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gremlingottoosilly · 9 months

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[If you need to be mean] chapter 2

Chapter 1

Konig decided to meet his new favorite civilian at the cafe you work at. Unfortunately for both of you, you're both socially awkward. TW: Konig being a huge pervert, Canon-Typical violence, Dub-Con, Innocence kink, Age difference(Konig in his yearly 40, Reader in young 20)

Pairing: Konig x fem!Reader Tags: Fluff, Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Size Kink, Possessive Konig, Yandere Konig, Creepy scary stalker Konig, written mostly from Konig's perspective

— Did something good happen, colonel? You are practically shining.

Horangi always had this special ability of telling nonsense with the most serious face and deep voice. He also was the only one in his unit to ever be brave enough to joke with his superior – even though all the other KorTac members usually don’t risk their asses to be put on fire list because of some silly joke. He is the closest König has to a friend – and it’s kinda sad, actually, that a broken gambling addict is the only person who can read his emotions so well, even with his hood and permanently sour expression.

But something good did happen – you happen, of course.

He spend a few days of self-reflecting, drinking and punching training manekens in the gym, trying so fucking hard to put your adorable civillian face out of his mind. You were out of sight alright, but the way your features would get distorted into something even more adorable every time he closed his eyes, was concerning. He dealt with those little obsessions before – nothing that a few good rounds of jerking off until he would feel nothing but emptiness and hatred to himself couldn’t handle. He surely can’t fall that deep down, he only saw you for like an hour and it was literally three days ago!

— I read your reports about the last terrorist encounter. Good job, Horangi.

— And I heard about that civilian girl you pulled, sir. Thought we are bringing those to the police, not their houses.

— I had to make sure she wasn't a spy.

— And she wasn’t?

König thinks – would be far easier if he would have an official, legal reason to keep you locked up on the base without the right to come out. Would be far easier for him to just think about you as an enemy, so he would have normal reasons for thinking about you constantly, and not feeling guilty. It’s normal to think so much about your enemies – this is what keeps you alive on the field, if you can determine their shortcomings early and make sure that you can fight them. He would love having you as an enemy – it would at least give him some info before starting obsession over little ol’ you.

— No.

— That would give us at least some lead to the terrorist cell. Feels like all locals are protecting them from it.

— I understand your frustration. But at least they are not cutting our pay.

— We might as well rebel if they’d try to.

— We are not stepping on terrorist’s route.

— I was joking, sir. Only thing that’s left here except for card games.

Horangi hates stationing in this country as much as König is – and, given that he is a sergeant and doesn’t have as much rank expectations, can talk about this openly. This operation is perfect except for the lack of intel, lack of action and lack of basically anything to do – the local forces are handling minor threats, while mercs here are mostly to show off how the government has money to hire them. KorTac would pay for actually having to fight some bad guys around here – but the bigger ones are hiding and lower ones are already getting tracked down by the local military.

The only interesting thing to do, seemingly, is to obsess over local girls – and König thought he is better than this.

But he isn’t losing sleep over thinking about how scared and fragile you looked that night. Especially not even going to think about how adorable your little pout was, and the way your hands were trembling. He definitely doesn't want to know every tiny detail about your life, what you like and what you hate, what is your favorite position in bed and the color of underwear you are currently wearing – or even if you are wearing one. And he isn’t some sort of creep that would spend an obnoxiously long amount of time registering on social media – god, he is too old for this shit, it literally feels even more humiliating than his whole school experience – just so he can find your accounts and get instant masturbation material.

You really shouldn’t post so much half-naked photos – yes, this is a reel from your last summer vacation and yes, this swimsuit looks beautiful on you, but have you ever considered that some creep(not someone like him, he is palming himself very respectfully) would use those photos as a way to get themself off? Terrible, scary, he can’t wait for you to post some new photos – maybe in something that he would buy you, way skimpier and more expensive, so he could protect you from those people.

He looks at your posts about work – and he hates this stupid blue bird app because it never works for him, always filled with some assholes who are trying to argue with literally everyone, and the way he can’t even see your posts properly because of the weird ads. No, he doesn’t need a “Thing that would make your dick longer” he literally has a problem with making it smaller. No, he doesn’t need some dumb T-shirt even though he kinda reflects with the funny pun about pokemons and would love to wear something containing his major interest even though it would look ridiculous on a 6 '10 killing machine.

But König reads all of your short posts about the way you hate working in customer service, and his hand is almost slipping to the ad about wedding rings. You hate your job, he hates his – practically soulmates, even though he doesn’t really hate the killing part of his employment, he just doesn’t want to be in charge of people and making them steal the fun of destroying. He would, however, agree to get as many ranks as possible if that would mean providing for you. If that would allow him to be by your side and listen to your sweet voice, he would agree for the next promotion even if higher ups would want him to make some PR wawes and become a fucking fashion model.

But he is completely sane about you. Totally normal. Absolutely nothing is wrong with him when he can’t even think about visiting you in real life, but he leaves a like on every of your posts in every social media he has – you have terrible online safety habits by the way, he can already see what the inside of your apartment looks like, your place of work from three different angles, and how the front door of your apartment is held together by a very easy to destroy lock. He could snatch it in one deliberate kick, not even speaking about just shooting it. Not like he would need to, he wants you to be with him willingly. Or, at least, don’t fight him too much in case he would actually lose his patience and do something drastic.

It has already been three days and he feels like he is going crazy. He had those things before, overthinking about tiniest details in someone he never truly knew, but even then he’d understand that he can’t be with them – it could be his school crushes that were, ironically, crushed because of his anxiety. It might be some casual flings with his fellow soldiers that would either get killed in the field or never happen because it would be fraternization. Some random people he saw at the airport and already imagined life with multiple kids and a dog. He always knew he had a problem – but it was never like this before. Never dangerous.

The problem is – he knows that he can have you.

Maybe not in a traditional way, he doubts that you would just marry him on the spot, but he can court you at least. He can shower you with gifts or ridiculous tips at your job, he can just snatch you away and leave you as his perfect little bedmate. He can make his men kidnap you, and while it is inhumane and you don’t deserve this, he would calm you down – and then have his happily ever after.

He knows that he can have you – and it drives him crazy. He could stop himself previously, when he didn’t have anything for himself to be considered desirable – but now, with his rank and all the new opportunities and money it brings, he can’t stop but fantasize.

You under him, panting and blushing, lips puffy from kisses, skin glazed from sweat and marked with his teeth.

You under him, so wonderfully tight, not letting him go even for an inch – and you are perfectly taking him, no matter how gigantic he is.

You under him, smiling, cuddling after a long night – every night after a mission, where he could spend his free time deep in your body, listening to your melodic moans and little whines.

You under…

— Can I…can I take your order, sir?

He is a disgusting human being because lives of thousand people are on a stake, he would just doom them all if he wouldn’t find those terrorists soon – and he wastes time on sitting in this tiny ass cafe, trying to place himself on the small seat while being all too nervous to just talk to you. Like a person. Of course he had to go to your shift – he already determined which days you were working because it increased the number of angry “I hate my job and want to kill my manager” posts on that dumb social media, and he knows which hours you work at – of course it’s almost night time, the closing shift, because he simply can’t have himself not worry about you.

He is a creep, weirdo and all that words in a song that he’s been blasting in his tiny headphones all of these days because he can smell the sweetness of your perfume and the way you are munching on the pen you are using to write his order. Oh, yes, order. He is supposed to order something, he can’t just give you money for how adorable you look in that white apron – even though you are absolutely stunning and should get money.

God, he would murder everyone in this building just for them to never look at your legs again.

God, he would bury himself between them if only you’d allow him to.

— Sir, is everything okay?

He served in the military for far longer that you lived, probably. Most of his life, he got used to being referred to as something honorable, or referring to other people like that – and he never thought that just being referred to as “sir” would make his dick twitch in his pants. He crosses his legs, hoping not to get too imposing – he already towers over the tiny table like a giant he is, barely even fitting in it. He thinks he has a healthy amount of self-control – then he looks at you again, and thanks all the gods he knows for the mask he is wearing – at least under the black surgeon piece and dark glasses you won’t really see his blush. Or that little twitching in his eyes that is indicating danger.

— Sorry, I…can I, um, have a coffee? Bitte…please, I mean.

He hates how nervous he is – like high school again, asking his crush out just to be ridiculed. But you look perfect like this – controlled environment, you can’t just laugh at him and say that he is a weird nerd from another class, you have a manager who is controlling of such behavior. He would never tell on you, of course, he wants you to be happy, even if this job makes you the most miserable – even though he kinda thinks of you as a weak for this, his job literally involves killing people and he doesn't argue that much!

But you giggle – sweet, innocent sound, it drives him crazy even more than he previously was. It doesn’t feel like those girls at school – yes, he still can’t let that go, even though his therapist says he has to – and he loses all control at how beautiful you sound. He wants to take you away right now, pay you for your workplace however you get them, and just use you as he wants – no matter how socially unacceptable. He protects this country, he has the right for a little prize, right? No, this would be terrible, he shouldn’t just harass sweet little civilians like you, he should…

— What type of coffee, sir? Do you want some dessert?

This is a typical question, he was at cafes and coffee shops a thousand times but, for some reason, it feels almost like you are teasing him. You bite the end of your pen with those adorable teeth of yours – he wants to feel it on his fingers, he wants you to leave bite marks all over his body as a sign of marking him as yours. He smiles under his mask, hoping that you would somehow feel it – how happy you make him feel, how hard it’s for him not to lose control.

— No. Just coffee.

— Sugar?

He would like some sugar, of course – but the one he wants is probably not for sale, even though that adorable white apron of yours makes you look like a candy. He would love to unwrap you from those silly clothes and devour what belongs to him for the right of protector, but he knows how scared you might be. He is not a good person, he killed more people that he could count – countless fathers, sons, mothers, he shouldn’t even think about having a right for a family of his own after all of this. He is not a good person and his moral code changes with every kill he gets – but for hell sake, he wants to be nice with you. You deserve it, he knows. More than he is, for sure.

König doesn’t really like sugary stuff, it was always too childish, made him too energetic, disrupted his very peculiar way of eating things. Sweets makes him only more hungry, makes him crave more, and he wants to be as serious as possible – so he usually drinks and eats stuff that is no tastier than a pile of dry sand. But he responds before he can think, too focused on that shiny lipgloss you have on your lips. He would lick and bite it all – soon, he hopes.

— Ja. Thank you.

— Good choice, sir.

Your lips are curling into a small, shy smile and he likes sugar now. He isn’t sure if you are telling everyone that their order is a good choice, maybe you just want to get more tips, but he hopes that maybe, he is special. Maybe there is something nice happening to him after all. A small reward for not being a total monster on the last mission he had, even though he could. He can’t do anything but to stare at you, his only saving grace is the dark lenses of his glasses – he can’t wear his hood in civil situations, unfortunately, people would stare, stare, stare and that would make him want to pull their eyes out.

But you smile and he smiles also, even if you can’t see it. He is looking at your legs and, fuck, he is a disgusting old creature that preys upon younger women because he never had a positive experience before. He is a total creep and a monster that should be put down already – but he stares at your legs under that waitress dress, and he would pay your manager a few thousand Euros to cut the length of your skirt in half.

Then he sees all the others looking at you the same way – old people, young people, there aren’t a lot of guests at this time in the evening, most people are afraid of going into public places while the war on terrorism is going on. There aren’t a lot of people while it’s almost closing time, but he doesn't even want to think about all the other men looking at you like this. Devouring you with their eyes, probably leaving sleazy comments as you go through the small cafe, just as overworked as your other coworkers. He wants to take you from here.

You don’t deserve people looking at you like you aren’t even a person – only he can look at you respectfully, stripping you with his eyes. He can be soft for you, can be perfect – if you would just let him.

König doesn’t want to be a creep around you, but he was looking at your legs for five minutes already, picturing the way your body would look under all of these clothes, and his cock gets painfully hard. He thanks himself for wearing normal, baggy pants, not something tighter – at least his embarrassment is completely covered by his clothes.

— Here is your coffee. Anything else?

You look nervous, of course – but he seems way softer than he was a couple days ago, at night. The absence of his creepy mask is obviously helping, and because he is sitting, you don’t have to tilt your head too high, causing your neck to stretch uncomfortably. He looks awkwards, like a big dog that still tries to fit into his old bed, and it causes you to smile a little bit more. You made sure to place a couple of sugar cubes on the plate, so he could decide for himself, if he wants to use them all – but the mere thought of that giant of a man, a colonel, hardened soldier liking something silly and sweet is making you giggle.

He looks way softer than he was that night, and you can almost forget about how scared you were – how you were thinking that this would be the end for you, that one, overthinking part of your mind already making up the scenarios of getting martial lawed because of the broken curfew. You can even see his hair – and fight the urge to touch it a little. He is still who-knows-how-old and still a military presence in your peaceful country.

You still want to ruffle his hair.

He still wants to take your clothes off and make you his.

— Nein, thank you.

He stares at the cup for a good few seconds – if he wants to drink, he needs to actually take it off. He has many scars on his face, and his mouth sometimes feels like it has more dead skin than alive one – he doesn’t want to attract attention. Some people are already staring at his badge and how awkward a giant man like him looking in that cozy, tiny place – but he also wants you to see how much pain he can withstand without getting killed. How he can protect you from anything because there literally isn’t anything he won’t do for you. You would appreciate a man with scars, it’s a sign of bravery, right?

Then he thinks about all the times he would take off his mask and how people around him would look at him – with pity, with fear, with disgust sometimes even though he is certain that his face isn’t as deformed as some other parts of his body. He even almost managed to grow a beard once! Then he had to scrub it all off because hair was growing in very uneven patches and he looked like something crawled on his chin and died.

König fought in countless battles, spent his youth training to be the best killer possible, took part in many major conflicts and killed hundreds of people while feeling nothing but recoil. He isn’t afraid of anything – except for talking to people sometimes, maybe, and even now he is trying to work on it with his therapist, instead of just killing anyone who looks at him funny. He isn’t afraid of the dark, of death, of uncertainty in his life. But he is afraid of you looking at him unmasked and thinking that you, in fact, find him disgusting.

You almost want to take your time to look at what he will do – is he going to take off his mask? Is he going to drink right through the fabric? You have too much work to just stay at his table and stare, even if you want to – but you are trying to give him occasional glances as he just…sits at his table. Not even moving, just staring at the cup and sometimes moving his head to look at you – or just ornaments at the wall behind you. Yes, probably the ornament.

König sits at the table and, well, he doesn’t even want to drink his coffee because just looking at the way your ass sways under that terribly short skirt is enough to set him on fire. He wants to take you home with him – even though his home is all the way up in Austria. He would take you, you probably wouldn’t even be mad at you – you could be a perfect little family. He already waited too long to start one, never finding anyone who would win his heart for a long run but he was sure that this three-days-obsession would last long. He isn’t sure, however, if he likes it or not.

He ended up not drinking at all – he knows that he can’t just waste multiple hours, he already got his lieutenants covering the spot with paper work while their commander is away at searching for the love of his life. He wants to be with you longer, probably walk you home again and make sure to protect you from any creeps that would want to attack. He can’t have that, it’s obvious – he is a colonel, unfortunately, he is still on the hunt for those terrorists, he can barely give himself an hour of free time these days.

He already indulged in his fantasies too much when he folds a 100 Euros banknote and puts it into the bill – not sure about how much money it is here, not wanting to give you any trouble with exchanging currency, he just hopes that would be enough for you to at least not worry about food for a few days. Or buy yourself something nice – what girls like these days? Guns, books, some fancy lip gloss, a hat for their adorable little turtles? He would buy you a pet turtle, he always wanted one as a kid – right before his father said that all lizards are products of sinful corporations and a lazy pet like a turtle, unlike a giant dog breed, is completely useless and unmanly.

He doesn’t want to be here when you’ll get the bill – he is too afraid that he didn’t gave you enough, that you'd be disappointed. He would love to give you more, of course, but he doesn’t want to just shove you the money like you are some sort of cheap whore – he wants to give you gifts, something meaningful, to steal you from poverty altogether. König is an expert in infiltration and escaping arts, he can exit the location without anyone noticing a thing, even with his size – and then you look at him, directly into his eyes, covered by sunglasses – and your face is twisted in shock as you realize what exactly he left you.

— Wait, sir! Please, I…god, I will get you the change right now, I’m so sorry, it’s closing shift, I…I’m sorry, I completely forgot…

You are almost begging him to stop and let you give him his money, a honorable deed really – but all he can think of is how nice you would look on your knees, begging him to fuck you already. How perfect you would look all whiny and spoiled, asking him for something expensive, whatever your cute head would want. You would look so complete on his lap, tugging on his shirt and asking your daddy for a new toy. You would…

— It was a tip. Take it.

He wants to be able to tell you how perfect you look, how he wants to just throw you over his shoulder in a totally non-creepy way and make you his little wifey. How he would take multiple months of leave to just be with you, marry you, breed you. He wants to have a way with words, but they are useless to him – he can’t even say he likes you, it’s embarrassing, he is almost forty, he got his rank as youngest colonel in history of KorTac, he can literally have almost everything he wants – except for basic social skills.

He feels like a creep, an old man trying to steal that perfect girl from the shiny world, and he hates himself for it – but then you blush and he can almost convince himself that yeah, you like that creep too.

— I…shit, I mean, sorry…thank you, sir.

— Don’t wander at night again.

He feels like a scolding father and you giggle again, too innocent and naive to understand his thoughts.

— I won’t. Promise.

He then slowly leans closer, puts a hand on your shoulder again – goosebumps are running on your skin. His head is near yours now, he is whispering in your ear – and you are almost sure that you shouldn’t have come closer to him like this, that it’s unprofessional from your side, that everyone is staring at you. They are – and you try to ignore it, but…

— Wear shorts under your skirt next time. Never know who might look at your legs like that.

You would slap him here and there. You would scream and run away right now, but for some stupid, dumb, completely terrifying reason, you…almost like how protective he sounds. And the money he gave you is also helping – even if just a little bit.

König looks at the way you blush even more, and he knows already that he won’t ever let you go.

Tag list: @iwritesjud3

Please write if you want to be tagged in the next chapter!

#call of duty #cod x reader #cod x you #cod #konig mw2 #konig x reader #reader insert #yandere #yandere konig #yandere x reader #yandere cod #fem reader

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bug-bites · 7 months

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thinking abt simon "ghost" "acts of service" riley

like in my head he isn't too fond of physical touch. he wont burst into tears and start crying and shaking if you hug him but its very much reserved for the very few people who are close to him. its not that he's scared of it or it makes him super uncomfortable, its just he has other ways of showing people he loves them!

he's the type of guy who when you're getting to know him, listens and remembers every detail you tell him, and makes mental notes of your dislikes and likes w/o you having to tell him.

he takes cold showers every day and when you ask him he just tells you "its better, wakes me up in the mornings" but its really because he knows you like taking hot showers from all the times he's walked into the washroom once you're done and noticed the mirror all fogged up from the steam. he just wants to make sure you dont run out of hot water

in a passing conversation you mention feeling a bit sick, maybe its the change in weather or your allergies acting up but you just really are hoping it isnt a cold. simon doesnt say much but later you find a small ziploc baggie of peeled orange slices with a sticky note with your name on on it

when you go out together and you're a little underdressed for the weather he notices the goosebumps on your arms and how you constantly are rubbing them with your hands, trying to subtly warm yourself from the friction. you dont do a good job however because he glances at you and lets out a small sigh

"what did i say before heading out" "bring a jumper..." you mumble in response "and what did you do?" he crosses his arms over his chest but he isn't mad or annoyed, not in the slightest "not bring a jumper"

it feels like you're on the verge of being lectured but simon just rolls his eyes and gestures you to follow him. you're lead to his car and he opens the trunk, tossing you a black zip up sweater. he's scolding you somewhat, saying that "this is why you're getting sick" and other nonsense and you're lucky he "forgot" to take that sweater out of the trunk or boot because hes bri'ish. you happily take it and put it on because you're not about to turn down a sweater when you're freezing also its from simon and it just looks so comfy! it's definitely big on you because lets face it, simon is built like an industrial freezer, but the material is soft and cozy, with the added bonus of smelling like him. you thank him for the sweater and carry on with your day, not thinking much of it. truth is, however, he always has that extra sweater in his car for you. makes sure its there before you two go anywhere, neatly folded and tucked into the back. he would never admit it though he's such a pussy

when asked about his little favours he does for you he constantly pulls excuses from his ass, saying its just a coincidence that he had those things or literally anything to hide that he goes out of his way to do it for you. he cares about you, he actually cares a lot about you but he's just a tiny bit embarrassed to admit it. he loves you so much but he doesn't want you to think he's like kicking his legs and giggling over the thought of you even though he probably has at some point but you dont need to know that

he thinks he's sooooo subtle and sneaky about it but when you fall asleep and you wake up with a sweater over top of you like a blanket that a) you are 100% sure doesn't belong to you and b) has "S. Riley" written in sharpie on the tag (with a tiny skull doodle next to it), theres no way in hell you can be oblivious to how much he cares about you.

#bug blurb #i know i clown on him a lot but its all affectionate i swear #platonic or romantic idk its up to u #might make this into a series for the cod characters if i have time but idk :P #he just like me fr and its a 6'4 deeply traumatized british military man im projecting on #ghost x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #call of duty mw #call of duty mw2

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rusmii · 6 months

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Can I request a oneshot where Dazai has a dream ab reader ( fem iydm) and it’s rlly detailed ( the dream ) and everything feels real? And when he awoken she was sleeping beside him which did not help his situation.

๋࣭ ⭑dream surreal ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

osamu d. x fem!reader

╰ back to navi

syp: dazai can't help but overthink a fight that might never happen. but somehow learns how to respect you as a person even more now.

tw//: dazai centric(no literally y/n is nowhere to be seen during most of it), timeline jumps a bit(a lot at the end), arguments, it's implied that dazai is nonchalant asshole whenever an argument happens, hurt/comfort, learning experience, dazai accidentally tortures himself in his sleep, mentioned drug, im kinda too tired to tag everything but since its dazai yall know the drill, i'll leave the rest up to interpretation lmk if im missing any tags

♡: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONGGG but i rlly did not like how i wrote this.. did not go the way i wanted and i tried fixing it but didn't wanna postpone it anymore so i hope i didn't dogshit it😭🤕

wc: 6k

dazai hums to himself, skipping on the way home from work. today was your guys' 3rd anniversary, and the two of you had reserved dinner at the beachside in Yokohama. it wasn't expensive, but it didn't have to be with it having more sentiment value. it's where the two of you had your first date after all.

he fishes through his pockets to grab his keys, the tiny chinkle dangling in the air as he unlocks the door. as soon as he opened the door, he kicked off his shoes and ran into your shared bedroom, "belladonna!! are you excited for-"

"osamu." you said with venom laced in your tone. dazai stopped mid sentence, his arms now loose to the side as he stood by the entrance of the doorway. "hm?" he tilts his head, "what's the matter, bella?" dazai asks. he noticed an envelope in your hands, and pictures scattered across the bed you were standing in front of.

he could feel your glare boring holes into his soul. "don't bella me. the hell is all this?!" you nearly yell despite your close distance with each other. he looked at you with a confused face. what could have made you so mad that you were practically screaming in his face for... oh.

as dazai stepped closer to the bed he also saw the pictures more clearly.

it was pictures of him from his mafia days, along with pictures of his closest companions. ango, chuuya, mori, kouyou, the old man and oda. his breath is caught in his lungs as he stares at oda's picture. it had 'couldn't be saved' , 'RIP' , and other similar things written in a thick black marker.

there were also other multiple pictures that were taken of him murdering or torturing people from his teenage years. he bit the inside of his cheek, he remembered all those moments, the moments he couldn't take back or erase from his memory. everything was there. from the moment mori found him and brought him to his clinic, to chuuya and him meeting for the first time, and to when oda was dying in his arms.

everything was there, and he couldn't deny it. the evidence of who he really was- was shining through the roof, and he heard you opening the envelope you were hiding earlier.

he watched your movements like a hawk, watching as the contents of the envelope spilled onto the bed. there were very few bullets he used to kill his victims, the gun used; all dirty and worn down(he's pretty sure it's still broken), the drugs he's taken; the empty bottles lay around as the syringes with empty needles bounce off the bed, and lastly a paper.

you held it up, and his body went stiff as you read the contents. "dazai osamu's list of crimes. 1073 in total." dazai pursed his lips into a thin line. whoever was documenting everything couldn't get his crime count right. he committed more than 1073 crimes in total. but you didn't have to know that, did you? not when you were freaking out about his fraud.

he chuckles to himself, wait till you find out about his killings.

"what's so funny?" you squint your eyes. "nothing, but... wow.." he says, astonished as he picks up a photo of oda's orphaned children. just before they went boom. "whoever recorded every one of my moves did one hell of a job! we should invite them to our dinner date to applaud them, don't ya think [name]?" he laughs heartily.

if looks could kill, he'd for sure be near earth's core with how intense your glare was. "[name]?" he asks as you grab your phone and charger, going to the closest to grab the nearest jack you could find. "[name!]" this time, it was dazai whose voice had gone serious, "what are you doing??"

"what's it look like?" you spat back. he bit back the urge to tell you that you were overreacting and that he's a changed man, so he wouldn't ever act as he did back in the port mafia.

too bad this was dazai osamu. he didn't care about the consequences if he didn't have to think about it. you'd always come back running into his arms after a week anyway. "so what if I acted like a teenage dirtbag? I've changed, so shouldn't that matter now; and only now?"

you gawked at him like he just said something stupid, which he did. "did you just seriously say that?"

"what's the big deal?" he shrugs his shoulders, "what's done, been done."

"what's done, been done?" you repeat, "what's done, been done?!" you yell. "this- that's murder osamu! how could you just... act so nonchalant about it!?" you couldn't believe this was who your osamu really was. you'd always assume that he had a rough past, and you weren't wrong, but you got the story wrong.

"it is, but you get over it quickly. trust me on that."

you stare at him. how could you trust someone who's been lying to you the entire time you've been together? lived together? breathe the same air and become intimate with each other? your head was starting to turn from this boom of information. "It's the past. get over it." his voice now low and threatening. was this the same voice he used for his teenage dirtbag years?

"it doesn't involve you. it shouldn't and never involve you." dazai softens his voice once he realizes what kind of tone he is using. "ever," he clenched his fists, "so drop the topic."

your gaze never left the list of crimes that you let fall to the floor. you shook your head, acknowledging that this relationship wasn't going to work. not when this relationship was built on lies. "I'm sorry, dazai." you used his last name this time.

"so this is it?" dazai says, "we're ending things because I did stupid shit back then? is that it?" he presses the questions on you, but you ignore him as you slip your jacket on, opting to get your stuff later. "no dazai."

"then what?!" his voice was starting to become more frantic as soon as he realized that this might really be it. this wasn't like your usual arguments with each other. it always ends up with you crying and dashing out the door, leaving for a week, then coming back without him ever needing to apologize or talk about it.

"tell me!!" he stalks up to you and grabs your arm, but you shove him off you. "think about how I feel once in a while, you selfish jackass!!" you scream and stomped out of the apartment. dazai trailed after you until he stopped at the doorway of your guy's apartment.

"there's nothing to think about when you're a mindless, brainless worm who thinks they know what they're doing!"

you gasped at that. was that what he really thought of you? "oh! well, I'm sorry I'm too stupid for a genius like you!" you stopped midway in front of the door, "in fact, why don't you find a one night- bed to bed bitch who's willing to sit on her ass and half listen to your bitching for some cash!!"

and that was it. you walked away as he yelled at your back, not once trying to come after you. you'd return to him after a week of anger. he knows you will.

Day 1:

he marked the date mentally in his head. he always made sure to keep track of your fights. since today was the 1st day, he wasn't worried about it in the slightest bit. but he groaned. his head throbbed as he sat up on his bed, taking in the leisure sun.

it was about time to head into work, but he was already a minute late, so why rush?

he dipped his feet out of the bed, walking into the bathroom as he prepared to shower. the sound of the water running was heard as he stripped naked. once he checked that the water temperature was to his liking, he stepped inside and sighed, the water running down him, giving him a slight euphoric sensation.

for a moment or two, dazai was relishing in the water. his head was tilted back as he closed his eyes.

his mind whisked him back to the night before. the fight you two had was nothing like the others, where it'd usually formed from a petty squabble. this time, it came directly from an unknown source, and he'd like to know who recorded his timeline of events.

"come back! you don't know what the hell you're doing!!!"

he could hear himself screaming at your back. his voice loud and clear, but his bungled mind and rigid body said otherwise. he physically cringed inside the shower as he recalled every little thing he said to you.

"you need me! you can't leave me!!"

"[name], are you really going to leave me?! after you said you'd never leave!? damn hypocrite!!"

he cringed at that. of course, you'd never leave him. why would you? you love him after all! you'd never leave him! he didn't have to worry because you'd never leave him!

right?

he let out a long breath and banged his head on the wall. well shit. maybe he should really apologize this time.

"dazai-san!" he heard his subordinate call out to him, "hmmmmnn?? what is it atsushi-kun?~" dazai couldn't sleep a wink the past night, but despite all that, his cheerful self still remained for the day.

he was currently at the agency, sleeping his ass off as he watches the tanizaki siblings go at it

"um, a package has arrived for you." the young boy holds out a small box— just a plain brown box with his name on it. To Dazai, from.

he took a look at the box, and his eyes wandered down to where it was sent from. "who sent it?" he asks, taking the box from him and setting it down on his desk. by this point, almost everyone at the agency had stopped what they were doing to nose into this situation. even kunikida had stopped writing and looked over from his desk. "dazai, what is that?"

"why, a box, of course!" he laughs and ranpo sniggers from the side, "open it, you'll regret it if you don't."

dazai became intrigued at what the lollipop sucking boy said. it wasn't everyday ranpo would warn them of something so trivial. he cut open the box from a box cutter he asked from kunikida; him complaining about how dazai never is prepared for anything.

"yeah, yeah." dazai brushes his lecture off as he opens the box, "look! it's.. a note.?" now that got his attention. he stares at it for a bit as he holds it up, inspecting the strange note that was written on black paper, the ink in white.

an argument will ensue.

what the fuck? "dazai-san, what does that mean..?" Atsushi, who was already by his side, asked out loud, "I don't know.."

was it referring to yesterday? dazai felt as if his saliva was stuck in his throat. he bit his lip as he recalled the fight you two had last night. "dazai, what's wrong? is everything okay?" this time it was from kunikida, who looked a little worried from his lack of expression.

"yeah." he whispers below his breath, "yep!" his voice now as loud as it was when he barged into the office late, "everything is A-OK!!"

"are you sure?" yosano asks, not convinced. dazai winks at her as he gives her a thumbs out, tongue sticking out. she sighs, knowing that she isn't going to get an answer from him. "well, if it isn't bothering you, then it doesn't bother us."

kenji nods in agreement. "if anything happens, don't forget to tell us." kyouka follows up, dazai smiles, and soon everyone is back to working like normal.

well, dazai is sleeping as usual.

Day 2:

dazai has woken up to the sound of someone repeatedly knocking on his door. at first, he thought it was a door to door salesman and went back to sleep, hoping that they'd get the hint and go away. but when the knocking persisted and didn't stop, he groaned, getting up from bed.

he stares at the box sitting on his nightstand, the note still inside of it. he wondered if this mysterious ghost watched every single one of your guy's previous fights.

just as he was about to grab the box again, the knocking turned into banging. dazai jumped from the sudden change of pace and hissed at the cold, hitting him as he rolled out of bed. "coming, I'm coming!" he yells from the hall of the apartment.

the banging still didn't stop, and he started to think about every single curse word he spewed at the person as soon as he opened the door.

"what?!-"

but unfortunately he doesn't get to do so, because as soon as he opens the door he is met with nobody.

"-the hell??" he replaces and looks from right to left, checking to see if anybody ran off. he didn't notice anything off, but he saw a sign that read: look down, with an arrow pointing to the ground.

as dazai looked down, he saw another plain brown box on his doormat. one that you'd absolutely insisted that this lonely place needs. he crouched down to inspect it, making sure that it wasn't an enemy trap before picking it up and slamming his door shut with his foot.

the box was bigger, not as big but certainly not as small as the one from yesterday.

he placed the box down onto the kitchen island and walked around to find a knife. as soon as he found a small knife, he turned around to cut the tape down the middle.

the sound of the knife cutting through it; the flimsy flaps of the cardboard hovered up and down. he sets down the knife and pulls open the flaps, being met with another note and a few photos.

he picks up the note first, reading the contents.

she's upset. brush it off.

dazai threw the note to the side, not wanting to overanalyze so early in the morning. he then picks up the photos, there were two of them.

one of him and the other of you.

the photo of you was when you received a yellow envelope and the same plain brown box from the doorstep, and the other was a photo of him smiling as he held up a few things from his mafia days.

brush it off.

his eyebrows furrow as he remembered the last line of the note. "ughh!!" he groans, "it's too early for this!"

kunikida looked like he was about to burst a fuse, "dazai!" he called out to the brunette who was lazing around on the couches. "hm?" dazai looked up from where he was at, eyes going blank when he saw the red-faced kunikida stomping towards him. "get back to work!!" he yells down.

"eww!! kunikida-kun's spit particles are all over me now!!!" dazai waves his arms around, "i've been infected by the W-V!!!"

"huh?! W-V?!" kunikida spurts out, whipping out his notebook and grabbing a nearby pen, "tell me, what else do i have to look out for when identifying the symptoms?"

"hmm, let's see. since i've just gotten it, like- a second ago, the first symptom would be that you'll feel veeeeerrryyyy tired early in the mornings!!"

scribbling could be heard, "i see. what else?"

"next would be how stressed you'd get! i mean, seriously!!- kunikida, have you ever gotten yourself checked?!" dazai lets out an exasperated gasp. "oh my.. kunikida-kun...!"

"what!? what is it??"

dazai stays silent, his eyes widened, a feigned fearful expression on his face as kunikida dreads his answer. "you've been..."

"infected..!" dazai whispers the last part and kunikida's eyes blew wide open, "huh?!-"

"just kidding." dazai yawns and kunikida threw him across the room.

"what even was W-V, anyways dazai-san?" atsushi suddenly appears in his view, "hah.. atsushi is so swirly!! haha!!" he bursts out laughing, and atsushi just sighs.

"forget it, it's just another thing he made up." kunikida pushes his glasses back into place, "dazai, stop brushing things off. you'll regret it one day."

the said man stays silent, watching the blonde man walk back to his desk. whether atsushi noticed his silence or not, the white-haired boy sticks out his hand with a smile.

"i think kunikida-san is right. please don't brush the problem off."

Day 3:

"walk back safe!" atsushi waves to dazai, kyouka nodding her head, and dazai smiles at them; in acknowledgment of their words.

stepping out from the elevator, he couldn't help but think about how peaceful his day has been today.

and the words that kunikida and atsushi had said yesterday. don't brush it off. just like the note. he didn't know if it was just a coincidence or if it was related; dazai sighed as he walked past the florist shop that he used to always stop by when you used to work there. it held some great memories of his failed attempts at flirting and your coworkers hyping him up.

he looked at the 'closed' sign on the glass door: closed today! sorry for the inconvenience!:(

that's weird. usually, they were open every day. dazai glanced to his sides, stepping closer to the glass door after he made sure no one was there to witness it. he pressed his face against the glass, peering into the dark shop.

the flowers stuffed in bouquets, and potted plants scattered all around. there were rows of flowers and plants aligned on the aisles, a simple description of it under each of them. he scanned around for a few minutes before finally eyeing the flower he was looking for. the flower was your favorite flower.

he sucked in a breath as he remembered how happy you were when he gave you those flowers for your guy's third date. how surprised you were when he remembered what your favorite flower was. sure you had multiple, but there was this one flower you could name on the top of your head with ease.

it made him smile, knowing that you were happy. at that time, he didn't know that your happiness was his.

after staring for a couple minutes, dazai knew it was about time to head back, so he glanced one last time at the flower before turning on his heels and leaving for good.

a few twists and turns, and soon, dazai was back at the apartment. a shortcut! he'd like to call it. 'zai, that's stupid.' you'd laugh every time he found a new way to shorten the shortcut. 'whaaat?? it's my specialty!' he'd always reply back.

bickering would always ensue afterward, but just like all the other times, it was over within a week.

as dazai made his way down the hall of the apartment complex, he noticed someone turn down the hall and disappeared from plain sight. he didn't bother to chase after them, thinking it was another resident of the building.

he let out another groan. "of course, it'd show up at one point." he spat under his breath, speed walking closer to his door to pick up the plain brown box. as he was about to pick it up, he stopped his tracks. his mind immediately jumped back to the mysterious person who turned the corner. could it have been him?

he crouched down to the box's level, carefully picking it up to check it out. rotating the box, he shook it slightly, feeling the object inside moving.

'it's light.' he confirms. he looked back at the end of the hall where the mysterious person went to and got up with the box clutched in his arms. he stalks down the hall, his footsteps heavy as it echoed through the silent hall.

"shit." he says once he's reached the end, "what the fuck..?"

the wall that's staring back at him; mocks him. he turns around to find the same dead-end wall on the opposite end. the stairs down being elsewhere.

dazai bit his tongue, slowly backing away as he retreats back to his place. now, he knew he had problems with his head, but one thing for sure was that he did not hallucinate. and the note in front of him, stuck to his door, confirmed that all right.

don't run, face the problem. open the box. remember. happy, is she?

dazai ripped the taped paper from his door and unlocked it, almost ripping the door off its hinges. locking the door as soon as he got inside, dazai set the box down next to the other brown box on the kitchen island. he moved around it to grab a knife and walked back to stab it open.

he didn't particularly care about its contents anymore; having been fed up with the daily gifts his admirer gave him.

opening the box, he was met with a flower and another note.

he couldn't pay attention to the note. not when the flower was staring right up at him, a few petals already having been scattered around inside the box. the flower in question was your favorite flower. the stem was cut off, but the petals still retained their color. it must have been recently that the stem was cut off.

dazai slowly picked up the note. it was something he didn't expect: do you feel guilty yet?

he froze. so whoever this mysterious ghost was surely had to know about his situation. but the question was, how, though? was there a break-in? were there cameras around that he didn't know about?

that was impossible, dazai would've known if he was being watched. he was being thrown for a loop, not understanding the motive of this person. was it trying to get him to apologize? for which fight? he didn't know, but now he needed to figure it out.

as he walked to the bedroom, another note was plastered on the bedroom door.

the guilty verdict.

Day 4:

dazai had decided to take the rest of the week off. when asked why, he shrugged them off, only answering in shallow replies. they were worried, of course, but didn't want to push him. he was dazai after all; you don't question dazai.

but in actuality, dazai was focusing all his attention on his secret admirer.

he pins the notes to the corkboard, the pictures, and the flower next to their respective notes. colored yarn used as lines are a jumbled mess; crossing each other. everything was dated as well as the plain brown boxes sitting beneath the corkboard.

dazai also had a whiteboard, small but will make do.

he starts by writing down every encounter and event that could clue him closer to the culprit.

• 1st - note appears from the agency - small plain box - nothing inside • 2nd - note appears from his doormat - slightly larger than the box from 1st - 2 pics - repeated knocking • 3rd - note appears from doormat - mysterious suspect runs - dead-end - note on door - note on bedroom door - [name]'s favorite flower

that was all for now. it had been three days (four if you count today). he was anxious, awaiting the next arrival of the box. from early sunrise to the bright afternoon, there hadn't been a single commotion or hint of the next note.

dazai starts pacing back and forth in the room, his hair all shriveled and messy from the frustrated hands that ruffled through his hair.

it had been an hour after he had fallen asleep. he didn't know when or how, but he had the sense to wake up; his chest heavy as a weight sits atop him. he couldn't move, and by now, dazai could feel himself travel down memory lane.

the dark ceiling of his place; a place that he would have never considered calling home before he joined the mafia. he shivers in the cold, the lack of heating and insulation in general made him sweat like he had just gotten fighting with chuuya, and the chilly coldness of the crisp air hitting him like a storm on random nights during the monsoon season.

night after night, he would always never have enough sleep. the container being too dark for him to properly rest; the young teen is always on the lookout for nearby assassins. at some point during one of his usual sleepless nights, dazai felt a strange weight on top of him as he dozed off.

snapping himself awake, he was met with eyes that matched his, the shadow that loomed over him had no emotions, but his words spoke through dazai's core.

dazai's eyes became wide as he shot up from his spot, scrambling to sit upright as he narrowed his eyes up to the look-alike of him sitting right in front of him. "what— who..— you're me." he manages out, feeling the words clog inside his throat.

"i'm you!" the shadow happily announces, clapping its hands.

the shadow leers at dazai, the wide blood filled eyes looking right into his soul; through him as if he's reading him. "so?" dazai asks as he crosses his arms, "what did you come to tell me this time?"

the shadow titters for some time before inching closer; and closer; and closer; and closer.. until dazai can feel the cold air fanning him. "to tell you what to say whenever you're in the wrong-" it's finger poking at his chest; his heart, "-sorry."

he moves his finger up slowly, "that's all you have to say." the shadow whispers, the finger now pointing to the center of dazai's head, "or would you rather have her gone?"

"hah!" dazai guffaws, "do you really think-"

"were you thinking?"

dazai glares silently, his narrowed eyes flickering between the bed and anywhere else but him. "of course I was." he says, and it laughs, this time mockingly. "ah yes, of course you were thinking, totally thinking!!" — "shut up!" dazai screams, throwing his pillow at the shadow who disappears on impact. dazai breathed heavily as he closed his eyes, his head lolled to the side as he succumbed to slumber.

Day...

dazai sat alone on the chair, his meal getting cold as he waited for you. normally, you'd do the cooking, but this time around, he decided to do it.

it had been two weeks since you left; there was no need for a calendar if he marked every single date mentally anyway. dazai stabs the egg on his plate, the yolk oozing out of it. he had his phone charged and on at full volume at all times, waiting for a call or text, but he had received nothing.

it had been radio silent from you for the past two weeks, and it was killing him from the inside.

the silence had been deafening in his once cozy home. most of your stuff was here, but you still didn't make any indication of coming anywhere near the place. he also hadn't received any notes from his suspicious lurker.

he sighs, maybe another week?

Month...

dazai sat alone on the chair, his meal getting cold as he waited for you. normally, you'd do the cooking, but this time around, he decided to do it.

it had been a month and a half since you left; there was no need for a calendar if he marked every single date mentally anyway. dazai stabs the egg on his plate, the yolk oozing out of it. he had his phone charged and on at full volume at all times, waiting for a call or text, but he had received nothing.

it had been radio silent from you for the past month, and it was killing him from the inside.

he sighs, maybe another month?

Year...

it had been close to a year since you left; there was no need for a calendar if he marked every single date mentally anyway. dazai stabs the egg on his plate, the yolk oozing out of it. he had his phone charged and on at full volume at all times, waiting for a call or text, but he had received nothing.

it had been radio silent from you for the past few months, and it was killing him from the inside.

he sighs, maybe another?

Years

dazai stares at his shaken self.

"what— who..— you're me." he manages out, feeling the words clog in his throat.

“i'm you!" dazai happily announces, clapping his hands.

dazai leers at him, his wide blood filled eyes looking right into his soul; through him as if he's reading him. "so?" he asks as he crosses his arms, "what did you come to tell me this time?"

dazai titters for some time before inching closer; and closer; and closer; and closer.. until he can feel the cold air fanning him. "to tell you what to say whenever you're in the wrong-" his finger poking at his chest; his heart, "-sorry."

he moves his finger up slowly, "that's all you have to say." dazai whispers, the finger now pointing to the center of his head, "or would you rather have her gone?"

"hah!" he guffaws, "do you really think-"

"were you thinking?"

he glares silently, his narrowed eyes flickering between the bed and anywhere else but him. "of course I was." he says, and dazai laughs, this time mockingly. "ah yes, of course you were thinking, totally thinking!!" — "shut up!" he screams, throwing his pillow at dazai who disappears on impact. he breathed heavily as he closed his eyes, his head fell to the side as he succumbed to slumber.

#765#567#

dazai opened his eyes, "[name]?" he asked in confusion, your figure in the tv that was in front of him. dazai found himself restricted and unable to move around, his arms and legs locked in place as the chair rocked with every movement.

he makes an annoyed sound, looking around for ways to escape, but there was nothing. dazai didn't know what kind of room this was. it was a solid plain black room filled with the void. it seemed as if he and the tv were floating in mid-air.

just then, the tv started flickering on and off, the screen glitching as the background played.

you were lazing around the house, propped on the couch, as you were mindlessly scrolling through your phone. for a minute or two, all the footage was just you laying on the couch. suddenly, the doorbell rang, and you immediately looked up with a scrunched up face. you weren't expecting any visitors this late into the night, so you assumed it was probably another door to door salesman. it wasn't until the knock came for a second time, then a third and so forth until you couldn't ignore it anymore. you got up to go confront whoever was annoying you this late at night.

suddenly, the tv was switched to a different channel. dazai could barely make out the two voices talking, the footage showing you and a shadowy person next to you. it was holding a yellow envelope, he didn't know what it was telling you but you seemed to be in disbelief as you were handed a light box filled with unknown contents.

another click, and the channel switched again. this time, it was back to where the other channel left off. you opened the door and were greeted with no one. looking around, you stepped out of the apartment a bit to scan the hall. much to your dismay, there was no one, and you had just been ding dong ditched. or at least that's what you thought before glancing down and noticed a plain brown box with a yellow envelope on it.

dazai screams from where he was, telling you not to pick it up yet. it was pointless, of course.

the channel is turned again, and it's an entirely new scenario. his yelling had stopped at that point, but it didn't ease his anxiousness. what was it going to play next? he could probably guess, but he wouldn't, wanting to witness it for himself.

he braces himself for whatever is going to play, finally feeling self-aware of everything all of a sudden. he could feel the cold, humid atmosphere surrounding him. the background noise of the tv; static.

he flicks his eyes everywhere, never leaving his sight on one thing.

dazai lets out a surprised sound when his eyes meet yours. your face in full view on the tv, the glitch having suddenly fixed itself as well as the static noise. it felt eerie as your teary face stared back at him.

"[name]?.." dazai calls out to you, "yes?" his eyes grew big, not expecting you to respond back to him.

dazai didn't know if he should keep talking or if he was starting to go crazy. "[name]?" he asks again, not believing that you were talking with him through the screen. you wipe your eyes, "what is it?"

"what's wrong, osamu?" this time, it was you asking the question. he stayed silent. "osamu?" you ask again, tilting your head as you leaned closer, your face zooming in on the screen, "hey, what's wrong? why do you look like that?"

when he didn't answer again, you lifted a hand and placed it somewhere. he didn't know where it was since it was out of frame, but he could feel the slight warmth of your touch on his hands. it was a weird feeling since both of his hands were still restrained. "osamu."

you kept calling out, "osamu-" — "i'm sorry."

it came out as a surprise for the two of you. your eyes were as wide as his, not expecting him to apologize out of the blue. "i'm sorry," he says again.

he could feel the other touch of your hand being placed onto his. "i'm sorry." this time, it was louder, his voice echoed throughout the void. your warm touch rubbing circles on his palms and the back of his hands. "i'm sorry." a broken sob left him, "im sorry; im sorry."

dazai didn't know what came over him. for some reason, he found himself unable to stop repeating his apology. it was so half assed, he could barely voice it out, and when he does, it comes out as a sob. he's sure that you could barely hear it, his voice being just above a mumble. "im- i don't know how to, i'm sorry." his head was hung low, tears dropping onto his lap; his arms and pants getting wet. he couldn't face you, not when he was snot ridden.

"you do know, and i'm proud of you." he could feel your faint lips on his forehead, a hand moving some of his bangs to the side. "don't cry samu', you're okay. you can do it, we can do it."

"what are we doing?" he sniffles.

"fixing our trust in each other."

dazai brought his head up, and your soothing voice matched the small smile you were giving him. your eyes so full of emotion and.. vulnerability. he felt shivers run down his spine, the eye contact you guys were making made him feel open. too open for his liking.

he wanted to turn away, shut down, and run away again. there was no fight, no argument, no running away if there was no problem, right? each turned down fight proved his logic to be true, the two of you always returning back to your usual routines as if the fight never happened a week ago. it was the perfect formula, a set one that the two of you established over the next few fights.

it was unfortunate that dazai would always reject your input and feelings; refusing to communicate with you because of his logic.

he didn't know what to say, all working gears in his brain stopped turning. everything was stuck, and he sat there, confused. "how?" he croaks out.

he could see your smile getting longer, the hope in your eyes brightening. "let's talk," both of your hands clamped around his, "together?"

it came out as a question, but it sounded happier.

"you're not mad?" he asked. "no, why would i be?" your soft expression remained. "because..." dazai faded off. he thought he would have known the answer to you confidently, but his genius self falters for a bit. "because.. you'll leave me anyway.."

"will always leave me, slamming the door in my face. leaving me like how everyone i tried opening up to left, died even."

by the time he's done with his rant, he's out of breath. he said it pretty fast, but you weren't his partner for no reason.

"guess even prodigies like you can be dumb as fuck sometimes." you deadpan. now that appalled dazai, "huh? what does that mean!" he felt insulted but at the same time he couldn't help but feel as if you were right.

you laugh to yourself, "osamu," you laugh, "is that what you think that i think?"

he was even more confused. why were you laughing?? this was a very serious matter, and you're just... making fun of him. "yes..? it's what everyone thinks of when they're with me."

"don't laugh!!!" he barks from the chair, "sorry! sorry!" you wipe the corners of your eyes. "what?" he pouts when he notices your distant stare.

"let's take a step back, 'kay?" you say, and suddenly the warmth of your hands disappears from his. take a step back? "don't think about it from what you've experienced. think about it from my perspective." he listens intently, taking in what you said.

"so.. you're not going to be mad at me?"

your lips curl a bit, "never. you don't have to tell me every single detail of your life, but i at least deserve the right to see you as vulnerable in front of me as i am to you."

he nods his head, finally starting to understand why you never came back after a week this time. the repressed feelings he forced you to hold back had exploded under its pressure, unable to pile anymore stress onto it. "i promise to do better for you, [name]- be better. i promise."

you gave him a teary-eyed smile, holding up your pinky, "promise?" dazai couldn't move due to his restraints but still held out a pinky nevertheless, "promise," he was looking at you so tenderly, "i promise."

the tv is turned off, and a time is displayed on it. he could hear beeping coming from somewhere. before he could try to identify where the sound was coming from and what was happening, dazai felt his slightly dried up tears roll down his cheek as he cracked his eyes open.

the beeping sound was coming from his right, and when he turned to over, he saw it was an alarm clock going off at the time you set for him to get up for work.

"what?.." he groans, wiping his wet eyes as he scans the room. it was still dark out, and the beeping kept going. "shut up." he hisses as he slammed his hand down on the alarm clock. he sighs, reaching over to your side of the bed. he knew that it was going to be another hopeless day of waiting for any calls and messages from you.

he attempted to grab more of the blanket and a pillow from your side but was met with something; someone already there. dazai jumps back surprised, not expecting anybody to be sleeping there. since it was still dark out, he couldn't really make out the shadowy person on his bed.

"hn.. dazai?" you groan, feeling him poke at your side. when you got no answer, you turned around in concern to see an upright dazai staring down at you in shock. "dazai?" you question him, slowly sitting up.

"you- you're back.."

you stare at him in confusion, "uh- i've been here?" he stares back. you could see the glisten in his eyes despite it being dark out. "dazai?" — "i'm sorry." he cries out all of a sudden.

you were being tackled onto your back, "what- dazai?! what's wrong??" you caught yourself before you fell off the bed, quickly wrapping your arms around him as you massaged his head.

"dazai! answer me!" you say, trying to push him off of you to no avail, "dazai!-" — "please don't leave." his voice was barely above a whisper, "just- stay. please. i'll talk to you.. when i'm ready."

you could tell he was in hysterics. you didn't know the reason why or how he came to be, but you laid there, giving his back and head gentle massages. "okay, i'll be right here with you then. you gave him a gentle kiss on his head, holding him in your embrace.

°° ©churuai ; don't repost my works to other sites, copy/plagiarize my works, or translate my works into a different language without my permission. if you intend to use most of my ideas from a post of mine, please don't forget to credit ♡

rbs and comments appreciated <3<3

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #dazai x reader #dazai #bsd dazai #idk what else to put #this oneshot was so bad im sorry anon forgive me😭🙏#[⋆⋆⋆] — runi's works ♡#[☆] — anon

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your-nanas-house · 5 months

Note

Y/n and Jackson ripner join the mile high club

Yes yes yes yes yesss. First time writing of Jackson, hope you will like it.

The Mile High Club

◇ Pairing: Jackson Rippner X fem!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, Jackson, easy collaboration, shitty writing and cheating

◇ Summary: Jackson finds himself as a hostess in a private jet, his target? A young woman who is about to get married but her fiancé isn't there.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

There she was, standing in that rich pretty dress of hers, waiting for the crew to set the stairs so that she could enter the private jet.

A jet where Jackson Rippner managed to be in as a part of the hostess there, ready to find the perfect time to work on his plan— which was part of a job he got.

There was just a problem, he was expecting a couple, Mr Gray, and his soon to be wife but there was only the woman there.

That wasn't a big issue though, he could easily manipulate her naive and spoiled self— he just needed to find a moment alone with her.

It took him a while since the other hostess kept moving around her like flying hawks ready to take care of her wishes and mind her business, wanting to know all the juicy details of why she was there all one.

Jackson found it extremely annoying and was kind of amused when he noticed that Y/n herself was finding it bothering but was too polite to say anything— reason because it took her nearly thirty minutes to finally manage to enter the red door down the jet, turning the tag 'don't disturb' to finally have some peace.

It was finally time, Jackson waited a couple of minutes before heading to that door, holding the welcome tray decorated with petals and a wine bottle, two glass on it, a tiny bowl with heart-shaped chocolate and a cup with whipped cream— he found himself almost too mean to bring it to her but it wasn't his fault after all so with a gentle smile he approached the door, ready to know.

That's when the annoying female voice of one of the hostess appeared

"You can't go there" she said, chewing a gum while looking at him, making Jackson nearly role his eyes and insult her— luckily for him he managed to hide it under a friendly poker face.

"Miss—" he started to try to come up with a lie but she interrupted him again

"I know that she didn't asked for it!—" the woman said, moving closer, ready to try to use her pathetic tricks of seduction that made Jackson already gag and rolls his eyes in annoyance.

His patient was running out and that woman was about to see it if she didn't let him enter that damn door.

"Where's my tray?" A more melodious and gentle voice spoke, the both of them turned their head, facing the soon to be Mrs Gray who was peeking out of the door, waiting almost demaindingly, saving and allowing Jackson to enter that room.

Y/n closed the door and locked it with a quick motion of her wrist, her eyes didn't meet Jackson's at first but his met her body for sure.

She headed to the bed and sat down with a soft sigh

"Pretty annoying, aren't they?" She asked, smiling slightly as she finally met his gaze— she had different clothes, a see through red nightgown with matching lingerie, her hair were down and she had a tired expression on her face as she was sitting on a wine red bed, decorated with petals.

There was also a nightstand with a note and lube, decorated also with rose petals, and a small table with a boule full with condoms.

It looked like a honeymoon suite which made the situation even sadder for the young woman but even better for Jackson

"I'm honestly quite surprised to see a man here, serving as an hostess— don't get me wrong, there's nothing bad in it but my soon to be husband prefers...women. Do you like strawberries?" She commented, her eyes on him as she waited his replay.

Jackson rested the tray on the table and with a polite smile he nodded, his eyes looking at her in an almost predatory way while replying "I do" implying more with his traveling eyes.

With that he found himself deep balls inside of her, his mouth against her shoulder as he bite hard to leave a mark on her as his hips kept nearly drilling inside her cunt.

Her boobs kept bouncing at each thrusts, her head was throw back and her mouth was open, letting exquisite moans leave her whole body.

Y/n's arms kept holding into Jackson's hair and shoulders for dear life

"Harder" she begged, moaning his name when her legs caged him there, making him thrusts even deeper.

It was just when Jackson grabbed her throat that she switched roles, holding him down while bouncing on his hard thick cock as if she was coming from a western

"I know you seek more" she breathed out, slowing her pace, starting just to roll her hips to find her own pleasure

"My fiancé would never let a man work in one of his private jets, expecially one like this" she cleared, biting her bottom lip as Jackson kneaded roughly her breasts

"Smart girl, I honestly thought that your intelligence matched your beauty but I was wrong apparently" he murmured, positioning his legs better, to have a better support to start to thrusts in an animalistic way inside of her tight pussy, making her bounce effortless.

"I need the passwords of your fiancé's apartment and alarm system and I need you to make him go to the house" he revealed, his hips still snapping up, her hands on his pale chest

"That's not a problem—" Y/n said, letting out a moan

"I can give them to you but..." she added, 'Of course there was a but' Jackson thought, ready to prepare some other way to make her speak.

Y/n simply moved off him, earning a soft grunt from Jackson, she lied next to his body and pulled him closer, making him thrusts again as he nearly spooned her

"I want to know the real reasons" she said and he told her, his hips rocking back and forth making his cock move inside of her— and even after what he said she started to write down things on the note that her fiancé left her.

Jackson kept looking from her shoulder, his hands on her hips.

As soon as she finished and passed him the note he manhandled her, making her go on all four for him so that he could take her roughly while checking if she was telling the truth.

She actually told him the truth, the hate she had for her fiancé was stronger that he thought and it helped him for sure so he rewarded her with orgasms and his sticky cum inside of her cunt.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter , @mrkdvidal1989

#jackson rippner #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner x you #jackson rippner x y/n #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian fic #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x y/n #cillian x reader

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eeveebitches · 8 months

Text

collared. || Roman Roy || smut

Pairing: Sub!Roman Roy x F!Dom!Reader Summary: You have a gift for Roman, and he seems to enjoy it.

Word count: 2.496

18+ only! More under the cut ^^~

Warning(s): SMUT, aka 18+ only! Sub Roman, degradation, collar and leash stuff, coming untouched/in pants, aftercare

Summary: You have a gift for Roman, and he seems to enjoy it.

A/n: wrote this in a haze and now its here so yippee. this is also on my AO3 btw :D

_______________________

"Romes, c'mon, just open it!"

You watch him fumble around with the sleek, black gift box, his nervous laughter filling your living room. "Fuck off, I will, I'm just making sure this isn't a fucking bomb you put to kill me or something. You freaky assassin bitch," he jokes tensely, brows furrowing. In the dim lighting you can see his eyes glimmer in anticipation. "So this is like, what, a pair of panties for me to wear around the office or some shit? Or like, a cock ring? Do you like my dick so much you wanna marry it?"

All you do is shoot him a sharp look, but it's enough for him to raise his hands in defeat and start pulling at the tiny ribbon. "I guess romance isn't dead," he mumbles to himself as he struggles to pull at the ribbon's tail. With a roll of your eyes you snatch the box away from him, quickly untying the ribbon for him and handing it back to him just as swiftly.

"You can't do anything, can you?" There's clear humor in your tone, and yet you instantly pick up on the way his chest stutters and his forehead creases. All he can manage to let out is a small 'shut up' before he removes the top of the box, revealing your gift. You revel in the way he starts shifting in his seat, eyes glued to the content of the box.

Roman lets out something akin to a nervous chuckle, high-pitched and curt, as he grabs and raises the gift for you to see. "A collar? Seriously? That's like, majorly fucked up. My therapist is gonna hate your guts, because you just put his ass behind three years at the very least with this."

You watch him as he inspects the maroon red collar and its golden detailing. His hands are shaking as he messes with the buckle, despite his clear attempts at trying to still himself. "I even added a name tag for you," you hum out as you let your back meet the couch's pillows. Roman, on the other hand, shoots up, collar still in hand as he lets out an incredulous laugh.

"A fucking dog collar! You're one wicked bitch, y'know, seeing I told you about the cage shit. Or is this because I told you? Oh, fuck you, I shouldn't have told you that. I wouldn't have if I knew you were gonna do psychological mind games while my guard is, y'know, down."

He starts pacing around in front of you, the tag of his collar jingling as he waves his hands around during his rambles. "And I thought you were trying to be sweet, propose to my dick, have a Las Vegas wedding with it. I had little baby dick names ready for the fuckin' family I thought you were gonna build, but no, you target my childhood trauma instead. Real fuckin' classy, holy shit," he rambles on.

With each word he says, heat travels further and further from his neck up into his face, until his cheeks are left to burn brightly. Even in the darkness of night and dimness of your lights, you can pick up on just how red he is in the face. Every laugh he lets out between sentences becomes shorter, bouncier. It's like you're watching him melt right in front of you.

"So?"

His head whips to look at you. "'So?' Fucking 'so?'"

You stand up and walk to stand only inches away from him, a light grin gracing your features. "So do you want me to put it on for you, or...?"

Roman blinks once. Then twice, and then another dozen times as he processes your words. "It's a yes or no question, Roman, c'mon. Even you should be able to answer that."

"I, uh... god, fuck you," he groans out, eyes squeezed shut before looking down to stare at the collar in his palms as he hides from your heated gaze. Weakly, he hands you it, not making eye contact as he explains. "You spent money on the stupid thing, I don't want you to be a whiny baby about wasted cash."

You let out an unconvinced 'sure' as you take the collar from him. With repressed glee you caress the intricate stitching in the leather. You'd be lying to yourself if you said you hadn't immediately thought about Roman the moment you laid your eyes on the thing, knowing how nice it'd look around his neck. "Alright, then kneel in front of me."

Roman's line of sight rises to meet your own. He doesn't say anything, and neither do you. It takes all but four seconds for him to awkwardly kneel down, his dress pants clearly restricting his movements to a degree. "Jesus, you actually kneeled down. Embarrassing," you tell him as you unbuckle the collar, reveling in the way he quietly heaves at your words.

All it takes is a one-two movement to unbuckle it. You dangle the now open collar in front of Roman, a sadistic fire lighting in the pit of your stomach. "D'you want your collar?"

Quietly, he gives you a small nod. Not enough. "I can't hear you, Roman. Do you want your collar or not?" you hiss. The noise he makes is something between a grunt and a moan, his puppy-like eyes glossed over as he stares at the collar. "Use your words, mutt."

"H-ahh, fuck, yes please."

That's what you wanted to hear, so you bend down and carefully wrap the collar around his neck, taking your time as you buckle it back up. You make sure to let your nails "accidentally" scratch his neck as you mess with the tightness of it, watching his expression from the corner of your eye. He doesn't seem to be turning purple, and you're able to wriggle your fingers between the toughness of leather and scratchiness of his stubbly neck.

You back away from him, taking in the sight in front of you. He's already panting, hands awkwardly resting on his thighs. You can see his fingers tremble with anticipation as he occasionally fumbles with the fabric of his slacks. And god, that collar. The red contrasts beautifully against both his pale skin and light blue blouse. You watch the name tag bounce around with each of Roman's quivers, golden and glimmering, borderline hypnotizing.

The veins on his neck are also clearly visible now, though it's more because of the restraint he seems to be practicing, rather than the tightness of the collar. He clearly wants to say something, anything, but he's biting his tongue for you. "You look so handsome with your collar on. Does it feel nice?" you ask, taking slow steps to stand only inches away from him.

He nods his head with a breathy 'yes' as he looks up at you. With a gentle hand you play with his hair, messing it up even more than it previously was. He's always disheveled when he visits your apartment, blouse already buttoned down and sleeves messily rolled up as he unceremoniously throws himself onto your couch.

You hum in response, fingers carefully tangling in his hair as you look down at him. "God, you're really pathetic. Kneeling down with a fucking collar on, how would people react to this? Fucking disgusting."

"I know," he groans out, squeezing his eyes shut in a weak attempt at calming himself. "Oh, you know?And yet you still act like a bitch in heat in front of me. Is the thought of everyone knowing how disgusting you are really that arousing?"

As he squirms and groans you grab the best part of your gift ever-so carefully from behind your couch's pillows, and before he can react you clasp the matching leash onto his collar. "Romes, is this alright?" you quickly ask, and with a quick nod from him you continue. You carefully pull at it, laughing as Roman loses his balance and grabs onto your legs for support. "Now you're a proper bitch! You're probably hard as a rock by now as well, aren't you, freak?"

He doesn't say anything to you, just lets his bottom lip stutter as he takes in raspy breaths, barely nodding his head in confirmation. "Go ahead and loosen your pants, mutt," you snarl at him. Yet again you can't help but laugh at him as he unbuttons- and zips his trousers with an extreme urgency.

"It's sad how needy you are, really. All I needed was a collar and leash, and you're letting me push you around as if you aren't a fucking Roy. I should really contact a gossip site about this or something, or your siblings even," you think aloud, and the way Roman lets out a pathetic whine at the words makes your head spin.

With a wicked grin you yet again yank at the collar. You pause for a moment, waiting for the confirmation that he's still okay, and when he lets out a broken hum of approval you happily tug at it once more.

Each tug at his collar sends a shot of ecstasy through Roman's body, a feeling he wouldn't be able to compare to anything else. No money, nor business validation, nor closed deal can copy what you're doing to him now- what you're giving him. "Are you already close, mutt? Don't tell me you're gonna finish in your underwear just because of a simple tug. You're not that much of a perverted freak, are you?" He lets out a whiny 'I am', and as you look down at his lap you grin at the sight. Pre-cum is steadily leaking through his navy blue boxers, his painfully erect cock twitching from underneath the damp layer of fabric.

You let your face morph into one of pure disgust as you strengthen your grip on the leash, lightly tugging at it as you watch Roman fall apart. "You gonna cum in your pants, Roman? Like the disgusting pervert you are?"

It's clear that he's having a hard time getting his words out. The feather-weight friction of the fabric of his boxers rubbing against him with every tiny movement he makes clearly is too much for him. There's even a slight bit of drool on the side of his mouth, wetting his pretty pink lips and making them shimmer. "C'mon, Roman, tell me if you're going to cum and admit you're disgusting," you taunt. It seems to do the trick, as his eyes screw shut and his breath falters. His face is as flushed as can be, hair tousled and forehead glimmering with sweat. Just the way you like him.

"Fuck, 'm gonna cum," he fumbles out, sharp breaths turning into light moans as you deliver a final, harsh tug to his leash.

He releases with a loud gasp, followed by a low, strung-out moan as he messes up his underwear. You watch him as he lightly convulses with pleasure, body hunched as he takes in each wave of sensations. As his breaths slow down, you bend down and unclasp his leash, holding his burning face in your hands as you tut.

"Such a filthy pup, making a mess. I'll clean you up, alright?" Roman simply hums in response, eyes still closed as he leans into your touch. "You did so well for me," you tell him, kissing his forehead as you unbuckle and remove his collar.

Carefully, you hold onto him and help him stand up. His knees wobble, and his pants sag down a little, but he's managing. He lets out a hoarse chuckle, finally making eye contact with you again. "Jesus fuck, woman."

You smile at the words. He's clearly alright, and that's what matters most. "I know, I know. So you liked the gift?" you ask as you lead him to your bathroom. He shuffles along awkwardly, clearly bothered by the sensation of still wearing his underwear. "Don't fuckin' ask me that, my god. And can you make sure to use the, uhh, the vanilla soap you always use? I'm sticky as shit with sweat."

"And other stuff," you quip, letting Roman sit on your toilet's closed cover as you start running a bath. "Oh please, like your panties aren't absolutely soaked because of me," he replies, adorning his usual, clownish grin. "Uh-huh, you're a total pussy slayer, Romes."

He puffs up his chest and smacks it with flat palms, letting out forced grunts in his ultra-dominant ways. "I'm a total fuckin' alpha. Seriously, how you let me parade around the office by myself is fuckin' beyond me. You should be more worried about all the women that flash their tits at me through the windows," he says, carefully watching the bath foam up as you pour the soap in.

"Maybe I should then just get you a collar with my name on it, force you to wear it at work and stuff," you mumble, more to yourself than to him, but he softly groans at the thought. "Maybe you should," he mumbles back, nibbling at his bottom lip as he looks away from you. All you reply with is a light chuckle.

You hum at the smell of vanilla permeating in your quant bathroom. You use the same soap for every day showers, mostly because Roman has been gifting you it ever since he first caught a whiff of it. "Want me to help you undress?"

Roman shakes his head, pulling down his pants and undergarments and quickly making work of the buttons of his blouse. He clearly struggles, though, hands still trembling as he can't get the buttons through the slots. "C'mere, lemme do those," you tell him, and he doesn't hesitate to sit back down on the toilet lid and watch you, bent down to properly reach the buttons.

"Thanks, mommy," he jokes in a mocking, slightly more high-pitched tone. "Don't call me mommy as if you aren't totally into the idea of it," you retort, winning you a partial victory as he sputters before mumbling a weak 'shut up'.

You watch Roman carefully enter the bath as you remove your own clothes. You make sure to grab both his and your underwear and throw it in the laundry bin, before stepping in and sitting behind him, his back resting against your chest.

With a bit of similarly scented shampoo you carefully wash and massage his hair, humming a vague tune as you do so. He falls quiet, as he usually does in moments like these, simply letting his eyes flutter shut as you take care of him.

"Was everything alright tonight? Nothing too much?" He lazily hums, clearly in a state of tranquil as you pamper him. "It was perfect, you were really fucking hot, aaand I came my fucking brains out untouched. No complaints here."

You laugh at that, and with a small kiss to his bare neck you let yourself get lost in him.

"You were really hot, too."

#succession #succession smut #roman roy #succession hbo #romulus roy #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #roman roy smut #roman #roman roy x reader smut #roman succession #succession x reader #roman is a total sub in this #collar and leash #fyi not a pet thing #more like a dom/sub thing #female reader

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acourtofinkandpapyrus · 7 months

Text

My Little Shadow: Part Nine (Azriel x Reader)

Warnings: Teasing and mentions of reading smutty books!

Part eight Part ten

Tag list: @mis-lil-red @bubybubsters @luvmoo

After some time to adjust to Velaris, Y/N makes a revelation while training with Azriel...

Also, I'm sad to say my posting schedule will be slowing down a bit. Even if they're a bit shorter, I promise to keep getting this series out to you guys!

It had been two months since I had joined this lovely court, and everything had been going well. More than well, actually. Noone could get me to admit it, but I was happier than I had ever been before.

Stella and I had a small home, which when Azriel apologized about the size, and said that they’d have something more suitable for a family of two, I hadn’t cared.

I had just grinned at him and told him it was perfect.

And it was, since I had never had a place where I didn’t have to fear someone barging in on me, or locking me inside for weeks.

Not only that, but I had made friends.

Cassian’s training was absolutely insane, and when we started, I felt like my bones were going to snap into pieces, but Nesta had given me good advice, and eventually I was part of her small friend group.

I liked them, I also loved the tiny book club of which I was now part of.

I had also found myself a… an acquaintance of Amren, the female I had been so interested in before. I wouldn’t say friends, because we never talk, but neither of us mind hanging out, so that’s nice.

Azriel has been helping us train with my shadows, and I have to admit, it’s the favorite part of my day. Everyone says I can’t actually go out and start spying until Azriel deems me ready.

“You need to keep your balance.” Azriel hissed.

Oh, did I also mention he’s a complete hardass during training?

“That’s hard to do when the wind is hitting you like a ton of bricks!” I half shriek as I almost fall off the rock again.

We had been doing this for three days, and I still haven’t been able to stand with only one foot on the rock. I might have been able to if there wasn’t so much wind but…

“I thought you were supposed to be training me how to use my shadows!” I shout over the wind, right before falling face first into the ground.

Azriel chuckles, and I get to my knees to shoot him a withering glare, but I can see he’s by my pack, reading the most recent book from our little book club.

I’m blushing heavily as he raised an eyebrow at me. “This fell out of your pack when you threw it down. I thought I’d do some reading.”

I tried not to think of the many possible scenes he could be reading right now, the ones that still made me blush when I read them.

Talking to Morrigan, I had accidently let it slip that I was a virgin, and that I didn’t know about any of that stuff at all, really.

Somehow that had made it back to Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie, who then picked me out the most… detailed books in their collection.

And now Azriel was reading that book, looking up at me with a sly grin.

Azriel was fun. He teased and taunted me in ways that didn’t feel like he was picking me apart. And I liked to spar with him in this way, little snarky remarks back and forth. HAlf of the things I say would have gotten me strung up at home.

“I am teaching you to use your shadows. You’re just not understanding the assignment.” He said, flipping the page as his eyebrows shot up.

I can’t help that my face is bright red as I try to speak, my voice coming out stiff, “What do you mean I don’t understand the assignment? What do my shadows have to do with balancing on rocks?”

He sighed, tossing the book aside to my relief. “What do you use your shadows for Y/N?”

I study him, trying to figure out his game. “They help me spy sometimes, but for the most part they stay with me, hiding me when need be and otherwise they stay with me.”

To prove what I had just told him, I beckon them forth, and they appear by my side. I tried not to smile, thinking we were finally going to start some real training.

He snorted. “It’s good to at least know they’re here. Now go balance on that rock again.”

I try not to gape at him, and I was about to give him a piece of my mind, but my shadows have other ideas.

I gasp a little bit as they pull me over to the rock again, and I quickly relent, sighing as I perch atop it once again.

Looking down at my shadows, which seemed to be encouraging me, it suddenly hit me what Azriel wanted.

I’m tempted not to do it, just to spite him.

But my legs are tired, and if this means moving on in our training, then mother help me I would jump off a cliff at this point.

My shadows follow my lead, helping me balance against the wind, and suddenly it’s not a struggle at all to stay upright.

Azriel appears from around the corner, smirking. “There we go little shadow.”

I shoot him a glare, and he just laughs.

Watching him laugh, my heart flutters a bit, my cheeks turn pink and I struggle to breathe-

I almost fall off the rock as I realize what’s going on to my horror.

I was falling in love with him.

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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.

#be my ally #be-my-ally #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis smut #elvis fanfic #70s elvis fanfic #big bunny #big daddy elvis #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x you

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callsigndragon · 1 year

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You never asked | Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia

Summary: Mickey has a secret. He didn't want to hide it. It's just that nobody ever asked.

Pairing: Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia x fem!reader

Word count: 976

Warnings: fluff. domestic fluff. and i dont want to say anything more bc spoilers

A/N: So this is probably the beginning of many drabbles... Because i literally fell in love with Mickey Garcia, and I have the power to create all the content i want.

Tag list: @tayrae515 @alexxavicry @xoxabs88xox @mercurio23 @shrimping-for-all @abaker74

(if you want to be tagged in everything TGM, let me know <3)

@purplevortexx this is the first appearance of our latina queen. Her time to shine has come.

Mickey Garcia had a big secret. Well, it wasn't a secret. Nobody had asked him if he was married. And he just didn't share that tiny detail.

He loved his wife. More than words could ever express. They met in high school, she was the new member of Mickey's D&D club. Well, it wasn't his club. He was just a member, just like her when she joined. Mickey swears that when Y/N walked through the doors of that small, messy basement they used as a club, he knew.

That was the girl he was going to marry.

He asked her hand in marriage when his training period in the Naval Academy ended. She said yes. He laughed, she cried.

Life was good.

Every time Mickey was deployed, Mickey's grandma, Camila, took care of her. Abuelita Garcia had a room prepared for her nieta (granddaughter) and tried to feed her every time Y/N was a bit sad or missed Mickey. The wizzo loved that his family adored his wife as much as he did. And he also liked how Y/N's cheeks were a bit chubbier whenever he came back from deployment, due to the big amount of tamales that Camila made her eat.

"Camila wants me to gain weight. She said I'm too thin, and I need to eat more, so I can be a good mom in the future," Y/N told Mickey in one of their FaceTime calls.

"Amor, she literally told me that every day for the first 18 years of my life" he answered, chuckling at the thought of Camila filling his wife's plate with more tamales.

"That's where the cute cheeks come from!"

"I don't have cute cheeks" he whined.

"Whatever you wanna say, babe"

Mickey had missed his girls a lot during the uranium mission. He didn't want to bring Y/N with him, knowing that he was only going to be there for a few weeks, then he'll be back home.

But now that the mission is over, and he is staying in this base for a while, he needs to tell the squad that he's married.

He can imagine Phoenix's face already.

"So, my dear buddies," says Rooster, setting down his beer. "I think it's time to know more about each other's lives. You know about my life already but… i don't know anything about you"

"I mean, we only know about your life because this mission was more like a soap opera than a life-threatening experience" Bob jokes, grabbing more peanuts.

"Bob, you're not as quiet and shy as I thought you'd be," Hangman comments, moving to play his turn at darts. Phoenix is trying to beat him, even though it's virtually impossible.

"I never said I was. You just saw a guy with glasses and thought that he would be the average quiet kid that sits at the end of the class" the wizzo retorts.

"Which you totally are," Phoenix affirms.

"Hey!"

Mickey smiles, knowing how much Y/N would love to be with these amazing aviators. She is such an amazing woman… Mickey can't wait for the squad to meet her. They keep talking and sharing parts of their lives, and just when it's Fanboy's turn to speak, a little, dark haired baby girl runs into the bar, looking around and trying to find the person she's been missing for weeks.

"DADDY!" the little girl yells, sprinting towards his father, her curls bouncing up and down at every step.

Fanboy, recognizing the voice of his little girl, kneels down, opening his arms for his princess. Once she's secured in his dad's arms, Mickey gets up, looking at the dumbfounded aviators in front of him.

"Did she just call you Daddy?" Coyote questions, looking between baby Garcia and Mickey. "You know what, don't answer. You're identical"

"Yeah, nine months inside me, and she grows up to be her father's spitting image" Y/N says, appearing next to Fanboy. "She missed you so much that we had to come early"

Mickey looks at his wife and then at his daughter, not surprised to hear that his pequeña princesa (little princess) couldn't wait more to see him. She is daddy's girl.

"Mi princesa, ¿no pudiste esperar más?" (My princess couldn't wait longer?)

"Daddy, I missed you so much" the little girl pouts, looking at his father with the same big, dark brown eyes she had inherited from him.

"Cam, amor, ¡sólo tenías que esperar dos días más!" (Cam, love, you only had to wait two more days!)

"That was too much time," she protests.

"Pendejo que no piensas saludar a tu abuela o qué" says a woman standing behind Y/N. The very same woman his daughter got her name from. (Idiot, are you not going to say hi to your grandma?)

"Oh my, abuela. I didn't see you there!" Explains Mickey, a bit scared of his grandma's reaction for not hugging her. It doesn't matter how much of a grown man Mickey is. He would always be a bit scared of his grandma.

"Who are these people, hmm? And why are all of them so skinny! Look at this girl" Camila pinches Phoenix's cheek. "You have to eat more! I have tamales in the car, do you want some?"

"Jesus, abuelita. Don't do that to my friend"

"Payback, why aren't you fazed by this?" Hangman's words make the whole Garcia family laugh, just then moving to hug Cam and kiss her chubby cheeks. "I'm the godfather"

"You mean to tell me that you knew that Fanboy is not only married, but a father, and you never shared any of that information with the rest?" Rooster exposes, feeling really, really betrayed.

And as if Fanboy and Payback had rehearsed the answer for hours, they both say it at the same time. "You never asked!"

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #mickey garcia fluff #mickey fanboy garcia x reader #mickey garcia x reader #mickey garcia #mickey fanboy garcia #fanboy x reader #fanboy x you #top gun fanboy #fanboy fluff

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uhrimau · 2 months

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SMALL TOWN PROBLEMS: a cotl au

tag -> #small town problems au

for anyone who likes the idea and what i make: join. join now. lets flood the tags with emo fanarts. this is a free for all self indulgency fest.

welcome to a tiny ”catholic” polish village in the middle of nowhere, safe from the eyes of society. they love murder, prophecies and cannibalism here.

the lamb and narinder have been banned from the only church in town and are being bullied and ostracized for being emo and gay (they themselves dont know the gay part yet). narinders siblings szamura, leszy, kallmarz and cheket are a pary of the family that leads the sect in the town. good little catholic schoolbois who bully the shit out of narilamb.

lambs family is not native to this town, they moved there a while back and suddenly started going missing. narinder knew what was going on, she kniws the prophecy tm, she sought out the lamb to have an ally and maybe a usable pawn to fuck with the cult. what they have is sort of a mutual acknowledgment that theyre both in danger tho narinders hiding her background and a lot of details to manipulate lamb into doing what she deems necessary. so together they fuck around and find out whats going on and try to save their own asses and lambs family. the lamb theorizes she cant be the only one whos losing her family, or that thered be noone else doubting the churches ways so she starts gathering people around to gain more info, buddies and maybe a few expendable bodies.

narinder still has connections to her family and the church even thought they pretend shes been kicked out fully to save face bc of an incident tm. the lamb doesnt know shit because shes an outsider and hasnt been there for long enough for the church to trust her w all the cult bullshit. the most of the village is completely brainwashed.

ratau is an ex priest who saw the wrong way this villages religion was going and dropped out of the whole thing. hes ostracized by others now but is sort of a safe haven for the lamb and narinder.

im considering calling the lamb Janek. first, because jan paweł is a funny man, secondly because lamb in polish is jagnie. that would also make the ship name be jarinder which sounds immensely funny to me.

-> will rewrite this later to make it all clearer

#cotl #cult of the lamb #cult of the emo au #narilamb

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bella-rose29 · 8 months

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Arranged Marriages - Epilogue

As promised :)

Also two parts in one day? Look at me go

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: swearing, a very tiny mention of death (Dominik), but other than that this is pure fluff and love (although I'm realising as I write it that the beginning does not give that impression lol)

Tag list: @kentucky-criedfricken, @hauntedenthusiasttragedy, @kateswone, @simbaaas-stuff, @polli05927, @historianthesecond, @ell0ra-br3kk3r

(Look at how pretty he is I love him)

"NIKOLAI LANTSOV, WHERE ARE YOU?"

He was hiding in a cupboard, trying not to give away his location.

Genya was mad at him, and he was fearing for his life right now. Although it was hardly his fault, since he and Y/N had both made the decision to wait to share the news, but the Tailor wasn't mad at his wife, which Nikolai thought was incredibly unfair. Bright light suddenly appeared, forcing him to shut his eyes, squinting against the sun now streaming in through the open door.

Shit.

"Found you, you little fucker," she grinned, although her smile was more reminiscent of a shark than anything else. David stood awkwardly behind her, and Nikolai guessed that he'd been dragged around by his wife in her quest for vengeance.

"How, in the name of all the Saints, could you not tell me that Y/N is pregnant?! Do you have any idea how long I'm going to need to plan the events?! To decide on every detail?! By the time I'm ready for a baby shower, your child will be thirty years old!" With each emphasised word, she whacked him in the chest, and when she was done Nikolai pressed a hand to the spot, rubbing over where he was sure a bruise would form.

"We decided we would wait until we were sure! Figured it would be worse if we got everybody's hopes up only for it to end up not happening! Please stop hitting me!" Genya sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Fine! Fine, but I'm expecting to be in charge of everything, alright? And I want my name in there somehow."

"What if it's a boy?"

"Then use David's name." At the mention of his name, he looked up, bewildered look on his face. Seeing Genya's expression, he nodded in agreement (although Nikolai suspected that the man had very little idea what he was agreeing to).

"Of course, my love."

The doors to the room banged open as Zoya swept in, fury on her face.

Here we go again, he thought tiredly.

"She's pregnant?! Why did neither of you tell me?! I'm her best friend and your most trusted General! So why am I finding out from some random healer that you're expecting a baby?!"

"Would everybody please stop hitting me!" Zoya had been doing the same as Genya, and had managed to pinpoint the exact same spot when she smacked him. He sighed. "Look. We're both very sorry that we didn't tell you sooner, but as I said to Genya, we didn't want to get anybody's hopes up. We wanted to be sure about it first, and then tell people. Besides, we also wanted a little time just to ourselves; you know what people are like here, once they find something like this out, the baby isn't really ours, it's Ravka's."

The women paused, sharing a glance.

"Ugh, fine," Zoya said. "Where is she then, I want to go congratulate her and wish her luck on having two children to deal with."

"But she's only going to have one?"

When Zoya gave him a pointed look, he realised what she meant.

"You mean me, don't you? I'm... I'm the other child. Great, thank you for that, Zoya. Don't you have an army to run instead of making fun of me?"

"Don't you have a country to lead, instead of hiding in a cupboard?"

"She's in the gardens, and I'm not hiding in a cupboard. I am inspecting the interior to see how it was made. I'm planning on trying to make one for myself."

She snorted, turning on her heel and exiting the room. "Whatever you say, Lantsov."

"Well I need to start preparations immediately, and if you don't have a busy schedule - which I know you don't, I checked it before I came to find you - you're going to join me," Genya said, and Nikolai groaned.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes." The was no room for argument in her tone, and quite frankly Nikolai was scared of her right now.

"Alright... lead the way."

She squealed, taking his arm and dragging him out of the cupboard and into the corridor, her grip so tight he thought he might end up one limb fewer. They stopped in Genya's living room, and she forced him down onto a seat while she moved around, collecting various items and bits of paperwork. David perched on a stool next to him, and they shared a knowing look.

"Congratulations, Nikolai," he said in a quiet voice, small smile on his face.

"Thank you, David." They sat in comfortable silence, watching as Genya rushed around, arms full to such an extent Nikolai wasn't sure how she wasn't dropping anything. Dumping it all on the table in front of them, she started organising, and Nikolai realised with a start that Genya had already made mood boards and drawn up ideas for a royal baby, complete with names of specialist Fabrikators (David's name was at the top of the list, circled with love hearts in red ink) for any essentials, fabric samples for clothes and bedsheets, and a colour scheme for every baby related event one could think of.

Nikolai settled in for a long discussion.

He was right that it would take them all day, and the next, and then the following week, since Genya insisted on going over every detail at least three times ("I just want to be certain, this is the first royal baby Ravka's had for years!"), and it was difficult finding a time when both the King and Queen were free. Zoya was getting very involved in the process too, which surprised Nikolai. He'd always assumed that the general would prefer to be as far away from children as possible, but when he saw how attentive she was being to Y/N, he realised that she was concerned for her friend. The two of them were like sisters, having been practically raised together, so it made sense that Zoya wanted to be there for Y/N.

The night before the first of many events that Genya had planned, he and his wife were curled up in bed, lights dimmed ready for them to go to sleep. He was stroking a hand through her hair, fingers untangling knots as he went.

"I love you, Nik," she whispered from her position against his chest.

"I love you too, Y/N."

They were quiet for a while, revelling in the peace.

"Do you think that Genya's gone a bit mad with the whole royal baby thing?" He laughed softly, nodding his head.

"It's entirely possible. Although I have to say, I think two events a week until the baby arrives is far too few, it should be one every night."

"Shhh! She'll hear you!" He laughed again, more loudly this time, and she joined in, giggling.

"Kolya?"

"Hmm?" His eyes were closed, a smile still playing on his lips.

"What should we name it?"

"You decide, my love. You are the one growing our baby," he said. "Although if I think it's a truly awful name, I might have to step in."

She was silent, fingertips tracing patterns on his stomach.

"For a girl... actually, I've got a feeling it'll be a boy."

"What if it is a girl though?"

"Nope. Boy. Saints help me though, I hope he's not too much like you."

"Why do people keep saying that?! I'm perfectly mature and not at all childlike!"

"Says the man that got excited when he saw a ship the other day."

"That wasn't just a ship, alright? It was an original design brigantine from when Ravka first started making ships, and- oh. Oh hang on, I see what you're doing. You're trying to prove your point, aren't you?"

"Not just trying, Kolya, I succeeded," she replied with glee, tapping his nose with a wide smile on her face.

"I see how it is." He narrowed his eyes playfully, then reached out to tickle her sides, making her laugh until tears were falling down her cheeks.

"Stop it!" she wheezed out between laughs.

"Do you forfeit?"

"Never! I will never for-" she broke off with another peal of laughter, even though he was barely touching her sides anymore. He'd sat up to get a better advantage, but now he took her in, laughing and happy, and his heart swelled with love for her and the family they were going to build.

"Alright, fine," he threw his hands up. "I surrender, you were right."

"Ha ha!" she pointed a triumphant finger at him. "I knew you'd come to your senses at some point." He took her accusatory finger in his hand, kissing the palm. She blushed a faint pink, and he loved how easily he could make it happen, even after almost two years of marriage.

"I think I lose my senses when I'm around you, darling."

They kissed, soft and gentle, and stayed wrapped up in each other for a while.

"Dominik." She whispered later, when the lights had gone out.

"What?" At the sound of his friend's name, Nikolai froze, and unbidden memories of their times together came back, accompanied by the unfortunate reminder that his best friend was dead.

"If... for the baby. Dominik for a boy."

He blinked back the tears, wiping away the stray ones that escaped and letting out a shaky breath.

"Kolya? Is... is it okay?"

Another breath.

"It's perfect."

#grishaverse #netflix shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai lanstov x y/n #nikolai x y/n

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eyelessfaces · 1 year

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wine stain

llewyn davis x reader

hi I started writing this in october but never actually finished it and I thought it was kinda good when I reread it but I hated the plot so I changed it. anyways I hope you like it! also please note that this is my first time writing detailed smut in ages and I'm very insecure about it so please be indulgent :(

summary: life isn't fair to llewyn, but the man isn't quick to give up. an audition in chicago might change his life forever, and it does, but not the way he expected it to.

warnings: smut (minors dni!!), unprotected piv, oral sex, language (they swear a lot), alcohol consumption, smoking. mentions of pregnancy and abortion, one tiny joke about it. I am pro-choice and I don't want to offend anyone so if it bothers you just don't read this ffs.

tags: f!reader, friends to lovers, mutual pinning, llewyn is insecure asf and believes he doesn't deserve anything good, fucking oblivious idiots in love

word count: 5.7k (this is the longest thing I've ever written.)

Hot smoke escapes Llewyn’s cup of coffee, subtly mixing with the intoxicating smoke of the cigarette he holds between his fingers. You watch as the smoke goes up in the air, disappearing at the same level of his crumpled shirt collar. You desperately want to get up and fix it. You look away from it and sigh before talking.

“Spill the beans. I know this isn’t a casual cafe meeting. Or what Jean would call our ‘definitely not dates’ or whatever.” you say sinking into your chair, crossing your arms. “What do you want. Need. Same thing” you ask, watching him blow out his smoke as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“There’s no good answer is there?” he chuckles, licking his lips awkwardly when he sees that you’re not reacting to his poor attempt at a joke. “I need money.” he continues, lowering his voice. He leans forward and looks at you sternly. “Listen I hate asking you for this, but if I could do otherwise I wou-”

"Seriously? You’re still not getting anything?” you cut him off, raising an eyebrow.

His face relaxes, and he contorts it to a frown again.

“Believe me I’ve harassed Mel, it’s a miracle he’s not kicking me out. Only real money I get is from the gigs and saying it’s not enough is an understatement.” he huffs out, looking around the barely crowded cafe. “Please. I really need it. I’ll make it up to ya.” he pleads, looking back at you.

You roll your eyes when you think about the extra hours you’ll have to do to be able to pay your rent, but it’s Llewyn, and you care about him, so it’s…

“...Fine.”

Llewyn nods, weakly smiling at you.

“Thank you baby. Thank you” he nods fervently, thankful. “I would also need a place to crash at tonight…” he whispers with a sour face, knowing that it may be too much to ask you at once.

You chuckle and give him a wave of your hand. “Whatever. But you’re taking me out once you have enough money” you say tilting your head forward, pointing at him.

“Sure thing.” he smiles. “Thank you dove.”

You send him a quick smile before hiding it with your cup of coffee.

A thought occurs and you lick your lips in reflection as you put the cup down on its saucer.

“Abortion?” you ask abruptly, and he looks back at you with a startled face.

“What?”

“Is that why you need money? Again?” you clarify.

His confused face relaxes and he chuckles with a frown.

“It’s nice of you to assume I’m getting laid.” he chuckles, scratching the end of his cigarette in the ashtray.

You shrug. “I don’t know. You’re a hot talented musician after all” you say with a smirk, elbow planted on the table and chin resting on your palm. “Makes everyone faint”

He snorts. “Come on. Not when the hot talented musician is homeless and a dick” he pinches his lips in a skeptic smile.

“Yeah well that’s just you. And I don’t see anything wrong here” you smile, and Llewyn clears his throat.

“Well Jean told me it’d be a favor to people if I never fucked anyone ever again so I’m taking advice” he affirms, eyebrows raised as he brings his own cup of coffee to his mouth.

“Jean’s a bitch” you spit, crossing your arms and leaning back into your chair.

He chuckles and smiles.

“That’s no news.” he smiles. “Hum... The reason I need money is because I need to go to Chicago for an audition.”

“Chicago?” you ask, startled that he needs to go so far away.

“Yeah. Chicago.” he affirms, and looks through the window. It’s pouring and the wet road reflects the light of one small ray of sunshine passing through the clouds.

“You’re fucking kidding me” you scoff. “Don’t tell me it’s an audition with that Bud Grossman guy” you sigh, slowly shaking your head.

Llewyn doesn’t answer and just looks back at you with a small pinched smile. You sigh. “When is it?”

“I’d need to leave tomorrow. It’s a pretty long ride” he affirms sinking in the back of his chair.

“No shit” you chuckle before taking another sip of your coffee. “It’s a whole ass trip.”

He nods and reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the table. You grab it before he can and he’s on the verge of calling you out for it but you speak before he can.

“You just finished smoking one. You smoke too much. Slow down.” you advise him putting down your cup of coffee, and he instantly rolls his eyes.

“Oh please.” he huffs. “Come on” he pleads, frowning.

You put the pack in your coat pocket and he sighs before laying further against the back of his chair.

His look darts to the window again. Few people are passing by and the rare ones that do are all protected by an umbrella and a raincoat. He’s just glad he’s crashing at your place tonight and not roaming around the whole city to look for a place to stay in this weather.

“You’re gonna kill this.”

“Mh?” he asks absent-mindedly, still looking outside.

“Your audition. You’re so talented Llewyn. The trip is worth it” your words make him look back at you immediately, a small gap forming between his lips.

He wants to tell you that you don’t need to do that for him. That you don’t need to be so positive because he somehow always ends up fucking everything up. He really does. But at the same time he doesn’t think he’s ever felt his heart beat so fast.

“My first groupie!” he exclaims, unsure of how to respond wholeheartedly, instead using sarcasm as it’s what he does best. “Here it is.”

“Fuck you you asshole” you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Come on, I'm just messing with you” he scoffs. “Thank you for believing in me. You’re amazing” he nods and smiles. “You’re probably the only one that believes in me anyways.”

You weakly smile back at him. God you just wished this would work out for him. It’s all you ever wanted for him, truly.

“Can I get my cigarettes back now ?” he asks with a grin.

You roll your eyes and huff out a laugh before throwing the pack of cigarettes at him.

—

You gasp as you feel two arms wrap around your waist. You close your eyes with a sigh once your brain processes everything, and the corners of your mouth turn upwards.

“You scared me you moron. Nice shower?" you ask, still looking at the cooking pot in front of you.

Llewyn smiles as he nuzzles your hair.

“You have no idea. Probably the best shower I’ve had in ages” he affirms, his thumb caressing your clothed stomach. The gesture makes your heart skip a beat, but you quickly brush the thought off. You can’t think of him that way. “What you cookin’?” the question tears you out of your thoughts.

“Franks and beans. It’s a good thing you were able to come out of this bathroom, we’re eating soon.” you announce, stirring in the pot with the spatula.

“Awesome” he groans. “Thank you for letting me stay here tonight. The hell would I do without you” he sighs, and leans to quickly kiss your cheek.

You close your eyes and smile once again.

“Come on, go set the table. It’s ready soon” you affirm as you throw your chin towards the table.

“‘kay chief” he throws as he opens the cabinet where you keep your plates.

You eat while drinking some wine and end the evening watching The Seventh Seal, your head quickly ending up resting over Llewyn’s shoulder. You can feel yourself drift off to sleep as the end credits appear, and get up from the couch before you actually pass out on it and on Llewyn.

“Imma head to bed” you mumble sleepily, grabbing one of your plaids to hand it to Llewyn. “Goodnight” you tiredly say as he takes the plaid before you turn around to leave for your bedroom.

“Hey. I’ll probably be gone by the morning.” he declares as he gets up from the couch, leaving the plaid hanging on the armrest. “So I’ll just say it now. Thank you for the money and the food.” he says as he walks up to you, hands buried in his slacks pockets. “And the couch, and for everything you’re doing for me in general. I really appreciate it. I love you.”

You endearingly smile at him, reaching to gently stroke his wrist with your thumb.

“Good luck. I’ll be waiting for you. I love you”

—

When you come back home from work later than usual because of traffic three days later, Llewyn is curled up on your couch, asleep.

Your apartment is bathed in darkness and you watch his sleeping figure as you take off your shoes and coat before walking to him, kneeling next to him by the couch.

You reach to turn on the lamp on the side table next to your couch, looking back at him and finally being able to see his peaceful state. You smile to yourself as soft snores escape his slightly agape mouth and his usual grumpy expression is long gone, and you kinda feel like a creep for watching him sleep but truthfully he looks like an angel and you feel bad for having to wake him up.

You gently thread your fingers through his raven curls, softly calling his name, and he slowly opens his eyes, hazily sitting up and rubbing his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck” he curses under his breath. “Shit I didn’t mean to fall asleep on your couch. Sorry”

“That’s okay” you reassure him, smoothing your hand along his forearm. “How was Chicago?” you ask him softly, and he suddenly chuckles and shakes his head.

“Shitty.” he declares. “Useless.”

The blank that fills the air in your apartment is overwhelming. You get up from your knees and sit next to him on the couch, propping your elbow onto the back of the couch, your hand holding your head. “I’m sorry” you pinch your lips in an empathetic smile. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No. Yeah. I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter anyways” he smiles tiredly as he looks up at you.

“If you wanna talk about it I’m all ears, and if you don’t that’s okay, you don’t have to.”

He sighs and rubs his eyes again. “It’s just… It was all for nothing.” he huffs out. “All I do to try to make it work is always for nothing at the end.” You swear you hear your heart crack at that moment. “Grossman advised me to get back with Mike when I told him I used to have a partner.” he scoffs.

You chuckle and shake your head in dismay. “Well that’s gonna be complicated” you say as you raise your eyebrows. “What a fucking moron” you mumble as you get up from your couch, going to the kitchen.

“I don’t wanna defend him but he couldn’t know” he declares as he follows you, leaning his side against the wall as you grab two glasses and a bottle of wine.

“I’m not exclusively talking about that. He’s a fucking moron for rejecting you” you say as you turn back to him, handing him the glass. He takes it and shrugs and you sigh as you fill it. “How many copies of your record would I have to buy to make you rich?”

He laughs before taking a sip of the wine, and he raises his eyebrows in amusement.

“You ending up homeless in your turn isn’t the point sweetheart” he says as he watches you pouring yourself some wine before leaving the bottle on the counter.

“I just want you to be okay.” the words weakly escape your mouth as you walk back to your living room, and his eyes light up at your words. God, if only you knew how much it meant to him that you wanted him to be okay, if only you knew how much you meant to him.

“Don’t worry about me angel. I’ll just go back to merchant marines” he sighs as he sits down on your couch.

You look down at him with empathetic eyes and take a sip from your glass before putting it down on the coffee table. “It’s gonna be okay” you tell him sitting down next to him, mostly trying to convince yourself. Truth is you rely a lot on how he feels.

He hums absent-mindedly, gaze lost in the void of your living room and leans to put his glass down too before shifting to face you and taking your hand in his.

You look down at his hand, slowly and softly tracing his skin with your thumb.

“Llewyn” you whisper looking back at him, pushing away the curls falling over his face, threading your hand through the unruly dark curls.

He sighs softly as he looks up and down between your eyes and lips before his hands frame your face as his lips press over yours with more force than he had expected, like his eagerness to kiss you took over him.

He’s not sure of his action and he’s fully convinced he has, once more, fucked another thing up like he always does as he doesn’t feel you moving, until he feels your hands join at his neck to bring him closer, deepening the kiss as you hum against his lips and as your tongues meet.

It’s all the both of you had always been wishing for; diluting this unspoken tension between you, finally acting upon it.

You shift to straddle his lap and he groans into your mouth as he pulls you closer by your hips, savoring every second of that kiss as if you’re going to slip through his fingers once you pull away, as if you’re going to regret all of this once it’s over.

You know there is no reality where you could ever regret this; you had fantasized of doing this for ages and it’s even better than you had imagined this before; the wine somehow tastes better when it’s on his tongue, and you can feel the faint taste of cigarette in his warm breath as his broad hands run up and down your body, his body heat radiating against you.

You unconsciously hump against him as you want to get even closer, and a moan escapes your mouth, the friction against him deliciously relieving the growing ache between your legs.

“Fuck, Llewyn” you gasp against his mouth as you look down at your clothed crotches, evidently feeling his erection twitching under you even through the layers of clothes.

“Sorry baby” he whispers as his mouth chases yours, his gaze on you drunk and wanting. “Can’t really help it” the chuckle he lets out changes into a gasp when your hand shifts to palm him through his pants.

“The fuck are you sorry for?” you ask teasingly, a grin adorning your face as you leave his lap to kneel at his feet. He looks down at you speechless as you fiddle with his belt. “I know a way to make you feel better about all of this” He’s dreaming. This can’t be real.

“Sure but angel you– wh– you don’t have to–” he babbles as you’re working on freeing him of his confined space.

“I want to” you declare as you take his cock out, and fuck he’s hard and he’s huge and the heat pooling at your belly is becoming more and more pronounced. “If it’s okay” you look up at him, raising your eyebrows awaiting approval.

“Of course it is but we can– you don’t have to– oh shit” his pleas die on his tongue as you take him in your mouth, softly sucking his head as your hand strokes him. “Oh fuck” he groans, his head hitting the back of your couch.

This is a dream, it all happened so fast and there’s no way it’s real, he’s having another one of those dreams with you he’s so ashamed of, you never woke him up from his accidental nap on your couch, he’s still sleeping and this is not actually happening.

Coming back to reality will be hard because fuck this feels so good and he’ll probably have to lock himself in your bathroom to actually get some relief once he wakes up.

He is confirmed of the realness of the situation when you grip the side of his thigh as if to tell him look at me while you softly lick the underside of him, shifting to trace every vein along his length, pre cum dripping from the head to coat your tongue.

“Is this okay?” you ask pulling away, the tip of your fingers still gently skimming his throbbing cock. He laughs at your question.

“Baby fuck–” he bucks into your hand after you swipe your thumb over his swollen tip. “Yes of course it’s okay” he chuckles as his hand cups your cheek, thumb caressing your cheekbone. “It’s more than okay” he declares as he looks down at you with lustful, dark half lidded eyes.

“Good” you smile up at him before sinking down and taking him fully at once without warning.

The moan that escapes his mouth is sinful and it makes you clench, and the light tug after his fingers shift to grip your hair goes straight to your cunt.

You take him as deeply as you can, going up and down, tongue swirling around him from time to time. His head falls back against your couch once again, and he squeezes his eyes shut as his grip on your hair tightens.

“Holy shit dove– I don’t think I’m gonna last long” he manages to breathe out between whimpers, tightening his free hand into a fist to prevent himself from cumming right then and there into your mouth.

Then you pull away and he groans.

“What the fuck?” he asks startled as you get up, leaving him twitching and wanting, the feeling of his approaching orgasm slowly fading away.

“Jeez stop being so impatient” you taunt as you start unbuttoning your trousers, and his expression is priceless once he realizes what you have in mind.

“Oh–” you teasingly smile at him and slide your trousers down your legs. “Baby it’s not that I don’t want to but I don’t have any condoms and I can pull out but you know how cursed I am with all of this and–”

“I’m clean and on birth control it’s okay Llewyn” you cut him off of his tirade as you step out of the trousers at your ankles, throwing them to the side. “If you don’t want to do that it’s okay, I can finish you off by–”

You’re cut off when he grabs you by the hips, pulling you closer to the couch he’s sitting on, and you know he’s in for the ride – quite literally – when his thumbs hook into the hem of your underwear to slide them down your legs. He does the same, fully taking off his slacks and underwear and throwing them over the armchair across your couch.

He looks up at you like you’re a goddess, and even though his dick is aching and begging for release he takes his sweet time gazing at you like you’re the eighth wonder of the world.

You softly smile at him, brushing back the raven curls falling over his forehead, and giggles escape from your mouth when he unexpectedly drags you so you can straddle his lap.

He kisses all along your jawline, beard softly tickling your skin as he lavishes your neck next, his hands roaming along your curves, his right hand stopping between your thighs, two of his fingers gathering the slick of your folds.

“Shit– you’re fucking dripping” he breathes out against your neck, making you whimper at his touch. “Did you get that wet just from blowing me?” he teases, and you tug at the curls on the back of his head before reconnecting your lips to his, feeling him smirk against them.

Llewyn groans in your mouth as you wrap your fingers around his cock and slowly pump it, and he knows for sure that the gasp you let out when you slowly but easily sink down on his length will be engraved in his mind.

“Holy shit” you pant, burying your head in the crook of his shoulder once you’re fully seated on his throbbing length.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand anchored at your hip and the other one softly trailing up your bare back underneath your shirt.

“Yeah” you breathe out, frantically nodding against him as your arms wrap around his neck, and you slowly start rocking your hips. The little whimpers he lets out are music to your ears, and the way he softly gasps your name has you clenching around him.

“Fuck angel you’re so fucking tight” Llewyn hisses, leaving a trail of kisses along your neck as you thrust down on him, finally finding a steady pace that leaves the both of you sweating and panting, clinging to each other. “Taking me so fucking well” he grunts against the exposed skin of your neck, the roughness of his beard tickling the sensitive area. Tugging on his hair so he can look back at you, his hips jerk up, and you pull him in for a hungry kiss.

Of course he would like you pulling on his hair.

Happy with the reaction it elicited from him and the information you just got, your hands are gripping on his curls as you roll your hips against him. He practically fucks his tongue into your mouth, and you almost choke into the kiss when his thumb meets and massages your clit in small circles.

You gasp his name, and his hand that was stroking your back earlier is now tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear as he drinks in the sight of you using him for your pleasure.

“Wanna make you cum first” his voice is rough and deep with lust, and the way you bite on your lower lip as you slightly flutter around him because of his words seem to encourage him; his grip against your hips becomes more and more firm and controlling, his pelvis thrusting up into you with a force that you hadn’t expected from him, his movements meeting yours and making you throw your head back in pleasure.

“Fucking hell Llewyn” it comes out as a sigh, but if the walls of your apartment weren’t so thin you would have at least screamed it.

You know he won’t have much work to do as you can already feel yourself nearing your climax; it’s all starting to become too much, but the good kind of too much.

You gasp in surprise when Llewyn manhandles you with the force you ignored he still had from his merchant marines days and knocks over one of the glasses of wine on the coffee table, the liquid pouring all over the surface and dripping down onto your wooden floor.

“Shit Llewyn” you gasp, pushing your nails deeper into his arms.

It’s honestly a miracle you managed not to fall and you back landed on the couch correctly.

The mission isn’t a complete success, but you’re too caught up in the moment to stop because of some stupid wine so you just manage to tell him “Fuck it just keep going” while wrapping your legs around his waist so he keeps going, even more fervently.

You’re now laying on your couch, Llewyn hovering over you and hitting deeper spots inside of you, each movement faster than the previous one; the wet sounds between your legs are lewd and get even filthier each time he pounds into you.

He’s close. You can see it, you can feel it by the way his thrusts stutter slightly.

His head tilts down to where you’re connected, watching himself disappear inside of you, bringing his hand to you clit again.

“Fuck are you gonna cum for me baby?” he asks, his voice dripping with lust and desire as he toys and rubs circles over your aching clit.

You whimper and hiss and cry his name as you get lost in the feeling of his fingers and his hips ramming further into you, all the tension in your body morphing into waves of pleasure as you reach your climax, fluttering around him and cumming in silent gasps.

Llewyn is quick to follow you as your orgasm was all he was waiting for to finally let himself go; his movements become sloppier and his hips start to stutter, his eyes finally rolling to the back of his head and his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he stills, his cock spurting his cum deep inside of you.

He grunts, and your head falls back into the couch as you feel drained of all your energy. Llewyn curses under his breath as he rests his forehead against your shoulder, panting, before pulling out and collapsing on top of you, his head resting against your chest.

You both catch your breaths, staying here for a while with your fingers softly running through his hair before you start blissfully laughing, all the tension and seriousness of the situation fading away.

He rests his head to the side, facing the scenery of the knocked over glasses still swaying over your coffee table. “Fucking hell your floor” he gasps before looking up at you, realizing the mess you have made with the wine.

“I’ll just put a rug over the stain I guess” you sigh. “It was worth it” you chuckle and lean down to kiss him. “I’m glad you didn’t take advice from Jean after all”

“What?” he asks, still dizzy from his climax.

“Not fucking anyone ever again, remember?” you ask and he laughs, getting up and walking to where he left his clothes to get dressed again.

“Yeah, well you better be consistent on your birth control because apparently my spermatozoids are warriors, and I wouldn’t want Jean to make a point” he chuckles as he slides into his slacks.

“We should be fine” you mutter while sitting up, reaching to pick your underwear from the floor. “I’ll call you if I need an abortion” you joke, standing up to put your underwear back on. “Ugh fuck” you whine picking up your trousers, seeing the wine stain covering it.

“I’ll help you clean and I’ll just… go” he mutters, scratching his forehead.

“Why do you wanna go” you ask absent-mindedly, walking to the kitchen to try to save your trousers from the wine stain.

“I don’t know” he declares following you into the kitchen before standing against your counter, hands gripping the edge of it. You look at him and he looks absent, livid, almost sick, and it is too much just for it to be his post-orgasm haze.

You frown, and when you realize why he might want to leave your heart breaks a little.

“Did I do or say something wrong?” you ask. Maybe the abortion joke was too much, maybe you got fooled and he was just horny and needed to let it out of his system and regretted it now. “Llewyn do you…” you fully turn towards him, searching for your words. “Do you think this was a mistake?” you ask looking back at him, letting the garment rest in the sink. “Us sleeping together?”

“Me? No” he scoffs. The tension hangs in the air as you’re waiting for him to elaborate. “I figured you would”

You sigh and take a step closer to him.

“Llewyn no… Why would I?” you chuckle, almost offended at the thought.

“I don’t know. Nothing I do is ever good so why would this be any different?” he shrugs, closing his belt.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose and shaking your head.

“No. You’re a fucking idiot.” you mutter under your breath.

“I know.” he replies quickly, not wasting one second. He walks back to your living room, gathering his stuff to go, really wanting to avoid having a fight with you, and preparing to leave like he had planned to.

“I don’t mean it like that. You wanna know why you’re a fucking idiot?” you ask rhetorically, following him closely. “You think you’re not good enough for everything you do in life when truth is, you’re just really unlucky.” you declare, “And you act like a jerk because you’re scared of actually succeeding in something.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Well surely you’re right about that too” he scoffs, pulling out his cigarette pack from his pocket.

“Don’t smoke inside of my apartment” you hiss.

“I told you, I’m leaving.” he almost immediately snaps, putting the cigarette in his shirt pocket, taking his guitar case and his box of things, his coat thrown over it.

You sigh and put a hand over your forehead, and watch as he passes in front of you to go to your entry.

It is now or never, or else it will never be the same. Tonight you had taken a step forward, but by taking this step forward you had also taken two steps backwards, and if you didn’t try to save this now it would never be saved.

“Llewyn” you call, and something breaks inside him at the sound of your voice. You had never called his name so weakly, so pleadingly.

He turns and finally looks at you, establishing eye contact for more than five seconds for the first time since your sexual encounter. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“I fucked this up too, didn’t I” he mutters, and you pinch your lips as it is your turn to shake your head as you step closer to him.

“No. No you didn’t.”

He looks down at the stuff he’s carrying and sighs.

“I don’t really wanna go.” he declares softly.

“Then stay,” you nod. “Please. I don’t want you to go.” you say as you take a step forward, taking the box from his hands. “If you leave I would need to run after you in just my shirt and underwear, and frankly I don’t want to do that” you smile slightly as you put his stuff down on the floor.

He laughs and puts the rest of his belongings on the floor too, and when he looks back at you he notices you’re still looking down on the floor, gaze lost in your thoughts.

“Honey is there–”

“Do you think sleeping together was a mistake?” you cut him off, looking back at him.

“No. Of course not. I’d do it again.” he declares. “I mean if–”

“I get it. Don’t worry” you chuckle.

A small silence fills the room before you get an idea.

“Hey, follow me” you say as you tilt your head. You cross your small apartment, Llewyn following you closely, grabbing your wrist as you push your bedroom door.

“Sweetheart I’d love to but I don’t think I can go again– I mean not right now”

“I’m not bringing you here to have sex again” you declare, a chuckle escaping your lips as you see his face relaxing and his hold on your wrist loosening up. You sit on the edge of your bed, and he watches you from a distance, leaning against the doorframe. “Come here” you call, patting the spot right beside you. Llewyn hesitantly sits beside you, and his gaze shifts to your face when you grab his hand.

“This could be your bed, if you wanted it to be.” The sound of your voice rings in his ears. “You wouldn’t have to sleep on my couch again. Or any other couch.” you declare, brushing back his unkempt hair, and he looks at the bed behind him as if to contemplate what he could have.

He looks back at you, and he knows that he knows his answer. He doesn’t hesitate for one second on what he would rather have, because if he could be by your side forever, he would be. But something inside of him is not sure if you want him to be by your side forever.

He nods. He nods and he licks his lips in reflection, and he looks back at the bed before looking back at you again. “I don’t want this to be exclusively sexual” he declares, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Me neither” you smile, a wide smile that makes his heart sink. You grab his face and kiss him, and he savors this kiss like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do. But if kissing you was the last thing he’d do, he would be satisfied with that.

You pull away from his lips and lay down on the bed, and his hand rests against your bare thigh while he looks at you. And he looks at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

He lays down next to you with a grunt, facing the ceiling, and you prop yourself against your elbow to face him.

“I’ll just ask you one thing” you declare, firmly looking at him.

“Mh?” he hums, looking at you.

You lick your lips and let your fingers trail along the side of his face.

“Stop thinking you don’t deserve anything good.” you whisper, and his face shifts so he can kiss the tip of your fingers.

“Eh, I’ll try,” he smirks, shrugging. You shake your head and lean down to kiss him again, but he hovers over you and pins you down before you have the chance to do it.

You laugh and he kisses you, hungrily, and shifts down to leave a trail of kisses to your neck and collarbone as a defeated sigh escapes your mouth.

“Okay so I’ll give you time to work on the imposter syndrome. But now we can only have sex if you promise me you won’t hate yourself after we’re done”

He pulls away from your skin, and looks up at you.

“I can do that.”

You spend a long night offering Llewyn your bed, the uncleaned stain of wine on your floor long forgotten.

But at least years later, when you’re engaged to Llewyn and packing to move out somewhere bigger and the time comes when you have to remove the rug, it reminds you of that specific night, and you can’t help the fluttering feeling of the butterflies in your stomach, accompanied right away by a tiny kick. The very first one.

—

comments and reblogs are always appreciated!!

inside llewyn davis taglist: @apollo-enthusiast @scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @beccabecs521

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girlnextdoooor · 9 months

Note

Hello! How are you!🩷🩷

If it is not a bother can u write a nsfw with Burt Fableman?

Like you're his (pre-stablished young) girlfriend and you wanna do something special for him( cause he's been feeling down lately)and he's coming from work and then you surprise him all dolled up in a lacy frilly lingerie and you both proceed to have fun.

If plausible can contain ( daddy kink age gap breeding kink and cute pet names )

If you don't wanna do this is completely understandable!! Thank you for your time!!

-🐇

baby doll || burt fabelman x f!reader

summary: he squeezes where he's holding you, causing a sharp gasp to leave you. He knows exactly what he's doing, you can feel it off of him. Burt is as much of a gentleman as they come, but that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy watching you squirm a little.

warnings: smut (MDNI), age gap, breeding, daddy kink, teasing, fingering, burt is a god at aftercare

a/n: i'm super sorry i'm getting to reqs kind of slow, i work two jobs and i've been kind of busy 😭 this is also not proof read so, enjoy!

Burt was always such a sweetheart, and it broke you to watch him come home day after day upset and irritated because of work. Even further, him still being nothing short of an excellent partner; helping you through college classes, grocery shopping, supporting your own career aspirations, anything you felt strongly about, he was with you. You did everything you possibly could for him in your downtime, and would do more if it weren't for the part of you still wanting some kind of independence such as your own job while taking classes. Although you knew Burt would happily take care of you, you just never let him because he already goes above and beyond for you.

Which is precisely why tonight was special. Having the day off from your job and no classes, you went and picked out a new set of the most beautiful, frilly, pink, lingerie you could get your hands on, along with a brand new pair of lacy stockings. Burt had mentioned in passing before he loves the color pink on you, so obviously that was taken into account. You finish your purchase and make your way back home, anxious to try everything on and make sure it fits you properly. Lord forbid it doesn't fit and you have to go all the way back before he gets home.

You pull the set from the bag, rolling the fabric between your fingers. The image of Burt above you while wearing this very thing is ingrained into your head, causing a heat to pool in your stomach. You shoo the thoughts away long enough to pull your clothes off, shivering slightly at the cool air. The top is fastened with a clip in the shape of a tiny bow, a cute detail you think. You pull the small pink skirt that will absolutely hide nothing over your hips before letting it settle into your skin. It's tight, but not enough to hurt. The stockings are rolled up your legs, stopping an inch above the knee.

A final glance in the full body mirror occupying a corner of the room you and Burt share. You sit looking, wavering between wether to put a little makeup on or keep yourself bare faced. Ultimately, you decide to just put a pop of lipgloss on and keep your face natural. He prefers you that way.

The front door shutting alerts you that he's home. A wave of panic washes over you; you hadn't even taken the tags off the lingerie yet. Hurriedly, you snap the two tiny plastic tags off as his foot steps are echo down the hall. "Honey?" He calls for you. You've barely managed to turn around once he comes through the bedroom door. His eyes meet your own and you can feel the whole room shift. The tension is thick enough to cut as he stands there, drinking your form in.

God, you love it when he looks at you like that.

The heat in your stomach curls into something needier, something stronger. You think for a second he can read your mind as Burt steps towards you, closing the gap. A hand reaches for your hip, and he pulls your body into his. He smells like cedar and bergamot, and it is intoxicating. The hip he has a hold on is seared, as if his touch is burning you from the inside out.

He leans forward, bending towards your neck. "I missed you, my love."

You can feel his breath against you, hot and labored. Small kisses are pressed along the column of your neck, which elicits a shaky sigh from your lips. Almost instinctively, your hands find themselves clutched to his nice button up.

"I missed you too, sweetheart", your words wobble, finding it difficult to keep the want out of your voice.

He squeezes where he's holding you, causing a sharp gasp to leave you. He knows exactly what he's doing, you can feel it off of him. Burt is as much of a gentleman as they come, but that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy watching you squirm a little.

"What's all this about?" He questions, bringing his other hand up to toy with the lace of the top. You thickly swallow, "It's a surprise for you".

Burt leans back upright so he can stare directly at you, a small smile etched into his features. "You said you liked me in pink..."

The words are replaced with an airy moan when he tugs gently at one of your already hard nipples through the lace, "I do like you in pink, angel. Especially like this." His voice reverberates into your bones, all the way down to the marrow of your frame.

"Daddy please... fuck- Please touch me", you whine, white knuckling his shirt. His eyes widen in surprise at the name before immediately being replaced by something darker. "Oh, baby doll, i'm going to take good, good, care of you", he replies.

In one swift motion he has you hoisted up around his waist like you weigh nothing. The bulge in his pants is pressing deliciously into your unclothed core, causing another whine to leave your mouth. Burt carries you across the room to the bed and gently sets you down, catching a glimpse of your bare cunt.

"Did my baby not put anything on under here for me?" Teasingly, he slowly drags two of his fingers over your already swollen lips, catching the wetness on his fingers. An unhinged moan echoes across the room as your head lolls to one side, mouth half open.

"I thought- Ah!" You're cut off by Burt making slow circles around your throbbing bud. "Keep talking, my love", he says with a loving smile. "I thought it would... Ah- Be easier... And you can... fuck me in the skirt", you finally manage to get out in between moans.

The calloused pads of his fingers know how to play you with precision, how to get any and every noise he wants to hear out of you. You know you sound pathetic, but he could listen to your symphony of moans all day.

Burt moves his hand away from your nub, and is met with a cry of protest from you. "Shhhh baby doll, everything's okay", he whispers, leaning down and giving you a gentle kiss.

His hand returns, this time with two fingers slowly pressing into your heat, while his thumb runs over your clit again in lazy circles. You let a high pitched moan out into his mouth, giving him the advantage to press his tongue into yours. His fingers pump into that sweet spot and you pull from his mouth.

"Oh my god, daddy... Please don't stop I'm so so so close, please," you whine, voice becoming increasingly higher in pitch. Burt's fingers become impossibly faster, letting the wet sounds fill the room along with your angelic voice.

Your hand grips his shoulder like your life depends on it, "I'm gonna cum, daddy, please let me cum, please". He ever so gently groans at the sight of you, "That's it, my love. Cum on daddy's fingers, just like that", he commands sweetly. With his approval voiced, your orgasm washes over you, hips involuntarily grinding down to meet his fingers. Burt continues to move his fingers until you twitch with overstimulation, pressing soft kisses to your neck.

His fingers leave you open, and still wanting more. "Daddy..." you whine out, gazing at him through your eyelashes. "What do you need, sweetheart?" He asks gently, bringing one hand to cup the side of your face. You lean into his touch, kissing his palm, before finishing. "I need you to fuck me", you bat your eyes at him innocently.

The heat in his eyes is still there, and you glance down long enough to see his cock is straining against his pants. Burt smiles at you before sitting you up enough to undo the ribbon clasp from the back of your top. Your breasts spill into his hands and he gently massages them. You softly moan at the contact, stomach blazing at his touch.

"I'm going to take care of you, angel. Don't worry", he whispers, leaning down to take one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth.

A groan escapes your mouth as the heat within you is reignited; a fire burning hot beneath the surface of your skin, begging to consume you. Burt moves to kiss your neck, and then your jaw - up, up, up until he places a soft and gentle kiss on your parted lips. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and you give yourself over to him in a quiet act of devotion.

Slowly, he hikes the already small skirt up to your hips, leaving you open completely. He pulls away from you to kneel before unbuckling his belt. The clinking of the metal pieces makes your entire body shiver from pure want. You watch his hands eagerly work on the button and zip of his pants until they eventually loosen around his waist, and then continue to stare, mouth salivating, waiting for him to undress further.

Burt chuckles a little at your expression, and the fact that you've been staring at him for so long. "Are you enjoying the show, pretty girl?"

The heat that floods your face is almost instantaneous, giving you enough of a reason to bring your arms to cover the blush. "J-just excited, that's all", you whisper.

You hear him shuffling beside you, but aren't brave enough to take a peek from the safety of your arms. The dip in the bed between your legs is enough to at least make you move the arm laying over your eyes. Burt sits between your legs, shirt unbuttoned, pants off, and the sight has an involuntary whine ripple through you.

He slowly pushes the head of his thick cock against your opening. "Are you alright, my love?"

You swallow the accumulated saliva in your mouth before responding. "Please more, daddy."

With that, he pushes forward, almost agonizingly slow, letting a groan echo through him. Your breath hitches at the delicious stretching, and your fingers dig into the rumpled blanket beneath you with every inch he pushes in. He stills, bottoming out completely, before pulling out slowly and pushing back in.

You swear fire is seeping through your skin. Somewhere along the lines of today you must have swallowed a live electrical wire without realizing. Your entire body crackles and burns beneath the skin, desire flowing through you like lava.

"Faster daddy, please", you cry. Burt simply smiles, eyes half lidded, before roughly snapping his hips to yours over and over again. Your back arches ever so slightly off the bed as a string of moans and whines pour from you.

Burt's hands roam across your glistening skin, squeezing and grabbing as he wants, and you let him. His left hand eventually settles on a hard grip into your hip, and his right grabs the back of your thigh, pushing it up so he can hit deeper.

He pounds into you fervently, like pleasing you is what he lives and breathes to do. "I'm going to cum again, daddy. Ohhhh my god, please don't stop", you beg.

A calloused finger rubs into your clit exactly how you like. "Just like that, angel. Just... like that", he coaxes.

Your orgasm ripples through you, forcing your eyes to roll backwards and rock against Burt's fast pace. Your cunt pulses around him, giving him enough friction to just about cum himself.

"Where does my baby doll want me?" He whispers. It takes all of three seconds for the words to register before you're wrapping your free leg around his waist.

"Inside, please daddy", you moan, still experiencing aftershocks from your own high.

You can see his eyes widen the smallest amount, before he pumps one, two, three times and stills. A low moan rumbles from him as he's spilling deep inside of you. He stays stuck like that, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth agape for another ten seconds. His hair is damp and sticking to his forehead in some places. The sight alone is almost enough to make you cum again.

He pulls away from you, chest rising and falling in quick succession while he tries to catch his breath. Finally, he opens his eyes and looks at you, spread beneath him, completely fucked out. He bends over you and kisses you with a gentleness that starkly contrasts your previous activities.

He shifts, pulling himself up off the bed before returning not even a minute later with a warm rag. The rag is gently pressed against your thighs and then your heat itself, working through all of your combined bodily fluids. Burt eventually moves and cleans himself, and then rolls back onto the bed with you.

"I love you, baby doll," he whispers, looking at you with such love and care it makes you want to cry.

"I love you too," you whisper back, a smile plastered to your face.

You both settle in together, him with his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you against his chest. The safety of Burt as a person makes you clutch onto him, and by no means is he letting go.

"What about a shower?" He asks, still in a whisper.

You nod. "A shower sounds good right about now", you punctuate with a laugh.

Burt laughs in response before getting up and taking hold of your hand, pulling you up out of bed. You stand a minute, staring at each other. The sun is just over the horizon, the rays leaking through the curtains to make his beautiful green eyes shine. One of your hands cups his cheek, which he gladly sinks into.

"I really, really, really do love you, y'know?" He smiles at you.

You return the smile and nod, "The crazy thing is, I also really love you."

You wrap your arms around his neck, and his find their way around your waist. Burt slowly sways you with him in a loving and caring embrace, then pulling away just enough to plant a soft kiss to your lips.

"Now about that shower..." He whispers

#paul dano x reader #burt fabelman x reader #burt fabelman x you #the fabelmans #reqs!

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