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marinas-drafts · 1 year ago

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Honeymoon

A Sky High Lovin’ segment, the swingin’ 60’s

Summary: If weddings are for the bride then it suggests that Honeymoon’s are for the groom -a stupid cliche you had dismissed until your dashing groom proves a little inexorable in his intent to “educate” his new bride on the long Learjet flight to Honolulu

Warnings 18+: (sex, dubious consent) I am about to possibly over exaggerate these cautions but I find it necessary, particularly for anyone who is used to reading my work because this is by far the most dubious consent piece I ever ever written and the theme is entirely narratively sympathetic to entitled husbands and female objectification. So, as it’s me, of course there’s love and tenderness but it’s also got -repeatedly denied requests to stop during sex, innocence kink, possible male enjoyment of a recent virgin’s discomfort, nasty baby talk, worry about a man being unfaithful if you deny him, talks of teaching you how to take him, (possible grooming?!) assumed husbandly entitlement to a wife’s body, archaic views on gender roles… y’all, I ripped off Pricilla and went full Lana Del Rey and glorified breaking a woman into her husbands tastes, like, that’s the theme and it’s reveling in it so, enjoy but heads up 🌷��🌷

Repost here from my main: @precious-little-scoundrel

There’s something very salacious in the simple act of walking across the tarmac amidst a swarm of reporters clicking away with their cameras, ready to print the image of your little figure pressed against his side, images for all the world to look at and know what occurred to you last night.

What you two did. How he made you his. On your wedding night.

He made you a woman, his woman and the whole world knows it now. There’s something so damn dirty about this, even -or perhaps because- of how traditional it is. The ring sits with a comforting weight on your finger as he holds your hand, and your belly aches from your husband drawing his pleasure from your virgin body, your thighs trembling as you try your best to keep up with his long strides in your kitten heels. It’s so proper, it’s everything he ever wanted, and it makes your cheeks burn beneath the generous layer of makeup.

He looks painfully handsome and happy this morning, impeccably polished in the bright sunshine and you wonder at his duality. The way he can clean up and regain his proud suavity when last night you had seen him mussed, tremblingly tender and near unhinged in his passion while consummating your union. A dab of pomade, a double breasted jacket and his wife’s little hand in his -he’s utterly in possession of himself now and is the fuckin’ American dream incarnate right in this moment.

He’s very proud as he introduces you to some of the familiar press faces, and very gallant as he guides you up the few steps into the Learjet, broad palm searing your lower back and you wish you two could have remained tangled up in sheets, honeymoon and travel arrangements abandoned indefinitely. Just you and him floating together in a sky of crisp sheets and tangled limbs.

The photographers crowd in after you, soaking up the shy way you cuddle in close as he tucks you into his side, sympathetic to your own desire to be alone but too happy to begrudge anyone a glimpse at his little prize. Uhem, bride. The amount of satisfaction he finds in you is palatable to all here, his arm around you holds you close and grounds you even as his face splitting grin proclaims that you were a tight but obedient fit last night.

Your eyes burn you’re blushing so hard and that makes him grin harder and it’s pavlovian that smile, you can’t help but grin back, harder and crinklier than his and that stokes his joy further and soon y’all are giggling over memories the photographers will never be privy to. Those are yours, frantic and tender and aching.

Even the ever hungry photographers are glutted by the loved up display you give them, and soon they are departing and the plane door is shut. Then it’s goodbye America, off to Honolulu.

The tiny jet crew and the couple of boys from his paired down entourage settle into their seats as the jet roars down the runway and lifts off, effortless, soaring and sleek. Beside him you are restless, shifting and jittery on the leather seat, though he is gratified to see the demure way you cross your ankles and the ladylike poise of your spine even surrounded by the comparative privacy. His perfect southern Belle, whose every thought and action and word is to reflect well upon him and keep his name from disrepute, he couldn’t have chosen better. Your mouthwatering submission last night proved it.

You squirm again. Maintaining the modest coverage of your pretty little shift dress, the one accented with navy bows that coordinate with his suit, requires you to keep your upper thighs pressed together tightly, squeezing the bruise of your freshly opened little flower as it pulses distractingly, as if in flustered shock at its sudden required usage. Throbbing, sticky and hot.

“What’s my lil lady doin all that fidgetin for, hmm?” he asks you, tone solicitous but his eyes glint, “Plush leather seats not soft enough for my baby’s bottom?”

You startle and blush, just as he knew you would, and it’s adorable really, the way you can still be bashful after months of foolin and despite the recent intimacy of the night before. And it’s downright precious that you are so sore and achy after he had been so painstakingly gentle when he took you. You had no clue how sweet he’d been, the amount of self sacrifice he had shown in his languid slide and shallow thrusts, tender kisses and gentle grip. Resolutely holding back the absolute wreckage he could unleash on your poor, widdle unsuspecting cunt.

“Just excited.” your body vibrates as you shake your arms to highlight your explanation, gesturing to the wide blue sky out your window and the decadent interior of the jet.

He grins down at you and kisses your cheek, reaching for the seatbelt fastened at your lower belly and he flicks it open with his thumb, the heat of his hand branding you like an iron for the brief contact. “Lemme show ya round then, baby.”

He folds your hand in his again and weaves you down the aisle between the padded seats and towards the back of the plane, the occasional stray crew member meekly ducking towards the cockpit. You two pass the music lounge with its built-in piano and electric fireplace, then the kitchenette with its circular bar and spherical burst of lights coming out of the wall like cascading planets, back towards the little bedroom. You marvel at the designs, the colors, the unabashed wealth of it all floating thousands of feet above solid earth.

Happy and giddy you tuck into his side and he holds you close, arm snug around your waist, satisfied to show his little wife all he has to offer her.

“Y'know,” he serves as your guide, supplying details and anecdotes, most of which you already know but would listen to, enraptured a thousand times to keep him free and easy with his conversation, “Frank n' i didn't really get along when i first started out. ��Said my music was brutal n' ugly. But we get along now. met 'im in person right after i met you. Reckon' ya rubbed off on me 'cause now we're good friends n’he lent us this jet to defile as we saw fit." his tongue pokes between his teeth, amused at himself and you find there is something cutely self-deceptive about his rare fits of humble bragging. “He’s got a mirror down here, nice big ole Broadway style vanity with it, bright lights n’low counter.” you’re far back into the plane now, he holds back a dividing curtain and you step into the little hallway dressing room right in front of the inauspicious bedroom door, “Frank uses this setup to primp before goin down the ramp to meet fans or shovin off for the next concert, reckon it’ll serve for the lesson I wanna show ya.”

Curious as to his plan, you look to him, both his image reflected in the huge, bare bulbed mirror and his own dear face beside you, more than a little pleased to see what a striking couple you make in the reflection, with his tailored suit and your chic smock, an IT couple without a doubt. It makes you feel pretty, wanted, a little proud maybe. That you won out of all those other hopeful girls. He sees your pleased expression in the mirror, the way your hip cocks and your expression morphs to your best kittenish smile. You’re preening. You think you’ve made it, think you’re at the summit of what life can offer and he may be partial but he thinks you wear smugness rather cutely. Makes him wanna shake ya up, rumple you a little, remind you who gave you all this. That your new image and importance and identity are due to being Mrs Presley.

He scoots up behind you, wrapping his arms around your belly and pulling you close to him, his chin settles atop your head. “Likin what you see?” he asks slyly, staring at the reflected image that will be on every magazine and newspaper tomorrow, the King of Rock n Roll and his perfect little darling who thinks she’s a woman now that she took cock once.

He runs his hands along your body, broad palms gathering then smoothing out puckers and rolls in the fabric of your dress as he follows the curve of you, breast to thigh and back up, then back down, further this time. He squats a little behind you and his clever fingers hook in your hem line and begin to draw it up, little by little exposing more and more leg in the mirror.

“Oh, no I-“ your hand flys to the apex of your thighs, pressing the fabric against you and keeping a covering there as his gathering has pulled your dress nearly to your little secret place, “what are you doin Elvis?” you ask, a little unsure and bashful of him exposing you in this somewhat public place, even if the crew is nowhere to be seen and the curtain is drawn.

It’s obscene to rumple up the perfect couple, all the starch and pomade that make Elvis Presley and his new bride the envy of the world. And it’s worrying. He does not know you omitted underwear today, the feeling of the fabric chafing and holding in the heat of your tender pussy too much to bear while maintaining a proper face on the tarmac.

“Gonna show ya somethin,” he repeats, eyebrow quirked at your “no” and the nervous way you are almost cupping the last few inches of your dress over your private parts.

He keeps ahold of the fabric he’s gathered up so far and takes to running his knuckles up your side soothingly again, till he notices there’s no band or catch on your hips as he glides up.

“You hidin somethin from me, honey?” he asks, already knowing the answer and the reason for your flaming cheeks, “Keepin secrets from your husband already, denyin him his right?” he tuts and your pretty coal rimmed eyes fly open in denial as you shake your head and pull your hand away. “That's more like it.” He nods approvingly, and ever the showman he waits a minute, building the suspense as his hands continue to map out your clothed body as your breathing quickens. In the mirror both your eyes zero in on the barely hidden triangle between your legs. Then with a flourish and flick of his wrist he swoops the hem up and a rush of cold air hits your exposed pussy. You slump into him and await his verdict. “Darlin, what’s this?“ he asks you gravely, his eyes very dark in the mirror and there you are, pristine up top and entirely bare below, it’s -vulgar. Vulgar and salacious with a fully suited man behind you shaking his head in disappointment that you’d be so careless on your first day as Mrs Presley, risking flashing the photographers or the flight crew because you were too delicate to stand a little fabric. He expects more of you, and he knows you know that.

You mix your explanation with your apology, looking like an eager to please little foal on shaky legs, and he accepts it with another tut and a hum as he rolls your dress up methodically until its bulk is beneath your armpits. The shame you feel in being so exposed is your own fault, your own doing, you know that.

If you’d obeyed you would currently have some demure scrap of silk covering you in the full glare of the showbiz mirror. But now you are bare to his blazing eyes. Your handsome new husband inspects you closely in the mirror, his ringed fingers trailing over your hips and over your belly, swooping up your ribs and tickling the underside of your breasts. Back down he goes, hands gliding and palms warm and broad, spanning much of your abdomen in his reach, down and down till he is petting your mound. Your arms dangle listlessly at your sides, entirely unsure what your part in this is, except to submit to whatever he wishes.

“You say your lil pussy is tenda, hmm?” he understands your motive now, and coos solicitously over your discomfort, even as he smirks at the notion you’re sore from that pathetically gentle love making. It snaps something primal deep inside him, or at least, he thinks that’s what made the decision for him, the decision to enlighten you that last night may have been real nice, but it weren’t typical. He can’t have a wimpy wife, he knows you’re made of tougher stuff, just needs to be coaxed out of you. “A little discomfort ain’t no reason for ya to risk showin the world Mrs. Presley’s goods, is it?” he observes and you nod in abashed agreement.

“No it isn’t,” your tone is fervent and you are so eager to make amends, “I’m sorry Elvis, I wasn’t thinking, I’ll do better.”

“I expect you to.” he says, not unkindly but you gulp and nod anyway, unmoored by his effortless authority. “Now, let’s see about this lil owie, hmm? Spread your legs for me, c’mon wider, that’s a good girl.”

You moan as his hand engulfs you’re throbbing heat, cupping the wounded little place and pressing it firm but gently with his palm. He can feel the thud of your heartbeat down there and the sticky proof of your excitement at just being near him. There’s heat pouring out from you too, a lotta heat. Half of it arousal no doubt, but it’s angry down there like a woman gets during her menses. Puffy and sweltering against his palm.

It’s gonna feel indescribably good around his cock.

“Now we’ve opened ya up,” he explains softly in your ear, “she’s gonna get all fussy down there if she’s left empty for too long.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror with a worried look, unconvinced that emptiness is at all the cause of your discomfort. You feel like something got rearranged down there and needs to be left to mend itself in peace. Preferably in a hot bubble bath. The one luxury this floating palace doesn't have.

“You trust me, don’t ya?” he asks your fretful expression proddingly, “Don’t want ya to close back up all th’way. Go too long and then we’d be starting from scratch each time, you understand baby?”

That does make sense. You swallow your fear and shake your head agreeably. Why shouldn’t you?

He was so tender last night, so romantic and gentle and chivalrous. He had kissed away all your fear and worry into the fluffy bed, sending you careening into bliss and flinging you up to the stars before gently pressing in when you least expected it. It had hurt then, sure, a little pinch and an uncomfortably full feeling he helped soothe by tilting your hips with a courteous pillow beneath them.

Making love had been nice, unexpectedly nice.

And better yet had been the sight of your gorgeous groom, shaking in effort to hold back his vigor as he worked himself in and out above you, gentle and kind, slowly losing a grip on his decorum and letting out sounds of pleasure and praise. There had almost been a whine on his lips as he stalled suddenly and clung to your shoulders and spilled inside you, cementing your union. It had made you feel gloriously happy, and a little smug to see him come undone from the feeling of being inside you.

He earned your trust.

“I understand.” you assure him, the little kisses he is pressing to your neck making you brave. You’d like to see him come undone again. If that means he has to go inside you again then you’ll accept that. Maybe he was right last night, maybe it’ll be even better today.

“That’s my good baby.” he praises you, pleased and handsome over your shoulder, “Gonna turn you into the best little wife the world has ever seen.” he starts to drag his fingers through your bruised petals and you make a ugly little grimace at the soreness before seeing how unpretty it looks in the mirror, consciously changing your expression to demure acceptance. The shiny pink of your lipstick highlights the baby doll serenity of your gentle smile.

“Take me to bed, please, Elvis.” you try to play along with him, desperate to show him your excitement and desire to please.

“Aww now, we’re not goin’ to bed this time, darlin, we’re gonna have a lil lesson so you ain’t in the dark bout marital duties and all that.”

You stiffen in his arms, confused and wary. He keeps nuzzling at your cheek and neck. You had anticipated that there might be adventurous trysts once married, sure. He had proven himself fond of messing with you outside the bedroom during your courtship, fingers playing with you under tables and in hotel elevators. You had prepared for him gently making love to you on a picnic blanket under a Hawaiian moon. Maybe in the tub, or heavens -perhaps the kitchen if he was ravenous. But you’re concerned now that you haven’t grasped his entitlement fully, you’re still trying to understand what he means by “lesson” and why he led you to this vanity. You have a shaky feeling that your embarrassment at being flashed in front of the mirror is about to pale in comparison to what he has planned.

His hand goes from petting your sticky folds to rubbing and swirling, calloused fingertips worrying your bud till you’re nearly keening in enjoyment. He hasn’t looked you in the eyes in a minutes. You keep watching his face as his expression goes from intent to hungry, watching himself fiddling down there with your pink petals as he gets you primed. Primed for the two insistent fingers that plunge into you with no warning. It’s easier this time, having had a coke bottle up there, even just once, did the trick, his fingers meeting far less resistance than last night. He’s made his mark, claimed ya and stretched ya. Never the same again.

His movements burn for you, tugging and persistent as they are and you wince, can’t help it with the way his elegant digits are caressing your sore walls at a foreignly fast pace. You hope that maybe not looking at the rough act will ease your discomfort, like looking away from the needle poke when giving blood helps you keep from getting queasy. The sounds though, wet and squelching, are unmistakable despite the hum of the jet's engines. You watch his face, hoping he’ll look up and meet your eyes, but he’s transfixed by the sight in the mirror of his fingers disappearing into you.

“Gimme your hands, baby.” his sudden instruction startles you as you had flown far away in your mind, trying to reconcile the conflicting amounts of embarrassment and arousal you feel under his heated scrutiny. Who knew married life would cause such a upheaval inside?

“Yes sir.” you present them palms up, and he jerks his chin,

“Now baby, listen, you’re gonna replace my hands while I get myself ready, alright, gonna keep my progress for us. C’mon, hand on each side, pull your lips apart, gonna spread your snatch nice n wide so you can really see the mechanics of the thang. The act.”

The act? What act - you figured if this was going to happen to you at the vanity he would spin you around and set you on the counter, take you kindly as you sat. He had licked you in a movie set bathroom like that one time. Your brain scrambles in confusion and panic, supplying the only familiar acts and positions you’ve tried so far. A man can’t take a woman standing, he can’t, it wouldn’t fit, or at least, it wouldn’t be nice, surely and he wouldn’t be anything but nice-

“Now,” he’s speaking up again, “squeeze your arms a lil, gotta keep your dress nice and clear of the exhibit, ok?” he snickers at the way your dress is bunched beneath your underarms.

You make a respectful noise of acknowledgment, too nervous to say more. Your folds are puffy and slippery beneath your numb fingers as you pull your labia apart like he instructed. This feels new, keeping clothes on while being intimate. It feels…irreverent and dirty somehow. Just like standing here, your whole reflection lit brilliantly and his eyes still glued to that place between your legs.

You watch him pull away from behind you and start to methodically undo the buttons of his double breasted suit jacket, sliding it off his lean arms and folding it carefully over a towel rack, “Ya see, darlin,” he explains, as he undoes his cuff buttons and starts to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, “it's only proper you know what it looks like when we're joined together. I’ve got no desire to keep ya in the dark bout somethin God says is a good thing. This isn't the olden days, I don't mind having an enlightened sorta gal. So long as you don’t turn into the bra-burning sort of enlightened.”

He meets your eyes then as he gives you a look from under his lashes, admonishing you to stay away from such nonsensical, feministic, man-hating company as his deft fingers pop open the button of his slacks and he pulls himself out, weeping, thick and ready. You had no idea he was already so fully excited, your legs begin to tremble anew. He looks larger like this, somehow, all poshly dressed and admirably sauve in the mirror as his cock juts out of his tailored slacks, a single indecorous vulgarity marring his pristine Ken Doll image.

You flush red hot at the sight of him

lazily pumping himself as he saunters back to you, his hand yanking and pulling to chub himself up and then a thumb swirling around the uncut tip. He’s leaking and messy already, a profusion of precum wetting his hand and you give a silent prayer of thanks that at least he will add to the slick, hopefully ease the slide.

He doesn’t waste time with romance, he takes his place again behind you and this time you feel him sliding between your cheeks and then your legs, the feel of his open fly and belt against your bare butt. Due to your obediently spread lips, it’s perfectly visible when he slides through your folds and pokes out the other side, a pink, blunt, oozing cockhead playing peek-a-boo in your garden. He bumps your clit again and again with it until you are huffily shivering in his arms.

“Elvis are you really gonna-“ you can’t bear the suspense of it, you have to ask him his intentions, if he really means to make love to you standing up.

“-really gonna fuck my new wife in front of this state of the art mirror?” he laughs, thinking he knows what your quibble is, “Goddamn right I am, be a crime to not avail ourselves of the experience.”

He punctuates his enunciated vocabulary with rough thrusts against your bud that have you shaking and coming…just a little. Just enough for him to be sure you’re ready to take him.

“Fuck me?” you repeat in a panicked whisper, “B-b-but I’m your wife, Elvis!” you object, wounded.

He gets confused, stalling with his hand as he lines himself up with your freshly excavated entrance, “Whadda ya mean, honey?” he asks kindly, reaching around to tilt your chin towards him, but you sense that there’s an impatient edge to it.

You tearfully explain to him how your mother and other women have told you very explicitly you that men don’t fuck their wives. They make love to them. You are very adamant regarding it, and he ought to know better.

“Why baby, that’s the single greatest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” he declares in fond amusement, smooching your tear stained cheek and resuming his rutting through your folds, “You gonna trust some ole ninnies over your husband? Baby, I gave ya a real nice wedding night cause I love ya and you’re my special girl and I thought it your due, but I ain’t gonna be saddled with a wife who can’t meet my needs when I need a quick fuck, ya hear me? Case in point is now, my dick’s about to fall off from all this chit chat.”

You suppose there’s a great deal about marriage that is far more complicated than movies and books and Sunday potlucks led you to believe. It’s hard balancing how to please your husband as you ought with retaining some dignity that will make him respect you. You can’t imagine Elvis ever not respecting you, it’s too ingrained in him and what he wants isn’t to humiliate you, it’s what he needs to be satisfied. And you so badly want to keep him satisfied, you know deep down you’d do unspeakable things to keep his attention on you, perhaps that is where your shame comes from. It’s less about his expectations and more about the fact you’d throw away all your mother’s teachings before causing him to go elsewhere for comfort and acceptance.

You turn your head to him and pucker your lips for a kiss of acquiesce, which he obliges. His hand is still firm on your jaw as he deepens it, and it’s heady and passionate and loving and -he’s breaching you suddenly. A squat and flex and tilt of his hips and then he’s snagged your hole and he is pressing up and up and up and you whine into his mouth as his foreskin rolls back in your canal, an extra friction against your raw walls.

“Elvis!” you beg, breath caught in your throat at the burning sting of him as your hand flies up to clutch at his arm, secure around your hips, “its it’s-” you flounder with a word to adequately describe the delicious pain of it as he goes deeper.

He mouths messy and moaning at your neck and you can feel his belly shaking against your lower back, his cock twitching at the feeling of getting dipped in your silky channel. It makes you cringe in discomfort.

“You’re so goddamn perfect and warm as anythin,” he praises in a slur of kisses and moans as he flexes up and up.

The farther in he goes the more it loses any snuggly quality and instead feels rather like getting slowly impaled. You shift your stance in front of the mirror, legs spreading of their own accord and eyes squeezed shut in concentration at just trying to breathe. It goes on forever and you start to try to go up on your tip toes, to get away from it, from him, to lessen the fullness and the deepness of his assault somehow. He persists. You try to scramble up him, leveraging your weight on his forearm till your little feet are nearly off the jet floor.

His answering chuckle vibrates your back, “Looks like you’re tryin to learn how to levitate, honey.”

You scramble harder in a vain attempt to get taller, to elongate your poor vagina somehow, to keep him shallow

“T-that’s all I can take, Elvis” you try to tell him when he’s only over half in.

It's an honest declaration, to your hyperventilating self he feels impossibly big and certainly every bit as deep as it felt last night when he took you discreetly beneath the sheets in the good ole fashioned missionary position.

Your eyes widen as he doesn’t stop, just goes on and on and on, as your breaths get more panicked, shallower with each inhale, on the verge of a panic attack until he stalls and starts to pet your belly and kiss your cheek in an effort to bring you back down. “Breathe babydoll, breathe for me. Calm down, satnin, you took this all last night. you can do it again, I knows ya can.”

You've long ago started to whimper when he didn’t listen, half in pain and half in fear that he isn’t stopping, that he isn’t being as nice as he was last night. Why isn’t he stopping? oh why, why, “I can’t, I think I’m not made for it.” you wail as you writhe helpless in his arms, a pounding ache between your legs and a strange flutter in your chest.

“No, no, don’t say that baby, please don’t say that, you’re perfect baby, just perfect.” he pleads a little frantic, rubbing his lips along your cheekbone to collect your tears, “Only need a lil breakin in is all, this won’t always be so rough. I’ll fix ya honey, I’ll make it better. Don’t you go objectin’ to the heavenly proportions God gave ya, or what he gave me neither. We were made for each other.”

Hearing the tender worry in his voice soothes you, even more than his comforting touches, knowing he isn’t indifferent to your struggle, he just wants what’s best for you as any good teacher would. You take a breath, a large breath and it feels like it made him sink deeper somehow. You bite back a sob.

“You can do it.” he says in your ear, his voice shaky from how badly he needs to be moving inside you, “Please baby, let me in, I’m hurtin’ real bad, if you could just see lil elvis you’d feel so bad for the poor guy. Let him in, you can take it, let him in, let him in his lil house. That’s it, that’s it just a little bit more.”

The man lied. There was nothing “little” about the more he gives you when he bucks up that last bit and buries himself fully inside, balls snug against your butt.

“Oh, i’hurts.” you moan, tears leaking through your clenched eyes, smearing your immaculate cat eye. “hurts -I-I can’t, Elvis.”

“You can.” he declares firmly, trying so hard to stay in control, to gather the last shreds of his gentlemanliness, “More like -you *are* doing it. Look, come on. Baby! I said look! Open those eyes and watch how well you’ve taken me.”

You pry your clumping lashes apart and slowly your eyes drag from the reflection of your faces pressed together, down to your breasts where his hand is crushing a velvet bow in his grip, down your belly to to his forearm barred around your hips. Down to that place where you join.

“Where’d lil Elvis go, hmm?” He teases like you’re playing hide and seek, and you let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes at his babying tone, “Where'd he go, darlin? Oh, there he is,” he pulls out a tiny bit so the pink veiny length of him peaks out from between your lips, “there he is -wait where’d he go?”

“Elvis. Stop. Stop, that’s so dumb.” you beg through your sniffling giggles, the fiery stretch of him temporarily forgotten.

He laughs at your embarrassment and pulls out further this time, then snaps his hips back up to the hilt of him, drawing a pained cry from you “Who’s my bestest girl, hmm? who’s that? Shhh, shhh, Das you ain’t it? Look at’chue, doin so well. I need ya to stand straight baby, let those heels touch down. I mean it, plant your feet, don’t cry about it, no reason to cry, you gotta relax.”

You’ve heard him use the same tone of voice when helping Red’s puppy get a burr out of its paw. Pitifully you obey him, planting your feet and it feels like you’re riding a telephone pole, the way he’s stiff and unyielding, deep inside you, plumbing the depths of your belly.

“That’s more like it.” he hums in throaty appreciation of the snug fit of you, “Alright now, ‘member the job I gave ya?” he reminds gently as he starts to thrust slow and deep, watching as your face crumples in grief, “Hold yourself open baby, it’s very important you watch this, I need ya to understand you’re perfect for this, gotta let go of ma arm, c’mon now.” he pries your grip from his forearm and brings your hand back down to your puffy heat, “Spread yo’self.” his accent deepens as your body struggles to take him, clenching around him in an effort to expel him, and only serving to make him moan in bliss. “Look a’that.” he marvels, sounding utterly worshipful of the way the glistening pink length of him slowly comes into view, then slowly disappears -absorbed inside you, your painfully stretched little hole fluttering hopelessly at each dragging inch of him.

“It still really hurts.” you observe childishly through gritted teeth, your pained body fighting the fuzzy headed arousal you feel while watching the obscene display of him sliding in and out of you for a few languid grinds.

“That’s cause you’re so tense, loosen up baby, -actually, here.” he shuffles you forward and you make a reckless sound of disgruntlement at the feel of him shifting inside you with each baby step, “Here, knee up here.” he hooks his hand beneath your knee and props it up on the counter, somehow making this worse and better all at once with the new angle.

“Ow, oh god, you said it would get better.” you accuse, biting your lip in savage self reprimand after it. Foolish girl, to risk making him unhappy and frustrated, stoking his wandering eye.

“It will, dammit, it will. I'm gonna need you to hang in there and play with your lil button till it does, alright? Bout to burst back here with all this startin and stoppin.”

“Ok.” you whisper, feeling a little more steady with the firm counter beneath your knee, opened up a little for the intrusion of him.

He pats your hips and presses an appreciative kiss behind your ear, nearly drunk off your sweet little struggle to be good for him. It makes his heart soar and fills him with wild wants, makes him reckless, and a little mean somehow, like crushing rose petals to gain the scent.

“Now, I know I made love to ya last night, darlin,” he pets the bulge of his cock in your belly and you shudder in anticipation, “cause that’s what weddin nights are for, but now you’re a wife proper you gotta learn how to take cock without so much whinin and clingin, alright? Made ya a woman, didn’t I? so do me proud, act it.”

With this emboldening commission he presses one more kiss to your neck before pulling out before driving in, hard. And then he does it again, and again and again at a pace you’ve seen him maintain on stage but never, never imagined him using with you, against you, it feels like.

You shriek and your knee slides further apart with the violent rocking, trying with terrible desperation to find solace and feminine satisfaction in the guttural groans and huffed out praises your husband vents as he takes what he needs, flaming eyes glued to the mirror and the place where he plunders you.

You are really trying, it just hurts so damn much.

You know you’re lucky, you cling to that even as he spears your cervix again and again with gusto that suggests your panicked clenching is the best damn thing he’s ever felt in his life. You’ve heard from other women, older women trying to counsel you, prepare you for what lay ahead, that some husbands didn’t even bother trying to make sure their wives were slick enough. That the dry drag and burn of a man can make the stretch truly unbearable. It keeps you grateful that the lewd sounds now causing you to blush are testament to the flood of slick down there. It keeps you grateful meek even as you wail and smear your makeup with your gasped out shock.

He should slow down, he should moderate his thrusts, cherish his wife. He can see you’re struggling and panting and crying and somehow it’s all just a drug to him, the gorgeous little dolly he crafted so perfectly this morning looking utterly overwhelmed and defiled by his cock. It’s enough to make a man lose his bearings and forget his mama’s teachings on how to treat a lady.

The beast won’t be tamed. And so Elvis Presley begins to babble a stream of apologies as he exerts all the energy of his able body in fucking his young wife, like the deeper and harder he goes the more likely his lil swimmers will have the chance of making themselves a nice comfy home in your sweet womb:

“oh goddamn baby I’d stop if I could, but yer squeezing me like a vice and I just…I just can’t stop baby, be good, be good, don’t cry on me, be good for your husband, baby. You’ll get used to it, we’ll train your pussy baby, just gotta get through these early stages. Early stages and it’s, it’s normal, just a lil skittish is all, ain’t no way god made me want you this bad just for you to be cold. Ain’t no way, I can feel it when you’re dancin to my music, you want it deep, you crave it deep, you were born hungry. Oh goddamn, yes, yes, fuck yes, baby, I’m sorry I’m sorry, yes, keep squeezing me like that …….”

It is not talent on your part, this clenching that has him snarling in rapture with his eyes rolling back in his skull, it’s pure creature instinct, whether trying to expel him, bring him deeper or milk him fast so this agony will end, you don’t know. All you know is that his force is terrifying and you’ve never seen something quite as erotic as the pristinely polished beauty of his face morphing into ravenous determination.

Your panic flares one last time, unwilling to allow yourself to coast into enjoyment of this filthy usage without a fight. “Please, Elvis please -enough!” you gasp, even as something seems to have shifted inside you, a tilt or a nudge, whatever it is, it’s a spark of something dangerous.

“Listen here now,” he pants in frustration, one of his hands leaving your hip to fly down to your clit and rub it viciously, “i don’t have a particular hankerin to pin you down over the tabletop, face down ass up, and make this marriage work but I will if I have to. So be a good girl n’ quit all your whinin, show me some of that grit you show when I’m teachin ya on the mats. Don’t wanna make me do nothin rash, but I ain’t gon’ have my honeymoon ruined cause my wife is insistent on bein’ an obstinate lil’ brat!” his voice his shaking with effort, “now, open ya self up!”

It spooks you, this inexorable side of him, white hot lightening ripping through your nerves. Suddenly you’re alite. Scientists might be quick to give credit to the clever little rhythm his thumb strummed over your clit but till the day you die you will swear it was instinctive obedience that had you spasming and then gushing, suddenly relaxing and drawing him in, pliant and eager. Subdued at last.

“Aww baby, oh baby that’s it, oh thank fuck,” he gasps in relief as he feels the change, “I’ve gotchu, you know I gotchu always, gonna help ya get over that damn hill, gonna drop ya off that cliff gentle like.”

His movements are not gentle, if anything they speed up, but his hands cradle you, his mouth caresses you and he places his own knee beside your own, glued together everywhere except for the snap of his pelvis. There is a razor's edge here, in the sensations his body is drawing from yours, and it is an edge upon which you wobble, tipping now towards pleasure, then pain, then back again to pleasure. It confuses and overwhelms you, makes you moan and keen and beg like an animal in heat, the jet crew and all your ladylike deportment forgotten.

“Oh dear god Elvis, I- oh, oh, please don’t stop!” you’re suddenly shouting in a shocked beg, something irreversible building and this isn’t your standard *nice job buddy that was swell* orgasm approaching, it’s one of the *well done sir, I think I just died there for a minute* variety. It’s shaking, and thrumming and burning up your entire body, suddenly making lyrics to his well worn songs take on an entirely new meaning.

“Lordy mama, tryin to let the whole plane know I’ve broken ya in at last?” he teases, finding it heavenly the way you move with him now in an easy give and take, the smacking of your bum against him and the happy slack of your mouth driving him to madness.

Gone is the suave man of myth and envy, here is an animal instead, mounting and mauling and claiming you with ferocious devotion and you take it like a jerking rag doll, whining in need where you were once whimpering. He’s proud of you. If he had breath to laugh he would at the way you suddenly look dazedly disbelieving in the mirror right before your body seizes up and pleasure annihilates all your senses.

Your legs give out and you slump, having only the vaguest awareness of the fact he’s beginning to grunt and cry out himself, using you like a writhing receptacle, coming unglued behind you as you begin to melt on him like butter. There ain’t much thought or chivalry to the way he grabs at you, a hand beneath each knee and folds you in half, split open in front of the mirror as he ruts every last drop of satisfaction into you. He hears himself hollering as if through a tunnel, something that the fight crew, if asked, would paraphrase as being “oh goddamn, you are more perfect than anything.”

You are numb and pounding down there, the last frantic usage of your pussy an ordeal you endure with cock dumb acceptance. The way his face draws up and crumples shortly after, and then slacks in bliss -it is the single most violently arousing thing you’ve ever witnessed. Feeble as your energy is, you feel a surge of feminine pride at the way he mumbles and moans and finally shakes to a stop.

“That’s it, oh you’re so beautiful.” you moan, watching as his hair falls into his bleary, slow blinking eyes as he comes back to the surface, “And you’re mine.” you sigh, content.

“Mhmm, yours.” he coos, jostling you a little on his cock and he snuggles closer somehow, you think you feel his seed start to dribble out despite the sizable stopper inside you, “Well, bless your heart darling, I’ve got ya folded like a camp chair. Ha!” he gently folds your legs back down, pulling out of you with painstaking gentleness on the way down, “That weren’t very gentlemanly of me, was it?” he teases.

You sway dangerously once placed on your own two feet and you don’t even have the chance to fall, he never lets go before he realizes what’s needed. He picks you up and sets you on the counter, you pool back against the mirror, boneless and debauched, legs stuck bow legged from such a long ride and a vividly puffy pussy leaking his seed onto the counter. He tucks himself back in with still shaking hands. He won’t be fully back down to earth till Honolulu’s runway, he thinks. Just in time to carry you off the plane. And begin it all over again.

Married life, he could get used to this.

“It was perfect, you’re perfect.” you slur earnestly as he returns to you and unzips your dress, hauling it over your teased you hair, baring you fully as you sit on the counter, kicking feet thumping against the cabinets in your patten leather heels

“Nah…perfect -that would be you, Mrs Presley.” he kisses you deeply, before taking you in his arms bridal style and carries you into the bedroom, conscious but uncaring that you’re leaking all over his pristine shirt sleeve.

This next part oughta involve washcloths or wet wipes. But that would require leaving your sweet arms and facing a jet crew that just heard him railing his tender young bride.

Yeah, he’ll just use his mouth.

Hope y’all enjoyed. This is a repost from my (currently censored) main blog @precious-little-scoundrel and in turn it’s a repost from the original written over a year ago on my deleted OG Elvis blog@aconflagrationofmyown I want to start collecting my fics here in case anything happens with my main. Xoxo

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sorchathered · 8 months ago

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As you wish

Summary- Bob, Mickey and their girlfriends go on an adventure to the local renaissance faire, but how can Bob be expected to keep his hands or thoughts to himself when you look like the fairy princess of his wildest dreams?

Pairing- Robert “Bob” Floyd x reader

Warnings- language, drinking, smut, knife play if you squint.

It was probably the hottest day of the summer, but that hadn’t deterred any of you from gearing up in your painstakingly hand crafted costumes and caravanning down the highway to Escondido for the Renaissance festival. Fanboy and his girlfriend and you and your newly minted fiancée Robert Floyd had been playing dnd with a group in Coronado for about 2 years now, that’s how all of you had met. You were putting signs up for the new campaign at the library, and Bob happened upon the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, feet carrying him to the bulletin board before his brain caught up with what he was doing. He’d been shy but charming, and you had enthusiastically convinced him to join your group later in the week to try it out. He’d never played before but he new for sure that Mickey had, so with a little (a lot) of begging and promises to buy his beers at the Hard Deck that weekend, the both of them turned up at the community center in Coronado to join the band of misfits they would soon call a second family.

It had turned out to be the best decision he’d ever made if he was honest, the two of you had gone out for coffee after the first meeting and had been inseparable ever since. Two years later and he would follow you anywhere, you were quite literally like a fairy, full of bright energy, quick witted and downright ethereal with your wide shining eyes and angelic features, he truly didn’t know how he had gotten so lucky. You’d kept your costume a secret all month, carefully curating little bits and pieces and as you crossed the threshold into your bedroom he had the thought to just stay home and ravish you all day. A beautiful green peasant dress was split at the hip, the skirt frilly and flowing down past your knees, with a beautiful laced up corset starting at your waist and pushing your cleavage impossibly high on your chest, he was definitely salivating and couldn’t seem to snap out of his trance until you skipped over and tapped his nose. “Hmm? What? I’m sorry baby, what did you say?” He wasn’t subtle at all and you giggled as you leaned into him to pepper kisses along his cheeks and slotting yourself between his thighs. “I take it you like what you see my strong, powerful warlock…buuuut I don’t think we have time for what you have in mind so get dressed handsome it’s time to go!” You say with a laugh as you step out of his arms and skitter down the hall with a cackle. Good Lord, he was going to lose his mind watching you all day, as he heaved himself off the bed he heard you holler down the hallway, “oh and baby just wait until you see my wings!” He groaned again at the thought and trudged to the bathroom to take an ice cold shower, grumbling about his temptress fairy princess and how he’d rather stay home.

You couldn’t have had a better time if you tried, somehow you and Mickey’s girlfriend Lana had convinced the boys to dress up as well, and you both had to admit there was something to be said about watching them walk around in billowy shirts looking like they’d just stepped out of a Tolkien novel. The boys were having the time of their lives, drinking ale from giant wooden tankards and consuming their weight in turkey legs, while the two of you girls bought glittery potion bottles and crystal necklaces from the local vendors. Finally heading home as the sun went down you peeked through the rear view at the drunken rogue and warlock passed out in your backseat and giggled, you just hoped Bob would be alert enough for what you had planned for the evening when you got home.

After safely depositing Lana and Mickey at home, your knight in shining armor clambered into the front seat, bright eyes full of mirth as he looked you over, his fingers had been itching to loosen your corset strings all day and if he was honest he was a little hard at the thought of letting you ride him with nothing but your fairy wings on. You fortunately were on the same page, impatiently ushering him through the doorway and down the hall as you groped at him and sucked on his tongue, you’d always wanted to role play as your characters but had been too scared to ask, but now looking at Bob’s flushed cheeks as he toyed with the laces of your corset you knew he was absolutely into this.

“Can I help you handsome? See something you like?” You said as you turned in his arms, looking up at him through your lashes and rubbing your body all over his. “Fu- I- I see a lot of things that I like my lady, think you should show me what’s hiding under this gown, can’t be too careful can I? Fairies are known for their trickery.” He says as he leans in to suck a mark behind your ear and begins unlacing your corset, tantalizingly slow as he continues to nibble at your neck and collarbone, nimble fingers untangling the laces and smoothing over exposed skin as your dress begins to loosen and slip from your frame. “I don’t know what you mean sir, we fairies are a peaceful lot, I would be a fool to try and get the upper hand on such a strong, powerful warlock such as you” you say with a cheeky grin, sliding the dagger you’d bought today from your thigh holster and pressing it into his side. “Hmmf, exactly like I said, tricky business dealing with fairies” he huffed out a laugh and raised his hands, letting you lower him to his knees in front of you. You switched to your normal voice as you lifted his chin, stroking the stubble that you always loved him to have on the weekends. “What’s your color baby?” “Green, so so fucking green, You’re a dream come true you know that?” He said as he smoothed calloused palms across the back of your thighs, taking your thumb into his mouth and sucking it, drawing a whimper from you as you nodded furiously at him.

“If you wanted to check me for weapons all you needed to do was ask, but since I have you on your knees, why don’t you put that smart mouth to task on something useful” you said you hooked your leg over his shoulder and pulled him close to your core, as fun as the banter had been you were wound up and needed him to touch you. He ran his nose along your underwear, teasing you with little nips to the side of your thighs and pulled back to look at you again, disappointment crossed your features and he chuckled and pinched your ass from under your skirt. “I think you might want to roll for persuasion sweetheart, I could draw this out a little longer if I’m honest, but I wouldn’t be opposed to you begging for it.” You blinked down at him a little stunned, that cocky son of a bitch, he knew exactly how to play you. “Oh- oh that’s mean. Fine. Give me your dice then, I know you bought new ones today.” He definitely did buy a new set today, and he would be lying if this wasn’t absolutely hilarious to him so he pulled them from his pocket and placed them in your hand, throwing his head back and laughing at the irritated look on your face as you shook the dice and tossed them at his feet. “Ha! D20! You heard me Warlock, put that silver tongue of yours to good use or I’ll cut your throat where you stand.”

You feigned irritation but you’d get what you wanted, you both knew he’d never tell you no anyways, he ran his hands over your thighs again and began to slide your underwear down your legs, letting it dangle off the leg hanging from his shoulder and set to work, licking a stripe through your folds as he looked at you with his piercing blue eyes. Fuck he was always so good at this, eating at you in earnest as you ground against his face and tugged his hair, making out with your cunt and moaning into you like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. “Oh, oh fuck I’m there just like that” you breathed out and came hard on his tongue, he didn’t stop until you were overstimulated and pushing at him to stop, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and pulling himself up to grope your chest and kiss you. “What do you want my sweet fairy princess? I’m at your service my love.” “Want you to fuck me, need you inside me, claim me.” He was pretty sure you were trying to kill him, it wasn’t even his birthday and you were giving him his wildest dreams, he pulled the rest of your dress and corset off as you clawed at his shirt and pants trying to strip him down to nothing. Finally free of clothes his eyes roamed over you, you were perfect in every way but he still couldn’t get that one thought out of his head so he stepped around you to grab the wings you’d dropped and held them in front of you. “Can’t get it out of my head, what do you think baby? Ride me with the wings on?” He had the gall to look a little sheepish as his cheeks heated up, you’d never get over just how damn cute he was, he could be downright filthy but this is somehow what caused him to get shy on you. You slipped your arms through the holes and shoved him backwards into the bed climbing onto him and sliding his hard cock into you, rocking slowly with him as he sucked on your chest, pulling a nipple into his mouth as you cried out, oh God were you close again already? Shit maybe you two needed to start doing this more often, you felt like you were buzzing with electricity with every thrust, the small thatch of hairs at the base of him grazing your clit deliciously as you came hard for the second time, sending him tumbling over the edge with you as his teeth sank down into the juncture of your neck, painting your walls with his spend.

He made to roll you onto your back but you made him wait, your wings were expensive and you didn’t want him to crush them, so you slid them off and let them hit the floor, rolling him on top of you as you continued to kiss lazily. “Damn this could be a problem” he said with a grin and you looked up at him puzzled, “how am I ever supposed to go to dnd on Fridays with you when all I can think about is you rolling a d20 so I’d eat you out.” You both couldn’t stop your giggles, and when Friday rolled around and your DM suggested Bob roll for persuasion, you couldn’t help but giggle and wink at him, thinking about taking him home and donning your pretty wings for him again and how it should definitely become a regular event.

————————————————————————

Divider by- @strangergraphics

Tagging- @attapullman @mamamaystbr @mamachasesmayhem @bobgasm @roosterforme @withahappyrefrain @floydsglasses @sebsxphia @pinkdaisies9285 @hangmansgbaby @sugarcoated-lame @teacupsandtopgun

#top gun maverick #bob floyd #top gun maverick fanfiction #robert floyd x you #robert floyd fic #robert bob floyd fic #robert floyd smut #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #robert floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #top gun bob #bob floyd fic #bob fucks #dnd #dnd smut #dnd fanfiction

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itjazzbicch · 1 year ago

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Secret Confession

Pairing: Monkey D. Luffy x Reader

First time writing for Luffy, so I hope I did well!

Summary: Getting up for a late-night snack with Luffy, they get nearly get caught by Sanji, who always yells at fluffy for sneaking in the fridge at night, hiding together, and learning how close they are while enjoying a late-night snack on the Sunny...

Warnings: Slight Swearing (That's about it!)

Word Count: .8k

"Luffy, is that you?" Yawning and rubbing my eyes while making my way to the kitchen, I could hear his stomach rumbling, his eyes still closed as he nodded, walking into the kitchen and mumbling:

"I'm hungryyyy."

"Me too," I yawned, following in behind him, seeing him trying to budge the fridge open, but Sanji had put a lock on it just because of Luffy:

"Why does Sanji have to do this to me?!"

"Shhh," I hushed, stepping up and unlocking the fridge, "Sanji will be pissed if he knows I let you in the fridge, so try to stay quiet."

"Okay," He whispered, giggling and rummaging through the fridge, exclaiming, "You're the best, Y/N! There's so much yummy food in here!"

"Luffy!" I scolded quietly, "I said be qui-"

"LUFFY! IF YOU'RE IN THE KITCHEN EATING ALL THE FOOD, I SWEAR TO GOD!"

Just great, Sanji was awake.

I stared at Luffy with fire in my eyes, "Just great. He's going to flip on us."

"Not if he doesn't know where we are," He laughed, shoving the food into my hands before wrapping up with his rubber arm, "Hold on to that with your life, got it?"

"Huh?" Seized in his arm, Luffy took off and out of the kitchen before Sanji could get there, jumping to the deck, his free arm shooting up to the crow's nest, making me squeal as we flung to the top:

"WOAH!"

"Shhh!" Luffy was one to try and silence me, eyes peeking over the crow's nest to see Sanji searching for him:

"Got damn it, Luffy! Just wait till I find you!"

Slouching back against the floor, Luffy giggled, taking the food from my arms, "He didn't see us. We're in the clear."

"For now," I huffed, staring at the dark sky till he held a piece of meat over my face, mumbling out of his full mouth:

"You said you were hungry, right?"

"Yeah, thanks," I smiled tiredly, taking the meat and chowing it down with him.

"It's good, right?" Luffy smiled at me, sitting up as Sanji was gone now, devouring the food we took.

"Really good," I yawned, relaxing back as just that one piece of meat satisfied my hunger, staring at the full, bright moon as Luffy laid back with me, shivering slightly at the wind passing by, freezing as I felt Luffy's arm around me, sliding closer to me.

I stared at him, a bit confused, and he tilted his head at me, confused himself as he asked:

"What? You were shivering, so I thought you were cold."

"It is a little chilly," I swallowed, looking back up to the sky, "I just want to enjoy the view for a moment."

"Enjoy it," He nodded, looking at me and keeping me close, "And I'll keep you warm till you're done."

Never in a million years did I imagine that someone would make me feel so flustered, let alone that specific someone being my captain! Although, he was warm and oblivious as always when he saw the flustered look on my face:

"The cold getting you sick or something? Why are you making that face?"

"No, Luffy," I sighed, nervous and whispering, "You realize we're practically cuddling, right?"

"Do you not like cuddles?" I only kept on confusing him. It wasn’t that I didn’t like cuddles; I was just so nervous; trying to explain to him:

"I just-I never-"

I had never been in a situation like this, and his goofy but pure ways made me smile as he gasped:

"Oh, you don't know how! It's easy!"

Fixing me against his chest, our legs intertwining, he showed that he had no idea what he was doing by whispering under his breath:

"At least, I think that's how you're supposed to cuddle."

"It's fine," I smiled at him softly, that bright smile of his making me happy like it always did, my heart skipping beats as he placed his hand on my head, keeping it against his chest and playing with my hair, whispering:

"Now, you can enjoy the moon and stay warm."

"Thank you, Luffy," I whispered, curling up against him, staring at the moon, and my brain flooded with thoughts and emotions I never felt before.

Why did I feel happier than ever right now? So peaceful and content? Why did I not want to leave Luffy's arms? I started to realize what I was feeling, and it was a lot to process because Luffy wasn't just anyone; he was my captain.

"Hey, Luffy-" I was going to attempt to maybe talk to him about how I felt, but when I picked up my head, he was fast asleep, snoring, and he looked so adorable.

I didn't want to disrupt his peace, laying back against his chest, whispering even though I knew he couldn't hear me:

"I love you."

2023 © itjazzbicch — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome.

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emmafrostdefender · 3 months ago

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crush | logan howlett x female reader

hi everyone! i wrote this for fun. it'll probably turn into a series of small chapters while i write my more hefty logan fic. i hope you guys enjoy!

warnings: reader's kinda horny i guess, sexy man, based on crush by ethel cain, 1.5k words (i wrote this in like an hour)

You’d seen him around town.

At the laundromat with the blinking fluorescent lights. At the dingy bar around the corner from the laundromat. At the gas station, filling up the tank of his red truck.

You never thought to say hi, never to engage with him in any way.

He created such a stir when he first arrived. No one moved to your town unless something was truly wrong with them. Most of the men had leering gazes and dangerous intentions, but not him. Never him. You were in his vicinity frequently, but never once did he attempt what many others had. All failures, of course.

You lived contently in your grandmother’s old home, moving there after her cancer took a turn for the worst a few months ago. When she passed away quickly after that, she left the house to you and you decided to keep it. It still smelled like cigarettes, the stench burned into the walls and carpet, but the smell reminded you of childhood trips to Kansas. Those trips were scorched to the back of your eyelids, forever being replayed. Everything was the same as when you were a child; the small Mexican restaurant, the old movie theater, the arcade that closed seven years ago.

Now, you sat behind the counter at the small antique shop you spent most of your days in. It was quaint, filled to the brim with every kind of knick-knack you could think of. There were crates filled with records and CDs, most scratched or completely unplayable. There were pieces of furniture, dusty mirrors, moth-eaten upholstery, chipped paint jobs, and broken hinges. The bookshelves that lined the walls of the store were stacked with books. You’d taken a few home in the past, knowing that they wouldn’t be missed.

And the clothes. There were racks on racks of vintage clothes. Most were out of fashion (even for the time they were made) or damaged. Still, you liked to play dress-up every so often.

The job was boring and mundane, but it paid the bills. The family who owned the store didn’t seem to have time to keep up with the place, so you managed the inner-workings of it.

Today, you watched cars go by, wondering when would be the best time to cut your losses and close for the day. Some days you managed to get more than a few browsers, but today was not one of those days. You had one person come in around lunch, but they looked for about five minutes before heading out.

Your mind wandered as you watched people walk by the storefront.

You thought of him. The man you saw everywhere. The man who never spoke to you, not even to say, “Excuse me.”

The man that just walked through the front door.

Eyes widening, you sat up straighter and calmed your heartbeat that suddenly thundered in your ears. “Welcome in! Everything with a blue tag is sixty percent off today,” you said with a bright smile.

He simply looked over at you and then continued his perusal.

You deflated. Harsh.

As he walked around the store, you felt like a live-wire. Every creak of the floorboards sent your heart spinning in your chest. You hadn’t felt like this about a man since you still called men boys. Being in your late twenties, that meant a very long time.

You grabbed a box of donations from the back room and moved to the floor to start stocking items on the shelves. You rationalized your decision to suddenly start restocking items after having a full day to do so by telling yourself that if you looked busy, he might feel inclined to buy something. You could nearly feel your nose growing by the second at that thought.

Moving through the rows of shelves and assorted items was second nature to you at this point, knowing where everything went in this mess of a store. You conveniently moved to the side of a shelf that viewed his aisle through gaps in the many items strung about. As you placed a silver mirror on the shelf, your gaze moved to watch his face on the other side of the rack. He was stunning.

You hadn’t had much time to analyze him; it was only small glances here and there in the time he’d been around. Now, you took your time. He was looking at an old book, bound in red fabric. It looked as if it had seen the bottom of a sewer. Luckily, he seemed to be making a careful inspection of the text, giving you enough time to look him over.

He was beautiful in a rugged kind of way. He looked like he worked with his hands; they were large and rough, with calluses around the fingers. His knuckles were prominent with sharp edges. You wondered what he did for a living. Did he move here to get away from city life? Was he a runaway circus performer? You internally smacked yourself in the head for the stupid thought.

He’d probably make the circus look sexy, though.

He had a large figure hidden by a flannel and white t-shirt. His attire pointed to him being a worker of the land. A farmer, maybe. That would check out with the truck you'd seen him driving around in. Always covered in mud with logs of wood piled high in the back.

His hair was a rich brown and you wanted to dig your fingers into it. You wanted to feel his beard against your skin.

What the hell is wrong with me?

You don’t have sex for so long that your brain goes fuzzy at the idea of a stranger’s beard scratching your neck. God. Get a grip.

You straighten your back and continue restocking things. Play it cool.

Soon, you fell into the rhythm of it, nearly forgetting the other person in the room. You moved to the bookshelves, loading more books onto the already strained wood. People really needed to stop donating things to you and start actually buying things. You’d be out of business by next summer.

As soon as you realized you needed to go back to the stock room to grab another box, you heard a grunt behind you. You nearly jumped out of your skin. You dropped the box you were holding and faced the man. Your mystery man.

He was so close, you could smell him. He smelled like smoke and sweat. You felt yourself salivate.

You looked him in the eyes for the first time. “Do you need help?” You asked quietly, scared that he’d run off if you spoke too loud, like a wounded animal.

“How much for this?” He asked, keeping your gaze. His voice was smooth.

You looked down to his hands, which were holding the book he had been examining earlier. “It doesn’t have a price tag?”

He shook his head.

Now you felt like you were being held under a microscope. The way his eyes ran over your face made you go red; you hadn’t felt this flustered because of a man in a long time.

“Okay, I can check at the front,” you said, keeping your quiet tone.

He just grunted again and followed as you led him to the register. You had a book of all the prices for things so that you could properly mark them. If you didn’t have the vague feeling that you were going to explode at any moment, you’d know off the top of your head the price of that tiny book. It was about the size of his hand, making you bite the inside of your cheek.

You opened the book and searched for the page with book prices. When you found the page, you ran your finger down the list.

Small = $1.99

When you looked up at him, you jumped a little. He was looking at you with such intensity, you’d thought he was going to have an aneurysm. It made your cheeks flush again, but you cleared your throat and said, “It’s $1.99. With tax, it’ll be $2.30.”

He nodded, putting the book down on the counter as he reached for his wallet. You read the book title: Frankenstein. “I love Mary Shelley,” you said as you reached for a brown paper bag.

He looked at you, his expression not revealing anything.

For some reason, you decided to keep talking. “It’s such a perfect analysis of ‘how far is too far’ in science and experimentation. I loved reading it in high school, I think you’ll really enjoy it,” you said, not particularly needing a response.

He placed the exact change due on the counter and looked you in the eyes as he said, “Thank you.”

Your heart fluttered. “You’re welcome…” You trailed off, hoping to God that he’d tell you his name.

He thought about it for a moment. “It’s Logan.”

You smiled. “I’m glad you stopped by, Logan.” You introduced yourself. It would be nice to have another person to say ‘hi’ to on the street. And you imagined he was thinking the same thing.

His face didn’t jump into a smile, but it didn’t look as harsh as it did when he first walked in.

And so began your crush on the stoic man who moved to town.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #wolverine x reader #xmen

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mybutcheredtongue · 10 months ago

Text

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

harry potter timeline sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER ELEVEN (see full series list here)

1993

You find yourself sitting in the Tower again. You dangle a string of wool in front of Dubh and she joyfully bats at it with her front paws. You smile lovingly at her, chuckling when she misses the wool and lands on your knee instead. The sky above you has darkened, and you look out over the grounds.

It's the best view in the castle, of course. You get to see the near-entirety of the grounds in all its glory. The Black Lake is still and calm; the tree' leaves are swaying lazily in the light evening breeze; the dark, scruffy dog is pattering across the grass...

You blink, and the dog is gone. You sigh, falling back to the floor and lying down, staring up at the sky above you.

Twinkling lights dot the sky above you, winking at you. Part of you likes to think that those stars have souls. That they can see you right now, and are wondering why you're admiring them so much. To them, they're just balls of gas. To you, they're the most beautiful thing in the world.

You think on the day, remembering your visit to Hagrid early this morning. The poor man was in bits, all torn up over Buckbeak. Hagrid doesn't deserve such stress and worry, and neither does Buckbeak.

A few clouds are scattered around, passing over the bright, full moon. Your mind turns to Remus: he is no doubt sitting in his office right now, all wolfish, probably having a hankering for red meat. You offered to stay with him on full moons, but he refused. Despite the Wolfsbane potion allowing him to keep his mind during the transformation, rendering him harmless, he stipulated that he wanted to be alone, just in case something went wrong.

You don't want him to be alone, but you respect his wishes anyway.

You've known Remus is a werewolf for a very long time. You weren't even meant to find out about Remus' lycanthropy, but you used to get so worried about him at school. He was always exhausted, always disappearing on full moons, not eating well...it had gotten to the point where you cornered him in the library and expressed your concerns for him. You asked him to tell you what was wrong because you couldn't watch any longer, worried that something bad was keeping him up at night.

And, well, you weren't wrong. But he confided in you, just like he had his other friends, and from then on you did everything you could to help him. While the boys spent full moons with him, you ensured he got enough rest during the remainder of the month, made him his favourite teas, helped with keeping his secret secure...he became like a brother to you.

Your school days are something you treasure immensely. Everything was just so right. When you and Sirius starting dating Christmas of your sixth year, everything clicked into place. It felt like you had another family at Hogwarts.

You and Sirius whispered to each other during late nights in the common room, and you would trace the outlines of his tattoos as you listened to him talk.

You, Lily, and Alice shared things together that you never could share with anyone else.

You and Remus played chess with each other and always forgot about using strategy, instead choosing to just try and annihilate as many of the other's pieces as possible.

You and James played Exploding Snap, which always ended with the ends of his hair singed and him sulking when he lost.

You helped Peter prepare himself for his first date, making sure he was mentally ready and feeling confident.

Life was much simpler.

The clouds part and the moon reveals itself, casting a glow around it. In the distance, you hear a wolf howling, and for a moment you think it's Remus, before you shake your head. He's in his office, probably sleeping it off right now.

Speaking of sleep, you feel extremely comfortable where you are right now. You let your eyelids drift shut and fall into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You wake some time later, the cold air nipping at your arms. You sit up groggily, yawning. You nudge Dubh and she wakes, getting up to follow you out of the Tower. As you're opening the door to your room, you realise you left your wand up there and quickly run back up the stairs to grab it.

You locate the item on your desk, stuffing it into your pocket, momentarily getting distracted by a scuff mark on the desk, wondering how that got there.

There's a heavy thud from the other side of the room.

You look up.

Your heart stops.

There, at the railing, is Buckbeak, Hagrid's giant Hippogriff. And on his back is Harry, Hermione, and...Sirius. He hops down, facing you.

You lock eyes and your name rolls off his tongue softly, and never has it sounded so perfect.

He's wearing shabby Azkaban clothes, which are ripped and tattered everywhere. His skin is dirty and his face is sunken with dark bags under his eyes. He's grown a beard and his hair has gotten even longer, but has become matted.

"Sirius?" you choke, frozen in place. "Are you really there?"

He nods, a small smile on his face. "Yes, my love. I'm here."

You take a tentative step forward, unsure really whether you are dreaming or not. The rational part of your brain is telling you to stop, to run in the other direction — this is a convict in front of you, after all!

But your heart makes all the decisions for you. It reaches out, desperately trying to get to its other half because truly, you were half a heart without him.

Your steps are slow and it feels like hours have passed before you finally stop in front of him. You hesitantly reach out, placing your hand against his chest.

"Please, tell me I'm not dreaming," you whisper.

Sirius brings his hand up to cover yours, moving it to press over where his heart is, where you can feel his racing heart beat. You can see a scar on his pinky finger, one he told you he got during a game of 'Pin the Tail on Kreacher' with Regulus when he was eight.

You feel tears prick your eyes, looking back into the face of the man you love more than anything in the world. You bring shaky hands up to his face, holding it delicately, like you're afraid he's going to break.

"I missed you," you say softly. "I missed you so much, Sirius."

"I missed you too," he replies. "How is it that you look just as beautiful today as you looked on our wedding day?"

You give a watery chuckle, sniffling. "Sirius Black, forever the flirt."

You lean forward and press your lips against his. This, this feeling. The overwhelming sense of feeling right where you belong, in the arms of the man you love. His lips are chapped but you don't care. His skin is rough but you don't care. His beard scratches against you but you don't care. You don't care about anything other than the fact that he's here with you. He's finally here.

"Please, darling..." he starts, taking a deep breath and gazing at you. "It wasn't me. I promise you with everything I have to give that I didn't kill those people, I was never a Death Eater — "

"I know."

" — I would never do that to James and Lily — "

"I know."

He pauses, looking at you in surprise. "You know?"

"I know, Siri," you say gently. "I believe you, I trust you. I know you. I've spent the last twelve years of my life believing you're innocent. I know you would never do that."

He opens his mouth to say something but can't seem to find the words. "You — you smart girl. My smart girl. My perfect, smart, beautiful girl..."

His eyes are brimming with tears as he keeps them fixed on you, before he pulls you into his chest and holds you tightly, burying his face in your hair.

"I love you. I love you. I love you so much," he says, kissing your cheek. "Going so long without you has been torture."

"It's been torture for me too," you reply. "I love you. I love you more than anything, Sirius." You smile at him before adding, "And you have seriously got to take a shower. Why don't you come down to my room and get all cleaned up?"

Sirius pulls away, giving you an uncertain look and you sigh. He glances back at Harry and Hermione, who you've pretty much forgotten are even there.

"We...don't have a lot of time left," Hermione says apologetically.

"I'm sorry, my love," Sirius says, pressing his forehead against yours. "I have to go."

You clutch onto his arms desperately, shaking your head. "No, no. You — you can't go. You can't leave me again, Sirius. No, please. Please. Please don't do this to me again. Why leave when I've just found you again?"

Tears stream down your face and Sirius reaches out to brush them away with his thumb. "I have to, darling. The Ministry'll be here any moment now, looking for me. I can't put you in danger like that."

"I'll come with you!" You try. "Please, we can go away together — we'll figure something out, just please, don't leave me again. I've been without you for too long, please — "

"I can't do that to you," he says weakly. "You have to stay."

"Sirius, please — "

"Stay," he says, kissing your forehead. "I'll find you again. I will always find my way back to you, no matter how far."

You let out a quiet sob and kiss him again, desperate for even the slightest bit of contact with him to remind you that you actually have him here with you.

"Please, darling. Stay here," he tells you firmly. "You'll be okay."

"I just — I've been waiting for this for too long," you say weakly. "I hoped I'd have you for longer."

He brings you hand to his lips, kissing your fingers lovingly. "I know, I know. We'll meet again and then — it'll be like I never left."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

He lets go of you, and it takes all of your willpower not to grab ahold of him again and never let go. Harry and Hermione jump off of Buckbeak, looking at each other awkwardly.

Sirius pulls Harry in for a hug, smiling proudly at him. "You are — truly your father's son, Harry."

Hermione looks at her watch nervously. "Quick, quick, you don't have time!"

Sirius takes one last glance back at you as he climbs up onto Buckbeak's back. He sends a wink your way and you shake your head amusedly, sighing.

He squeezes Buckbeak's sides with his heels. The enormous wings of the Hippogriff rise and you step back slightly, watching as it takes off into the air. Sirius and Buckbeak steadily become smaller and smaller until a cloud drifts past and...they're gone.

You swallow hard, sniffling as you brush tears off your cheeks. Before they can leave, you grab Harry and Hermione and pull them both in for a tight hug.

"Thank you, thank you both so much," you say. "You — you are the most wonderful children I have ever met — you brought him back to me, how did you ever do it? How can I ever thank you?"

"It's nothing, really — " Harry says sheepishly.

"Nothing? You have both just given me the best gift in the world," you say with a smile. Hermione is looking at her watch again and you let go. "Go, go on. You look like you have somewhere to be."

Hermione nods, grabbing Harry's arm and they turn to run down the stairs.

"Oh, and Harry!" You call after him. He stops for a second and you give him a smile. "Come find me when you have some free time. I'm sure you have a few questions to ask."

He nods affirmatively and they run off again.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

"YOU!" Snape bursts into the Astronomy Tower, looking outraged. "You — what did you do?!"

You look up innocently from your desk, watching as Snape climbs to the top of the stairs, red-faced and angry. He's out of breath — you don't know if it's because he's angry or because walking up those stairs is about the most exercise he's gotten in a decade.

Behind him, comes Fudge and Dumbledore. Fudge is huffing and puffing, and when he reaches the top he lays a hand against the wall as he breathes in and out.

"You — you did something!" Snape snaps. "How else could he have escaped?"

"How else could who have escaped?"

"BLACK!"

"Well, I'd have a hard time getting him out of Azkaban, wouldn't I?"

Snape looks like he's about to burst. A vein is popping out in his neck and his eyes are bulging.

"HE — WAS — CAUGHT — AND — NOW — HE'S — GONE — "

"Wait, he was caught?" You ask, feigning oblivion.

Fudge nods. "Yes, we had caught him perfectly well...the Dementors were going to perform the Kiss — "

You slam your book down on the table, standing up from your chair, staring Fudge down. "Do you mean to say that the Dementors' Kiss was going to performed on my husband without my knowledge?"

Fudge visibly swallows, glancing at Dumbledore helplessly, who chooses to become fixated on one of the constellations on the wall.

"Well, er...we reviewed our options and seen that — um — we didn't have the time to inform you — "

"Bullshit," you spit. "You could have easily told me, you just weren't bothered, were you? Some Minister you are."

Fudge splutters, face going red.

Snape is still shaking with fury beside him. He jabs his finger in your direction. "YOU DID IT, I KNOW YOU DID — "

"That is enough, Severus. Why, the portrait of Eloria Floria in the corridor told us that she had not left the Tower since she first entered it three hours ago," Dumbledore says calmly.

Fudge glances at his watch. "Well, I suppose there is nothing more to it than that. I'd better go and notify the Ministry of this..."

Snape is seething. Absolutely seething. He gives one fuming look in your direction, before storming down the stairs once more. It's nearly comical because it's purely silent in the Tower but for the clunking of Snape's footfalls against the stairs, his anger evident in his heavy stomps.

It reminds you of a young child throwing a tantrum.

→ all kinds of interaction are appreciated ♡

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

->-> read chapter twelve here!

sorry for the shortish chapter but I just really wanted to get this one out. They've finally reunited!!!

+ a big thank you to my taglist loves for all their support and kindness:

@wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @carpe000diem @hyperspeedo

#sirius black x you #sirius black #angst #sirius black x reader #angst with a happy ending #fanfiction #the marauders #fanfic #harry potter #hp #marauders #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction

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misc-obeyme · 10 months ago

Note

If you're doing requests, can I get Solomon headcanons, theme "sightseeing in Devildom/Human World", genre is fluff or author's choice if easier.

Hello there, my friend!

Ahhh yes this is definitely fluff. And honestly I think that's the best genre for this prompt! Because imagine what a silly guy Solomon would be, taking you all over the place just to see you smile.

Thank you for participating!

COZY COMFORTS EVENT

GN!MC x Solomon sightseeing in the Devildom/human world

Warnings: none

When you tell Solomon that you want to do some sightseeing, you quickly find out that there are a lot of places an immortal sorcerer can take you. Across worlds, he knows all the best places to see and things to do. If you need him to tell you where he's taking you, he will. But left to his own devices, he'll keep every destination a secret. He loves to see the look of surprise on your face when he teleports you somewhere new.

In the human world, he takes you to famous places. He insists on selfies at the Eiffel Tower and the Great Wall of China. But he also takes you to quiet, out of the way places. He shows you a field where he found a rare flower needed for magical potions. He brings you to the hill with a view of what was once his hometown. Solomon shares these pieces of his long life with you, from a time before he knew who you were.

Solomon takes you to some of his favorite restaurants in the human world, too. You're blown away by the delicious food. You're also unsurprised when one spot kicks you both out the minute the chef catches sight of Solomon. Apparently, he once tried to show them how they could improve one of their dishes and ended up making the oven explode. You let out a long suffering sigh while Solomon just takes your hand and runs, laughing the whole time.

He shows you places in the bright sunlight, but he also takes you to locations better experienced at night. Have you ever seen the aurora, MC? He knows the perfect arctic spot to huddle together and watch the bright colors on display in the sky. You may be freezing, but he keeps you warm with his own body and a little bit of magic. He can't resist adding a little magical flare of his own to the aurora's display.

Although he's spent a lot of his life in the human world, Solomon has spent considerable time in the Devildom as well. He will tell you stories about his journey through the rings of the Underworld, though he will insist that you needn't walk through them yourself. He can teleport you to any place of interest. He's more likely to take you to hidden marketplaces and tiny magic shops. You find a plethora of cursed objects and spell books. You try to talk him out of buying you an item that makes your eyes sparkle when you look at it, but it's useless. Nothing you could say will dissuade him.

Solomon shows you places in the Devildom that you never knew existed, but he also takes you to places you may have heard about already. He sneaks you into the Demon Lord's Castle in an attempt to get past Barbatos long enough to show you the rumored torture dungeon. Once again you find yourself laughing as Solomon is promptly kicked out. You're pretty sure Barbatos pretended not to notice you for a short time because you got farther in that you expected.

Although he is no fan of the ocean, Solomon also takes you to a hidden beach within the Devildom. The water is black beneath the moon and starlight. Solomon holds your hand, keeping you close as you stand upon the shore, his eyes out far across the sea. And then, slowly, small lights appear. They begin to pop up more rapidly until the edge of the water is full of bright blue and purple lights. They glimmer gently as they ripple along the waves. Solomon tells you about a Devildom sea creature that only shows up at certain times. You're so entranced, you're barely listening. But Solomon turns you to look at him in the soft light. The way it plays in his silver hair makes your breath catch.

Solomon will take you anywhere you want to go. Just say the word and he'll make it happen, whether in the Devildom or the human world. He loves to see you full of awe and wonder, the way you look at him with delight brightening your features. As long as he can stay beside you, Solomon will go wherever you might lead him.

cozy comforts | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #omnb #omswd #obey me solomon #om solomon #solomon obey me #obey me solomon x reader #om solomon x reader #solomon obey me x reader #obey me x reader #obey me solomon x mc #obey me headcanons #obey me solomon headcanons #misc cozy comforts #misc writes

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yayakoishii · 5 months ago

Note

*cracks knuckles* ok so Sanji x reader where it’s basically the time in between Sanji leaving for wci where both the reader and Sanji are fucking shattered and they’re both miserable trying but failing to do what they need to do while also processing that the other isn’t around, like not a separation anxiety kinda way but like they genuinely make eachother a better person and they’re in love kinda way. and basically it’s the straw hats being a supportive family to the reader and Sanji’s family going “what the fuck is this guys deal” since they didn’t know abt reader. You can add a happy ending if you want but I’m talkin real angst.

beyond logic | Sanji x Reader

Fandom: One Piece

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x GN! Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Genre/Tags: Angst, Open Ending?

A/n: thank you for the request!! I tried my best to write this but I don't think I'm good at writing heavy angst much ;-; I'm more of a fluff writer so I struggled and I don't feel 100% satisfied with this but it's the best I could do...

I added in a little bit of more detail to this, I hope you don't mind! I tried to keep in everything you mentioned but if I missed anything or misunderstood, I truly apologise! Hope you enjoy this and that it is to your liking ♡

also available on ao3!

Everything Pekoms was saying had to be a lie. (It wasn't, you knew that.)

Sanji could never be related to Germa 66. That made no sense to you. After all, Germa were heartless, cold-blooded killers. Your Sanji was the kindest man in the world who hid his sweet nature beneath an uncaring and harsh attitude. Your Sanji was the man who smiled so bright, it gave you hope and not despair, like Germa's name did.

Of course, Sanji wasn't actually yours. You had never actually had the courage– or rather, the need to make your feelings verbally known. You knew. Sanji knew. What you two had was no secret to you, even though you hadn't put on any labels. You could see the intensity in his eyes, could feel your own heart thudding in his proximity. Your heart was no longer yours and the man who had it was long gone.

You collapsed onto your knees, tears streaming down your face as your mind went haywire. Sanji was trapped in between Big Mom and Germa 66. How were you supposed to get him back?! That idiot had simply left a note saying ‘I will be back. I'm going to meet a woman.’ and expected it to work?!

Bitterness unlike ever before spread inside your heart. You were not weak by any means, but neither were you strong enough to take on Big Mom or Germa. In this moment, you hated yourself for being so weak that you couldn't protect and bring back the man you loved. From a practical point of view, one could even suggest that dropping Sanji and going off to Wano would be the most logically sound move for the Strawhat pirates.

Fortunately for you, the captain of the Strawhat pirates was not a practical or logical person.

"Why are you crying, (y/n)?" Luffy stood in front of your crouched form, head tilted just slightly. You tried to suck up the tears running down your cheeks but it only felt like more would come out. "We're getting him back."

Luffy's face didn't hold any doubt or fear. It never did. You on the other hand were full of both. Never in your wildest dreams did you think it possible to take on one of the four emperors of the sea and the kingdom that erased your island by providing their services in the war your country was in. You were realistic and you knew that it was impossible, yet… When you looked at Luffy's determined face, even something so impossible seemed attainable.

Luffy could do anything he set his mind to. You couldn't imagine defeating Big Mom, but you also couldn't imagine Luffy losing. And amidst all of that, you couldn't imagine getting Sanji back. He was gone. There was a highly likely chance you would never see him again.

Outwardly, you continued to just stare blankly at Luffy and he knew his words weren't getting to you. You were usually a calm and rational person, always there as the voice of reason for the ship. Right now though, everyone could tell that you were in a state of shock and despair. Nami swooped in and pulled you into a hug, like the ones you usually gave everyone else when they needed it. The touch stopped your thoughts and instead you focused on the feel of her skin on your own.

"You're not alone," she whispered. You clutched onto her, tears slipping from your eyes. "I know it's scary. I know it seems impossible. But I also know that it's worth it for you."

It was. All your reasoning had flown out of the window when you heard that Sanji was gone. The thing about being in love was that it made you stupid. It made you give up what is logical in favour of doing what is impractical but desired. You wanted to see Sanji again. You wanted to hold him in your arms and tell him how you felt out loud. Even though he knew without you saying it, you wanted to say it to him. You wanted him to hear those words and come back with you.

The thing about being in love was… you were ready to risk death for a chance to see him again.

You were really being stupid. But it seemed to make sense to your heart.

"(Y/n)," Chopper placed his paw on your knee. You looked down at him with downturned eyes. "You love him. He loves you. So come with us. We'll get him back together. There's no way he actually wants this more than what he had here."

"Sanji may act like a fool," Robin placed her own hand on your head and you found yourself suddenly surrounded by everyone. Even Zoro was standing closer than usual, offering you silent support. "But he cares. And I'm sure, if you ask him, he will come back."

You watched them all, looking at you with kind smiles. Neither you nor Sanji had ever spoken your love out loud. It was a decision that only made sense when you were on a pirate crew as small as the Strawhats. To avoid any awkwardness and to not have to keep a relationship secret, it was the logical course of action.

But… you couldn't hide your feelings even if you didn't speak about them. Your love had made itself known to everyone in your crew and they were still here. They were the only family you had in the world now and so…

You decided to trust them on this one.

"Okay," you nodded and stood up, wiping away your tears. Your crew patted on your shoulders and back and every bump instilled more confidence in you. Your goal was not to defeat Big Mom or Germa 66.

Your goal was to bring back Sanji.

"Let's do this."

•

Sanji already missed you.

To be fair, he had been missing you from the moment you separated on Dressrosa but now, sitting with his ‘family’ and having dinner… Right now, he missed you more than ever. Every bite of the food only reminded him of your smiling face, your kind words and the sound of your laughter.

They said that if you love something, you should let it go. Sanji didn't like that phrase much. He believed that if you loved something, you should hold onto it for as long as you could. As long as you let him, he would be there for you. And he would love you even if you did not love him anymore. It had been the only natural answer when he realised his feelings for you.

He didn't mean to let you go. He didn't want to leave the crew. But if he had to be practical like you always were… then he was a small sacrifice to ensure that his beloved crew remained safe. 13 years had passed between the last time he saw Germa but the smallest of fears still lived inside him. Sanji knew what they were capable of.

And there was also the possibility that you would not love him any longer. Sanji had thought that fate was a cruel thing, to make him fall in love with you of all people. You were from an island that was caught in a war. The war had been going on your entire childhood and it finally ended when the other side bought Germa's help.

The destruction left a handful of survivors, including you. It was truly a cruel twist for you to have fallen for him of all people, unknowing that Sanji carried the same detestable blood. He couldn't bring himself to tell you the truth about himself. Now, there was no way you didn't know. You must have heard from the others when you made it to Zou.

If you hated him, he wouldn't blame you. Sanji understood.

That didn't mean he liked it. He didn't want to lose you. He wanted to keep you by his side for the rest of his life. The only one he wanted to marry was you. Maybe this was how it was meant to end all along. Maybe because he hadn't told you about his family, now they had come back to haunt him.

"What are you thinking about?" Reiju's question made Sanji look up from his plate. From the corner of his eyes, he could see his brothers staring at him too. Sanji couldn't bring himself to actually care now that he was finally in front of them.

"What to say if I ever meet the person I really want to see again," Sanji replied calmly. There were no words he could apologise with. Nothing to begin making up for all the heartbreak he must have caused you and the rest of the crew. He had gone along with Germa and Big Mom's demands to ensure your safety.

So why did he want you to break in and take him away already?

"Oh?" Niji grinned at him from across the table, a smirk of amusement playing on his lips. "What, did you have a lover on that dirty pirate crew?"

Sanji didn't answer. You were not his, but even so… he didn't want someone like Niji to even utter your name. He didn't deserve to even know about you. You were Sanji's person. You were the one he had accidentally given away his heart to. You were the one who always forgave him. You were the one who made him want to be stronger, better, kinder. You made Sanji feel complete.

"I asked you something, Sanji," Niji narrowed his eyes. Sanji internally flinched, already knowing what's going to happen afterwards. But he couldn't speak. You were his secret. You were the one thing he could never, ever share with his family.

"No," he lied through his teeth and finished the meal. Sanji stood up and walked away, ignoring the dull ache in his heart. He had walked away from the crew by his own feet. He was the one who made this decision. He was doing it so you would be safe. But even though that was all true, so was the fact that…

He really, really missed you.

°•❀•°

all likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

★ Taglist:

#one piece #one piece fanfic #one piece imagines #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x you #sanji x reader #sanji x you #op sanji #sanji fanfic #black leg sanji #angst #requested fic

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aconflagrationofmyown · 2 years ago

Text

|| Honeymoon ||

-THE 60’s- A Sky High Lovin fic

Authors Note: Here at last is the long promised second installment of my Elvis Mile High Club fics, :) As this series is an anthology and not chronological, there are multiple references to the persona and style of 60’s Elvis where the other was of Big Daddy

Warnings: 18+ (sex, dubious consent) I am about to possibly over exaggerate these cautions but I find it necessary, particularly for anyone who is used to reading my work because this is by far the most dubious consent piece I ever ever written and the theme is entirely narratively sympathetic to entitled husbands and female objectification. So, as it’s me, of course there’s love and tenderness but it’s also got -repeatedly denied requests to stop during sex, innocence kink, possible male enjoyment of a recent virgin’s discomfort, nasty baby talk, worry about a man being unfaithful if you deny him, talks of teaching you how to take him, (possible grooming?!) assumed husbandly entitlement to a wife’s body, archaic views on gender roles… y’all, I ripped off Pricilla and went full Lana Del Rey and glorified breaking a woman into her husbands tastes, like, that’s the theme and it’s reveling in it so, enjoy but heads up 🥂 I’m a sucker for Elvis acting like an animal while talking like a true southern gentleman, so here we all are. Proceed at your own discretion

Copious thanks and credit for numerous lines and suggestions to my incredible coauthor @eliseinmemphis

What you two did. How he made you his. On your wedding night.

Even the ever hungry photographers are glutted by the loved up display you give them, and soon they are departing and the plane door is shut. Then it’s goodbye America, off to Honolulu.

“What’s my lil lady doin all that fidgetin for, hmm?” he asks you, tone solicitous but his eyes glint, “Plush leather seats not soft enough for my baby’s bottom?”

“Just excited.” your body vibrates as you shake your arms to highlight your explanation, gesturing to the wide blue sky out your window and the decadent interior of the jet.

Happy and giddy you tuck into his side and he holds you close, arm snug around your waist, satisfied to show his little wife all he has to offer her.

“Y'know,” he serves as your guide, supplying details and anecdotes, most of which you already know but would listen to, enraptured a thousand times to keep him free and easy with his conversation, “Frank n' i didn't really get along when i first started out. ‘Said my music was brutal n' ugly. But we get along now. met 'im in person right after i met you. Reckon' ya rubbed off on me 'cause now we're good friends n’he lent us this jet to defile as we saw fit." his tongue pokes between his teeth, amused at himself and you find there is something cutely self-deceptive about his rare fits of humble bragging. “He’s got a mirror down here, nice big ole Broadway style vanity with it, bright lights n’low counter.” you’re far back into the plane now, he holds back a dividing curtain and you step into the little hallway dressing room right in front of the inauspicious bedroom door, “Frank uses this setup to primp before goin down the ramp to meet fans or shovin off for the next concert, reckon it’ll serve for the lesson I wanna show ya.”