#( my man is swingin' ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marinas-drafts · 6 months

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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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fandom-imagines-stories · 9 months

Text

Going Down Swingin

Kayce Dutton x Reader

Words: 4271

Summary: Tired of being holed up on the ranch, the reader begs her husband to calm his paranoid mind for one night so she can go out to the bar with some of the ranch hands. Turns out, his concerns were founded.

Notes: God I love this man. I honestly have had ideas for Kayce imagines for like a year and now I’m finally finishing them (well, at least this one). I hope to do more with him soon, so fingers crossed for my blonde cowboy husband!

Warnings: Harassment, assault, fighting, wounds-

The cage of his arms was a welcome one. It kept you safe while also reminding you of every moment that led to this one.

In this case, you were reminded of how you got into this position.

Kayce’s beard tickled the back of your neck as his lips trailed down to your shoulder and back up again. You sighed contently and nestled back into his embrace.

“Time to get up,” He mumbled.

You screwed your eyes shut and shook your head.

“Noooo,” You whined. “I’m still asleep.”

His chuckle rumbled against your back. “C’mon.”

Your husband’s hands made their way to your waist and squeezed gently. He flipped you around so you were facing him. You tangled your fingers in his long blonde hair and crashed your lips into his in hopes of dissuading him from leaving the bed. Before you could deepen the kiss anymore, he grabbed your hips tighter and pulled you back.

“Nice try, baby, but we’ve got work to do.”

“Or,” you walked your fingers up his chest. “We could lock the doors and spend the whole day-”

He cut you off with another kiss. Just when you thought you’d won, he sat up, giving you a devilish smirk. His hands latched onto the blankets.

You glowered. “Don’t you dare.”

“Hey, I gave you a chance,” he said, yanking the covers back and subjecting your bare skin to the cold morning air.

“Kayce!” You shrieked, clawing to regain the warmth, but he held them just out of reach, laughing at your demise. “Kayce John Dutton, I’m gonna kill you!”

“You’ve got to catch me first, darlin’.” He took off, taking the blankets and sheets with him.

“Navy SEAL or not, I’m still going to get you!” You shouted after him, grabbing his henley off the floor so you weren’t completely naked as you chased your childish husband around the room. Of course, he wasn’t wearing anything either which made the whole ordeal even more ridiculous.

When you did finally catch him, he’d stopped so suddenly and you were running so fast it knocked both of you to the floor, practically rolling with laughter.

“I… win…” You wheezed in between giggles, laying on top of him.

“Alright, alright.” He brushed your hair out of your face so he could kiss you, but just for a moment. “But we’ve still got to get to work.”

You bit your lip.

“What if I promise to make some time for us tonight, hmm?” He offered. “Dinner, movie, whatever you want.”

You sighed dramatically. “I suppose I can live with that.”

Kayce rolled his eyes, locked his arms around you, and stood. You squealed as he threw you over his shoulder, smacking your backside with a victorious chuckle.

Needless to say, you were definitely awake after that.

It was a long day. In a good way. One that felt like you were actually doing something. But still, every move you made ached from the day’s work. You helped out at the ranch because of your past in veterinary school. Sure, you hadn’t been in a clinic in years, but you knew your way around an injured horse enough that John liked having you around. He said it was because you didn’t cost as much. You were pretty sure he liked you more than he let on.

When you saw your husband riding up over the horizon, he didn’t look like he’d fared much better. Dirt caked his forehead, mixed with the sweat on his brow. Not that you minded.

“Hey baby,” he greeted gruffly. Kayce jumped down off his horse and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek. When he pulled away, you notice the downward cast of his gaze and the look of guilt in his eyes.

“Alright,” you sighed. “You’ve got that kicked puppy look now. What is it?”

A smile cracks on his face. “I do not look like a kicked puppy.”

“Sure you do.” You tucked a lock of blonde behind his ear. “With your big eyes and your pouty face.” You hooked your arms behind his neck and pulled him closer. “Are you ready for that date night we talked about?”

The puppy look returned.

“About that, baby,” He blew out a breath and ran his fingers through his hair.

Uh oh.

“You’ve gotta work,” you concluded.

“My dad’s asking me to run to Billing’s to take care of some things-”

You held up a hand to stop him. When it came to John Dutton, you didn’t want any details.

“It’s okay. We can make plans for a different night.” You pulled him into a kiss, smirking against his lips. “But you’ll definitely have to come up with something big and romantic and groveling.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, wrapping his arms around you. “You know I’d pick a night with you over anything, but I don’t think fighting him on this would be a good idea. It’s business and you know how he gets.”

“It’s fine, Kayce, really. I’m sure I’ll find something else to do.”

As if summoned, Ryan and Colby mosied over to the two of you. While Kayce wasn’t close with any of the boys from the bunkhouse, you’d gotten to know them from working on the horses. So even though Kayce tensed protectively, you gave them a bright grin.

“What do you two fuckers want?” You asked.

“We’re going out,” Colby said. “Celebrating Ryan’s birthday if you want to come.” He eyed your husband nervously. “Both of you.”

“We just saw you over here and thought, maybe you’d want to join, but it’s totally fine-” Ryan started to ramble.

You weren’t sure if it was their usual awkwardness or if the boss’s son just made them nervous, but you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Kace can’t, but I could use a night out,” you beamed.

Kayce’s arms tightened around you and his puppy-dog eyes turned intense.

Sensing the change, Ryan and Colby took a step back.

“Cool,” Ryan said. “Meet up in ten.”

The two hurried off and you turned to fierce brown eyes.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Kayce said.

“I wasn’t exactly asking for your permission, honey,” you scoffed. “Besides, like I said, I could use a night out. I can’t even remember the last time I really got away from the ranch for some fun.”

He turned away, jaw tensed, and eyes following the group of men heading back toward the bunkhouse.

“I don’t think any of the ranch hands are stupid enough to hit on me if that’s what you’re worried about,” you teased, trying to lighten his mood.

“It’s not that.” He shook his head, gaze returning to yours. “And it’s not that I don’t trust you, so don’t start thinking that. It’s just… the places these guys go to. Nothing good ever happens.”

“Baby, I think you’re the last person to worry about me getting into trouble. Or anybody, for that matter.”

It was true. You’d married a trouble magnet. Hell, maybe it’s even safer to go to the bar without him, but he definitely did not look in the mood for you to point that out.

“I won’t go if you really don’t want me to,” you said. “I’ll just sit at home…. All alone…. Bored.” You sighed dramatically.

Kayce huffed and kissed your forehead. “Just keep your phone on, okay?”

“Don’t worry. You will always be my phone call if I get arrested.” You gave him a mischievous grin and started off to join the others.

“That’s not funny!” He called after you, chuckling at your excitement and hoping that he wouldn’t regret this.

The neon lights bathed your skin in a blue and pink glow. Music blared from the band on the stage and your throat burned pleasantly from the liquor at your lips. You could feel the tension melting off of you from the long, hard day, realizing how much you needed this. It wasn’t that you didn’t like being at the ranch, but sometimes the vastness somehow felt so small. And knowing how much it hurt Kayce to be there, the nightmares you knew he’d had, made you wonder if it was worth it.

“You look like you could use another,” a voice said over the music.

“Hey, Rip.” You turned to face the dark-haired cowboy with a small smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “every once in a while I let them drag me out to these things.” He ordered himself another beer and you another whiskey. “Not used to seeing you without tall blonde trouble on your arm.”

“Looks like I’m causing enough trouble on my own tonight,” you smirked back. “He’s working.”

Rip nodded, running a hand over his chin. “And he let you come here?”

“He didn’t let me do anything.” You took a drink. “He wasn’t particularly happy about it, but he knows better than to try and tell me what to do.”

“If it were me,” Rip chuckled, “I would have locked you up at home. You’re too nice for a place like this.”

“You rough and tumble cowboys don’t scare me,” you smiled. “I married one, remember?”

“You married one of the good ones.”

“Cheers to that.” You clinked your glass against his and he smiled, still shaking his head as he walked to the other end of the bar to keep an eye on things.

His seat was not empty for long.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you ‘round here before.” A muscular arm dressed in a ratty old t-shirt blocked your view of the dance floor and the body attached to it loomed over you like you were a meal. It was a feeling that you were unfortunately familiar with, having grown up around bars like these and, more specifically, their patrons.

“That’s because I haven’t been here,” you said, keeping your voice calm, but cold. The red-haired man beside you did not get the hint. He leaned even closer and you could smell the mix of tobacco and too much beer on his breath as he swayed drunkenly in the seat.

“Well isn’t it my lucky day then?”

You held up your hand, flashing him the wedding ring on your finger.

“Not so much, buddy.” You downed the rest of your drink. “But I’m sure there’s plenty of single women dying to give you a handjob in the bathroom,” you snarked, signaling for the bartender to get you another.

“What if I want you?” He leered.

What started out as annoyance was turning into anger.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” You stood up in order to get away from his ever-leaning frame. “I’m married, dipshit.”

The drunkard shrugged. “I don’t see anybody here?”

Oh but if Kayce were here…

You could handle yourself without him.

“Why don’t you just back off before that tiny dick of yours gets you into something your tinier brain can’t deal with.”

You turned to walk away.

He grabbed your wrist, twisting it back until it stung.

“What did you say to me you fucking bitch?”

When your fist collided with his chin, it was just the beginning.

Hands grabbed your arms, giving him a clear hit to your stomach which you took with a grunt. You yanked yourself free and found two more men encircling you. Apparently, this shitstain wasn’t alone and all of them were drunk enough to not care that you were half their size and a woman. So much for chivalry.

“Three men versus little old me,” you scoffed. “That hardly seems fair.”

But you weren’t alone either.

Ryan broke through the crowd first, punching the man to your right square between the eyes. Colby was next, fighting some others who’d joined in for the hell of it. You stayed focused on your original creep.

“By the time we’re done, you’re going to be begging me to fuck you into tomorrow,” he sneered.

You responded with another hit to his mouth, feeling a couple of teeth crack against your knuckles.

He swung. You dodged. He picked up a bottle and crashed it against your shoulder, still too drunk to actually aim. You stomped on his foot. He grabbed you by the hair.

Somewhere, a gun went off and everybody screamed.

Red-haired Romeo, however, didn’t seem to care.

By the time Rip had made it over to you, you were being thrown across the bar. You felt the sticky, slick surface slide past your leg before you collided with the back shelves, and dozens of bottles shattered into your back. Your head slammed into the counter as you fell to the whiskey-soaked floor.

Everything was black after that.

You got little bits, here and there, trying to force yourself awake, but never able to fight back the darkness.

Rip and Ryan carrying you with your arms over their shoulders, Rip cursing the whole way to the house.

“Her husband is going to have somebody’s hide and it sure as hell isn’t going to be mine.”

A flash of strawberry blonde and the smell of cigarette smoke.

Ryan’s worried eyes as Rip dragged him away.

It was until the alcohol-dipped rag touched your cuts that you were fully awake. You grimaced, the sharp sting shooting up your back. You gripped the arm of the couch, face down in a pillow.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Beth snarked. “It’d be a shame to miss this fun.” She pulled a piece of glass out of your side and you clenched your jaw. “That looks like it hurts.”

“Is there still bourbon down here?” You asked.

She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s what got you into this mess, sweetheart. And when my brother makes a list tonight, I’m not putting myself on it.”

She plucked another shard. It seemed every muscle in your back spasmed with every move she made, taking out class and swiping at the blood pooling on your skin. Not to mention the pounding in your head, hair matted with gore. You were grateful it was her, though. At least she’d get it done quick, without any pitying or panic.

Meanwhile, outside was an almost as pitiful sight. Rip leaned against the barn, glaring down the other men who nursed their injuries. Ryan’s eye was already starting to swell and Colby rubbed his aching jaw. Even Lloyd looked worse for wear.

“You’re lucky I don’t fire every one of you,” Rip glowered.

“In our defense, we were trying to stop the fight,” Ryan said, but quickly regretted it.

Rip stepped toward him. “You want another black eye?”

All eyes, however, glanced behind Rip, a pair of headlights growing nearer and nearer.

“Oh shit,” Colby muttered. “I thought he was going to Billings.”

Rip ran a hand down his face, trying to contain his frustration. Could anything else go wrong?

“Apparently not.”

Kayce got out of the truck.

At first, he thought they’d cut the party short and came back to the ranch, but as he got closer, he saw the specks of blood on their shirts and the color of forming bruises.

“What the hell happened?”

Rip sighed. “What does it look like?”

Kayce’s burning gaze turned to him, the question going unsaid, but very much present in his eyes. Rip held up a hand, keeping his voice level to not poke the bear any further.

“She’s inside. Beth’s with her.”

Kayce didn’t waste any more time, dark eyes flashing as he whipped around, sprinting up to the house.

“Y/N!” He screamed. “Y/N!”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Do you want to wake up all of Montana? We’re in here.”

A door opened upstairs. John was awake.

“What’s going on?”

You buried your face in the pillow.

Oh. God.

Kayce stormed into the living room at the same time his father appeared in the loft.

“I’m sorry for getting blood on your couch,” you said, gritting your teeth as Beth cleaned another gaping cut. Your bare chest stuck to the leather uncomfortably as you shifted to get a look at your father-in-law, avoiding your husband in the doorway.

“Is she going to be okay?” John called down.

“She won’t be able to lie on her back for a while.” Beth looked up at your panicked husband with a smirk. “But hey, save a horse, ride a cowboy, right?”

“Beth,” you groaned.

Kayce’s expression darkened.

Beth placed the rag back in the bowl and stood. “That’s my cue.” She waved up at John. “Just another day in the Dutton house, daddy.”

John sighed, muttering as he went back down the hall. “I don’t want to know.”

Kayce was at your side in seconds, dark eyes widening at the sight of your bloodied back and bruised face. Guilt and worry took over his features. It was worse than he thought. There were still a few shards of glass stuck in your flesh and some of the cuts looked like they went pretty deep. Your shoulder was a web of scratches with a bloody point of impact in the middle. The back and side of your head were covered with that dreaded red, more glass stuck in your hair.

You tried to crack a smile.

“You should see the other guy.”

“Baby…” he breathed shakily, a trembling hand against your cheek. “What happened?” Before you could answer, another, angrier question boiled in his chest. “Who did this to you?”

“I don’t know.”

He opened his mouth, but you stopped him.

“I’m serious. I didn’t exactly ask for contact information when I was swinging at him.”

Kayce nodded, body rigid with rage as he picked up the rag and started tending to your wounds with a much gentler hand than his sister’s.

“So a man attacked you?” His voice was calm which made you even more nervous. He only sounded like that when he wanted to kill something. Or someone.

“Well, I wasn’t tossed over a bar by Montana Barbie,” you snarked.

Your humor hid your humiliation but only made his frustration worse. His hand tensed roughly against your skin. You bit your lip to keep from wincing.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Keeping his movements slow and soft, he got the rest of the glass out and cleaned up most of the blood, though some of the cuts would definitely need stitches.

“And technically, no,” you said. “I started the fight. He was just annoying.”

You tried to push yourself up, crying out at the pain in your shoulder. Kayce gently urged you back down, repositioning the pillow so you could look at him more comfortably.

“It doesn’t matter,” he growled. “Anybody who does this to you-”

“Have probably already been punished by Rip.” You used your strength to reach a hand to tuck his blonde hair behind his ear. “I’m okay, Kace.”

He motioned to the liquor store sliced into your back. “Not from where I’m sitting, sweetheart. You know, one of those bottles could have paralyzed you, or-or severed an artery. You would have bled out on a dirty bar floor and I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it.”

His voice cracked and you finally let your cocky facade fall.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you cried. “But you can’t protect me forever. I can handle myself.”

“Tonight’s not real good proof of that,” he said, a small smile teasing his lips. “Only you could get into this much trouble going out for drinks.”

“Hypocrite.”

He started bandaging you up as best he could to get you ready to go to the hospital.

“I don’t need to go anywhere,” you protested as he helped you up.

“You just had your head smashed against I don’t want to know how many surfaces. Rip said you were out for a couple of hours, now we should have had you at the hospital sooner,” Kayce said. “I’m not messin’ around.”

Sure enough, when you did see the doctor, they confirmed that you had a concussion. A bad one. Enough to make them want to keep you overnight to observe, as well as stitch up your back. When they asked what happened, you told them you fell.

“You… fell…” The doctor eyed you, then looked at Kayce.

You grabbed the woman’s arm, directing her suspicious gaze back at you. The last thing Kayce needed was somebody getting the wrong idea and thinking this was his fault.

“Through a glass table, from which I might have died if my husband hadn’t come home early so you keep your focus on me, okay?” You snapped.

Kayce chuckled. “Easy, baby. We’re not being interrogated.”

“I’m responsible for what happened. I don’t want her thinking anything different,” you said. “Tonight was my fault.”

“No,” he sighed. “It wasn’t.”

He should have been there. He didn’t drink, so he would have been able to see those creeps coming a mile off. Better yet, he should have stayed home, stayed with you like he said he was going to. Then none of this wouldn’t have happened.

“Hey,” you said, taking his hand. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

You gave him a knowing smile. “You don’t have to.”

He brought your hand up to his lips and held it for the rest of the night.

Three Weeks Later

The wind whistled around you and for the first time in almost a month, you felt like you could really breathe. Adjusting the reins in your hand, your golden-brown quarter horse turned, facing you back toward the ranch, miles, and miles of beautiful country all around you. In the distance, you saw a dark hat appear out of the stables and heard your name echo across the field.

You pet your horse's neck, laughing. “I think we’re in trouble.”

With the sunset overhead, you rode back, your husband’s disapproving frown becoming clearer and clearer.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked. You dismounted and led your horse to the barn. “You just got cleared by the doctor. Are you trying to get another concussion?”

“I know how to ride a horse without falling off, baby.” You kissed him as you went by. “Besides, it’s therapeutic. See, I feel better already.”

Kayce watched you go by, eyes lingering on your back, imagining the angry red scabs and scratches that crisscrossed your skin. He thought about how you tried not to wince when he touched you or that you’d have to lean on him after standing, too dizzy to see straight.

He should have been there.

“Morning, Rip,” you said, seeing the mountain of a man in the other doorway. He tilted his hat at you in greeting, glancing over at your husband for a moment before carrying on by. Something you’d watched that morning clicked in your mind. “I actually wanted to talk to the two of you about something.”

Rip halted and turned around.

“I saw on the news this morning that they found the remains of three hikers in the park last night,” you said, suspicious eyes switching between the two of them. “Three men. You two wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Kayce’s brows furrowed. Rip’s expression didn’t change. You put your hands on your hips and narrowed your eyes.

“Because I can fight my own fights. I don’t need either of you getting yourselves into trouble.” You shot your husband a look that said ‘especially you.’ It seemed like trouble was both of your middle names sometimes.

But he just shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby.” Kayce turned to the other cowboy. “Rip?”

A silence fell over the barn, heavy with tension and an unspoken truth.

“It’s the first I’m hearing of it,” Rip said, cool blue eyes watching you. “They probably poked a bear they shouldn’t have.” With that, he left the two of you, and Kayce couldn’t help but feel grateful. As much as he would have wanted to deal with them himself, he was glad those bastards got what they deserved.

You unstrapped the saddle and started to lift it off.

“I got it,” Kayce said, grabbing the heavy leather for you and the two of you finished putting everything away. But that heavy silence was still there.

Your hand slipped into his, tugging slightly to make him look at you.

“Kayce,” you started softly, those big brown eyes making you melt just like they always did, but in them, you could see the guilt he’d been carrying for the past three weeks. “What happened was not your fault. It just… happened.” You laid a hand on his cheek. “Even you can’t stop the world from happening. And you can’t stop some men from being drunk bastards who can’t throw a decent punch.”

His fingers traced the forming scars on your shoulder. “I can try,” he whispered.

You brought his gaze back to yours and pulled him in for a kiss that said everything you both needed it to. When you pulled away, you smiled teasingly.

“So enough of the puppy look.”

Kayce rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”

“I’m serious!” You giggled. “It’s time to, I don’t know, have a little fun again. I’m not going to break.”

Ever the fighter, he thought, bringing you in for another kiss.

You tugged on his hand again, leading him out of the barn. The first stars were making their appearance over the incredible landscape you called home.

“Besides,” you said, leading him back toward the house. “You still owe me a date night.”

Kayce chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist with a smirk that matched your own.

“Yes ma’am.”

#kayce dutton x reader #yellowstone #kayce dutton #rip wheeler #yellowstone imagines #luke grimes #my blonde cowboy husband

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bipp-bopp-time-to-stop · 2 months

Text

Icarus

Okay, so my yandere kick may be lasting a little longer than expected. Though, I do have an idea for a series (?) now. It'll be a story focusing on each of the boys and letting them have their time to shine in their, ahem, devotion. Although he's not my fav boy of the bunch (still love him though), Sky's story came to me first and it came in swingin'. It's a little shorter than my previous posts but I hope you all enjoy!

TW: Yandere themes, blood, gore, descriptions of torture, a lot of talk about harm by fire, Sky goes off the deep end

The chunk of wood in his hands was unassuming. It was light, partly sanded, and cut from a stray piece of driftwood. Unlike logs or planks used in building houses or inns, this wood was soft. So when his knife began to scratch and peel at it, the wood offered no resistance. With nimble and trained fingers, Sky carved away at the wood. His motions were fluid and he showed no fear of nicking himself on the sharp blade of his carving knife. Even as the wood started to form into a recognizable shape, Sky did not pause. Every cut was nearly rhythmic- musical if the wood could sing.

Eventually, Sky sets down his blade and picks up a finer tool. He starts carving out a set of small eyes and then a little, pointed beak. He begins to sharpen the outlines of plumage on the carving’s chest and adds tiny details to its folded wings. The petite talons come next and are shortly followed by refining the tail feathers. Finally, Sky pauses to wipe off the carving and looks at the little bird now resting in his palm. It was a plump little finch that looked absolutely adorable.

The smile on Sky’s face when he stares at his creation is large and blissful. Gently, he brings it up to his lips and kisses the wooden figure. The kiss lasts for a few seconds before Sky pulls his newest creation away.

“My little songbird…” Sky sighs with content. He continues to give the figure doe eyes full of nothing but admiration and love as if the chunk of wood hung the very sun up in the sky. His vision is suddenly blocked as hands cover his eyes. The hands are gentle and soft as not to accidentally hurt the Skyloftian. Even before they speak, Sky knows exactly who this is.

“Guess who~”

“Hmm… did you get a new callous on your hands, Time? I though we told you to take better care of your hands?” Sky jests.

“Wha- hey! There’s no way my hands are anything like that of the Old Man’s!” You gawk as you pull away from Sky. He laughs, light and carefree as the breeze. Before you can back away any further, he grabs you and pulls you down to the ground with him. His smile is blinding as he stares at your pouting face. He resists the urge to pinch or pull at your puffed up cheeks even if he finds your mock annoyance to be irresistible.

“Ah, lighten up! Here, look at what I made!” Sky giggles as he shows you the little finch carving in his hand. The sour look is immediately replaced by something gentle and sweet that has Sky practically puffing up his chest. Like it was made of glass, you take the carving from Sky and observe his craftsmanship. You run your fingers across every notch and groove, engrossed with every detail.

“It’s so cute, Sky! It’s a finch, right?” You ask as you continue to examine the bird.

“Yup! Aaaaaaannnnndddd… it’s yours. I already have enough wooden carvings as is and I know how much you love anything related to animals,” Sky announces. He feels his heart melt as your smile widens even further. You hold it close to your chest and Sky does everything he can to not think about how his lips had just touched the carving. How the wood he had kissed was now flush against your bare skin.

“If you keep making little figurines for me, the rest of the boys will think you have a favorite among us,” You warn with a light hearted tone.

“But what if you are my favorite person? I’ve no problem with letting anyone know that, you know. If they want to be jealous, let them. I’ve no time to deal with their pettiness,” Sky counters. You roll your eyes at him, not taking the comment seriously. You lean forward and place a quick kiss to Sky’s cheek. He suddenly finds himself incapable of breathing as his cheek burns from the action.

“Anyway, Wild wanted me to stop by and tell you that lunch is almost ready. Venison and cabbage stew,” You state before walking away. Sky doesn’t respond or even react to let you know that he heard you. After a few more moments, Sky’s body finally draws breath and he’s left panting against the tree he had been sitting against. His eyes are barely open and are dilated to the fullest degree possible. His grin was loopy and loose like he was buzzed out on the best drug in all the realms. And he was.

And it was called obsession love.

The love he felt was like the sun itself. It was blinding as he registered nothing but you whenever you were around. It was full of life as everything seemed a little more lively when you were near it. It was immense as his senses were overwhelmed by you, you, you.

And by the stars above did it burn.

Any touch from you felt like it would scald his skin in the best way possible. He waited patiently for the day to come that your touch would finally leave a mark. That his body would become a tapestry for you to torch with your gentle hands and sweet words. When his patience ran thin on certain days, he considered asking the Smithy for a hot rod of iron so you could finally brand him. Brand him as yours and yours alone.

But you would never do that- not even if Sky pleaded with you to do so. Even though he and everyone else were broken and battered souls, victims of a vicious cycle he started, you handled them like they were priceless. You would hold them during rough nights as their demons clawed at their minds. You’d do your best to rock them in your grip like they were no more than babes out of the crib. Your whispered praises and hummed lullabies were sweet and addictive like honey straight from the pot. You had to know the affect you had on him and the others.

And if you didn’t, Sky would have to remedy that immediately.

He would sing songs of your kindness until his lips went dry and his throat bled and cracked. He would write pages of poetry in your name until his hands gave out and even then he wouldn’t stop. He would slay monsters and men alike and serve you only the best pieces of them on a silver platter as tribute. He’d parade through the streets of towns and settlements with nothing but word of you on his tongue so others may know of true divinity and not the falsehoods that were practiced in their churches. He’d get down to the very ground like a worm, a maggot, a bug and kiss the soles of your feet with more reverence than Hylia herself has ever seen. Whatever it took, he would do.

“Oi, Airhead. You done spacing out?” Legend jabs as he pokes Sky’s side. Sky blinks a little and realizes that he’s back at camp. When did he get here? For how long has he been zoning out? He hadn’t made a fool of himself in front of you, had he? Would you like that, if he did? Would you want that?

“I’m here,” Sky coughs as he goes back to eating the soup served to him by Wild. He looks around the camp for you and finds that you’re sitting in between Wind and Hyrule. From what he can hear, you’re telling them a story about something that once happened to you. Just a random and wacky tale about an event in your life, but Wind is absolutely enraptured by it and Sky believes Hyrule’s eyes are a blink away from turning into hearts. He smiles at the sight, happy that his brothers know to look at you with nothing less than pure devotion and admiration at your every word and action.

He didn’t bother to butt in, though. He was perfectly content with observing your brilliance from where he was sitting. Your exaggerated movements, your lopsided grin, your inability to stop yourself from chuckling before any punchlines were delivered- it was all so divine. Even with the noon sun shining down on the group, you shined brighter. It was as if you were the Goddess of Light, not Hylia. And you were, he knew you were. She was little more than a fraud compared to you. Her light was cold and unwelcoming. Your light was warm and comfortable and gentle and beautiful and addicting and so much more than Sky could ever hope to describe.

But there were also times Sky believed you were a divine being of fire.

While Sky wanted to keep you away from the battlefield at all times, he couldn’t deny the presence you had on the field. You were quick to find out you had a stronger arm than you realized and wanted to put it to good use. Unlike the rest of them, you preferred the blunt and brutals ways of a mace over a blade any day. Slowly, you began to armor yourself in metal plate and padding. It wasn’t long until you looked nothing less than knightly when on the field. Sky had to praise Four for crafting the armor you wore as it did its job and did it well. Stars above, did you wear it well.

He would never not be in awe of you when you took to the field. You never bothered to hesitate when faced with monsters- not anymore, at least. You were fast, accurate, and deadly. Your silver armor would always be quick to be coated in red and black ichor. Despite the gore that would surround you or cling to you, you never stopped being in the spotlight. Even when the days were cloudy or dark, Sky could always see you shining and shimmering amidst all the chaos. It was only more proof that you really were the light in his life.

And when the battle was done? He’d stay back and let Hyrule heal you before letting someone shortly scold you for your “reckless” behavior. When the crowd would let up, Sky would swoop in and sing his poetic praises until you and he were red in the face. Even if your hands were still armored and bloody from battle, he would still seek out their touch- to feel that burn he was addicted to. There was something about them, fresh from the violence and gore, still taut and heavy from adrenaline, that made him feel like he’d be scorched into cinders. He loved it, adored it, yearned for it, needed it, and couldn’t survive without it.

He would do anything for it.

“Sky… what did you do?”

But he never stopped to realize how you could make him freeze.

It was supposed to be a fun night at the town. Maybe enjoy a few rounds of cards with his brothers or a mug or two of warm ale. For once, he wasn’t glued by your side as you had gone out window shopping for some new clothes with some extra rupees you had. You had taken Wind with you for company and so the adults could be, well, adults. Sky didn’t realize how badly he needed to unwind until he was laughing and joking with his brothers at the table. He was also happy that his bad luck wasn’t his bad luck anymore.

“For fuck’s sake…” Wild grumbled as he nearly threw his rupees at Sky. Sky only laughed at him as Time began to collect the cards and shuffle them.

“If you want, we can play a different game,” Wars offers as he slings an arm over Wild’s shoulders. “How about… Old Maid or Go Fish?”

“How about you choke on your own dick and die?” Wild growls as he takes a swig from his mug. Instead of being reprimanded for his crude words, everyone at the table simply laughs at tonight’s sore loser. To rub salt in the wound, Sky loudly kisses one of the rupees Wild had coughed up. Wild’s glowering stare made it clear that Sky’s days were on the thin line of being numbered.

The picture of an ideal night was shattered when the doors to the inn flew open. Your feet seemed to barely touch the ground as you sprinted up to your room. While Sky stumbled to get out of his seat, the rest of his brothers were quick to follow you. As he hurried to catch up, his heart twisted and shattered as he heard your muffled cries. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t get past Time and Twilight as they guarded your room. Sky could vaguely see Hyrule, Wars, and Wild comforting you. You were frazzled and hiding your face with your hands. His sun was hiding behind clouds of gray and he desperately wanted to know what he could do to make you shine again.

He listened as you blubbered about being harassed by a handful of hooligans on some street corner. How they had nitpicked everything about you from your looks to what you were wearing. At how they had followed you around and called you every name under the sun even as both you and Wind told them to stop. The nail in the coffin- their coffins- was when you said that they had attempted to hit you during their verbal assault.

Sky suddenly found himself thinking clearer than he had in awhile.

It wasn’t hard to track down the vermin wenches. They were loud and obnoxious as they stumbled around town. It was clear they were all intoxicated to hell and back. He himself wanted to laugh, but not because of their drunken state. No, it was laughable as to how easy this was about to be.

“Weeellll heeelllooo there, good looking. Out for some fun tonight?” One of the ladies asked with a loopy smile. The alcohol on her breath combined with her abundant use of perfume made her positively pungent. Sky hid the curl of his nose under pretending to wipe it before giving the trio his best smile.

“Well, it depends on your version of fun,” Sky chuckled as he took her hand. It was thin and weak. Breaking it wouldn’t take much force, but that could come later. Sky needed to corner these heretics before he could punish them.

“Oh, we can give you some great fun, mister~. Far greater than whatever that thing is that you were traveling with,” another chimes in as she wraps her arms around his torso. It takes every ounce of willpower Sky has not to tear them all in two right then and there as he knows she’s referring to you. That means that they had seen you and the group walk into town earlier. That means that they’ve likely been waiting to pounce on you for the past few hours now. Oh, their punishment was surely going to be rough for their wicked planning.

It didn’t take much to herd them into a quieter part of town. He nearly pushed them all into the first abandoned building he found. He lead them further and further into the building until he was sure than not even the loudest scream would be heard by any guard or citizen. Now, all that needed to be done was bring these sheep to the slaughter.

He was quick to take away their chances of escaping as he swung the Master Sword at their legs. He hacked at them until not a single one of the swine before him could stand. His sudden assault was quick to sober them up as they all started to shriek in a horrible symphony of noise. Sky thought of going for the throat to shut them up but that would kill them and he didn’t want to grant them that relief just yet.

His next target was their hands. The very hands that had attempted to harm you earlier. Had they been reaching for you in admiration, he may have been a little bit more gentle as he understood the desire well. But no- they wanted to hurt you. Perfect, divine you. Such blatant heresy made his mouth bitter.

Lastly, he carved into their flesh. His letters were shaky as the sinners thrashed around under his grip and that he wasn’t used to carving with his trusty sword. He wished that he had the foresight to bring his tools with him so that the words would look a little neater. Oh well, as long as their sins were visible, it was enough for him.

“May you plead for forgiveness on your judgment day. Pray to whatever gods and goddesses that you believe in for mercy as I am fresh out,” Sky growled at the bodies at his feet. With precision, Sky plunged the tip of his sword into each of their chests. For a moment, he was tempted to carve out their hearts and present them to you. Would you take his bloody offering? It was something all gods and goddesses were accustomed to, so surely you’d praise Sky for his devotion. You always did light up when he handed you his wood carvings, so perhaps you’d love these carvings all the same?

It was a shame, then, that Sky’s anger didn’t die down once your aggressors were dead. He continued to maim the bodies until they were but mush and sinew surrounding him. Their blood seemed even more putrid than that of the black blooded monsters he and his brothers would slay beside you. He couldn’t be seen near you in his current state- no, not at all. He was a mess and positively filthy. You had dealt with those sinners enough tonight so he wouldn’t dare make you even see the sight of their rotten blood.

If only luck continued to remain on his side, in that matter.

“Sky… What. Did. You. Do,” You repeat as you stare down the man before you. How had you known he was here? How did you sneak away from his brothers? What were you thinking of him, at the moment? Were you disgusted with him? He could understand that, this was easily the dirtiest he’s been all his life. Were you angry with him? That’s okay, if you were- you could take it out on him. And don’t worry about holding back, he could take it. But… were you scared of him? Oh please, please don’t be scared of him. He couldn’t fathom what he would do if you were to view or even think of him in terror. Don’t think of him as a monster, please don’t. He’s your knight! Your hero! Your ever loyal follower!

The emotion in your eyes was something Sky couldn’t place. It wasn’t warm, it wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t sour, it wasn’t anything he had seen before. All he could call it was cold. Cold, cold, cold, cold. The blood in his veins slowed as it seemed to freeze into slush. The sweat and gore on his body was cold as ice and Sky found himself shivering. With a shaking hand, he sheathed the Master Sword and fell to the ground.

And he prayed.

“Please, (Name), please forgive me. Forgive me for my actions and transgressions. Know that what I did tonight was to defend your honor. Know that everything I do is for you and never against you. Please, have mercy on my soul and forgive me of my sins. Only through you can I ever be cleansed. Please… please… I’m sorry, so… so sorry…” Sky sobbed against the stone floor. His hands were clasped before him as he pleaded for your forgiveness. Would you be kind and forgive him? Wash away his sins with your sweet words? Or would you be rough with him? Deny him of salvation and leave him to languish in his mess? Make him plead and pray just like those he fell moments ago.

“Link, look at me.”

Sky snapped to attention as you used his name. You got on your knees before him and acted slowly as if he were a feral animal. You brought a handkerchief to his face as you wiped off all the grime and the tears.

“I’ve never seen you make such a mess before, Sky. This isn’t like you,” You sigh as you continue to wipe down his face. Whatever chill that had been in your eyes and tone was gone now- slowly melting away. Sky was thankful as he was sure he was about to be frozen solid.

“They were sinners. Heretics. Vermin. They made you cry, made you doubt yourself. I hate seeing you cry so I had to deal with what made you upset. If they were taken care of, then… then you’d be happy again, right? Now that they’re gone?” Sky whimpers as he looks at you for even a hair of acceptance. Even a sliver of praise that made it clear he had done right. Just… anything.

“While I would have used different methods, there’s no use in crying over it. I can’t change what’s been done- not this,” You mumble as you pull away. Fear grips Sky again and he grabs onto your retreating hands. In an act of selfishness, he presses them against his face and feels. Feels that tell tale burn he craves as it penetrates his skin. Feels you instinctively flex your fingers and barely dig your nails into his face. Feels your very pulse pump through your veins.

You free a hand from his grasp and dig it into his hair. He whines as you tug at his locks and he finds it in himself crawls towards you. He lays his head against your lap and pants from the heat they give off. Your touch is nothing short of blazing as you run your fingers through his hair and down his neck. He hopes you leave red in your wake as you rub his shoulders. He hopes that finally, finally, he’s done enough to earn your mark.

“My sun… oh my sun. Burn me, please. Scald me, burn me, torch me, melt me… please oh please. Burn your handprints into my skin and brand me with you lips. Let me know the fire of your touch for now and forever more. Melt away my legs so that I may forever kneel at your feet. Turn me to ash in the pyre of your soul so that I may know what it’s like to live,” Sky confesses as he clings to your lap. He smiles as his shoulders seem to be relieved of a burden he was unaware he was carrying. His every want and desire that’s festered in him since he saw you for the deity you are has finally been laid bare.

Soft and featherlight was the kiss you planted on his ear. It twitched and fluttered as your hot breath fanned across it. Sky whimpered as he felt your teeth graze the fragile flesh, as if looking for the best spot to bite. He did his best to muffle his whines and pleas but he couldn’t help his excitement- not when he was so certain he would finally be awarded with your claim on him.

His joy falters when you pull away and leave his ear aching. You help him stand and begin to walk him away from the bloody scene. He apologizes profusely for getting blood on your clothes but you tell him to shut it or else. He listens without further complaint.

Getting him into the bath house without being noticed is far from easy but you were never one to turn away a challenge. Once inside, you strip Sky of his linens and discard them. Where, he doesn’t know. He does know you though and knows that the blood soaked clothing will be well hidden enough to not be found for a few days. Long enough for you all to pack up your things and leave before the stench gets bad enough that they’re discovered. And even longer still until what’s left of the sinners is found. Though, Sky believes scavengers will sooner be attracted to the feast before any guard is.

Sky scrubs himself down and tints the bath water pink while you fetch him new clothes. He scrubs until he’s sure his skin will fall off as he knows you’ll scold him if you see even a single drop of blood left on his person. As quickly as he’s in the water, he’s out and getting dressed. You offer a quick and believable excuse to the innkeeper as you drag the stumbling man up the stairs and to his room. Wars raises a brow when you bring Sky to the room and nearly shoves the knight into the captain’s face.

“Keep any eye on him- please. I’ve had enough trouble tonight,” You groan before promptly leaving and shutting the door behind you. Sky ignores Wars’ stare and gets into his bed.

“Do I want to know?” Wars eventually asks as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m forgiven and the sinners are dead. Nothing more to tell,” Sky states cryptically. He settles in and doesn’t even care that his damp mop of hair wets the pillow beneath his head. Even with the lackluster response, Wars understands the scenario well enough.

“Never imagined you to be the one to get sloppy…” Wars mumbles as he gets back in his own bed. “I’m sure the Old Man will tan your hide come tomorrow, but that’s, well, for tomorrow. Though… I gotta ask; What did you get out of it?”

“I got to confess my sins and I was forgiven for them. Even if it were not done to me physically, I’ve finally been branded by our deity,” Sky sighs dreamily as he hugs his pillow tightly.

“Finally got close enough to get burned?”

“Yes. And I can’t describe how much I enjoyed the fall.”

#yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #Yandere lu sky #Yandere lu sky x reader #yandere lu #yandere lu x reader

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assortedvillainvault · 5 months

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I said I was gonna request you, and i'm finally here. Can I request more fluff Headcanons for Facilier, Headless horseman and Horned king?? 🥺 Thank uuu 💫💫 hope you're doing amazing btw <3

BUBBLY i'm so so sorry for the wait on this, I've done nothing but rotate this ask in my head for 12 months, please enjoy-!

FLUFF HEADCANNONS

Dr Faciler:

- This MAN-

- Smooooooth as butter in a slow warmed skillet in summer.

- He’s an elegant chaperone draped in shadow, a hand in the darkness, a gentlemanly escort through the city streets, he’s basically able to hear you through every dark nook and cranny in New Orleans and assistance for anything is only the bat of an eyelash at a dark alley away.

- There’s. There’s so many petnames. The way he purrs ‘Darlin’’ feels like some kind of sin.

- You better believe half of New Orleans owes him a favour or two, so when he decides to take you out on the town, you’re getting nothing but the best service. It may not be the kind of highfalootin’ places he feels you deserve, but hidden in alleyways and in cellars lives New Orleans most raucous, lively, swingin’ nightlife and you’ll both be dancing till your feet fall off.

- Even as you both go for a pleasant walk around town, his ceaseless fingers are dipping into pockets and swiping passersby to get you something nice.

- While you’ve grown used to the sensation of being watched from the darkness, Facilier started taking pains to steer you away from where the city borders the bayou after you told him you felt watched there too.

- Mama Odie has her ways of keeping tabs on you both – and the horrified look on Facilier’s face when she hollered across the river “Stand up straight!” and “Y/N better be eatin’ right!” and “I better see some grandbabies!” (regardless of gender, she has her ways) was priceless.

Headless Horseman:

- Though he can vocalise, it often hurts, so when you appeared with a book on sign language he couldn’t help but sweep you up into a tight embrace.

- You’ve gotten familiar with the signs for ‘hello’ and ‘come here’ and ‘I love you’, the last being something he takes great pride in making you blush with.

- If you don’t know how to ride, he’ll teach you, though you know for a fact his horse Alpatraum only tolerates it because the Horseman is there to supervise. You’re getting thrown otherwise.

- (since learning said horse has a severe weakness for sugar cubes you’ve been graduated from ‘annoyance’ to ‘my annoyance with snacks’. He’ll let you pet him eventually, don’t worry.)

- If you have your own horse, it’s romantic nighttime rides through the woods as far as the eye can see. But HH's favourite is when you smirk and dare him to catch you, taking off at a gallop and laughing as he races in pursuit, the horses hooves like thunder as he gives chase.

- He loves it when you get chilly, because it means he can wrap you up in his cloak and snuggle in the saddle.

- Lowkey loves it when you carve him new faces/heads for halloween, though does have a slight caveat that you please keep the design somewhat frightening. If he’s left with the hello kitty pumpkin again yes he’ll begrudgingly wear it because you worked hard on it but you’re getting stuck up a tree as penance.

The Horned King

- Tf do you mean fluff he’s cold he’s hard he’s ragged he is terror he is death whispered on the wind-

-If you kiss his hand he nearly pitches over.

- The longer you’re in his company, the more you can observe his mocking use of endearments become ever so slowly more sincere, until only he is allowed to call you sweet things – which becomes a rule enforced with ruthless efficiency in his castle.

-He enjoys walking and talking with you, which is good because you’re the only person on the goddamn planet that can convince this lich to leave his depression hole of a private tower and get him to experience a change of scenery. Even just around the parapets would be enough, and then he gets to offer you his arm for the uneven ground and have you lean on him and oh, yes absolutely dear we can make this a daily occurrence-

- His major love language is quality time – simply being in your presence is enough to soothe the hard edges of any day. His favourite thing is just the two of you existing in the same space, quietly doing your own thing, and maybe settling in for some idle handholding just to make things Perfect.

- As a sidenote – you know the thing? With the gentle handholding and the little thumb-stroke over the back of the hand? Yeah. Yeah. That.

- Because he struggles with actually directly verbalising soft feelings (he’s allergic to announcing he’s secretly made of bone shaped mush), he’s come up with the genius coping mechanism of ‘Acts of Service – gaslighting edition’.

- Example:

- “...Sire did you order the men to renovate my room??”

- “The castle requires upkeep, my dear.”

- “...but the renovations seem to comprise of. Just my room.”

- “...Perhaps once the men and Creeper prove themselves deserving of leakproof roofs and sufficient insulation I will order their quarters improved also. Now hush.”

Once again Bubbly I'm so sorry for the wait, I hope you like these little bits!!

#thalassa responds #disney villains #x reader #disney villains x reader #the horned king #dr facilier #the headless horseman #fluff fluff fluffity fluff

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starfxkr · 1 month

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okay but babydaddy!jj is my FAVORITE because you know that even when y’all are butting heads and you’re kicking him out every other week you still know that he loves you and that baby more than anything in the world i get so emotional thinking about jj holding his baby girl for the first time

babydaddy!jj is a hot ass mess because you're both still so deeply in love with each other but you had to take a step back but like y'all still live together??? you refuse to kick him out and he still sleeps in the same bed as you and everyone in the cut has accepted that y'all may not be "together" but you're together

jj cried so hard holding his girl for the first time because she was just so little--all fussy and angry like you--and he fell in love right then and there. "you just gonna come into the world swingin and shit huh? at least I don't gotta worry bout you takin shit from nobody not even your old man."

#✨.txt #jj maybank prompt #babydaddy!jj

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mitsies · 1 year

Text

-;. bachira meguru as your boyfriend!

; fluff headcanons, wc: 1.3k ; warnings: a lil hurt/comfort but not much! ; author's notes: i love u bachira fr + lmk who u want to see hcs with next!

‣ bachira meguru is OBSESSED with you ‣ from the moment he met you, he knew he wanted to be close to you ‣ so he made it happen! ‣ he spoke to you as often as he could, whether it be texting or calling or in person ‣ he is infatuated with everything you do fr ‣ like, u could hiccup on a call, and bachira will be giggling and kicking his feet like 'teehee my s/o hiccupped' ‣ he gets SO GIGGLY when u do anything like ‣ if you guys are on a walk and u purposefully bump his shoulder he's fr twirling his hair and giggling like a schoolgirl ‣ his love language is 100000% physical touch ‣ and he's not shy about it, not even at the start of your relationship ‣ he's always got to be close to you

‣ holding hands & swingin them while you walk kinda thing ‣ he's into playful, fleeting touches ‣ the type to randomly pepper u with kisses ‣ he also bites???? like not in a hostile or sexual way it just ‣ he likes u sm so he bites u ‣ just.. chomp! every now and then ‣ he loves loves loves seeing you ‣ when he does he calls your name and literally SPRINTS his ass out to wherever you are and gives u the biggest hug ever <3

you jump at the sound of a familiar voice calling out your name. whipping around, you see a blur of black and yellow hair hurtling toward you at the speed of light.

before you know it, you're pulled into a tight hug, stumbling back a few paces as you laugh into bachira's hair. you wrap your arms around his head like you're trying to keep him there, grinning into the crook of your neck.

when he finally pulls away, arms still trailing on your waist. his eyes glitter with affection as they look into yours. "i missed you."

you smile. "you saw me yesterday."

bachira shoots you another starry smile and shrugs animatedly: "felt like sooo much longer without you, y'know!"

your heart flutters in your chest and you press your face into his collarbone briefly, before you pull away. his hand finds its place in your own- it fits like it was made for you.

"so," he says, "what are we doing today?"

"ice cream on the pier?"

"you know me so well!"

‣ and for dates: bachira isn't big on casual dates ‣ however, there's this ice cream shop that you're both regulars at! ‣ at least once a week, usually more, in the evenings the two of you meet to grab something sweet and just chill ‣ the two of you sit with your feet swinging off the edge above the water ‣ you each have a new flavor because the place has a rotating menu- you take turns chattering & letting each other try spoonfuls of your ice cream ‣ because of the nature of blue lock & his life path, he's busier than he'd like to be ‣ but trust that he is ALWAYSSSS messaging you ‣ man never leaves u alone ‣ like actually ‣ he ABUSES the 'notify anyway' option when you're on do not disturb ‣ calls you at stupid late hours of night just to prattle on about some stuff that doesn't matter ‣ he's a talker- he loves loves loves speaking with you ‣ his favorite thing about talking to you specifically is that you really seem to listen ‣ his friends nod their heads and play along but they don't get it ‣ you do, and you care- that's one of many things he loves about you ‣ bachira doesn't tell you he loves you often, even though he does ‣ he's got some deep-seated issues highkey LMFAO ‣ you always know he does, though ! it shines through in his little actions and the phrases of adoration he tells you ‣ all his friends/teammates know how much he loves you too ‣ like i said he is OBSESSED ‣ and he lets everyone know ‣ you send him a picture of you doing the most mundane thing? he's shoving his phone in isagi's face saying 'look how cute they are! look! now! here! you're not looking!' ‣ EVERYYYYONEEE is sick of him ‣ 'yes bachira we get it' ‣ but he KEEPS doing it ‣ (his friends are only mildly annoyed- they know how happy u make him so they don't care too much :,) ) ‣ when you're upset: bachira isn't much help ‣ he doesn't really know what to do with your feelings and he's not sure how to help ‣ he really, really wants to but he's at a loss ‣ so he just sits next to you and lets you cling on to him if that's what you want ‣ he'd stay there for as long as you want him, and if it helps, he'll talk to you about inane things that don't matter ‣ he'll talk about the weather and his games today, about isagi and rin's antics, about how dolphins are really good animals, anything that might take your mind off it ‣ he is! perfect! ‣ actually i take it back because ‣ if we're talking domesticity: this man is the best/worst roommate you'll have ‣ does the dishes only if you nag ‣ walks around (almost) naked because he doesn't really care LMFAO ‣ and worst of all he sticks to you like GLUE

"meguru," you scold, "we've gotta go. we're gonna be late."

"but you have to change," he wheedles, arms tethered around your neck as he lets his weight drop to the floor, pulling you down with him.

"and why is that a problem?"

"if you change, then you won't want to come back to bed!"

"yeah. that's the point."

"5 more minutes?" you're basically dragging him along the floor like a mop at this point. you'd kick him if you weren't in love with him.

"bachira meguru." you kick him anyways. he sprawls across the floors like a puddle of water, glaring up at you.

"fine," he sighs, pushing himself up, "fine, fine, fine!"

you extend a hand to pull him up. "c'mon, it'd be rude to be late to kunigami's birthday dinner."

he takes your hand, but tugs sharply- you tumble down onto the bedroom floor on top of him with a huff of air rushing out of your lungs.

"meguru!" he laughs and snakes an arm around you.

"i'm sure kunigami won't mind!"

‣ don't even get me STARTEDDDD on how this guy sleeps. ‣ he fr takes the WHOLE BED ‣ his arms are splayed out in every way possible, his legs too- absolutely starfished as far as he can go ‣ and he's a mfing blanket hog too. ‣ this piece of GARBAGE ‣ you'll have to get your own, but only pull it out once he's asleep- otherwise, he'll take that too ‣ big on c*ddling with you though ‣ he's gotta be touching you in SOME way ‣ typically one of you sleeps with your head on the other's chest, and you swap between positions every so often ‣ he likes it when you mess with his hair <3 ‣ try to put it in braids or pigtails and he'll fall in love ‣ will request you do that regularly LMFAO ‣ this becomes a kind of ritual- on quiet mornings, you'll sit on the edge of your shared bed and he'll be right below you ‣ you brush through his hair and deftly put little braids into it, before sweeping it into whatever style he decides ‣ it's the quiet mornings he shares with you that his love really shines thru- because he can talk to anyone, but it takes a lot of trust for him to let his guard down and be quiet ‣ anyways <3 bachira meguru u are the love of my life!

#blue lock x reader #blue lock #bachira meguru x reader #bachira x reader #meguru bachira x reader #bachira meguru #meguru bachira #bllk #bllk x reader #reader insert

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honeyedmiller · 10 months

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Fate, After All | Joel Miller — Part Four

warnings: no-outbreak!Joel, Joel is a softie (again—I just love soft and loving Joel lol), tooth-rotting fluff, reader and Sarah have a cute mom / daughter dynamic moment, sorta shy Joel, slight jealousy from reader, super brief smut (fingering), some cursing, no use of y/n. sorry this is so long and probably so filler-like lmaooo this is honestly not my best work. hope you enjoy regardless :’). 18+, minors dni.

word count: 4.5k

series masterlist

You wake up to the sound of your phone blaring in your ear, making you groan loudly. One of your eyes shot open, looking at the alarm clock on your bedside. You groan again when the red numbers read 8:03 a.m.

You answer your phone without looking at the caller ID, pressing it up against your ear lazily.

"Hello?" Your voice is groggy and evidently full of sleep. The deep chuckle on the other line let you know exactly who was on the phone: Joel.

"Good morning, honey." He greets, and you whine softly.

"Joel, it's eight in the morning. Why are you up so early?" Your words were muffled due to half of your face being pressed into a pillow, seeing as you were laying on your stomach.

"Did'ya forget it's the Fourth 'a July? The party Tommy and I throw every year requires a lot of setting up." Joel laughs, and the sound simply brings a smile to your lips.

"Mm, so I'm guessing you're calling me to recruit me for help?" You twist your body so you're laying flat on your back now, eyes slowly peeling open to stare up at your bedroom ceiling.

"Y'know me too well, darlin'. And I need your help at the grocery store, 'specially to get stuff your parents like." Nervousness took over Joel's voice in the last part of his sentence. Today was the day he was going to see your parents again for the first time in years, so he wanted to make a good impression.

You've reassured him multiple times that they loved him when you two were in high school, but he was worried nonetheless. He wanted to be noted as worthy to be your man.

"Up 'n at 'em, baby. I'll give you an hour to get ready and then I'm swingin' by your place to pick you up." Joel mildly negotiated, and you huffed.

"Fine, only cus I—" You cut your sentence short, the 'L' word nearly rolling off your tongue. You wanted to say it to him, desperately. You just didn't know how he'd react to it, or if he even felt the same way.

"Honey? You there?" Joel asks.

"Oh, uh, yeah, sorry. I'll be ready in an hour." Your voice held promise, so you needed to get up now if you were going to be ready in time.

"See you in an hour, darlin'."

You took a quick shower, shaving your legs as fast as you could without nicking them. You dolled up as much as possible with the time allotted, slipping on a maxi dress that showed off your curves in all the right places. It was a red dress, so it was sort of on theme for the day. Just as you were finished touching up your mascara, a couple of sharp knocks against your front door were heard.

“Coming!” You shout, grabbing your purse and your denim jacket. You peeked through the peephole and smiled when you saw it was Joel. You open the door with that same grin never fading, and his facial expression softens when he lays his eyes on you.

He whistles, giving you a once–or a thrice– over. “Damn, baby. You look absolutely stunnin’.” Joel praises, wrapping his arms around you. Your free hand travels up his broad chest, moving to the back of his neck.

“Mm, such a sweet talker you are.” You laugh as you pull him in for a sweet kiss.

He taps your ass twice before pulling apart, humming at your observation. You slip your white Converse on and step outside with Joel, locking everything up before you two head to his truck. He opens the passenger door for you and you climb in, kissing him one more time before he softly shuts the door. You admire him for a quick second as he rounds the front of the truck, taking in his beautiful features and dark unruly hair.

It warmed your heart still that you got so lucky to cross paths with such an amazing man again. He’s been nothing but wonderful to you and has treated you like a princess the few months you’ve been seeing him. Joel is so genuine. Everything he does, he does with purpose.

You couldn’t help but let your curious mind wander to what marriage would look like with Joel. How loving of a husband he’d be, coming home to him every night, spending the rest of your life with him. You truly believed he was your soulmate, and god, you really hoped he felt the same exact way. You had to tell him how you really felt soon, because it was eating away at you inside.

“Hey,” Joel waves his hand in front of your face. “Watcha thinkin’ ‘bout pretty lady?”

“Just what to get my parents at the store.” You play it off, and Joel nods.

“Once they get a taste of my famous burgers they’ll for sure give their approval for me datin’ their daughter.” Joel sates matter-of-factly with a chuckle.

“My mom already gushes about you when we have our weekly catch-up phone calls,” You laugh, looking out of the window as you pass your residential neighborhood. “My dad will be the tough nut to crack. He’s just overprotective, but I told him to be on his best behavior.” You look at Joel, who chuckles and glances at you as he drives to the store closer to his house.

You both sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before you noticed Joel's lingering gaze on you from time to time. You turned your head to him an raised an eyebrow, giving him a questioning look.

"You look real good in that dress, darlin'." Joel sighs, gaze meeting yours once he reaches another red light.

"Yeah? Maybe I'll let you take it off of me later." You say nonchalantly, throwing the most saccharine smile his way. He groans, tossing his head back against the headrest.

"Fuck, baby, don't tease me like that." He pouts, but decides to return the favor by sliding his hand slowly onto your left thigh, dipping under the soft cotton of the dress before he moves upward. You're already wet from just how fucking good he looks and smells, and you two haven't been able to be intimate recently so the mutual want from both of you was peaked.

His fingertips brush over your skimpy thong you'd put on, whimpering softly at the contact of his warm fingers.

"Oh, would you look at that. My poor baby is already wet n' I've barely even touched her. What are we gonna do about that, hm?" Joel throws a shit-eating grin your way, focusing back on the road as the light turns green. He kept casually rubbing you over the fabric of your underwear, noticing from his peripheral that you were starting to squirm.

"Fuck, Joel, please." You beg.

"What'dya want from me baby? Use your words." He coaxes, moving your underwear to the side but pausing his movements so he can hear you ask for him.

"Your fingers, please, fuck, I- I want you to use your fingers." You pant softly.

"What my baby wants, she gets." Joel smirks, running his middle and ring finger knuckles over your slick folds before pulling them out from under your dress to bring both fingers to his mouth. He closed his eyes for a split second to relish the taste of you before moving his hand back down. He slowly eased his middle finger into you while softly swiping his thumb over your clit.

You gasp at the contact, slowly grinding your hips against his hand to create more friction. A deep chuckle arose from his throat at your neediness, which only prompted him to insert a second finger.

You moaned, resting your head against the headrest as you shut your eyes.

"That's it honey. Doing so good f'me." Joel groaned as you clenched around his fingers deliciously. He moved his skillful fingers at a languid pace, and you knew your orgasm was coming much sooner rather than later. You've been holding off on even touching your own self because Joel genuinely just did it so much fucking better.

He knew your body extremely well and made sure to take care of you every single time. He wouldn't accept it if there was a time you didn't cum—he made absolutely sure you always came, even if he didn't.

You gripped the door handle tightly and clawed at the seat beneath you, feeling that hot sensation in the pit of your core. Joel felt it too with the way you were simply fluttering around his thick fingers. You bit your lip to silence your moan, but Joel wasn’t having any of that.

“Uh uh, baby doll. Let it out. Be as loud as you wanna be.” He coaxed, and that was enough for you to let out a whine which turned into a moan.

“Fuck, Joel, I’m close.” Your words are strained to a near whisper, and you can’t hold back any longer. Your hips started to buck against his hand, that hot sensation unraveling in your core and down your legs.

“That’s it baby, give it t’me.”

You moaned loudly at Joel’s words, knuckles turning white as you now had a death grip on the door handle.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.” You whined as you rode through your orgasm. You were panting heavily as Joel smirked to himself in a self-victory, withdrawing his fingers from you. He sticks his middle finger in his mouth to clean you off of it, but moves his ring finger over to your mouth.

“Open.” Was all he said, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head at that. You opened your mouth as he stuck his finger in, and you gingerly sucked on it as you cleaned yourself off of him. You were thankful his windows were tinted and no one could really see what’d just happened, because shit, your face was beet red.

You were so dazed from your orgasm that you hadn’t even noticed Joel had turned in to the HEB parking lot.

“C’mon darlin’, let’s beat the crowds.” Joel leans over to kiss your temple after he unbuckles himself, then reaches down to undo your buckle as well. He hopped out of the truck and jogged to your side, opening your door for you. Ever the gentleman. He held his hand out for you to take to easily exit the truck, but your legs betrayed you as they felt like jello when your feet planted on the concrete.

“Woah.” You said, leaning against Joel for support. You wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin he still had on his face right off, but his strong hold only made you want to melt further.

“Careful there, darlin’.” Joel easily displayed amusement in his Southern drawl, and you scowled up at him playfully before finally regaining your balance and standing upright.

“C’mon cowboy, we have a party to throw.”

A few hours passed and Joel assigned you and Sarah to decorate the place with red white and blue streamers. You were currently hanging a twist of all three on the patio outside, the summer sun relentless on you.

You wiped your sweaty brow after you finished, satisfied with your work. Tommy was working on firing up the grill and getting it going, while Joel was seasoning the food and preparing it to be grilled. You made your way back into the kitchen where Sarah was sipping on some lemonade while she sat at the island counter, and Joel was chopping some onions.

“Hotter than the devil’s ass out there.” You huffed, moving to the counter where Sarah sat. She snickered at your remark, and Joel shook his head with a grin.

“Need any help honey?” You ask, tilting your head at Joel.

“I’m just about done, darlin’. Do you think your parents will like this?” The nervousness in his tone returns, and you move so you stood yourself behind him. You hooked both of your arms under his so your palms were pressing against the front of his shoulders, and you kissed between his shoulder blades lovingly.

“They’ll love it, Joel, and they’ll love you.” His heart jumped at the word, almost thinking you were going to say it yourself. He’d planned to tell you very soon, but he just hadn’t found the right moment yet.

“Hope so.” Was all he said, finishing with the onion.

Sarah called your name and you turned to her, a smile in on your face. “Will you help me with something? Upstairs?” She asked timidly, and you let go of Joel to fully face her.

“Of course, sweetheart. Lead the way.” You grinned, offering your hand to her. She took it as she led you upstairs, leading you into her room.

“Okay, so, I didn’t want dad to hear, but the whole neighborhood is coming as you know,” She started, rocking on her heels in a nervous manner. “There’s this really cute boy who lives down the street and I kinda want to impress him a little. Do you think you could, I dunno, doll me up a bit? And help me with an outfit?”

Your heart clenched with warmth at her words, loving that she trusted you enough with this stuff. Over the course of the months you’d been with Joel, you made it a point to always spend time with Sarah—girls days here and there, taking her out shopping, to eat, nails done, anything—to bond with her. You and her had grown very close within that allotted time, and although she never said it aloud (yet), she was starting to see you as a mother figure.

“Of course I’d love to help, sweetheart. You’re very naturally beautiful as it is, but if you want to wear makeup, then let’s use it just to enhance your gorgeous features. Does your dad let you wear any?” You ask, because the last thing you want is to go over his head, especially if it’s something that has to do with his daughter.

“Yeah, he lets me wear mascara and natural colored lipstick. He let me buy eyeliner too, but I don’t really know how to put it on.” She goes to open a drawer in her dresser, pulling out the previously stated items.

“Let me bring my makeup bag in here and see what else we can do.” You smile at her, making your way into Joel’s bedroom so you can grab your small bag of makeup you kept here. You returned to Sarah’s room, pulling out your eyelash curler and some very natural blush.

You sat her down on her bed as you started with her eyelashes, bringing the curler to each to lift them just slightly. You coated her lashes with the mascara, really only touching the ends that’d been curled up. Instead of the black eyeliner that she had, you opted for the brown one you had in your bag as you smoked it out very subtly on the outside corners of her eyelids.

You then dabbed the lipstick onto her lips, making her purse her lips every so often so the product could blend evenly. You applied clear gloss over her lips as the final coat. You then used the tiniest amount of blush on the apples of her cheeks, to which it looked like someone just pinched them in adoration.

“I’m all done.” You announce, holding up the mirror set on her dresser so she could see herself.

She gasped softly, the biggest smile on her face as she studied her now slightly enhanced features.

“I love it! You have to teach me how do this.” She gushed, getting up swiftly to give you a hug. You giggle and hug her back, giving her a small squeeze.

“I’d love to. Now for the outfit.” You move to her closet after letting her go, sorting through her clothes while weighing the options.

“How about this pretty blue dress?” You unhooked the hanger from its rightful place, holding the dress up. It wasn’t too short, wasn’t too long, had spaghetti straps and was perfect for summertime. The baby blue color would really make her features pop more.

“Oh my gosh, I forgot I even had that dress. This with my white shoes. Thank you so much for your help.” She grins.

“Of course. I’ll leave you to it to get changed.” You close her door after you exit her room, and within a couple of minutes, she opens her door again.

She looked so beautiful, and you could tell she really felt it too.

“You look gorgeous, Sarah.” You grab her hand and lift it up so she does a twirl, and she laughs loudly. She twirls a few more times before stumbling into you, hugging you tightly.

“Hey people are–” You hear Joel start, pausing when he sees you two hugging each other laughing. His heart just melts at the sight of his favorite girls having a fun time together. You both pause and look up at him, and Joel’s eyes scan Sarah’s features.

He was surprised to see she was wearing makeup, but he also knew she was a teenager and it was part of growing up. He was starting to realize his little girl wasn’t so little anymore.

“So, what do you think?” Sarah spins around for him, an unwavering bright smile on her face.

“You look beautiful babydoll.” He grins softly at her, leaning against the doorframe.

“Thanks dad.” She smiles, moving toward him to give him a hug before rushing down the stairs. You chuckle at her eagerness, remembering what it was like when you were a teenager giddy for a boy—Joel, to be more specific.

“They grow up so fast.” You tease, and he groans.

“Thank you for helpin’ her with, you know, the makeup n’ stuff. I know it means a great deal to her, even if she doesn’t show it right away,” Joel smiles as he pulls you into him, kissing the top of your head. “Now c’mon. Guests are starting to arrive and I wanna introduce you.” He pats your butt softly before trailing after you downstairs, keeping you close to him as you met the neighbors and friends of the Millers.

An hour and a half later, the party was in full swing. Country music was playing over a loud speaker, kids were playing Marco Polo in the pool, burgers were being grilled, and beers were being chugged. Your mom had called to say they were almost at the Miller residence, to which you got a Michelada ready for your dad (they were his favorite), and you were currently working on a Cosmo for your mom. The doorbell rang and you wiped your hands on a hand towel before making your way to the front door.

Joel comes rushing into the house, his red shirt starting to get a small sweat stain around the collar. He thought it’d be ‘cute’ to match with you today, hence him opting for a red shirt instead of his usual gray or black.

“I got it honey, I think it’s my parents,” You tell him, and he gives you a worried look. “I promise you have nothing to worry about.” You reassure him, patting his chest before giving him a quick peck on the lips. You open the door with Joel right behind you, and you beam at your parents standing there.

“Mom, dad, c’mon in.” You smile, moving so they can get into the house. You notice your mom carrying a tin pan of what you assume to be her famous pasta salad, so you led them both into the kitchen. You took the pasta salad from your mom and set it down on the counter, bending to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. You hugged your dad next, and Joel stood there with a sheepish smile on his lips.

“Mom, dad, you remember Joel Miller, right?” You ask them, and your mom is beaming. She may have set you up on all those terrible blind dates, but technically, if it weren’t for her, there was a slim to none chance you would’ve rekindled with Joel.

“Of course! Joel, dear, how are you?” Your mom pulls him in for a hug, to which he gladly accepts. He chuckles as she holds him at arms length, inspecting him.

You almost protest your mom’s actions before Joel flashes his charming, megawatt smile at her. “I’ve been good ma’am, it’s so good to see you again.” He’s polite and his Southern drawl just makes you melt.

“My my, you sure have grown into a handsome man. You picked a good one, sweetheart.” Your mom looks over at you, and you groan.

“Ma.” You huff, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Actually, I’m the lucky one here.” Joel confesses, and you and your mom look at him.

“Well ain’t that the cutest thing I’ve ever heard!” Your mom is absolutely head over heels gushing for Joel, and it almost makes you want to laugh.

“You remember my husband, right?” Your mom asks, and Joel sticks his hand out to shake your dad’s.

“Of course. Very nice to see you again, sir.” Joel nods, and your dad raises a brow at him.

“You treatin’ my baby girl right?” Your dad asks, and you cut in immediately.

“Dad, for Christ sake. If he wasn’t I wouldn’t be with him,” You roll your eyes. “Be nice.” You warn, shoving his Michelada into his hand so he can have something to drink instead of running his mouth.

“He’s just looking out for you, baby, I understand.” Joel chuckles smoothly, pulling you into his side. He wraps his arm around your waist securely, and you rest a palm over his beating heart.

“That’s right, babydoll. He knows what he’s talkin’ ‘bout.” Your dad nods, and you roll your eyes and look to your mom.

“Men.” You both say simultaneously, laughing at the ridiculousness. You hand your mom her Cosmo, while Joel and your dad trail off into a conversation which seems to be about football. At least they can bond over that.

“So,” Your mom starts, sipping her drink. “How’s he really treatin’ you, sweetheart?” Your mom whispers, and you grin.

“Really, really good mom. I’m head over heels for him.” You answer honestly, nudging her softly with your hip. She chuckled and nods, staring down at her drink.

“You in love with him?” She says a little louder, but still not to the point where Joel and your dad can hear you—or so you think. You know your dad’s hearing is shot to hell from his old profession, but Joel’s sure isn’t.

“Yeah, I really am. I really think he’s the one, Ma.” You confess, a rosy blush covering your cheeks. Joel nearly rushes to your side to give you the biggest, most heartfelt kiss, but he plays it off like he never heard you. He just casually continues his conversation about training season and their picks for their fantasy football league.

Tommy eventually coaxes everyone outside with more food being ready. Sarah comes up to you almost instantly and tugs you to the side, a bright smile on her face.

“He gave me his number!” She whisper shouts, and your eyes go wide.

“That’s amazing, Sarah!” You hug her, rocking her back and forth gleefully.

“I’m gonna go hang out some more, but I’ll keep you updated!” She tries to play it cool by walking slow over to her crush. It was so cute seeing your favorite teen gush over her crush like that.

The party went on some more and many people were getting buzzed, including Joel. You had a light buzz going yourself, but nothing too serious. You were in fact sober enough to catch Joel’s neighbor, Sheila, making eyes at him.

“You know darlin’, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you in this little number you’re wearin.’ Makes me wanna finish what I started earlier in my truck.” Joel murmurs lowly in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Maybe we should do it in front of Sheila so she’ll stop undressing you with her eyes.” You retort, rolling your eyes. His hands rest on your hips as he rubs soft circles into them, purposefully kissing your neck tenderly while she looked.

“Is my girl jealous?” Joel teases.

“No.”

“Mm, good, ‘cause you ain’t got a single thing to worry about, baby. I’m all yours.”

Dusk had rolled around faster than anticipated, but the firework show was amazing. Joel and Tommy apparently had a bunch saved up, so they put on a show for the whole neighborhood and then some. The kids were waving sparklers in front of themselves and drawing their names on the asphalt, enjoying the different colors they emitted.

Your eyes shifted to Sarah who was by the boy—who’s name turned out to be Christian—getting snuggly and close as he draped his arm around her shoulder, which was clad with a jacket that definitely wasn’t hers. You smile at her and shift your eyes again, landing on Joel.

You admired the way he looked when he interacted with people. He was so genuine and caring, and though he was more introverted, he could easily work and charm a crowd. His smile beamed at the multiple neighbors who complimented the barbecue, as it had been yet another huge success this year.

Joel’s eyes met yours, and as if you couldn’t fall even harder, the look that was in his eyes proved you so wrong.

Tommy was about to light the grand finale of the fireworks, and Joel made his way back to you. He and Tommy sobered up in time to light all of the fireworks responsibly, which you were grateful for.

“Hey baby.” He said softly, pulling you into his side gently.

“Hi handsome.” You respond, leaning your head on his shoulder. Tommy ran back toward the crowd of people as the fireworks were ready to shoot off, and within seconds, the first one shot into the air with a loud boom. Then came the second, and the third, but by the fourth, you were completely enamored in the man that is Joel Miller.

You heard the crowd “ooh” and “aah”, and while you could see the fireworks from your peripheral, your focus was solely on the man in front of you.

“I’m in love with you, Joel.” You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life. Your eyes never wavered from him as you wrapped both arms around him. His head snaps down as his eyes find your gaze, and you can see the beautiful hues of purple and gold of one of the fireworks reflecting in the beautiful brown eyes of your lover.

“Darlin’,” Joel breathed, his eyes soft and face displaying pure adoration. “I’m in love with you too. I love you. So much.” He cups your face with both of his hands, thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones.

“I love you, Joel.” You semi-whispered, but he still heard. He didn’t waste time in pressing his lips against yours, holding your face in his hands like his life depended on it.

There was absolutely nowhere else in the universe that you felt safer in than in Joel’s arms—

the arms of someone who cherishes you, adores you, and loves you with his whole being.

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