started walking towards you. Soap took the long way after taking a huge gulp of coffee and making his way to the corner behind Ghost, in case you tried to run.

With the medicine in hand, Ghost got down on his knees to the side of you, so he was on your level. One of his hands moved carefully to rest on the small of your back, and the other on your thigh. As you started to stir awake from the contact, that's when he made his main move.

"Now!" Soap shouted from behind the two of you, and Ghost abruptly grabbed your hips and pulled you on top of his lap to where he was sitting on the marble floor. You finally woke up as you fell on top of him. "Wait, wait wait wait no-" You tried to counter, but it was no use. With one hand, Ghost grabbed both of yours and pulled them behind your back so you couldn't fight back. At the same time, he snapped his fingers and signaled to Gaz to pull up your shorts leg and hold your thigh.

It seemed like only a few seconds to them, but years for you. You tried to not make noises, afraid that Ghost and the others would end up teasing you for the rest of your life. Once he uncapped the pen, he tightened his grip on both of your hands and injected the medicine right in the middle of where Gaz was holding your skin, a perfect bullseye.

A few tears ended up slipping out down your cheeks, just a few, and they dried up for the most part after you felt Ghost's hand squeeze your thigh, "Good girl, you got it," he whispered as he stood up, helping you as well.

His hand rested on your back as he guided you to a chair and placed a band aid on your fresh puncture. "All better."

[storm-angel989]

how would vox and the other vees react to his teenage daughter getting piercing and tattoos without them knowing?

Hi friend,

I like to think that Vox has better control of his emotions than Val- take a peek at what I came up with!

<3 Mandy

Vox could think of at least sixteen ways to handle the situation with an instantaneous result. Killing the person who dared to put a needle to the skin of his underaged daughter for one. An all girls boarding school, set in the furthest ring of hell. At minimum, screaming and yelling with he promise of infinite grounding would at least get his anger and disappointment out in the open.

When Velette called him down to her studio, he expected to be handed a file or six. Or more likely, be bitched at for some reason beyond his control. But when Velvette greeted him with little more than a command to follow her, and led him towards her office, he knew it was something much more pressing. Outside the door, Velvette paused.

“You can’t get mad, Vox,” she told him quietly. “You can’t. We need to handle it so she comes to us again. Got it? Promise me.”

“Uh, alright. I promise?” Vox replied. 

“Good. Now take a breath and keep that promise,” Velvette said as she pushed the door open. 

Inside, his daughter sat on top of Velvette’s desk. Wrapped loosely in a cotton robe and surrounded by tissues, Vox felt his heart drop. 

“Baby? Baby, what’s wrong?” He asked as he rushed towards her. He cupped her chin and tilted her head up to face him. “Talk to Daddy.” 

To his surprise, she shook her head vehemently. 

“You need to show your Dad, so we can get you to a doctor,” Velvette said gently. “Come on, he won’t be mad. Promise.”

She looked to him and to his surprise, his usually feisty teenage daughter had an expression that begged for confirmation of her words. In the back of his mind, worry began to form. A heartbeat of silence. A sharp elbow from Velvette and he winced. 

“That’s right, Reader,” he said finally. “I promise I won’t be mad.” 

With hesitation, Vox watched as Reader slowly turned away from him as she lowered her robe. Vox bit back as gasp at the sight of red inflamed skin sprawled across her lower back. Black lines rose to form an incoherent pattern and here and there he could barely make out parts of a word. Several words, perhaps. The broken up image of a butterfly. 

He felt his temper flare and Velvette’s hand tight against his shoulder. He took a deep breath and tried his best to keep his voice steady.

“What happened?” 

“I, my friends and I were at the mall and we decided to get matching tattoos,” she mumbled in response. 

“Where? How? You’re not old enough to get a tattoo, or a piercing without parental consent,” Vox said as he carefully examined her back. 

“Some guy in the back of the mall. He did my cartilage too,” Reader muttered as she lifted up her hair to reveal swollen, black and blue skin. “It’s all…it hurts, I’m sorry Daddy.” 

Vox couldn’t believe his daughter had done something so egregiously stupid. Gingerly, she pulled the robe over her back and turned to face him. 

“Daddy? I…”

“First things first. Let’s get you down to Val’s studio and have the doctor on staff take a look. You’re probably going to need a round or two of IV antibiotics and then we can go from there.” Vox said as calmly as he could. “We can talk about the rest later. For now, let's get you taken care of.”

Vox watched as his daughter broke down into tears. Instinctually, he reached out and wrapped her in his arms. 

“I know it hurts, baby, but we’ll get you some antibiotics. And probably a pain killer and you’ll feel much better,” he said as he held her. “Shush, sweetheart. Daddy will take care of you.” 

“She’s not just crying from pain, Vox,” Velvette said softly. “She’s afraid. Of disappointing you.”

Vox swallowed and carefully kissed the top of her head. “Honey, you know I love you. That won’t ever change, I promise.” He paused, “I know you’re too old to be carried, but if it hurts too much to walk.” 

To his surprise, his teenager leaned into him. As carefully as he could, he lifted her up into his arms.

“Don’t worry baby,” he said softly. “Daddy will always love you.”