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jinkookspencil · 9 months

Text

til you make it | jjk

jungkook is startled when you call him in need of a favor... to play his dream role - your boyfriend - for a day...

tags/description: jk x chubby reader / fluff / friends to lovers / fake dating trope / rating: like pg13 or 15 with swear words / slow paced / it feels like one very long date :)) / this can be read as a oneshot but it ends in a way that sets up a part 2 which i will likely write but i still haven't gotten the chance to do so please bear with me / image from koomoments, i found it on goggle and edited it further

words: ~7.7k

tw+note: this fic includes fatshaming - detailed description: someone makes a comment about jk being out of oc/yn’s league and her not being good enough to date jungkook because of her size (the person says this to jk, behind oc/yn's back). oc/yn assumes people think that too, and talks to jungkook about her experiences dating as a plus-sized woman, mainly the fact that her ex was ashamed to go out with her. and in case anyone is wondering about where this fic comes from and any sensitivities regarding this fic, this is another fic that is loosely based on an experience i had myself... well, i wish this was what i had ~.~ i channeled my hurt into something comforting for myself and hopefully others. if anyone has ever been in a similar position and was fat-shamed or made to feel like they don't deserve good things because of your size, just know that you never deserved that treatment - you deserve all the good the world has to offer. lots of love always to my fellow curvy/plus/chubby people, and anyone who takes the time to read my fics <3

“Jungkook… Jungkook are you there?”

Your muffled voice echoed through his phone, thrown on the bed behind him as he searched his room frantically for his sweatpants. Talking to you on the phone wasn’t uncommon, but he jumped the moment he saw your name and when the clock on his bedside table confirmed the time. 3 AM. Later than you’d ever called. Dressing might’ve been a silly notion, but at this hour, his fight or flight response was triggered, and he couldn’t bring himself to think, let alone talk to you half-dressed. The urgency and/or intimacy of it all… frightened him.

“Yes! I’m here!” he calls out, hopping into his sweatpants before grabbing the phone and putting you up to his ear, feeling the cool glass of his screen nudged between his neck and his shoulder as he tied the strings at his stomach. “What’s up?”

“I need… a favor.”

“Anything.” He couldn’t have answered any faster. In the back of his mind, Jungkook hoped you’d called for another late-night talk, maybe one of your delirious, exhaustion-caused conversations where you’d fall asleep to his voice as he played along with whatever you’d wanted to talk about… Those were his favorites, even doing the same to you himself. Or maybe it was to inquire about one of his ramen recipes, going so far as to hope you’d ask him to come over and make it for you… In a perfect world, maybe. Well, if it were a perfect world, it’d be a confession.

A favor only made his heart race faster. Jungkook trusted his intuition in getting dressed, already walking to his front door, ready to go to you wherever you were... He already presumed you weren't drunk in a club and in need of someone to pick you up... you didn’t sound like it. The ramen recipe, perhaps? Though you sounded too anxious for it to be so. In any case, he meant his words - he’d do anything for you…

“It’s not serious, but it will take up some of your time tomorrow.”

“I said anything,” he reiterates, partly relieved.

“I’m invited to a wedding next week - my sister's best friend - and I need to get a dress. Do you mind coming to the mall with me tomorrow…”

That’s it? Jungkook joyously helped you pick out outfits, accessories, and even nail polish colors in the past, and every time he did - whether you’d asked or when he’d subtly recommended something he liked to you - his heart would flutter whenever he’d seen you actually take his advice, so he’d definitely agree, happily even…. but there had to be more to it.

“Well, I mean, of course….” he whispered quietly into the phone, his confusion apparent.

“Yeah, there’s more to it - don’t agree just yet...” In the moment of silence that followed, Jungkook silently prayed you’d ask him to go to the wedding with you. To be your plus one. Oh, what he’d give to spend the night beside you, the both of you all dolled up… Imagining the possible starlights at the scene with love in the air, he knew it’d be a great chance at finally confessing. If he chickened out, at least he’d be able to imagine what it’d be like to be your boyfriend for a night.

“Would you…. Would it be okay if you pretended to be my boyfriend?” Jungkook felt his stomach turn at the thought of the heavens answering his prayers that quickly and immediately regretted not asking for more. He almost missed what you’d said next. “If we go shopping tomorrow…. Would it be okay for you to pretend to be my boyfriend?”

“When… when we go shopping?” Jungkook choked, knowing you could hear his confusion through the phone once again.

“Yeah… You see… Most times when I go shopping… someone always has something to say about my body, and I’m kind of sick of it. ‘You won’t find anything in our store. Please leave.’ ‘I’m surprised this fits you.’ And then, just last week, I got the ‘Honey, no dress could flatter you enough that you’d be able to pull a man.’ That got me thinking, and…. I kinda suspect you, or someone, a man, being there with me might shut them up… some weird form of using the patriarchy and people’s internalized misogyny to, weirdly enough, protect my peace.”

Jungkook felt his blood boil as you went on. You, the most beautiful person he’d ever met, were being shamed… spoken to in that way…. often? People went out of their way to make you feel bad…. for having a body?

“What the fuck…”

“Yeah… I’m a bit embarrassed, actually… Should we forget it? Pretend I never asked. If it’s too much, I could just go alone - if I experience it, I experience it. I’m used to it. I just want to… try this as an experiment.”

“Don’t ever feel embarrassed. You don’t have to be. I feel embarrassed for not… for not knowing... I’m so fucking sorry you… ever had to go through that.” He’d felt a pang in his heart as the words left his mouth. An idiot was what he thought he was. It was something he’d never spared a thought about - how people, how you, could be mistreated in everyday life for simply existing as you were….

“No, don’t be sorry, Jungkook. It is what it is.”

It is what it is? It shouldn’t be, he thought.

“Of course I’ll be there, ____. Of course, I’ll be your boyfriend.” He told you he’d do anything for you, and he meant it - he needed you to know that - and this was the very least he could do. “And hey, for the record, I’ll never let that ever happen to you again, you hear me? You just call me, okay? Anytime. I’ll do whatever I can. You’re not going through this shit again, okay? I'm your boyfriend whenever you want me to be... ”

Did you take the hint?

“Thanks, Jungkook,” you say, with an exhale and a slight giggle that gives away that you’d been choked up, the final nail in the coffin for Jungkook’s composure…

It wasn't the right time to confess, he knew that, but an ‘I love you’ still rested at the tip of his tongue. Friends loved each other... 'I love you' was always a comforting thing to hear... would it be so awkward now? You both have told each other variations of the saying in the past - from ‘love ya’s’ to random finger hearts in crowded rooms- but never the exact phrase. It held too much weight - the weight of the confession that, similarly, he’d been dying to relay…. but he reminded himself... it wasn't the right time.

“I told you… anything”

“I’ll see you tomorrow… boyfriend.”

✿

“Hi… girlfriend.”

Jungkook didn’t even try to hide the smile on his face. It’d hopefully overshadow the bags under his eyes… He’d been up for hours after your call - pressure, joy, anger, and pain overwhelming him all at once as he imagined what you might’ve gone through before, what undeserving, cruel words you’d heard from people too blind to see the sheer beauty before them. It hurt him even more that you felt embarrassed about asking him for help. You never should’ve been embarrassed about a damn thing. If anything had been embarrassing at the situation, it was the time he’d spent in front of his mirror, rehearsing vague, angry threats and snide comments he might have had to make, tapping out after a cringey “that’s my girlfriend” line.

Jungkook was never one to insult and intimidate others so purposefully, his enigmatic baby villain-like exterior always doing the work instead. It'd work whether they saw him as the lovestruck, caring sweetheart he was or the tough, protective boyfriend he could also be... but he knew the tattoos, piercings, and his physique probably aided him with the latter option, with Jungkook himself assuming it was the reason you'd asked him specifically to help out, especially over Taehyung, your mutual friend who also happened to be an actor... And busy on a late-night shoot, Tae left him helpless. He could not prepare any speech or insult to save his life, stuck between how to go about his dream role. You'd trusted him, and Jungkook decided he had no choice but to trust himself too. Whatever he emulated was up to the other person, and whatever came out of him would be the truth he’d been feeling at the moment. Whether he leaned into either side - either knowingly or unknowingly - all of it was still him, and specifically him as a boyfriend... That killed the nerves more than anything and allowed him to focus on the silver lining. He’d gotten the role he’d always wanted, and though there could have been better contexts, you looked as beautiful as ever in your flowy sundress… even as you did roll your eyes.

“Boyfriend,” you greeted him jokingly, smiling too before looking at him up and down. “What do you have going on today, Koo? I can't tell if you just came from the gym or not.”

Jungkook shakes his head in response, a proud, bunny-toothed smirk on his face. After ransacking his entire wardrobe that morning, he paired his go-to ripped jeans with a Nike muscle tee, clutching his motorcycle jacket in his hand. It wasn’t like him to wear sleeveless tops outside of the gym, still shy to show off the muscles he’d worked so hard for, as well as the tattoos he’d designed himself…. but provided he was there to intimidate others - and hopefully impress you - he had no doubts about showing them off and his mish-mash of an outfit. “This is just in case anyone even thought about saying anything to you today,” he added, flexing his muscles before spreading his arms wide open. “Come here.”

It didn’t pass Jungkook’s eye that you’d hesitated to step into his arms, but when you do, he finds himself inhaling deeply - your scent, but more so the feeling of you. With you in his arms, everything fell into place, as it always had with you.

“I’ve always got you. I have your back, you know that right?” he whispered into your neck, digging his fingertips as hard as he could into your soft, plush skin, hoping it’d emphasize his promise when he noted how your heartbeat hadn’t slowed as it always did when you hugged.

You hadn’t said a word the entire time, even as you pulled away and glanced up at him - ever so briefly. He'd have waited until you said something first, but he’d always read your face with ease, and the panic he sensed emanating from you only agonized him further. Once again, he tries to push away the scenarios you must’ve gone through.

He murmurs your name, sparking your attention. Remembering his role for the evening, Jungkook allowed himself to follow an urge he’d always resisted, brushing a stray hair away from your face, cupping your round chin in his hands. It felt too good - a taste of his forbidden imagined scenarios and the person he'd always dreamt of.

“Always, okay? I won’t allow my girlfriend to go through this,” he said, forcing himself to emphasize the title he wanted to give you in a teasing way. Again, you roll your eyes and push his hand away.

“We’re just testing a theory, Koo,” you say, starting to walk with him alongside you. “Don’t… get too into it.”

“Are you kidding? The acting classes I took years ago are finally coming in handy. This is good practice,” he said, wishing he could just tell you that he likely wouldn’t be acting at all - merely doing all the things he wished he could do on a regular basis. He kicked it off by grabbing your wrist, intertwining your fingers into his.

Jungkook had been so cool, so collected until this moment. It was only until he actually did it that Jungkook realized that hand-holding was expected, and he cursed himself for not spending more time prepping himself in front of the mirror. It was such a simple act, what he always wanted to do.... and so it drove him crazier than the hug. You’d hugged in the past, as friends do, but never held hands... not like this, at least. Taehyung had urged him to try doing so in the past, to ‘gauge your response,’ but he’d always been too much of a coward to do anything besides ask for high-fives and offer his elbow for you to hold when he walked you home. You were braver, taking his hand and tracing his tattoos whenever your talks went a little too deep or needed a distraction…. just as you did now, with your finger rubbing the skin below his thumb... Still, this felt different for the both of you.

Jungkook bit at his lips, trying to hold back….something. He himself wasn’t even sure if it was a smile or a squeal, but he soon remembered the point of his presence. The favor. A boyfriend - he, as a boyfriend - would never be able to keep his eyes off of his loved one. So, he’d allowed himself to steal glances your way, noting every single time how low you’d kept your head as you walked.

"Hey," he says, stopping.

"What?"

"Nothing," he smiles, taking in your expression and the way the sunlight beautifully shone on your face. "I just wanted to look at you."

"Okay, Bradley Cooper in A Star is Born," you chuckle, nudging him to continue your walk. "You need to watch more movies."

"And you need to know that you look really pretty today. You do know you're pretty, right?"

"Oh, shut up, Koo... I know."

Jungkook didn't know if you believed him or if you were serious or not, but he knew damn well that he was... Perhaps he was overdoing it already, but remembering how quickly his prayers had been answered just the night before, he held out hope that the universe still had his back, silently praying you’d soon realize see how good of a “fake” boyfriend he was and asked him to be your real one.

“This is the main store I wanted to visit, Koo,” you say, stopping in front of a modern gold and beige storefront on the busy high street. Suddenly, he felt an emptiness in his hand and at his side when you let go to reach out and pull open the glass door. Already half open, he forcefully tugs the brass handle as far back as he could, holding the door open for you to walk in first.

“I’m your boyfriend, remember? Let me do it,” he whispers by your ears and into the stony silence of the cool room.

Looking around, Jungkook quickly saw plenty of dresses that’d look great on you. It was overwhelming at first glance, but the one you pulled out from a nearby rack trumped them all. A blush, floor-length tulle dress, with tiny embroidered daisies scattered all over the fabric, including the translucent balloon sleeves and an off-shoulder neckline. It was almost as beautiful as you were.

“I knew they had this in stock! What do you think?” you smile, putting it up against your body. For the first time that day, Jungkook’s mind went blank - he was suddenly grateful you hadn’t asked him to accompany you to the wedding. It’d be too much to see you in it.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, holding the fabric between his index and thumb, tracing over a tiny daisy.

“Right? I’ll go try it on. Wait here, okay?” you say, moving to leave but quickly returning to place a swift kiss on his cheek.

Jungkook was so taken aback he did nothing even long after he’d seen you approach the sales assistant in the back and disappear into a dressing room.

“You can sit over here,” said the woman, who now returned and pointed at the arrangement of chairs a few steps away.

“Thanks,” he whispered, only now realizing his hand had been on his cheek, tracing the ghost of your kiss. You’d kissed his cheek. He’d been happily playing the role of the boyfriend the entire time, he hadn’t realized you hadn’t done much to play the role of ‘the girlfriend’ in return. But you did it. You kissed him. You wanted to, at least in that moment…

Jungkook tried not to linger on the thought any longer, knowing it’d feed his delusions. Pulling out his phone as he plopped onto the velvet seat, he loaded up the mobile game he’d been struggling with, and it was a few minutes later when he realized someone had been calling him.

“Sorry?” Jungkook asked, looking up to see the sales assistant leaning on the couch opposite him.

“I said ‘Hey,’” she repeats.

“Hey…” he responds, perplexed until he realizes you might've been calling him. “Is she okay in there? Does she need me?”

“Uhm, I don't think so,” she replies, seemingly just as confused as he was. “But… I was wondering… what’s her deal?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is she rich or something?”

“What?”

“I mean, what’s the catch, exactly? Why are you with her?”

“Because I love her? There's no catch.” It was freeing to say the words so openly, Jungkook thought - they’d left his lips without a thought. Still, what's it to her?

“Oh, come on,” she went on, rolling her eyes. “You know you’re out of her league. Just keep her for 'her kind' and the fetish freaks on the Internet, you know? You’re too hot to-“

In utter disbelief and refusing to hear another word, Jungkook stood up and made a beeline for the dressing room, his long strides and huffs echoing throughout the store in response.

“Hey, babe - need any help with the dress?” he asks a little too loudly, knocking on the dressing room door in the same fashion.

“....Yeah, actually. Can you get the woman that works here?” you say on the other side.

“No. Let me in.”

“Jungkook, just call her.”

“Let me in. I’m your boyfriend,” he emphasizes. “Let your boyfriend help.”

“…This dress is supposed to be a surprise, honey,” you reply.

“Babe, I already saw the dress,” he half-chuckles, almost forgetting his anger. You were clever as hell but never thought of the wittiest comebacks - it was endearing.

Jungkook rushed through the moment you pried open the wooden door, turning the metal lock behind him. Still lost in his thoughts, he mindlessly zips up your dress before stomping to the room’s bench, sitting upon it with his head in his hands.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he lies, feeling just how furrowed his brows had been as he stared at the floor.

“You don’t seem like it. Why’d you insist on coming in here?” you say by the mirror a few footsteps away.

“.....Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit, this was uncool. I just wanted to get out of there. The… uh… scents on their diffuser were too much. My nose acted up... started sneezing.” It was hard to lie to you. He’d rushed over because he always had, for you were his safe space even now, but it surely was to prove something too. His eyes darted around the cramped dressing room, trying to look anywhere but you... he was too ashamed. “I'm so sorry, ____. This was my first thought. I didn’t even think that you were obviously getting dressed. Should I leave?”

“Koo, honey, relax. I don't know what's up, but... I don't think I want you to leave," you softly whisper.

Pink obstructed his vision, the spot on the carpet he'd been so focused on. Daisies made him snap out of his rage. And the hand on his knee interrupted the voice in his head that’d been on a tirade on the injustices of the world. But looking up at you, the world suddenly seemed so beautiful - you were in it.

“I'd never leave, then,” he says with a smile. “I’m fine.”

The reassurance was enough for you to get up from your crouched position by his legs and return to the mirror.

“We both know you can't lie, so I need you to tell me how I look in this dress. My curves stick out a little more than I’d like, and I don’t know how I feel about the whole arm situation. But I think I’ll get it. Nice, huh?”

“Nice." Repeating your description was the only thing he could do, unable to think of anything else to say. You were covered in flowers, yet here you stood, prettier than every single flower he’d seen in his entire life, let alone the ones on your dress. The dress did cling to your body at certain angles, and that’s what made it even all the more alluring. He had no idea what you’d meant by 'the whole arm situation' - the skin he’d always wanted to bite on was even more tempting through the translucent fabric… and with your shoulders out... it was a sight too good to be true. A wave of envy rushed over him, thinking of all the wedding guests that'd see you in the dress for hours while he only got a glimpse... They had no idea just how damn lucky they were, but Jungkook knew that he was as well, grateful for this very moment and trying to take a photographic memory of how you looked, twirling so alluringly in the room with him alone.

“Beautiful, actually,” he quickly adds.

"Good. If your nitpicky Virgo ass thinks it's a beautiful dress, then that means it really is pretty,” you say, satisfied.

It wasn't the dress that was so beautiful...

He opens his mouth to correct you, but nothing comes out, and you speak before he does. “Uhm, help me with the zipper again?”

Jungkook’s anger had blinded him when he’d zipped it up - the intimacy of the moment only just sinking in when he stood behind you, facing the back of your neck and shoulders. He was unzipping your dress - granted, not in the context he’d always imagined, but he couldn’t help but do it at the speed he’d always wanted to… slow and steady. What felt like an eternity later, just a few centimeters from the top of the dress, Jungkook sees lace peeking through. Abruptly letting go of the metal in his hands, Jungkook inhales, trying to shove away the image, but it must’ve been the hardest thing he’d ever tried to do. He never imagined you were the type to wear a strapless, lacy maroon bra. He didn’t even think bras came in that color. The rare times he dared to take his imagination that far, only for fleeting moments, he’d mentally dress you up in pink or black… Maroon was, somehow, sexier. This... this was too good to be true.

But Jungkook, always so detail-oriented, quickly spots a tiny piece of metal at your waist. Another zipper. Did he zip that one up as well? His fingers pull the zipper down, only for your hand to cover his, stopping him.

*“*Thank you, Koo... I got it from here,” you say with a hush.

"I'm sorry," he says in a similar fashion, stepping away.

"Don't be. But, uhm... I’ll get dressed. You don’t have to leave, but… can you... look away?”

“Of course,” Jungkook panics, turning around to face the abstract art on the wall. He tried his hardest to make sense of the colorful shapes in front of him, but all he could take in were the sounds behind him. Soft fabric, falling onto the carpeted floor. The brushing of bare feet… bare thighs. Fabrics, zippers, a clanky hanger…. He reckoned that if he tried hard enough, he might’ve been able to hear the humming of a radiator that must’ve been hidden behind these walls - he could certainly feel the heat, wiping away a bead of sweat. Another zipper. Probably the actual source of all the heat.

“Done, Koo,” he hears softly from behind him.

With a blink, Jungkook realized the shapes in front of him clearly made up a cityscape.

“Koo,” you call again, and he finally turns around to face you, hoping his face hadn’t been as flushed as yours was. You’d been changing - what excuse did he have? The giggle you let out confirms his suspicions, which he tried to cough away... until he gets an idea.

"Oh, hey, wear this," Jungkook says, handing you his leather jacket.

"W-why would I?" you ask.

Because I always wanted you to wear my clothes, I finally have an excuse to ask you to do so, and this will drive me and everyone else crazy, Jungkook thinks.

"It's cold outside," he utters.

"Jungkook, it's almost summer... why else would I be wearing a sundress?"

"It can get breezy! And hey, you want my opinion on fashion? Your outfit will look better with this on." Not exactly what he wanted to say.... "You know... sundress and leather jacket? Pretty and tough... Juxtaposition... It's a thing. It's... what couples do."

"I don't know if it'll fit, Koo," you say quietly, staring at the piece of clothing in his hands.

"Drape it over your shoulders, then," he says, doing it himself. He guessed that it would have fit you but didn't insist on it then and there - even if it hadn't, he'd always find ways to make you feel loved as his girlfriend... And you looked adorable in his jacket.

"Looks even better this way, actually..." you murmur, brushing away the hair from your face, clearly flustered. It gives Jungkook the exact rush and confidence he needs. He unlocks the door, taking your hand as he walks out of the dressing room together - more than ready to nail his dream role once again.

“It was a perfect fit - I’ll buy this for sure,” you say to the sales assistant with a smile, placing the dress on the marble counter. Jungkook could feel you try to let go of his hand, but he wouldn’t budge and only held on tighter - he’d let you struggle with your purse one-handedly if it meant he was holding your hand.

It only helped him reach for his wallet with his free hand quicker, handing the woman his black card after she’d announced the price.

“Jungkook, no,” you whispered, hand deep in your purse, the other still trapped by his grasp.

“Baby, it’s only fair that I pay,” he starts, in a low, hushed tone just loud enough to be heard as he takes in your quizzical expression with a smirk on his face. “…Since I’ll be ripping it off of you later.”

Jungkook can't help but chuckle, seeing you go catatonic beside him after letting out a comically loud gulp in response. He doesn’t need to look at the sales assistant’s face to know she’d been startled as well, almost forgetting to hand him the receipt. Putting away his card and wallet single-handedly, Jungkook quickly looks back at you when he realizes your hand has turned limp in his. He’d only ever seen you so petrified when he’d suggested you watch a horror film together, in the hopes of you curling up in his arms - but he’d always stupidly ruin the moment with a laugh seeing your frozen state and wide eyes, just like now…

“I love seeing my girl all flustered. You looked so beautiful in it, honey... Just wait til Sunday,” he laughs with a wink, wrapping an arm around you to pull your body closer to his and finally place a kiss on your head. He didn’t even know if the wedding was on a Sunday - if the lie fits… “Excuse me, do you know if there are any lingerie stores nearby? A place they’d sell something that suits the dress? I’m not done treating her - well, the both of us, really….”

“There’s a place two blocks down,” the woman says with her face flushed, and Jungkook yanks the bag into his hands the moment he is able to do so.

“Thanks,” you whisper, seemingly to both him and the woman. Reaching for your hand once again, Jungkook intertwines your fingers in his, occupying both of his hands and awkwardly following you out.

The two of you walk side by side in silence, replaying the moment until the store is out of sight and Jungkook finally realizes the gravity of what he’d said.

“____... Sorry about… what I said back there. I really didn't mean to be disrespectful... I should’ve checked in with you first before just saying that shit. It was just where my mind went to, and...Wait… Fuck.. please don’t think I had those thoughts when-”

“You didn’t?”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t have those thoughts?”

Jungkook could so easily read your face most times, but this wasn’t one of them. Did you want him to have those thoughts about you? Should he lie? Were you just playing the role of the girlfriend, even now? Should he answer as the boyfriend or just Jungkook or…

“Relax, Koo. It was just unexpected… a little jerky, if it wasn’t you or if I hadn’t asked you to pretend… I thought the maroon suits the dress, though,” you pout.

“It does!” Jungkook blurts. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Jungkook. That was actually nice,” you reassure him with a squeeze on his arm, interrupting his train of thought.

“Nice?”

“Yeah… this is all…. this is very nice,” you hum, tugging at his leather jacket on your shoulders before wrapping your hands around his arm.

Was it really happening?

“I know you’re just faking it, but… it feels good to be treated this way. To have a boy… treat me like this… publicly.”

“Publicly? What do you mean?” he asks, ignoring the urge to deny he’d been faking anything. “You had boyfriends before, no? What about your ex? Mr. Organic Shoes?” Jungkook could never remember the guy's name, remembering how distant the two of you had been at that time.

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “No… no, he never… he never did this. He convinced me I wanted a too-private relationship - you remember, I barely told anyone anything… I barely saw you or Tae... anyone. We barely went out, not for our anniversary, not to events, dinners….. nothing. The rare times we did, he’d never even hold my hand. I went along with it, figured that was his dating style and that he was just that shy, but - surprise, surprise - he goes everywhere with his new actress girlfriend, as proven by me drunkenly Insta-stalking him the other night. I like nights in more than anyone, but it was clear he just wanted me in private. In the breakup, he actually admitted he’d be ashamed to go out with me. It was that messy.”

“What the fuck does that idiot have to be ashamed about?” Jungkook fumed, even more so when you laugh in response.

“This isn’t a fucking joke, ____….. Fuck that guy, honestly,” Jungkook spits out, surveying the area he stood in and considering if it was possible to somehow track the asshole down and beat him up then and there, but with you still latched onto him so tightly…. he wouldn’t leave for anything. “You were always way too good for him, for anyone… I wish I’d told you sooner.”

“Thanks, Koo,” you whisper, hiding your face against his arm for a fraction of a second. He didn’t have the guts to face you at that moment either, knowing he’d kiss you all over just to show you how loudly and publicly you deserved to be loved if that's what you wanted.

“Thanks for today, too. My theory seems to be correct… I wasn't fat-shamed, so ‘yay’ to being treated with basic human decency. But that means you'll likely have to join me again in the future. Congratulations, Koo - you're one-off acting gig turned into a regular role in the _____ Cinematic Universe. What favor do you want in return? What’s your price, Jeon?”

“Oh, I'm never letting you shop without me ever again. See how good my leather jacket is on you? Forget being a boyfriend, my fashion advice is like no other. No... no, this is a Marvel contract now. I'm in this for life... but we agree this isn’t a one-off cameo? Spider-Kook is the star of this universe, alongside you? Just the two of us?"

"What, do you want me to get another guy to pretend to be my boyfriend?"

Fuck no. Jungkook shakes his head.

"I’m still your boyfriend for the day, aren’t I?"

".. What did you have in mind?"

“....I wanna show you something.”

✿

Nagging usually works on Jungkook. Well, nagging was a bit of an exaggeration - he caved in quickly when it came to your requests, seemingly forgetting his sheer signature willpower. But now, even you would admit that you’d been unrelenting… you couldn’t help it. Jungkook had been very vague about ‘what he wanted to show you,' the favor you'd pay in return for his current and future fake boyfriend gigs. But he wouldn't budge, even going so far as to finally resign with a smile and tell you to ‘just shut up and let him lead.’ Jungkook had always been down to do whatever you wanted to do - a true highlight in your friendship - but now, your heart fluttered at him taking the lead…. and even more so when he took you by the hand and excitedly, physically led you to all the places he did… his hand never leaving yours.

First, he took you to a bookstore - nailing the part of the perfect boyfriend with that choice alone, then taking it further when he went on to say he’d treat you to two books - one of your own choosing, the other of his. Something straight out of a romance book, as your day had been thus far.... and Jungkook must've caught on. Of all the books in all the aisles, he had to pick out “Fake It Til You Make It” - the fake dating romance book that inspired all this, only the roles were reversed… In truth, you could’ve easily asked Taehyung to pretend to be your boyfriend and help test out your experiment instead - the two of you were friends as well, and though your relationship was strictly platonic, Tae was an actual actor… But you had to jump at the chance that there might be a teeny, tiny possibility that life imitates fiction and your crush would see you in a new light. And if he hadn’t ended up thinking that dating you might not be too bad of an option… at least you’d get a day of what you’d always longed for. It was a risk. You’d never been able to hide your emotions and already got teary-eyed a number of times, seeing Jungkook act as noble as he’d always been… even better than the perfect boyfriend you’d imagined him to be. It was getting harder and harder to muster up the courage to ask him to accompany you to the wedding as well…

The second place Jungkook led you to was a photo booth studio. He spent way too much money on many different takes and overpriced photo strips, trying different decorations, poses, and photo options. If his arm around your shoulder weren’t holding onto you so firmly, you’d have bolted when he’d insisted on taking a ‘couples version,’ as if the rest weren’t torturously coupley enough. He must have found you out, and it was getting embarrassing.

“I guess…. To back up this lie,” you’d said sheepishly, trying to remind yourself of the situation.

“Sit on my lap and sit still,” he’d instructed, helping you onto his lap and wrapping his arms tightly around you.

Looking off to the side, you couldn’t tell what Jungkook did for the first photo - probably a funny face. For the second, he turned your face to his with his fingers underneath your chin, and you heard the camera click. His features seemed softer, a twinkle present in his eyes… you’d missed the countdown once again, and suddenly Jungkook’s lips were on your cheek, your face held in his hand. He let out a loud mwah you could still feel against your skin after he backed away.

“You kissed my cheek earlier, so…” he quickly mumbled.

A stinging feeling hadn’t left your face. It was hard to say whether it was the lingering feeling of Jungkook’s lips or its effect, the smile you couldn’t stop from appearing on your face.

“Here,” Jungkook whispers, handing you one of the two duplicate photo-strips.

Oh… he was looking at me in that first photo. Why do we look so in love? Holy shit, is he a good actor. Oh hey, how did I not realize he’d also been smiling when he kissed my cheek?

“Put it on the back of your phone,” you hear.

“To back up the lie,” he says, repeating your own words when you finally look at him through your lashes, catching him slip his copy into his wallet as you did into your phone case. Before you were able to process what he’d just done and the photos staring back at you, he wrapped his around your wrist, pulling you out of the tight space.

It was still hard to tell what Jungkook had wanted to show you…. More glimpses of something you could never have, perhaps…

✿

Jungkook was running out of time. He wanted to do so much more for you. He’d imagined taking you out on so many different types of dates and crammed in as many as he could with the time he had left in the day, the possibly pivotal hours that he hoped would awaken something in you.

It was hard not to get carried away, as he always had a tendency to... He’d begun speculating that he actually was in a dream in the bookstore when he found the novel with a story eerily similar to his exact predicament. Ever the believer in fate, Jungkook took it as a sign that he was doing the right thing…. and if all that he was doing couldn’t wake you up, surely the book would... Then at the photobooth… Jungkook could have sworn you’d felt like a real couple then - you’d just been goofing around together, as you always had…. In such a cramped space filled with laughter and love, he’d finally mustered up the courage to kiss you back. He could have sworn he’d seen you smile so wide after that, and that made him happier than the kiss did. Maybe he had a shot....

The third stop was a quick run to the grocery store, which he knew would confuse you most of all. He mindlessly grabbed both of your favorite snacks and drinks in a rush before dashing out, thanking the heavens that he'd made it exactly where he wanted to be, right on time after that.

The park, before sunset.

As expected, the place was packed with couples, families, and friend groups all gathered around and enjoying golden hour. The cool sun shined through marshmallow-like clouds high in the warmly-hued sky. Laughter, music, and joy could be heard all around you - the sounds of happiness, home, and peace.

A perfect spring day.

A perfect opportunity.

Once you'd set up camp and his impromptu picnic, Jungkook leaned back and silently motioned to you to lean against his chest. You do so, cuddling right against him and making Jungkook feel so whole. He'd urged you to read the book he picked out, but you settled on the second one and suggested he give the other a go himself. Jungkook was never a reader, and he would read if you'd asked him to do so sincerely... but he put the book down five pages in. Why would he read a book, especially one that you needed, when he could bask in the beauty of his reality right there in that very moment?

Only thinking this far, Jungkook didn't know what to do after this, but he knew one thing: he’d never felt more alive nor more at peace.

"It's beautiful, Koo."

Jungkook opens his eyes, after closing them briefly as he took in the moment to see you staring up at the orange-pink sky.

"Yeah, it is. You're prettier, though," he says.

"Thanks, boyfriend," you scoff. "Thanks for showing me this... Thank you for the favor. Thank you for everything, Koo. I have to say that again.”

"The sky isn't exactly what I wanted to show you today, _____."

"Oh? Well, what is it?"

“Look at me, _____.”

Startled by his sudden command, you sit up to face him. He couldn’t say what he needed to say without seeing, knowing you believed him… Your eyes always told the truth.

“All of it... All of this... This day was what I wanted to show you. I wanted to show you… the kind of love you deserve. The kind of boyfriend you deserve. Actually, no - this isn’t even half of what you deserve. This is just the shit I could think of on the spot on a Monday afternoon. You deserve so much more, _____. I want to show that to you. I want to… I want you to know that. You don’t need to thank me for anything. The favor wasn’t even a favor. You deserve to have someone do that for you, no questions asked. I said ‘always,’ didn’t I? You deserve to go on dates, a boyfriend who loves you loudly and proudly.”

When your ears perked up, Jungkook knew you were listening. Really listening. But the tears on your face interrupted his train of thought. He needed to do something.

“Here,” he starts, clearing his throat as he stands up. “I LOVE HER, WORLD - I LOVE MY GIRLFRIEND! I AM IN LOVE WITH HER!” Jungkook’s voice echoed loud enough for every surrounding person to turn to him after his very loud declaration towards the sun.

“Jungkook!” you quietly protest, pulling him back down with a shocked smile on your face.

“I don’t know if you want exactly that….” he says, a proud, bashful smile still on his face as he reaches for your hand. “But you deserve it, regardless. Even if it’s not with me…. That’s what I wanted to show you. I wanted to show the love you deserve.”

Jungkook thanked the heavens for having his back once again. He'd imagined confessing a million different ways, but he'd never have imagined for it to go so smoothly and in such a spontaneously romantic setting. For such an important moment, he was thankful he could read you like a book once again. You took in every word, and your eyes began to water. This was it.

“Even if it’s not with you?”

Wait... what?! What did he say?! What did you say?!

"_____?”

Jungkook had been just as startled as you’d been at the calling of your name. It came from a woman who’d been sitting behind you, someone he had noticed earlier who had been clearly listening in on his confession, even smiling widely with the man beside her when he jumped up and declared his love so loudly. She… knew you?

"Rina?” you say, the shock you’d already been in still present on your face. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s our last date night before the wedding! Picnic in the park - a classic, isn't it? You would know, boo! You have a boyfriend! You're doing the same!”

You turn, mouth agape, to face Jungkook. “Oh, we’re….”

“Oh, don’t bother denying it. We all heard loverboy’s declaration - straight out of a 1980s film. I love it! I won't tell your sister if you don't want me too,” she cheers, smiling at Jungkook. “Oh wait, you aren’t even hiding it, are you? Look at your phone case!”

The photos of you in his arms, him kissing your cheek, were displayed right there through your crystal clear phone case on your lap. Behind his now bashful smile, Jungkook felt a thrill at the exposure.

“Oh, don’t be so shy now, you two,” the man speaks now. “You reminded us of ourselves.”

“____! He's just your type! What’s your name, cutie?” the woman, Rina, asks.

“Oh, it’s Jungkook.”

"Jungkook, I'm Rina. I'm friends with _____ and her sister! I assume you're coming to our wedding next week? _____ must have told you about it already. As long as you’re _____’s boyfriend, you’re welcome. Jae & I are going all out and want as many people there as possible!”

Jungkook had no idea what he must've done in his life, or a past one, for the universe to have his back like this. It’s exactly what he’d wanted… except it didn’t come from you. With all eyes on him, his dart to you, relieved and euphoric to see you smile and nod.

“I, I, I’d love to…"

“Great! I guess we’ll see you then, loverboy. Bye, my love,” Rina says, turning back to give you a hug. “I know me and your sister are the ones who taught you not to hear anything a man has to say but…. He’s a good one. Keep him. Listen to Jungkook, huh?”

Jae leads Rina away, the two of them waving goodbye and turning back until they are out of sight. But Jungkook can’t face you yet. He confessed…. didn’t he? He knew you were listening, but it still felt as though his words remained in the air, unfinished. Did you finally get it? Rina did. The whole damn park did. At least he’d gotten what he wanted. One more gig… One more gig to perfect it.

“I guess you’re my date…. loverboy.”

#jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook scenario #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts scenarios #bts scenario #jungkook x reader #bts

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davosmymaster · 2 years

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Triggers

A/N - This should also be warning: this fic is purely self-indulgent. I’ve written some of my own personal experiences in it as both a plus-size person and what people call “a late bloomer”. I try to give as little (and general) physical descriptions as I can for the reader, so you can read it however you like and this is not specifically a plus size!reader or anything. I think many people will identify with the reader in this, but if you think it can bother you please do not read. There are no talks of body image or eating (as you can check in the warnings). I had to give names to some original characters, though, because I don’t personally like the (yourfriend’sname) thingy.

Basically, I just had this idea and had to write it. Here it is. Hope you enjoy. (If you see a typo or something doesn’t make sense, remember English is not my first language no you didn’t)

TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, oral sex, p in v, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, safewords (mentioned), dom/sub dynamics (kind of), spit kink, cunnilingus, light bdsm (i think), hurt/comfort, bullying (mentioned), fighting with friends.

PAIRINGS - Jake Lockley x fem!reader

WORD COUNT - 6.4k

SUMMARY - At the wedding of one of your high school best friends, you're asked about your singleness. You snap back, revealing some painful truths. Six months later, Jake Lockley disagrees with every word you said, and makes a personal commitment to let you know how wrong you are, every day, for as long as he breathes.

TRIGGERS

One of your friends is getting married.

You're happy for them, really, you are. They are a lovely couple. She's very much in love with him, and it's obvious by the way that he's looking at her when he says "I do" that he loves her just as much. They've been dating for five years now, and engaged for two of them.

So why do you feel that constant ache in your chest?

Your invitation said to bring a plus one, but you don't have a partner and all your closest friends, both men and women, were already invited to the wedding. They have all brought a companion, either their significant other —most of them— or someone they are already dating but not quite. You can't help but frown at that last group, you are not sure you could cope with the instability of not knowing if you can make plans for the future with the person you love in case they decide to leave you tomorrow. No strings attached because, hey, you two were nothing.

But you're no one to judge, not like you're doing it either way. And even if you did, they'd probably laugh it off because you've never dated anyone, and it'd be just a further embarrassment for your persona.

In the end, you're the only one who's actually single at the celebration. You had hoped the groom brought some single friends of his. Not like you wanted to flirt with them, it was more a matter of not feeling like a weirdo; but the closest to being single you can find there is a man in his late twenties who's already filling up divorce papers, according to your friends. And that fact only makes you feel worse about yourself. He didn't come alone either, after all.

There's one friend of yours, her name is Ava. She broke up with her boyfriend of four years like two months ago; so you sort of expected her to be in your very same situation. It wasn't a clean breakup. But she also came with someone and your eyebrows shoot up to the sky when you see her new girlfriend.

"Who is that?" you ask another of your high school friends.

"I think her name is Lottie," Olivia replies. "They're not official yet, though. But they've been seeing each other and she looks quite happy."

You hum in response, wondering how on Earth people move on so quickly; especially after a four-year hiatus from the dating world.

"I'm going to the bathroom," she announces, gently stroking her fiancé's arm before leaving the table. Her high heels dig circles on the green grass as she walks. The sun is unusually bright for a spring day in Surrey, and you hope your foundation doesn't melt before the pictures are taken. "Wanna come?" she asks.

You nod and follow her inside.

The first thing she does once she gets in is checking no one's inside. You had already thought that maybe she wanted to talk somewhere private. After all, you've known her for many years now and she's one of your best friends. You lock the door.

"I just think it's impressive how quickly she moved on, to be honest," you say, because you can sense that's exactly what she intended to talk about. "Of course, I'm happy for her-"

"What else did you expect her to do? Cry for two months?" she chuckles, although her tone is not necessarily friendly. She checks her makeup in the mirror and reapplies some of it. Yours is intact, and thank lord it is because you didn't even bring a lipstick. "You know, people don't usually waste time."

You look at yourself in the mirror, wondering for a second if you heard correctly.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

She sighs audibly and puts her lipstick in her purse. Now she takes some compact powder and gently presses it into her skin. You might ask for it later. Not if the conversation goes in the direction you think it's going.

"I'm just saying that, well- it's time to start your dating life, don't you think?" she says. "I mean, I don't want to be rude, and we've talked about this before. But we're not teenagers anymore, and you've never had half the experiences most of us had in our teenage years."

Her words throw you off balance. She's maybe partially right, and she's touching on a subject that you're too sensitive about. She did say she didn't want to be rude, though. And she's been your friend for a while now, so you don't want to get upset right away.

"I've had no luck," you say, leaning back on the sink and crossing your arms, not without making sure it is dry first.

"See, that's where you're wrong," she says, pointing at you with an accusatory finger. "You're waiting for your knight in shining armour, just waiting. You don't flirt with guys, don't go to pubs-"

"I do go to pubs, sometimes."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Once in a blue moon," she says, and you shrug your shoulders. It's not like you're the kind of person to go to pubs every weekend, but you wouldn't say you go 'once in a blue moon', you just have other hobbies than spending every single Saturday and Sunday of your life being hangover, but you do like partying. Plus, it's not like the guys who go there are waiting to put a ring on your finger. "What I'm saying is- you can't expect Mr Right to just appear out of nowhere, and obviously you can't have extremely high standards-"

"So I should settle with the first person that comes my way. Is that what you're saying?"

She chuckles under her breath, obviously annoyed.

"I'm not saying that, but maybe you should not tell them to fuck off when said guy tries to hang out with you."

You know exactly what she's talking about, and your blood boils. Not long ago she gave your number to one of her fiancè's friends. So it did take you by surprise when this man you didn't know sent you a text. He was nice at the beginning, which was the first two days that he texted you non-stop. He got upset for late-replying even when you told him you were busy, working, which was not a lie. Then he texted you at midnight, asking if you wanted to attend some party, and when you refused because of how late it was, he said.

"What are you? Cinderella? You have to be home at twelve?"

He obviously just wanted you for one thing. There's no decent man who asks for a first date at midnight, and even if you wanted to keep it casual, you wouldn't have accepted just because of the way he spoke to you.

"Did you even listen when I told you what he did?" you ask her.

"Yes, and I don't see why you didn't go, honestly," she answers. "You could have had a good time, danced a bit and talked to him. Get to know each other."

"At midnight, half-drunk."

"Yes," she almost shouts. "He could've had different intentions, but you'll never know- No, let me talk," she says, once you try to interrupt. So you reluctantly let her speak. "You can't reject everyone from the start, because no one is up to your standards, and then cry because you've never had a relationship before. Even in high school we were all flirting with guys while you stayed in the corner. Don't you think it's time to grow up?"

By the time she's done, your jaw is hanging from your face. Half of you expected something along the lines of what she just said, but you didn't think Olivia could be that cruel; especially when she knows how much it hurts you to talk about this.

"Are you done?"

"I guess," she responds, putting away all her makeup.

You bite your lower lip first, trying to regain your breath as you find yourself suddenly running out of air.

"You've never thought for a single second that all the people you guys flirted with in high school, were the same people who bullied me?"

She snorts, annoyed, and whispers. "Oh, you're gonna start with that."

"Yes, I am, actually," you respond. Your teeth are so clenched that your jaw is starting to hurt. "Because while you were out there succeeding with your love life, having any guy you wanted, Ava's first boyfriend was rating me minus five in the rank of the prettiest girls at school.

"I was always the fat friend, or the flat one. Sometimes both. Guys, even now, only get my number to ask me for your number. And in the rare occasions when guys don't completely ignore my presence while talking to you, or Ava, or any of the rest, I find out that they were only hitting on me because they thought I was the best they could hope for. And I used to fall for that, but not anymore. I've never been called pretty, or any other nice words. No one has ever bought me a shot. So stop, stop talking as if finding a semi-decent human being is just so fucking easy."

Olivia just holds your gaze, but you can tell she doesn't believe one word of what you're saying.

"That's your problem," she says. "You always victimize yourself, so much. And that's just bullshit. Worst of all is you believe you're doing the right thing. I really do feel for you."

That's enough to plant a seed of doubt in your mind. But that happens later, once you're alone in your flat, back in London. At that exact moment, you don't think of anything as you just stand there, tears pricking in your eyes as she takes her purse, unlocks the door and leaves you there, completely alone.

Luckily —or not— it's not the first time you've had this conversation with one of your friends, so you already know she's the one who's wrong. And there's nothing you need to change about yourself or the way you act. And thank God you don't, because barely two weeks later, you meet Jake Lockley for the first time. And it doesn’t take you long to meet his alters, either, and fall for every single one of them, the same way they do for you.

Needless to say, you don't talk to your friend anymore. Not at the wedding, and certainly not after.

Six months later

You're bent over the kitchen table. Air has been knocked out of your lungs with the impact, and you're unable to regain it back as an open palm between your shoulder blades keeps you firmly pressed against the wooden board. You gasp like a fish out of water, and thank whatever gods out there that the man above you seems not to be too concerned about how ridiculous you look in that position.

As a rule of thumb, your boyfriend Jake hates quickies. If someone were to ask him on the street what bothers him the most in this world, you're ninety-nine per cent sure he would respond 'quickies', with the most straight face anyone has ever seen on this earth. Not the London traffic, not even how hard it is to find a parking spot for his thirty feet long limousine in the city. No, what bothers him most is not having enough time to fuck you; and the worst of all is that he doesn't mince words. If someone asked him, that's his honest answer.

That's one of the things that you both fear the most and find the most admirable about Jake Lockley. He has no shame, not one single drop of it in his whole body. He does not care a single fuck what anyone has to say about him. And you'd be lying if you said you didn't envy him for that.

"Uhm..." he lets out a low groan from the depths of his chest.

His other hand, the one that is not holding you in place, travels down your right leg. The pads of his fingers brush your skin gently, an almost ghostly touch as he makes his way back from the back of your knee, up to your thigh until he reaches the tender skin of your glute. All the muscles of your body tighten as you wait for a spank that never comes. Instead, Jake chuckles behind you. He relieves the pressure on your back as he uses both his hands to lift your dress, the fabric now all rolled up around your hips.

"Oh, look at you," you hear him say.

Not a single second later you feel the denim of his jeans over your cotton panties, his erection impossibly hard behind it, and you can't help but bite your lip and moan as he grinds himself against you. The pleasure blooming down there forces you to press your hips against him too, and you soon find yourself on your tiptoes.

"Jake..." you groan. "We don't have much time, hun."

He lets out an annoyed grunt.

"Joder... (Fuck...)" he mumbles in Spanish. "I hate quickies."

"It's the third time you say that today."

He really does hate them. He doesn't see the point of fucking if by the time he's done you're not absolutely destroyed under him. He's that type of man; all or nothing is his motto. He doesn't know how to keep it easy. He likes the sight of round fat tears clinging to your wet lashes, even the salty flavour of them on his tongue when he kisses you. He loves to edge you, overstimulate you to the point of exhaustion and rage, until all you can see is red and he has to make you cum before you gather any strength and use it to kick him in the balls for not letting you cum sooner.

Sometimes it's the opposite, he works your body up, plays it like an instrument that he's proficient in, dragging so many orgasms out of you that you have to beg him to stop.

And then he laughs.

But he cannot do all of that now. In fact, sex wasn't even in the cards for today, having in mind that you had stayed the night before in his flat and you were still sore from that session. The trails of yellow and purple hickeys on your inner thighs are the only proof of his merciless, sinful actions.

All of that was true until he saw you all dressed up, ready to leave the flat to attend a theatre play that starts in forty-five minutes. At first, it had been even fun to watch how Jake's jaw dropped to the floor, how he kept looking and looming over you time and time again, his eyes slipping up and down your figure, taking in the black dress you were wearing. He had the look of a hungry hawk when he approached you, and you immediately knew what was about to happen.

The left side of your brain told you not to let him, that you'd be late for the play. But then he leant in to kiss you, mouth open and his heavy tongue against your own, and there was no amount of willpower that could have prevented the scene that was about to unfold.

Behind you, Jake kneels on the floor. He catches the hem of your panties between his teeth as he goes down. You only know it because you can feel his ragged, hot breath against your skin as he bites the fabric. Once it passes your hips, he lets them fall to the ground. Then he bites your cheek.

It doesn't hurt, but a little cry comes out of your throat nonetheless, and without even taking a glimpse of his face you can tell that he's amused; the biggest wicked grin on his face. People hardly ever see Jake smiling, but that's only because none of them have seen him during sex.

"Jake," your angry tone does not go unnoticed, and you're now supporting your weight on your elbows. "We paid a lot for those tickets, I refuse to be late."

He groans.

"Isn't there another show later?" he asks, but that doesn't stop him from massaging your glutes, his thumbs on both sides of your groin as he pulls the skin of your inner thighs aside to have a better look at your glistening folds. "...for god's sake."

You don't know if that last sentence is directed at you, or not.

Before you can ask he's licking your entrance, giving enthusiastic laps at your folds as he buries his face in your most intimate parts. His actions leave you breathless, fists tightly closed over the table as you hide your face between them, nails digging into the tender flesh of your palms. Your forehead rests against the wooden board, and you feel how you start to break a sweat. Desire and wet heat start to pool at your lower abdomen.

"I asked you a question," he says then, finally giving you a second to rest. But he's not a patient man, nor does he enjoy being interrupted while he's having a meal, so he continues licking long stripes along your inner thighs, delineating the yellow and purple bruises —the hickeys— he marked you with yesterday night. You know he's extremely proud of his work of art, because he stops and kisses every single one of them.

"No," you lie, because you know that he will have you there all night if you let him, if you give up on his desire of turning this quickie into something more. Although it doesn't look much like a quickie, to be honest. "There's no other showing, so please, Jake. Just fuck me."

"Shut up," he says, his heavy palm smacking your thigh and you can't help but jump. "You have such a big mouth. I'm trying to get you ready, you ungrateful brat."

And that's exactly what he does. He separates your lips with his thumbs and sticks his tongue in. You moan, louder this time, feeling the soft edges of his tongue inside of you, and you don't even try to contain any other sound that comes out of your mouth. His tongue gets in every few seconds, licking and lubricating everything in its path. Then licking long stripes, his tongue flat against your clit and rapidly moving to your entrance. Every part of you is now trembling, the shiver that takes hold of your body following his actions is violent, leaving you gasping for air as if you were dying.

If you needed any preparation —which, with all honesty, you probably did— that is not the case anymore. A mix of his saliva and your own juices is pouring down your thighs, so if you're not ready now, you doubt you will ever be.

"That's my girl," he says, his accent half-hidden half there. He checks his work with the pad of his fingers, barely touching you but enough to make you whine, desperately asking for something to fill you up because you're just so empty. And you need him to soothe that feeling. "Look at you, all nice and ready for my cock."

Despite that, he licks you one last time.

"Fuck-" you cry out loud at the contact. Annoyance is building up in your chest despite his praise. "I swear if I miss one single scene for your horniness-"

He spanks you then, at last. It's no surprise that he does. After all, it took him long enough with how mouthy you're being with him, but it still catches you off guard. His heavy hand hits your ass without a single warning, and you scream at the contact. This time it does hurt, but it soon fades into pleasure all over your body like a sweet aftertaste to a bitter treat.

Jake finally takes action. His hands curl around both your wrists and he spreads your arms on the table, so you have no support anymore. Next, he presses the back of your neck against the board, and it turns you on so much, being squeezed below him with such force, that you are gasping again, silently pleading for his cock.

"I should've shoved myself in that pretty throat of yours," he said. "Maybe then you'd be fucking quiet, for once."

And you say nothing back, because you know he's perfectly capable of keeping his word: cum in your throat, then leaving the rest of you untouched as a punishment. And you don't think you'd be able to handle that, go through almost three hours without any kind of relief until you get home.

"Nothing to say now, uh?"

With otherworldly swiftness, he sheds his jeans. You hear the loud click, the indistinct sound his belt makes when he unbuckles it and gets rid of it. Then the sound of the zipper, loud and clear: it's a warning. And now you know that he's holding it, heavy inside his fist while he strokes himself; precum coating the tip. When you try to look back to have a look, the hand that is still holding your neck tightens on your pressure points and you feel like a deer with its neck between the lion's teeth. All you can focus on is your own wetness. Your hips go backwards in search of friction.

"So fucking needy," he hisses. "Don't worry princesa. I'm going to give you exactly what you need."

You feel his hand on the back of your knee, but this time he grabs it and scoops you up on the table. With the new position, you're wide open under him. So much so that a blush settles over your cheeks as you feel the cool air on your wet flesh.

Still, you're not given much time to think.

He hits your clit with his cock, twice; before entering you with a deep thrust until he bottoms out. His hips are pressed against your butt. Your fingers close around the edge of the table, holding on for dear life. Your nails dig on the wood until you feel splinters falling off.

He groans.

"So tight. Always so fucking tight."

While you try to adjust to the burning, pleasing sensation that has your brain melting; Jake's fingers find the zip of your dress. He unzips it, slowly, revealing the naked skin of your back and no bra in sight. The hand on your nape travels down your back, caressing all skin he can reach, until he touches the skin over your ribs, making you shiver, just to shove his hand under you and catch one of your nipples. He pinches it, hard, until you finally scream. Half pleasure, half pain.

"Such a beautiful sound," he says. "Let's hear it again, shall we?"

He rolls his hips back, mercilessly thrusting into you with such force that the table moves an inch forward. He keeps your leg on the table, your knee flexed over it. His hand falls on your ass for the second time, a bright red handprint now adorning it. He grabs your flesh, massaging it so he can have a better look at where you two are joined. That’s what it takes him to gasp.

"Joder.”

"Jake..." you moan.

It's like he lost his mind. He starts with a rapid pace, relentless, not even giving you time to build it up as you go. He's holding your hips and not even minding that the screws of the table are doing the weirdest of sounds. He must not even care if he breaks it. He bottoms out with each thrust, every freaking time.

You've always known that he becomes feral when you moan his name, but it's not like you do it on purpose. You just love the sound of it leaving your mouth, his warmth against you, his perfectly sculpted body, his chest against your back as he leans in to whisper something in your ear.

"Tell me how it feels."

Your eyes are squeezed shut, trying to take him as best you can. He slows down, not much, but enough to at least let you breathe, even though he is now squeezed against you. His teeth nibble on your earlobe.

"Tell me," he encourages you. His fingers brush both your arms lovingly. "Be a good fucking girl and talk to me."

Another thrust.

"J-Jake..." you breathe out. Another. "Good. Baby, it feels so fucking good."

"Tell me how much you love my cock"

You notice that he's trying to guide the conversation, tell you exactly what he wants to hear because you're too cockdumb for dirty talk.

"I love your cock so much," you gasp, tears pricking your eyes. "So much... so much..."

He stops thrusting for a second but doesn't pull out. Quite the opposite, he is as deep in you as it is humanly possible. He chuckles under his breath, leaves a kiss on your spine and you feel him smile against your flesh.

"My princess cannot even talk, uh?" he says. "Don't worry baby, I got you."

He takes a handful of your hair in his fist. He pulls your head back, the action earning a loud cry that is soon muffled by a kiss. His other hand rests on your collarbone, making its way up until the pads of his fingers rest over your pulse points. You know he can feel your quick heartbeat under his fingertips.

His mouth leaves yours, and you're instantly complaining with a whine. Even if he's just one inch away from your lips.

"Open," he whispers, still holding your neck. You obey, parting your lips, and Jake spits in your mouth. The pleasure makes you clench around him. "Swallow," you follow his orders, and he squeezes your neck so he can feel the muscles moving under his touch. "That's my good girl."

There's a stupid grin on your face when he says it, warmth in your chest when he pecks your lips as a reward. It's almost impossible to believe how your body can have physical reactions to his words, even without one touch of his. It's ridiculous how much you love to please him. That's usually how the sex with Jake works: he gives you orders, you obey, he calls you his good girl.

You love it.

He pulls your head back into the table, returning to the same pace he started with. His cock fills you up to the brim, as if you were the finest glass of wine. You're not even sure you have enough air in your lungs. But you're not scared by that, Jake is so aware of every single sound and movement you make, that if he thinks you need a break, he will give it to you, exactly as he just did a second ago.

Then, through the maddening cloud of pleasure that has settled in your brain, you hear it. You hear it coming from him.

"You're so pretty," he says. You instantly feel the lump in your throat. "You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

It's not the first time he says it, of course not. He even said it the first time you met him, even if you didn't believe him at the time. The thing is he has said it before, so you don't understand how you simply shut down like a toy that has run out of batteries, how your body goes limp.

You don't want to ruin the moment, even if it feels like you're going through an emotional storm all of a sudden. All the memories fill your mind like an avalanche, including every single word at that wedding not long ago.

That's how you decide that maybe, if you close your eyes, you'll be able to retain the tears long enough for them to fade. So you do, while Jake keeps thrusting into your senseless body. His hand on your hair weakens, but he doesn't seem to notice, and you thank that the position doesn't allow much eye contact.

But then he says it again.

"So pretty right now," he says. "Dios (God)," he growls. "I can't believe I got you."

The lump in your throat doesn't let you breathe, and that's when you burst into tears. You cry, because you never once thought in your life that you’d have someone like him in your life, let alone telling you how pretty you are. You sob and feel so immature right then and there, like a child crying for the silliest reason you could think of. In a desperate attempt at concealing your view from him, you bring one of your hands, the one that is closest, to your face, while the other falls by the edge of the table.

Jake stops immediately.

"Baby?" he asks, his voice low and full of concern. "Baby, baby, hey..." his hand barely touches your shoulder, trying to get your attention, but all he feels is the trembling of your body as you cry. He pulls out slowly. "Did I hurt you? Shit, did I hurt you?" his voice turns angry, angry at himself, but he keeps the composure for you. "You should've said the safeword, baby. Please, you have to tell me..."

By the tone of his voice, the way it breaks on the last word, you know he's barely hanging out of a thread. He caresses the skin of your shoulders. One of his hands tries to uncover your face as you sob. You struggle against him, but he's stronger and once your hand is out of your face, he holds it down, his fingers intertwining with yours.

"Babe..." he whispers. "Tell me where it hurts. If it's that bad we can go to the hospital, you don't have to be embarrassed..." he says. "I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've noticed," then you hear him whisper to himself. "Soy un maldito imbécil. (I'm a fucking asshole.)"

He leans to kiss your shoulder, then he rests his forehead against your warm skin.

"It's not that," you respond. Your voice is barely a whisper. Tears are still pricking your eyes, some of them still falling down your face. "I'm not hurt."

That catches his attention. Jake brushes the baby hairs out of your face and now you can see him. Tears are about to spill from his eyes, but he doesn't let them. He's frowning, confused, and his calloused hand rests on your hair.

"You are not?"

"I'm sorry I scared you."

"Oh, nena, (Oh, baby girl)" he says, and leans again to kiss your temple. "Don't say that, don't apologize. Just tell me what's wrong."

Despite all his attentions and not wanting to keep him worried about you, you hesitate as you look into his deep brown orbs. It's not that you don't want to explain it to him, but you don't know where to start. Where does one start to explain something that has always been present in your life? It's as if someone asked you how you learned to breathe. Well, it was just there.

Jake patiently waits, until your eyes focus on him and he knows you're not thinking about the matter any longer. The more you think about it, the way you've been treated, all the situations and how worthless they made you feel; the more your eyes fill with unspilled tears.

"Stay here, okay?"

You didn't notice he was caressing your back until his touch vanished. Once he's gone, your mind starts to race, to call you names and think way too much about how annoyed Jake must feel for your sudden outburst of emotions. You bring your hands to your face, suddenly overwhelmed by the mess you've made.

You stand on the floor, and it's not until then that you feel the pain in your hips, exactly where they hit the table with each of Jake's thrusts. The soreness is so familiar that you can already see the bruises that will mark your skin tomorrow.

"I'm such a fucking idiot," you press your palms against your face, angry that you couldn't just keep yourself quiet.

Jake comes back from the bathroom with a wet cloth and he doesn't say a word before kneeling right in front of you. You spread your legs to give him access, wondering what you did to deserve such a kind man.

He cleans you up. The cloth is drenched in warm water. He cleans you thoroughly, with a care and gentleness you rarely see in his actions. You hold the skirt of your dress up to let him work, and he looks up at you just once, his eyes as big as a puppy's, just before he leans down and kisses one of the hickeys on your thighs. Once he's done, he takes your panties and pulls them up your legs, as if he had never touched you.

"Thank you," you whisper once he's standing back on his feet.

Jake shakes his head and brings you closer. He hugs you, your chin resting on his collarbone as he pulls your hair over your shoulder so he can zip the dress up.

"All ready," he says, still holding you. His hand rests on the back of your head. "Come on."

He takes you to the couch, where he sits first just to drag your body over his lap. Once you're sat, he surrounds your back with his arm as you hug him. Your forehead resting against his. Jake closes his eyes and breathes in your essence.

At first, you don't know where to start, and the first few sentences don't feel quite right either. However, he doesn't flinch, so you keep going and all of sudden you can't stop. You start with the wedding, telling him about your group of friends even though he has already met some of them. You explain the whole situation as you look for a reaction on his face. Annoyance, probably, because you didn't let him finish for something that happened right before you met him; or disappointment; because he expected something much more serious than something along the lines of 'I was never told what you just said to me'.

Then you explain the situations you saw yourself in. You tell him about the pain and the hurt hoping he understands, about the disrespect too. You tell him about all the times you were straight-up ignored, about the guys that only approached you to keep you busy while their friends flirted with your friend and they wouldn't even talk to you. You talk about being called a prude, people insulting your appearance and your hobbies, calling you weird. You tell him about that constant feeling you had, not feeling enough or loveable, just a laughing stock for both strangers and every single one of your friends. Maybe the very last option on someone's table, in the best of cases.

That's when he shakes his head.

"Half the time I feel so lucky to have you," you say, tears still staining your face. "That I wonder if you're real. When you kiss me, I remember how I used to think I'd never be able to show my love to anyone."

"Oh, nena," he whispers. You can see the pained expression on his face. "I'm so sorry all of that happened to you." you can see the struggle in his eyes. He's looking for the right words to comfort you. He’s never been good with words. "But I'm here now. And I assure you, I'm gonna give you all you deserve, and all the experiences you never had. All of them are wrong, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. It's their fucking problem if they cannot see that."

He holds you close, speaks over your hair.

"You're wrong, you're not unloveable. And you will never be alone again," he says. "I'm gonna tell you how pretty you are until the day I kick the bucket, I swear to God."

"Jake," you pull away slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. "Don't say that."

"But I mean it," he insists. Then, he squints. "I'd like to see any of those fuckers that mistreated you and..."

"Oh, stop," you chuckle.

"Yeah, yeah, I stop, but you tell me if by any chance we run into any of them..."

"So you can choke them to death? Yeah, maybe I will," you respond, and his shoulders relax, glad about your answer. "Not sure if I should be concerned about how serious you are right now."

Jake chuckles, and you end up laughing too. His eyes sparkle when he looks at you, and he keeps stroking your hair and tucking it behind your ear.

"Te quiero, preciosa (I love you, gorgeous)," he says. And even though your Spanish is very limited, you understand those words, because he has said them plenty of times before. "Come here."

Gently taking your chin, he guides you to his mouth. He pecks your lips at first, right before his other hand falls on the back of your head and pushes you against him. His lips part, his tongue gently licks your own. He makes you moan. His forehead rests against your collarbone when he's done. He breathes in through the nose, as if he could swallow you whole just by inhaling you.

"So... are you not angry at me?" you ask.

"Why would I be?"

"Because I ruined our moment."

"No, you didn't," he says. He kisses your shoulder. "We needed to talk about this, we already did. We fuck all the time, we can finish that up later," he said. "My moments with you are always special, whether we are just talking, not doing anything at all, or fucking like rabbits."

You chuckle again.

"My God Jake, your mouth."

"What about it?" he laughs.

You shake your head and hide your face on his neck. A blush has settled on your features and you're not ready for Jake to tease you about it.

"I love you too, by the way," you tell him. "I love you so much."

He lets out a content sigh, his body sinking into the couch as he lets his head fall on the backrest.

"My pretty girl," his fingers are doing circles on your back. His scent is intoxicating. Your eyelids are starting to drop. "You're safe here. No one can hurt you now."

His own eyes fall shut as he starts drifting off too.

Tags: @later-gators12 @bensolosbluesaber @winter-captain-01 @dark-haired-and-mentally-ill @mirrorballgarden @zem0laufeys0n @murdickdocked @loki-hargreeves

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kc5rings · 2 months

Note

since you said talk to you about gear And youre the muzzle monday person. do you have any recommendations or thoughts on adapting one of those metal wire cage types to fit comfortably on a person? i feel like when i poke around for muzzles Intended for human use, theyre usually of the flat leather variety :( or if you have recs on somewhere to purchase a cage one for humans.

Ok I’ve got good news and bad news

Bad news is that if you want a proper cage muzzle it’s pretty much gonna have to be a diy/getting a leatherworker to modify one for you situation, I’ve never found an “out of the box” cage muzzle for sale that was any decent quality

Good news is, I’ve done this exact thing before and can provide examples!

I bought this “charmingly” branded muzzle ages ago, it’s no longer available here but it’s a mass produced model you can likely find other places and this listing has great image refs

As is it works Ok at best, the straps are hard and fairly unpleasant texture wise in addition to you know, being sized for a dogs head. Workable as is but not ideal

This is the same muzzle modified with real leather straps that are properly sized, with an added strap under the chin to keep it secure. The padding inside the muzzle was actually fine as is and I opted for locking buckles because even without locks they tend to slip less in my experience

I’m lucky enough to live near a leather shop that I was able to take the muzzle to for modifying, but if you’re diy inclined it’s doable with some trial and error

To sum up, search for a metal basket muzzle for a large breed dog, mastiff specifically will usually bring up good results. Then replace the straps it comes with yourself or have it modified for you, a trainer style head harness pattern is a good start if you wanna look for directions to follow yourself

#nsft #muzzle #refs #hope this helps!#also very funny to be referred to as ‘the muzzle monday person’#I don’t mind it and I’m clearly not beating the allegations #but it did make me laugh

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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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foliejpg · 13 days

Note

Ok I know people get kind of up in arms about clothes for FOB genderbends but thinking about how they would all dress is one of my favorite parts of it? Like I think pete and patrick especially would have very interesting relationships with femininity, especially coming up in a misogynistic scene like 90s/00s hardcore. Bc when I look at pictures from early FOB shows, the girls you see there are dressed pretty much the same as the guys, like girls were THERE but I very much get the feeling that the safest way to exist in that scene as a girl was to be as guy-ish as you could, but taking it TOO far would get you shit for [being gay or trans or generally gnc, I dont want to use period-accurate language right now], and it REALLY gets interesting if you're overweight, not white, not straight, not cis, anything that sets you as a woman apart from the dominant cultural image of "a woman" in the USA. Patrick personally is may favorite to think about because Ive been the fat girl in nerdy guy spaces and Im also a fat woman in a pretty dude-heavy professional field, so I can project my experience onto girltrick all damn day? (1/?, Continued in another ask bc Im going to hit char limit soon I think)

this got long as hell and i also never got a part 2 so i hope this is relevant<3

i definitely get that, for patrick especially to have to really conform to being “one of the guys” and acting like such so she doesn’t get called things like difficult or bitchy, and that definitely makes an impact on how she dresses. especially as a fat girl and i’m also a fat woman, so a lot of what i wanted to wear was either too tight and rolled up my stomach or my pants didn’t fit, OR was so lowcut because my cup size was too big and nothing fit correctly, so it was wear the big boxy tee shirt or have my tatas on display for people to look at. patrick, as a fat woman who is maybe not the most conventionally attractive, would really have to straddle a line of fitting in with all of these gross boys for the sake of the band and not being disregarded as a sexless fat chick. of course then it goes into slut shame-y territory if she ever god forbid wore something cute that made her feel good. maybe girltrick doesn’t wear a lot of dresses or skirts early on, but maybe during soul punk she explored a little more and maybe that carries over post hiatus. girltrick would rock a maxi skirt. comfy as fuck

i think about pete too as a woman in the scene at the time having to kind of play into what guys around her expect of her as a more sexual being bc like you said the misogyny was rampant and the easiest way, like you said is to go along with it. pete irl got boiled down to this sex symbol so early in fob’s career and had his body plastered all over magazines for people to drool over. to a point, we know that pete also played the “bad boy” schtick up because it was new and sexy and aimed at teen girls, so then girlpete did that too. irl pete dressed sexy and wore eyeliner so fall out boy would catch eyes, and it worked. so does girlpete, to the same extent. of course because she’s a woman she’ll always be sexualized worse than irl pete ever could experience.

look at pete now, he’s all comfort wear. those fucking meat shoes that haunt my dreams. girlpete is shy too. she’s also very business savvy and, like irl pete, knows she’s hot. she wears sweatpants and sneakers when she’s out and about, and baby tees and low rise jeans on stage, and maybe her bra is visible and rocks a whale tail sometimes as was popular early on. she was probably harassed endlessly but she’s not ashamed of herself or her body and dresses to fit her needs - like pete did irl.

and maybe this is controversial but i don’t think girlpete would have leaned into a more butch or androgynous style because realistically, pete didn’t. the eyeliner was an act of rebellion which is totally cool and 100% but let’s not pretend he was really challenging any gender norms here. girlpete as a business woman knows how to market herself to the people that will matter, the people who buy fall out boy’s music.

i think people forget that like, at the end of the day they are still pete wentz and patrick stump. the intentions, timeline, lore, personality - it’s for the most part all the same, but i think when people don’t acknowledge that their experiences in the scene would be drastically different from irl pete and patrick, it’s disregarding the misogyny in the scene entirely.

and also i want to put them in a skirt and it’s fanfiction so i can do what i want<3 if anyone has anything to add, pls send me a msg i love talking about my girls<3

#girlpete #girltrick #ask #anon

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mephinomaly · 5 months

Text

[TL] BIOHAZARD/Chapter 3

[ This post uses Ois~su ♪ ]

Time: The next day

Location: At 'AIIE', the fourth experiment facility, known as "CRADLE"

Tomoya: “Welcome! To the AIIE project’s fourth experiment facility, also known as CRADLE!”

Hajime: “Fufu, we are your Guide Robots, and we will be showing you around ♪”[1]

Koga: Huhh? Don’t suddenly start spewin’ nonsense terms, this ain’t a sci-fi movie ya know?

More importantly. What the hell you doin’ here, Ra*bits?

Tomoya: “Ah, we aren’t Ra*bits!”

Hajime: “We have been created for the AIIE project, or more specifically, we are AI idols!”

Koga: ...? ...?

Adonis: Are you really— are you really not Mashiro and Shino? Or are you just playing a part?

Tomoya: “Yep, we aren’t real!”

Hajime: “We have no affiliation with any real person or organisation!”

Koga: No connection, huh… Is that okay? Did you get permission from the real people t’do this?

Rei: Fumu. This isn’t meant to be me playing the old man character, I’m honestly just commenting plainly but - technology has advanced in leaps and bounds. Honestly, I really can’t keep up.

So these Mashiro-kun and Shino-kun lookalikes are rather peculiar. I suppose this beautiful scenery we’re seeing is also an illusion?

Kaoru: I feel like we're being conned. This place is supposed to be indoors, yet opening this ‘door’ reveals a gorgeous view with the sun shining brightly in the sky.

Adonis: This is what is called VR, or virtual reality. Via the contact lenses fitted in our eyes, we can see a reality that doesn’t actually exist.

Since we don’t know exactly where the walls and boundaries are, it's best if we do not move around too much.

Rei: Ah, ouchie!? I hit my head!

Kaoru: You alright, old man~...?

Rei: Mhm… From the outside, this building looked rather spacious but the reality is that it’s probably only the size of a school gymnasium.

As Adonis-kun quite rightly said, we should keep jumping and skipping around to a minimum.

Koga: You guys have bigger bodies than me so watch yourselves, alright?

Kaoru: Fufu. That’s why if you line us all up, Koga-kun’s only a wee little thing. The fans love it, they’re like “ooooh he’s so cute.”

Koga: HaaA? It might make you feel happy, but it don’t me. Feels like I’m bein’ made fun of, it’s uncomfortable.

You enjoy playin’ around with other people’s inferiority complexes for fun, dontcha?

Rei: Kukuku. What’s more important, we weren’t called out here to stand around, but what is it that we’re supposed to be doing?

The fact that we have answered our agency about this AIIE thingamabob is wonderful, but they still haven’t explained anything to us in any great amount of detail.

Hajime: “We will explain!”

Tomoya: “That’s what we’re here for!”

“The AIIE project, as the name suggests, is a project to ‘manufacture’ idols!”

Koga: This smells super fishy.

Rei: This is the kind of thing Tenshouin-kun would enjoy.

Though that is mere speculation. He’s probably taking advantage of this by being a sponsor of some sort.

Kaoru: Well, isn’t that kinda better than being involved in a shady private business’ experiment that you know nothing about?

Rei: I suppose so… Anyhow, I’m struggling to understand. What is an artificial idol? What does it do?

Hajime: “We can answer that!”

Tomoya: “We are your Guide Robots, and that’s our job!”

Rei: Well, as you’re not the real Ra*bits, I can take a guess as to what artificial idols do–

Hajime: “Yes. As we mentioned earlier, we are artificial idols created for the AIIE project.”

Tomoya: “To give a brief explanation, we are idols created in the image of real idols, copies so to speak.”

Hajime: “This involves copying the physical aspects of pre-existing idols and pasting them onto robots, and, using AI, we can replicate accurate speech patterns and behaviour.”

Tomoya: “So at a glance, we are the exact same as the real idols.”

Hajime: “Although with the current technology, it is not possible to create exact copies, therefore the result will be similar but not perfect.”

Tomoya: “With your cooperation, we can continue to experiment and improve our technology until we can even copy your fans.”

“—Soon, we will be able to create perfect replicas of your parents and siblings!”

[ ☆ ]

these 'versions' of tomoya and hajime speak in keigo, which is fancy fancy speak. it's what ibara speaks in, though unrelated to ibara. just an example!

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

#enstars #ensemble stars #translation #rei sakuma #adonis otogari #koga oogami #kaoru hakaze #tomoya mashiro #hajime shino #undead climax

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liminalpebble · 1 year

Text

The Refugee: Chapter 45

Series Masterlist

---

As soon as Loki spoke the word, the Heksejotun script fizzled out leaving only Lenora's blank skin once again. She could feel her magic surging back through her after being thwarted for some time. It felt good.

Loki asked, with a cryptic sadness in his voice, “Will you escape now? You have your powers. You should run as far as you can.”

Before he spoke Lenora was ready to hiss every cruel thing she could think of at him; for unwittingly throwing her to the Heksejotun by sending her to Earth, accidentally sending up the equivalent of a magical flare to tell them where to find her, for all the cruel horrible things he said (even if they were half-truths, and a necessary tactic), for the deal he struck where he would be alive and gain power either way, but she would be offered over as a slave to the frost giants if he lost, or perhaps simply killed for sport or revenge. But his words knocked the air out of her lungs as she realized the gravity of what they really meant.

“I...I can't do that.” She said, finally understanding the most dreadful variable in all of this; what Loki's endgame really was. “If I am not available as an exchangeable prisoner, as you swore I would be, then the terms of the Ancient Contest are broken, and you and Laufey will both die.”

“I know,” he said quietly, deliberately. “I know how clever you are. I thought it likely that you would find a way to escape, and with both kings dead, the war ends and our kingdoms fall into, hopefully, kinder hands.” His eyes welled and he stepped closer, desperate to hold her but remembering that his image couldn't touch her. His squinted hard, and clenched his jaw. “Please, go. I beg you. I just wish I could hold you one last time.”

“No! Loki, I'm not going anywhere.”

They were interrupted by the building light of someone teleporting into the cell. Loki turned invisible and Lea gathered up the telltale rope and gag and huddled in the corner with her back to the newcomer, pretending to be curled up in sleep. It was a frost giant guard, with a large dead sheep hanging limply from his enormous hand. Not even looking in Lea's direction, he unlocked the gate and threw the entire carcass into the dragon's eager hungry maw. Locking the gate, he exited in the same flash of blue.

When they were sure they were alone again. Loki appeared, and looked to Blaatand, faced scrunched with disgust.

“Lovely creature,” he quipped.

“He answers to simple commands in Heksejotun, he'd probably answer to anyone. I'll teach you the words. Wait a little while and then go to the north side of the castle, There's a gate running from his cage to the outside. Look, you can see the gate on the other side from here. Break the lock from that side and take the dragon with you.”

“Beg your pardon?” Loki said, in abject confusion. “You expect me to use that thing?”

“How is the battle going?”

He shrugged. “It's...difficult. We have the numbers but the size and strength of the Jotun's bodies are overwhelming. The soldiers grow fatigued.”

She shrugged. “It sounds like you could use a dragon.”

He chuckled in spite of the heartbreaking stakes of the situation. If it would be the last moment of levity he could ever experience with her (or at all), he was determined savor it. “Yes, I suppose we could,” he said, then looked into her eyes with terrible sorrow, as she patiently taught him the command words.

“Listen, Loki. You have to go, take him to the battlefront and teach Thor and Nadia the commands. Then you have to get ready. You only have until dawn to prepare to fight and...”

“Lea. No. Run. For once will you not be stubborn and simply do what I ask you...what I planned?” he said, genuine anger and concern contorting his lovely features into a snarl.

“No! Not when I know better than you do!” she said, forcefully. “No. Loki. I won't lose you. I can't lose you. I tried to kill you once. You forced me into it, and you won't make me do it again. I would rather die than...” She began to cry, and he stared at her wide-eyed with shocked adoration. “I love you,” she finally said meeting his eyes.

“Lea...” he gasped out, but before he could say any more, another blue light announcing a visitor shone in the darkness. Loki went invisible just in time as Laufey's imposing form filled the cavern. Lea stared up in shock.

Laufey considered the woman a moment and realized her gag and binding had been broken. Lea went cold with fear, frantically trying to think of what to do.

“Well, well. Clever girl. How did you manage this?” he mused, picking up the gag and examining it in his hand.

“Th...There's a sharp edge on that hinge, over there. I simply...”

He accepted this explanation dropping the tattered bindings back to the floor, as he stalked closer, frightening face still worryingly neutral.

“Are you going to punish me for it?”

He laughed then, and it shook the room. He shrunk down a bit again, seemingly aware of how intimidating his full stature must be. “No, I am not like my son. On the contrary, I'm quite impressed.” He came closer still, materializing another softer rope from thin air, and began re-tying her hands. “But still, I'm sure you'll understand the necessity.”

She stifled a sigh of relief when he didn't check the script of the hex which should have still been on her wrists. Lea knew from her work in Laufeyhavn, that the king trusted the full might of Heksejotun magic entirely without bothering to understand it fully himself, simply relegating such work to the witches themselves. This worked very firmly in her favor now.

She waited patiently as he finished tying her hands, leaving more space between them this time, to allow her to move more comfortably. Lea expected him to bind her mouth as well. “No,” he simply said, noticing the question in her eyes.

“May I ask why, Your Highness?”

“You will dine with me now, and I want you to speak with me.”

“Again I ask, Sire, why?”

He raised his booming voice and said, lips forming something between a smile and a grimace, “I require the pleasure of your company, and because I assume that you are hungry. Yes?

She realized for the first time since coming here that she was. “Yes, Sire.”

“Then come with me,” he said, preparing to teleport, then pausing. “Have you been crying?” he asked with what sounded like genuine curiosity.

“Yes. Yes I have,” she replied, looking away, ashamed.

He came nearer, holding her face by her jaw, meeting the dark wood of her eyes, with the red fire of his own. His face remained inscrutable as he said, “You poor child.”

They flashed away before Loki's eyes, and his heart twisted painfully with worry for her.

---

After the opulence of Loki's castle, Laufey's seemed spartan by comparison; all dark stone and ice and magical blue lights that glowed like some kind of bioluminescent deep sea fish in the gloomy chambers.

As they reached a simple dining room, Laufey said, “Sit,” nodding to a chair suited to her size, and a plate of cooked meat, suited to her warm-blooded needs. Laufey, however, sat before his meal of raw meat, its pink flesh and blood a stark contrast to the gray surroundings. He expected her to be annoyingly squeamish at the sight, but she appeared only intellectually curious.

She spoke first, clearly nervous, “Thank you for providing food I am able to eat. It must not be easy to procure here.”

He only nodded. Then said directly, “Lenora, I assume you heard the negotiations from below?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“I want you to understand several things, Lenora. Your foolish emperor need not have set his stakes so high. I am ancient, and I am dying. Every other heir I produced perished at their first test of exposure. Only Loki survived...and thrived.”

Lea considered Laufey differently suddenly, in light of this information. She could now hear the rumble of age and wariness in his voice, which had grown surprisingly quiet.

“So many helpless children, abandoned to a needless and painful death,” Lea said, a clear edge of disgust in her voice.

“Do not judge so harshly, Morhari. I mourned them dearly, every one. It is our way, sacred to us and our purpose of strength. I rest easier, secure in the knowledge that they are held in the arms of our gracious gods. I know you are capable of understanding beyond prejudice, and I call upon you to do it now.”

She thought for a long silent moment and then said, “So I shall. I must admit, you're not at all what I expected. I should know by now to refrain from judgment before I understand more completely, but like everyone else, I'm not immune to failings of ignorance and bias. ”

“I know very well what villains our enemies portray us as. It's always easier this way, isn't it? I've instilled the same contempt for our enemies within the Jotun, so I do not condemn other rulers for the same. I've fostered, within my people, a sense of superiority over other realms. They are proud to be Jotun, and pity or despise those who are not. I've made each one the hero of their own stories with a unanimous purpose. It may seem...abhorrent...to you, but it is our way. We value honor, power, and obedience above all else... obedience to our kings and our gods. So has always been our code. The bloodshed my son has caused easily rivals my own, but at least I can say, that mine has been for reasons beyond myself or my desires. Mine was a burden, a sacred responsibility. It has not been easy, and it has taken its toll upon me in my final years.

She nodded thoughtfully. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to witness the truth of who I am, and learn the truth of who my people are when I am gone. You have already studied us well. You have no nation left, therefore you will see more clearly, more fairly. Do you understand? I do not expect your betrothed to afford us the same understanding and dignity.”

“You speak as if you expect to lose...to die...tomorrow.”

“It is very likely, and I will gladly accept a warrior's death, should it find me. I will gladly meet my children once again in the presence of our divine mothers and fathers. Eternity shall be my reward for my devotion to our way.”

“And if death doesn't find you, will you rule the empire as ruthlessly as you rule Jotunheim? Am I then your prisoner or concubine?”

“I will rule with the same strength and honor, by the same code. Yes.” He paused to look into her eyes, consider her more fully. “You would be my prisoner, yes...concubine, no. Though I would welcome your company and your wisdom. Hear me well, girl. In my very long life I have never taken from a woman that which was not offered freely, and I will not do so with you. It is not our way.”

She raised her eyebrows at this, “That's very noble. Your son could learn something from you.”

“That is...unfortunate. You do not deserve such indignity. There is much he could learn from me...about his history and his people... but he will have to learn it from you, after I am gone. Whoever the victor is tomorrow is no matter. I will be gone soon, in either case. Should I triumph and continue to breath, he would still never heed my words. But he will listen to you...he will always listen to you.

She nodded and raised her glass, “You have my respect, King Laufey. And I promise you, I will study your people, seek to understand, and teach your son about them.”

He nodded and raised his own, “And you have mine, Lenora of the Morhari. I am glad to have met you before I leave this world.”

@goblingirlsarah @gigglingtigger @peaches1958 @sweetsigyn @thenerdyoldersister @thedistractedagglomeration @unlucky-number-13 @lokisgoodgirl

#loki fanfic

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absolutedoorknob · 9 months

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WAKE UP BESTIE THIS IS URGENT

So it’s late at night and I’m scrolling through the simplicity pattern website when, this is not a drill….

I saw House of the Dragon sewing patterns!!

Technically they’re not licensed or anything but if you know anything about sewing patterns for costumes, you know it gets pretty dang obvious.

Ok so it’s a pretty basic shape, and it looks like we’ve got an Alicent and a Rhaenyra dress based off of the styling of the models and the colours of the garments. They are not accurate to one single dress either of these characters wear, but it’s a great start, open to plenty of relatively easy modification (take this opinion with a grain of salt I have never modified a pattern) for creativity and maximum cosplay potential. I wish they’d make a Green Green Dress pattern, but I do know that designers and companies are limited to what pieces they can fit inside an envelope (this is the reason why in View B of Simplicity 1009 there isn’t a separate underskirt).

So let’s do some examination!

Starting with View B because it’s on the left, I said it looks like a Rhaenyra pattern mainly because of the color— young Rhae wears a lot of these dull golds (a desert gold if you will?) and beiges when she’s younger, when she’s not wearing red or her dragon-riding fits.

The neckline on the pattern could be easily adapted to either be higher like on the right or more angular like on the left.

The sleeves, however, are reminiscent of two other gowns, with these pattern pieces being good for both Rhae and Alicent.

I love a good open sleeve, and so do they. Also I swear there was another Alicent one with more open sleeves but google images was not kind to me.

Now on to View A! It’s pretty clear from how the neckline is with the trim plus the belt that this dress is modelled after this blue dress Alicent wears, which may or may not be her mother’s.

Now unfortunately the sleeve patterns do not have this amazing “ladder detail” but that would be pretty early to modify in, as well as to cut the neckline lower to add the top “ladder bit”.

This pattern also has Princess seams, like the other view, because it is a relatively simple way to get a good fit around the bust. Now, if you were making a “100% accurate with paper silk and I get the cops called on me because they think I stole it from HoTD’s wardrobe department” cosplay, these would have to be drafted out, because no dresses in the show have Princess seams, most likely because they are a relatively modern fitting technique and the shows in Westeros have historically influenced/inspired costuming. To get the fancy bodice like Alicent’s dress, the easiest way I could think of would be to trace the pattern piece twice, then chop one tracing up into sections with the sections being drawn on the other tracing (so you have a guide on how your puzzle fits together) and remember to include seam allowance if you do this, otherwise you will regret it.

Now this?? This is Daemon. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars. Because most of the men on the show (or at least Daemon, Hardin when he’s not in armour defending his lady love— i mean Alicent, and Aemond) wear something similar to this, it’s a great bass with plenty to work with. The vest comes with pattern pieces for either no skirting or longer skirting, as seen in View B vs View A. Also, fun fact, the jacket under the vest/jerkin? It’s a crop top.

There’s a joke to be made here but I just can’t think of it.

These are McCalls patterns, and I have had fit issues in the past with them. Before picking out and cutting your size, I strongly recommend double checking the finished garment measurements, which should be printed on the back of the envelope. This will save you a lot of trouble and from having to buy the same pattern twice in case you cut out a size too small… I speak from personal experience.

Many way, that’s all folks! Personally, I can’t wait to see what Simplicity comes out with in the next few months (they release their new Halloween patterns in like September or something, and suffice to say I’m gnawing at my drywall), and I am praying for a Green Green dress pattern!

#costumes #hotd costume #hotd cosplay #pattern analysis #prayer circle for the green green dress #petition to name the colours for young rhae’s dresses desert gold #if someone could draw aemond in that crop-top jacket that’d be wonderful please and thank you #house of the dragon

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zrtranscripts · 9 months

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Season 10, Mission 8: Jailhouse Rock

Prison Break

ERNIE VAN ARK: Careful, Ranger Five. Keep to the ruin of the church. That’s Valmont’s correctional facility ahead, a former resort on the island of Tabarca. It appears he’s swapped the swimming pool for a 20-foot perimeter wall with turrets every meter. The patrol of guard makes its changing shifts by the gate. I know it’s difficult being back near your kin. Janine is there, I’m sure of it. Getting her out won’t be easy, Five, but no matter what, remember, we’ll be there for you.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, for the love of – did you have to call this one Five? There’s plenty of numbers out there that aren’t dear and absent friends, you know.

ERNIE VAN ARK: Runner Five is heroic, efficient, devoted, brave. Who better as an icon for the escaped experiments of Red Scorpion Base?

PETER LYNNE: Brilliant! I’ve gone from Valmont’s drugged-up lab rat to joining his posse of lost toys! He’s going to find out I’m free any time now, Ranger. We have got to get Janine out before he does!

ERNIE VAN ARK: I wish we could be with you, Five, but only Valmont mechs can enter that building. I’m getting your shoulder cam live and clear. We’ll be monitoring from the boat. Funny... A prison of that size. What does Valmont need it for? He can’t have that many enemies he wants kept alive. Sorry. That’s him, I think. My other self.

PETER LYNNE: I’m telling you, Ranger, you ought to sleep with one eye open. One of these days you’re going to wake up to find he’s stripping you for parts! Oh, the shift change is done. The old patrol’s gone inside. The new one’s walking the perimeter.

ERNIE VAN ARK: They’re out of sight. See the gatehouse, Ranger? The bunker built into the wall with turrets either side? This is your chance to slip inside before that patrol comes back around. Quick march, like you belong. Fast as you can, Five. Go!

ERNIE VAN ARK: Gosh, those turrets bracketing the gatehouse door are big. There’s a scanner on the lefthand one, Five. Press your eye to it. The mechs here are old Model 4s. I used to see them on Red Scorpion. I’ve tweaked your transponder to match. You’re clear. You can get inside.

[door creaks]

PETER LYNNE: Not exactly plush, is it? Like a big, bare closet. Just a work station cycling images of the prison.

ERNIE VAN ARK: Not even any chairs for the rangers on duty! And Valmont let them get rusty, too. Barbaric. Better hurry, Five. There’s a guard watching the far monitor, but they haven’t noticed you yet. Plug the cable from your left forearm into the nearest console. The rangers here are networked with the prison. It was similar on Red Scorpion Base. I can use you as a relay to hack the system.

PETER LYNNE: The other mech’s looked your way. That’s a really big gun arm she’s raising. Ernie, hurry up!

ERNIE VAN ARK: Got it! I’ve sent a signal to all the guards, triggering their diagnostic protocols. They’ll be offline for a short while, cycling self checks. According to the database, DeLuca’s in cell 44 on the far side of the prison. Five, you can take the stairwell behind the gatehouse up. That was an extremely messy hack. The guards won’t be offline for long. And they’re going to be very, very angry when they wake up. Run!

PETER LYNNE: God, Valmont made this place a proper Cell Block H, didn’t he? And not even the Freak to liven things up. Corridor after corridor of cold, gray cells with murky portholes on the doors. I don’t see any prisoners so far, just lots of ugly stains. Ugh. I thought my prison was hell. This one might be even worse.

ERNIE VAN ARK: She wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. I put that tracker on the USB stick in Tunisia. I’m the one who got you captured. The old me didn’t make that choice. This was all my fault.

Peter, the others said... You know about guilt. Do you ever... see something beautiful, like a bird or a sunset or this island, and then worry that you maybe don’t deserve it because of what you’ve done?

PETER LYNNE: No. No. I told you in Murcia when you tried to toast those marshmallows. I am not playing therapist with the ghost of Ernest Van Ark! Christ, you were easier as an evil boss! There! That’s her, cell 44. Break the door down, Five, now! [metal slams] It’s... It’s just... An empty cell and a wire cot. [exhales] Ernie? She isn’t here.

ERNIE VAN ARK: Wait. Look. There’s a loose breeze block behind the cot. Five, see if you can pry it all the way out.

PETER LYNNE: A hidey-hole with a snapped off spoon inside. I can see there’s something carved into the stone in the hole. It’s a... is that a... [laughs] It’s a flow chart. A branch plan. Janine told me they help with organizing thoughts in times of extreme stress.

ERNIE VAN ARK: She’s noting the guard patterns, getting floor plans. She’s working out an escape. Oh, Peter, these branches all link to your name. She was planning to find you.

PETER LYNNE: Valmont was threatening to torture her already. If he caught her planning an escape...

ERNIE VAN ARK: She must be in serious trouble. Five, the interrogation wing is on the bottom level. Take the spiral stairs ahead down. There’s a warden’s office in that wing. It has line of sight to anywhere they might have taken her. Freezing the rangers may have bought her some reprieve, but they’ll probably blame her for us shutting time down. We’ve got to get her out of here. Hurry, Five!

PETER LYNNE: There, Five! The iron door at the bottom of the stairs, it’s marked Warden. Kick it down!

[door slams open]

ERNIE VAN ARK: Lots of monitors in there, showing all the interrogation rooms. Look for Janine, Five. Hold on. The way Sam used to describe Abel. That room looks like his comms shack, only filled with extra recording equipment. Are those film cameras?

PETER LYNNE: Yep. That room’s got a Maghreb flag pinned up. That one’s got the stars and stripes. They look like... film sets? What is Valmont doing here?

ERNIE VAN ARK: Five, something’s moving in the vent above you. Look out!

[JANINE DE LUCA shouts]

PETER LYNNE: It’s Janine! She just dropped out of the vent! Careful, Ranger, she’s on your back. Jenny, can you hear me?

JANINE DE LUCA: First sever the optic relays, then the cranial wires!

ERNIE VAN ARK: She’s ripping Five’s external cables out. Hold on, I’m routing us through Five’s speakers.

PETER LYNNE: Janine! Janine! It’s me, it’s Peter! It’s okay. The ranger is with me.

JANINE DE LUCA: Peter? No. Enough recordings, enough simulations, enough making me hear him in distress or Mr. Yao in fear. If you think feelings will stop me, you are very much mistaken!

PETER LYNNE: Janine, it’s me, it’s really, uh – Suffolk tequila! Remember? Number 77 on your bucket list, you wanted to be spontaneous with me! Spent two days planning it. We drank a bottle of tequila from the Suffolk enclave on your farmhouse roof. I sang Fernando! Badly! But we danced, and you fell and sprained your wrist. I don’t think Maxine believed it was a training exercise. It’s really me. I came to rescue you.

JANINE DE LUCA: Peter? No. You should not be on this island.

[alarm blares]

ERNIE VAN ARK: That sounds like a problem.

JANINE DE LUCA: Mr. Van Ark. I wouldn’t have expected you to be involved in this. The other rangers appear to be shut down. If this was your doing, it was very, very rash. Valmont boasted of the security here when I first arrived. If the guards are inactive for more than a short time, the prison will start a purge. All captives will be executed.

I spent months planning a covert escape by the vents, one that wouldn’t raise the alarm! When the rangers shut down, I was forced to expedite my exfiltration in a far from optimal way. We must evacuate the prison. I’m taking command of this rescue operation, effective immediately. Ranger, follow me. According to that screen, the other prisoners are in this wing. Open every cell door that we pass. There’s no time to lose. Down the corridor, past the guard stations. Move!

ERNIE VAN ARK: One more cell ahead, Five. From seeing their databases, the last with a prisoner inside. The rest are all trailing behind you and Janine.

[door slams open]

CAPTAIN : Qu’est-ce que c’est? Qu’est qu’il ce pass?

JANINE DE LUCA: It’s a prison break, Captain. Follow me. To freedom!

ERNIE VAN ARK: Wait a minute. I recognize that man. Captain Blaise [Canard, a French sailor who joined the Maghreb. He caused a lot of trouble for Red Scorpion Base before his ship went down. Some of these prisoners must be his crew.

JANINE DE LUCA: Valmont tried to force me to record tapes for Abel, implicating the Maghreb in my capture. I checked the warden’s office during my escape. He’s trying to do the same to other prisoners here, trying to make the Maghreb believe Abel is holding their sailors ransom. This is no mere prison. It’s a factory for disinformation and false flags!

[jingle over intercom]

PETER LYNNE: Oh, that sounds like a Valmont announcement.

BRENT VALMONT: Attention, prisoners! If you’re hearing this, my guards haven’t regained control in the allotted window. Janine, I bet it’s you, you scamp! Well, don’t worry. As the vet said to the vicar, I’ve got a fix for that. My techs developed a painless gas for quelling prison riots! This isn’t it. This one makes your lungs pop and your eardrums melt. Don’t worry, I’ll have your remains stuffed and sent to Peter. What an end for star-crossed lovers, eh? The exits are all sealed. Enjoy your tomb, Janine. It’s been a wheeze!

JANINE DE LUCA: Mr. Van Ark, gas is pouring from the air vents. We could use an exit plan!

ERNIE VAN ARK: I... I don’t know. I thought turning off the rangers was clever. If I had another week, I could have shut the whole system down, but we were in a hurry. I’ve done it again. I’ve doomed you all. I’m sorry.

PETER LYNNE: Ernie! Van Ark, you little megalomaniac, focus! You never felt guilt when you were killing millions. Why start now? They need ideas, not brooding. That’s my turf! What about Five’s arm cannon, is it powerful enough to break through the walls?

ERNIE VAN ARK: It isn’t. Unless... Peter, you’re a genius. The rangers are as deserving of rescue as anyone. The gas will kill them, too. But they might also be our only hope. Janine, Five, there’s a vehicle bay down the corridor. It has poorer ventilation, the gas will take a while to build there. Smash through the doors, Five, and try to hold your breath. Hurry, go!

JANINE DE LUCA: [coughs] Mr. Van Ark, we’ve reached the vehicle bay. The door’s sealed behind electrified shutters. The bay is empty save for many frozen guards.

ERNIE VAN ARK: The rangers are all networked, Five, remember? If you use your cable to plug into the nearest one, I can grant you admin privileges. I can route the network through you. You’ll have control of every ranger here, enough to shoot your way out. But the neural strain will be extreme. You won’t be able to take more than a few minutes, maybe not even that. Are you sure, Five?

JANINE DE LUCA: Under the circumstances, Mr. Van Ark, we have no alternative. Your ranger is plugging in.

ERNIE VAN ARK: I’m configuring the network, Five. Linking you to all the other mechs, waking them up, giving you control... now. [Ranger Five screams] Five? Are you all right? If you can still hear me, raise your right arm. It worked! All the mechs in the building are raising their arms! Five, if you can bear the strain, point your gun arm at the nearest wall. Let them follow suit, and fire!

[heavy gunfire]

PETER LYNNE: That did it! And the wall’s coming down. Roof’s starting to give out, too.

JANINE DE LUCA: Thank you, Ranger. Now lead the prisoners into the courtyard before the ceiling collapses. We must get clear of the gas. Through the wall, run!

ERNIE VAN ARK: You and Janine are almost across the prison courtyard, Five. Peter and I are waiting past the gates. I’m so sorry, I know this must be agonizing, but if you can manage one more volley, blast the outer wall down.

[heavy gunfire]

Five, thank God you made it out! I’ve set your network to shut down. The other rangers should be going back to sleep any second now. Oh gosh, you fused half your circuits. That gun arm won’t be firing anytime soon. Still, look at all these prisoners you’ve freed!

JANINE DE LUCA: Mr. Van Ark, that was quite the rescue plan.

PETER LYNNE: [clears throat] It, uh... wasn’t all him, you know. God. Jenny, come here.

JANINE DE LUCA: Peter, you’re shaking.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, that’s just some uh, drug withdrawal and a spot of joy. I, um... I didn’t think I would see you again.

JANINE DE LUCA: I had no intention, Peter, of letting that be true. You and Mr. Van Ark are a surprisingly effective team.

ERNIE VAN ARK: We’ve had our ups and downs, but I suppose we’re both immortal. We’ve got eternity to work on it.

PETER LYNNE: Under absolutely no circumstances! He’s been worse than torture, Jenny, really.

ERNIE VAN ARK: Janine, it’s my fault you were captured. I promise, I will make up for it. I only wish we’d got more of the rangers out, but at least we’ve rescued most. If I study their software, I think I can work out a shutdown hack that accounts for Valmont traps. And there’s a yacht beached along the shore we can use to send the prisoners home. Now you’re free. If anyone can give us an edge against Valmont, it’s you.

PETER LYNNE: After we get some rest somewhere far from that cell.

JANINE DE LUCA: Alas, that’s not an option, Peter. Valmont chose to gas his captives rather than use explosives. He likely means to count the bodies. When he finds I’m missing...

ERNIE VAN ARK: He’ll know to raise his game.

JANINE DE LUCA: Indeed. Whatever his plans, whatever he was using his prisoners to distract from, our escape only invites an escalation. We must seek to counter him. Whatever friends we have in danger, wherever Valmont has his sights, I fear things for everyone are about to get much worse.

#zombies run #zrs10 #s10m8 #jailhouse rock #zr transcript #zrs10 spoilers

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alovesongshewrote · 2 years

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Is There a Doctor on this Plane? (Yes, yes there is.) - P7 | Eddie Munson x Reader

Plot: PURE SPICE. also, nightmares. [Eddie Munson x Gender Neutral!Reader] Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Word count: 2,666

Warnings: nightmares, murder, spice (no smut)

Disclaimer: Uh, yeah, fuck netflix, and fuck whoever came up with having a "stranger things experience" in a former n*zi prison where jewish and romani people were exterminated. that's an incredibly fucked up thing to do, and i do not support or endorse it.

A/N: woooo boy did this fic end up being longer than i thought it'd be. y'know, originally, i planned for this to be a oneshot, but here we are, part 7, the final part. thanks for reading babes

Tags: @twistedhistory @keepingitlokiii @efvyqrs

Nightmares. Of course, it had to be fucking nightmares, because you just couldn’t have anything nice, could you? You had Eddie, and then he died. You got Eddie back, and you immediately got into a fight with him. You reconciled your fight, and you were instantly bombarded with a bunch of FUCKING NIGHTMARES.

The world around you was red and black, full of thick smoke and twisting vines. You were back in the fuckmothering Upside Down. God. Fucking. Damnit.

As you walked through the wasteland, Eddie’s screams rang harshly in your ears. You could hear the man you loved dying as the demobats slowly tore him apart, digging into his skin and ripping away chunks of flesh until there was nothing left but a mangled mess of a man. You could feel his life slowly fading away as you ran through the abyss, failing to save him thanks to your incompetence.

Your heart froze when the screams stopped. That meant he was dead. That meant that you’d lost him again.

You fell to your knees, your palms digging into the harsh ground as you collapsed. You screamed. You didn’t know what else to do.

As your world folded in on itself, another sound took the place of Eddie’s screams- his voice.

“You said you didn’t want to lose me,” Eddie’s voice echoed around you, deafening you to all other sounds. You couldn’t hear your own screams. His voice continued, “But now I’m back, and you just don’t want me anymore.”

When you looked up, Eddie was standing in front of you. For a split second, he looked as he did when you last saw him- healthy. Alive. Of course, the longer you took in his visage, the more that image distorted. Blood soaked through his clothes, covering his skin with a sickening red sheen. Dark purple bruises covered his skin, echoing injuries he’d sustained even before the demobat attack.

“You can barely stand to look at me,” when he spoke, blood poured from between his lips, “You see me the way everyone else does, don’t you? As a freak. As a threat.”

“What? No-” pain ricocheted through your body at his words. He sounded so hurt, like he genuinely believed what he was saying. That you saw him as a freak, as the scary cultist most of Hawkins saw him as. Your own voice sounded miles away, as if you were speaking from a different world.

“I’m just another monster for you to fight, aren’t I?”

His eyes disappeared for a moment, leaving empty sockets in his skull. Was this what Chrissy looked like when she died in front of him?

He walked towards you slowly. Each step he took felt malicious, full of ill intent. You were frozen in place, trapped as he sized you up like a predator taking in his prey.

“Eddie-” your voice was nothing more than a whimper. You sounded terrified.

When he got to your side, he didn’t hurt you. Instead, he knelt down and slipped two fingers under your chin to make you meet his eyeless gaze. You were forced to look at him, at what had been done to him. Even bloodied and broken, he still looked so beautiful.

“I know I’ve never deserved you. I’ve already held you back. So if you don’t want to be here, just go.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. A sword manifested in his other hand as if he had drawn it from the shadows around you. The blade was long, its metal black as pitch. The tip of the weapon rested against Eddie’s chest, directly over his heart.

He said nothing, but he moved the sword until you had no choice but to hold it. Your hand covered his where it lay on the hilt. Still silent, he began to move the blade forward until it pierced his skin.

“No,” your voice was still so quiet, and it still sounded so far away, “No, no, no, no, Eddie-”

The sword sank into his chest, and his face remained blank. Stoic. His eye sockets held no expression for you to find. His screams echoed through you, distant and far away. His mouth didn’t move.

As the two of you ran the sword through his body, the screaming continued. As he collapsed into your arms, his cries still echoed through the air. They sounded so distant, so far away- the same way your voice did when you spoke.

Oh. Oh, shit. Logically, this could only be a nightmare. That meant that Eddie hadn’t just impaled himself on a sword, and you weren’t trapped in the Upside Down. That also meant that those screams were real, and Eddie was in danger.

You forced yourself to wake up, your dream self practically screaming until your eyes opened. You took a moment to get your bearings, forgetting where you were for just a moment before you remembered what you had to do. The screams had gone silent, but that didn’t ease your mind. In fact, they fanned the flames of your anxiety- silence could mean that everything was fine, but it could also, very much, mean death.

You threw open your door and ran out into the hallway, immediately hitting a fabric-covered wall- wait no, shit, that was just Eddie.

“FUCK,” you screamed, scaring the absolute shit out of Eddie just as he had scared the absolute shit out of you. You threw yourself back, hitting an actual wall and allowing yourself to slide to the floor.

“Holy shit,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “Don’t do that again, Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry,” you panted, trying to calm your racing heart, “I didn’t mean to scare you. Y’know, again.”

“It’s fine,” he sat down across from you, “It’s fine.”

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments, catching your breath and trying to relax your tense muscles.

“So,” he started, “You’re awake because?”

“I, uh,” you bit your lip, unsure of how to proceed, “I couldn’t sleep. Bad dreams.”

He nodded, “Me too. Y’know, I woke up because I thought I heard you screaming.”

“I thought I heard you screaming.”

“And you came to save me?” he asked, “That’s so sweet, my hero.”

“More like your healer,” you smiled, kicking his thigh with your outstretched leg, “I’m allowed to freak out over you, you almost died.”

“I know. I’m still sorry.”

“I know,” you looked up at him for a second. Your fingers tapped a quick rhythm into the carpet. You wanted to be near him. You wanted to get closer to him so badly- and what was stopping you?

You pulled yourself forward and across the hallway, before sitting at his side in the dark. Your hand was so close to his, so close that if you wanted, you could reach out and touch him.

“What did you dream about?” you whispered, as if there was anyone else in the household you could wake up by speaking too loud.

“Nothing much,” his volume matched yours, “Just, y’know, dying. Being torn to shreds. Except this time you were there with me. They got you too.”

“So we died together, then?”

He nodded and took a shaky breath, “Yeah. You died first, though. In front of me. Even after you died, I could still hear your screams.”

He sounded terrified. When you looked over at him, his knees were drawn to his chest. His eyes stared off at something a thousand miles away. He looked like a scared kid. You took his hand in yours. His fingertips were rough from years of guitar playing, among other things. You loved the feeling of his skin on yours.

“Y’know that didn’t happen, right?” you leaned closer to him, “I’m okay, Eddie. I’m alive.”

“I know. Still sucks, though.”

“Yeah,” a smile escaped onto your face, “Still sucks.”

“What did you dream about?” he asked. His eyes were on you, now, his gaze combing over your face desperately until he focused in on your lips. You barely noticed this, of course- not because you were thinking of your own nightmare, but because you were looking at him in the exact same way.

“You. My dream- my nightmare was about you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You made me stab you. With a sword. And you didn’t have eyes. It was kind of weird. It scared me though, so I have to give it that.”

“Hm,” he leaned towards you just a little bit, “Was the sword cool, at least?”

“Very cool,” your voice wasn’t even a whisper- it was like a breath, quiet and airy.

“You know it wasn’t real, right?” he practically repeated your words, “I’m here. I’m okay.”

“I know.”

He brought one of your hands to his chest. You could feel his heartbeat, a steady rhythm that pounded beneath your palm, “I’m here because of you. Thank you.”

He leaned in to kiss your cheek. Your heart began to race, and beneath your hand, you could feel his heart do the same. Your fingers dug gently into his shirt.

“Your heart is beating so fast.”

“Oh, yeah?” he pulled back, his eyes meeting yours, “What’s your diagnosis, doc?”

You didn’t give him a real answer to that. You were too busy staring at his lips, biting your tongue as you tried to control your racing mind. You failed, and the answer you gave him was:

“Fuck. I really want to kiss you right now.”

He smiled, laughing a tiny laugh at your audacity, “Go for it, baby.”

To your credit, you didn’t hesitate, even for a second. Your lips were on his in an instant, moving quickly, desperately, as if you would never have another chance to kiss him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling yourself as close to him as you possibly could.

He kissed back, smiling against you as he put his hands on your waist. As his grip on you tightened, you let out a tiny moan. That was all the encouragement he needed to lift you slightly and move you onto his lap, positioning you so that you were straddling him. As he did so, your hands moved, sliding up his neck to hold his face. His slight stubble pricked at your palms, but holy fuck did you not care. You were kissing the man you’d loved silently for years- literally nothing else mattered.

“Goddamn,” he murmured into the kiss, “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

You pulled back slightly, an impish grin painting your features, “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this!”

You leaned forward, kissing along his jawline as his hands moved up your back, “You’re so fucking pretty, you know that?” you whispered against his skin.

He shivered beneath you before pulling you away from his neck. You panicked for a second, wondering if you’d crossed a boundary, but before you could say anything, he switched your roles. His lips ghosted across your skin, stopping every few inches to bite down gently on your skin.

“Oh, god,” you moaned as he bit down particularly hard on one spot. Your hands curled into fists, tugging slightly at his hair.

“Mm, I wouldn’t worry about god right now, sweetheart,” he whispered before biting down on your throat again, drawing a string of curses from between your lips and making you bury your face in his shoulder.

“I love you,” you whispered into his shirt, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” his voice was just as quiet as yours, just as soft, and just as loving. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you to him in a tight embrace. You stayed like that for a few minutes, on his lap, in his arms, listening to his heartbeat in the otherwise silent hallway.

“Hey, baby?” you could feel the vibrations of his voice through his chest, “As much as I love this, if we stay here for too long, it’s going to destroy my back.”

“Good point,” you said, sitting up straight, “It’s fuckin cold out here, too,” you stood and held out a hand to help him up. He took it, and once he was standing, you didn’t let go.

“Come with me,” a smile crept on your face as you examined your entwined hands. You looked up at him before you continued, “I think I know a place.”

Of course, he followed where you led, as he always would. He followed as you pulled him into your bedroom, and he followed as you pulled him down on top of you as you collapsed onto your bed.

His hand was still in yours, and you brought it to your lips, placing a soft kiss on his knuckles. When you looked up, his doe eyes were staring back at you, and you were struck with a thought you generally wouldn’t want to have in this situation- Steve Harrington was right.

The way Eddie looked at you, with his eyes so full of love and adoration, you really, really didn’t want to let him go.

So, you didn’t. You pulled him closer, kissing him again and again for as long as you could. His hands ran down your sides, desperate to feel every part of you. Your hands found their place on his face again, and he seemed to relax into your hold.

“Hey, Eds,” you whispered.

He pushed himself up a bit, just so he could meet your eyes. His head cocked to the side, asking a silent question.

“I can fit my whole world in my hands.”

“(Y/N)-”

You scrunched your face up slightly, tapping your thumbs against his face, “Right here.”

“Shit, you’re adorable,” he moved down slightly, peppering kisses across the top of your chest, biting down slightly and making you run your hands into his hair.

“Eds-”

“Mhmm?”

“Stay with me tonight? Please?”

“Of course, baby.”

He kissed you deeply, and you wrapped your arms around his neck again, “Eds?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay with me, just, generally?”

“Oh, yeah. As we’ve seen,” he stretched up, taking in the sight of your body beneath his, “Death couldn’t keep me away from you.”

“More like I wouldn’t let it take you from me.”

“Fair point.”

And with that, his lips were back on you, and that’s where they stayed for the rest of the night.

That morning, your skin was covered in small purple bruises. Honestly, it was a good look for you- and for Eddie, who was covered in several similar bruises.

After kissing your love a quick good morning, you pulled yourself out of bed and made your way to the phone, dialling a familiar number and waiting.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Steve? Yeah. I made a move. It went very well. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Harrington!” Eddie said, his voice a little louder than usual so that Steve would hear him through the phone.

As you hung up the phone, Eddie came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your neck. You shut your eyes and leaned into him, placing your hands over his.

“Do you think he’s gonna tell the kid?”

“Oh yeah. Get ready for a three-hour-long phone call later.”

You smiled and turned in Eddie’s grasp, “Let’s go back upstairs, then. Get some rest while we still can.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He kissed you, gently and with a very intense passion that you were determined to hang onto. You watched as your man went upstairs, and as he stopped at the top of them waiting for you. A window behind his head let in the light from the rising sun. The light caught on Eddie’s hair, giving him a sort of halo.

“Come onnnn,” he groaned, “We only have so long before that butthead calls.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” you laughed as you ran up the stairs, following him through the morning light and into your bedroom for some well fucking deserved rest.

#x reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things spoilers

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