#all the thing about bob being nervous etc

[jungle-angel]

Chaos In The Kitchen (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: Bob and his siblings should never be in the kitchen together, especially prepping for the big barbecue on the 4th

Warnings: Parenthood, Bob and his siblings being a chaotic mess, Meemaw having to control everybody etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @attapullman @sebsxphia

Bob pushed the door open with the toe of his shoe, his ears bombarded by the cacophony of noise coming from the kitchen. Pans and pots clattered to the floor along with utensils, loud curses and swears flew from the doorway along with some rather colorful insults.

"......You're a fucking idiot Michael! Why would you do that?!"

"How was I supposed to know it would do that, SEAN?!"

"You two dickheads almost lit the kitchen on fire!"

"Stay outta this Reagan!"

"No I'm not gonna stay out of it! You know why? Because I am the keeper of the one collective brain cell the four of you share!"

Bob made a face and set the grocery bags down at the threshold of the door. The kitchen was a mess, completely covered in flour and smatterings of vanilla. Something had burned in the cast iron pan while Bob's brothers and oldest sister continuously argued over who had almost burned down the kitchen.

"HOLY MOSES!" Meemaw exclaimed as she came through the storm door in the kitchen with a basket of elderberries.

Everyone froze, two of them swallowing nervously.

"Um........Meemaw......we can explain.........." Eugene said.

"Please do, I'd love to hear it," she said sarcastically.

No one spoke, too nervous to rouse the wrath of their grandmother.

"I trust ya'll knuckleheads to get one thing......one damn thing made......and ya'll nearly burn down the kitchen," Meemaw pointed out.

"It was Sean's idea," Michael said, yelping when Sean stamped his older brother's foot.

"That is IT!" Meemaw declared. "Out! Out! Git on outta my kitchen! Out! Go cause trouble somewhere else!"

The five disgruntled siblings, Liam, Reagan, Eugene, Sean and Michael, all filed out the storm door to go see what else needed doing.

"Sorry ya'll had to see that Bob," Meemaw apologized.

"Nothing I haven't seen before Meemaw," Bob answered, trying not to laugh.

Him and Meemaw set to work, trying to get the kitchen cleaned up before the barbecue commenced. "Hopefully none of'em lose a finger or a hand when they set the fireworks off tonight," Meemaw chuckled.

Bob laughed a little bit. "I dunno Meemaw, but we'll find out," Bob replied.

"In the meantime we're gonna need to get this place cleaned up and bakin," she said. "Not that I wanna have the ovens goin but I guess the mini-splits will help with that. Any idea where (y/n) went?"

"She went to go get Auggie's birthday cake from the grocery store," Bob answered. "I think Dad, Papa and Hawk all went to go get them meat."

"Well, if anything they'll be a while," Meemaw remarked. "In the meantime, you and me are gonna get this shit movin."

Meemaw pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses from the hutch cabinet in the hallway. "Two for the chefs, one for the dish," she joked.

Bob and Meemaw set to work on the pies and other baked goods, hoping they would be ready in time for the picnic. Meemaw had pulled the Hoosier Pie from the fridge, the cream filling having set overnight and needing only a liberal sprinkling of cinnamon over the top.

"Was this your mom's recipe?" Bob asked.

"Nah that was my Meemaw's recipe," Meemaw laughed. "She used to make it every summer and maybe at Thanksgiving. I remember when we'd bring your dad, aunts and uncles up to their place in Indiana every year for Thanksgiving and she'd make it."

Bob laughed at the stories Meemaw had told about her time growing up on the farm in Indiana and how she had met Papa after he had tried to sneak a slice of her gram's pie from the window.

The cream and pudding pies were stuck in the fridge to set while the huckleberry pie was quickly pulled from the oven and the apple one stuck right in. The shoofly pie had been a recipe from Meemaw's friend, Ethel, a fiery little Mennonite woman from Pennsylvania and who had been very close with Meemaw while their husbands were serving in Korea.

Finally, everything was done. Bob had never seen so many pies in his entire life. "I don't think I can look at another pie for a long time," he laughed.

"You and me both Bobby," Meemaw chuckled.

The door opened and you stuck the red, white and blue cake on the counter. "I hate holiday grocery shopping," you groaned.

Bob coiled his arms around you and kissed your cheek. "It came out great though," he remarked.

You couldn't have agreed more. The red, white and blue cake was absolutely huge with an edible photo of Captain America on the front of it. "Has Auggie seen it yet?" Bob asked.

"I don't think so," you said. "We'll wait till after dinner tonight to show him."

You joined your husband and your grandmother-in-law in the kitchen to get everything else ready, enjoying yourselves as you smelled all the tantalizing scents of the meat being cooked outside. Of course there had been chaos, but you and Bob enjoyed yourselves nonetheless.

[vicsnook]

Good Luck, Babe! Pt. 3 | Jake Seresin x Reader

word count: 2407

warnings: arguing, accident, surprises, etc.

notes: Hello hello! I am reporting 🫡 with the latest part to my Good Luck, Babe! series and guess what!? It will be 4 parts instead! I’m sorry in advance for the ending besties but I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Hope you enjoy and thank you for all the love on my other fics 🫶🏼 Please don’t forget to like and reblog and comment if you want to be added to my tag list. Now without further ado…

** 3 months later **

I roll out of bed to the smell of bacon and a smile creeps onto my face. No one prepares you for how difficult pregnancy is, thankfully Jake manages to make it almost bearable. Making my way to the kitchen, I hear him humming a song and I can’t help the butterflies in my stomach that I still get everytime I see him.

“Good morning, babe!” he says, chipper as ever. I never could understand how someone could have so much energy so early in the morning.

“Morning,” I croak out, my voice raspy. I make my way to the breakfast bar and sit down as he’s placing the plate down in front of me then kisses my forehead and sits down across from me to read the newspaper.

I clear my throat. “Are you excited about today?” Jake looks up and folds his newspaper, placing it back down on the table. “Of course! Everyone is finally back and we will finally know what our little angel is going to be. Are you?”

I nod. “Yeah, just nervous to meet everyone. I only know Mickey and that didn’t end the greatest, remember?” He shrugs, “Baby that’s water under the bridge. The only thing we need to be worried about is making it to the Hard Deck on time.”

“I still can’t believe Penny is opening later and letting us use it for the gender reveal.” I reply, shaking my head. “She adores you and so does Maverick. Now go on and start getting ready.”

I brush the crumbs onto my plate and hand it to Jake then make the way back to my bedroom or technically our bedroom since he practically moved in 2 weeks after finding out about the baby. The boxes in the corner loom over me as I head to the bathroom. A part of me still wasn’t ready to leave the apartment behind but Jake wants to move us into a house with more room.

“I’m going to get the cake! Be back in a jiffy!” He shouts from the kitchen and I smile, excitement creeping up on me about what our baby will be.

-

We pull into the Hard Deck parking lot 10 minutes later than we were supposed to be here and anxiety is taking me over. I fidget with the hem of my dress as Jake rounds the car and opens my door while taking the cake from me and setting it on top of the car.

He stares down at me and pulls me in for a kiss. The nerves dissipating as I feel his tender lips on mine. “There’s nothing to worry about, honey, they’ll love you.” He whispers against my lips, pulling me into a hug. His scent calming me down even more.

He grabs the cake on one hand and my hand on the other and we make our way in. The place is decked out in pink and blue decorations and there’s 2 tables overflowing with presents. I can’t help my eyes watering as I look around at everything these people have done for me and the baby without even knowing me.

“Bagman! You didn’t tell me your girl was way out of your league.” Said the short female aviator who I assumed was Phoenix as she pulled me for a hug. “Thank you, I’m Y/N. You must be Phoenix.” I say.

“Yes ma’am but you can call me Nat.” I smile. “Will do.” The rest of the group made their way over to us and introductions went smoothly. Mickey was a little awkward but I shrugged it off not wanting to let anything ruin today.

The afternoon went smoothly as we played games and I got to know the rest of the group better. Nat and Bob being my favorites with Rooster not close behind.

“Y’all mind if I steal my girl for this dance?” Jake asks Nat and Bob, his hand sneaking around my shoulders. “Not at all.” Replies Nat as he whisks me to the dance floor.

“Everything going okay?” Jake asks, twirling me around. “Better than okay. Thank you for this.” I reply, setting my head on his chest as the song comes to an end.

He pulls me to the table with the cake and I feel the nerves start up again. “Let’s cut this cake, I can’t wait any longer, baby.”

Everyone gathers around the table as Jake hands me the knife. My hand shakes as I grab it but Jake steadies it with his as we cut the cake and pulled out the slice. Pink filles the inside and I can feel the happiness filling the room around us.

Jake picks me up as soon as we set the piece of cake down and pulls me into a hug. Tears streaming down my face as everyone cheers around us. It’s a girl! It’s a girl!

But the cheers are quickly interrupted by Rooster at the piano.“This one’s for y’all, thank you for making Bagman almost tolerable.” He says, eliciting a few chuckles from the people around us and beginning to play “You’re gonna miss this”.

The rest of the evening flies by as we dance, eat, and open what feels like a thousand presents. Talking with Penny I feel a twinge of melancholy for my sister, who no doubt would’ve been ecstatic about having a niece but I smile through it.

Mickey comes up and asks to talk to me and I agree, following him to one of the booths in the back like on our first date. Jake’s eyes burning on my back as I take a seat.

“Look, I’m really happy for you and Jake but I just need to get this off my chest okay.” His cheeks red as he waits for me to acknowledge that I’m okay with him telling me. I nod. “I didn’t want to ghost you, Y/N. Truth of the matter is I really liked you, hell I still do. But Hangman came up to me the day after our date and asked me to. I owed him a favor and he called it in. I should’ve just said no but I didn’t want to get on his bad side. I’m sorry.”

I feel nauseous as the words sink in. My head spins as I get up, heading for the bathroom. I stumble to it but Jake is on my side before I can walk in. “What is it, honey?” He asks, following me in.

A part of me feels flattered that Jake asked Mickey to ghost me because he wanted me for himself but the other reminds me that Jake ghosted me once he got me and I’m angry again. I wet my face, drying it with the paper towel Jake hands me.

His face is filled with concern but I’m so angry that I try to push past him to head back out to the bar. But of course he stands in front of the door blocking me in. “Move!” I growl, trying to push him off the door.

“Honey, stop! What happened?” He asks, holding my arms to his chest to stop me from trying to push him. “What happened? Mickey told me. You made him ghost me, for what Jake? So you could have me all for yourself then leave me high and dry?” I spat, hot tears spilling down my cheeks as I look into his stupid green eyes.

“Okay, I know I messed up but I couldn’t just let him have you. I knew you were meant to be mine from the moment that you put me in my place, baby. I should’ve told you sooner, I know but with the baby and all I just couldn’t find the right time.” He replies, his eyes pleading with mine to forgive him.

“That was for me to decide Jake! I’m not your property. You can’t just go around cashing in favors because you want something someone else has!” I yell back at him, my face hot with anger. He sighs and lets go of my arms.

“I know Y/N and I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about it differently but I’m not going to lie and say I wouldn’t do it all over again to get to where we are now. I have tried making up for everything the past few months and I have changed for the better and you can’t deny that. If you want to walk out the door and end things for something that happened months ago then be my guest.” He finished off, moving to the side and allowing me to reach for the door if I wanted.

My legs felt shaky as I took a step forward. Conflicted on what I should do. On one hand I wanted to forgive and forget so we could move on and continue with our lives but on the other I was so upset that he kept this from me and I couldn’t help but wonder what else he wasn’t telling me.

“Is that the only thing you were keeping from me?” I ask, ready to reach for the door if I don’t like his answer. He runs his hands through his hair and I can see frustration fill his features. “Yes, Y/N. You know that everytime you ask anything, I tell you. Not to mention you have access to my phone and computer as well.”

I sigh, knowing he’s right about that. My brain is telling me to run for the hills like I always do but my heart is yelling at me to forgive him for the sake of our daughter. I take a step backward and look him in the eye and my resolve to be upset dissolves and I know I forgive him before I even say it.

“I forgive you, Jake but if I find out you are keeping anything else from me, we’re done. You know that I have trust issues and I will not raise my daughter in a household with parents who cannot get along. Understood?” I say, hardly recognizing my own voice that sounds almost vicious.

He takes one step towards me and whispers “yes ma’am” before crashing his lips into mine. His hands running up my back while mine find purchase in his hair and he groans as I tug it. But before we can take things further we’re interrupted by a knock on the door.

“One sec!” I yell, turning to the mirror and fixing my hair while Jake does the same. The reality of where we were setting back in.

We leave shortly after, thanking everyone for everything. My phone dings as I get in the car and I see I’ve been added to a group chat called “Dagger Squad + the girls” and I smile as we head home.

-

A loud knock on the door awakens me and I look at my phone to see that it’s only 4AM. Jake is snoring soundly so I grab the gun in the night stand and slide on some shorts then make my way to the door.

Looking out the side window I see a car I could recognize anywhere, Mom’s. Taking a deep breath, I set the gun down on the coffee table and unlock the door.

She pulls me in for a hug before I can utter anything and I let myself melt in my arms. God, I had missed her so much. Pulling away she pats my belly and I know she knows and that she’s not here by accident.

Wordlessly she follows me in and I start the teapot. I’m terrified that she’s going to be upset at me for not telling her about her grandbaby. But when I head back to the couch I notice she’s holding a box labeled Mer’s baby clothes and I know she’s not upset.

“She would have wanted you to have this, darling,” Mom says, handing me the box and I let the tears fall as I grab it. “I miss her so much Mom, I wish she was here.” I choke out, while she holds me in her arms and rubs my back.

“I know baby, me too. I know you hadn’t told me yet because you were scared of my reaction but I want you to know that nothing has made me happier. I think your sister picked her just for you.” She whispered, as she rocked me the way she did when I was younger.

“How did you know I was pregnant and that it’s a girl?” I ask, pulling back and wiping my tears.

She smiled, “That handsome man standing at the end of the hallway called me yesterday and told me. As soon as we hung up, I grabbed Mer’s stuff and drove straight here.”

I turned to see Jake smiling at us then turning to the kitchen to grab the tea I forgot I was making. My heart felt like it could explode with happiness in this moment.

-

** 4 months later **

Jake had been on a mission the past 2 weeks and we were getting closer and closer to the due date. Worry started to fill me up when I didn’t hear from him

last night which was when he was due to start heading back to port. I waddled out of Nat’s apartment as she followed closely behind me and helped me into the car.

Maverick and Penny both lived a short drive from Nat’s thankfully and when we pulled into the driveway he was already out the door before the car was in Park. The somber look on his face immediately sending shivers down my spine as he made his way to my side of the car.

“Y/N, I was just headed over to your place. There’s no way to sugar coat this so I won’t even try. Jake’s jet was in an accident and he’s in a coma. I found out a few minutes ago. I’m so sorry.” His hands held mine as I felt my world come crashing down. The words accident and coma reverberating inside my head.

Nat and Mav’s voices were muffled as I tried to soak in my new reality. Jake was in a coma. My Jake was in a coma. Unfortunately, I was then snapped harshly back to reality by the one thing I wasn’t prepared yet for, my water breaking.

Fuck.

click here for the next part!

taglist: @rosiahills22 , @harperdoodle , @weirdothatwritess , @mrsevans90 , @smoothdogsgirl

[juniperss]

Please I beg of you write more for richard winterssss therea like nothing for him ANYWHERE and us winters girls!!! like maybe a head cannon on him marrying you or him realizing that he wants to marry you ?

i've got you, anon!! he's such an interesting character to write for because he's so clearly established in the show in terms of his personality and beliefs which can be quite fun to play around with in context of requests and writing!! anywayyyyyy I hope you like these!

a/n these headcanons, as with all my writing for BoB, are based on the fictional portrayal of the characters. Headcanon requests are open, please check my rules in my pinned post to see who I’m currently writing for💞

Winters has always known that he wants to get married and I truly believe that if he was dating someone, marriage has already crossed his mind. He doesn't strike me as the type of guy to just ask someone out for fun or something casual.

But when he notices himself thinking more and more about you as his spouse in the quiet moments of the day that's when he really begins to think about marriage.

If this is pre-war, I can see him wanting to wait until he was more established in his life and had finished college. He wants to be able to provide and feel worthy of making the commitment of marrying the person he loves.

But if we're talking post war, he wants to get married ASAP, especially if you two had an established relationship prior to him going overseas or started a relationship during (ie if you were a soldier, nurse, civilian over there, etc). Time and life are precious things and he wants to spend as much of both as he can with you. As your husband.

He does talk to you about marriage before he proposes and actually probably brought up the topic a few months into dating you. Like I said above, I don't see him casually dating anyone, so he wouldn't waste his time if he doesn't know what his partner wants in marriage. Ever the planner and thinker, he wants to know where your mind and heart are at before asking you. He wants to know what you see for yourself and for him in the future.

Definitely tries to make the proposal romantic but in his usual fashion he keeps it simple. His gestures of affection aren't grand spectacles but that doesn't mean that there isn't thought or love put into them.

I can see the proposal being done after a nice dinner but in a private location or maybe during a walk around the park or somewhere in nature. Someplace that means a lot to you (or the both of you). Could be the place where you first met or maybe it's a place that you two frequent as a couple.

He's asked your friends (and you) what kind of ring you would like but the old romantic knew what ring to get you right away when he saw it. He knows your taste, so of course he knew the ring to chose. But he was glad to get the reassurance from others.

He's definitely nervous about proposing even though he's sure you'll say yes. Again, he wouldn't spring the idea of marriage onto you, so you're probably gonna know that the question is coming. The butterflies are still there though and his mind is spinning with "what ifs". He's worried he's going to drop the ring for sure.

He's your calm and collected Richard and as he gets down on one knee with the ring box, his mind is only filled with how much he loves you. He doesn't cry until you say yes and he's gotten the ring over your finger.

Now, I think Dick would prefer a small wedding if possible but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be happy with a bigger one if that was important to you (especially in regards to your culture and traditions!). If the wedding is on a bigger scale than what he would’ve chosen, he wants to take some moments away that are just for the two of you during the events of the day. Pulling you aside to just look at you and hold your hand, breathing in a moment of peace or closing his eyes during the dancing to just focus on holding you. He’s glad to have a celebration but more than anything he’s glad to have you.

[fqiryspit]

SUCKING ARMINS TINY DICK!

cw: tiny cocked armin :(, sub!armin, dick sucking, ball-sucking, etc etc.

he gets all hard for no reason :( good morning sucks are very common.

sees your cleavage? hard. tight leggings? hard. he can barely control himself sometimes

he gets way too flustered to tell you anything, usually excusing himself to go to the bathroom to get rid of the tiny inconvenience.

"w-what a-are you doing?" that's how it usually starts once you sink down or crawl down to his crotch

"p-please please I-!" he begs, embarrassed when you're about to whip out his dick

and when you do, you shove the whole thing down your- mouth.

armin is so sooo embarrassed he isn't big. never being with a girl because he's too worried she wouldn't even feel it.

you, however, are all for it.

the first time you sucked his dick he was sweating.

.

"I- I don't think- you don't have to" he laughed awkwardly, you looked back up at him and then looked at his unzipped pants and the boner print on his boxer

"...you sure?" you ask, a smirk forming slightly on the slit of your mouth, amused by him trying to act like he isn't about to bust in his pants

"I- mean it just wouldn't be fun probably" he rambled on,

"have you ever had your dick sucked?"

"well, um..no"

"do you want your dick sucked?"

"I don't know if you-"

"I wanna suck your cock, armin."

and with that, his boxers were down and once his dick sprung out you realized why he was so nervous

looking back up at him he was turned to the side, eyes twisted shut as he prepared for the worst

looking back at his tiny dick, you examined it carefully. a thin vein popped out sightly as his ballerina pink tip oozed with pre, he was unbelievably hard. poor thing.

"I- uhm.." he started his apology but you shove his cock in your mouth, he let out this guttural cry at the feeling of your lips surrounding him and your cheeks hollowing

you let him out with a pop and sucked on his tip, tongue running on his slit and lapping his pre while he uncontrollably moaned. you happily took him back in, bobbing your head and looking back up at him as he squirmed and cried.

you moved down to his balls, placing one in your mouth while you kept his cock busy with your hand. sucking on the sack as he basically humped your face while whining

wrapping your lips around him again as he shot his hot cum down your throat, you watched him cry and whimper as he rode out his orgasm

.

sucking him off is so incredibly fun for you, you can do it for hours and he is just so sensitive and yes he cries sometimes but that's ok!!

an: 🤏

[listofwhyyouloveher]

can you write if the greasers girlfriend had vitiligo?

Summary: The Outsiders x Vitiligo!Reader Warnings: none Authors Note: shorter cuz my ankle hurts like hell and i've popped smth to make me sleep it off, sorry PONYBOY CURTIS

Boy, is he in love with you. He think's you stand out, in the best way possible. He's drawn to your differences, at first glance hes enraptured. He doesn't get anyone that tries to pick on you, he's so head over heel with your beauty that it's so odd to him that people would think you're not.

He likes it when you make connections to your skin through your clothes, accsessories, hair, etc. For example, if your vitiligo makes your hair he likes it when you put white mascara on it, as to not mask it but rather to accentuate it. JOHNNY CADE

I actually can see Johnny having localized vitilgo (only in certain and small parts), so he's rather glad that he has someone to relate to and talk to. He's taking care of you in the best way possible, he babies you a little bit because he often thinks you're fragile because you deal with a lot of harrassment, (ESPECIALLY SOCS)

Is not afraid of killing for you, not in a jealous way, but he loves you so much that he would pull another Pony/Bob situation for you. You're the first person that he can TRULY relate to. SODAPOP CURTIS Sodapop's real reason of getting to know you is because you're different, you're not like the pale soc girls with long bleach blonde tresses that spit on the ground he walks on and not one of the tan greasers that spend too much time in the sun so their faces are perpetually red. He rather nervous to talk to you because he can't put you into a category and adapt a personality to you, he's trying his best though and he obviously makes his way into your heart. He's babying you very intensely, you'd think he's Darry with how much he hovers over you. He knows differences are a target for socs and even greasers so he makes you carry a switch or always walk with him. STEVE RANDLE Steve is a cocky bastard, he's very obviously enamoured by your beauty but he won't do anything about it until you do something for him. He eventually just gets drunk with Soda and Soda convinces him to try and pick you up, it works and he's very excited, getting all 'dolled up' for it (taking a shower LMAO). He won't let you go anywhere alone, he knows how the Socs get, especially with girls and REALLY with girls that aren't in the societal norm. TWO BIT MATHEWS You met Two-Bit at a party, he actually bet his friends who could get with you first, he was rip-roarin' drunk and fell right on his ass in front of you. He ended up winning the bet though because it caught your attention and you two started talking. You both are head over heels and he's grateful to any god who understood his plight.

You two banter a lot, but he always makes sure to tiptoe around the topic of apperances, he knows theres a lot of things people can say to hurt you and he does not want to say it. DARRY CURTIS Being with him is such a Lana Del Ray thing, he's treating you like a queen. Even when he doesn't have the funds he tries his best to create an atmosphere that you'd like. He always goes with you everywhere, not just because he loves you so much but also because he can't stand the idea of the socs messing with you. He's so very respectful about your condition, you will never catch him asking a question that he hasn't thought fully through and asked a couple of people if 'its rude to ask' DALLAS WINSTON DALLAS YOU MOTHERFUCKER!! He's obviously not the kindest to you, he makes fun of Johnny for it, telling him he looks silly, he's actually the reason Johnny started rubbing dirt on his spots that were obvious. He never got you to rub dirt on your skin though, you had tough enough skin to put up with his pestering and gradually have him obsessed with being around you/talking to you. Because he could just talk for hours and you wouldn't give a damn if he kissed you or did 10 jumping jacks. He has this obsession with trying to get to you which is probably how you two got so close lol

[pinguwrites]

Kinktober 2023 | Day Nine — Robert Fischer + facefucking, office sex

Pairing -> sub!robert fischer x wife!reader

Warnings -> smut (minors dni), sub!robert, dom!reader, robert and reader are married, office sex, sex while on call, hold the moan

KINKTOBER 2023 MLIST

Disclaimer: Inception characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

You pressed Robert up against the wall, hands sliding underneath his shirt and up his chest, making him shiver at the feeling of your cold touch. You were both in his office, the one in his luxurious tower. When you first started dating, you actually didn’t like being in his office, or for that matter, most places he owned. Never in your whole life had you seen such expensive things in one single room, such quality, and honestly? you were afraid you were going to ruin it. Break something, spill coffee on his suits . . . but now it was different. You didn’t care, especially not when you were all riled up.

You would push him onto chairs, ruin his ties by shoving it in his mouth, toss aside important documents just so you could ride him on his desk. Like now, you two were engaging in a hot and heavy make-out session. His fingers were rubbing your clit, your juices getting on the cuff of his sleeve. 

You moaned, running your fingers through his hair and tugging on the strands. 

“Mmph,” he let out against your lips, when you gave a particularly hard tug. Before you could continue, however, Robert’s work phone rang.

Robert sighed, resting his forehead against yours. He thought for a moment, before deciding to just kiss you again, but you stopped him.

“Pick up the phone, Rob,” you said, your hand on his chest. “I don’t wanna get in the way of your work.”

He shook his head pushed a finger into your pussy. “I’ll just say I was busy  . . . I am busy, pleasing my girl.”

“Answer the call, Rob.” You stopped his hand.

He looked at you, pale blue eyes in frustration. “Don’t—”

“Pick up the phone.”

He did, only for you to drop on your knees and pull out his cock. He had already answered the call and was trying to push you away, nervous that he was going to moan to loudly, but you didn’t budge.

You couldn’t hear what Robert’s coworker was saying on the phone, but you could hear his responses, and the way he was struggling made you more than happy.

“I-I’m fine,” Robert managed to say. You took his length in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down, all the while looking up at him through thick eyelashes. 

He grabbed your hair, trying to halt your movements, but you swatted his hand away, and he didn’t try doing that again. That was the thing about Robert. He was dominant in the workplace, and even in his personal life, but he always listened to you, especially when it came to sex. He was just the desperate and submissive type, even when he was on top. 

You deepthroated him and he groaned slightly.

“Sorry, I’m just — just not feeling well,” Robert said, cringing at how pathetic that sounded. “I’ll call you back—”

You pinched his balls. 

He whined, ignoring your warning. “I have to go.”

He gasped and ended the call, much to your dismay, but he made up for your disappointment when he started to thrust into your mouth, using your throat like it was your pussy.

“Ah, fuck. Don’t move, okay? Let me use you.”

He did just as he wanted, eventually coming in your mouth with a soft whimper. You swallowed it, you knew he loved it when you did that, and then caught your breath. He took a moment to relax too, pulling you off your knees and into his arms. 

“I think he knew what you were doing,” Robert said, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. “Dirty wife.”

Taglist:

@rainyforest777

@thatwitchybitch420 

@madeinuk

@gentyleman

@henrywintersdearestgirl

[joenotexotic99]

Hi honey, I have to say I love your stuff. You write absolutely great. Could you do a headcannon on BoB and what type of love would you give them? I mean love at first sight, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, etc. I'd be happiest with Winters and Nixon and Speirs, but do what you will. Thank you.

A/n: here you go my love. When I finally re read the request I realized you might have wanted the pov's reversed but it was too late. Hopefully it's not too bad. I will happily switch it to reader pov if you wish.

Warnings:fluff

Masterlist

Richard winters

-friends to lovers. I don't think that this man thought of romance when he first met you. Attractive? Most definitely. However he had bigger things preoccupying his mind. Yet somehow at some point, you wiggled your way to being one of his best friends. Don't tell nix. Something about you practically scrambled his brain. He doesn't know when in the friendship he fell or if he fell in the very beginning. But when he realized just how much he loved you it was like he jumped off a cliff without a parachute. He knew right then and there you were it for him. He probably felt nervous telling you due to the fact that he never gave off the impression that he likes you. But let's just say the feelings were reciprocated.

"Dick, I have been flirting with you this whole time."

"Really??"

Lewis nixon

- love at first sight. This man took one look at you and said yes. He may not immediately start flirting with you out of respect, but he will damn well be tied to your finger. Will always open doors for you, and give you his coat when you're cold. So many acts of services. At one point you two were at a bar and some private made his way to your side to start a flirty conversation where he swears he got to hands'y. He knew that you were single but he was extremely jealous nonetheless. Eventually he had to leave to get some air. You followed shortly to catch up with him. You confronted him asking what has gotten into him as of late. He never wanted it to come out like this but it sort of just spilled out of him. He rambled on about his feelings before you cut him off with a kiss and a huge grin on your face.

"Shut up nix and take me on a date"

Ronald speirs

-Distance attraction, I don't know what to call it, this is the closest I can get. It just feels right. Basically, Speirs isn't quite love at first sight, he's the guy who needs to really get to know you to start building a relationship like that. However this man has a MASSIVE crush on you. But he's too prideful to say anything seeing how simping for someone isn't exactly in Ron's profile. He just admires you from a distance while simultaneously stuffing his emotions deep down. Much better in his book. Yet he still does his very best to be by your side at every moment possible even though he spends a lot of time trying not to think about how perfect you are. It's you who makes the first move. You obviously like him and you know he does too. It's obvious to everyone but no-one says a single word. And before you can finish telling him if he wants to go out some time, he's already agreeing.

"Yes"

"What?"

"You free Friday?"

Carwood lipton

-childhood friends to lovers. He was the boy next door. You two were friends from first grade through college. Sharing secrets, sleepovers, getting into mischief. Car started crushing on you when you two were teenagers. Said crush continued all the way until you two volunteer to join the paratroopers. War was hell but you seemed to make it just a little bit more manageable. His life in the war picked up significantly and he had a freight train worth of responsibility placed on his shoulders. Yet you never left his side. It wasn't until Austria that he confessed his feelings. He almost felt sick when he told you in fear of losing his best friend. It was short sweet at straight to the point. You were silent for what felt like an eternity. Lip almost took off in fear of rejection. He was stopped in his tracks by the sound of your laughter. He turned to hear you laughing with the biggest smile on your face.

"Clifford carwood Lipton, do you know how long I've been waiting for those words"

Joseph Leibgott

-Enemies to lovers. Your relationship started off Rocky. Your personality clashed and having a civilized conversation was seemingly impossible. Every time your paths crossed it was filled with banter, insults and tension. Sometimes it got to the point where someone needed to intervene. When you would walk into the same room that Joe would be in it's like the air seemed to thicken. The cold stares and passive aggressive comments. As the war progressed your comments never faulted but the tension you ask? It could be felt by an entire room. And all that hate seemed to not leave as bad as a taste in your mouth. Joe knew from the start that he hated and loved you. You know the type of enemies to lovers where it's like 'she's mine' and 'who did this to you?' It's giving that. He got so fed up with replacements trying to whisk you away so he simply grabbed you by the waist and kissed you.

"Don't lever leave with one of them alright sweetheart?"

"Wasn't planning on it"

[mypimpademia]

I love to see black lady fan fics but they never have hair like mine can I ask you to write the main 4 and how they would react to a girl with locs

— Locs

Bakugo x Fem! Black! Reader, Izuku x Black! Fem! Reader, Todoroki x Black! Fem! Reader, Shinsou x Black! Fem! Reader

TW: Swearing

— BAKUGO

⇶ Locs are hands down Katsukis favorite.

⇶ He loves how they look amazing all the time even without styling them

⇶ So when you walk into class on the first day with a fresh retwist, you catch his eye

⇶ He acts disinterested, per usual, but you can feel him staring at you as you introduce yourself to your other classmates

⇶ If you go up to him and say something, he’ll mug you and then ignore you completely

⇶ Izuku pulls you away from him and tells you that the blonde is rough around the edges, but he didn’t cuss you out or yell so that’s a good sign for you

⇶ Later that day, you get paired with him for an assignment

⇶ He hardly speaks to you, and when he does his answers are short

⇶ It’s irking your soul, honestly. The only thing that’s keeping you from asking him what his problem is is remembering what Izuku said about him

⇶ You think he’s just being an asshole, but you’re really trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. And as long as he doesn’t start anything with you like Izuku told you about, you’ll be chill

⇶ It doesn’t even dawn on you that you’re making him insanely nervous

⇶ It’s such an unfamiliar feeling to Katsuki, hence his strange behavior

⇶ He doesn’t care about the length of your hair, it could be above your shoulders or down to your ass and he’ll still think you look incredible

⇶ Will he tell you that? No. Let’s be serious.

⇶ He’s cool with whatever your natural hair color is, but dyed locs do something to him

⇶ Katsuki loves skunk stripes and peekaboos in any color, and fully dyed hair is a close second

⇶ Don’t even get him started on if you have it dyed orange, ginger, or blonde.

⇶ For styles, anything half up and half down is 🔛🔝

⇶ And if your locs are long, he likes to see you switch it up by making them into a bob

⇶ Katsuki will warm up to you eventually, once he gets over how nervous you make him first

— IZUKU

⇶ Anything with natural hair makes him melt, so to say he loves your locs would be an understatement

⇶ One of the first things he does, after introducing himself, is tell you that he likes you hair

⇶ Can’t stop staring at your locs while he talks to you, they’re just so pretty on you

⇶ Anytime you come into class with a different style or a retwist, he makes a point to compliment you

⇶ If you ever ask Izuku to pick a style for you to try, he’ll be more than happy to do so

⇶ You’ll scroll through Pinterest together until you find one you both like

⇶ Shit, he’ll make an entire board just for loc inspo and share it with you

⇶ Loves any style with a ponytail/pigtails, or in a bun

⇶ Thinks curly/wavy locs are the cutest thing ever

⇶ Adores locs with beads and charms on them, they’re so pretty to him and you’ll almost see stars in his eyes if you put any on yours

⇶ Doesn’t care about length much, but he does really like shorter locs (shoulder length and shorter) because they show how much you can do with locs regardless of how long they are

⇶ For dyed locs, he likes really bold and bright colors. Doesn’t care about if it’s a skunk stripe, peekaboo, fully dyed, just the ends, etc

⇶ Pink, purple, and of course, green are his favorites

⇶ If you let him try to retwist your locs, it won’t go terribly, but you most definitely will not ask him to do it again😭

⇶ Even though he can’t retwist to save his life, he’s great at styling so if you’re ever struggling he’ll enthusiastically help you

⇶ Truthfully, Izuku might enjoy your locs more than you

— TODOROKI

⇶ Sho thinks locs are sooo pretty

⇶ He won’t say anything to you, but you’ll catch him taking glances and immediately looking away when you meet eyes

⇶ Has a very awkward smile on his face when he does so, and it’s honestly the cutest thing ever

⇶ When you go over and say hi, he’s a bit shocked but quietly says hi

⇶ Shoto is naturally quiet, and you got that off rip, but he’s very obviously nervous the entire time you talk to him

⇶ Shoto is very blunt, so when you ask him what’s wrong he just tells you he thinks your hair is pretty

⇶ Doesn’t care about length at all, but for styling he likes when you just let them be, and any ponytail style

⇶ For dyed locs, he likes darker colors

⇶ If you have a split dye, he’ll think it’s cute that you and him are matching

⇶ Locs with charms, specially crystal charms, are heavenly to him. He thinks you look like an angel with an assortment of crystals dangling from your locs

⇶ If you ask him to do your hair, he’ll be fine as long as you give him guidance

⇶ Lovesss to play with your locs if you’ll let him

⇶ Always keeps a hair tie on his wrist for you in case you need one to pull them back, as well as clips

⇶ Just thinks you’re so pretty with your locs, he could look at them for hours

— SHINSOU

⇶ Natural hair lover to his core but locs will always take the cake

⇶ Hitoshi doesn’t even say hi when he first sees you, he tells you he likes your hair

⇶ It catches you off guard, but he likes watching you sputter out a thank you

⇶ Admires your locs pretty much everytime he’s talking to you, and even when he’s not

⇶ Doesn’t look away if you catch him, just gives you a smug grin

⇶ Even though he usually keeps his hair up how it always is, he Carrie’s hair ties and pins just in case he needs to put it back. He’ll let you borrow some if you ask

⇶ He likes any length, but sways towards shorter locs more

⇶ Hitoshi lovess barrels and twists, and believes that you can never go wrong with a good pineapple

⇶ For dyed locs, he’s likes peekaboos, skunk stripes, and scattered dyed ones in any color

⇶ If you have all of your hair dyed, Hitoshi likes vibrant colors, pink, blue, and purple being his favorites

⇶ Likes touching them, if you’ll let him

⇶ They’re hardly ever prolonged touches, most of the time he’ll tangle his fingers in your locs when coming up behind you to get your attention

⇶ But if your locs are long, he’ll play with them while talking to you or sitting behind you

⇶ Twists them, braids them, curls them around his fingers, etc

⇶ Hitoshi is actually good at doing hair, so if you ever get tired of styling it on your own or retwisting, you can count on him to get you right

⇶ He might scare you a little by watching a tutorial on YouTube or TikTok first, but surprises you by doing a nice job with little to no guidance from you

⇶ Hitoshi is a loc enthusiast through and through

—

Taglist: @megurulvr @miirene @planetlunaa @pnkweb @szaplsdropthealbum @dreampurpledreams @goldenglow149 @gender-queery @roaringlion @chocolateochaco @tatiquichi

Send in a ask or DM me to be added to all taglists, or fill out my form to be added to select ones.

—

Thank you for reading, comments and reblogs are appreciated!

[hairstevington]

flowers and ink (part 2)

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Summary: Eddie and Steve like each other, but unfortunately Eddie thinks Steve is dating Robin, and they're both generally just gay disasters who don't know how to communicate

(part one found here)

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Tattoo Artist!Eddie, Florist!Steve, fluff, gay panic, Platonic Soulmates Steve and Robin, Will is here and we love him, everybody is a sweetheart and an idiot, it's just cute and funny

A/N: Ha ha, remember when I said this would be two parts? I'm having so much fun with it that I'm making it three parts. I hope you don't mind??? Also this story is officially cross posted on Ao3 for those interested!

“Steve, did you give Eddie a 50% tip?” Robin asked as they walked out of Ink About It.

“Well, I’ve never been that great at math,” Steve mumbled, blushing. 

“Uh-huh. I’m sure that’s the reason.”

“He did a great job?” Steve offered. He wasn’t even sure why he was denying the obvious. Robin knew Steve way too well to play these games. 

“You like Eddie,” she stated.

“I barely know him,” Steve shrugged.

“Yeah, but his work is permanently on your skin forever,” Robin pointed out. 

“Jesus, why did you have to say that?” Steve whined with a groan. “He’s hot, okay? Will you just leave it?”

He knew she wouldn’t leave it. It was kind of her specialty.

“It was just so cute seeing you be all flirty with him,” Robin said. 

“God, I hope it wasn’t that obvious.”

“Don’t worry, he was too focused on his work to notice,” she assured him. “Come on, we just did something big, let’s celebrate!”

So, they did.

The next time they worked together, the teasing was relentless. Steve couldn’t escape it due to the tattoo shop being right through the glass. He couldn’t help trying to see if Eddie was in there. 

“Oh my god, just go back there and talk to him,” Robin suggested.

“I can’t just go there, Robin,” Steve replied. “I’d have to, like, make another appointment or something.”

“You’re willing to get a new tattoo every time you see this guy, Dingus?” Steve chuckled.

“If I have to, sure.” Robin smacked him playfully on the arm. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Oh, and you’re any better?” Steve challenged. “Remind me again why you started working here.” Robin rolled her eyes. 

“Whatever, we’re both gay disasters,” she replied. “I still think you should go over there. I’ll cover for you.”

“Wait, you mean now?” Steve asked, confused. 

“Yeah,” Robin confirmed. “It’s been so slow I’m going crazy, Harrington. I need something to spice up the day, and this fits the bill.” She put her hands on his chest and pushed him backwards toward the front door. “Do it. Go.” Steve sighed.

“It’s a good thing I love you, Buckley.”

And with that, he was off to the tattoo parlor.

-

Bob took the morning off to take Will to brunch, leaving Eddie alone in the shop. He didn’t mind holding the fort, because he could plan breaks and moments to relax based on the appointments he had for the day. Tattoo shops were chill.

Most people generally knew not to walk into a tattoo place without notice. Appointments and communication beforehand were necessary so that the artist could design and adjust, plan their day, etc. 

Steve apparently didn’t have that memo. But when he sauntered into Ink About It, Eddie didn’t care about his lack of a heads up. 

He was wearing his work polo - light blue with the name of the flower shop over his heart. He looked a bit nervous, but Eddie figured that was because the man clearly did not fit into a place like this. 

“Back for more already?” Eddie teased. Steve blushed, and it was cute how nervous tattooing made him. He wondered if Steve regretted getting one in the first place. 

“I just have a question,” Steve said. He walked up to the counter and leaned his elbows on it, making the height difference between them drastic enough where Steve had to angle his chin up to make eye contact. 

“Shoot,” Eddie permitted. 

“Is the damn thing supposed to like - peel?” Steve asked. 

Eddie just about lost it. He never wanted to make someone feel bad for not knowing these things, but Steve was just so goddamn cute about it. He pressed his lips together as tightly as he could so he wouldn’t give himself away, then nodded. 

“Yup,” Eddie answered. “The first week or so you’ll see it flake off. Don’t pick at it or scrub it or anything.”

“Would it come off if I do?” Steve asked. 

Okay. Now the guy HAD to be fucking with him. Don’t laugh don’t laugh be professional do what Bob would do.

“I - uh, well no I’m afraid tattoos are permanent, Steve,” Eddie responded. Steve looked at him dumbly for a second, then shifted back up to standing and burst out laughing. 

Eddie watched, confused, until Steve spoke again. 

“I’m just fucking with you Eddie. I may not know a lot about tattoos, but I know they’re permanent, okay?” Eddie seeing Steve goof around like this was charming in a way Eddie hadn’t seen yet. He’d really only known Steve with a brave face on, caring for Robin when she got scared. Eddie had already been crushing on Steve, and hearing him laugh now took the crush to new heights. 

“Oh,” Eddie said, smiling back with a light chuckle. “Alright then. So yeah, if it’s flaking that’s okay, but I can look at it if you want.” Steve nodded, so Eddie gestured for them to go back to the space where Steve got the tattoo in the first place. 

Steve stood there awkwardly, looking at the table he was supposed to sit on, then down at his ankle, then back up. 

“How do you want me?” he asked. 

Eddie really wished he didn’t say that. 

“Uh, you can just sit like you did the other day and pull your pant leg up.” Steve did as told, crossing his left leg over his right so his ankle was in clear view. 

Eddie knew at first glance it was healing just fine, but he lingered on his work for an extra few seconds, just to extend the moment as much as he could. 

“So, what’s the verdict?” Steve asked, nervously. Eddie shook his head to get himself out of his daze. 

“Everything looks good,” he confirmed. “Maybe a bit dry. Are you putting lotion on it?”

Steve nodded, then named a kind of lotion Eddie knew was shit for this sort of thing, but it would do in a pinch. Eddie caught sight of the clock and realized Bob was going to show up with Will any moment. 

“I guess I should head out,” Steve said, noticing Eddie’s focus drifting to the time. 

“Uh, right,” Eddie said. He really did need Steve to go, but he didn’t want him to. “Yeah, I got - the manager is coming in soon with this kid who I guess is into art. I’m supposed to show him the ropes and -” Eddie paused, realizing he was just about to spill his whole guts to Steve without even thinking about it. 

“And?” Steve pressed. Shit. Eddie took a deep breath. 

“I guess the kid just came out and Bob thinks he needs another gay person to talk to or something,” Eddie admitted. 

“Oh,” Steve replied. Eddie couldn’t read his expression. He definitely looked a bit surprised, but most people did. Eddie couldn’t even count the amount of times someone had said something like, I had no idea. You don’t look it. Like, what the fuck does that even mean? He waited for Steve to say something similar, but instead the door opened. 

“Hey, Eds, we’re back!” Bob announced from the waiting area.

“Uh, good luck,” Steve mumbled, fixing his pant leg and standing up. He turned to leave, but froze when he saw the kid. “Will?”

“Steve?!” 

“Wait, you two know each other?” Eddie asked, confused. 

“Uh, yeah. I kinda used to babysit him,” Steve answered. “How have you been, dude? You’re almost as tall as me now!”

Eddie and Bob watched as Will ran to Steve and hugged him, both of them smiling warmly. 

“I’m good! Things are good!” Will said. He separated from Steve and looked to Eddie. “You must be the artist Bob has told me about.”

“That’s me,” Eddie replied with a wave. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Well, I gotta get back to work,” Steve said, knowing that he was no longer supposed to be there. “But you’re in good hands with Eddie. He just gave me my first tattoo and he’s pretty great.”

Eddie had no idea why Steve was complimenting him so much. He could feel himself blushing. 

“You work at the place across the street?” Will asked. Steve nodded. “Yup, with Robin,” he answered. 

“Oh, how’s she doing?” Will asked. 

“She’s good. Same as always. Still the best person I know.”

Aww. That was sweet. But also annoying. For Eddie, anyway. Their goddamn relationship was long term and solid as ever, apparently.

Steve insisted again that he should get going, and then he was off. 

“So,” Eddie said, clapping his hands together. “What do you want to see first?”

They started with a tour of the place. Eddie showed Will his tattooing space first, going over the tools and explaining how it all worked. Then, Will started asking Eddie about his own tattoos, so they went over all of those next. It took a long time, because Eddie had a lot of tattoos to explain, each of them with their own backstory. Some backstories were more involved and coherent than others. Some of them just consisted of, “oh yeah, I was kinda tipsy and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Don’t do that by the way.”

“I don’t want a tattoo, anyway,” Will had responded. Eddie nodded, but had an inkling from the way Will was so fascinated by all this that he’d change his mind someday. 

After that, Eddie showed Will a bunch of designs he’d done in the past, then a few he was currently working on. Will ended up showing Eddie some of the drawings he’d done. 

“Oh, shit,” Eddie said, completely blown away. “You’re really talented, man.”

“Thanks,” Will replied with a smile. “I’ve been doing it my whole life.”

“That’s awesome. So, you think you’re gonna get into tattooing?”

“I dunno, maybe,” he responded with a shrug. “I’m going to college in the fall for art, but I don’t really know what I’m gonna do with it yet.”

“That’s soooo normal,” Eddie replied. He’d heard people say as much often, so he figured he’d pass the knowledge along. “I didn’t go to college, but I found my place here. I wasn’t an artist my whole life like you, but it turned out to kind of be perfect for me.”

“Isn’t it weird to have your designs on people’s bodies forever?”

“It’s kind of awesome, actually,” Eddie said with a grin. “It was a little wild at first to work on skin, but thankfully they had me start on oranges, first.”

“Really?” Will asked, amused. “I had no idea!”

“Yeah!” Eddie responded. “You wanna try?”

“You just have an orange lying around?” 

“I like citrus, what can I tell ya.”

Will practiced a few designs under Eddie’s watch. He caught a glimpse of Bob in the office, smiling at the two of them bonding. 

Will was cool. He was sweet. He was also sarcastic in a sneaky way. Sometimes he’d say something that caught Eddie off guard, just because Will seemed shy and quiet at first. He wasn’t, really. 

“I know why Bob wanted me to meet you,” Will said. They’d peeled the orange and were now splitting it.

“Hm?” Eddie asked. “I mean, so you could check out the shop, right?”

“It’s okay, I know he wants me to talk to other gay people,” Will pointed out, rolling his eyes. “Bob isn’t that slick.”

Eddie chuckled. Smart kid.

“Yeah, well I’ll talk about it if you want me to, but figured I’d let you bring it up first. When I was your age, I didn’t really wanna talk to anyone, but you’re a lot different than I was.”

“What do you mean?” Will asked. 

“Uhhhhhhh….” Eddie looked around nervously. Bob had closed the door to the office. “I was all over the place back then. I was the school freak - that’s literally what they called me.”

Eddie had gotten over the trauma of high school the last few years. His life stabilized, and he realized all the shit people thought about him were irrelevant. He left all of it behind, and he was a lot happier now. 

“People bully me too,” Will confessed quietly. 

“People suck,” Eddie said with a sigh. “I guess that much hasn’t changed since I graduated. Maybe we aren’t so different after all, then.”

Eddie didn’t think Will dealt drugs or got into fights like Eddie used to, but people don’t have to go through the same things to feel the same things. 

-

HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT.

Eddie’s gay. This changes everything. 

Steve did his best to exit Ink About It calmly, and it took everything in him not to fully sprint across the street. He still ended up doing a fast walk that was basically a jog. 

He flung himself to the door and opened it, taking a deep breath. 

“Robin!” he shouted. 

His eyes focused on the absolute chaos happening in the shop. People were everywhere, like what the fuck? Robin was manning the register and answering questions as best as she could, but she was clearly in over her head. 

“Help,” she mouthed with terror in her eyes. 

Steve desperately wanted to tell her that this was karma for her saying she was bored and sending Steve away. He also wanted to tell her about his time at Ink About It. But there were other priorities first. 

Steve quickly swooped in to help her cash customers out. She scurried to the back to handle the many customers who wanted to know about the various flowers being sold. 

Steve was able to gather through small talk with the customers that prom was happening at the school down the road, and everyone was getting last minute flowers for their dates.

More accurately, the parents were. Some brave kids showed up, but they looked completely lost. 

They continued working until the rush died down, leaving the two of them on the edge of exhaustion. 

“That was brutal,” Steve muttered as he splayed himself across the counter. 

“So brutal,” Robin agreed. She was lying fully on the ground, starfish style. Bits of stems and flower petals surrounded her. It was kind of pretty, actually. 

“Hold on, stay right there,” Steve said, pulling his phone from his pocket. Before Robin could object, Steve snapped a picture from above. 

“Hey!” she said, sitting up. “I don’t want this moment of my life documented, Steven!” 

“Yes, you do. Look.” Steve bent down and showed her the picture. After a moment, she nodded. 

“Okay, fine. Yes. That’s going on my Instagram, thank you.”

“You should put it on your Hinge profile, too,” Steve suggested. 

“Good idea,” Robin agreed. She jumped to her feet and sighed. “I’m gonna go clean up the back.”

“I’ll be here,” Steve replied. 

Ten minutes went by, and then Steve heard a squealing.

“Shit! Fuck!” Robin didn’t actually curse that often, so Steve knew something must be very wrong. 

“Robs? You okay back there?” He rounded the corner just as Robin squatted behind some bouquets, concealing herself. 

“Don’t!” she yelled. “Okay, well actually I do need your help, but you have to promise not to laugh.”

“I can’t promise that, but I’ll try,” Steve said with a smirk. 

Robin straightened herself back up, and Steve got the full picture of what had happened. Her hair was all kinds of tangled in a watering can. 

He laughed so hard he cried. 

“I hate you, DIngus,” she muttered, not nearly as amused by the situation. 

“This is why you leave the watering to me,” Steve joked. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

-

This is stupid. This is so stupid. Eddie, you are stupid. Get some help.

He was headed to Flowers for All with unscented lotion. For Steve. Because Eddie had no chill and was a simp. 

He didn’t even care if Steve was queer, or if he was taken. Eddie just wanted to talk to him more. 

So stupid.

Eddie walked in, triggering the bell above the door. He quickly heard voices from the back.

“Shit! Someone’s here!”

“It’s ok I got it I got it.”

There were more sounds of shuffling for a few seconds before Steve tumbled out of a doorway, blushing. 

Oh my god. Did I just interrupt them hooking up?

Eddie somehow felt even more like a dumbass. He wasn’t fazed by them getting it on at work - it’s not like he hadn’t done that before - it’s that he brought goddamn unscented lotion to his client’s place of work, unannounced and unprompted. 

“I - shit, sorry,” Eddie said, just about ready to turn and bolt. 

“It’s okay!” Steve assured him. “What’s going on Eddie?”

Robin ran out of the room so fast she almost fell over. 

“Eddie! What a wonderful surprise!” 

There was a teasing quality to her voice that Eddie mistook for her trying to cover up how flustered she was. This was all but confirmed when Steve gently elbowed her in the rib. 

“I brought this for you,” Eddie said. He raised the stupid fucking lotion so it was in plain view, then forced himself to walk to the counter and leave it there. “It’s what I use. Your tattoo will heal better. Uh - both of them. For both of you, I mean.”

“Hey, thanks, man.” Steve smiled and grabbed the lotion, inspecting it. 

“Do all tattoo artists care this much about their clients?” Robin asked. There was that teasing sound again. Is she jealous or something? 

“Well, I - Bob always tells me to be nice so I do my best. Sorry if I interrupted anything.”

Steve and Robin shared a knowing look. 

“You didn’t,” Steve said casually. “We’re finally dead again, which is the way we like it.”

“Yeah,” Robin agreed. “It was rough earlier, but we survived.”

“We always do,” Steve added. 

They were so friendly and kind, and they clearly loved each other very much. Eddie knew he needed to go. He had to go. He just needs to say goodbye, turn around, and -

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you guys about something,” Eddie blurted out. 

Shit.

He didn’t actually have anything to talk about. But luckily, one of his special skills included the ability to never shut the fuck up. 

He took a deep breath and decided to do a little improv.

(part three)

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[elvisabutler]

spark ( chapter one: company )

fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( fameless big daddy electrician ) x female original character word count: 13957 told y'all it was just shy of 14k warnings: old southern church ladies being all up in people's business. not the best of marriages. talk of children. copious amounts of sweat. elvis preferring to wear a jumpsuit that's worn in versus getting a new one. infidelity in some form. elvis in glasses. religion playing an at least faintly important part. a bit of negative self talk. this is not safe for work. i am not giving away anything else in these warnings. author’s note: first off the largest and most sincere of thanks to the ever delightful and loving marina who once upon a time just had whispers of a sort of off shoot/same vibe sort of thing for crawfever ( yes this is why this fic has gotten crawfever adjacent as a tag despite it not being the same thing ). and let me take them, burrow into her brain and find the bits and bobs that her brain had dreamed up but not been able to put into words. this fic would not exist without those whispers and without your edits. second, special thanks to my phenomenal wives and besties christi and birdy as well for you two know just how much you supported me in this from when marina did the whispers and i spewed what i affectionately called marina's brain herpes at you two, your screams and thoughts have been so powerful to get me to work on this. third, special other thanks to the charming @prompted-wordsmith for the edit job and the saving my ass on that one spot both me and marina could not figure out words for and putting up with my frankly excessive em dash use. beyond that, thank all of y'all who've enjoyed my vibes posts and have been getting excited based on what i've said to y'all, what marina has said to y'all, etc. just i'm very excited to show y'all this and i hope you enjoy. and quick tiny note, this is set in the 50s, so elvis is a wwii veteran and thus his birth and everything is pushed a little bit back to make this work.

“Call that handyman—the one from the church, I have to get to work,” her husband Nathan calls out as he leaves without a kiss exchanged between the two of them.

Words left unsaid die a quick death on her lips and tongue as she lets out a sigh. Once again she was left alone with barely a goodbye. She supposes she should be thankful he at least waited until she was awake. That he waited till she at least was conscious and able to ask him what she needed to, even if his response left so much to be desired. Call the handyman—Mr. Presley was his name, not that Nathan cared to know. After all, that would require him taking an interest in the church life or her sister’s life. It would require him to see the look on her face when she holds little Elizabeth while grabbing her from Sunday school or dropping her off at Sunday school for Melly. It would require… so many things.

Mr. Presley always told anyone to call Crown Electric and ask for him if they were in need. Some people argue it was some form of shrewd marketing but the pastor likes to reassure the congregation that Elvis, the godly and kind soul that he is, wouldn’t do that willy-nilly. Lilly’s hand shakes as she calls and reaches what she assumes is the receptionist before being reassured that he'll be over in a jiff. 

A jiff turns out to be a surprisingly quick time, no more than a half an hour before she hears a knock that somehow sounds delicate and gentle but is forceful enough for her to hear it easily. Adjusting her dress, she smoothes out an imaginary set of wrinkles, nervous for reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was because she feels so very silly calling up a handyman for this fix. Truly if she could she’s certain she could fix it herself and she knows Nathan had fixed this very problem before. And yet here she was, about to answer her door. Oh, she hopes he doesn't judge her too harshly—hopes he doesn't think less of Nathan or her. 

As she opens the door she is greeted by the sight of Mr. Presley in a simple olive jumpsuit that appeared to be a bit tight in the middle, his paunch pushing at the fabric the same as it appeared to do in the area of his thigh. It's strange for her to see him like this, far more rugged than he ever is in church or at the potlucks. Lilly swears her heart skips a beat in what she thinks is shock cause she looks up at Mr. Presley’s face and sees what is one of the most genteel and warm smiles she's ever seen on a person. 

"Mrs. Harris," Elvis greets Lilly with that smile that has Lilly's own lips curling into one even as she bites at her lip and tilts her head down.

"Mr. Presley. You came quickly," A statement of fact while hiding a question of why and how as she moves aside to allow him to enter her home. 

“It's not everyday lil Miss Lizzie’s aunt calls for help from me. In fact, I think this is ya first time," Elvis answers while keeping his gaze on her as he enters, carefully avoiding looking around the house. "Musta been an emergency."

"Lil Miss Lizzie’s aunt" shouldn't sting as much as it does and yet she feels herself wince just slightly at the idea of only being known as an aunt, never a mother. Of being known as a barren woman who defied her family's legendary fertility to have an empty house and a husband who tolerated her at best as of late.

"Oh you just have to try harder, Lilly. Must be something—in your diet. Or that stress of yours. Nathan days you've been downright mean when you talk sometimes."

She's been downright mean, it would take a downright mean person to know one wouldn't it? It would take a man who ignores his wife like Nathan does to recognize a woman who's mean when she talks. Frustrated is what Lilly was, dejected is what Lilly was. But mean? No, she tries too hard not to be mean that the idea of Nathan accusing her of such a thing is a betrayal of her heart.

Lilly sniffles slightly, attempting to play it off as allergies. "You could say that, Mr. Presley. Nathan had to rush out and I'm—I can't quite fix it myself. And you did say if anyone needed help with anything to make a call for you."

Elvis opens his mouth to speak before her sniffles hit him. It's as if a grenade has gone off in front of him. It's as if he can see the rubble of whatever had been in front of him at those small, barely-noticeable sniffles. Why…? There was no reason for her to be crying. 'Less she didn't want him to be here. Had he said something to offend her, something that made her emotional? Or was it embarrassment from needing to call him? He shouldn't reach out to touch her, shouldn't offer comfort he isn't sure she needs. But there's something about that small little sniffle that has him frowning and praying it's just allergies or the dust from his suit or something physical causing them. His hand moves to grab her own and—zzzt—that's when he feels a spark shoot into his hand, up his arm and settle in his chest. If he didn’t know any better he swears his heart skips a beat or two as he shakes his head.

"Know I'm not the most charming o' company Mrs. Harris but—I do good work. As for Mr. Harris, I'm sure he's busy bein' a good provider. Givin' ya everythin' ya need. Fixin' things can be a bit o' work for you young ones, ‘specially for the men after a long day. That's why you got ol’ fools like me. Fix things so ya don't gotta worry that pretty head of yours.”

Lilly's lips can't help but quirk into a smile, small as it is, at his words. They're not entirely comforting at face value but the longer she allows them to sit as she watches him set his bag down on the floor by her oven and make moves to actually do his job, the more they settle something inside of her. A final sniffle escapes her before she blows her nose by her sink, turning to face Elvis when she's finished.

Lilly's never put much stock in the idea that someone's entire aura and demeanor can change based on the clothes they wear. After all, she was the same person whether or not she was in her nightgown versus her dress or in the dresses she’d wear around the house compared to, say, her Sunday’s best. Mr. Presley, though, there’s something to be said about how he looks standing in front of her compared to how he looks every Sunday. There’s something to be said about how the jumpsuit he’s wearing almost looks too small for him but it’s just his middle that tightens the fabric. It’s just that paunch of his stomach yanking the fabric forward in an effort to contain him, stretching the fabric across his chest and making it so he has to leave the zipper partially undone before it reaches his neck. Her eyes refuse to linger on his lower half for too long but she can see how tight it is around his legs, around his thighs and she feels a shiver come over her for just a moment. This–this isn’t the same man who dresses in a full suit, jacket and all to church. This isn’t the same man who has his hair slicked back and his suit pants pressed like his mama’d taught him in church. 

This isn’t the same man she hands her niece off to every Sunday. No, this is another man entirely, a rugged down to Earth—salt of the Earth man. He’s a man who isn’t afraid to get dirty and afraid to work on things other people might stick their nose up at. He’s a man through and through and Lilly can’t help but wonder what else Mr. Presley’s been hiding. If there’s another side of him she hasn’t seen that is as fascinating and as invigorating to look at as this one. 

Not that she should be looking, not that the Lord wouldn't… perhaps this is why Nathan and her still have a fruitless marriage. A marriage of short kisses and dinner on the table and mothers who touch her belly and whisper how soon enough they'll be blessed. Perhaps with two at once. Maybe this is why the lord refuses to bless her—maybe if she didn't wish for company—covet her sister’s and her friends’ growing families. She could have company if she could keep Nathan home for longer than a few hours. 

Elvis’s mouth is opening and closing as if words are passing through them and Lilly blinks once, twice, three times before shaking her head to clear it of the thoughts that have started to swirl around it. "I'm sorry Mr Presley, could you–could you repeat what you just said. My mind went… I started trying to figure out what I could scrounge up in case this takes too long.”

There’s a chuckle, warm and inviting that leaves Elvis’s lips at the explanation before he shakes his head. “Got that little faith in me, Mrs. Harris? Think ya gonna be without an oven for a whole day? I’ll have this fixed up in in an hour, two if that.” He pauses and smiles. “Most of the time, it’s somethin’ real simple. Like ya said, you or Mr. Harris could’ve fixed it but ya both got things to do. Him, goin’ to work and bringin’ home the money and you, uh, takin’ care of… the house.” 

Lilly’s chest tightens at his words, at how he stops mid sentence. She knows perfectly well what he was going to say, that she would be taking care of the children and the house, but the house is as empty as her womb. There’s a warmth to it, of course, attempts at making things as inviting as can be and yet there’s always the gust of cold air from the fridge or from the screen door opening and closing making the house feel even emptier than it is. Emptier in a way it doesn’t feel right in this moment with someone else in the house. Not with someone like Mr. Presley taking up so much space in her kitchen just from height and bulk by his lonesome. Maybe even just from his presence alone. Still, his words settle her fear just a bit as she watches him bend down to open her oven. She can’t help how her eyes linger on the worn fabric stretched across his backside and under, between his legs. They’re right there, and she hadn’t meant to look, she was just about to say something to him, something that’s been swallowed up by every thought that slams into her head at the vision in front of her. Oh, she–she’s just on edge from this morning and how Nathan left so quickly. That’s all this is, nothing more, nothing less. She takes a breath and moves to grab a pitcher from her lower cabinets unaware that Elvis had looked back to ask something of her before being presented with the sight in front of him. It’s nothing untoward, and is purely chaste but there’s something about the way her dress tightens just a smidge around her backside that has him swallowing his tongue and moving to stick his head in the oven with a flashlight to see what might be the problem.

 

The problem as he expected was something simple, an easy fix with a part he has in his bag but he notices how there’s a few other things that could be dealt with while he’s down here. He should charge her for them, but… he finds he doesn’t want to. Finds that spending time in her company is worth the extra time he’d be spending in her oven. Especially when he hears her voice softly singing some—he thinks that might be Jo Strafford but he can’t be sure. There’s an element of homeliness that has him sighing while in the oven. Normally he feels this sense of ease in church and here he is with Mrs. Harris and she makes him feel just the same. 

“Mr. Presley, are you alright? Do… Is it worse than you thought?” He hears her soft voice above him and bashes his head against the top of the oven, cursing slightly as he does. 

“‘M fine. It’s fine Mrs. Harris. Jus’ looking at the work I gotta do. Definitely—gonna take all two of those hours I promised ya but it’ll be good as new when I’m finished with it,” Elvis answers, rubbing at his head and moving his arm down to rummage through his bag, worried about how he’d look if he bothered to pull himself out from inside the oven. 

The problem with doing that, the problem with hiding away in the oven as he does, is that even though the thing isn’t on, it’s stifling in the summer heat. Roasting him slowly but surely as he feels beads of sweat enter his eyes and slightly fog up his glasses. His free hand, unoccupied with his work, moves to grab a cloth he has on his belt just to wipe at his eyes. He hopes he doesn’t get any dirt on them. Meanwhile above him, Lilly busies herself with puttering around the kitchen. She’s making lemonade that’s almost as sweet as her sweet tea, but only because she’s never really enjoyed how sour lemons can be, sure that was supposed to be part of the allure but—Lilly’s never been that sour of a person. Instead more full of sugar sweet smiles and sweet Southern charm that had her husband falling at her feet when they were teenagers and had his parents eating out of her hand the moment she said hello. 

It takes Elvis damn near the whole two hours to finish, finally managing to finish a little bit after lunch time. Just enough time for LIlly to whip up something real quick, nothing too fancy, but Nathan would understand in this case, after all, it’s not as if he had fixed it before work. She hears Elvis’s groan from inside the oven and she can’t help the way she crouches down at the noise, making sure her legs are covered with her dress and moving to hold out her hand in an effort to help him pull himself out from inside her oven. She notices the dirt on his hands but doesn’t mind in the slightest, knowing she’s got a functioning sink and from that groan he honestly just might need a hand getting up out of it. There's a hesitation and an aborted attempt to swat her hand away before he takes it as both their arms twitch at the same time when their hands touch. 

"Didn't shock ya, did I, lil darlin'?" His voice sounds distant for a moment as he uses the leverage from her hand to scoot himself out and then pull himself up into a sitting position. 

“No, Mr. Presley, you didn’t—” Lilly’s words trail off as she looks at Mr. Presley’s face and notices just how covered in sweat it is. It shouldn’t be that sweaty, she thinks, it shouldn’t look like he’s practically used her garden hose in the back to hose himself down. That rag should’ve been used to mop up the glittering beads rolling down his cheekbones and collecting in the dip of his cupid’s bow. Unless he has somehow lost the ability to put it to use—but as Lilly’s eyes trace down his strong forearm she finds it’s translucent in a way that brings to mind summers outside and gigglingly waving at the boys across the lake. Being in a confined space like her oven would cause something like this, would cause someone to sweat as much as this but seeing it in front of her, seeing it before her very eyes has Lilly struck a bit speechless. There’s a glass of lemonade in her hand that she plans on offering Mr. Presley but the words refuse to come out, caught in her throat as she just stares at him. Stares at the sweat covering his face and his hair and making there be this curl among all the chocolate brown plastered to his head. It shouldn’t—it isn’t attractive on Nathan or any other boy she had ever seen look similar to this after a football game or after a hard day of entertaining outside. Yet here was Mr. Presley looking so very attractive that Lilly can’t find the words to describe it. This could not be the man she had seen so many times at church, at Sunday School when she dropped off her niece. 

Elvis is confused the longer he looks at Lilly, the longer he sees her staring at him like he’s a prime cut of meat. That—he hasn’t seen that look on a woman since after the war, since before his overeating and the nightmares and the grief and the visions he can’t ever stop thinking of unless he’s working. Sure, there’s still the few who try and set him up with their daughters who they figure can’t find another man and the few widows who remember how he was when he first came back to Memphis. But someone who’s Lilly’s age looking at him like that? Like she might be willing to pounce on him despite the ring on her finger? Oh, that was… That is something he cannot entertain, that has to be the heat finally getting to him, finally making him imagine things that certainly aren’t there. There’s no conceivable way someone as sweet as Miss Lilly, Mrs. Harris, Lilly, would ever be looking at him like that. His eyes drift down to the glass in her hand and a grin threatens to overwhelm his face as he grabs it with a simple thanks and starts to down the drink without a care in the world.

Lilly’s eyes watch as a single sweat drop rolls down his skin. Mr. Presley’s neck is stretched out as he drinks, Adam’s apple bobbing. The drops of water on the outside of the glass fall to his neck. They join their sweat brothers in rolling slowly but surely down his throat, tracing a path her mind whispers to her about chasing with her tongue as she had more than once before with Nathan. They roll down past his collarbone and down to his chest—his exposed chest because of that stupid zipper. They make a home in the patch of sweat and musk and warmth that is his chest hair and Lilly’s mouth opens to let out a choked-off squeak, she thinks. Or maybe it was her choking on her own breath, on her own tongue as she tries to say something, tries to tell Mr. Presley to set down the glass or drink slower or that he missed so much sweat on his body. Maybe–maybe it went all the way down, oh, maybe it…no, she cannot entertain this idea, she cannot entertain the way her mind wants to explore the possibilities. Tonight Nathan can help rid her of these thoughts, he can help her forget how she sees all this sweat gliding down another man’s skin. Down Mr. Presley’s skin, down the skin of someone who teaches Sunday school and wears tight jumpsuits that leave nothing to the imagination. The thoughts swirl and swirl as she clenches her thighs together and rubs them against each other. There is a smooth, slick quality to the glide that makes a flush of shame rise to the very apples of her cheeks, or maybe that’s the way Mr. Presley’s body is burned into her mind.

“Oh.” She exhales the word, swaying a little before she shakes her head, “Mr. Presley. You— Your—” Lilly shuts her eyes before continuing. “Are you enjoying the lemonade? My lemonade?”

“My lemonade”? What was she thinking, it was just lemonade, she didn’t have a claim over it, she didn’t want to know if Elvis enjoyed something of hers. That way of thinking—no, she just wanted to make sure she had made it correctly. That she had made it the right amount of sweet for him to enjoy and for it to quench his thirst. A repayment for making him do such a silly job as he just finished doing for her. Her eyes meet his as she finally is able to take her eyes off of his neck, off the vein in his neck that throbbed as he swallowed, at the way his swallows allowed the droplets of sweat and water roll down his throat. Her hand twitches with a desire to touch and hold. 

“I loved it. Sweet as anything I‘ve ever had.” He licks his lips, tasting the tangy salt of his sweat cutting through the sweetness of her lemonade. It’s not a lie, he truly does enjoy her lemonade, but he thinks–he thinks he might enjoy her company more, enjoy how she asks if he’s alright and worries about him enough to give him lemonade after he swears he’s practically sweat through his own jumpsuit. Not many people extended such domestic kindness to him anymore. He was Elvis the Pelvis, Elvis the Sunday School teacher, he was Elvis the electrician, but never just Elvis. He wasn’t ever just a man that a pretty wife might offer lemonade to. “Ya mind if I have another glass?” 

The way she hands over the pitcher is almost robotic or automatic and Elvis can’t help the way his hand shoots out to grab it, his fingers brushing over hers yet again igniting another spark between them. It’s not possible and yet he swears he feels it from his fingertips up to the top of his arm. Lilly pulls back her hand quickly, cradling it against her chest. “You can have th-the whole… the whole pitcher if you need.” 

Elvis laughs, the idea almost as comical as the way she says it with a straight face. Pouring the glass, he shakes his head at her and shrugs, “Can’t polish one of these off myself. If I had help now—” 

There’s something inside of Lilly that loosens at those words, at the playful nature of them despite how there is perhaps a flirtatious edge to them. It’s as if there was something inside of her that she hadn’t realized was a problem before that evaporated at Mr. Presley’s laugh and at his smile. It felt like true enjoyable company, the sort of company you’re supposed to have with your friends and your husband, but Lilly can’t remember the last time she felt it with anyone other than her sister. Her mild bitterness at swollen bellies and husbands who came by and kissed their wives on their cheek, happy to see them and see their handiwork coloring her happiness to see friends. God hadn’t seen fit to grace her womb with a child, and Nathan was alright with that despite Lilly’s pleas so she had dropped it all the while pushing those friends away, the reminder of the dream she wanted slipping farther and farther out of her grasp, through her fingers like the sand on the beach. 

Lilly smiles and grabs the other glass on the table, it is normally Nathan’s but she can set out another one, she can do the dishes before he arrives home while dinner is cooking. She sets it right in front of Elvis. “If you’ll do me the honor of pouring it. If you’re a gentleman.”

The laugh sounds almost sinister when it leaves his mouth, a dark sort of thing but the warmth in it has Lilly realizing that perhaps it’s a special laugh. Maybe it could be his laugh for only her. Nathan had one of those for her, once upon a time. She misses that laugh and to have another person give one to her is… it warms her soul from the inside out and she swears she feels a part of her, a part she knows has been snapped in half for the past year at least snaps back into place. His words are almost missed but when she focuses, puts him back in focus, she hears him clear as day as he pours her a glass. "God and my mama'd strike me down if I wasn't a gentleman, 'specially to you, Lil darlin."

There it was again. A nickname. Nathan never gave her one, told her that her name was already short enough and pretty enough and yet here was Mr. Presley giving her one. It’s an open secret he’s liberal with his use of nicknames and yet hearing one perhaps only for her has her heart fluttering in her chest, fluttering against the confines of the bones keeping it inside. Lil darlin, a shortened version of Lilly and darling in one simple nickname. Her body warms at the implication of familiarity. “Thank you, Mr. Presley.” Her teeth move to worry at her lower lip as she toys with a question inside her head before looking at him. “Would–Would you like to stay for dinner? Nathan—Mr. Harris might be late and I’m—you’re charming company.”

The way she starts and stops in asking makes Elvis want to say yes, wants to put her at ease and tell her there’s perhaps nothing he’d like to do more that afternoon, but his eyes drift down to her ring glinting in the light and he sighs, shaking his head. The thought is tempting, but thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife and thou shall not commit adultery. While he may not do the second, he knows if he stays much longer he’s likely to do the first. “Not—I appreciate the invitation, Mrs. Harris, but I have to get home. Maybe. A raincheck?”

A raincheck. A promise of maybe another time. A promise of if things were different he would say yes in a heartbeat. A promise that if he could he would stay sitting at her dining table and drink lemonade as she cooked dinner for her husband. Her husband, the one she cares for and loves with all her heart. He— He— There should be no raincheck and yet he wants her to agree to one.

“A raincheck.” Her face had fallen as he let her down easy before the mention of the raincheck, the mention of it making her smile once again. The mention of it having her smile and beam and bloom like her flower namesake, soaking in the attention as if it was water meant to nourish her and fulfill her. “Of course. You—Just finish as much of the lemonade as you’d like and you can see yourself out, if that’s alright? Just—so I can make dinner and have it done on time.”

His eyes watch as she stands up, smoothing out her clothes and sees how she practically glides across the floor of the kitchen as if she’s a natural in it. Her body moves as if it’s used to being around people and used to having people underfoot and Elvis is struck by how it feels like something is missing watching her, feels as if something doesn’t seem right in the picture. There should be someone else near her. He—no, that’s not a path he’ll go down today. After another ten minutes of him just watching her work and two more glasses of lemonade, he sets down the glass and makes his way out the door. “Goodnight, Lil darlin’!”

It feels a little dirty, the way when he gets home and is in bed for the night his cock jumps at the memory of her staring at his chest. He knows she's married, saw the ring clear as day in the sunlight but that look. He only remembers that look from June when he took her once upon a time. Had her husband not been giving her what she needed? Had she not been given the proper water to blossom? Had he been leaving her to wilt inside their shared home that she kept so well? Had he–had he deprived her of the ability to put down roots? The idea knocks the air out of his lungs and has him praying for forgiveness no more than five minutes later as he wipes his hand on a dirty shirt nearby.

Elvis doesn’t see Lilly until that Sunday in church, and yet his mind wanders to her when he’s working with other people’s issues. None of them are as simple as hers was and it makes him almost angry that he’s stuck spending his time with these issues when hers were over far too quick. Time flies when you’re having fun, but had he been having fun? Or was it just that God himself knew better than to allow him to stay in her house for too long, the urges he could feel flowing through his veins almost too hard to ignore. When he does, though, when he does he sees her in the most gorgeous of dresses, a simple baby blue number that matched her sister’s and matched her brother in law's tie. He expects to see her husband. Nathan, she had called him, and instead only sees the three of them and one small little girl in Lilly’s arms. Little Lizzie being carried by Lilly and looking so at ease and happy in her arms that Elvis’s heart twists at the image. A woman like that, a woman who can get a child that was less than a year old to be so calm and collected in a sea of people… now that’s a woman who ought to have a passel of kids, a football team of children. A platoon of children behind her, all in single file, smitten husband bringing up the rear. Yet here she was on a Sunday without her husband and tagging along as an extra hand, helping her sister who, if rumors were to be believed, was expecting again. He sees her wave off her sister and brother in law before she walks toward him, a soft smile on her face.

“Mr. Presley,” Lilly murmurs softly as Lizzie yawns in her arms and snuggles closer. “I was going to hand her off to you but I don’t think I can. I think she’d much prefer to keep her pillow.” She looks down at her niece before looking up at him. “I—If it’s alright, do you mind if I stay here?”

His hand moves in such a way as to brush off her concern. Did he mind if she stayed there? What sort of silly question was that. Did he mind if a woman who occupied his mind as he pleasured himself stayed in here with him. He has to bite back a laugh. If he could he’d let her stay in this room with him until time eternal, until the rapture where those who were worthy would be saved. She would be saved and perhaps–perhaps, if he could resist, he would have mended enough fences with God for him to do the same thing.

“I can always use the extra help, Mrs. Harris.” He motions to the children already around him. “They can be a bit of a handful.”

A laugh that sounds like the church bells ringing leaves her mouth as Elvis watches her bloom like she did at her house. There’s… It’s strange, seeing her so happy because of words he’s saying, almost as if he’s the reason she has to smile and she’s soaking up every bit of attention he can give her. Elvis has never fancied himself a gardener by any means but for her he thinks he might be one. Her husband should nurture her as she nurtures him and their children when they have any and yet he wonders if he does. He wonders if the boy, Nathan, realizes what he seems to be doing to Lilly, how her petals fall without attention, how she withers without his care, without his water nourishing her soul, her body and filling—Elvis shakes his head to clear it. 

“You always handle them so well, Mr. Presley. You’re a natural, I think.” The question is on the tip of her tongue, the question of why Elvis doesn’t have children of his own but she stops herself, she stops herself because it’s none of her business why. Maybe he just never found the right woman—a shame, she thinks. He would make a great husband from what she’s been able to see. A loving husband. A caring husband. So wrapped up in her own thoughts she very nearly misses him speaking to her as she sits down, shushing Lizzie’s protests at the movement and making sure the little ones around her quiet down.

"Surprised ya don't have children, Lil Darlin', ain't ever seen a woman be a natural with 'em like you," Elvis says, peeking over the rims of his glasses to a child who looked about ready to cause a complete ruckus. His focus is purely on that as he misses her wince and the way her hand reaches out to rub at her stomach, almost as if to mourn the lack of children from her womb.

"Nathan and I… We've been trying. Less often, lately, but—oh I don't—it just hasn't happened. God's saved those blessings for my sister. Little Lizzie and, and the one she's carrying now." Lilly bites her lip, trying not to let the tears she feels pooling in her eyes fall. She’s in public and Mr. Presley is just an acquaintance as of now, he doesn’t need to see the emotion she’s only ever reserved for her sister, Melly. A sniffle escapes her before she can stop it and Elvis’s hand reaches to grab a handkerchief from his pocket to give her to blow into and to dry her eyes. She takes it gladly.

"God'll gift ya one soon enough, be a cryin' shame if he didn't." A true statement of fact disguised as a reassurance. Elvis doesn’t think there’d be any true justice in the world if the Lord didn’t bless her with a child or several. Even now as they talked just her presence seemed to calm the children as they sat near her, waiting expectantly for him to tell a story or sing a song. Even Lilly dabbing his handkerchief at her eyes looked as if she was waiting for him and what he would do. As much as he wants to continue to talk with her, he thinks perhaps he should just entertain her. He thinks he should show off what he can do for her. His mind doesn’t dwell on the meaning behind it, instead choosing to dwell on how all he wants to do in that moment is watch Lilly be happy with her niece in her lap while she makes children listen and remain calm even if they are excited. 

The class is the calmest one he’s had in at least a year.

Things keep breaking in Lilly’s house and if Elvis was a suspicious man—if Elvis felt any hope when it came to Lilly, he would venture she called him on purpose. He would venture that she wants to see him and perhaps breaks things to do just that and yet they’re so different, each thing that’s broken, that he thinks perhaps it’s honestly things just breaking. The one true joy involved in it, though, beyond seeing her face when he’s fixed yet another thing is how she smiles when she sees him. 

Elvis is a man. Elvis is a man who can’t help himself sometimes. Elvis is a man who is not perfect. Elvis is a man who cannot and will not avoid the temptation of at least seeing Mrs. Harris more often. He learns Nathan rarely comes home on time except for certain days. He learns how great of a cook Lilly is, the smells wafting around the house when he works. He learns she’s a great cook because he’s tasted it at her insistence that he take home the food she’s made, if not insisting that he comes and eats with her. There is a part of him that thinks he’s playing her husband, replacing the man who is never home and is rarely at church with his wife despite how much it means to her. But Elvis knows he isn’t her husband. Despite what he does when it comes to cooking with her, despite how every so often his body betrays him, pictures her beneath him or on top of him, taking him in a way he wouldn’t think she could… he never acts on it. He never tells her. They haven’t crossed any lines, they are just friends who are becoming closer the more and more time they spend together. Days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months and before he realizes, before either of them realize it’s been three months and another thing has broken. Something feels different as he finishes up and prepares to leave only to realize that he can’t, not with her the way she seems to be on this particular day. 

He knows he should have already left, knows that her husband is liable to be back sooner rather than later, after all today isn’t a day he normally goes straight out with his friends. Today is a day he comes home to eat dinner with his wife, perhaps—enjoy other pleasures with his wife and then leave with his friends. It is a Friday, he has the rest of the weekend to spend with the boys and he knows Lilly will be with him on the Saturday with their wives and Sunday during church and the potluck afterward, not that he enjoyed going to them. But Lilly looks so… she looks so in need of company, something had happened the night before, he reasons, something had caused her soul to curl in on itself to the point where she doesn’t talk nearly as much as she normally would with him. Sure, they had still been floating around each other, and she answered a question here and there and would check to make sure he wasn’t accidentally shocking and hurting himself but there was no humming above him, no subtle roll of her hips that made him ache when he was alone at home. Done with his work, he washes his hands in Lilly’s sink, watching as she busies herself putting the finishing touches on her dinner before she pops it into the oven he fixed a few months ago. Yet he can’t shake the feeling that something else in this house needs to be fixed beyond the oven and beyond the wiring he had fixed tonight. He’s never been one to leave a job undone or hastily finished only for it to fall apart some time later for someone else to repair, damage caused by his carelessness. His eyes against his better judgment watch as she bends, watch as her dress rises and stretches around her backside, highlighting it in a way that has him averting his eyes. When he hears the quiet slam of the oven closing he finally looks back at her and is met by her wiping her brow for a moment before staring at him. 

“Do I have something on my face?” The question is so innocent he almost laughs. She has nothing on her face. There’s nothing wrong with her face other than the fact that it’s marred by a frown instead of—at the very least—the small smile he’s used to seeing from her. He wants to fix it, he wants to keep her from wilting, make it so she can continue to bloom the way she has been from the moment they properly met outside of church. 

“Ah… No, Lil Darlin, you don’t. Ya jus’—did somethin’ happen with you and Nathan last night? Ya look awfully sad and I—you weren’t even hummin’ today. Felt like I needed to put on a record it felt so quiet in the kitchen.” Elvis tries to choose his words carefully and even so Lilly’s face falls just a hair as she sighs. 

“Oh. I–I didn’t realize it looked so obvious. I…We were supposed to go on a date, Mr. Presley. We were supposed to go on a date and he was supposed to take me dancing because we haven’t in over a year and I miss it. But—there was a business meeting that ran late and by the time he got home I was too tired and the dance hall was—”

“Closed,” he finishes off for her, knowing full well what time every dance hall in the general area of Memphis closed. He knew full well that the only one that might have stayed open past a normal time was the army one and Nathan, unlike him, was not an army man. No, he was merely a boy–a boy playing at doing business and taking care of his wife financially but not emotionally. There it was again, that deep unceasing urge to fix it, that urge to fix this even if it’s not his place to try to fix anything beyond her appliances and her wiring. His fingers twitch against the side of his leg as he feels them both loosen, one even bouncing just slightly. It’s as if his body is trying to rev up while his mind reminds him with a traitorous whisper he still has every bit of equipment needed to help—to fix this, even if it's all more than a bit rusty. He can shake off that rust just fine, if it was for her. 

 “I… Lil Darlin. If—I know how to dance. Know I don’t look it, with this paunch,” he gives his stomach a light slap that has it jiggling just a bit and has Lilly’s eyes widening and a flush of desire coursing through her veins, wondering how that would feel under her hands, not that he notices. “But I used to do a lot of swing dancin’, if—I could dance wit’ ya if ya want me to. Ya can say no, but the offer’s there.”

For a moment, Lilly just stares at Elvis as if he’s grown an extra head. Surely he’s saying this in jest, he doesn’t mean what he’s asking, he isn’t offering to treat her better than her husband did. He isn’t offering to dance with her in the kitchen or the living room. That’s–that’s such a silly notion that despite how their relationship, their friendship has grown he can’t be caring for her more than her husband does. The laugh that escapes her sounds harsh even to her own ears as she winces at the sound, her eyes meeting his as if there's a million and one apologies on her tongue. His eyes make every apology that tries to form disappear in every breath she takes. He's not angry, doesn't think she's mocking him with her laughter. As always he realizes she just thinks he’s joking or that there is no way he actually wishes to do what he’s mentioned because after all, if her own husband doesn’t want to dance with her why would a stranger or a friend of sorts want to? That’s not something you do for a woman when you aren’t married to her. Swing dancing in her living room, that has to be a joke. 

Her voice is quiet, though, once she stops laughing and notices how Elvis still looks like he might be expecting an answer, as if she hadn’t practically mocked the mere idea of them swing dancing in her living room. Maybe—oh, maybe he was being genuine. Oh, he was far too good to her, indulging her silly wants and desires as if they were married instead of just merely friends. "You're… you don't have to." There. There, she had given him a chance to take back what he offered and made it so they could move on from this—move on from what such an offer meant to her and how she could feel her throat tightening and her heart in her chest twisting. 

Elvis takes a moment to just take her in, take in the way her body seems to wilt at the mere idea of him not dancing with her and the idea of him taking her up on her offer of taking back what he agreed to. The breath that leaves him is overtaken by a laugh, though he tries to stifle it. He holds out his hand and moves to the living room. "Lil Darlin', wouldn't've offered if I didn't. Gonna have to forgive me if 'm rusty. Haven't done it in a while."

"Neither have I." 

He's sure he feels a muscle in his jaw tense at those words before he shakes his head to clear it. Soon enough her husband would realize how much he's let his wife wilt from lack of attention, from lack of water to nourish her body and soul. For now though, for now he��s here to help her, to make her smile and be happy in a way she deserves to be. Her hand is soft enough that he almost feels wrong touching it with his callus-filled ones. It feels wrong to have such soft skin against his own but at the same time, it settles something deep within him to feel her hand in his and to feel her pressed against his body. He takes a moment to put on a record, praying it actually is something they can dance to only to realize it’s ���Sing Sing Sing”, a song he’s danced to more times than he cares to count. Laughter erupts from in a fit of pure joy as he sees Lilly’s face light up when they start to dance. 

There should be a bit of awkwardness that only comes from when you first try to dance with a new partner, and yet they fall into a rhythm so natural his mind swirls with the possibility of dancing with her like this the rest of his life. Her feet move in step with his, easily avoiding his own, before he grabs her to pick her up, a move he hasn’t done in almost a decade but he does with an ease that shocks him as she giggles, the sound adding to the music as if it’s another horn. He’s getting dizzy with the sheer joy of hearing it. It feels so natural to swing and toss and lift her up as she smiles brighter than anything he’s ever seen. It looks like the sunrise in France when there was those brief moments of peace. All he can think is how that smile needs to be there every second of the day, that’s a smile that deserves to be seen, deserves to be shown off to everyone and yet—and yet he hopes not even her husband has seen this smile. Perhaps this is just for him and his swing dancing with her. Maybe no one else has seen this smile, because he swears even when he was younger he didn’t move nearly like this, didn’t smile so hard his cheeks are burning from the use. 

Elvis is so wrapped up in his thoughts that he misses her foot positioned a certain way when he moves to pick her up for another lift and stumbles. A short curse leaves his lips as he moves to fall on one knee with Lilly falling onto his other knee. He hisses at the pain, knowing he’ll regret this move later, but he couldn’t have her falling to the ground, couldn’t have her risk being injured because he couldn’t catch her—because he lost his footing like a klutz. Except Lilly is still laughing, she’s still laughing and still putting off every bit of joy in the world in his lap. His eyes run down her body, seeing how she’s breathless, her chest heaving and pushing the buttons of her dress. He shouldn’t look and yet he sees, he sees how her chest is heaving in delight. As if to help himself—to keep himself from staring even longer his eyes dart down to her legs, down to her thighs where, oh Lord, her dress has risen up just a hair. Just enough to reveal more of her thigh, to reveal a hint of a stocking that has his mouth drying up the longer he stares. Her legs haven’t seemed to catch up with her brain and the rest of her body, thinking they’re still on the ground and needing to kick up and down almost like a child. There’s a playful exuberance in the action as she appears to not have a care in the world despite how the action has her dressing riding up that little bit more as she continues to giggle and kick at the air in his lap. The skin and the stockings threaten to overwhelm him as he feels the stirring in between his legs a moment too late as he sees Lilly’s eyes widen.

“Oh.” A singular word yet one that packs such a punch as he realizes what it means. What it means for her to utter it to him like that when she’s in his lap as his cock rises to attention like he’s back fresh from the army, wanting to dance with a new girl every night and yet here is one singular woman reacting in such a calm and startled way that he has to stop himself from tossing her off of him in a huff. Still, he lightly pushes at her in an effort to keep her from feeling just how aroused he is only to have her hand reach out and touch his face. Against his will, he nuzzles into her palm before remembering that he needs to make sure she’s not… she needs to be away from his lap. The—his cock—Lil Elvis was not needed here, she was married and he was not that young soldier returning from war any more, no he was merely this fat old man who let himself go and found himself lusting after a fellow church goer’s wife. His young wife. 

He misses her words before she repeats them, allowing them to cut through the haze he feels from having her looking up at him happy in his lap. “Your knee! I’m so sorry, Mr. Presley.” Her words are said in a rush as she scrambles to get up, her hand accidentally brushing across his cock before she finally stands up and holds out her hand. “Let me help you up, are you alright—?”

“‘M fine.” Elvis grunts out, as he pulls himself up using Lilly’s hand and his own strength. He hears his knee crack, wincing as it does. “Jus’... Lil–Lil darlin, I gotta, I need to go.”

Needs to get out of her house, needs to not be in front of a woman who has his cock standing at such intense attention that he knows if she looks down she’ll be shocked and horrified at him. He’s committing such an egregious sin even thinking of her this way, even viewing her in the light of a romantic partner, a sexual partner. Viewing her as his—no, he needs to find his way to his truck and to his house to be free of this temptation that he worries he’s about to succumb to. His eyes notice how her face falls but she doesn’t try to stop him, instead frowning and stepping away, smoothing out the bottom of her dress. As if he’s running away—fleeing her presence like all the other men in her life. He moves quicker than he has any right to, right on past her, forgetting about niceties and being a gentleman and wanting to make her happy, shutting the door behind him.

It only takes Lilly a few minutes to realize that she forgot to ask him something about Sunday school and his plans for this week. The question isn’t perhaps important but to her it is. And Mr. Presley has never once made her feel unimportant, so it is without hesitation that she trots outside to where she sees him still in his truck in her driveway muttering angrily to himself while looking down. Her mama had always told her it was rude to eavesdrop and yet here she was doing exactly that as she walked up to the truck, not immediately announcing her presence. She hears curses and mentions of his cock and “she’s a nice young woman, why are ya standin’ at attention like she ain’t married, boy. Like ya ain’t attached to an old man she’s jus’ spendin’ time with to be nice.” 

Lilly wants to correct him, wants to tell him that she values his company because it’s better than anything she’s received in so long and yet she doesn’t, instead choosing to come up to his side of the truck and lean against the window before moving just enough that she’s leaning her head inside the truck as well. What she sees—she could not have prepared herself for what she sees.

Feeling his interest in her is one thing that can be explained through the two of them dancing in a way that had her moving against him. It’s a natural response. Feeling it when she collapsed onto his knee, breathless and laughing with enough joy that she wishes she could chase till the ends of the Earth is one thing. Coming out to his truck because she forgot to ask him about his plans for Sunday school this week and seeing that same interest still there was another thing entirely. Lilly tries to keep her eyes focused on his face, tries to not allow her natural position of leaning into the car to make it easier for her to look down between his legs but her eyes drift there against her will. Her eyes drift and the olive of the suit doesn’t allow him to hide what’s going on. Instead it broadcasts exactly what he feels between his legs. 

There is a spot slowly growing in size on his jumpsuit. There is a spot where she felt his arousal. There is a wet spot on his jumpsuit for her. No, because of her. Mr. Presley is aroused by her, he’s aroused so much that it’s seeping through his clothing. Even when she was younger and fooling around with Nathan she hadn’t seen someone react to her as strongly as Mr. Presely is right now. The concept of breathing is foreign as she keeps looking down at it and she swears she sees the fabric twitch under her gaze. Somehow that twitch and the accompanying noise—the whimper, maybe—from him is almost like a harsh smack to her back to force the air to leave and enter her lungs. 

“Lil—Mrs. Harris.” Elvis’s words are choked out and he thanks God that his stutter didn’t reappear in that moment, the shame of everything making his skin feel flush and warm even as his cock twitches under her gaze, aching and wanting to play with its new friend, its friend it yearns for same as his heart and mind. Damn the societal norms and what’s proper for a good Christian man, he wants, he wants, he needs her to stop looking at it. “I’m—my face is up here.” His hand tightens against his thigh after he says that, almost as if he wants to wince. “What do ya need?”

Her eyes finally wrench themselves from the spot even as his cock twitches yet again, a wave of goodbye to her eyes—to her. What had she needed to tell him? What–What did she need from him other than—? No, it was church. God. It was about Sunday School. A shaky exhale leaves her mouth before she speaks. “I-I just wanted to make sure you–you might want my help again this week with the children? I know that since everyone—all the children seem to have gotten over the tummy trouble that we’ll—you’ll have your hands full and I—” 

The more she speaks the more her mind cycles back to what she’s seen, the more her breaths come by shorter and quicker, her chest heaving right near Elvis’s eye level and that… her dress has just enough of a sliver of skin showing he can see them heave with only her brassiere on, it’s threatening to drive him mad, threatening to cause him to reach out the hand he’s fisting into his jumpsuit to touch the skin. To touch her skin and feel if it’s as soft as it is on her arms and her thigh and— 

“Yes!” His answer is barked out, sounding more like an order than him merely answering a simple question in the affirmative. Forcing it out is the only thing he can do to calm his mind, to calm his cock, to get Lilly, Mrs. Harris to lean back out of his truck and to remove the temptation of her, her, her from his view. “You—please, I’d love your help, told ya before—the babies love ya.” He coughs, clearing his throat, as he remembers how she looks with a child in her lap, singing lullabies and cooing. It does nothing to help him calm his body, to help him calm his mind. “Is—Was that all ya needed?”

Lilly jumps a little at his bark, her breasts bouncing as she bonks her head against the top of the truck with a soft ouch leaving her mouth. Her hand moves to rub at her head as she pulls back a little, trying to keep her eyes looking firmly at his face versus where it had been. She hears him curse and feels his warm hand touching her head where she had hit it, gingerly investigating if she hurt herself in a major way. A hum and a feather soft touch that she wishes were his lips are what tells her she’s fine, there’s no damage done to her head. She should pull away, should finally stop leaning into his truck, should stop acting as if she’s a wife trying to have the last bit of attention from her husband before he leaves for work but she can’t help it. She can’t help how she wants to stay where she is, just because of how heady it feels to see his attraction—his desire for her. When was the last time she had seen Nathan like this? Lilly couldn’t remember. Couldn’t… the realization sucks the air out of the truck and Lilly feels every bit of heat and humidity in the cabin and around her skin. Her mouth opens and closes before she smiles softly at Mr. Presley. “Yes, that—yes. I just—I had forgotten to ask before so that was all I needed, Mr. Presley.” Her eyes glance back down at his lap to see how his hand is still clenching the fabric of his jumpsuit and how his cock once again twitches at her attention. She feels her skin flush and she shivers slightly when she finally starts to move back. 

Elvis looks at her as she leans back, watches her start to stand up straight by his truck and tries to not focus on her chest, tries to not focus how her breath seems shaky as she does this. His mind cannot think about what this means, cannot think about why she’s reacting in this way. She is not—he is not. They are not one. They are Elvis and Lilly. He’s so busy trying to make sure she’s out of his truck that he doesn’t realize she’s leaning back in until he feels the brush of her lips against his cheek. His head turns as if he wants to catch those lips only to realize she’s already left, only to realize she’s back to standing straight, acting as if she didn’t just kiss his cheek and looking so happy he can’t help but be reminded of an actual lily in full bloom. 

“I should–I should get goin’. Mr. Harris should be here soon. Wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble.” He looks down at his lap as he turns on the truck and sighs. He needs–he needs to get home, to wash away how dirty he feels in this moment. 

“You–you wouldn’t. But, yes, Nathan should be home soon. Thank you for, um, thank you dancing with me, Mr. Presley. I-It was—I haven’t had a good time like that in a bit.” Her upper teeth worry at her lower lip. “Perhaps… Maybe we can do that again some time. The next time I have to call you out.”

“May—you just have to ask, Lil darlin’.” His answer is airy, shocking him in how it sounds almost as if he’s in a tunnel or floating on air at the idea. The truck is finally ready to allow him to back out and he finally lets go of his jumpsuit to wave at her with a tight smile. “Good night, Mrs. Harris.” 

Elvis tries to not focus on how she looks in her driveway waving at him as if all her neighbors aren’t peering through the curtains wondering what’s happening next door. He tries to not focus on how she looks so natural waving to him with her arm cupping her waist almost as if she aches for… no, she–she wouldn’t. The heat and the events of the afternoon were causing him to think these dumb thoughts, these dumb desires. A shower would solve his problems once he got home. 

His mind wanders in the shower, a consequence of it being one that's meant to relax rather than to just cleanse him of the day's adventures. His mind wanders and rather than settling on the horrors of his memories that he can never get rid of, it settles on her. It settles on the comforting smell of her perfume and how she smells of a soap he swears his mama used to use. It settles on the light he sees in her eyes sometimes that burns brighter than any light bulb or sun or explosion he's ever seen. It settles on the comforting weight of her body against his when he danced with her, lifting her in the air like he was a decade younger and half a person smaller, he thinks. It settles on the weight of her body on his knee, an action that hurt and had him nearly stumbling and falling on top of her, but had him catching himself before he did. It settles on her face, so full of joy and life that it thawed something inside of him. It settles her face with a smile so big he smiles at the memory. It settles on the laugh and the feeling of her kicking her legs while on his knee. It remembers the glimpse of her thigh and—he looks down to see his cock at attention once again, precum already dripping out like he's turned on a faucet and he groans, his fist slamming against the wall as he tries to stop his other hand from wrapping around his cock. He fails miserably and shudders, his eyes shutting and mumbling her name, his mind picturing her sweet hand around it before she puts it in her mouth. His cheek burns when he comes.

Elvis tries to avoid thinking of what happened for the next week. He tries to avoid thinking of how his body can’t forget how it felt to have her notice his arousal, to have her touch his arousal however accidental the action was. He tries to avoid thinking of everything and yet he can’t. It mocks him to the point of near insanity. The guilt of wanting—the guilt of needing—the guilt of wishing has him visiting his mother’s grave one early morning after another restless night of sleep. His joints groan and ache as he sits down next to it.

“I met someone, Mama. I wish she wasn't married. You'd–you'd've loved her. Dances so well, perfect lil housewife. She'd–she'd take care of me like ya did. Take care of ya lil boobie right." Elvis huffs out a laugh. "God hasn't given… Hasn't blessed her wit' a baby and—she'd—it's a cryin' shame. I'd take care of her child any Sunday. Any day."

His mind drifts as he tells her more about Lilly, drifts to a world where it’s their children he takes care of and his stomach flips from the mere idea. Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's wife and thou shall not commit adultery and yet he feels like he’s edging closer and closer to doing it. Feels as if something is going to break inside of him or between them soon. The prayers he sends to God every night are starting to include pleas to give him strength to resist his urges, to allow himself to remain on the correct path and to not allow himself to fall prey to his base desires. To fall prey to sin of the highest order, to wreck a marriage no matter how much pain and destruction it contains, no matter how the pain threatens to burst at the seams. 

“Don’t know why… Don’t understand why God is testing me like this. Lilly—Mrs. Harris—Miss Lilly deserves to be happy. Deserves to make a life with her husband and here the Lord wants to test me by putting–by putting her in front of me like this. By… I don’t know if I’m strong enough to resist. I—I wish she had met me before the war. ‘Fore all this.” 

Elvis feels a gust of wind in an otherwise calm breeze that settles him down as he tries to work himself up. It settles him down and reminds him of his mother’s listening to him and protecting him even in death. Knowing her, she might be trying to have a talk with the Lord Himself right in this very moment. 

“Thank you, Mama,” he whispers as he moves to stand up, running his hand across the top of the headstone. “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

Something is different about today, another day Nathan where once again told her to send for the man who tempts her, unable or unwilling to mend his own house. It no longer feels like Nathan’s house, and that should be worrisome to her. Instead, something is different in the air between them and Lilly wonders if Elvis can feel it, if he can't feel how her heart is beating out of her chest when their fingers brush against each other as they swap ingredients. If he can't feel how her breath catches every time she looks up at him and sees him staring at her, watching her stir something or sprinkle a bit of salt onto the food. She wonders if he can hear her thoughts, hear what nasty things her brain thinks watching him be so domestic with her. She wonders what it would be like to be his wife instead of Nathan's. 

Her hands are dirty, covered in raw juice from the chicken and she knows she needs to wash them before cutting up the collards and the snap peas and—Lord she knows she's making far too much food but perhaps Elvis can take some home and remember today. Remember the care the two of them put into the meal. Her mother had always taught her to put the same amount of love in food as you would put into the person you make it for. Perhaps it should worry her that her heart feels fit to burst with her love for this food. It doesn't take too long for her to wash up and grab the towel and yet it's enough time for Elvis to reach a dish above her in the cabinet by her head. It's enough time to have him press up against her, his stomach a warm and solid yet soft presence behind her. It's enough time for her body to freeze in place, before she feels herself sway back a little and feels her breath leave her mouth all at once. It's enough time that Elvis notices these things, sees his reflection against the glass of the window above the sink and sees Lily's against his. He sees—he sees her eyes shut and her head bow as he feels her body shudder. 

A dam—the dam holding back any shred of self control Elvis had breaks in that moment. It breaks the second he feels her body shudder against him, the second he sees her melt into his embrace like she belongs there. A groan leaves his lips unbidden and Lilly, sweet Lilly, whimpers at the sound, her eyes opening and seeing the erotic vision of the two of them still clothed against each other. Her body rocks back even as his arm snakes around her trying to hold her in place, trying to keep her from moving against him and yet it barely works, her body seeks him out, wishes for more than what he’s giving her and he–he can’t oblige. She doesn’t know what she wants. His lips brush against the shell of her ear, his breath a hot dagger against her skin. “You want this?”

A simple question. The most simple question with the most simple answer. A yes or a no determines Elvis’s actions in this moment. A no will have him backing away and apologizing profusely, a yes will have him granting her what she needs, what she wants. It will have him giving into the temptation he should resist but cannot any more. The temptation that the Lord must be putting him through for a reason, some higher plan he doesn’t understand quite yet. 

“Elvis, please,” Lilly’s voice is a whisper but Elvis hears his name finally fall from her lips and hears how desperate her please is and before he realizes it his hand moves to unzip his jumpsuit to reach down at the bottom, to try free his cock as Lilly starts to whine, wishing for more. Wishing for his touch.

As her chest heaves with quick breaths that Elvis tries to steady, a hand snakes up her body until it reaches her chest, covering so much of it that it ignites something primal within him. He’s always known he’s a large man and yet the way he sees her breasts rise and fall with his hand covering one is to know another thing entirely. He almost moves it away before Lilly stops him, her own hand covering his. There’s a tug of his hand forcing it into the gap between her dress and the skin of her neck and collarbone and Elvis can’t help but oblige her desire even as the heat from her body threatens to set the whole of his hand on fire. 

“I gotcha, Lil darlin'. Elvis's gotcha." His words are practically inaudible, they're said so low and deep from within his chest, but Lilly seems to get the message as her breaths start to slow, beginning to match pace with Elvis’s. He’s got her and she can relax. He’s got her and he’s going to take care of the ache inside of her. The ache she’s felt every day she’s seen him since he fixed her oven. Lilly’s brain swears it hears something about him needing to pull down his jumpsuit fully, something about the damn buttons and zippers and she feels her mouth moving to offer to help before she feels the heat of what has to be his bare chest against her dress. 

In another time and in another place he would have her help him, have her lift up her dress and help him with her undergarments but the way she sways and moves against him has him realizing he can’t trust her to do such a thing, he can’t trust her to be able to help him the way he needs her to. It’s not a problem and a selfish part of him thanks the Lord for it, thanks the Lord that she won’t turn around and that she won’t have her hand brush up against his unclothed cock. His foreskin won’t scare her off. He won’t scare her off with the intensity of his arousal and of how his cock is already dripping his precum onto her kitchen floor. It takes some maneuvering and he leans against her, pushing her against the sink, his body practically covering her as he lifts up her skirt and manages to pull her underwear down. Her vagina—her pussy—her flower is glistening just from the touches he’s given her. Nathan truly had been forsaking the wife he promised to love and cherish in the house of God if this is all it took to see this level of pleasure from Lilly. His fingers move to touch, to just feel the slick of her arousal. The cry she lets out nearly has him jumping away and yet he knows he can’t, knows after hearing that noise from her mouth he needs to hear it again. He wants to wrench it from her over and over until she’s hoarse. 

Elvis takes his time sinking into the wet heat between her legs, he’s seen the pictures of Nathan and seen the man in person once before. There is no conceivable way she is used to someone of his size inside of her and he'd be damned before he ever injured her in any way. Let alone when he’s—no, he won’t think of that, won’t think of anything other than treating her as she deserves to be treated by a man. By her own husband but he’ll do—he can do what her husband won’t. His eyes can’t help but watch even as his mind tells him not to. His eyes can’t help but watch how her hole stretches around him, trying to take him in bit by bit. The memory sears itself into his brain and he knows in that moment he won’t likely be able to forget this, won’t be able to walk away from this unscathed. 

Her body feels full, between her legs feels full, she feels so full even as she knows there has to be more. He’s as long as her husband but Nathan’s never filled her like this. It’s almost as if she can’t breathe, the shock to her system too great. She wants to tell Elvis this, wants to tell him this is too much, she doesn’t know if she can handle this and all that comes out of her mouth is noises she’s never heard. Whimpers and whines as he pushes in slowly but surely, his grip on her never faltering, the reassurances never stopping. He’s got her. He’ll have her through all of this. He’s got her even as he bottoms out inside her, a growl of pleasure coming from deep within his chest. The hair on his stomach is against her backside, rubbing against her bare skin in a way that shouldn’t serve to heighten her pleasure and yet it’s all her mind can focus on- it’s the only thing that is bringing her back to the earth, back to the present moment. His thrusts are gentle… almost slow and inviting in the way he pulls out, the stretch of his cock erring just enough on the side of comfortable despite how she feels almost as if it’s catching on something inside of her but that can’t be true, Nathan’s never had that problem, why would Elvis be having it despite how he possesses more girth. 

Elvis wishes this was different, wishes he could have her against the sink with her facing him but that’s—this isn’t about what he wants and desires. This is about Lilly, isn’t it? This is about making sure she knows how someone in this world wants to treat her with the love and care he’s trying to treat her with. This is about making sure the pleasure she feels is almost too much, that it threatens to overwhelm her. This is about her and making sure she is happy and taken care of by him. His head had moved down, kissing at her neck, one hand trying to fondle her breasts while the other hand was resting firmly against her lower stomach, practically cradling where her uterus is—not that he realizes. He knows his body isn’t equipped to last too much longer, his age and everything slowing him down just that little bit and yet the slap of his stomach, the slap of his skin against Lilly’s has his thrusts getting stronger as she tries to thrust back, needy in ways that—from the sound of her sighs—she’s not used to. 

“More.” A sob she tries to choke back. “Please.”

The only thing he has to give her is his come, that’s all he has left from his thrusting, he can’t go any deeper, can’t stretch that little pink hole any more than it already is. He can’t give her anything else that isn’t already there as he hears the squelch between the two of them. Hears how his cock is welcomed by her body, how she’s wet and it’s only been made worse by his precum and he–he has to look up. He has to see the picture they make in the window if only for his own sanity, if only to perhaps settle his roaring mind. 

A second too late he realizes he shouldn’t have looked. A second too late he realizes that seeing the line of her throat as she leaned her head back against his shoulder in pleasure is too much. A second too late he feels his hips stutter as he feels himself coming, feels his come fill the spaces his cock isn’t filling inside of her, adding even more liquid between them and making the noises louder. Her mouth is open as she pants and as he’s looking in the window, watching as the rays from the sunset illuminate the pair of them in an almost heavenly glow, Lilly looks up and catches his eyes. 

Her eyes tighten just a bit as she realizes what’s happened, as she realizes he’s had his release. His hips aren’t moving as he pants behind her, trying to recuperate and trying to catch his breath. Her eyes tighten and her shoulders start to follow suit. This—this is something she knew, this is an outcome she knows. This is where Elvis pulls out of her and leaves her aching and wanting. This is where Elvis and Nathan are the exact same two men when it comes to her desires and needs. She can’t look, can’t watch as he pulls out of her and leaves her to be slumped over the kitchen sink. Minutes pass and yet he’s still inside of her, he’s still inside of her and she can feel half thrusts against her backside, his release and her arousal and whatever else squishing and squelching as he moves. Some trickles down her leg as she shivers in anticipation at what’s happening. There isn’t a reference point, she has nothing to compare this to and yet it feels so right. This feels how it’s supposed to be. 

Elvis can feel she hasn’t come, he knows—he may not know her body inside and out but he knows how women tick, he knows if he were to pull out of her he’d be no better than—he wouldn’t have done what he set out to do against this sink. It’s as if his body and his cock know this, too, and through a grace or an act of God he can feel himself firming back up the more he thrusts into her, the obscene noises between her legs spurring him on. Her gasp sounds like a plea and a hymn all in one. She hadn’t been prepared for this, he can tell in how her movements are scrambled as she starts to rock with him. Could it be that she was chasing after her release? Could it be that she just needed that extra push? He’s already in so deep and his thrusts are going deeper and deeper but the angle, the angle is all wrong. 

“Elv—” Lilly starts before he shushes her softly, his hand moving to between her legs as she keens softly. He doesn’t go where she feels he needs to, where she can feel her body throbbing and she needs him to understand that he’s missing it—he’s missing where she needs him to be but that’s when she hears it. 

He’s cooing, crooning, he’s talking so gently to her, praising her as she tries to stand on her toes, trying to change the angle. If only she was higher up. If only she could allow him even deeper, deep enough for him to be where she feels she needs him to be. A whine leaves her lips as his hand still doesn’t move to help and settles on her thigh, grabbing it and squeezing it as he lifts it up onto the counter gently as he can.

“Let Elvis take care of ya darlin'. You're feelin' something, ain't ya? Somethin' right there, right? You just need help with it, don't ya?” His words have the fire growing inside of her, have her whimpering and nodding because yes, yes, she feels something, she feels that there’s something there. What that is she doesn’t know, only knows that he’s giving it to her, he’s coaxing it from her as she feels him so deep inside she wonders how he fits.

Her hand moves down to between her legs, wanting to touch him, it, herself only to have his hand that had still been fondling her breasts, playing with her nipples to swat it away with a small tsk, “no, no, Lilly, let Elvis—let me take care of you the way you need. Do—can I touch you there? Help you rub yourself there?”

A groan, high pitched and almost anguished leaves her mouth as his fingers finally move between her legs, finally reach the part between her legs that throbs in time with her heart. The sob that escapes her mouth comes from deep within her, a release before he’s even properly touched her. He’s got her. Elvis has got her. He’ll take care of her. 

Elvis is taking care of her as his fingers, calluses and all, brush against her clit, slowly but with such intent that Lilly finds herself arching against Elvis, the strength of his body behind her making arching forward impossible. Her pussy clenches around Elvis’s cock, fluttering while still trying to milk him for all he’s worth. It’s hard to tell who’s making which noise as he thrusts into her, chasing his second release inside of her, never thinking of the lack of protection between them. His groans and her moans and their breaths are a symphony of sounds echoing through the kitchen, his glasses askew on his nose as he watches Lilly lean forward whining, almost as if she’s passing out. His own body follows hers, leaning against her, the sweat between them fusing them together as much as their come is. 

Their breath is the only sound in the room.

[fair-city-inquiries]

Roleplay Information

Randy here, hello!

Okay - this is also out of character but I figured this would be a neat way to introduce not just the roleplay but the character involved with it! So, let’s get right to it, shall we?

Wordgirl: What the Future Holds

Lore/Information

The blog technically is an alternate universe nicknamed “What the Future Holds”. In reality, it’s a post-canon universe set after the series finale ‘Rhyme and Reason’. The blog follows title lead, Becky Botsford, who is now in high school as a freshman. The timeline is exactly how it happened in the show, though there might be some differences! Not that it’s entirely necessary to know, to be honest.

This blog is specifically for Becky Botsford, not Wordgirl. What the Future Holds will be focusing on both her time in high school, as well as silly nonsense with headcanons mixed in!

Now, onto information about the character/muse, Becky Botsford!

Becky Botsford

Name: Rebecca Botsford

Nicknames: Becky/Becks (used by friends and/or family), Beckface (coined by Victoria Best), any variant of Becky - Becky Doodles, Beckaroni, etc - (all coined by members of the Botsford family), kid/kiddo (by Dr. Two Brains), dearie/dear/my dear (used by Granny May)

Age: 14 years old!

Birthday: [404.EROR], May 15 (presumed birthday by the Botsford’s)

Allies/Friends: Violet Heaslip, Todd “Scoops” Ming, Rose Franklin, Bob Botsford

Acquaintances: Theodore “Tobey” McAllister III, Victoria Best, Eileen

Enemies: [REDACTED]

Friendly Rivals: Theodore “Tobey” McAllister III

Family Members: [REDACTED], Adoptive - Sally Botsford (Mom), Tim Botsford (Dad), TJ Botsford (Younger Brother), Bob (“pet” monkey)

Backstory

Becky Botsford is the eldest child in the Botsford family. She was taken in and adopted by them when she’d still been a young girl after being found mysteriously in front of their house. An adept reader as she was somehow reading a newspaper while still being very little.

She grew up in Fair City which was rampant with super-villains, although most were stopped by super-heroine Wordgirl. Apparently Wordgirl and Becky have interacted before but of course - that’s as far as it goes. The audience knows otherwise. As a child, Becky attended Woodview Elementary School alongside her best friend, Violet Heaslip, and her first crush Todd “Scoops” Ming. Things were a bit trying with the supervillains in the city, but thankfully - Wordgirl managed to kick butt and send them to jail, and again and again every time they broke out.

Becky would eventually graduate from elementary and middle school. Now the school year has picked up again as she’s exploring her time as a freshman. She’s part of the Debate Team, as well as an honorary member of Book Club (though she also has her moments when she seems to have disappeared-).

Things of course, are about to get very interesting.

Headcanons & Additional Muse Information

⭐️ The Botsford’s are Afro-Latin Americans, much like Becky! Even if she is adopted - she is also Afro-Latina. She’s fluent in both English and Spanish, though who knows maybe she knows other languages~ ;))

⭐️ Becky is an avid reader. Canonically, she’s known for checking out ten books at once from the library! She has a soft spot for light romance-fantasy genres - though she also enjoys crime and mystery thrillers!

⭐️ Her fixation on PPMPPH never went away!

⭐️ Becky is autistic and ADHD, and you cannot convince me otherwise. This is canon now.

⭐️ She’s a bit nervous about juggling [REDACTED] and her high school classes but she’ll be fine. After all, she could handle it in the past… right?

⭐️ Becky and Violet’s friendship strengthened following “Rhyme and Reason”, but it also caused some unfortunate trauma, and that’s all you’re getting for now!

⭐️ She has freckles because I said so

More headcanons will be dropped soon!

If you’re a fellow roleplayer who wishes to interact with the blog, please please - let me know if you want to! 🙏

[senka-mesecine]

Could you maybe write a one shot for when Barnes circles back to the world, and his significant other drags him out on a date? Not in a mean way, just to force him to get out, maybe like a fair or a bar etc… thank u!

So Scared of You (They're Scared of Me Too).

Robert Barnes x Reader

-

Don't be needin' nothin' but you.

He said that once, and like with all truly important things carrying emotional weight and gravitas of meaning, Bob had the tendency to say them one time only and expect you to remember them because he didn't intend on repeating himself.

The mistake was wholly on you as a result, you supposed, for not taking him as literally as you should, sitting in the corner of the dimly lit bar, all in your own space, just the two of you, voices are low and hushed, eyes occasionally carefully fluttering beneath lashes like people intended to take a peek and look but weren't certain if they dared or if they even should; it was the scar they were staring at, you knew that. He knew that too. In spite of that, you figured you two couldn't just be cooped up in the hills in the cabin forever. You had to come out sometime, even if it was once in a blue moon to the degree the stories spinning around you were as wild as they come. Barnes living up in the hills. Barnes' keepin' her hostage. And you loved him. That much was not gossip. Loved him so much you never wanted him to think you felt shame being seen with him. He was your Bob when he left and he was your Bob now that he came back. You wouldn't change a thing about him except maybe have him understand that he was a part of the world; not perpetually at war with it. He needed to need more than you. Wasn't healthy for him to be nothing but your watchdog. At least a drink on the weekends. A date. The occasional round of poker with the boys, you think, hopeful once the barman approaches entirely on his own accord, fidgety and nervous, but oh so willing to accommodate just judging off of his smile. -"Hey, that's alright, Bob."- He points his nose at the half-emptied bourbon bottle on the table, going for a first name basis to maintain an air of friendliness and hospitality.

You wouldn't say Bob goes to reach for his wallet but his shoulders move by about an inch like he was meaning to, eyeing the man from his dark corner. -"You ain't gotta pay. On the house!"- The owner rubs his hands with his back slightly bent like he was overly eager to please and deliberately making himself small. This was the opposite treatment of a disgruntled veteran being spat on on the street. You knew, they were too scared to take Barnes' money for the cheque. He sat there, legs spread, arm resting on his knee and cigarette in his mouth like he knew. Like he was eating all of it up in silence.

That wouldn't do.

Normalcy; a semblance of it. That was your goal.

-"That's so nice, but you really don't have to ---"-

You protest with a smile only to be cut off before mid-sentence.

-"No, no, I insist, ma'am."-

Is all the man says before practically scurrying off somewhere behind the bar riddled with the backs of the quiet patrons planted on their respective barstools sipping their drinks that occasionally threw a quick glance in your general direction like they were trying to guess the topic of that brief conversation that just happened. Bob looks at you through the haze of smoke veiling his face. Hooded eyes, it was like he was goading someone into something, knowing fully well everyone was too chickenshit to do as much as properly look this way. Like he was taunting you, from the corner of his lips and quietly supporting the barman for rejecting your offer. Serves you right, his eyes say. He ain't listenin' to you. He's listenin' to me and I ain't even say 'nun to him. You could hear his drawl in your mind loud and clear, as if though the words were actually uttered by his own mouth and not merely imagined. Even the boys at the billiard table occasionally turning their attention to the old TV on the wall were playing in complete and utter silence, the only sound heard was the occasional cold click of the balls crashing into each other or the thud as they rolled into their hole. A needle could drop somewhere on the floor and the sound would resound like a bomb right about now. Would be heard from here to Nashville at this point.

Cocky.

He was inaudibly cocky.

-"You're enjoying this, Robert."-

You whisper to him, not unkindly, but more as a remark of the real state of things as he downs the last of his liquor, his eyes never leaving you. Don't be needin' nothin' but you, his words slither back into your head unbidden. Why were you surprised if he wasn't here being a social butterfly? He did tell you, fair and square where his mind was at and openly and all you had to do is listen and all you could do is impart a look back at him, a soft one, one you knew he'd understand; one that meant to say Pay that man at least, please, for me? Once his glass cup is empty and the butt of his cigarette crushed in a nearby metal ashtray that's seen better days, he reaches into his back pocket fishing out a couple of bills and tossing them on the table idly, grazing you with a stare; your cue to leave as you push out the table adorned with seating benches eclipsed by two walls and a corner following him; on the way out, you feel eyes follow you like so many hornets; leisurely walk, the floorboard creaks under Bob who was talking his sweet time like he relished how tense the air and the atmosphere around him was, halting just once to look at a man looking at you causing something in your stomach to coil and lurch. The man's face darts to the side quickly and you're just as swift to entwine your arm with Bob's crossing the threshold and out in the first air on the patio. Thank god. You knew this was all your idea in the first place, but thank god.

-"They're so scared of you they're scared of me too."-

You exhale, whispering, stating the obvious.

-"They parted like the red sea."-

You add once he says nothing.

Your own words sounding almost humorous in your own ears.

Bob really intended to play into this, huh?

The fact that folk around here viewed him like he was The Tennessee Wildman or Bigfoot in person cooped up in a house high up in the woods ever since he came home from Vietnam and that they could barely maintain eye contact with his general direction for more than five seconds out of fear for their own lives; as a result, on the rare occasion they did see you, they flat out averted their gaze around you like you were the Sasquatch's wife and that there would be hell to pay if they did as much as contemplate you. He really wasn't going to dispel anyone's notions of him? He was going to take their opinions, play into them and wholly expand them, wasn't he? Once you're alone in the dark next to the parked pick up truck away from the light reflected through the bar's windows, you feel his hand on your buttock, squeezing your backside and leaning his head down to speak against the center of your scalp, your body trapped between him and the door of the vehicle. His breath is hot on you. The moon was shrouded in a veil of mist above the tree line and you swear to god, a lone dog could bark from somewhere in the neighborhood and judging how quiet everyone was in that bar even now, you could envision them all jumping in their seats from how high strung they seemed when you left them.

-"You're enjoyin' this too, darlin'."-

Is all he says.

Your cheeks flare up.

You hated to admit he was right.

[sunny6677]

Soooo this is what I think would happen if Damien ended up meeting Gregor instead of Bob—

TWS FOR MURDER, TRAUMA, INSANITY, MEDICATION, MENTAL FACILITIES, ETC

I imagine maybe since he gets arrested around the time Bob does though, there's a chance that there's spirits from the people he's killed attached to them. And the police probably start seeing those spirits, so they call in Gregor to do something. Gregor ends up mainly sensing the spirits around Damiens cell though, so the two of them end up talking, and Damien basically admits that it might be those he killed. He nervously tries to justify killing them by stating all the reasons he did so, but that doesn't change the fact that they're still attached to him. So Gregor basically calls him out on lying to themself about literally murdering people, and tells him that the only way he can make things right is to never kill again, change and apologize. Damien is a bit nervous about this, but seems to find it understandable and it get kinda actually does get through to him that he still murdered people regardless of what they did or not.

Unsure of how Damien would even meet Gregor. Perhaps they'd end up not serving that long of a time in prison surprisingly due to something, and would be let free early. And he'd actually kind of regret killing people since though he's defintely not stable, they've thought about what he's done and want to maybe get help for it. But for the sake of them being there when Gregors actually alive, maybe Damien doesn't get caught for murder in this AU, or he does but is let out surprisingly early.

(Damien is kind of friends with Bob here still, but they aren't that close and Bob only gets the cult to let him out so he has backup to kill all the people he needs to. They're more like actual partners in crime here. But Damien doesn't think that murder is actually love, and is very distressed the whole time since he doesn't think the kids deserve to be killed. He doesn't get knocked out here, but he is arrested by the other police who come onto the scene and dragged back to prison in a panicked state.)

Damien obviously still doesn't like most of the people they killed because of what they did, but he's not apologizing because they were in the right all along (considering most of them were toxic or abusive or horrible people in general etc etc)—he's just apologizing because it's wrong to take a human life. Gregor makes him verbally apologize aloud to those he killed, especially that one girl who they just killed because she was rude (which is the only one he actually feels bad about killing alongside the people he was made to help kill in TT). His apology seems to satisfy Gregor, who cleanses the place afterward, but he's not done with Damien yet. Gregor decides he wants to actually help Damien out even with how unstable they seem because he feels as if he owes it to those Damien killed. So Gregor begins to visit the prison frequently to both check on Damien, give him advice and activities, etc etc.

In the few weeks Gregor is around Damien though, Gregor starts to feel mild pity for Damien since Damien actually explains to him some of his past, but Gregor grows even more concerned upon hearing about his own misconception of love. So Gregor gives Damien a whole speech about how none of what he went through was their fault like everyone around them made them think it was, and that Damien was in dire need of help but never received it. And he also tells him that none of what happened to him was love at all. Gregor starts to see Damien as an incredibly broken man driven to sin by all the horrible sins that were used against them, while Damien only breaks down upon being told a bunch of things no one ever thought to tell them ever.

Gregor feels an incredible amount of pity for the man now, and starts giving him more things to do anytime he comes to visit. Damien starts to be a little more used to him and be grateful to him after a while even if it's still hard for him to still get why any of what happened to him was bad. Gregor promises that maybe once Damien is eventually freed, he'll let him join the church to seek guidance from 'The Lord'. He may also be kinda converting Damien to the church in the process. But before anything can happen, Gregor goes missing due to you know what in Hollow Sorrows, and the last thing Damien ever received from him before he vanished was a cross necklace. Damien is told about Gregor apparently being missing, and is obviously distressed about it. The police station kinda dismisses his worries, and says they'll be sending him to an actual mental facility where he can get help. Though Damien protests, they send him there anyway.

Damien is in a mental facility until Sweet Scents. Anf the facility itself is okay, but it's still taking Damien a while to entirely heal. However, he's not on his meds when the cult suddenly breaks into their room during the night, and basically tells him that they're gonna make him go out and kill people to finish Bob's job. Damien doesn't want to, but the cult makes him anyway, so he reluctantly goes after everyone including the kids and Lila and everyone else Bob went after etc etc. However, during the final conflict, Damien is visibly distressed still and is having a whole breakdown due to his panic. But he ends up getting shot. Damien does live from it, but he's dragged back to the mental facility where he explains what happened. The facility doesn't believe him though and just gives him meds since they think Damiens delusions were acting up again. This calms Damien down, but he is still charged for attempted murder.

[spiders-rob]

Headcanons: How Renfield (2023) characters feel about people shorter/taller than them

Dracula: Physical stature is irrelevant. Humans are all ants whether they know it yet or not.

Tedward: With taller people, he will be insecure and he will take it out on the other person by mocking their height. With shorter people, he will bully and mock them about being short.

Carol: Tall women are beautiful but intimidating. Tall men are kinda scary but she would not admit this. Short women are friend-shaped and sometimes very cute. Short men are literally just some guy. All non-binary people are fellow queers regardless of height and therefore Carol will relax more around them.

Caitlyn: attracted to tall men. She knows she's not ready to date again yet tho so it's mostly hypothetical. Anyway she's got a crush on a woman so once she is ready to date her feelings about tall men might be kinda irrelevant.

Karla: Finds shorter people pretty/cute.

Bob: As long as you don't joke about his height you're fine

Rebecca: "Height is a social construct", Will make short jokes about herself but that is not permission for anyone else to do so. Unless you're funny.

Robert: He's pretty tall so if you're taller than him it's surprising anyway. A bit nervous about fighting people taller than him, as seen in canon. He does worry about "looming" over others as he doesn't generally want to come off as intimidating/suspicious. He's also used to wanting to be smaller in order to go unnoticed/be less of a target. This all put together means he tends to hunch in on himself or try to seem smaller (especially around shorter people) when he's feeling insecure or nervous. Occasionally people will compliment his height and he gets very flustered.

Mandy: Enjoys it when people underestimate her for her height/gender/etc. It's funny because then she kills them and the look on their face is priceless.

Mark: He had a thing for tall guys in high-school but at this point he doesn't really care as much.

Kate: Doesn't really care unless she's teasing Rebecca about being short. (Sibling privileges.) Rebecca teases her about being tall which she doesn't care about but acts offended by/bickers back about, on principle. She does take note of everyone's height but that's more in a "constantly remembering details about people in case they turn out to be criminals and she needs to give a detailed report" fbi paranoia kind of way.

[henrysglock]

One thing I’m excited about for The First Shadow is getting to see firsthand how Henry interacts with people.

He doesn’t speak when we see him as a child, his only scenes where he’s even with other people are the move-in and the massacre.

He’s definitely going to interact with Bob/Joyce/etc…but we also get to see him interact with his parents. He’s 12. His parents are going to be around, at least. Chances are he’ll at least speak to Victor, if not both parents.

I need to know what a common Henry-Virginia interaction looks like.

How did she treat him before she found out he had abilities? What was Henry like around her before he found out she wanted to lock him away? How long was the gap between these two discoveries? What was Henry like back when he still believed he was the broken one?

How is “she despised me” going to look between them? Virginia doesn’t seem like the outward abuse type, the kind people look at and go “ah yes, classic child abuse”, despite the fact that there was definitely something very wrong going on between her and Henry.

We just don’t see them interact enough to pin down exactly what went on. She grips him like a stress ball in the outside part of the move-in, the Henry in Victor’s retelling stares at her all hunched and nervous in the foyer part of the move-in, she’s clearly strict with the children (“Alice, no running”), she shows clear deferential treatment to Alice at dinner, she’s got black widows/Henry’s “godlike predators” as her mirror vision, she goes behind Victor’s back trying to get rid of Henry who, if we take everything at face value, seems to be lashing out in response to being mistreated (much like Billy bullying children as a child in response to being abused). Those happenings seemed more like a cry for help: a vision of a child being harmed due to bad information, nightmares, visions of “who they really were”…He seems to be showing rather than telling what’s happening.

We see the shadow of the object but not the object itself, y’know?

So like…I’m interested to know how much of this we’re going to get to see.

[seldnei]

Taking stock of the writing: 2023

For any new followers: this is my annual post about my writing in the past year.  This is purely for my own mental health–the tag says “seldnei is tired of feeling like a slacker” for a reason.  Please feel free to skip.

So what did I accomplish in 2023?

Well, it was a helluva year, again.  We’ve acquired another teenager, with all that entails, which is a good thing overall but definitely added some chaos.  My boss retired earlier than expected, so day job went sideways for a while.  My cousin died, which was entirely unexpected.  My father died, which was both more and less unexpected.  Also the eldest BFF’s mom died, which was not traumatic for me, per se, but being able to spend a week with him was, like acquiring Q, a good thing surrounded by chaos.  Oh, and Z got his ADHD diagnosis, which has triggered some interesting realizations about the assumed neurotypicality of everyone in the household.  We are, in fact, that family who said, “But that can’t be a ‘disorder’; everyone is like that, right?”

I am exhausted, and my brain feels not only full but occasionally like it’s eating itself with self-analysis.

BUT.  I am here.  And I wrote things.

Stories/Poems/Etc.

Finished the second Exorcist story, and decided it did need to be mashed up with the first one.  I dunno, it’s still cuter than I like. 

Did the requested rewrite on the Teachout camel story, and got rejected again (I vaguely recall this as another rewrite request, but I could be wrong and can’t be arsed to dig through my email right now). I kind of think this editor and I have fundamentally different ideas as to what these stories are.  Keep this in mind as I get into future plans, btw, as it was a contributing factor.

Wrote some more TMA fanfic.

“And the Forest Sings of Secrets and the Dead” for FUCKIT, which prompted the best review of all time from Q: “What the fuck, Laura?”

“The Modern Eurydice: with Leto in the Mountains of Delos,” also for FUCKIT, which is probably my favorite thing I wrote this year.  I really hope there are more modern Eurydice stories somewhere in my head, because I loved writing this one and the first one.

Poetry:

“Elpis at the Farmer’s market” for FUCKIT

“4am, April 2023,” also for FUCKIT, the poem my husband wants to frame and put on the wall

Random bits and bobs in my notebook

I wrote three podcast scripts because I really want to make a podcast. 

Script one is a monologue type thing, continuing my explorations of ghosts and terrible mothers.

Scripts two and three are the first two episodes of a short series that adapts the not!Tempest/not!Mosquito Coast/not!Island of Dr Moreau thing I’ve been fucking around with for like four years now.  I think three more scripts and I’ll have the series completed, and then I can turn my attention to things like casting and recording and editing and hosting and posting and dear lord what the fuck.

 I started a bunch of other things:

The baseball/ghost romance novella, where I am trying out iterative outlining.

Some abortive attempts to find my way into my post-apocalypse cunning folk thing

A start and some notes for a gothic horror story that I probably will get back to in a while (watch this space in, like, three years)

Other Stuff

“An Oral History: The Dead Queen at 1223 Murchison Row” sold and came out in Artifice & Craft. 

I created my author website, which I’m still very pleased with.  Also did some blogging, but not as much as I would have liked.  Still, not sure when I had time?

Submitted things sporadically.

Kept up my morning writing routine, though it did have some disruptions here and there and the time got a little compressed.  But the biggest thing, I think, is that I kept going.  There was a lot of stuff going on in my life this year, and I wrote through it all.

Novel and Goals for 2024

Okay, this is where we get into the stuff that makes me nervous.

So the novel is on a second round of reading at a publisher.  This is taking forever, but the publisher has also posted periodically that they’re still working their way through subs, and frankly, I am entirely willing to let them do their thing because, as I said last year, I think this might be the absolute worst time to try and find an agent or publisher.  This is one of like two sparks of interest I have gotten for a book that a professional editor says is very good, so … yeah, we will let that lie.  Additionally, I’ve been reading some stuff from established trad authors who are also  having issues selling things, and I’m like … uuuggghhh.

Bearing that in mind … I’m going to start looking at and dipping my toe into self-publishing this year.  Guys, I am so tired of thinking about what an editor might or might not find appealing enough to publish; I want to write my weird little stories and have people read them.  I don’t even care if it’s just my friends and I only sell, like, three copies of anything.  I have long since resigned myself to never being a full-time writer, so while extra cash would be nice, it’s not something I desperately need.  (That said, I am going to be selling my work because it’s work, so.  But I have thoughts about discount codes and freebies, so we’ll see how it goes.)  I’d like to be able to hire an editor, commission covers, that kind of thing, though, so I’m also thinking about starting a Patreon to help fund those aspects of it, with rewards and all that good stuff.

So I can publish the novellas and short story collections, and if the publisher passes on my manuscript, I can publish the Teachout book and start writing the second one.

This is the scary part, though.  Am I too scattered to make something like this work?  What if no one has any interest? What about pirates (both cyber and sailor)?  Will I annoy people with self-promo?  Will people in my circle think less of me?  (Do I care about the people who would think less of me for doing this?) How will this affect my other writing?  OH GOD HOW DOES THIS AFFECT MY TAXES?!

I think I can do it.  I might ask y’all for cheerleading here and there.  I have a planner and Mr. Seldnei.

Every time I think about it and get scared, I think second Teachout book no matter what happens and I’m like … yeah. Yeah, I think I need to at least try.

So, goals for 2024:

FUCKIT subs

finish this baseball thing

Podcast

Patreon (?)

Self-publishing

AAAAAAAAAAA.