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xxchumanixx · 5 months

Note

You're absolutely right, Eric Winter is the Godfather of sexyness🔥

Anyway, I hope you don't mind that I came up with with a The Rookie idea 🤗 hear me out my love hear me out:

Reader is a cop. Tim and her secretly harboring feelings for each other but they would never admit it

Everything was fine until one night when they were out with the others to celebrate and then they had a drunken one night stand

The next day Tim tells her that it was a mistake and they should forget about it. Reader is heartbroken and devastated.

Tim is also sad about the situation but he thinks it's for their best, so he even tries to avoid reader at work and she him

Until one day they have to partner up and go on patrol together

Above this uncomfortable situation reader is also feeling under the weather and feeling ill, but she doesn't want to show weakness towards Tim. So she tries to live trough the day despite her beginning to burn up and feeling weak

They got called to warehouse but it's a trap and they got captured

Tim finally starts to talk to her but notices how pale and sick she looks

He goes in full worried Tim mode

He tries to keep her calm and help her in her sick state

He apologizes for his behavior and they talk about their feelings

Reader is starting worsen, Tim holds her

With a lot of drama, sick reader, worried Tim until they're found

What do you think?

Have a nice day 💕💐

Intoxicated

Tim Bradford x reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+, mdni!, smut, unprotected p i v (wrap it before you tap it!), slight praise kink, hell of a lot angst, fluff

Word count: 4.939

Authors note: Hello love, thanks for the request! I absolutely loved it and I hope you'll like the way I wrote it! I don't know how, but somehow this ended up in present tense, not past tense. It's like my brain was offline when I started to write. Anyways, I hope you don't mind!

Im pretty sure I switched somewhere between the tenses, and haven't corrected it yet, so please let me know!

Enjoy!

You can't help the giggle that escapes you, when you try to open your door. Tim giggles along with you, his smile being so much more intoxicating in this moment, than you remember it.

Even though he's just waiting for you to open your door to bid you good night, before he would continue on to his own house, you can't help the exited feeling that's cursing through your veins.

You'd give more than everything to have him stay over. But that's just a fantasy - a very good one, but still.

You are colleagues, nothing more. Good friends, maybe, but that's it.

You're just coming home from a night out with your friends and other colleagues, having had a drink too much.

Tim had to hold you up all the way to your house, or otherwise you would have stumbled and fallen most of the time.

His hands had felt wonderful on your waist, a feeling that would surely burn its way into your brain forever.

When you finally hear the familiar click, you look up at him in triumph. He cocks a brow, huffing a laugh at your proud smile.

Heaving a sigh, you push the door open, turning back around to him. He's still looking at you, his face adorned by a warm smile though his eyes seem darker in the light of your porch's lantern.

The atmosphere prickles like electricity, it's thick - at least it is for you, as you inhale shakily.

He swallows thickly, taking a step closer.

"Are you sure you can take it from here?" he rasps, his voice suddenly hoarse. "Or do you need any help?"

He can't deny that he secretly hopes you would want his help. You had been intoxicating the whole evening, catching his gaze more than once with the way you looked and carried yourself that night.

His fingers feel numb, as the electricity shoots through them, his heart beating unsteadily.

Yours does the same, eyes locked onto his, as you search your mind for an answer.

"Some help would be great." you finally breathe out, watching his adam's apple bob, as he swallows again.

Nodding, he bites his lip, before you walk inside backwards, placing your keys on the dresser beside the door.

Once he crosses the threshold, he pushes the door closed with one hand, gaze still locked on yours.

Your breathing becomes shallow, heart pumping in your throat, as you anticipate his next moves.

Would he really just help you, so you'd be tucked in bed safely, before he left? Or would he help you in the most delicious way, the one you secretly yearn for?

Once the door clicks shut, he closes the distance, his hands grabbing your neck, as he pulls you closer. His lips meet yours like a starved man, not sweet, but hungrily and demanding.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, his sudden boldness leaving you dizzy.

Your hands interlock behind his neck, one of them brushing though his hair, as you tug him even closer.

His tongue brushes over your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You give in more than willingly, sighing into his mouth, as his hands find your waist.

His touch almost burns you, the intensity of his kisses soon leaving you breathless. It's a sensation you're sure you'll never forget.

He pushes you against the wall behind you, hands wandering further down, before they grab your thighs, letting you know that he wants you to jump.

And so you do.

As he walks you towards your bedroom, you can't help but sigh dreamily.

This is all you had silently wished for.

Even though you are drunk, you suddenly feel sober again.

As he lies you down on your bed, his lips leave yours, sucking on your neck instead. You moan as he finds that sweet spot that has your toes curling, causing him to suck even harsher.

His hard-on presses against your thigh, giving you a hint of what lies beneath the jeans - it was a lot.

He grabs the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head, before discarding of it on the floor. His lips greedily trace every inch of skin he exposed, kissing his way down the valley of your breasts, fingers fumbling for the clip of your bra.

Once he opens it, he lets it join your shirt on the floor, one of his hands grabbing a breast, kneading it. It makes you moan, arching your back into him.

It doesn't take him long to move further downwards, getting rid of your pants and underwear, after removing his shirt. He tugs you closer to the edge of the bed with his arms wrapped around your thighs, breath ghosting over your heat.

You are a whimpering mess under him, only growing louder, as his mouth attaches to your clit, sucking and licking, his hands firmly holding you in place.

Your sounds spur him on, his name on your lips; his hips frantically rolling against the bed frame in search for some friction. He hums at the taste of you, the sound vibrating through your cunt, eliciting another string of moans to fall from your lips.

He alternates between licking and sucking, tongue circling your entrance, before he slowly pushes a finger inside. He curls it just right, hitting that spongy spot that has his name cried into the night.

In a matter of minutes he has you coming on his tongue and fingers, riding you through your first orgasm of the night, as you continue to whimper his name like a mantra. He takes everything you give him, greedily lapping at you.

You can taste yourself on his lips, his tongue licking into your mouth. When he pushes inside it causes you both to groan, and he hisses as you grip him so tightly.

Panting, you try to calm your racing heart, as he pulls off his pants, before joining you on the bed again. His lips entangle with yours, as he aligns his cock with your entrance.

Falling into a steady rhythm, your legs wrap around his waist, granting him even deeper access. You can't help but gaze down at where you both are connected, moaning at the sight.

His lips find yours again, before they brush down your throat, kissing and sucking, stars appearing behind your closed eyelids, as your head tilts back.

You moan loudly, when he hits that sweet spot, cock softly kissing it. He does it again and again, hitting it so good.

"You're so tight." he grits out and you whimper in return. "Takin' me so good."

His words send shivers down your spine and you clench down on him. He hisses in return, smirking to himself. "You're doing so good for me, gripping me so deliciously." he praises, drawing a strangled moan from you.

"I'm close, Tim!" you breathe out, gazing up at him through hooded eyes. His meet yours and he nods. "Me too, baby." His lips graze your cheek, brushing up to the shell of your ear. "Come for me." he demands, hips snapping against yours. "Come all over my cock for me."

You cry out his name, following his demand as you come hard, squeezing him and he follows, stilling balls deep inside you, as he paints your walls with his cum.

You pant, shivering as he fills you up, his cum slowly oozing back out of you.

You swallow, heart pounding violently against your ribs. Tim slips out of you and you shudder at the sudden emptiness.

Sitting up, you watch as he collects his clothes, putting them back on. Suddenly it's awkward as you're sitting there, unsure of what you should do.

Scrambling for your own clothes you mimic his actions, until you're standing in front of each other, fully dressed again.

He seems hesitant, not sure what to do or say either.

"I'm gonna head home." he then says, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "See you tomorrow."

You just nod, eyes following as he walks to the door, eyes meeting yours for a split second, before he leaves.

You feel like shit.

Used, that somehow sums it up.

Walking into the bedroom you shed your clothes again, before stepping into the shower and turning the water on.

Trying to forget the gnawing feeling in your stomach, you scrub at your body, trying to wash him off of you.

His touch, his kisses, his scent.

But it doesn't work.

Not even the saltiness of your tears gets the feeling of his lips off your skin.

When you're lying in bed, wide awake, you try to think of anything other than him.

But nothing works.

_____

When the alarm goes off the next morning, you groan, rolling over to shut it off.

You haven't slept much, barely able to slip into the darkness without his face behind your closed eyelids.

Getting ready for work, you drag yourself around the house, before gathering your keys and heading to the station.

Somehow it feels strange, everyone seems to stare at you, like they know what you and Tim did last night.

But they don't, and they're not actually staring at you, barely glancing your way as you bid good morning.

Tim is already there, you've seen his truck when you parked. Dread is eating at you, not sure if you want to see him at all.

Walking into roll call, taking a seat at your usual spot, your eyes scan the room. He isn't there yet, but as you realize he'd sit right beside you - like he usually would - your heart picks up its speed.

Panic suddenly floods you, as you consider if you should go sit somewhere else.

But as the room slowly fills with people, your chance at another seat reduces more and more. When Tim enters the room, you stiffen.

Missed your chance.

He avoids looking at you, only mumbling a good morning, as he takes a seat beside you. Your arms brush against each other, and you flinch back involuntarily.

His eyes find yours at the motion for the briefest of moments, before they avert. Shrinking into your seat, you bite you lip, arms pressed to your body to avoid another touch.

Suddenly, you regret what you did last night. It seems to have changed everything - how could it not, right?

What else do you expect?

Sighing quietly, you wait for Grey to begin, so you could concentrate on him instead.

He assigns tasks, before he dismisses you.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you get up hastily, but Tim has the same idea.

You bump into each other like two teenagers on the run, before he takes the lead, walking out of the room in front of you.

"Tim!" you call out after him, before you can stop yourself, flinching internally.

He stops in his tracks, biting his cheek, before he gathers the courage to turn around to you.

"Yeah?" he asks, taking a step closer. You search his eyes for any indication of regret, unfortunately finding it.

He looks pained, like he wants to get away from this conversation as fast as possible.

"Can we talk?" you ask, voice lowered so other colleagues wouldn't hear. His eyes swipe through the room, before he nods once.

You follow him into the empty break room, stopping when he does.

"What do you want to talk about?" he wants to know, like he doesn't already know the answer.

"Last night." you press out, fighting to keep up the eye contact. He nods, biting his cheek again.

"Look, I know we... had sex, but it was a mistake, okay? It won't happen again." he says, all the while keeping a straight face.

Your heart crushes, but you won't let him see it.

You can't.

Not when he had you moan his name so often last night, that you aren't able to think anything else other than Tim.

Not to mention the way he talked to you. Or more like praised you.

A cold shiver runs down your spine, as you gape at him like a fish.

Cheeks flaming up, you look away, jaw ticking as you try to suppress the tears.

His face contorts, pain flashing through his eyes. He hates doing this to you, but he has no other choice.

Thankfully, you don't see it, as he steels himself, before you look back up at him.

Before you can say anything, someone enters the room, seemingly in search for some bad coffee.

Without another glance, you turn around, leaving him behind to find your rookie, his carefully put up mask crumbling with a pang in his heart.

Finding your rookie - or rather John's, but yours for the day, considering John isn't at the station until tomorrow - you send her a small smile.

"Celina." you greet her with a nod, motioning for her to walk towards the already prepared war bags, gathering them along with the guns.

She carries them towards the shop, storing them in the back, before heading to the passenger side.

"What's up with you?" she asks, sending you a worried glance. Brows furrowing, you get into the shop, buckling up. "Don't know what you're talking about." you give back, starting the engine.

You have been talking to her a lot since she started as a rookie, getting along pretty well.

That she can seemingly read you so well, has you swallowing.

This shift will be a stressful one.

_____

And it is.

You swear at some point Celina's stares have begun to burn holes into your skin.

"What happened?" she asks for what feels like the hundredth time, barely two hours into the shift. "I'm sensing strong discomfort."

Sighing, you grumble her name, though you know she probably won't stop. With Nolan she wouldn't be this forward, but you two had become sort of friends over the past few months.

"Okay, yes something happened." you finally give in with wide eyes and a motion that said 'happy now?', before carefully scanning your surroundings, as a sigh leaves your lips.

"With Tim?" she asks, still looking at you, even though you refuse to meet her gaze. "Did you sleep with each other?"

"No!" you respond a little too fast, eyes widening even more, causing her to tilt her head at you with a cocked brow.

"...maybe?"

Her own eyes widen as well, not having expected to be right with her assumption. "Wait what?" she gasps, leaning forward in her seat.

Rolling your eyes, you silently hope for a call, something to get you out if this situation.

And you're prayers are heard.

_____

It has been a week that feels like a whole month.

Tim avoids you whenever he can, and you do the same.

You should have known it would ruin everything.

Waiting for Grey to finish, you squint your eyes. Everything has been blurry since the morning, your body heating up slowly as time passes.

But you didn't want to call in sick, so you pushed through and to work with a sigh to yourself. You aren't one that gets sick fast, so you intended for it not to stop you.

"Bradford, you're with Y/L/N today." Grey's voice rips you out of your thoughts, gaze snapping up. If he sees the look of disbelief and panic on your face, he doesn't show it.

Or he simply doesn't care, as your watch commander.

Standing, your eyes hesitantly meet Tim's, who's across the room. You had switched seats with another colleague, so you wouldn't be sitting beside Tim anymore.

Sighing, you follow him, as he leaves the room, heading for the shop.

When you both stop behind it, his brows furrow. "Where are the war bags?" he wants to know, and your brows furrow as well. "Thought you'd get them." you mumble, avoiding eye contact.

He groans in annoyance, the sound making you feel worse, before he leaves, going to gather the things you need.

Fumbling with your body cam nervously, you wait for him in the shop, glancing into the side mirror, when the doors slide back open. He stores the bags and guns in the back, before getting into the drivers seat.

You don't talk, as he leaves the garage, driving out onto the bustling streets of Los Angeles.

Sighing to yourself, you adjust in your seat, back aching. His eyes drift over to you for a brief moment, taking in your appereance.

You are looking uncomfortable, but not only from the current situation. There are bags under your eyes, indicating that you didn't get enough sleep. The slightest bit of sweat makes your forehead glisten, and he wonders if you're feeling ill.

But he holds his tongue, not saying anything.

Your heart races, only adding to the uncomfortable feeling creeping into your bones. It isn't only Tim's presence, but whatever you might have caught, as well.

Coughing quietly, you lean forward in your seat; inhaling deeply, when you can breathe again. Yesterday you were feeling good, so why are you getting so sick now?

Tim's eyes wander back to you, brows furrowing, before he looks back out of the window.

The silence is deafening, tension palpable. Your tongue feels like lead, your feelings making it hard to speak.

"Can we stop to get more water?" you ask hoarsely, not daring to look his way. He nods, the crease between his brows deepening, as does his worry for you.

He can't deny that he's worried, not sure what you are going through that has you looking so pale. He's sure it's not only his presence, though.

When he parks, he motions for you to stay in the car, getting out, before you can protest. Huffing, you lean back in your seat, silently grateful that you don't have to go yourself.

Eyes closing, you breathe in deeply, trying to relax and lessen some of the pain in your back. But, when the door opens and Tim gets back into the shop, all relaxation goes out of the window again.

"Are you okay?" he wants to know, handing you two bottles of water. You nod, taking them without really looking at him, shivering as his hand brushes yours.

"I'm fine." you assure him, trying to sound stronger than you actually feel.

His teeth grit, but he doesn't push further - he doesn't have the right to, not when he's possibly responsible for how you're feeling.

With a nod, he buckles up, starting the engine and driving south, when the radio comes to life.

"7-Adam-100, we have a reported dispute, possibly armed, at a warehouse, 5601 Pico Boulevard. Do you copy?" "7-Adam-100, dispute, possibly armed, at 5601 Pico Boulevard." Tim speaks into the radio. "Copy, we're on it."

You rub your temples, clearing your throat, as you try to clear your head as well, shaking off the uneasy feeling.

The drive is quiet, except for the sirens, adrenaline pushing through your veins, alleviating some of the pain and aching. When you arrive, you draw your gun, hopping out of the shop and quietly following Tim.

Heading inside carefully, you start to clear the place, brows furrowing at how quiet it is.

How odd.

That is, until something heavy hits your head, and all you suddenly see is darkness.

With a groan you startle awake, sight blurry, as you try to make out your whereabouts. The air smells dusty and bad, brows furrowing. Pain shoots through your head, and you groan again.

What happened?

Blinking, you try to clear your vision, slowly making out another silhouette. "Tim?" you breathe out, once you're able to make him out in the light above.

He grumbles something, before his eyes meet yours.

"Hey," he brings over his split lips, blood already drying. "You're awake, thank god." You try to swallow the dryness in your throat away, but it makes you cough.

You feel feverish, body aching to the bones. You swallow again, in desperate need for some water. Sweat trickles down your neck and forehead, hair sticking to your skin.

You feel like shit.

"I'm not feeling good, Tim." you mumble, head lolling to the side. "Hey, stay awake!" Tim demands, causing your eyes to snap back to him.

He's bound to a chair, diagonally sitting beside you. Eyes widening, you realize you've been captured.

"Either they hit you real hard, or somethings up with you." he speaks, trying to analyze you from his position. "Either way, you're not looking good."

You huff, anger bubbling up beside the sick feeling in your stomach, vision lightly turning, but you try to keep it together. "As if you care."

He looks genuinely taken aback, forgetting he's being held captured for a moment. "Why wouldn't I?" he wants to know, leaning forward as best as he can.

"Because you refuse to even look at me." you retort, looking away, trying to inspect your surroundings instead. It's dark, except for the lamp dangling above you. "Because you refuse to engage with me no matter how."

You hear him swallow, as he licks his lips.

"That's not true." he mutters, inhaling shakily. Your gaze snaps to his, disbelief painted on your face. He holds your gaze, his own hardening slightly. "I do care. I care enough to end things before you can regret them."

You laugh dryly, anger seeping through.

"And what's with fucking me?" you ask, biting your cheek. "What about that?"

He flinches, swallowing again, as his gaze wavers. "We were drunk." he tries to play it off, shaking his head with a frown. "We weren't that drunk." you give back, leaning further back in the chair.

It's quiet for a while, your body growing hotter, the more time passes. You cough, groaning at the sick feeling that's making your stomach turn like a washing machine.

"You're sick." Tim realizes, eyes widening and you chuckle coldly. "No shit, Sherlock."

Someone chuckles behind you, causing you to jump in your chair, the wood scraping over the floor angrily. Heart racing, you try to catch your breath, head turning to watch the man come up in front of you.

"Well, that's the wonders of our chemical knowledge." he speaks, his accent thick. It sounds Italian, you think, as your brows furrow, same as Tim's.

"A bit of this, a bit of that, and you have a potent poison that makes you feverish, nauseous and sick."

Breath fastening, you swallow thickly, glancing at Tim. He fumes in his seat, eyes shooting daggers at your captor, who seems unfazed by it.

Panic grips at you with its iron claws, shivers running down your spine.

"Don't worry, it's nothing too serious." the man explains, grimacing. "Wouldn't want a dead cop on me, no. It'll wear off, but it gives me the perfect opportunity to tell you-" He cuts himself off, a sick grin splitting his lips, revealing pearly white teeth.

"Whups, maybe it is deadly. Should have read the description better, I guess."

Tim leaps forward, only held back by the thick ropes around his wrists. Fire spits from his eyes, and something tells you he'd kill the guy, if he wasn't restricted.

You try to focus, failing as you begin to hyperventilate.

I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die.

You hear the man laugh heartily, like he just heard the best joke on earth. Tears well up in your eyes, and you can only partly make out the mans frame slowly stepping back into the darkness, eventually slamming a door behind him somewhere down the warehouse.

Tim yells after him, tugging on the binds, the chair scraping over the floor with the sheer force of his tugs.

When the tears start to fall, you hear a crack, followed by a grunt.

Tim has managed to tip the chair over, bringing enough force with him to break a part of it, using it to free himself.

"Hold on Y/N." he says, working on the rope with the wood. "I'm here with you."

You sob, dread eating you alive. You are gonna die, and you didn't even have a chance to really live your life.

Another grunt, and he has freed himself.

Making his way over, he starts to untie the ropes around your wrists, but the fever burning your whole body blocks the feeling of his skin on yours out. When he's kneeling in front of you, his hand softly connecting with your forehead, you flinch at how cold he feels.

"Fuck." he mumbles, knowing that your skin was way too hot.

He helps you down from the chair onto the cold floor, fishing for his back up phone, that was clipped to his body, where your captor didn't find it.

He dialed the station, calling for an ambulance.

Breathing heavily, the tears run down your cheeks in cold tracks. When he ends the call, he brings you into his arms, embracing you in a hug.

"I'm so sorry." he mumbles into your hair, his breath cooling your burning skin. "I'm so sorry."

You sob, choking on your tears.

"Don't be." you whisper, hands fisting his shirt. "It's not your fault." But he shakes his head, something cool hitting your skin - a tear.

"I shouldn't have distanced myself from you." he speaks, tugging you even closer. "I'm such an idiot. I'm so sorry."

Shaking your head, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. "You didn't want to be near me after what happened, I don't blame you." you tell him, swallowing, but he shakes his head frantically.

"That's not true."

Your brows furrow, lips trembling. "What do you mean?" you rasp out, coughing once. "I mean that I didn't want to distance myself." he explains, a shaky hand brushing through your sweaty hair. "You have no clue how badly I wanted to be near you. But I didn't want to ruin what we have, I didn't want to face the possibility that you'd regret what we did. So I tried to give you space, telling myself, that it was the right thing to do."

A sob racks through your body, shaking him with you.

"But I don't regret it." you tell him, more tears falling. "I don't, because I love you."

It's now or never.

He stiffens, before he's the one shaking you now, with a sob of his own.

You are in his arms, dying, and you just told him what he was wishing to hear from you for god knows how long.

But you are dying.

"I love you, Tim." you tell him again, lifting your head to rest your cheek on his shoulder, nose brushing his pulse point. "And I don't regret it, not for a second."

He breathes out shakily, holding you against him. "I love you too, Y/N." he rasps out, smiling despite the situation you were in. You breathe a sigh of relief, and it let's you see a light at the end of the tunnel, if even for just a moment.

Black splotches obscure your vision, the world around you slowly fading. But you don't care anymore, not when you are held by the man you so deeply loved.

"Hey, hey!" you hear him say, his face coming into view, as he pats your cheek. "Stay with me, Y/N." You nod, trying to follow his demand, but it gets harder with each passing second.

You hear sirens in the distance, shouting, as Tim rocks you in his arms, after pulling you back into them.

As your world slowly turns black, you can't help but smile.

He loves you.

_____

A strange sound wakes you, it's steady rhythm calling you back into consciousness. Bright light blinds you, as you try to open your eyes, making you groan in discomfort.

Something beside you shuffles, a chair being moved closer.

"Hey." you hear him say, before your vision slowly clears and his handsome features come into view. Sighing dreamily, you try to sit up and he helps you, moving the bed up so you can sit more comfortably.

He holds out a glass to you, moving it to your dry lips so you could take a few much needed sips.

"How are you feeling?" he wants to know, putting the glass back on the table beside him. "Like shit." you mumble, sighing again. He nods, biting his cheek. "But at least I'm alive, right?"

He huffs, elbows coming to rest on the bed. "They arrested the man, Damiano- I don't know what, and he's in custody right now." he tells you, hands wiping over his face.

You nod, relieved. "That's good." you say, sending Tim a small smile. He nods, barely registering. "He almost killed you." he mutters, frustration and anger clear as day on his face. "We barely managed to get here in time, to give you an antidote. And all just to teach the police a much needed lesson."

Carefully taking his hand, you give it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm alive." you remind him, and his gaze turns to you. "But-" "I'm. Alive."

He halts, swallowing, before he nods slightly.

It's silent for a moment, as you tug him closer. "Please tell me I didn't dream all of that." you tell him, trying to avert his attention. He huffs, a small smile gracing his lips. "No, you didn't." he assures you.

Your smile widens, tears burning in your eyes.

"Can you say it again?" you ask him quietly, sitting more upright. He chuckles, leaning more towards you. "I love you." he says, and you chuckle in glee. "Again."

He huffs playfully, scooting closer, so his face is inches from yours.

"I love you."

Pushing forward, your lips graze his. "I love you, too." you say, before he closes the small gap, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss, a silent promise.

He'd never distance himself from you again.

Not now, not ever.

He simply couldn't.

Tag List

@newobsessionweekly @laheysfilm @augustvandyne

@rookietrek @dhunhdchrih @nachofriess @dtftheavengers

#the rookie #the rookie imagine #the rookie x reader #the rookie x u #tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #imagine #tim bradford smut #multi

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yooglefics · 5 months

Text

Reveal — Part three: celebrating

Pairing: Yoongi x fem!reader ( camboy!yoongi x camgirl!reader ) Wordcount: 4,513 words Genre: 18+ / smut. mdni! remember to not use fics as your only source of sex ed. Summary: Your birthday celebration takes a turn when Jungkook forgets to uninvite a particular guest. Part 3 of Recording & Editing. Read it in that order for context. More warnings under read more.

Includes: 3k words of just smut. Mentions of posting / selling sex content. Dirty talk. Use of pet names ( baby, doll, good girl? ). Fingering ( f ), Oral sex ( f and m ). Frottage. Cum play? A bit of overstimulation? Possessive Yoongi because Reveal!Yoongi is just like that and I can't do anything about it. It's true, I tried. Author's note: Okay, I think this is actually the last one for this. A trilogy is fine, right? But also don't quote me on that because clearly I can't seem to know how to stop writing this pair and I'm watching Jungkook from a distance like 👀 but shhh Which speaking of, I was thinking and if you want to know more about the characters in this verse specifically, you can send an ask with “( reveal!verse )” at the beginning, maybe specify if you want it to be answered ic with “( @ reveal!theirname )” , and a question or whatever you want to say. Idk, thought it could be fun~ Also, I made a post with different options for tag lists in case anyone is interested. You know, for future projects and stuff. But don't feel preassure to request it, and thank you for following this mini series. Anyway. I hope you like this and if you do please remember to comment, reblog, ask, follow, and whatnot. And again, thank you for reading <3

“You know, you could reply instead of just staring at it,” Jungkook says, over your shoulder.

You're sitting in your living room, phone in your hand with the audio post on screen. There was no way of denying you were caught, you had already embarrassed yourself by acting like a schoolgirl when telling him about SugaD leaving a comment.

“But what if I say something dumb and he deletes it?”

“Why would he do that? He thinks you're cute,” he teases.

“The cutest,” you correct, silly smile on your face once again.

“See. You should shoot your shot and talk to him, he clearly is interested in you too,” he winks, finally walking around the couch to sit at your side, fresh bowl of popcorn on his lap.

“But it's all so crazy. I don't even know how he found my page, he only follows big creators.”

“Well, he asked me.”

“What?”

“He asked who you were,” his Bambi eyes blink at you, fear creeping on his soft expression, “I… don't kill me, please.” He moves away from you and that makes you turn to him, leg over the couch and phone forgotten.

“Jungkook? What did you do?” All the scenarios go through your mind, imagining the worst. He told him you kind of have a big old crush on him even if you have never seen his face? Did he tell him about the joke of suing him because he is so—

“And I was busy so I thought, you know, he works with music and edits his own content and it seemed like a good idea,” he is talking so fast and you realize you missed the beginning of it, but before you can ask him to start over he just burst it, “so he edited it.”

“He what?”

“The audio. Your audio. He edited it.”

“My… audio.” The audio you're sure included the start of his video.

Fuck.

Shit.

That's so much worse.

You should delete your account. Delete yourself. You want to move to another country and change your name.

“Fuck.”

“I'm sorry. I should have asked you, but I figured…” he trails off, coming closer again. “I just… I didn't think it was a big deal because… well, I didn't know he was gonna subscribe to you. He only subscribes to people he is friends with and I know he doesn't even watch their stuff.”

You can tell he is trying to make you feel better, and although you appreciate the effort, everything is confusing. Does that mean he wants to be friends? But he doesn't watch his friends's content so… no friends?

“Fuck.” You murmur again.

“Are you mad at me?” Jungkook asks softly, worrying the ring on his bottom lip.

“I… don't know.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No. Let's finish the movie.”

But you can concentrate for the rest of it, and know that you'd have to watch it again another time in case your friend brings up something important about the plot. But now, the only thing in your head is theories about what you're going to do about that one particular comment and, again, you consider just deleting the whole thing.

Jungkook invites you the next weekend to the restaurant, it's his free day but he tells you he can get you the birthday special even if it’s one day early and he can even sing for you. You tell him you are only going if he doesn't make a whole thing out of it. You'd wear the birthday hat and blow out the candles, but if he dares to bring more attention to you, you actually will kill him.

He believes you.

And so, here you are. Sitting in a booth in front of Jungkook and Hanna, your best friend. Big chocolate cake in front of you that they insisted on getting because “you can have it for dessert for the next week and think about how much we love you”, and also because you love chocolate.

“Sorry. Am I late?” A voice behind you interrupts the end of the birthday song, your smile falling because you could recognize it anywhere, and the fact that he is here makes you panic.

“Oh, shit… ah…” Jungkook stumbles over his words, even comes close to knocking his drink. “Sorry. Hi.” He greets the guy and throws an apologetic look your way. “This is my friend Yoongi.”

“Oh, hi. I'm Hanna and didn't know we were waiting for someone, but good thing we got a big cake, uh?” she jokes and looks at you. She does that whenever you're around people and you don't talk, her way of making you feel included.

But right now you want to disappear. Birthday crown and all. Maybe take the cake too.

“Hi,” you say timidly, eyes on Jungkook instead.

“I…” he starts, remorseful look on his face as he explains, “invited Yoongi last week, didn't want to third wheel with you two.”

“Oh, that's fun! Well, you want to sit there or should I move?” Hanna proposes and you're about to say she should come to your side even if that means Jungkook has to stand up too, but Sug— Yoongi speaks faster.

“I’ll sit here. Is that okay?”

You only nod, scooting to your right to make space for him. To not be so close he notices how nervous he makes you just with his presence.

He smells nice. Fresh and woody at the same time, and is only overwhelming because is him. Because a lot of things about him are a mystery still and you are about to unlock them all right now.

“Those are cute,” Hanna says.

“Ah, yes. I… these are for you,” a bouquet is presented on your line of vision. Is not big nor too much, the perfect size to be a nice present and it lets you admire the flowers’ beauty. “Happy birthday.”

“You didn't have to.”

“You don't like it?” If you weren't so focused on your own nerves you'd have noticed the ones on his voice.

“I do.” You quickly say. It's cute. The lavender mixed with two types of white flowers you don't recognize but you love the look of, mostly the one that looks like little stars. “Is really pretty. Thank you.”

“I'll bring you a drink,” Jungkook says, and looking at him you know he needs one himself. You could actually kill him after this.

“Wait, where is the restroom?” Asks Hanna and your eyes lift from your present so fast your neck almost hurts, but she is quickly disappearing in the direction Jungkook points her to.

And that's what you get for keeping everything a secret from your best friend. Karma as its finest.

“Pff,” you breathe, sinking into your seat.

“I can go if you want me to,” Yoongi says softly at your side.

“What? No, no is—” you try to explain is not him. Nothing is wrong actually. Everything is perfect and you're totally not freaking out.

“You haven't looked my way,” does he sounds hurt? “Is alright. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything, I just thought… I don't know. JK invited me weeks ago and then I found out who you were,” you cringe at that, knowing he most likely means when he listened to your audio. “I figured I'd take the chance and meet you.”

“Why? I mean. Don't you feel uncomfortable because of the…” finishing your sentence feels unnecessary and saying it at loud is embarrassing.

“The fact that you watch my videos?”

“I swear I only watched like three and I don't do that with all of them is just— Are you laughing?” Finally you turn to him, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Sorry, sorry. But is that supposed to make me feel better?”

You don't answer.

“Of course I don't mind.” He leans in, "If you sound that cute, I'll let you watch all of them for free.”

Breath caughts on your throat, looking at him with big round eyes. His face is right there and you try to take it all in. Clean shaved, jawline not too harsh and with soft features, crested moon shaped brown eyes, pink lips, and the way they curve up when he catches you staring at them.

“I don't want to go, but if you want me to, I'll do it.” he backs out, and somehow you can tell he is genuine.

“Stay.”

After dinner and some chatting, Jungkook offers to drive Hanna home and Yoongi takes you to his place. It’s fancy, looks like taken out of a magazine and you tell him exactly that. He asks you if you want to judge his room too and with a laugh you tell him yes, because honestly, you're curious now.

You tell him it doesn't look too cozy and suggest investing in a nice blanket, he raises an eyebrow at you and finally you confess you're an interior designer by day. He tells you he is a music producer. And then you talk about how and why each of you decided to join OF and what kind of things you have discovered you like during that journey.

“Interesting,” he says when you confess you started following him because of a hand picture you saw somewhere else. He has been playing with your fingers while you lay on his bed, is relaxing and you don’t mind at all. “You said you were going to sue me, should I even be this close?”

“Oh my—” you pull away, covering your face. And he laughs. “Go away.”

“No, c'mon. It's cute.” He tries to turn your body to its side, but you don't give in. “Look at me, please.”

“No. I can't.”

“Why?”

“Because no.”

He laughs again, hand on your hip, “Baby, please?” Head shake is your answer, “I'm sorry. Should I confess something too?”

“Yes.”

“Let's see,” he props himself on his elbow, looking at you even if you are still covered. “I knew about you before the audio.”

“You did?”

“Well, Jungkook talks about you all the time and I was curious. I think it was the third time you guys collabed that I saw a picture and he mentioned your name on his page.”

“Which picture?” You ask, uncovering half your face to look at him, he smiles.

“The one with the books. You were holding one in front of you.”

You remember that. Like all your pictures with Jungkook, it was suggestive more than anything and in that one the pose made it look like you were touching yourself.

“And now I know what you sound like doing that,” he teases, “wonder if I'd be lucky enough to see it someday.”

“You've to stay subscribed and see,” is your turn to have fun.

“Should I make another instruction video for you?” or maybe not. And before you cover yourself again, he holds your wrist, bracelet digging a little on your skin but not enough to actually hurt. “Don't. Let me see you.”

“Yoongi…”

“Fuck. Don't say my name like that,” is only half joking, but he knows you can tell he wants you just as much. “Can I kiss you?”

You nod and his lips touch yours in a millisecond. They are soft, but his movements are quick, and soon his tongue is asking for permission to enter your mouth. With a moan, you granted happily and hungry to taste him.

His hand goes back to your waist, only resting before squishing it gently. Your own hand traveling to his nape and bringing him closer, your chests touching.

In need of air you break the kiss, and instead of stopping, his mouth keeps working down your jaw and neck, “ohh…” you try to breathe, throwing your head back just enough to give him space. It feels so good you don't want to stop.

And he doesn't. He continues until he reaches the fabric of your dress, covering your chest. He imagines your little gold collar he saw in some pictures. He thinks about buying you one on silver to match his own jewelry or buying a chain for himself the color of yours. Anything would do, he just wants you to be his and for people to know.

“W-wait,” your voice brings him back, and he stops immediately, “don't leave marks. At least not visible.”

“Okay, I can get creative.” A wink seals his promise and his hand moves to the buttons in the front of your dress, his lips following soon behind to attach themselves to the exposed skin. To your breast. He licks and kisses and when he reaches your nipple he flicks his tongue a few times.

That gets a good reaction from you, but he still asks “You like that?” because it does good to his ego and the mid-erection on his pants.

You nod between whimpers and can feel his laugh through his chest resting on your stomach, “is that enough?” You look at him, the lust on his eyes and his stupid smirk on his lips when he frees your abused skin from his mouth, leaving a bruise on your breast. “Is my tongue enough to make you cum, doll?”

And your pussy answers for herself. Legs impossibly close in search of some friction and, of course, Yoongi noticed.

“You need something?”

“P-please…”

“Tell me. I'll give you anything, baby.” His voice is raspy like on the videos you watch alone at night. Except is not through a screen and is actually directed to you. Is everything you wanted while touching yourself and for a second you wonder if it's really happening.

Running your hand through his hair you look at him, now lower on the bed and playing with the bottom of your dress while he waits for a sign between your folded legs, cheek against your thigh, letting you catch your breath.

“Yoongi?”

“Hmm?” his hand stops on your leg, heavy and warm.

“Touch me, please.”

And you don't have to tell him twice. His hands roam your body, while he leaves kisses here and there. Too desperate to finish unbuttoning it, the bottom of your dress gets pooled at your waist, revealing the lilac lingerie he saw a picture of the other day.

“So pretty,” he whispers, fingertips traising the embroidered details. It makes you shiver. “Fuck, I can see how wet you are.” His movements travel south to the patch over your entrance, and you respond just as he expects, moaning.

And before you can get used to that, his tongue is on you, flat over the wet and thin fabric. “Can't wait to taste you properly,” sounds a lot like a promise.

Biting your lip, you contemplate asking him to hurry, to give you anything. To get rid of all of your clothes yourself.

But he knows exactly how to drive you crazy.

Moving your panties to the side with the help of his left hand, the fingers on his right one make an appearance again. Collecting your wetness and using it to rub over your pussy, only applying little pressure at first. Moans echo throughout his room once again, louder and this time in the company of a couple groans from him when he finally pushes in.

“O-oh… oh my,”

“That's it. Let me hear your pretty sounds,” he encourages, letting you get used to the sensation before adding another one, his eyes on you the whole time. In the way you lick your lips before moaning, the way your hips move towards his hand asking to be fucked, the way your pussy wraps around his fingers.

“...more.” Is barely a whisper but he hears it, smiling at you.

“Want more? Is not enough?”

“Need you, please”

And how can he say no to you when you look at him that way. Like he is the only one that can give you what you need, how you want.

His head disappears between your legs, mouth watering at the thought. He can't even deny he was waiting for you to ask him to eat you out, he would do it in a second, whenever you want, because “oh, god, you taste so sweet.”

Feeling your legs closing he holds them back, pushing them against your torso with his free hand and squishing your soft skin just as tight as you are doing to his fingers. Thinking about how much force he would need to apply to leave a mark.

“F-fu… fuck. It, it feels so good, please.”

He is proud, lips curving lightly but without wanting to pull away to smile properly. His tongue laps at your entrance alongside his fingers, moving faster and faster, against that spot that makes your body tremble and makes the knot at the bottom of your abdomen want to scream.

“Please, please, please…”

And he knows what that means. Knows you're close and just need a little push, and he gives it to you in the form of a “Cum for me, baby.”

And you do. Head back and pussy tight around him, legs closing and hand pushing him away when his tongue keeps working, overstimulating and catching all that you give him.

“Oh… my…” you breath. Legs still shaking but feet finally on the mattress again.

He is standing at the end of his bed, one hand pushing his long hair back and the other unbuckling his belt, eyes on you while he takes you in. “Was that good?” He asks, you nod and he smiles matching yours. “Great. You deserve it.”

“You want some help with that?”

“What do you want?” Yoongi throws back, “You’re the birthday girl, after all.”

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, thoughts filled with ideas of the things you had wished to be able to do before, you watch him get rid of his jeans and boxers, his dick on full view for you. Only you. “Can I suck you off?”

Obviously, he can't say no, so he nods and you are quick to stand up, legs still feeling a bit weak after your orgasm, but it isn't a problem because as quick as your dress falls completely to the floor, you're kneeling in front of him, between his legs and hands on his tights.

You watch him stroke himself a couple times through gritted teeth, his other hand coming to cup your cheek as you get closer to his length. Saying you had been waiting for this wouldn't be an exaggeration, and without breaking eye contact you stick your tongue out, touching the blush tip slowly.

He sighed, as if he was, too, relieved at the contact. “So pretty.”

You push his hand away, taking his hardened length into your hand, only realizing then how big he actually is.

Tapping his dick on your tongue gets you a groan from him and you hum as you wrap your lips around the head, circling your tongue around it inside your mouth before letting go. He smiles at you, his chest moving fast as his breathing increases and his eyes are filled with lust. Your hand moves up and down when your mouth is not working, still wanting him to feel good.

Preparing yourself, you get closer again, taking more in and closing your eyes, adjusting to the girth.

“Fuck,” he moans, thumb softly stroking your face as his hand moves to the back of your neck when you imitate the previous movements of your hand, going up and down, taking more and more into your mouth. “Y-yeah, just like that.”

The encouragement helps the feeling on your lower abdomen to build in again, pussy squeezing around nothing and moaning around his dick, making Yoongi clench his jaw, bucking his hip up, and letting his grip go only at the last second. He wants to fuck your mouth so bad. Only watching your lips around him is driving him crazy and you feel oh, so warm.

“So pretty, doll,” he compliments as you try to keep your eyes on him as much as possible, only closing them when he hits the back of your throat.

You come up, catching your breath as you let your hand do some more work. Collecting your spit and rubbing your thumb on his sensitive tip. He reacts just as you expect, groans and head tilted back slightly, with his hands on either side gripping the black sheets. And that gives you an idea.

“Can you…” eyes are on you immediately, but you wish they weren't because that makes you shy and is even more difficult to ask.

“Tell me, baby.” He pleads, “I'll give you anything, just ask.”

But is easier to show than tell, and your fingers grab around one of his wrists, positioning his hand on the back of your head. “Just… hold it.”

“Fuck.” He has to inhale quickly before nodding, are you reading his mind? “tap my thigh if it gets too much, okay?”

A nod of your own, licking your lips before taking his dick in your mouth once again, the simple weight of his hand being enough to encourage you to take more in and staying there a bit longer before bobbing your head.

Yoongi alternates between letting you follow your own peace and holding you down for a few more seconds every once in a while, finally letting himself slam his hips more harshly against your mouth and the back of your throat. His moans fill the air as he pushes into you. “feels amazing… you take my cock so well.” You hum, making his hips fuck into you at the vibration, increasing the tension on his lower abdomen. “Such a good girl.”

“I could fuck your pretty mouth all night,” he goes on, looking down at you and all the mess you've created between his legs. “Oh f-fuck. What a beautiful sight.” opening your eyes makes the view even better, and he holds your head down, making you gag around his dick, “ah… ah…” he lets go, not wanting to come just yet.

And it might be the first time you see him and his beautiful dick in person, but SugaD’s last video is fresh on your mind, —how could it not after the anxiety of him finding out— so you remember he likes to hold back. And is hot. But he is right, is your birthday celebration and you don't want to play by his rules.

“Are you close?” the hoarseness in your voice is surprising for a second, but you don't have time to think about how it's most likely going to hurt tomorrow because he is fixing your hair behind your ears with a devious smile on his beautiful face.

“Want me to come in your pretty mouth?”

“No.” He raises an eyebrow at the quickness of your answer. “I have an idea.”

Standing up, your knees thank you, only realizing then you'll also have to deal with that later, being so in your head while giving head, the weight of having him in your mouth a priority, that you didn't even care until then.

You're back laying on his bed, pulling Yoongi to be in front of you, between your legs. “Is going to be embarrassingly fast if you ask me to fuck you right now.”

And for a second you consider it. Because he is not saying no and because he looks so good like this, hands reaching down to hold your waist and bring you closer to him down the bed. But you shake your head no. “You ruined my plans today,” feeling the need to justify your pervy desires you explain, “I was supposed to take pics today for my birthday post, so now you have to help.”

“You want me to take pictures of you?” also not saying no, just clarifying, and you can see in the lust of his gaze he likes the idea.

“I want you to do something first,” shyness invades again but looking down at his hardened length is enough to deliver the message, “and then take a picture. If you want.”

Yoongi is close to you again, bending down to kiss you with a “fuck yes, I want to.” His dick is resting over your pelvis, and you can't help the involuntary thrust your own body does. It feels heavy, and warm, and just so perfect. And when he thrust his hips, frotting against yours, you can't take it.

“Y-yoongi,” and he does it again and again, and soon you're cumming by just the feeling and the thought of how would it be to be actually fucked by him, how much would he reach inside you, making you feel so full and “Ohhh… oh”

He holds you and kisses down your neck as you come down your high a second time, before kneeling once more at the end of the bed. “You look so fucking precious, baby,” he notes, hand wrapping around his dick once more.

“You look great too,” you offer, biting your lip before letting honesty take over shyness, “I finally get to see you.”

“You been thinking about it?” He knows exactly what you mean. The reason he cuts it off his videos isn't just for privacy, is to give people something to wish for, to yearn.

You nod.

“Baby wants to see me cum?” Another nod, lost for words, but he is not having it. “Tell me.”

“Yoongi…”

“C'mon, baby. Tell me,” he taps his dick over your clothed pussy. Once, twice. Making your body jump at each touch. He teases the tip over your over-sensitive area and then taps again. Honestly, is hard to tell if he is teasing you or himself, but either works.

“I-I want to see you, please.”

His wrist moves in a faster rhythm, his other hand resting on your leg because he just needs to touch you. “Yeah? I'm going to cum,” he pants, “and you're going to show people how gorgeous you look covered on it.”

You really don't know how much he loves the idea of that, how much he wants to show the world you let him ruin you, how you whisper “please, please,” as he finishes, head thrown back and your name escaping his lips on a moan, shooting white over your naked stomach.

But you can imagine, his victory smile gives him away. And the way he keeps complimenting you all the while grabbing his phone and snapping picture after picture just confirms it.

But you can judge Yoongi too harshly, it does something to you as well. It helps your confidence and a proud smile matches his as he tells you people are going to hate him if you really post this on your page. And that newfound confidence tells you is going to be the first time you click upload without second-guessing yourself.

[ afterhours(y/n): Thank you for the birthday wishes! I indeed got a nice present, don't you think? [ picture ] ]

[ SugaD: Unbelievable 😻 Can we do something for my birthday too? ]

♡ Tag list: @m00njinnie , @sexytholland , @seoullove96 , @thelilbutifulthings , @disneyprincessshuri , @yoongibaybee ,

Thank you so much guys for your interest and support on this little series, I appreciate you 🥺💙

➪ Part one. | ➪ Part two | ➪ Updates for this verse | ➪ Ko-fi

➪ Main masterlist. | ➪ Updates in general | ➪ Request & chats ♡

#( writing. )#( reveal )#( reveal: celebrating )#min yoongi x reader #min yoongi smut #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi fic #yoongi #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi x f!reader #yooglefics

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tinywitchgoblin · 4 months

Text

Good, Bad

Hunter x fem!reader x Crosshair, use of she/her but no use of y/n

Summary: nasty smut with Crosshair and Hunter (plot? who’s she?)

Word count: 3.3k (oops)

Warnings: smut MINORS GTFO, threesome (mmf) NO CLONECEST, unprotected piv sex (wrap it up in real life y’all), mention/use of sex toys and handcuffs, lots of degradation, also lots of praise, honorifics (sir), use of safewords, Tech makes sex toys, edging, face fucking/riding, oral (m and f receiving), spanking, creampies, choking, overstimulation, I think that’s it??

a/n: I rb’d this post ⬇️ with these tags and got an anon ask to write the fic so here we are!!

a/n 2: this is my first time writing explicitly kink stuff, so if I messed anything big up, please let me know. I did some research, but there’s a possibility that I missed something

What you had with Hunter and Crosshair didn’t really have a label. It wasn’t quite friends with benefits, given that you were exclusive, but you weren’t quite dating, either. What wasn’t ambiguous, however, was that the sex was top-tier. The two of them had lots of experience, and they sure put it to good use. They took you individually, together, in the bedroom, in the closet, in the shower, you name it. This dynamic gave new meaning to the concept of “variety is the spice of life,” and tonight, things were gonna get spicy.

So that’s how you found yourself in your room with the guys, Hunter stood behind you rubbing your shoulders to ease the tension there while Crosshair got things prepared. He’d grabbed lube, a couple of toys, a waterproof blanket for the bed, some water bottles, a couple of toys, and some other supplies to use throughout the evening.

“You sure you’re up for this mesh’la?” Hunter inquired, always intent on making sure you gave consent. One of his favorite things was asking for your consent enough times to the point where you’d beg for him to fuck you- and he loved every bit of it.

“Yes, I’m ready,” you affirmed.

“You remember the safeword system?” Crosshair questioned.

“Yes, I remember,” you reassured.

“Then say it back to us. We want to make sure everyone is on the same page, and that we keep you safe,” Hunter asserted. You turned around to look him in the eyes before responding, “Green means ‘keep going’, yellow means ‘slow down’ or ‘proceed with caution’, red means ‘pause’, and black means we’re done for the evening,” you recited. “And I’m green right now; all set to go.”

“Well done, mesh’la, I’m so proud of you,” Hunter murmured, nuzzling into your neck. “So good at being good.”

“There’s no way this little slut would forget the system,” Crosshair whispered from behind you, turning your face towards him before continuing, “We couldn’t fuck it out of her even if we tried. Little cockwhore needs to be filled, and she knows she needs the safewords in order to get what she wants.”

You let out a little whimper- so that’s the chosen dynamic for tonight. Hunter fed your praise kink, while Crosshair took hold of your need to be degraded. You lovingly referred to it as the ‘good cock, bad cock’ routine. “So… what are things looking like for tonight?”

“You see those toys over there?” Hunter indicated over to the dresser where Crosshair’s little ‘assistants’ for the evening were displayed. “Crosshair is gonna use these on you, and you’re gonna follow his directions exactly. When you do, I get to reward you. Deal?”

“If she’s good,” Crosshair corrected. “Sometimes the little slut can’t help but break the rules. And if that happens… no reward.”

“She’ll be good,” Hunter asserted. Turning to you, he asked, “Isn’t that right, mesh’la?”

“Yes sir, I’ll be good,” you assured. Hunter gave his brother a knowing look, to which Crosshair gave his usual scowl.

“Get on the bed, little cumslut,” Crosshair demanded, to which you gave a quiet “yes, sir,”

Crosshair led you over to the bed, grabbing a pair of cuffs on the way. They’d been specially made by Tech for these sorts of situations. In fact, all of the toys on display were ones Tech had made. His were better than any you’d been able to find at a store or online, so they showed up pretty regularly during scenes that involved toys. Holding up the cuffs, he asked, “What color?”

“Green,” you replied, holding your wrists to the bed frame where you knew he’d ask you to put them.

“Good girl, knowing exactly what to do,” Hunter praised, laying down next to you and brushing a hand over your cheek.

“You give her too much credit, she’s doing exactly what I fucking told her to,” Crosshair retorted. “Little bitch knows I expect nothing less. Isn’t that right, naughty girl?”

“Yes sir,” you responded, but that wasn’t enough.

“Yes sir, what?” Crosshair demanded.

“Yes sir, I did what you told me to,” you repeated. Hunter decided to stay quiet for the moment, letting Crosshair do as he pleased. Crosshair got up and walked back over to the dresser, looking down at his options for how to proceed. He definitely wanted to use the wand at some point; you always looked so pitiful when edged for long enough, plus hearing you beg to be allowed to cum turned him on like nothing else. He also considered using the buttplug, but that wasn’t the highest thing on his list of priorities at the moment. Browsing over the other options, he grabbed the wand and the lube, figuring he could come back and reevaluate later.

Meanwhile, Hunter had tilted your face towards him, kissing you gently. As he did so, one of his hands went from holding your face to massaging a breast, earning a moan, which he swallowed eagerly. Noticing that Crosshair was ready to continue, he pulled away, but stayed within arm’s reach to give you support.

“Color?” Crosshair asked.

“Green,” you gave, a bit more breathless than before. Hunter’s kisses always did that to you.

“This is what I’m going to do to you. I’m going to use this wand on you, and you’re not allowed to come. If you do, I’m going to use the cane on you, and for each second of your orgasm, you will receive one hit to the ass. Repeat back to me what I said.”

“You’re going to use the wand on me and edge me. If I come, I get one hit to the ass with the cane for each second of my orgasm.”

Without another word, Crosshair settled between your legs, squirting a bit of lube onto his hands and the wand before turning it on. He dragged it up the inside of your left thigh, watching you squirm, desperately trying to get some sort of friction. Putting down the wand and grabbing your legs, Crosshair forced them open even more. “Keep your legs open, little slut. I’ve seen you do it before, don’t be lazy.”

“You can keep those pretty legs of yours open, right, baby?” Hunter chimed in, brushing a stray hair out of your face.

“Yes, sirs,” you affirmed, focusing on keeping your legs open and ready as Crosshair kept teasing you with the toy. He would bring it closer to your aching cunt before moving it away. You knew he loved teasing you like this; you also knew he could take his sweet time when he wanted to. Thankfully, he was feeling a bit impatient tonight.

When he moved the toy to where you needed it most, your body jerked, trying to get more. A strong smack to the thigh told you to keep still as he ghosted the wand over your clit. You focused all of your energy on staying still and keeping your legs open, but it was getting increasingly difficult as Crosshair applied more pressure with the wand. The whole time, you could feel Hunter’s presence next to you, and at one point, he brought one of his hands up to hold yours where they were bound to the bed frame.

As you felt yourself approaching the precipice, Crosshair pulled the toy away and sat there for a moment, watching your cunt spasm around nothing, longing to be filled. But he wasn’t about to let you get what you wanted so easily.

“That was me going easy on you,” Crosshair divulged. “It only gets more difficult from here, and remember what I told you would happen if you come before I give you permission. No, tell me what happens if you come early.”

“If I come, I get one hit to the ass with the cane for each second of my orgasm,” you remembered. With a single nod, Crosshair redirected his attention to your pussy, reacquainting it with the wand. Tired from your first edge, your control over your body was slipping, and you felt your orgasm nearing once again. This time, Crosshair kept the wand on for longer, and you had to muster all of your energy to keep from coming.

Finally, he pulled away, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Looking over towards Hunter, you saw he’d started palming himself, patiently waiting for the show to continue. When he saw you looking at him, he asked, “Think you could help me out with this, mesh’la?”

“How can I help?” you asked, glancing up at your still-bound hands.

“Let me ride that pretty face of yours. Your mouth always feels so good, and it’ll give you something to concentrate on while Cross is edging you,” he clarified, looking over to Crosshair to make sure he was okay with that idea. With a nod, he looked back to you, he asked, “Is that okay with you? What color?”

“Green,” you responded, looking forward to having Hunter’s cock down your throat.

“What is Hunter about to do to you, cockslut? Say it back to us,” Crosshair demanded.

“He’s gonna ride my face and fuck my mouth, use me how he wants,” you whispered, looking over as Hunter climbed over your face.

“Such a good girl,” Hunter moaned, and without another word, he sunk into your awaiting mouth, grabbing onto the bed frame for balance. Crosshair placed the wand back on your clit, and you moaned around Hunter’s cock as he bottomed out. He held still for a moment, getting used to the feeling of your throat, while you tried to focus on breathing through your nose. He was big, and it had taken a while to train you to be able to take all of him. He moved his hands so that they were holding yours, while still maintaining his balance.

Crosshair kept his attention trained on edging you a third time. Hunter was right- this time, you were able to concentrate on sucking Hunter off, so you had something to focus your attention on instead of just the sensation from the wand between your legs. Hunter pulled out a bit before pushing back in, content with fucking your mouth nice and slow for the moment.

As you approached your orgasm a third time, Crosshair sped the motions with the wand, forcing you to choke on Hunter, who only fucked your throat faster in response. As you held your orgasm off the best you could, he pushed into you as far as he could and spilled his cum down your throat. Finally, Crosshair relented, pulling the toy away as Hunter pulled out of your mouth.

“Color?” Hunter checked.

“Red. I need some water,” you admitted. Crosshair got off the bed and grabbed one of the water bottles as Hunter climbed off of you and whispered, “You did so, so well, mesh’la. I’m so proud of you, and you should be proud of yourself, too,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss you.

Crosshair brought the water over and you opened your mouth for him to pour some water into. You drank deeply, not realizing how thirsty you actually were.

“How're you feeling now? What’re you thinking?” Hunter questioned. You took a minute to respond before admitting, “I don’t think I can take any more edges.” You looked over at Crosshair before continuing, “I’m sorry, I wish I could do more.”

“Maybe another night,” Crosshair conceded. “You know your limits, and I won’t cross a boundary. Time to move on?” You nodded in response. Hunter kissed your forehead and added, “You’re doing so well. Your body can only take so much, and you were good for communicating your needs to us. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“And can we take the cuffs off? My shoulders are starting to hurt,” you clarified.

“Of course,” Crosshair affirmed, unlocking the cuffs and bringing your arms down slowly so as to not cause any more pain. Hunter massaged your shoulders, alleviating some of the pain that had built up there. You leaned into his touch, enjoying the break in activity when Crosshair came back over to the bed, buttplug in hand. “Think you’re up for this?”

You thought for a moment before responding, “Not tonight.”

“Look at you, setting boundaries. Such a good girl,” Hunter praised. “Is there something that we can do that you want to try? Another toy, a different position?”

“What does our filthy little cockslut want to try next?” Crosshair added, reaching over and tugging on your hair a bit.

“I wanna come,” you begged. “I need to come so bad, please-”

“Shhh, we’ll take good care of you,” Hunter reassured, taking you in his arms. He sat back against the bed frame, pulling you with him and depositing you on his lap with your legs bracketed outside his own, legs spread wide so that Crosshair could see how wet and swollen your pussy was.

“Wanna be a good girl and give Crosshair a show?” Hunter murmured in your ear. “Show him how pretty you look when you come on my fingers?”

“Yes sir,” you moaned, desperate to finally get your release. Normally, Hunter would take his time worshiping every inch of your body before even considering going down on you, but he knew how badly you needed to come. He brought his hand down to your aching pussy, circling around your clit a few times before massaging your entrance and slowly pushing a finger in. You gasped, grinding and clenching down on his finger.

“Such a little whore, so desperate and aching just from one finger,” Crosshair chided, laser focused on where Hunter’s finger disappeared inside you. Hunter pushed a second finger in with the first and began curling them against your g-spot, making you see stars and squirm around in his lap. He wrapped his other arm around your waist, holding you close to him, whispering, “You’re doing so well, letting me finger you like this. Let’s get you that orgasm, yeah?”

All you could do was nod as you felt yourself hurtling forward, getting closer and closer to finishing. Hunter dipped his head down to suck a hickey into your neck as he kept fingering you, feeling you get closer and closer to your orgasm.

As you felt yourself reaching your peak, you tried to let them know that you were about to come, but given that the only noises you could make were senseless babbles, they figured it out pretty quickly. Once you hit your peak, you felt your entire body clench, losing all control and surrendering to the all-consuming pleasure Hunter was giving you. It felt as if every nerve ending in your body had been set alight, blazing from head to toe, and you could do nothing but take it all in. The whole time, you could vaguely make out Hunter whispering in your ear “that’s it,” “good girl,” “you look so sexy coming all over my fucking fingers.”

Eventually, you came down from your high, trying to regulate your breathing. Crosshair leaned in and captured your lips in a surprisingly gentle kiss before pulling away, looking into your eyes, and muttered, “slut” before giving you a quick kiss to the forehead.

Once you’d fully regained control of your bodily functions, Crosshair asked, “Color?”

“Green,” you replied, eager to see what was next.

“I think you’re finally ready for my cock, and I know your slutty pussy agrees with me,” he smirked. He looked to Hunter, who turned you around and put you on your hands and knees, ass in the air, just the way Crosshair likes it. Crosshair maneuvered himself behind you, taking in the view before giving your ass a couple good, hearty slaps that you knew would be visible come morning. Sliding the tip of his cock through your folds a few times, he eased himself into you slowly, giving your body time to adjust to him. He bottomed out for a moment before pulling out and thrusting back in again. Crosshair was known for being rough, and this was no exception.

With every thrust, your body slid a little bit farther up the bed until your face was buried in the pillows. His grip on your hips was so strong you knew those would leave marks, too. Crosshair absolutely loved marking you up, especially in places most people wouldn’t get to see. As he pounded into you, he grabbed your hair and pulled you against his back, biting your throat and saying, “Little fucking cockslut, just waiting to be filled up and turned into a fucking cum dumpster.”

As Crosshair could feel your walls fluttering around him, he knew you were close, so he slid a hand down to your clit and rubbed precise circles over it. Before you could respond, your orgasm took you by surprise, walls clamping down over Crosshair’s cock. He kept pounding into you, chasing his own high, sending you into overstimulation. All you could do was cry out and claw at whatever parts of his body you could reach. As he reached his high, he pulled out and came on your ass, watching as your cheeks became adorned with white.

Pulling away, Crosshair laid you back down onto the bed as Hunter approached. “Fuck, you looked so pretty coming all over his cock like that. You got one more in you?”

“Yes, please, let me come on your cock, too,” you begged.

“Still so desperate to be filled, hmm? You want to be Hunter’s little cum dumpster?” Crosshair teased.

“Yes, oh fuck yes,” you babbled. Hunter moved you so that you were on your back with your legs over his shoulders, cock poised at your entrance when he asked, “Color?”

“Green,” you breathed. Without another word, he pushed into you, filling you up. Sure, Crosshair was longer, but Hunter was certainly thicker, and you still needed a bit of time to adjust to his size. He leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead as if he wasn’t buried balls deep inside you, showing his soft side.

“Fuck, you always take my cock so well,” Hunter moaned as he started to fuck you. You could feel him stretching you out, the breath getting knocked out of you with every thrust. As you lay there being repeatedly impaled on his cock, Hunter couldn’t help but reach out and wrap a hand gently around your neck. Not hard enough to actually restrict airflow, but just enough pressure to assert dominance. You, on the other hand, wanted him to choke you, so you put your hand on top of his and pushed so he would know to add pressure. He groaned and exerted a bit more pressure on your neck, adding that much more pleasure to what you were already experiencing.

For the final time that night, you reached your high, coming all over Hunter’s cock. You could tell he was getting close, too; his thrusts were harder and more erratic. Before long, you could feel his cum filling you up as he finished inside you. Stilling inside you, Hunter tilted his head and kissed one of your legs as you smiled up at him, pussy still twitching from your orgasm. He slowly pulled out of you, taking your legs and resting them back on the bed. Crosshair came over with a damp cloth to clean you up with, and Hunter grabbed some more water for you, knowing you’d be thirsty again.

The two of them knew how to take care of you during sex, and they made sure to pamper you afterwards. Even though you didn’t dare say it out loud, you loved the both of them so much; however, what you didn’t know was that they felt the same about you.

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glossdebut · 17 days

Text

Take a Bite Ch. 3

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: yoongi being RICH. also... remember that eventual smut? well it's kind of here! if you wanna skip, stop reading at [Maybe you should fix that.] and then continue at [After another moment, you roll over onto your stomach...]

✧ WORDCOUNT: 3.5k

✧ STATUS: ongoing

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi i normally post on wednesdays but we're about to get a HURRICANE where i'm at so i'm posting early lmfao. rating goes up in this chapter whoops! not sure when chapter 4 will be posted but i'll keep you guys updated. thank you all so much for the engagement i've been receiving on this fic!!! it's my first one ever and i never expected to get so many readers so quickly <3 you guys are keeping me writing so please feel free to send me feedback if you like this chapter. i'd love to read it if i have power over the next few days LOL

Chapter 3: I Wanna Fold Clothes For You

So, you and Yoongi are friends.

Of course, seeing him three times within twenty four hours was a fluke, and over the next six days you don’t see him once, not even in passing in your shared hallway. You’re not privy to his work hours, but you know based on what little he’s told you that working as a producer demands more than the normal nine to five, as does your job.

Still, there’s something about coming home every night and knowing that you have a friend right down the hall, if you need one. You haven’t had that in a long time, and you feel so much lighter now that you do have it.

There is, of course, an upside to not being able to see Yoongi often. Given that you’ve only just met him, you don’t have his appearance committed to memory quite yet, and mercifully, you’re beginning to forget why you were so viscerally attracted to him in the first place.

You reason that it must’ve been the alcohol. You were getting drunk when you met him, stupidly drunk when you discovered that you’re neighbors, hungover when you shared a tangerine, and drinking from a bottomless glass of wine (courtesy of Seokjin) when you drooled over his hands for a solid ten minutes. You have yet to interact with Yoongi clear-headed and lucid. Not to mention you’re just a little bit… pent up, recently. Drunk and horny Y/N had the wheel. That has to be it. Nobody is that hot. You’re sure of that. Men ain’t special!

So you go through your week business as usual, but with a slight spring in your step, and it’s lovely. You even venture way further away from the office for your lunch hour on Friday than you normally would to go to a restaurant you’ve been dying to try. You’re usually so tied to the office that the furthest you tend to go is the convenience store down the street for the instant stuff.

And then, since the universe demands correction (or overcorrection where you’re concerned), all of the floaty goodness comes to a screeching halt when you get in your car to head back to the office. Your car which, in the past hour you’ve been blissfully stuffing your face with tteokbokki, has decided it has done its job and is ready to retire.

It just straight up won’t start.

Sitting in the parking lot of the restaurant, you go into crisis management mode.

You’re thankfully not completely clueless where cars are concerned. It comes with the territory of owning a beater. You keep up with your oil changes, you don’t leave the lights on when you get home late. You replaced your battery semi-recently, so that shouldn’t be it. Unfortunately, you don’t have much time to troubleshoot. You need to get back to work. Okay… Damage control, then.

The most obvious solution is to call one of your coworkers to come and rescue you, but your coworkers are just as notorious for being tethered within a one mile radius of the office as you are, so that would more than likely end up being a waste of time. You could find the nearest bus stop, but who knows how long public transportation could take right now? Too unpredictable. You could call your boss and tell him that you’re not going to be back to the office anytime soon (or at all today) and get your car towed and repaired. But then you would suddenly have a reputation of being unreliable, because god forbid you have a human moment. That’s straight up not an option. You’ve been doing so good this week.

You’re sure there are other options. But isn’t this what friends are for?

He answers on the fifth ring, but he answers.

“Y/N?”

“Yoongi.” You feel your shoulders slump in relief. You try your best not to sound as panicked as you feel. “Are you busy?”

“Um. I’m at the studio,” he says, confusion in his voice. “But I have a minute. Is everything okay?” Confusion and concern? That’s nice.

“Everything’s fine!” you blurt out. “Okay, maybe not. My car won’t start! I don’t know why, but it won’t, and I need to get back to work, but you’re at work, too! I don’t even know where you work, but I doubt it’s anywhere near where I am, and even if it is, I don’t want to tear you away from anything important—”

“Y/N.”

“—I know you said you had a minute, but I really don’t want to fuck up your flow. That’s a term, right? You’re a producer, you… flow. Anyway, I just don’t really know anyone here and I didn’t know who to call, and if I don’t get back to work soon my boss is going to kill me—”

“Y/N,” he says, more firmly. Your mouth snaps shut. “Where are you?”

“In my car,” you say dumbly, frazzled.

Yoongi sighs. “Send me your location.”

“For what?”

“I’m gonna send a car to come get you and drive you to your office,” he says, and he sounds just the slightest bit exasperated about needing to explain that to you.

Send a car? What the fuck? You have so many questions, such as: how fucking loaded is the guy who lives two doors down from you in your very shitty apartment building? What label does he even work for? How famous of a producer is he to be able to send a car to you? But your immediate instinct to turn down his help wins out over asking any of them.

“What? Yoongi, no, that’s too much,” you complain. “Don’t do that. I just freaked out a little bit, I can–”

“Y/N,” he interrupts. If you’re not mistaken, it sounds a bit like he’s trying not to laugh at you. Fucker. “Location.”

So you send him your location. What other option do you have?

“You’re not far,” Yoongi says once he receives your text. A few moments pass, and then: “Car will be there in ten.”

“Thank you,” you say. You feel nauseous, like maybe you’re going to cry, but there’s also a good amount of relief there, too. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“No need,” he says. “I’d come get you myself, but I really can’t get away right now.”

“Still, there’s a comically large bottle of an alcohol of your choosing in your future. Seriously, thank you.”

His responding laugh is enough to settle your stomach just a little. “Seriously, you don’t need to pay me back…” A pause. “But for the record, I like whiskey.”

You wrinkle your nose even though he can’t see it. “Gross.”

“Don’t be a hater.”

“As long as you don’t make me drink it with you, I’ll keep my comments to myself,” you say, finding yourself smiling.

“Oh, you think I share?” Yoongi teases back. He sighs again. “I really have to go.”

“Go, go,” you say. “Thanks for saving me. Even if it’s by proxy.”

“You can always call me if you need shit like this,” he says. You can tell that he means it. “I’m glad you called me. Means I’m doing something right.”

“You are,” you say, your voice soft. Your cheeks feel warm. Probably because you’re sitting in a dead car. “Thanks.”

Yoongi hums in response. “Text me when you get back to the office safe, okay?”

“I will. Bye, Yoongi.”

And that’s that.

★ ★ ★

True to your word, you text Yoongi when the stupidly luxurious car he ordered for you drops you off at your office, only ten minutes later than you’re due back from your lunch break. You’re able to slip in without anyone noticing that you’re late at all, which is great. Crisis partially averted.

He sends back a thumbs up emoji, and then decides to drop the bomb that he intends to pay for your car to be towed.

[1:21] You: YOONGI NO

[1:21] You: you can’t do that!!!!

[1:24] Yoongi: 100% I can and will as soon as I get ten minutes to make a phone call to sort it out.

The audacity of this man.

[1:25] You: seriously i cannot ask you to do that

[1:25] You: i was just going to take the bus back to the restaurant after work and deal with it from there. i’m actively researching towing companies and repair places on company time as we speak

[1:30] Yoongi: You’re not asking me. You’ve got enough to worry about. Let me take care of it. I know the places.

[1:31] You: still, i can’t let you spend money like that on me. i don’t even wanna think about what that car cost you

[1:31] Yoongi: If it helps you sleep at night you can pay me back on your own time. You definitely don’t have to though.

[1:32] Yoongi: That reminds me. You can use that car until yours is taken care of if you need to. I’ll send you the driver’s contact. Don’t take the bus.

You feel like you’re going insane.

[1:33] You: do you have a grammy or something? what do you DO to be able to afford shit like this? why do you live in our building? are you a drug dealer?

[1:37] Yoongi: :]

Of course, he gives you no clues about what exactly he does, but after a bit more back-and-forth, you finally give in and let Yoongi handle everything under the condition that you’re going to pay him back. He doesn’t seem all that worried about it, which infuriates you just a little.

You go through the rest of your day like normal, if not a tad twitchy. Come quitting time, you take advantage of having a driver at your disposal and have him stop a liquor store on your way home.

As you take the elevator up to your floor, comically large whiskey bottle (as promised) in tow, you text Yoongi and ask if he’s home yet. At his responding ‘No, why?’ you cackle to yourself and pocket your phone. The elevator doors slide open. You were hoping that would be the case.

You clocked out at a semi-normal time tonight, a gift to yourself to cope with the stress of the day, and so you take great pleasure in setting the bottle down on Yoongi’s very tasteful cat doormat, flipping it off right back on your way into your own apartment.

You silently pray to whatever god may be listening that the whiskey isn’t swiped by someone before Yoongi gets home. Your cat, Pepper, is blinking at you lazily on the kitchen counter, and you give her a triumphant little scratch on the head before padding to your bedroom to deal with your laundry.

Your move, Min Yoongi.

★ ★ ★

“Do I need to be jealous?”

You take advantage of getting off work early to call your best friend Rina for the first time in what feels like forever. She’s in Paris this month, debuting a play that she’s been working on tirelessly about aliens and drug addiction. You’ve read the script six times over. It’s both campy and gut wrenching all at once, and you’ve cried every time. You picture her with her very chic haircut, sipping from a flute of champagne. The thought of her being jealous of any part of your life is laughable.

“What do you have to be jealous of, exactly?” you snort, holding your phone between your ear and shoulder as you toss your laundry basket upside down on your bed unceremoniously. Your clothes are covered in a perma-layer of Pepper hair, and you think it’s lucky that Pepper is a black cat and most of your clothes are black. Very enviable.

“Of Yoongi, dipshit,” she coos through the phone. “You’re replacing me.”

“Sure,” you say, like she’s making total sense. You’re lying on top of your laundry now instead of folding it. You put her on speakerphone and rest your phone on your chest. “I’m throwing away ten years of being your best friend for a guy that I met a week ago. I’m glad you figured it out, honestly, because I was dreading telling you. I was going to wait until your matinée, but you don’t seem too broken up about it.”

“Of course. You have to do what’s right for you, I’ve always told you that,” she deadpans back, and you groan. You don’t want to hear it. “No, I just mean… It’s good. That you’re meeting people.”

“We’re neighbors,” you say, flopping over onto your front to rub at your temples. Rina is resting on a pile of your underwear now. “We talk about work. My work, not his, because he thinks it’s funny to act like he’s too cool to tell me about his job. He’s helping me with my car. We’re… neighborly.”

“And you want to fuck him,” she says. Maybe calling Rina was a bad idea. Debriefing over text would have sufficed.

“I don’t want to fuck him,” you say, indignant. “We’re friends. He’s nice. I can have a guy friend.”

“Of course you can,” Rina says, like you’re dumb for even thinking she would imply otherwise. “And you can be friends with him all you want. But you also want to fuck him.”

You groan in protest but she speaks over it.

“Baby, you can pretend, but I know how you talk about people you want to have sex with, even if you don’t say it outright,” she continues. “He may just be feeding you and helping you and talking to you about the weather, but I know you, and I know the whole time he’s talking you’re just agonizing over how he might fuck you if you let him.”

“That’s not fair,” you mumble, letting your face drop into your laundry. It smells good. Small comforts.

“Are you going to let him?”

“No,” you whine, muffled by the cotton. “I don’t need that. There are always strings. I hate strings.”

“You said he’s a super straightforward, honest guy, right?” Rina asks.

“Brutally so,” you grumble.

“So. Maybe he’d be cool with a lack of strings. You won’t know unless you ask, baby.”

You want to tell her that’s easy for her to say, but you don’t want to fight with her when you know you won’t hear from her like this again for a while.

Rina has never compromised for anything. She decided in both of your sophomore year of college, after flirting with both performance and directing, that she wanted to be a playwright, and that was that.

She wrote and wrote and wrote, and after you graduated together, her career blossomed almost instantly because she worked goddamn hard for it. She got opportunities to travel and work with theatre companies around the world, and she took them without giving it a second thought because she knew it was what she wanted. And she’s had a consistent, loyal boyfriend nearly the whole time. He doesn’t always travel with her, but he supports her in everything she does. They’re excruciatingly healthy about it.

When your long-term college boyfriend dumped you unceremoniously two months into your first reporter gig because he felt he came second to your career, Rina was there for you. But you resented her a little bit. There was no way she could understand any of it.

Still, as much as you hate to admit it, she has a point. You could just ask Yoongi if he wants to fool around without it being a thing, and you know he’d give you a straight answer. You’re even pretty confident he wouldn’t make it weird if his answer was no. That’s not the problem. It never is.

“The problem isn’t whether or not I think he’d be cool with it,” you mumble. “The problem is if he is cool with it, and then the strings come anyway. The friendship is nice. I’m attracted to him, yeah, fine. But I can ignore it if it means I get to be his friend.”

Theres a long pause on the line, and then Rina sighs.

“Your life would be a lot easier if you could do one night stands,” she says.

Don’t you know it.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve gotta go, okay? Text me. Keep me updated on life.” You read between the lines. On Yoongi, she means. “I love you.”

“Mmmhh,” you mumble back, still burying your face into your laundry.

When the line disconnects, you feel considerably more twitchy and irritable than you did before talking to Rina.

So, you’re attracted to Yoongi. Or you were, when you were drunk and he was all… hot and considerate. That doesn’t mean you have to act on it! You’re not going to act on it. You’re just pent up, that’s all. It’s been a long time since you’ve had an orgasm, self-inflicted or otherwise, and you can’t think straight.

Maybe you should fix that.

It’s clear you’re giving up on laundry for the night, so you shove the mountain of clothes back into the basket on the floor, sighing as you lay back on your bed.

You feel only slightly ridiculous as you shimmy your sleep shorts down your thighs, your hands sliding up your shirt to cup your breasts, squeezing slightly. Warming yourself up.

You quickly decide to get to the point, though. You’re struggling to immerse yourself in the fantasy that usually does the trick, too wound up and embarrassed (as if it’s not you in here by yourself, as usual) at groping yourself.

Despite the embarrassment, it becomes abundantly clear that you didn’t really need to warm yourself up anyway. Your fingers slide through your folds with ease, drenched like you’ve been that way all fucking day, unbeknownst to you, and a surprised moan falls from your lips. Fuck.

Closing your eyes, you circle two fingers around your clit experimentally, making your hips jerk up under you, sensitive. You do it again, a little firmer, starting a slow rhythm that makes you squirm against your mattress, your bottom lip rolling between your teeth.

It feels good. It usually does—you’ve always been able to make quick work of an orgasm to rid yourself of any lingering jitters before bed. But it feels really good right now, your pussy extra sensitive tonight, and you can’t figure out why. There’s nothing new about what you’re doing.

Rina’s words worm their way into your brain uninvited—the whole time he’s talking you’re just agonizing over how he might fuck you if you let him—and you’re too turned on to stop that train of thought, flashes of capable hands and pink tongue (tonguetechnologytonguetechnologytonguetechnology) filling your mind, and you’re moaning softly despite yourself as you rub your clit a little faster.

You continue to make soft noises of pleasure, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, dry from panting as the barrage of Yoongi-related thoughts keep coming, bringing you closer and closer to your release.

Dark, dark eyes looking down at you. A delicate chain dangling above your face. You whimper, your fingers sliding down from your clit to sink into your pussy, curling up to rub at your inner walls. A thick cock sliding into you, filling you so deliciously.

You pump your fingers fast and desperate as you get closer and closer to that sweet edge. You wonder what Yoongi would sound like if he was the one fucking into you right now. Would he moan in your ear in that gravelly voice of his? He’s a man of few words. Would he be like that in bed, too? Would he call you sweet names? Not so sweet? Which ones?

Your walls flutter around your fingers, your hips stuttering up off the mattress as your orgasm crashes over you and you gasp out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

You stare up at the ceiling for a minute panting. The high of your release buzzes pleasantly through your body before it starts ebbing away, but the thoughts of Yoongi pervade. Well, fuck.

After another moment, you roll over onto your stomach to grab a towel from your laundry basket and wipe off your fingers, tossing it on the floor. You grab your phone, only to be greeted by a notification from the subject of your masturbation fantasy himself. He sent it about ten minutes ago.

When you tap it open, you’re greeted with a photo (!!!) of Yoongi holding your gift next to his head, the hand wrapped around the neck of the whiskey bottle almost dwarfed by its sheer size. A testament to the ridiculousness of it, because you’re well aware of how long Yoongi’s fingers are. There’s a lazy smirk on his face, and a mole that you’re just now noticing on his right cheek.

[8:23] Yoongi: Cute.

Yep. Yep. Cool.

You swipe out, tapping on Rina’s contact.

[8:35] You: okay. i want to fuck him.

[8:35] Rina: 🥂🥳��

Shit.

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 7 months

Text

Blue Blood and Rain [1]

King John X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info •ko-fi•

Summary: You meet a stranger in the stables.

Series Masterlist

A/N: I have totally made up servant/nobel dynamics because I wanted to and also let's forget about the plot of the film, yes?

Warnings: kissing, reader is in their early 20s, overuse of italics, typos, power dynamics because he's the king, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2820

________________________________

It wasn’t that going to the royal castle was boring, as much as it was exhausting. And very, very boring, now that you thought about it.

You were the personal attendant to The Dowager Countess of Bowhale, who was visiting the court for the spring festival with her son, The Earl of Bowhale, a man who was only seven months your senior. They were both on average kind, well-meaning people, even if they were set in their own ways, who paid well and certainly granted you with a degree of personal freedom that you knew many servants didn’t even dream of.

Hugo, the Earl, was his mother’s, Edith, only surviving child. A fact that obviously made The Countess fiercely protective, however in the last few years that shielding behaviour had metamorphosed into a safeguarding of a different kind: the continuation of the family name.

Barely a day passed without her bringing up the need for her son to either marry (a complicated matter) or take a mistress.

Which was why she had been hell bent on attending the spring festival to peruse a suitable noble from the court, believing that ‘seeing a young woman face to face is the only way to tell if she would be a good mother to her son’s children.’

You helped The Countess into her dress for the evening, making sure you nodded and said, “yes, my lady”, at all the correct moments as she spoke.

“I think there will be some chance of seeing a suitable suitor tonight, if not tomorrow. I know most of the court is present, but many outer nobles are not arriving until the morning.”

“Yes, my lady.” You adjusted her skirts.

“Hugo needs to seriously consider his future, the legacy of his father’s name.” She sighed. “I spoke to him again this morning.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“He is as insolent as ever. His father was never like this. I do not know where he gets it from.”

You smile, “Perhaps his lordship takes his strong-willed nature from his mother, my lady?”

She looks down at your grinning face and laughs at your tease. “You are terrible my dear,” but she beams and puffs out her chest, enjoying the praise. “And far too kind on him, there’s no way his will could match my own.”

You laugh, and are about to speak when the door to The Countess's rooms open and Hugo barges in.

“Mother, I- Oh,” he gives you a little smile and half bow as a greeting. You nod back.

“So I see she is deserving of a formal greeting and not I?” The Countess scows, but you know from experience that if someone had entered without acknowledging you they would have also faced reprimand.

Hugo pulls a face. “Mother-”

“And what about knocking Hugo? Since we are in his highness’s house, on his highness’s hospitality I do not think that forgoing manners should be our way forward.”

He sighs, but nods, before waiting for a moment to see if she will continue talking.

The Countess nods.

You stand up, watching them going back and forth in their regular verbal sparing matches.

“Mother, is it completely necessary for me to join-”

“You surely are not speaking of the possibility of not attending tonight? Are you?”

“Mother-”

“Because if you were, I would be-”

“It wouldn’t be anything, an Earl can retire to his-”

“An Earl would not insult the hospitality of his King.”

“Mother-”

She held up her hands. “I will hear nothing of it.”

Hugo sighed dramatically, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“And what are you wearing? You are covered in mud.” She tutted.

“I was riding and-”

“Riding? At this hour?”

He nodded. “Some of the knights and other Earls went to the forest and-”

The Countess tutted dramatically.

“I was going to take Stefen to the stable and brush him down instead of attending.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You intended to brush your horse instead of attending? There are servants for that exact duty Hugo.”

He shrugged frowning, you knew how much he enjoyed taking care of his horse. “I do not trust the staff here, they do not know Stefen, they-”

The Countess shook her head, “you are attending. Go, get bathed and dress, Robert will assist you.”

“But Mother, Stefen-”

The Countess turned to you quickly, “Will you do me the favour of going to the stables and getting Stefen ready for the night?” She smiled kindly at you and you nodded.

“Of course my lady.”

“See?” She turned to her son. “Now we have a trusted member of staff to care for him.” She said triumphantly. “Or do you not trust her to look after him here?”

Hugo gave you an apologetic look, he hadn’t meant to lump you with the task. But you smile back, and he returns a weak nod.

“Of course that’s fine,” he said defeated.

You often groomed Stefen, he was a powerful and grumpy animal that tended to only obey four people, Hugo, the two main stable hands at Bowhale, and you. He tolerated others for the most part, but was quite difficult when something set him off.

“Good.” The Countess clapped her hands together.

You finished helping The Countess get ready before you stepped out of her rooms and headed for the stables. The evening light was just starting to dim into twilight.

Hugo caught up with you on the stairs, gently touching your arm to get your attention.

“I’m so sorry.”

You smile kindly, “what for, my lord?”

“Making you settle Stefen in, I,” he sighed, “I could have easily done it earlier, I just wanted an excuse to… not go…”

Your smile widened. “I know, Hugo, please don’t worry, besides, I like taking care of Stefen.”

He gives you a grin, his spirit lifting as they always did when you used his first name. “Thank you, I-”

“Hugo!” The far-off call of The Countess echoed around the castle and you chuckled while he groaned.

“Have fun!” You waved as you continued down the stairs.

He nodded disheartenedly.

You got a little lost on your way to the stables and had to ask a stern looking guard the way. When you arrived and introduced yourself to the head stable hand the poor man looked relieved.

Stefan greeted you happily, and had no qualms about letting you brush and clean the mud and grime from his coat. Much to the other stable hands's shock.

It wasn’t long before the sky was dark and you were left alone in the stables with the horses.

“You need to be nicer to others Stefan.” You scowled with a grin.

He whinnied, seeming to laugh playfully at you as you stroked his neck.

“That’s a beautiful horse.”

The low voice behind you made you jump and you spun around quickly. Stefan sensed your discomfort, snorting and stepping forward to try to put himself between you and the stranger.

“It’s alright,” you hushed, patting his side and calming him. You turned to where the voice had come from, the stranger’s outline was just visible in the low candlelight. “Thank you, it is The Earl of Bowhale’s horse.”

“A fine beast for sure.” The stranger nodded, but did not step closer. “I have heard he has a temper.”

You smile and nod. “He is a little set in his ways, strong-willed,” you stroke Stefan affectionately, “but he is a loyal companion if you earn his trust.”

“And it seems that you have.”

You smile again at the stranger. “I would like to think so, The Earl and I used to train him when he was a colt. He is used to me.”

“You ride?”

“A little,” you turn back to Stefan briefly as he nudges your shoulder and stroke him again, “occasionally I accompany The Earl or Countess when they wish.”

“Hmm.”

“And what of you stranger? Do you ride, or are you just of this disposition to watch horses while they rest and harass servants with questions?” You tease playfully.

He chuckles lightly and waits a beat before he steps closer and leans against the wood of Stefan’s stall. The flame light flickers against his features and dread grips your inside in its icy hold.

You freeze for a second, eyes wide before you bow your head and curtsy as low as you can. “Your Highness, I apologise, I did not realise it was you in the dark.”

Your mind rushes with thoughts, you were going to get punished, put in the stocks, maybe even imprisoned, why wasn’t he at the event? Why was he here seemingly stalking about in the dark?

He wasn’t wearing his crown, his clothing obviously expensive but not the attire for entertaining the court.

King John laughed again, but the sound wasn’t unkind. “You were all for questioning me a second ago, am I so fierce that you can’t even raise your head to look at me?”

You keep your position, looking down, panicking on what to do, how to-

“Hmm?” He hooks his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. “Has the servant lost her voice?”

You shake your head. “No, Your Highness.”

“Then answer my question.” His voice is low, nearly a growl. The pretence of softness hiding something much sharper underneath.

“You are fierce, Your Highness.” You whisper and he grins.

“And yet, you look at me?” He keeps his touch on your chin light.

“You are making me, Your Highness.” The words slip from your tongue before you truly have a chance to understand them and you screw your face up the second they are spoken.

But he laughs quietly and drops his hand to his side. “There, I wonder what you will do under your own will.”

You pause and swallow, taking a deep breath before opening your eyes and looking back up at him.

His grin widens. He observes you for a moment, the look in his eyes dark, predatory. And for a second you are sure that you made the wrong choice.

“Stand,” he says, his voice still soft and you obey slowly, “much better, I do not need you to stay in a curtsy, my pride is not so vast that I need to have everyone at my feet.”

You stay quiet, biting at your lip and pulling at the skin around your nails, but watch him carefully.

“You are Edith Bowhale’s personal attendant, are you not?”

“I am.” You nod, not wanting to fall short and lose whatever small grace has decided to put you in the King’s favour and not chagrin.

He hums a response, looking away from you for a second and you can feel relief flood your veins as you are out of his sharp glare. The consolation is short lived however, as he quickly stares back at you.

“She was speaking to me about many things, though I have to admit upon seeing you I wished I had been paying more attention.” He smiles, his voice like silk as he takes a step closer.

You pause for a second, your mind slow to catch up with the meaning of his words. “I, wait, I’m sorry, Your Highness, I-”

He chuckles and brushes his fingers against your cheek, a light touch that makes you jump and startle back.

“So skittish,” he teases, “over just a touch.”

“I-”

“A touch from your King no less,” he tuts, “I should be insulted.”

“No, that’s not, not my intention, I-”

Stefan whinnies, seemingly unhappy with how close the King is getting to you and King John uses your brief distraction to his advantage. He grabs hold of your bicep and pulls you out of the stall and swings the wooden door closed.

You can hear Stefan neighing in distress as he pushes you up against the door, his griping your arm tight.

“Calm the horse.” He says softly, his piercing eyes seeming to sink into your very soul.

You swallow, your mouth dry, but tap the door. “Stefan,” you say softly.

The horse calms slightly at your voice.

“It’s alright, don’t worry,” you repeat your words a few times until you hear him start to settle and wish they could have the same effect on you. Your heart races, your breath catching in your throat.

He delights for a moment in your obvious discomfort. “My, my, I have never seen a servant to a Countess so shy.”

You stay quiet, heat rising to your skin. You try to focus on his mouth, but no matter how hard you try you are drawn back to his striking eyes, as if he holds some bewitching magic to keep you under his control.

Slowly he raises his left hand up, giving you plenty of time to see it before he gently touches his fingertips to your cheek, lightly stroking your skin. You still jump a little, naturally trying to flinch away.

It makes him smile even more, taking a deep pleasure in your flustered reaction. He breathed in deeply, as if he were savouring a flower, “aw, what’s wrong? Does the little servant not know how to address her King? How to behave in his presence?”

“I… I’m sorry, Your Highness.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

He grins wickedly at how timid you have seemingly become. “Now, now,” he teases, his voice thick and heavy, “there’s no need to apologise with those words… how about you tell me something sweet instead?”

You frown in confusion, “something sweet?”

He leans a little closer, caging you in. “Something nice.” He languidly runs his fingers down lower, along your jaw and to your neck. Your racing heartbeat drums against his fingers and a giddy thrill runs down his spine.

“I…”

“Something nice,” he repeats, “something that you could never normally say to someone like me, something that will make me smile.”

Once again your words slip out of your mouth as if you had no control over them, his hypnotic gaze seemingly completely destroying your survival instinct, “you’re beautiful,” you whisper.

He freezes the moment you utter the words, your eyes going wide as you realise what you said. The syllables of your sentence seemingly echo around the stable, ringing and repeating clearly in your mind as if you had screamed them from the rooftops.

A faint dusting of pink highlights his cheeks, but thankfully you cannot see it in the candlelight, he smiles slowly, moving his hand up and tracing your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Repeat that.” He breaths.

Your heart beats so forcefully you’re sure you're going to faint. “You’re so very beautiful.”

He chuckles, leaning closer until his nose bumps against yours and preening a little at the compliment. “You know such words from such an unexpected source only mean more… thank you.”

He dissolves the last centimetres separating you and presses his lips to yours, swallowing down your little gasp of surprise and licking into your mouth without hesitation. His hand is warm on your neck, his body pressing up against yours as if he expects you to push him away, to run. Instead, your fingers sink into his shirt, pulling him closer as you kiss him back with equal further, a lamb happily going to the slaughter.

He growls, low in the chest when you reciprocate, heat blooming in his lower stomach as he pushes even closer and rubs his quickly hardening cock against your hip.

You gasp a little in surprise, but quickly regain yourself, wrapping your arm around his neck and urging him closer, needing to feel every part of him.

This couldn’t be real, this was impossible, you had to be dreaming. Maybe Stefan had reared up as you brushed him and you’d stumbled and hit your head, it was seemingly the only logical conclusion. You might as well enjoy this delusion as long as it lasted.

His kisses grow more demanding, more urgent and he nips at your bottom lip, groaning at your high-pitched sigh. And then whining himself when you repeat the action on him, forcing your tongue into his mouth and pulling sweet sounds from his lips.

There was-

The stable door slams open, “Your Highness, I have come to-”

King John turns furiously, “What?” He yells at the poor servant sent to fetch him.

It’s like a dam has been broken, your mind snaps back to your senses. What were you doing? What the hell were you doing? Kissing The King in a barely lit stable.

The servant stammers a little, saying something that you can’t for the life of you hear. He is silhouetted in the darkness, unseeable and the King steps closer, giving him a verbal dressing down.

You slip out the side door, and rush back to your room. Thankful for the clouded night sky that keeps your face in shadow and identity hidden from possible prying eyes.

____________________________________

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littlexscarletxwitch · 10 months

Text

── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝗶𝘁, 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗲

paring: yelena belova x fem!reader

tag(s): smut with plot but not really, a bit of angst but then again not really, nsfw, wlw sex

warning(s): MDNI, +18 ONLY read at your own risk, explicit wlw smut, wlw sex, oral sex, kinda toxic relationship, mentions of drinking alcohol, grammatical errors, unedited

word count: 3k

note: I'M SO SORRY GUYS IT SOOOO LOOOONG. College had been kicking my ass. Agh! I need a break from that shit. Anyways... I was actually going to make the smut part longer but I kinda didn't want to ruin it, so this is what you get lol. Also I literally googled the russian pet names, so please correct me if they are wrong. I hope you all like it! Lots of love, M <3

note 2: I got so many requests and I'm so glad you guys asked me to write your ideas, I really appreciate that. It's going to take me so time but I WILL WRITE THEM and I'm so excited about them. Love the way you guys think lol <3

requests are open! + check my rules here + masterlist <3

⇨ Detka: baby - Moya lyubov: my love - Malishka: little girl - Krasotka: gorgeous

You knew this whole thing was wrong, it was a toxic never ending cycle, but still you could never help yourself when it came to her.

You and Yelena were together for three years, three years filled with love and lust and happiness; but then your relationship became hateful, bitter and full of anger, still the lust between the two of you remained the same.

Allegedly, the two of you had broken up 5 months ago. Allegedly, you resented her for the shit she put you through. Allegedly, you didn’t even want to see her face.

Nevertheless, she always found her way back to you, —back to your bed—. The moment her lips made contact with yours, you knew you had lost all sense of reason. How could you restrain yourself when her hips grazed against yours in a slowly almost painful yet divine pace that had you arching your back and curling your toes?

“Fuck,” you breathed out, as her hands thighten the frim grip on your waist.

You always promised yourself it would be the last time, that it was just your body reacting to hers, that you would be strong the next time and would turn her down. It took you a couple more slips to finally understand that you and Yelena were done, that the two of you were through. But you finally came to your senses.

“You do know this is the last time, right?” you said breathless, feeling your quick heartbeat in your eardrums.

You sword to yourself that would be the last time you let yourself give in to her. Just one more night of pleasure, just one more night of kisses and whimperings and moans, and the next day it would be over.

“Yeah, I know,” though her voice was muffled by your cunt you could still make out the sarcastic tone in her voice.

“I mean it, Yel,” you tried to sound serious, and apparently you did because she lifted up her head for her eyes to find yours.

“I know you do,” and she did know. She knew that you meant it, at that specific moment.

But she also knew your statement wouldn’t last long, that you would soon change your mind and her lips would find their way back to your neck, hips, thighs and cunt.

So she allowed you to think it was over, but it will be over once she decided so.

[...]

It’d been a year since you had last seen her, you thought that was it, that the two of you had moved on at last. But maybe you got it all wrong, maybe all the things she made you feel enhanced by being away from her, maybe you forced yourself to forget about her. But there was no point in trying it, for she had made a mark on your heart. Like a tattoo, always under skin even when it gets removed.

But tonight was supposed to be different, you were supposed to have fun, drink and dance with your girl friends. But for some odd reason you couldn't stop thinking about the blonde. You would mess around with some people, but you found yourself thinking that it wasn’t her hands roaming around your body, or her lips leaving kisses and bites all over your neck, it wasn't her scent and it most certainly wasn’t her hoarse voice reaching your ears.

As you and your friends made your way to the bar, you heard your phone ringing. Even before you took a look at the screen you were 100% sure that it was her calling you, who else could it be then?

Your heart picked up its pace as you looked at the ID caller and your suspicions were confirmed. It was at that moment that you realised that you had never blocked or deleted her contact number.

Before you could answer or decline the call, it stopped. You swallowed down the lump that hard formed on your throat, unsure of what would be next. And soon after it stopped you got a text from her, you were about to read it when you noticed that someone was calling out for you.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you said, quickly putting away your phone, trying to focus on your friend’s words over the loud music.

“We have to use the restroom. Let’s go,” she said, reaching out for your hand, motioning for you to tag along.

“No,” you step back, away from her reach. “I, um,” you felt your phone burning your hand. “I’m going to get some air, okay?” you noticed she wanted to say something against it, so you quickly added: “I’ll be right back, I promise,” you smiled at them, before making your way out of the club before they would follow after you.

Once the cold air of the night filled your lungs you felt like you could finally breathe properly. You looked at her missed call and her text message on your phone screen, it was simple: an address. You knew what that meant, but you weren’t sure of what you should do. As if sensing your doubt, she called you again. The phone kept on ringing in your hand, as you made up your mind.

Seeing her tonight was a bad idea, right? Yes, you might not be really drunk but the alcohol was messing with your brain and you were not thinking straight. Plus, your friends were going to kill you for meeting her.

Seeing her tonight was a bad idea, right? You weren’t just going to throw away the last year and pretend like nothing had happened.

Seeing her would be a bad idea, right? But your mind had other plans as the memories of her soft lips and her rough hands and her raspy voice all came rushing to your brain, and suddenly it was all you could think of.

Seeing her tonight…? Fuck it, it’s fine, was your only thought as you picked up the call.

“Hello, detka.”

The old pet name sent a silver up your spine, still you were yet to form a coherent thought.

“I missed you,” she paused, waiting for you to say something. “Did you miss me?” she tried again. Still, you weren’t answering her, but she knew you were listening carefully to every word. “You know? I’m all alone right now. I wouldn’t mind some company.”

You could sense the undertone she was using, you were no fool to her tactics, even though you would always fall for them. That was the kind of power Yelena had over you, everytime you would do so much as think about her your brain would just shut down and you wouldn’t be able to hear your own thoughts.

“No,” you stated firmly. Shaking your head even though she could not see you.

“Oh, baby. What’s the matter? You want me to pick you up?” you could hear the jiggling of some set of keys. Your heart stopped for a second, was she really that desperate to come and pick you up? You felt your stomach burning.

“This is… This is not right, Yelena. I shouldn't have picked up the call. I should probably not—.”

“Oh, come on, moya lyubov,” again with the russian nickname that would make your knees weak. “How about this, I pick you up, we get some coffee and we just have a quick chitchat?”

You knew that it never was so simple with Yelena, but you felt your walls crashing down.

“I’m not sure, Yel…” it felt weird to pronounce that nickname after so long.

“Look up, pretty girl.”

You felt your stomach sink as you did as you were told. And there she was, in all her glory. You didn’t even question how she knew exactly where you were, Yelena just knew stuff. You knew she was your ex, but she said it was just a quick chat, can’t two people reconnect? You knew you were stronger now to her advances, you were pretty sure you only saw her as a friend. But, in all honesty, you knew you were full of shit.

Without a word, you sent a text to your friends, put your phone in your purse and got into the car, wrecking all your plans. You knew you should just stop, but you couldn't. You cursed yourself for that, she knew you too well and you hated both yourself and Yelena for that.

As soon as you took the passengers sit, Yelena sped up the car and the two of you left the building and your friends behind.

“I did miss you, Y/n,” was the first thing she said as she rested her hand on your thigh.

She knew how much you loved it when she did that.

“Mmm,” you muttered, unsure of what your answer should be.

“Didn’t you miss me?” she jokingly asked as she gently squeezed your skin.

“What do you want, Yel?”

“I thought I told you,” she quickly took a look at you before looking back at the road. “I just want to chat, that’s all.”

“It’s never that simple with you.”

“Well, maybe this time it is. Maybe this time I want things to be different,” she smiled at you, making your heart skip a beat. She still had that kind of power over you and you hated her even more for that. But not really.

You gently shook your head. It was bad, you shouldn’t have picked up the call, you shouldn't have gotten into the car. You should have thought things more clearly before letting her into your life again.

As you were mentally cursing yourself you didn’t realise that the two of you had already made it to whatever place she had driven the two of you. Realisation hit you as you now had now idea where the fuck you were, you had no other choice but to follow her. Or so you told yourself.

Yelena opened the car door for you and stretched her hand out for you to take. Which you did, you didn’t even fight it, you longed for the contact of her skin against yours. And maybe, just maybe, you thought it would be enough, just by intertwining your fingers in between hers. But, god, you were wrong.

You knew the moment you would step through her front door all sense of reason would leave your mind, and it would only remain the lust and feel of belonging you always felt around her. And you were right, the soon you stepped in, it was like you were that same person a year ago and you had no intention in fighting your feelings, not anymore. You thought maybe you deserve it, as a reward for being all this time apart from each other.

As soon as you entered it was as if you could feel Yelena everywhere. It wasn’t just the fact that she was there next to you with her hand in between yours, but you could all also smell her scent all over her place, you could see her in the furniture she had chosen, hear her in the music that was playing, and even though you had yet to taste her lips you were so overwhelmed by her entire being that it felt as if you already had.

“So, um,” she cleared her throat as she closed the door behind the two of you, getting your attention. “Would you like some coffee…?”

“Fuck it, it’s fine,” you mumbled to yourself once more before dropping your purse and shortening the distance and crashing your lips against hers.

Yelena’s hand quickly found their way to your hips, gently squeezing your flesh earning a low groan out of you. She pulled away gasping for air but the next second her lips were back on yours. You moaned into her lips as her tongue easily slipped into your mouth and found yours to mess around with.

You felt a warm feeling in your stomach as her hands roamed all over your body leaving goosebumps on their way. Then they rested on your ass, grabbing the muscle motioning for you to jump on top of her, which you did without a second thought. The feeling became a small fire in your stomach the moment your chest was pressed against hers.

“I knew you would come back,” she mumbled in between your lips, feeling her grin into the kiss.

As a response you bit her bottom lip, not really sure what you meant by that but it felt good when you heard a low moan escape from her lips.

“Don’t push your luck,” you said once you let go of it, earning a small chuckle from her.

“Yeah, you’re right, krasotka,” her thick russian was only fuel to the growing fire in your stomach.

Her lips found the crook of your neck and she left as many bites and kisses as she pleased, leading the two of you to her bedroom. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your fingers found their way in between her hair.

Once in her bedroom, Yelena gently laid you on her bed. As her lips made their way down to your collarbone, her hand tugged at the hem of your dress slowly and painfully bringing it up to your waist.

On command, you spread your leg open letting Yelena’s head take the place in between your thighs. She kissed and bit them, her lips ghosted over the area where you needed her the most, but all you got was her hot breath which sent a shiver up your spine and made you groan out her name.

“Stop with the teasing,” you begged her, as your legs rested on her shoulders.

“Tell me what you need,” she breathed out.

“I need you… I need your lips on me,” it almost came out as a moan.

And she did as she was told, but it wasn’t quite what you wanted. Her lips kissed and licked your core, but it wasn’t enough since the area was still being covered by your panties. You wanted more, needed more.

“Yelena, please…” you begged her once again.

“Shh…” she cooed as her fingers tugged at the hem of your underwear and slowly pushed it out of the way. “Is this where you need my lips, malishka,” her hot breath over your now uncovered cunt ripped a moan out of your mouth.

“Yes, yes, just please do something. Please, Yel, I—,” a whimper cut you off as you felt her tongue licked up your slit. “Fuck,” you could feel your heartbeat going a mile per hour.

Her tongue went up and down a few times, tasting your juices, loving who wet you were for her. She then made sure to give your clit as much attention, so she wrapped her lips around it and sucked hard. You felt your leg trembling on her shoulders as she worked her magic on you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you were a moaning mess, the fire in your stomach felt like it was taking over your entire body and you only wanted to give in, to let it consume you whole —to let Yelena consume you whole—.

You wrapped your legs around her head, bringing her even closer to you. The thought of her suffocating on your count scared you for half a second, but then as she ate you like a starving woman, the thought only added more to your arousal.

Yelena took a quick look at you: eyes closed, lips slightly trembling and parted, brows furrowed, your leg around her head, your hand flying to meet her hair. She wanted that moment to last forever, she wanted to be forever buried in between your legs if it only meant she could see you like this. But she could not stop time and live forever in that moment, so she could only moan at your sight. And that was what it took for you to finally come undone in her lips.

You cried out her name as your leg almost squeezed her head too harshly, but she could take it. A few curses followed her name as her tongue and lips helped you right out your high.

“I missed this, malishka,” she said breathlessly as you unwrapped your legs around her.

Her nose, lips and chin were glistening from your release, you felt something like a match lighting up inside you once again. Much to your dismay she used the back of her hand to clean some of it, which she noticed that it had bothered you since you slightly frown. She chuckled at just how cute and precious you were.

She crawled on top of you, placing her knee in between your legs and her lips found yours. You moaned as you tasted yourself on her lips and tongue, feeling the fire coming back to life.

“I missed you… so much,” she said in between kisses. “Tell me… you missed me too…”

Drunk on her scent, lips and words you couldn’t think properly. But still the words you blurted out were the truth: “I did… I missed you too…”

“Then we should… make up for… the time we lost…'' she said as her hand expertly tugged down the cleavage of your dress, she smiled to herself as she realised you weren’t wearing a bra.

She trailed a path of kiss from your neck, down to your collarbone to finally end with her lips sucking your right nipple.

“Yeah, we should…” you breathed out.

“Then, we are going to be here for a while,” she said, her words were muffled by your tit inside her mouth.

You giggled at her words but then it turned into a moan as she went on sucking.

You knew the whole thing would fire back eventually, but your head was empty, blank, no reasonable thoughts. Just one that it keep you going and that was the only thought you were willing to listen to: ‘Fuck it, it’s fine.’

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

#yelena belova #yelena belova x fem reader #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova smut #florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh imagine #littlexscarletxwitch's fic #[🎧⊹♡] based on songs i love #Spotify

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cyberball · 2 months

Text

glimpse of him

jason grace x reader / no pronouns used / rq

warnings: mentions of death, gratuitous use of the em dash, mentions of haunting (?), jason grace more like jason GRAVE

summary: sometimes you catch a glimpse of him.

genre: not fluffy. pretty angsty, if i'm gonna be honest. i don't know how to write angst, so bear with me.

notes: to whoever has sent the request, i'm so sorry. like for real. i was just going through my asks and i found that one and i was like... wait... because i'm an alive!jason truther as much as the next person but. well. here you have it xox. also sorry for the rushed writing el oh el

15:54 | 541 words

It’s been three weeks since– since…

You can’t even say it. There are no words in any language to describe the pain you feel and have been feeling. Guilt, sure – you could’ve helped – but the most overpowering emotion is hollow hurt. It aches like the depths of Tartarus in the chasm he’s left in you. There used to be anger – how could he have left you like this? – but that sweet, strong soldier of a man? It could never be his fault. Never.

Then there’s fear. What if you forget him? You suddenly have this heartwrenching vision of you in 10 years, moved on and happy with your life. Guilty, guilty. How could you leave him behind like that? You’re suddenly terrified of forgetting him. Your mind reels as you go back over the plethora of memories you’ve created with the blond boy, grasping at fragments, as if committing them to memory, as if they’re not already burned there.

This is how you spend the next few days. Just remembering him. But you only had so much time together. You only had so many chances to make memories. And that’s how you end up staring at the ceiling a month after his– his…

Jason. That boy. Grace was– Grace is the correct name for him. The sweetest boy you know. All composed and strong and regal; blond hair and blue eyes and arms that look like they were sculpted from marble. The kindest soul, the safest arms. Your bed is ice cold where he used to lay. Ice cold like his body was after–

“You didn’t think you’d be able to get rid of me just yet, did you?”

You jolt.

“Jas– Jason?” your voice trembles. God, a little pathetic, no? He’s the one who…

Eyes closed. You can almost feel him. “Jason? Sweet?” you ask again, voice steady, a poor imitation of his. You can’t help it, your eyes well up with hot tears.

“I miss you. You’ve been gone a while. When are you coming back?” you ask into the silence.

”I’m right here,” he coaxes, “right here, love. Can’t you feel me?”

Hollow. Empty, still. Your hands lamely feel around on the bed for that grounding warmth of his, but all you find is fleeting, and all you feel is cold. Your tears run hot streaks down your face, and as you pull up your legs and tuck your chin over your knees, your legs bear the brunt of your sadness too. Your skin pricks, and oh– oh, gods, it hurts. It hurts.

“Jason, Jason– I can’t, I can’t feel you, please,” you plead miserably. He’s gone. Again. “Wait, no, come back, it’s okay, I can just hear you, I don’t have to–” your sobs cut you off. And again. Your heart physically hurts, and you grasp at it, trying to get back to him. Just… just him.

He’ll come back like this often throughout your life. Sometimes during lightning storms, you can smell him. You’ll play his favourite playlist and you’ll hear him singing along. Always lingering, never there. And you’ll be glad to have it; after all, you didn’t think –or want it, for that matter– you’d be able to get rid of him, did you?

tagging: @dreamerball @drvrslcense @quteez (am taking old taglists sorryy)

#and SORRY.#heroes of olympus #pjo x reader #hoo x reader #jason grace x reader #jason grace imagine #jason grace x you #jason grace x y/n #jason grace #cyberball original #jason grace angst #the burning maze #pjo hoo

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elsfavor1te · 2 years

Note

Could I ask for an Ellie with a girlfriend who's a drummer? Thank youu!!

CRAZY TALENTED

i enjoyed writing this so bad, i’m also like really sorry the smut at the end is so short…. i don’t really have an excuse BUT this is two posts in one day, cut your girl some slack mkay?

warnings: modern!ellie williams x drummer!reader. generally just sub!ellie. dom(ish)!reader. reader displays casual dominance a few times. man spreading (r). smut at the end! fingering (ellie receiving). lmk if i forget anything babies. (side note, this really was not proofread so m’sorry for any typos.)

—————

WHEN YOU MET.

ellie insists that when you met it was love at first sight. she remembers it clearly, her in an uncomfortable metal chair amongst other crowd members in the humid bar. and you. pretty as ever you, who caught her eye immediately, up on stage playing the hell out of those drums.

ellie was mesmerized, the way your head bobs as the sticks in your hands beat down on the huge drumset in front of you, how you’d smile when a crowd member would shout in praise or let out a wolf whistle.

you were apart of an indie band who’s on a steady rise to stardom. this was her first time at one of your performances, initially just wanting a night out but staying for the show.

ellie is pulled out of her thoughts by you going on to your drumming solo, bringing a huge grin to her face when your head aggressively bobs and hands move at a pace that made them look like little blurs.

when you finish, claps break out from all around. people shout, whistle, snap, all of the above. the love directed at you makes you bring your hands to your face, covering up your bashful smile. you playfully groan when your band mate pulls you into a hug, whispering praises in your ear.

you’re thanking everyone, giving a little bow when your eyes meet the distinct green ones. you’re stopped in your tracks, unable to bring yourself to look away.

a lazy grin pulls at your lips when you see the sort-of dazed look on her face when you don’t look away.

in sync, your bodies erupted in chills.

TEACHING HER.

“you’re crazy talented…” ellie’s voice comes over the sound of the loud echos of the drums. you stop, bringing both of your sticks to one hand.

“hm?” you tilt your head a little, not really hearing what she said.

“i said, you’re talented. i could never do that, the most i can do is run my fingers over a few strings.”

you smile at her compliment. “thank you baby,” your lip is pulled between your teeth as you think for a second before motioning for her to come over. “..i bet you could do it, c’mere.”

ellie had tagged along to your solo practice, (as she does quite frequently these days). the practice room was something like a mix between a garage and a band room you would see in the average highschool.

ellie’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion but she followed your command nonetheless. when you pat your thigh for her to sit, her face gains a rosy tint and her eyes widen.

“w-what? you want me to sit?”

“mhm, wanna teach you.” you casually manspread a bit more, giving space for her to sit down. your hands come to both sides of her waist to pull her back into you when she shyly sits down near your knee.

“you wanna fall?” you scold her softly. “here hold these…”

ellie takes the drumsticks from your hands, letting you position them correctly. your head comes to rest on her shoulder as you start to guide her hands to the correct drum you want her to hit down on.

her focus is broken by the gentle bounce of your leg as you keep count of the beats, her face breaks out into a blush, and she nearly drops one of the sticks.

“pay attention.” you scold gently.

SHOWING HER.

ellie’s comment got herself here.

“you’re so fuckin’ fast with your hands….”

naturally, you had to show her just how fast you could be. now she’s pinned beneath you, back arching up as your fingers relentlessly tortured her sopping cunt.

“fuck— baby please.” she whined, looking down at you with those big green eyes clouded in tears.

“what’s my girl need, huh?” you smirked at her from between her legs. you were being cocky, you’d been kissing up and down her thighs for going on 10 minutes now, you knew exactly what she needed.

“y’mouth.. need it so bad.” she punctuates her sentence by grinding down, trying desperately to find your mouth.

“what do you say?”

“please.”

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dark-type-appreciator · 2 months

Text

Intro post! :3

Hello! Like my description says, I'm Liam! I'm 16 and I found this website a while back and decided to finally make an account!!! I really like dark type pokemon (bet you could guess that XD), and I'm always open to talk about them! I also really like other catmons ^w^ curse of being a warrior skitties fan I guess...

I also like drawing, warrior skitties, and roleplaying! I have other interests but those are my main ones! I play games sometimes, but I'm not very good at them x_x

I'm not really a pokemon trainer… I only have one pokemon haha! His name is Goldie, and he's a purrloin! He's kind of a cranky old man but he loves me!

umm, what else? I get confused sometimes, please be patient, I'm autistic (and other things). Same goes the other way around!! If u need me to rephrase something, please tell me! Also i misspell things a lot, auto correct is my best friend. Hopefully its not too bad!

Oh! Also I am a furry! :3 I almost forgot to mention that asjhdjahs

Here's my pokesona!

not the best reference, it's kinda old... Maybe I'll redo it someday!

Also- if we're friends, pls tag any bug types!… I have a really bad phobia of them, and I don't wanna see them at all. Thank you!!!

also- look look look!!

They're friends.. :3

[OOC under the cut]

Hello! Actias/moth (@act11as) here with a new blog! On a different account! Wowie! Follows will come from here, of course! Once again, general unreality warning! Out of character posts will be green, and tagged as #ooc and #Moth's yapping to avoid confusion.

Dark themes will be explored on this blog, such as past abuse and neglect, general mental illnesses, dysfunctional family dynamics, emotional and psychological abuse, as well as (witnessed) domestic abuse.

Everything will be tagged (and please tell me if I missed something!) But please be safe when interacting!

These themes will not always be present, and Liam's blog will usually stay lighthearted. Still, it's good to keep in mind!

Boundaries, and so on!

No NSFW or suggestive things! Both the muse and mod are minors. Don't be a fuckin' weirdo. *Almost any kind of blog is allowed to interact! Sentient Pokemon, Eeby Deebies, Evil teams, fallers, etc! *Self-Insert fallers, please do not interact. I personally cannot handle these kinds of blogs. Self-insert ocs are fine, but the idea of a real person on rotomblr being isekaid into Pokémon is not. (Liam will likely not believe you for a while- unless he has significant reason to. He'll think it's a roleplayer, otherkin, or something like that. He will be willing to play along though!) In-Character Anon hate is allowed! Feel free to bully him, but remember that I'm not obligated to answer everything! Pelipper Mail, un-mail, and Malice are off currently! You may be able to convince him to turn it on! Mystery Gifts are closed! Though if this and Pelipper mail were to open, this one is preferred! Musharna mail, and Musharna malice are always on! Magic anons are off.

Organizational Tags! (HOW DID I FORGET FOR SO LONG)

Liam Chatters - General post tag! As long as he's saying something in the text portion, it'll be tagged. Reblog! ^w^ - Reblog tag. Pretty self explanatory Future Sight (queue) - Queued posts tag! Again pretty self explanatory. Liam used Doodle! - Art tag! Liam's art will be tagged as this, for those who want to see it. Foresight - Out of character tag. It marks posts that will potentially be important in the future. This can range from his opinions on things to heavy lore posts! Good tag to read through if you think you're missing something!

Friend Tags! (Tags for friends!)

#Tari mention - tag for Tari from @/pokemoncryptids #faith is friending - tag for Faith from @/faithispokemoning

ONGOING ARCS:

Mask Off Arc - [summary will come after it ends]

PAST ARCS/EVENTS:

#Lucy Strikes! - One of Liam's friends stole his phone while they were supposed to be visiting. General warnings for bullying.

Blocklist:

These are blogs Liam has blocked in-character! usually for lore reasons! these are not blogs that have personally been blocked, feel free to interact on anon if you're on this list!

@/tinkatinktrain

@/sound-type-advocate

#// also important note: you don't actually have to tag bug types. that's just on there for character reasons. mod loves bugs!!#Liam chatters #pkmn irl #pokemon irl #rotumblr #rotomblr #pokeblogging #intro post #pinned #Moth's yapping

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fandomrouletteburrito · 2 months

Text

You know what? Im going to vent about how annoyed I am abt bsd atm and put it in the tags bcuz I also want to debate it. I enjoy bsd but I am struggling to understand what exactly Asagiri is trying to do here esp when this arc is so long that the arc itself has mini arcs in it.

If anyone reads this I would love, LOVE to discuss this because I am yanking my hair in frusteration

I am putting it under a cut so that ppl who dont want to see criticism abt bsd dont have to see it

Am i being an asshole? Yes

Am i going to warn ppl before hand and remind them that they can curate their internet experience by simply not reading something that is going to criticize something they love? And the block button exists for a reason???????Also yes

That being said i dont often go off about things i dont like about media i enjoy because well i understand everything i like has pros and cons

Also i still read bsd bcuz there r other things i DO like about it

Anywayssss

The thing that is bothering me about bsd is that I dont think I can tell what any character is doing EVER. Perhaps thats just my taste and I like having some idea of whats going to happen.

The characters arcs are excellent, their actions make sense for the personalities that they have yes.

The problem i do have w bsd is that the characters are apparently constantly always somehow predicting whats going on

How in the goddamn world do you expect me to believe that Fyodor let Dazai see him kill someone through touch so that Dazai would come up w a plan like Mersault? Fyodor didn’t expect Dazai to catch him at the end of the whole virus thing so like how is that enough time for him to find a way to kill that guard by just touching his hand? Why do that unless you planned the Mersault fake death from the start?

I forget but didn’t the Hunting Dogs get Mushitaro to bring up Dazai’s crimes to get Dazai into Mersault? Was this all to get Dazai away from the agency? Extremely likely but that tells me Fyodor planned to fake his death from the star(again) WHICH IN TURN MEANS HE HAD TO HAVE FKING KNOWN SO MUCH AHEAD OF TIME which only makes sense if he had access to some type of future telling ability because some characters actions WERE random eg: below

If Gogol randomly decided to break Fyodor out of Mersault with his race against death game, how can Fyodor expect to be killed by a vampire to become Bram??? How does this make sense if he did not know that Gogol would plan this at all?

There is the panel of Fyodor fallin through the Mersault room correctly as he says its time to escape so maybe he knew Gogol would that? HOW if Gogol just came up with that plan without any of Fyodor’s input?? Alright then maybe he was acting so Dazai won’t catch on but even then how was he expecting to die so that he can become Bram?? What was his alternate plan?

Alright maybe he simply predicted Gogol to do that which I think is a bit sad for Gogol since I think his whole character arc is about how he doesn’t want to be shackled by anything and I would argue being manipulated by someone is a shackle

Criticism 2: the fact absolutely no one of importance has died in bsd manga except for in the light novels(i am including Odasaku in this) please PLEASE correct me if I missed a death

Im not counting Fukuchi as dead because jury’s still out on that given the whole thing w God!Fukuchi/Amenogozen

Esp as we have Dead Apple where whats his names ability outlived him and i think also in 55 minutes

Because well, how do you expect me to take any of the stakes in this manga seriously if no one of name dies ever, I would not have this issue if death wasnt faked out as many times as it has

Maybe Bram will actually stay dead but I doubt it

The fact Kunikida was killed this chapter just tells me that yet again, death is not a serious consequence in this manga. Esp as the book has not been used yet. Even fking HP Lovecraft is alive ffs.

If Kunikida stays dead I will HAPPILY eat my words and state that Asagiri is a master writer for fooling my reading of bsd that well.( i am obviously not saying only my interpretation of bsd is correct so pls dont come at me)

Criticism 3: why didn’t Dazai literally just kill off Fyodor w Chuuya once they got Sigma to get the info from Fyodor

I understand thats a much more author did that because thats what the writing needed and characters are only as intelligent as the story needs so … fineeeee thats on me

Criticism 4: the whole Amenogozen thing about how the war isn’t real

How can Fyodor fake the sign on the wall unless he knew what sign meant world ending to Fukuchi???

Not sure if this is a criticism but if Chuuya was sent by Mori…how did Fyodor expect him to show up? Unless Fyodor and Mori discussed that earlier together in which case Mori is doing an excellent job at pretending like he’s not inleague with Fyodor

This plan of Fyodor’s to become Bram is just so batshit insane and so reliant on people doing random things at the right time eg: Gogol and the death game, Chuuya not being used to kill Fyodor in any form, Sigma not waking up in time to warn the agency, Dazai not fking shooting Fyodor w a gun

Imagine if Gogol’s poison succeeded then well ig Fyodor would just stay in his body since he injected the poison in his own veins which hey doesn’t that mean there was no risk of Fyodor dying in that game? I am likely wrong but it is kinda funny

Unrelated but wow tumblr does NOT want to make writing this on mobile easy bruh

I think the reason I’m so frusterated with this is that bsd is so unpredictable that for me it feels like its going beyond the suspension of disbelief i have

Its breaking the intelligence scale that they set with Fyodor, Dazai and Ranpo that it feels too much to believe

My other issue is I dont know what the whole long term thing w BSD is, and I am a bit tired of that. That might be my personal taste where I like to know what kind of ending or long term things I hope to see in a series but this is a bit too absured for me which might be the point

If anyone reads this entire nonsensical essay you have my respect

#bsd #bsd critical #bsd meta #bsd analysis #dont like dont read #currate your own online experiences yall #i am simply mad #and feel free to butcher my frusteration apart #i WANT ppl to do it #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs manga #bsd manga #bsd light novels #bsd 55 minutes

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be-my-ally · 1 year

Text

The Return Flight

Big Bunny #2

As always it's super late here, I will re-edit grammar etc tomorrow! enjoy!

Summary: It’s the next day and they’re off on their return flight. Elvis and Bunny get up to panicking and meditating, and then a couple hours of later one of the other bunnies joins them. Idk I just really can’t see elvis missing out on such a prime chance for a teeny lil bit of voyeuristic action.

I truly tried to wiggle the wrist weights in but alas, not to be today - next time though, next time.

Warnings: 18+, p in v penetrative sex, handjobs (v), oral (p and v), mentions of drug use, graphic description of a panic attack, f/f touching, elvis is kinda sweet in this one - except for the voyeurism + girl on girl action; TO CLARIFY - this is asked for by elvis + both parties consensually agree however, I am warning about very teeny tiny elements of internalised homophobia + the fact that reader implies she only does so (at least at first) to please elvis - she is not, however, reluctant nor unwilling.

wc: 11.4k

FYI: I’ve updated my bio to say I’m pausing requests - just until I get my inbox cleared down + posted! xx Also!!! I’ve had a couple of requests for a taglist - so this is my official mention of that; lmk if you want me to tag you in future posts! FINALLY found images of Elvis AND big bunny! pictured on the left and top right below!

Your brief encounter with Elvis had been your first experience of anything casual, or meaningless, and you’ve never had to navigate the emotions or situations before. It makes you antsy that you don’t know the correct procedure even before you’d left the plane; what do you even say to him? ‘Thanks for the sex, see you on the flight tonight?’ You’re not proud of it, but you ultimately panic to such an extent that you hide in the powder room until they’ve all disembarked. You’d not realised you’d have to hide from the other bunnies too though; they’d all converged on you as soon as you’d left - desperate for any morsel of information you would give. You’d somehow, thankfully for your dignity and the taxi driver’s ears, managed to prevent them from asking too many questions until you’d all arrived at the hotel where you would be staying.

You were looking forward to ensconcing yourself in the hotel room, a proper shower and time to relax for the night and day or so before the return flight. That was, however, not to be, and you were thankful that you’d had the chance to at least wipe yourself down before getting redressed on the plane; your sudden lack of tights had forced you back into your dress - unwilling to be so exposed in your bunny corset. Instead of the peaceful night you had planned Daisy and Maggie were forcing their way into the room (of course, they’d have been sharing with you anyway but you can’t say that you didn’t try to run in and close the door on them) with Darla and Michelle close behind; you forget sometimes that even though they may be more ‘senior’ bunnies, they were still only two years older than you. They sit down around you, demanding you tell them everything, wanting you to fill in the gaps between the assumptions they could make from what they’d heard and when things had gone silent.

“Oh lord, I just don’t know what to do -” You'd said after you’d recounted, blushing, the majority of the details; you’d left out him licking you, or that you think that might have been the first true orgasm of your life. You leave out that you think the hour you spent with him might have made you fall in love, and other ridiculous notions. And, for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a detailed description of him, trying to simultaneously protect him and to keep something just for you; you wouldn’t let them speculate on his size, or his stamina. But you had mentioned that he had a thing for feet, something that had been met with raucous laughter and clapping from the girls when you’d prefaced that with the story of your pantyhose being torn. You were, despite your embarrassment, glad to have these girls around you - you’d grown up in a fairly conservative part of town, and you know any of your close childhood or home friends would have been disgusted with you. They might have let it go - since it was Elvis, or have loudly judged you while silently expressing a level of jealousy but under no circumstances would they have encouraged the behaviour, or been so happy for you. Nor would they have interjected your story with their own, somewhat similar, although far less famous, tales. By the time the conversation had gotten back around to your dilemma with how to deal with Elvis again you were all relaxing on the two beds, piled up and crossed legged like a slumber party. “So really - what should I do?”

“Just don’t change a thing,” Daisy recommends, “If he wants to make something of it let him, but you have to rise above it all. Seem like you don’t care. “ Maggie offers you differing advice;

“If you want it to happen again, just be all over him, it’s not like you have to worry that he doesn’t like you.” You consider these opposing suggestions, silent, sipping the terrible hotel coffee. Michelle speaks up, Darla nodding in agreement;

“In my experience… you’ve got to subtly let him know you’re there and available, but don’t fawn over him, just … just say hello in a friendly way and it’s all in his hands then. Remember, be casual about it.” You consider this for a moment before agreeing. It does seem to be the way of the least mortification. You try to put it out of your mind for the remainder of the break, taking the time to try and focus on resting and relaxing before you had to be back in the air.

This time, there’s far less pomp and circumstance around his arrival; and you’re not surprised to see that it’s solely the same group again. Only Darla greets them on the tarmac - the rest of you already onboard and preparing for a quicker departure than last time. This time, you’re all in your little bunny suits, collars and cuffs, cottontails perfectly fluffed - since he’d requested it you all assumed it would save being made to change. This airport was, despite being private, closer in airspace to the larger international airport and your takeoff time was therefore far stricter than any of you would have liked. All knowing that sometimes these celebrities were as difficult to wrangle as herding a particularly difficult group of cats.

So you don’t have a chance to really look at him, take him in, until he’s brushing past you, his thick hands on your hips and waist moving you from where you’re blocking a narrower part of hallway with your body. He doesn’t say excuse me, or ask you to move, just manhandles you across him. You feel then, before you see, the soft plush fabric of his outfit, and when you glance over your shoulder at him you’re a little surprised that rather than the expensive, perfectly fitted, suit he was wearing last time, this time he was wearing a, clearly expensive but nonetheless fairly ordinary, tracksuit - navy blue, low zipper exposing the wide collared shirt underneath - his chest hair peeking out. Your tummy flips seeing him, and you stay very still where he’s put you, struggling to remember what your plan had been. He pats your ass, casually, in the blatantly chauvinistic way that should make you squirm, that implies he could and would do it to any girl at any time - although you hadn’t actually witnessed that yourself, and you’re mortified that at even that brief touch, without any words exchanged your breath hitches and your mind goes slightly blank. He’s gone by the time you try to open your mouth to say something and you try to clear your head by distracting yourself with the take-off preparations.

Michelle is eyeing you up when you’re finishing checking the door, and she opens her mouth but you’re frantically shaking your head before she can say anything, gesturing to not say a word. She frowns, but complies - a moment later only asking you to help her sort the food out. You do so, happy to disappear for a little while and let the others deal with them for a bit. It’s not long after that the pilots signal for take-off and you sit down briefly as the plane taxies down the runway. You’re distracted enough by the situation you find yourself in; are you making it more awkward not talking to him? That for once the take-off doesn’t bother you at all and soon the plane is balanced in the air, allowing you and Michelle to finish your preparations. Daisy pops her head around the corner a few minutes later saying you’d been requested.

You breathe in, deeply, as much as you can as a little bunny, plastering a smile on your face and you head out to the forward compartment where the group is sat. You expect to walk straight over to Elvis, but you’re stopped by someone else whose name escaped you - barely greeting you;

“Look babydoll, last night, you made me the best Mai Tai of my life, and I’m sure you’re all…” he looks sideways, “as well trained as each other, but honey, I’d really like it if you could do me another one?” You somehow manage to keep your face in check even though you want to scream at his barely concealed innuendo. Instead, you agree, customer service smile on your face, and turn to the rest of the compartment asking if they were all ready for drinks. There’s a resulting chorus of orders and so you head over to the bar to get started. Elvis hadn’t responded, walking out when you’d walked in - he’d gone right into the conference space and one of the boys had mimed a phone to his ear at another's questioning face. You were a little hurt to not be acknowledged but also, truthfully, a little relieved to not have to deal with him for the second. But it wasn’t to last long, upon delivering the other drinks with the other girls to many a relieved sigh, a different man had pointed through to the conference area, gesturing to the bar,

“Think you should take the boss a little pick me up too.” You nod in agreement but he hadn’t drank last time and you have no idea what that would mean making so instead you pour a short glass of cola, hoping that’ll do at least, and balancing the glass on the tray, head through the little curtained archway. You try not to show any emotion when you walk through, keeping your face neutral and concentrating on holding the drinks tray, the slight tip of the plane was liable to send a single glass sliding if you didn’t balance it perfectly. You hear him before you see him, curled against the wall with the phone pressed to his ear. His fingers twirling the cord as he looked out of the window, but with how dark it was outside he could only be looking at his reflection. You’d intended your poker face to display that you weren’t going to be the first to crack, to acknowledge anything but now you’re having to maintain it to retain dignity once you hear what he’s saying. He’s sweet-talking a girl, uttering promises and reassurances;

“No, honey, darling, no - would I be ringing you now? You don’t need to nag me baby, that’s right you’re my baby aren’t ya, ye-ah, put it on your card honey, on my card, yeah that’s no problem… you know I like you in blue…”

You know you have no claim on him; despite your activities together you’ve barely spoken to him, and you’ve only known the man 24 hours and yet a weird surge of possessiveness fills you. Or is it even possessiveness? Or just plain jealousy? Half the trouble was that you’ve never wanted someone like this — you’d never understood why the girls at school would fawn over a specific boy, it had never interested you. You’d never lain awake wondering what you should wear or how you should style your hair to best catch their attention. But today, just this morning, you’d nipped out to the nearest drugstore to the hotel and frivolously bought a new lipstick; you had no need for a new one, and certainly not in the colour you’d chosen - far flashier than you would usually wear, for some reason certain it would catch his eye, but you’d been unable to resist the temptation of putting on a bit of a show for him. To have that gone to waste, for him to ignore you, preoccupied with worrying about appeasing some other girl? Who wasn’t even there? You were annoyed at yourself, for being hurt by his actions and for doing it in the first place.

He finally spots you in the window and he turns, waving you over, reaching out a hand for his drink off of your tray. He doesn’t verbally acknowledge you, or pause in his conversation, simply demanding you come closer with an impatient hand raised. You come towards him, dipping to allow him to easily take the glass, and you watch as he immediately tips it back for a gulp and places the half-full glass back onto the tray. He makes a little mmhmm noise down the phone as he turns his attention back to the call, and the girl on the other end. You turn to leave, not willing to simply stand there and wait for him to want the glass again, jumping when you feel him swat at your exposed thigh. You whirl back around, ready to either playfully (or truthfully, actually) confront him - once was fine but twice? But, before you can he’s back giving his attention to the phone again, looking out of the window. You take it as the dismissal he meant it, and you hate that as you walk away you add an extra sway to your walk - bunny tail bobbing with the motion - just in case he’s looking, and that you can feel your slightly smug smile from even that touch.

It feels like hours, but it was probably only twenty or so minutes later when he returns to the forward compartment, settling down into the large sofa-seat in the middle of the cabin. You’re forced to walk past a moment later and he grabs your arm on the way;

“You look real good today Bunny - very cute.” You wiggle your tail at him and he chuckles; that deep laugh that starts in his chest but ends in his belly. His head rocks and it causes his loose hair to flop about, so different from it’s stiff look from the years prior. You beam at him, pleased to have been so entertaining. He looks you up and down again, still holding onto you,

“Like the lips darlin’. You wear that just for me?” You shake your head no, but he just laughs at you, “Ohhhh, you did it for ol’ Joe over there then did ya?” Feeling the catch-22 you’ve put yourself into you frown, you don’t want to admit that you did do it for him, but god do you not want him to even jokingly suggest you were trying to attract one of the other guys. So you do the next best thing, shaking your head and teasing him back.

“Nu-uh it was for me.” He laughs back at you, his eyes crinkling. When he calms back down he shakes his head in disbelief.

“ O’course it was honey,” You protest his condescending tone,

“It was!” You gesture down at yourself, “I don’t put all this on just for you,” He laughs again, eyes crinkling as he crows at you; shouting to the rest of the boys.

“Ooh-hoo we got ourselves a real-life feminist bunny over here!” He says it mockingly, adding a sneer; “Watch out Ms. Steinem!” He scoffs, “Now hon-ney, we both know it ain’t true… so why don’t you stop playing hard to get, admit you made yourself all pretty for me and come and sit over here. Right on daddy’s knee.” He pats his lap. You frown, you were a feminist, but his lap did look pretty inviting, and your heels were already hurting and you had wanted his attention. So, you do.

“I’m only doing this because you’re paying me.” He chuckles again, one hand coming around you to hold your waist, the other coming to hike your legs further up and across him, his broad hand rubbing your thigh as he does so;

“Sure thing honey - you want me to tip you a little extra for whatever we’re about to do in there?” He nods his head towards the back of the plane. You frown a little, you know he’s joking but you’re suddenly a little worried he does think you’re paid to provide him with extra services. ‘We naturally do not tolerate any merchandising of the bunnies.’ That’s what the bunny bible says. Its word is law, so it’s not true that any extra services are expected. But then, when you think about it, you were told to be…nice to him. The annoying thought then registers, less concern about whether what you’re doing is against the rules, that you hope he realises that you’re doing this because you want to and not just because you’ve been told to. You try to shake this thought off, be casual - c’mon be casual, the mantra running through your head as you attempt to push all other thoughts and feelings out. After all, you don’t want him to think you’re not fun, or reading too much in to anything.

“No-o, that’s, that’s, that’s just an added bonus.” You stroke down the zipper of his jacket, and he laughs again, grabbing your hand and kissing the knuckles. He spreads your hands in his, assessing them.

“God, you got such pretty little fingers baby, look at them lil’ nails - what’s that colour called? Call-Girl Red? Scarlet Tart?” You blush, but you’re able to laugh, recognising that he would only continue to suggest increasingly ridiculous names until you did. He holds you there while he finishes his conversation with the boys, fingers brushing over your skin, until finally, he pats your thigh phrasing an order as a question - “Come through to the bedroom, doll?” You stand up, waiting for him to lead the way to the bedroom at the back of the plane; instead he stands and gestures ahead of him.

“C’mon bunny, hop to it,” He pauses, grinning after his borderline tragic bunny pun as if waiting for a laugh; you comply with a polite giggle even though it’s really not that funny, and take his hand when he holds it out, “let’s go.” When you cross into the bedroom he lets go, leaving you to sit down on the huge elliptical bed while he disappears into the bathroom for a moment. You try to breathe, wondering what he has planned when he returns.

You have no idea why you’re suddenly so nervous. There’s a rising sensation of breathlessness travelling up your chest, your stomach churning a little. You feel inexplicably sick, and for a moment you worry, as the plane bobs the tiniest bit - the motion normally soothing, that you might actually puke. He’s still in the bathroom, and you’re trying to calm yourself down - what will you say to him when he comes out? He’s expecting something now. You don’t want to miss out on anything, it had been so good last time; you didn’t want this to be the new lasting memory of your, however brief, time together. You try to tell yourself you’re being ridiculous - c’mon now, calm down, you’re fine - it’s not like he hasn’t seen you before - not like you haven’t done this before, why are you doing this - don’t ruin it for yourself - oh my god why are you such a little baby get a grip. But that clawing feeling is climbing your chest and you’re struggling to swallow - to breathe. You’re ripping off your little bow and collar as hurriedly as you can but it doesn’t make a difference. You sink down lower, practically lying down now, attempting to practice deep breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth. It’s in that moment he comes bounding out of the bathroom - looking you over, as if he’d expected to be ready to pounce; not deal with you still fully dressed (as much as you could be in the bunny corset) and close to tears.

“Hey - hey honey what’s this?” He sounds panicked, and his pitch only increases at the tear falling down your cheek. You try to speak but can’t; “Just - Just talk to me bunny, what, what’s wrong?” You whine at him, trying to sit up and look at him rather than peep from your horizontal angle. He makes it easier by sitting by you on the bed and peering down at your face.

“Nuh-uh-thing,” You finally gasp out, “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just - just got myself all twisted.” A tear slips out, and you angrily brush it away trying to stem the flow. He looks concerned for a second, patting your arm.

“I won’t - we haven’t - we don’t gotta do anything baby, you know that? Not gotta do a thing you don’t wanna do.” He sounds unsure, like he’s not had to deal with this before, or like he’s nervous he’s upset you. It only makes the tears fall a little faster - at how nice he’s being to you when you don’t feel as though you deserve it.

“No-o no I know, I want to, I just can’t seem to stop,” You talk through your hitched breaths, trying to explain. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t breathe.” He hums, looking over at the little table that ran the length of the wall, at the little black bag settled there before patting his thighs and sighing.

“Right. ‘nough messing about - lemme just get one of the boys to call Dr. -”

“No! No! No - I want you! I wanna do this!” You roll onto your side, scrambling upright and turning to grip his jacket, twisting it in your fist. “I wanna - Elvis I promise I’ll be fine in a second just need to calm down. Catch my breath.”

“Well, if its just you’re breathing all funny let me just give you a puff of an inhaler; they’ve barely got anything in them, just wet your throat really but- but they do help,” You shake your head and he sighs again, as if unhappy you’d refuse the offer. But then he nods, almost to himself, and taking matters into his own hands - hauls you up to be leaning against this thick, sturdy, chest. The zipper was a little lower than before and another button of his shirt has popped open allowing you to pillow your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as you feel yourself come down. Shame creeping up as you become fully lucid at how irrational you’d behaved. You sit there for a little while - maybe as long as twenty minutes, but could be as short as ten. Elvis hums song after song at you, occasionally breaking into a little quiet verse, chest hairs tickling you as he moved. Finally you feel sane enough to push up a little, pulling away.

“Sorry - Sorry don’t know what came over me.” You stare at his chest, avoiding making eye contact. He brushes his hand over your chin, pulling it up to force you to look at him. He’s looking at you with an expression of tenderness that’s almost too much to bear.

“S’all right doll, told you - it’s all fine.” You give him a tentative smile.

“I’m sure that wasn’t very …sexy of me, but I do wanna give it another go, please Elvis?” He looks at you hard for a moment, directly in your eyes, as if attempting to judge you were being serious. He clearly decides you were because a moment later he’s leaning over you and moving his hand up your leg.

But when his hand grazes your upper thigh, travelling upwards you feel yourself tense, suddenly stiff as a board. He kisses your neck, and his hand retreats. He spends a long couple of minutes stroking your arm, kissing your neck - your ears. Before attempting it for a second time. Again he gets most of the way there before you go stiff and tense. He moves his hand back to your arm, talking lowly and slowly, practically whispering.

“Now, darlin’ s’ok - we’ve done it before baby.” He’s soothing you like you’re a skittish horse, crooning into your ear, “If you wanna do this I need you to relax for me darling. Can’t do anything otherwise.” You nod, agitated at the accusation that you’re not already attempting to relax.

“I’m trying Elvis - I want to too! I just, it’s involuntary!” He hums - looking over at the bag again -

“Look, honey, I’ve got some, some ‘ludes you can take,” You frown, you didn’t think Elvis was known for doing disco drugs. “I take ‘em to uh help me settle down baby.” You start to speak, perhaps to question the veracity of this claim or where he gets these from - considering his position on recreational drugs. But before you can he’s talking again; “Don’t get me wrong doll, I’m not - don’t get it twisted - they’re prescribed.” He pauses again - “But they’ll sort you right out, real leg spreaders. Won’t change your mind, if you say you want it you still will but, trust me, they’ll relax your body enough.” You shake your head at him, not admitting that while you would love to breathe the concept of not being in complete control of your body was terrifying, instead taking deep breaths to try and force yourself to relax a little more.

“No-no, no need for that, ‘m sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me - I’m so nervous today - I just, sorry - just need another minute.” He sighs again, and although the irrational part of your brain worries it’s in annoyance you can tell he’s more annoyed about you consistently declining his offers of help. He’s still doing his best to soothe you, delicate fingers firmly rubbing your arms and sides, a constant motion. “I just - I know it’s ridiculous, but I still feel like I can’t breathe properly.” His fingers stop on the boning of the corset, and he taps it - as if he’s discovered an answer.

“Awh no this is silly now doll, who could all squished in there like that.” He gestures down to where your chest is threatening to spill out of the tightly laced and zipped bodice. You frown, you’re pretty sure it’s mental and not physical but now he’s drawn attention to it you feel like it’s tightening around your middle. You twist to attempt to unhook it yourself - moving forward to bend out of his lap; “No, no darling, let me - I’ll get this thing offa you.” He pushes you further forward a little way, and then with surprising skill deftly undoes the bunny corset. You don’t want to admit it but the moment the hooks fall away you do feel as if some of the air has returned to your lungs. He’s gently and firmly peeling it away from your body, pulling it down and off of your legs - tutting and stroking the little red marks where the seams and boning have dug into you a little - whether because it was just generally too tight or because you’d been contorted into a slightly awkward position.

“Lord almighty - they doin’ that to you every day?” You shrug, about to say that it wasn’t that much worse than some of your tighter dresses or your panty girdle. He holds it up though, looking at it with distaste, rather than the humour he had the first time he’d seen it off of you - as if seeing it for the first time. “They should make ‘em stretchier! Or - or - a better lining!” He frowns again, “I’m gonna ring Hef and tell him - it’s not right!” You shake your head, the conversation at least distracting you from your lungs.

“Elvis - it’s not like I’m meant to be naked right now. How would you supposedly know.” You gesture down at yourself, a little flushed at the realisation that you were, in fact topless and therefore nude from the waist up. He laughs at you, a little condescendingly.

“You ‘spect me to believe he doesn’t know what you’re up to?” He pauses, “Or that…, bunny, you know, I was, uh, warned that you girls would be… available.” You grimace, it makes you feel like a whore when it’s put like that and you try to return you mind to the point you were trying to make.

“Well, still, if it’s because of me that the boat gets rocked - I like my job, and it was at your request we’re proper bunnies today and not in our flight uniforms!” He rolls his eyes at you, huffing at the accusation.

“Ok, ok. Fine. But I’m not happy about it.” You laugh a little, and you notice your chest bobbing with the motion - it makes you suddenly very aware of your nudity, probably a sign that you’re starting to return to normal, and you wrap an arm around your middle while scrambling to sit properly upright instead of in a semi recline. He looks at you sideways, starting to lean down,

“Well - now we got that sorted - “ You cut him off,

“It wasn’t about that - it was just, I just got all caught in my head, I think I’m a little messed up; it happens every now and again. It just - anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Could you, sorry, would you pass me my bag from over there?” You nod towards the bag just inside the door, it had been a little presumptuous perhaps but you’d left it close enough that if you had missed the mark it wouldn’t have been tricky to move or hide it. “I’ll get changed now.” He frowns, he’s sat upright again himself, but doesn’t move for the bag, instead pulling your arm around and dragging you to sit over his legs again - he leans back, pulling your head to lie on his chest.

“Babe - there’s nothing wrong with you… you just gotta, gotta put a little of it into the air, believe it’s happening for a reason.” He pauses, one arm moving up to wrap around your waist, the other stroking your arm, catching on the little cuff that was still there. “You gotta promise you won’t - it’s no secret, not anymore, but I don’t share this with everyone - so you promise you won’t laugh?” You nod, as best you can - he sounds nervous. “My mama, she er, she always used to say I was real special, that I had a gift.” You nod again, assuming this is about to lead into him singing something to you which, while you didn’t think it was going to be key to ending these nerve attacks you keep having, is certainly not something you would discourage. “But, she uh used to say I had the power to heal things, and, and I think its true baby, so will you - maybe if we can; if I can give you some of my ‘nergy and we think about it - real hard - together, we might get somewhere? Just gotta, gotta connect - spiritually. Maybe if I, If I push on you, and we meditate together we might, it might help?” He looks so hopeful and sounds so earnest that, despite your misgivings about the veracity of these claims, you agree.

“Ok, ok - if you think, if it might help. I just, I do wanna do things with you, I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You won’t baby, you won’t.” He sits down, cross legged at the top of the bed, pulling you around to sit in front of him. He makes no mention of your nakedness, and you’re doing your best not to notice it yourself. “Ok, honey, so just, I’m gonna put my hands here, and you’re just going to breathe with me ok?” His eyes are bright, and his face open, like he’s simply excited to be able to share this with someone. You nod, placing your hands on top of where his are resting on his thighs. “Hold on baby, let’s get these offa ya too.” And he unbuttons your little cuffs, rubbing your wrists where they’d sat, “You don’t hafta, don’t need to think about anything ok darling? You just sit there, and focus on my hands and match my breathing ok? I’ll do all the hard work.” You nod again, and he shuffles himself a little, as if getting himself ready to settle in. “Oh - and I want you to close your eyes.” You look at him for a second, attempting to gauge that he’s being serious and this isn’t some kind of elaborate set-up. He gazes back at you, blue eyes completely calm, and you let your eyes slip closed. He hums a moment later, and then you feel him clasping your hands.

You can tell he’s focussing his breathing, slowing it down and drawing it out, and you match him as best you can, feeling him spread your fingers and press his palms into yours. It takes all of your attention and sufficiently distracts you from your panic and worry that quickly you don’t realise you’re no longer thinking about anything but the light pressure of his hand on yours and the air filling your lungs.

You’re entirely focussed on his slow, measured breaths, and your mind is blank - it’s almost a surprise when an immeasurable time later he flexes his hands, whispering at you to open your eyes. You come back up slowly, blinking in the artificial light of the plane, despite Elvis having used the dimmer.

Although you do, admittedly, feel better you’re still not wholly convinced by his healing properties. What you are grateful for however, is how happy he looks when you open your eyes, as if pleased to have been given the opportunity. And regardless of the ability to heal you, you also feel like something has changed. A shift in the energy between you.

His hand grasps yours, his fingers releasing you to trail up your wrist, up your forearm, and stroke back down to your palms again, brushing his fingers all the way down to your very fingertips and starting all over again. The motion of it, after the intimacy of the last half hour sends your nerve-endings alight, goosebumps forming over your flesh. You feel completely calm, completely ready for him again, your posture straight but relaxed. He moves his hands further up, brushing against your armpits and you gasp as he tickles you the tiniest amount. Suddenly, you find yourself up on your knees - leaning into him, falling into him. Your hands cupping his face, fingers tangling in his sideburns. He catches you in his relaxed arms, the soft fabric of his jacket rubbing against your nipples. He’s still breathing quite deeply, mouth parted - and it allows you to press your lips against his, tongue rapidly falling into his mouth. His hands spread across your torso, curving around your chest as you lean into him - trying to get as physically close to him as you emotionally feel.

His thumbs twirl in circles and your back arches as your nipples pebble against his soft touch - your pussy suddenly starting to feel unbearably hot in its three layers of tights and panties. You huff against his lips, pulling back to grasp the waistband of them all - determined to simply roll them all down together, saving them from him, and you do so in one motion almost immediately regretting that it left you completely bare while he was still fully clothed. He doesn’t give you a chance for it to be more than a fleeting thought though, lying you back, still focussed on making you breathless with his mouth. He kisses along your cheek to your neck and you gasp as he sucks on the sensitive patch just above where your collar bone joins your shoulder. You try to reciprocate, pushing the jacket off of him and struggling to unbutton the last of his shirt - exposing his chest and stomach. He bats your hand away when you go for the top of his pants, pulling away from you and he stands up - surveying you.

“You ready for me, baby?” You squirm a little under his gaze, and you’re not sure where the boldness comes from to reach a hand down, dragging a finger over your wetness, and spreading the folds of your labia open for him to see the glistening stickiness within.

“I dunno, what do you think?” His mouth gapes at you, breathing heavily, the motion as unexpected to him as it was to you, and as you sink a finger into yourself, moaning while you do, he hurriedly removes his pants - throwing them somewhere, his eyes never straying from your core. He pushes your arm out of the way a moment later,

“Think you look like a goddamn fucking centrefold - Jesus Christ, bunny, Lord, all for me, Halle-fucking-lujah,” He lowers himself back down, pressing a kiss to your chest, pumping himself a few times before lining his cock up with your entrance.

He sinks into you, slowly, letting you feel every inch of him that he guides into you. The slight overhang of his belly pressing against your middle as he holds you close, pressing into you as deeply as he can get. You feel every inch of him, every fold in his skin as he pushes in - you know he’s not huge, but it’s been so long that to have something in you two nights in a row, you can feel your entrance ache a little, and inside a slight burn from the stretch. He groans, feeling your tight walls clench around him as you shift, wrapping your legs around him crossing your ankles behind his back. He pants against your ear, kissing the sensitive patch of skin right behind. He’s encasing you in him, smothering you, the smell of him - he’d clearly showered after his show, the faint hint of neutrogena still clinging to him but his own scent, the mixture of his own musk and woodsy cologne layering over it - surrounds you. It altogether feels as intimate as the meditation did - just his and your bodies entangled together. He rests there, barely rocking into you, slowly, almost tenderly - before dragging himself out, rolling off.

“Gotta let you breathe, mama - wanna get deeper.” The concept seems impossible, but he’s pushing one of you legs to the side, rolling you slightly and clambering on top, straddling your other leg and kneeling down before he’s sinking in again.

“Oh - shit, shit - how’re you, oh my god Elvis, that’s - I’ve never,” He knocks against your walls, blindly, until he hits the little bundle of nerves inside you causing all thoughts to leave your head, unable to form a sentence past whimpering. You prop yourself up with one hand, holding onto him with the other, it’s new for you - to be able to watch someone’s face as well as watch them push themselves into you. Being able to look at his face, his mouth open, little grunts and moans flowing as his eyes half-close in pleasure is mind-blowing; beyond your wildest imagination.

“Oh baby, mama, you’re so - oh god, how are you still so tight, you ain’t been properly broken in yet, have you, fuck,” His hips are thrusting into you now, little jolts of pleasure running down your spine and you whine as he hushes you, rubbing a hand across your tummy, moving it up to grasp at your breast. He squeezes, on the edge of too hard, swiping his thumb across your nipple as he pinches it - causing you to clench down on him again, prompting a low groan out of his own mouth. He strokes down your torso, before resting his hand on you, it feels huge across your stomach, heavy and hot almost feeling like it’s burning through you. He slips his thumb lower, coaxing your clitoris out from hiding.

“Want you to go with me, C’mon now baby - c’mon bun, I’m close,” He slams his hips into you, “Al-most there,” His fingers rub over you a little faster, and your nails of your supporting hand dig into your own hair, the other clutching his arm, as you tumble over the edge, shouting,

“Oh - oh - oh, god, Elvis - daddy, god, fuck that’s - oh god,” You hear him swear, pulling out just in time and spraying over your stomach, his fingers coming off of you, allowing you to come down, your body still trembling for a few moments.

When you feel like you’re properly back on earth, a few minutes later, you’re still lying back, panting, while you hear him stand and get himself wiped off. Coming over to you to gently wipe away the mess on your tummy. He looks over at you, eyes still half-lidded,

“C’mon ‘lil bunny, time to get back to work.” He pats your thighs and you shakily stand up. Despite his hurry he behaves almost unexpectedly gentlemanly and fetches your bag for you from beside the door. “Ain’t gonna make you put that torture device back on - you can do the leather if you want.” You frown, thinking for a moment - everyone will know what you’ve been up to then, but then you laugh to yourself a little - everyone already certainly knows. You pause before getting your underwear back on, slightly surprised at his speed, looking over at him;

“You sure you won’t…don’t wanna go again?” He looks a little bashful for a second,

“ ‘m not, I’m an ole man now baby.” Is all he says in reply, but it does the job in conveying what he meant. You look over at him - not sure that you’d describe him as old, he’s what… 38, 39? But you leave it be - dressing in the little leather coat/wrap dress. As you sit to roll your tights over your legs though he stops you, looking you over. “Bunny? Leave off the hose.”

“Sure daddy, sure.” You obey, stripping them off again and pulling your boots onto your bare legs - undoubtedly you’ll get a blister but it’s worth it for the pleased way he looks at you and the kiss on the top of your head in reward for your obedience. You nip into the bathroom, trying to sort your hair and touch up your make-up, and by the time you’re ready to come out he’s gone.

You walk out with your head up, and while you’re greeted with a series of smirks and some whispers you’re not as panicked about it as before, and you’re relieved he came out before you, positive that he took the brunt of any teasing. He winks at you when you pass him, dressed without his shirt now, but otherwise ignores you. This doesn’t upset you like before - you’re content that only you and him truly know what’s just gone on and that your new, intimate, connection is safe and tucked away just for the two of you. It feels like you’ve been wrapped up in him for days and yet when you look over at the clock ticking away you realise you’ve only been in the air for an hour and a half. You feel a little like you’ve left a tiny part of yourself in that room with him, and that you should feel more vulnerable - more exposed than you do. Instead, you feel calm - your tension almost completely gone and with that you start to feel the possibility that you might actually be able to enjoy the next few hours.

A couple of hours later, you’re dancing in the disco room - providing entertainment although you’re sure most of them, certainly Elvis, should be sleeping; unsure where the burst of energy from everyone has come from. But still, you’re dancing about with the other girls, playfully messing around, when he - from his sat position, lavender tinted glasses now on his nose, pulls you down to whisper in your ear,

“C’mon bunny, give me a little show - pick one of ‘em.” He gestures to the other girls bobbing around you. You look at him, mouth open, a little shocked at his bold request - so different from the sweet, slow, intimate behaviour from earlier. It’s not something you’re totally opposed to, but….in public? It’s as if he’s reading your mind; reassuring you -

“S’ok, baby, s’just us up here - just me and m’boys,” He pats you on the thigh, “Go on - there’s a good girl.” You stumble forward a little and make eye contact with Maggie - who was already looking over, clearly eager to share his attention. You look back over to Elvis, watching him grin at her, pleased that she seems so willing, “Just wanna watch you two kiss honey, nothing more - don’t gotta be that dirty but just… just a little. Just for me.” You nod, steeling yourself. But Maggie isn’t reluctant in any way, threading her fingers through yours to pull you closer. The tie of your leather dress brushes against her bare thigh, still in the bunny corset, and you feel her shudder against you as you step completely into her space.

It’s a little strange, kissing her, different but simultaneously essentially the same. The startling difference was the … niceness of it, it was sweet and slow and gentle. Different from the lip biting and teasing of the men you’d kissed. You forget, for a moment, all the other people in the room, it’s narrowed to just the three of you although really you’re putting on a show for everyone, and you open your eyes - watching Elvis watch you. Despite Maggie’s lips on yours - her soft body still pressed against you - your focus is solely on him. His eyes are burning into you, and his legs are spread, thighs thick and inviting. You put a little more effort in, grasping her hair, rubbing down her back, and you listen to him huff a little chuckle when you jokingly squeeze her tail, and slot your leg between hers. You keep eye contact behind her head, watching him swallow, shifting a little to rub a hand over himself - completely unabashed at doing so in front of everyone. The sight of him sat there, looking like a sultan surveying his harem, blue eyes serious and intense, makes your eyes slip closed, and you put all your focus into the feeling of being watched and being kissed. You pull away, laughing as you both sway a little from the force of coming apart - you look over at him;

“That alright Da-El?” He beams at you,

“Perfect girls - so goddamn perfect.” He pats his thigh, the outline of his hardening cock almost completely visible, “Why don’t you come over here bunnies, let me have a better look.” You both do as he asks, giggling, as you tumble together onto his lap. It’s messier now, more fun, her hands scrabbling down your sides, and yours cupping her cheeks. You feel so hyper from it all that you almost feel drunk. His hand moves to support your lower back as you lean across to kiss Maggie again, giggling a little against her lips as she almost tips backwards until his arm catches her.

“God, men fucking dream about this dolls - two little bunnies sat in their laps. But this is just for me ain’t it? Just for me?” His head is tipped back, but he swings it forward to look at you both - intensely, possessively. How a man could be possessive over two women he’d only known 48 hours, on a plane he didn’t even own, was mind-boggling - the sheer confidence required for that kind of thought overwhelming. Yet you can’t help but feel turned on by it, your own head nodding insistently to reassure him. Maggie looks askance at you, but still rapidly nods - the slight lie going unnoticed. His thigh flexes and where you’ve leant forward has hitched your tiny skirt up high enough that you’re now entirely sat feeling the soft fabric encasing his thigh underneath you rub against your bare legs. You can’t help but rock against it, just the tiniest amount. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you three, and instead of the shame you expected to feel, your stomach tightens in arousal at the sensation of being watched. He lets out a little moan, and it only makes you work harder, slipping your tongue into Maggie’s mouth as she pants against your lips. You feel Elvis’ hand slide up your body to the side of your ribcage, his thumb brushing your breast. You pull back, and he gasps as you stroke the outside of his soft trouser leg, gently rubbing the fabric over his cock. Elvis abruptly stands, pushing you both off.

“Think there might be some important business I need to do in Hef’s office. Why don’t you two run along ahead - gonna need,” he looks sideways, jokingly, playing it up for your forgotten audience, “gonna need a couple of helping hands.” You give what can only be described as a polite smile, wondering what on earth has gotten into you that you were willing to display yourself like that in public. But for whatever reason you’re walking back into the bedroom again - this time following behind Maggie. You’re watching her from behind, and though you’ve seen her in uniform countless times you’re suddenly left wondering if her shape has always looked that inviting to grab - or if the teddy had always revealed so much of her ass. She seems far more at home in Hugh’s private quarters than you ever did the first time, and you realise suddenly that it’s very probable this isn’t her first time back here with a guest. The realisation shoots a burst of anxiety through you again, that you try to immediately brush away, that this whole thing really was just expected of you.

Elvis shuts the door behind him when he comes in, immediately setting the mood lighting. Before resting his hand on your back and pulling you in for a quick kiss. It’s strange kissing him again now, you expect for some reason his lips to feel rough in comparison to Maggie’s, masculine instead of her soft femininity, but as always his lips are full and buttery soft a perfect representation of the juxtaposition of his personality. He pulls away too soon and you find yourself leaning into him, eyes still closed, chasing the sensation, pouting when he laughs at you.

“You good to go honey, or do you need a hand givin’ me a show?” You’re confused by what he’s offering, until you notice he’s holding out his hand two little pills sat in it. “Just vitamins baby,” You shake your head, you’re a little nervous but despite the environment you’re working in you’ve not taken anything yet, and the concept of it scares you more than your nerves. You’re surprised though when Maggie’s hand comes from nowhere, plucking one of them out of his palm and swallowing it dry. He beams at her, “Atta girl.” Maggie giggles at him,

“Thank you daddy,” and he glances over at you, sideways, again before swallowing the leftover pill.

He claps his hands, before suddenly, playfully, throwing you over his shoulder and onto the bed. You’re shocked at the display of physicality - not expecting it at all, and even more surprised when a moment later Maggie is thrown in much the same manner, bumping onto the bed and knocking into you. He settles himself up by the cushions, looking expectantly at the pair of you of you sprawled out and he gestures to the rest of the bed. He shifts, settling his hands on his open thighs, the hard outline of his cock almost completely visible through his pants. He clenches them into fists, like he’s trying not to touch. He looks, with his hair wild and his glasses on, so classically - typically Elvis that it makes your heart rate increase just watching him.

“Go on then, pretty little bunnies - wanna see you two - wanna see you havin’ fun. Give me a show.” It’s not a request but a command, and even if you’d wanted to (which you didn’t) you can’t do anything but obey.

Maggie responds with a “Yes, sir,” as you move to situate yourself, kneeling at the bottom of the bed and she crawls over to meet you. This time she takes control, kissing you, her hands moving over the little leather coat-dress. It feels different having her lithe, nylon covered leg pushing in between yours instead of Elvis’ thick thigh. You wouldn’t go so far to say it’s better, but the friction against your thin panties and the way it allows your legs and thighs to stay fairly close, to clench and move is appealing. You can’t help but rock against her, clutching at her waist - she laughs into your mouth, pulling your hair a little as she presses gentle kisses down your neck. You gasp, head falling back, before you pull away to lean forward again, catching her face between your hands, you rub against her, drawing her front back towards you - you giggle, whispering,

“Mags’ I can’t - can’t believe we’re doing this...” Elvis chuckles behind you, clearly you weren’t as quiet as you thought, and that makes you laugh harder. It’s fun and flirty and you haven’t felt this chill about something in a while - the ability to just zone out and enjoy the sensations without having to worry about the future. You start to unbelt your dress, trying to move quickly - frantically, and as soon as you’ve got it unbuttoned Maggie is palming at you, pushing it down your shoulders. She moves forward a little more, and you lean back - letting Elvis get a better look at your newly uncovered skin. She moves her hand to brush against your panty-covered mound and you gasp. Your head falling forward onto her shoulder at the feel, so different from your own fingers or his thick digits, she moves her leg and you’re suddenly humping against nothing - you whine into the air, Elvis interrupting you as you try to pull her back.

“Sl-slow down girls, get tha’ dress off and go a lil’ slower - there’s no rush. No need to rush now - just slow - slow it down.” You nod trying to still your hips, gasping out,

“Ok, ok, daddy - well - we’ll slow -ah- down,” and Maggie pushes you, both of you tumbling backwards. You roll for a moment, the silk of Maggie’s costume rubbing against your skin, the coolness a welcome relief to your burning skin. You suddenly catch, out of the corner of your eye, Elvis shifting, his arm moving at a rapid pace and you don’t know why, considering what you’re currently doing, you’re shocked to realise he has his cock out, that he’s touching himself watching you. You accidentally make eye contact, and you’re taken aback by the look on his face, his lip curling in pleasure. To be watched with such burning desire is shocking, and would be enough to make you shy had you not had this overwhelming sexual confidence come over you from somewhere. You absently think that you should probably help Maggie out of her corset, the pufftail isn’t comfortable to lie in and she was probably wishing for more breathability right now, but before you can offer she’s stroking a finger down you and all thoughts fly out of your head. She looks up at Elvis, questioning something that you can’t hear through your single-minded tunnel vision and hearing, but you manage to catch his reply;

“No - no, just - just, just over top, honey, not - no, that’s just for me.” And she resumes to touching you over the top of the growing dampness of your panties, you groan at the sheer level of objectification; at being spoken about as if you were just there for his amusement, that you were his. Maggie renews her efforts though, and her fingers quickly, even over the soft cotton fabric of your underwear, find the spot to make you squirm, hips bucking into her. She soothes you, and you wonder if you should be reciprocating in some way but as her delicate fingers push the tiniest fold of fabric into you, you’re lost clutching at the fur throw, the slight friction easing as it gathers up your slick. She moves her finger to circle around your clit, bunching the fabric between her thumb and fingers and rubbing it against you. You somehow manage to blink open your eyes, leaning your head all the way back to look at Elvis; his entire focus is on what’s happening between your legs - it causes a shudder to run through you, and your stomach tightens as you feel your legs start to cramp;

“Go on baby, hold it for me, hold it - don’t - want you to keep her just there for me - that’s it. Stop stop, that’s just for me.” She pulls her hand away and your back arches as whine, so close to the edge.

He leans in gripping Maggie’s neck to kiss her and you can hear the wet smack of their lips together, he pulls back, briefly “Don’t worry, honey, don't wanna make you jealous…just wanna say thank you for such a lovely show - that’s alright isn’t it?” You can’t do anything but agree and he returns to her, hands on her neck and head to hold her in place. Watching it up close you can understand why he wanted to watch himself, you wonder if that’s what you look like with him too; all teeth and tongue and lips. You squirm, still feeling the possibility of your orgasm.

“Now go on, there’s a good girl, run along now, thank you darling - You gonna be alright? You want me to get one of the boys to uh, see to ya properly?” She shakes her head, almost fondly as if laughing that she might need his help to find a willing partner. “Well - You tell ‘em I said it’s ok.” He sends her on her way like he’s pimping her out for the night, you hate how it makes your core throb a little, and you can’t help but glow at being the very obviously chosen one; not just one night but two in a row. Maggie looks back at you, still lying on the fur throw, winks and leaves - sauntering through the door. When she’s gone Elvis turns back to you, rubbing sweeping circles on your stomach,

“Just wanna get you goin’ again for me,” His hand starts to trail down, and you don’t know what’s come over you but you put your own out - grasping his wrist to stop him wanting him to know;

“Daddy, I’ve never - that was my first time with,” He laughs,

“Oh, honey, I know, I know. Did you like it?” You nod, and he laughs again, “I’ll bring my camera next time baby, can’t believe Hef’s not got one installed in here somewhere. What a waste.” He tries to move but you hold his hand where it is, causing him to look calculatingly over you, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Was there something you wanted?”

“I…” You squirm under the pressure of his gaze and the tone of his voice.

“C’mon bunny, tell me what you want.” You nod, a bit nervous - but you had stopped his hand for a reason.

“Could you, would you… you know.” He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face when he responds,

“No, sorry, I don’t.” You whine,

“Ugh - would you, with your tongue?”

“Ohh - you want me to go back down on you? Have another taste of that sweet yittle bunny cunt?” You wriggle at his harsh wording mixed with his babying tone, but you frantically nod. He grins, taking his glasses off and throwing them somewhere on the bed.

“Well ain’t today just my lucky day.” He manhandles you into a better position, ripping your underwear off, pushing you against the cushions and shoving one underneath your hips - moving to situate himself between your thighs. He wiggles like a cartoon about to be served at a restaurant - almost certainly to make you laugh and you comply, nervously giggling, mind preoccupied with hoping that you taste alright now that you’ve asked for it. He spreads you open, kissing your inner thigh before moving closer to your core, and you can feel yourself pulse with anticipation.

He tentatively licks you, just a gentle, wet stripe and you immediately gasp - eyes flying wide open, startled at how sensitive you already felt. Although it shouldn’t come as any surprise, you’d been slick and swollen since you’d fucked earlier, and a bit sore since last night. He flattens his tongue, spreading your folds, and moves his fingers in to keep you spread open. Your hips buck of their own accord when he wets his lips and blows cold air onto you, watching you squirm and clench in response. You can feel his smile before he concentrates again his tongue lapping at your entrance. Your legs come up, needing more support to better grind onto him and your hands move down to grip his hair, thumbs digging into the side of his face, his sideburns, while your fingers find purchase in his long strands, gently holding him in place. He renews his efforts, flicking his tongue in your inner folds and he moves one of his hands to brace your stomach down as he moves to lick directly over your clit - your hips thrusting up enough in response for you to understand the necessity of his hand holding you down. You didn’t realise you could become addicted to the feel of something so quickly, but you’re not sure you’re going to be able to live without someone, preferably him, doing this to you regularly. The warm wet pressure builds, and on top of where you were already on the edge it’s quickly building to be almost too much. He pulls back just as you think you’re about to go over the edge and you groan, but he smiles at you, catching his breath, lips glistening with your slick.

“Oh god - is that, is that me on you?” He grins,

“Sure is baby, sweetest honey from my honey bun-bun.” He licks his lips, and you groan again, your tummy flipping from how close you still feel,

“Elvis - Daddy - need you, need more,” He leans back down, whispering, crooning in babytalk to your pussy;

“Oh baby, baby, poor little, yittle, baby bunny - daddy’s gonna take real good care of you now, no more games baby, no that’s right, gonna get you right there,” He presses his lips to your clit kissing it, nose buried in you. Your entire focus is on the sensations as he moves down to spear his tongue into you, so different from a finger or cock and you almost choke from the force of the puff of air you exhale, as he curls it just so; you didn’t even know it was possible to do that and you wonder how much practice at this he really has.

You can’t bear to look down at him anymore, the sight of his long lashes brushing against you, reminding you of who it was between your legs, watching you almost too much and you throw your head back, eyes closing as he thrusts his tongue in and out. He moves to add his thumb in, rubbing over your clit as his tongue continues to do its job, soothingly licking where you’re sore around the entrance to your hole. Your stomach tightens as he maintains a steady pace and you clench around him, thighs coming to rest on either side of his head, as you rock on his tongue and fingers. It’s not long, only moments when the pressure and movement get you there, body jumping as you crest over the wave of your orgasm. He licks you through it, and it means you just keep going. It’s overwhelming, and not something you’ve experienced before, the extended shaking and shuddering as you jolt around, jumping with every fizzle of pleasure. Finally, he pulls back, allowing you to breathe again, panting as you force your body to relax.

A minute or so later you’re able to sit up a little more, opening your eyes properly again. You look over at Elvis and he’s got his cock in his hand - you’re tired but you feel like you have to show him some kind of appreciation for the best orgasm of your life so you lean up on your elbows, reaching a hand down to join his, you pump it once or twice before whispering to him,

“Let me Daddy,” and you sink your mouth down onto him. He gasps in surprise swearing

“Lord hav- oh god baby, bunny, oh shit.” as you hum around him, swallowing. He was clearly already very close and it only takes a couple of moments in the hot, wet, pressure of your mouth and throat before he’s warning you,

“Gonna, it’s, I’m gonna go off baby, it’s - I’m close, real fu-cking close.” And with that he thrusts once, twice, while you hollow your cheeks - sucking down hard and that’s all it takes for him to be spurting into your mouth. You flinch, surprised, despite his warning, at the speed the taste unexpected, but still you swallow it down. “Fuck - fuck, thank you bunny, thank you.” He’s sweet, offering more gratitude than you’ve ever received from a man. You kiss his tip as you pull away and once again fall onto your back. You lie back, panting, and he joins you, curling around you - cuddling into you for the first time since you started this whole thing. You roll into him, enjoying being cradled in his thick arms, trying to comprehend the events of the past forty eight hours and how you’re going to be returning back to your normal life in only another few hours, wondering what Maggie chose to do, when he starts to talk, fingers tracing circles on your arms.

“You know - my daddy’s - I got ‘im buyin’ me my own jet.” Your brow furrows a little, unsure where he’s going with this - “I uh, I - you’ll still have a cute little outfit, I like - like to dress ma girls up but, but I promise it’ll be … stretchy and uh, I won’t - I won’t assume anything but - but I sure would like it if you, you would come on board with me?” He perhaps should have stopped there but he keeps talking, “It also - it would mean more time together, bunny, fewer girls around. Well…fewer in uniform anyway.” You grimace a little - so what is he suggesting; you be his on call plane whore? You hate that you want it, hate that you’re so desperate for him, in any way you can have him - to whatever capacity he’s available that you’re going to agree.

“Of course - that would, that would be a dream come true Elvis, I would love to,” You’re not entirely stupid though. You smile at him, agreeing but not believing - this happens all the time in the clubs too; men promising things that never materialise - the drunker they get the more outlandish the claims; cars, houses, vacations, jobs. You know of too many girls who quit because they were promised a job as someone’s secretary only for the role to never materialise to put too much stock into his question. Besides, you still have two more flights with Elvis already in Big Bunny’s calendar - you were sure there’s more than enough time for him to make the offer again if he was really serious.

“Wha-what’s your schedule like?… You got a boyfriend?” You pause, uncertain where this is going, surely these were questions that should have been asked yesterday? You suddenly realise that you know he’s seeing someone if only from the overheard phone-call but that you also had no idea if you were turning into the other woman or something. Or if you were just a girl to pass the time with.

“I - uh, no. No, no-one. I’m not, we’re kept quite busy…” He frowns, kissing the top of your shoulder,

“Would you, you could come watch a show if you, I’ll get tickets for you and the girls if you want?” You smile,

“That would be lovely, thank you -” He continues,

“You could come a little earlier if you wanted, I’m playing somewhere new tomorrow, well - uh,” he looks over at the clock, grimacing, “Today. So I gotta check the sound and things, you could come to the rehearsal? I want you there baby,” You register some shock at his last words but nod, agreeing, it sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime and you go to say it but you suddenly realise, from the little puffing breaths on your shoulder he’s fallen asleep practically mid-sentence. You look around for the clock, before you, with some wonder, discover there’s still ninety minutes left of the flight and close your own eyes too. The others can do the stewarding, you’re doing the main job - keeping Elvis happy.

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