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elvisabutler · 1 year

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spark ( chapter two: prayer )

fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( fameless big daddy electrician/handyman ) x female original character word count: 10570ish so just shy of 11k this time. warnings: talk of children. a bit of negative self talk. infidelity in some form. elvis in glasses. religion playing an at least faintly important part. use of a washcloth in inventive ways. faint naivety regarding come and precome and pleasurable parts of sex, i suppose. fingering. implied/referenced masturbation ( m and f ). pining. talk of female reproductive issues. author’s note: so before you read anything involving this. i need you all to either go into this chapter blind other than my note about female reproductive issues or i need you to scroll all the way down to the bottom of this past the tag list for a bit of an explanation for that warning. i'm fine either way but i didn't want to spoil it in the warnings considering i left what happened fairly nebulous. all that being said hi y'all, welcome to the second chapter of spark! there is not a lot i can say other than telling you all i am so very thankful for every single one of you who read it and especially those of you who left comments in the notes or reblogged because hearing what feelings i invoked or what i did to y'all was a highlight and truly makes me want to interact with all of you more and makes me just want to hear more from all of you. this chapter and the next are a doozy but this one specifically has the nearly 6k bath scene as i've called it so you're in for a treat. special thank you to my southern gothic/southern sticky romance soulmate @precious-little-scoundrel because y'all know this wouldn't exist without her little whispers. additional thanks to my discord wives @ab4eva and @butlersxbirdy, my princess and my peach y'all know how much hearing y'all scream about my snippets made me know i was heading in the right direction. @blurredcolour thank you for also reassuring me that the one bit i showed you worked and wasn't just completely a mess. and last but not least @powerofelvis and @prompted-wordsmith thank you both for the edit job and smitty specifically for a few choice lines. i still am never gonna not laugh about you trying to sneak weepy in there though. and now before this author's not gets much longer, i present the second chapter of spark, titled prayer.

It's so quiet in the room. It's too quiet in the kitchen. It's too quiet even as Lilly hears Elvis's deep breaths against her back, hears her own softer breaths mixed with something that sounds almost like a whimper—a soft cry of elation with every other breath and shift of her body against his. Her vagina—her pussy—oh, she doesn't know what to call it now—aches in a way she's never felt before, not even when her husband took her for the first time in their bed. It aches but it doesn't hurt, it burns but in the way her legs burned after she would go running with Melly or how her arms burned after lifting up a basket of Nathan's clothes. Her—what had Elvis called it?—her clit, her button throbs as she feels his soft cock brush up against it as he moves forward just a bit, causing a noise that sounds so obscene Lilly can't help the way her cheeks darken even as another noise leaves her. Another whimper, this time lower in pitch, a keen leaves her mouth as Elvis stills his attempt to separate them.

"Lilly, darlin' I gotta—you gotta let me let ya down. Ya leg's startin' to hurt, ain't it?" Elvis murmurs, his hand moving down her flank, watching how her body starts to shiver, their shared sweat starting to cool on her body as the fan–the fan he just fixed whirrs above them. "Don't… it's gonna start hurtin' the more we stay here, darlin'. Let—" His hand moves to her thigh, feels how it's so sticky and slick with God knows what fluid, his or hers or both, and he's not sure how he's going to take his hand off of her if it starts to stick. Her shivers are starting to strengthen, be it from nervousness or the cool air or a combination and Elvis can't help the way a singular one flows through him, causing him to tighten his hold on her thigh and bury his face against her shoulder, a groan leaving his lips as he feels her clench at it. "It's—come on, Lilly, I gotcha, let me help ya."

It's those words, that mild parroting of words he had just whispered against the shell of her ear not even 15 minutes ago that has her head falling forward just a little, has her body going lax completely, a rag doll for him to maneuver how he sees fit. She doesn't trust herself to help him, doesn't trust the thoughts in her head that tell her to make him keep her this way, to keep him inside of her and keep her filled and aching all at once. Doesn't trust the traitorous thought that tells her Nathan would have never done this, would never be this gentle and calming with her. She'd already be standing on shaky legs with him tucking himself in his pants before telling her that was good. Elvis's arm catches her, holds her tight against him still as he helps her pull her leg down off the counter even as she hears that noise again that—squelch of her arousal and the sheer amount of come he had released in her. If this is how he sounded inside of her, what would happen when he pulled out of her? What would happen as he left her stretched and satisfied? Would—perhaps some would take. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

"Lil." His whisper is gentle, almost as if he's scared she'll bolt. "You hold onto me. Gonna get outta ya now. Gonna pull out of ya."

Her arm and her hand grip his own tightly, her shivers increasing as she feels Elvis start to pull out. The more he inches out bit by bit the more empty she feels, the more she feels as if there's a wound there that won't heal caused by him leaving. It's never felt like this with Nathan and she knows, she knows so deep in her bones and soul that should worry her. But her mind, her body, her everything has narrowed down to her and Elvis as he finally breaks free of her vagina and she feels a wetness like she's never felt before slide down her legs. Unbidden and unrestrained, a sob is wrenched from her throat as she's set down, her feet finally touching the floor once more. A sudden shift back to reality she wasn't prepared for.

Elvis's arm tightens around her even as her shivers worsen and as he feels and hears the sob that comes from her. He doesn't think he hurt her—not physically, at least—but he can't… he can't check her like this. Not when he looks down at her legs and sees his release sliding down her leg.

A realization hits him in that exact moment as his arm tightens around where—where a child would grow if any of his release caught. Where their child would grow if it caught. He hadn't worn protection. He allowed himself to enter her bare and come not once, but twice. Right in this very moment he could be sealing both of their fates. Her to have the child of a man who is not her husband and him—him, to see another man raise his child. To see his child grow up through pictures instead of being there for every waking moment. His thoughts are interrupted by another of Lilly's sobs and he shakes his head. She–she needs a bath, he can't let Nathan come home and see her like this. Even if he had been neglecting her, leaving her to wilt and leaving her to be watered and in the worst of cases fertilized by another man, Elvis couldn't be sure of his reaction to seeing the proof leaking out of his wife.

The fan creaks as it spins, unused to spinning after the break it had been given from being broken. Elvis's brain settles on the noise even as the air circulating causes even his body to let out a shiver. His own natural heat feels like it isn't enough in this one moment, as if it's too busy trying to keep Lilly warm to remember to keep him fully warm and yet he thinks he can handle it. It's nothing compared to winter in France. Nothing compared to the bite of the cold against his skin then. And yet—and yet it cuts far more to the bone, through his muscles and fat and everything that should protect him. Straight to the heart of him.

His arm finally falls from around Lilly’s waist as she moves to stand on her own, her legs a little shaky like a newborn deer. He hastily tucks himself back into his jumpsuit—she can't see what he put inside her, can't see his uncut cock even if it brought her pleasure he wonders if she's never had before. When she finally looks at him he has to stop himself from pulling her into his arms to kiss her. She looks… she looks like an angel and he's corrupted her like a devil. He's touched something that might not have been pure and innocent but was as close as he’s seen in such a long time and sullied it. Touched it with hands that have seen war and have seen death and threatened to cause death even in peacetime. What sort of person did that, what sort of man who believes in God with all his being now would do this to another man’s wife? Breaking not one, but two sins, and for what? To try and fix something that it isn’t his place to fix, that will never be his place to fix? To try and fix something only to potentially cause more things to break inside and out. He hopes she doesn’t see how his hand clenches into a fist, hopes she doesn’t see how he can’t look her in the eye right at this moment. He hopes—he hopes—he hopes she can forgive him, he hopes God can forgive him.

Lilly can’t help the way her legs shake slightly and how her body trembles just a little bit. She’s not cold, not in a way that would cause this much shivering and yet here she was acting as if she had been dunked in a bath filled with cold water and shoved into a Yankee winter. Elvis was—is warm in a way she knows would help. Or at least she feels as if it would help because it would just be an extension of taking care of her, wouldn’t it? It would be him continuing the duty he’s given himself despite not… not being the man who promised to love and to hold and to take care of her in every conceivable way. He is just a man. He is just a man who she has grown quite fond of but a man nonetheless. A man who is not her husband and yet—no, this was just both of them being tempted and falling for temptation. In her mind, she thinks of never having Elvis speak to her again, thinks of a world where this act has ruined their relationship. No, their friendship, and she bites her lip to keep from crying out in anguish. He had been such good company. He is such good company and to lose that would have her all alone once again with nothing to show for it except… perhaps. Perhaps his release could catch inside her. Perhaps it could catch and form a child, their child and she would have someone to be with. She would have the child she longed for to spend her days doting on and mothering. She would have her company and she could be so much less angry—despondent over her friends and she could enjoy Melly’s pregnancy and any other ones that would come after because she’d at least have her own child. Too preoccupied with her thoughts, she nearly misses Elvis speaking to her and grabbing ahold of her hand.

“Lil darlin’, ya shakin’ like a leaf. Ya got a robe or somethin’ in that bedroom of yourn?” He asks all while walking them ever so slowly to the bathroom near the other bedroom. It has a bathtub, that much he knows from using it but he knows it’s likely not anything compared to the one in the main bathroom adjacent to her bedroom. Lilly can only nod as an answer. “Ya good to go grab it? Don’t wanna—it’s not my place to see ya bedroom.”

He’s right and she knows he is but a part of her, the part of her that’s clinging onto his hand for dear life and doesn’t trust her legs to carry her into the bedroom and back to him shakes her head. “I’m—I don’t—walk me to it?”

“Lilly,” he starts before he looks up and sees her face pleading with him, begging silently in almost the same way it was up against the sink and he stops himself before nodding. “Just keep holdin’ my hand. I’ll walk wit’ ya.”

Between the walls and Elvis’s hand, Lilly’s steps are a little more certain by the time she makes it to the doorway of her bedroom where just on the inside there’s a hook that has her robe. She creaks the door open just slightly to grab it before pulling it on. It smells faintly of Nathan’s cologne and she can’t help but crinkle her nose in distaste, wishing it smelt different. The walk over to the other bathroom is just as slow and just as measured but the moment they reach it, Elvis moves to set her on the toilet after shutting the lid. His knees crack audibly as he gets down on the floor with a groan. Lilly winces as she hears the water turn on. “Warmer than you think I should have it.”

He hadn’t asked what temperature she wanted the water but she figured it was best to tell him ahead of time, just in case he thought she needed it only lukewarm. His response is a chuckle before he turns the hot knob just a bit more.

Her mind wanders as she sits there feeling more of his release sticking to her leg. Her mind wanders as she looks at Elvis in his jumpsuit still half open but done up so she can’t see what was between his legs, what had given her such pleasure that her vagina clenches

involuntarily at the memory. Clenches at the memory of how full it felt, how it felt like it was catching, how it felt different than Nathan’s penis. Surely—oh surely with how full she feels even now with his release inside her it would take. It would catch and take and her belly would swell with new life. Her child would grow inside her and kick and roll and make her so happy even as she pushed them out, painful as everyone had told her it was. Her child would look like her if it was a daughter or perhaps a healthy mix of her and Elvis if it was a boy. Her breath catches at the image and she finds herself leaning against the toilet and clutching her hands to her stomach with her eyes shut. Her eyes shut so that the lord could hear her prayer because she’s only focusing on Him and the words she was praying up into the heavens. Please, Lord, please let it catch. Bless me with just this one baby.

Elvis looks over at Lilly over the rims of his glasses and is struck by how she looks so serene in the moment. How her robe covers her and how her head is tilted up as if she’s praying for something. His eyes drift down and notice her hands on her belly. Her hands that seem small compared to his on her belly and briefly, in a flash he berates himself for later, he pictures her growing round with his baby after the release he's just left in her has taken root. Pictures her blossoming and blooming right before his eyes as she thanks him with his favorite dinner with their child rolling inside of her under an apron. The word please leaves her lips, though, and it shatters that image quicker than anything else. She is married to an idiotic child, yes, but he is still her husband and is still a strapping young man. Perhaps still more suited for her than him. More suited to give her those children to help her bloom. He has to shut his eyes and pray for forgiveness and for God to dissolve his come before it reaches those parts of her that can bear fruit. She’s pleading with God that it doesn’t take—that they aren’t caught with their indiscretion and his mind is being selfish with the desires it has for her.

It doesn’t take long for the tub to fill and Elvis turns off the water before it gets to be too much. He can’t look at Lilly, hasn’t looked at her since he heard the word please fall from her lips and yet he knows he has to. He knows to help her into the bathtub he has to but he stares at the water, watching it ripple just a little until he hears Lilly’s voice.

“Are you—? You can… can you stay?” Her skin flushes at her own question, as if it’s the worst possible thing for her to say, as if it’s mortifying to have it leave her lips. He is not her husband. He is, at best, a new friend—and she wants him to see her completely bare. “You don’t—”

Elvis cuts off her words with a shake of his head. “I’ll stay for ya. Since ya want me to.” He pauses, his eyes finally looking at her: specifically looking at her legs where his release is still sliding down onto the floor of the bathroom. Had he honestly come that much? “Ya—e need to—I came in ya, Mrs. H—Lilly. It’s gonna need to be washed outta ya,” his hand twitches as his eyes drift to her stomach and he has to stop himself from placing his hand on it with his next words. “Don’t want ya bein’... Don’t wanna cause ya any issues.”

Don’t want to have my child growin’ inside of ya, is what he means, Lilly thinks. Her traitorous mind wants to be that mean woman Nathan’s accused of her of being and spit that she wants to swell with his baby. She wants to grow round with his baby because she wants a baby and Nathan won’t give her one. She wants a child to love and dote on and to cherish. She bites her tongue though, because it’s not right to say it, it’s not proper to admit she might do anything for a baby. Instead she nods and moves to take off the robe, motioning for Elvis to help her with the rest of her clothes as she stands up. Ever the gentleman, he obliges, and Lilly can’t help the goosebumps and shivers that dot her in his hands’ wake as his fingertips glide across her skin. Her body hunches over just slightly to protect her modesty as if he hadn’t just had her against her kitchen sink not once, but twice. Elvis frowns slightly when he sees this, the frown only deepening as she moves to step into the tub on her own. It doesn’t take him but a second to scoop her into his arms.

Lilly squeaks slightly at the unexpected touch before she leans against him, her hand moving to play with his chest hair until he sets her down softly into the tub. A whine escapes her lips as her vagina hits the water, the temperature difference reminding her of their actions. A moment passes before Elvis opens his mouth to ask something and Lilly tilts her head to the cabinet above the toilet. “Middle shelf.”

A nod is his only response to her direction until she hears the crack of his knees signaling how he’s back down on the ground. Her eyes haven’t left the water, watching how there’s little bits of white, stringy and almost clear swirling around the water. It was all going to waste. It was all going to be going down the drain and she was going to remain barren, a woman with no fruit of her loins to call her own when there should be no reason for that. Elvis eyes her before setting the washcloth in the water and humming, his hand moving to touch her shoulder, a strangely domestic touch that she doesn’t shy away from.

“There’s so much of it.” Lilly whispers absentmindedly, her head tilting just so as Elvis hums and chuckles slightly because she’s not wrong.

“It’s just—that’s my—that’s what I produce before I actually release inside ya. Hell, I think most of it might be that ‘cause I ain’t ever produced this much.” A truth if he’s honest with himself, even in his younger days he doesn’t remember this much being in a condom and yet he had filled her with so much it’s just leaking out of her. He had filled her like he was her husband and they were trying for a child. He had done the unthinkable and yet there’s a small part of him that wonders how much of his release is inside of her. That small part has his cock twitching just slightly against his leg, ready to give her more if she asks, to fill her up and replace what’s being lost in the water. He shakes his head to clear it, to direct the blood flow back to his thinking self and not the desirous snake in his pants.

“This ain’t the part we gotta worry ‘bout anyway. It’s the thicker stuff,” he points to a small bit that’s floating from her vagina as he speaks, “like that right there that we gotta worry ‘bout. But the rest? Ya see how it's slidin’ right out? We don't gotta worry bout those parts.”

Lilly has to stop herself from perking up at that knowledge. That there’s more where this came from and that this? She can lose as much of this as she is right now while still perhaps having his seed catch. This was just the initial bit, the majority of it is still inside of her and she clenches, tightens her vagina even as it feels to be an insurmountable task as it throbs and pulses from the effort. She can't tilt her hips up like her mother had told her but later, perhaps, later she could lay in bed and tilt her hips to help whatever is left behind reach where it needs to be.

Elvis can't put it off any longer as he stares at rippling water, he needs to help this along, other than those small bits not much of his release is coloring the water. If too much stayed within her—her body would change soon, her body would change and it would be all his fault. He would be responsible for her blooming and blossoming but with a child that wouldn't be, couldn't be taken care of the way he'd want them to. He leans closer to Lilly and finds his hand holding the washcloth sliding up her leg.

"Don't—I gotcha Lilly. Gonna help clean ya out, alright? Gonna be as gentle as I can." He waits to see her acknowledgement of a nod before he finally moves his hand up to between her legs, the heel of his hand against her mound and his hand covering everything else.

Her body—her vagina feels as if he's shocked her, as if there's a live wire from his hand to her. A gasp leaves her lips even as she inadvertently grinds down on his hand, chasing a feeling she can't quite put her finger on. It’s almost instinctual the way she reacts, the way her eyes shut as she hisses, the pressure too much while at the same time too little. At her hiss Elvis pulls back his hand as if it’s been burned. It’s not his job to take care of her, it’s not his job to make sure she’s alright after their intercourse against the sink and yet he doesn’t think he could live with himself if he hurt her. He knows how to take care of a woman after sex and he’d be damned if he didn’t treat Lilly with all the respect—and love, his mind traitorously whispers—she deserves.

“Lil, ya alright? Did I…” he starts before his words are cut off with a violent shake of her head. Words are failing her and his eyes search her face for a clue as if that will explain her actions and finds it in the way she shifts in the bath slightly. “Ya sensitive down there?”

Lilly nods and breathes slowly through her nose. “I think so? It’s—It feels like it’s throbbing, Mr. Pre—Elvis.”

In the back of his mind he knows that means she took him well and that he pleasured her thoroughly. It means that her body is overwhelmed with the sensation. It means that it’ll be like that for days to come. A small, sick bit of joy shoots through him at the thought of her aching for him and his stomach roils as soon as the thought comes to him. He would be no better than her husband who ignores her if he took pleasure in the idea. If he took pleasure in knowing he left her aching for him while she is married to her husband.

His words are measured when he speaks, a low murmur as he leans closer, taking the washcloth back in his hands. “Ya ain’t—I’m a lil bigger than most, should have prepped ya better. Jus’. We both got a lil’ overwhelmed, didn’t we? ‘S’alright, ‘m gonna make it better, darlin’. Gonna be gentle as I can. Gonna help ya get all this out of ya. Keep ya from having my baby.”

Lilly’s face falls at his words even though he doesn’t notice, too preoccupied with shifting his focus downward to her vagina. Her breath is slow and measured as she watches him, trying to give this a clinical air, trying to make her body realize there’s nothing arousing about this. This is him just trying to clean his release out of her to keep from being tied to her in some way permanent. Her hand drifts to her belly as she curls into him, her head leaning onto his shoulder. He’s methodical with the outside of her and using the cloth he tries to reach between her folds, tries to open her up only to feel as she tenses just that little bit harder. Forcing her open isn’t an option, not one he wants to seriously consider, at least, and he pauses. His fingers through the rough washcloth threaten to ignite another fire low in her belly as they rub slightly against her skin—at least, if the way she whimpers softly is any indication. Perhaps if he brushed against her clit, perhaps that could open her up. It’s helped in other times when he’s wanted to pleasure another woman. His thumb is already near it and without dwelling on his thought his thumb swipes against it, the wash cloth adding friction that has her unclenching faster than he thought was possible, the shock of it ricocheting through her system. A gasp escapes her lips. A gasp that sounds like his name. He refuses to dwell on what that means as he brushes his thumb against her clit once more.

“Elvis,” she whimpers his name as his thumb swipes a third and a fourth time and she can feel her vagina clenching and unclenching at the feeling, at the sensation as finally she relaxes fully, allowing his fingers to enter her without a question. “Sensitive.”

Her mind is narrowing to single words, the swirl of arousal curling tighter and tighter in her abdomen with each brush of his thumb and each press of his fingers inside of her. The washcloth shouldn’t help the feeling, it shouldn’t make her eyes want to roll in the back of her head from the friction and the slight roughness. The splashes of his arm and hand hitting the water as his fingers move in and out of her ground her and yet have her floating away. Her brain registers him speaking through her whimpers of pleasure. Pleasure that she doesn’t know what to—to do with, having been denied it for so long.

“I know it’s a lot but gotta be thorough, Lilly. Gotta make sure it's all out,” he whispers softly to her, his fingers never stopping their task. “That's it, unclench for me, Lil darlin. Let—ya gotta help me, we gotta make sure there isn't anything left up there."

Faintly she can hear him and feel herself nodding, too busy trying not to rock against his fingers. That’s not what he’s doing this for, he’s trying to prevent—he’s trying to prevent a child. He’s trying to protect her marriage and yet her body wants to move on instinct. She wants to be beholden to her instincts just this once. Just this once she wants to have pleasure and happiness she doesn’t have to beg and plead for. It’s nice, this haze that overwhelms her senses, and she can’t truly recall the cold, distant figure of her husband leaving each and every day for work without so much as a kiss on the cheek as it has been recently. Instead she is nestled into the crook of Mr. Presley’s neck, lips tasting of the salt of his sweat. She wants to feel like he made her feel against the sink. Her body cants itself just so in order to earn another swipe of his thumb and she feels herself dangling on the precipice of something—of her orgasm, maybe? Was she about to find release on his fingers as he cleaned her body out with a washcloth? As he cleaned his release so a child didn’t form inside her, giving away their actions from tonight? A miniscule part of her feels as if she ought to be mortified but it doesn’t drown out her sighs and whines as she feels his fingers curl just so—trying to make sure she’s clean. It doesn’t drown out how her hips move once in another attempt to grind before he puts his hand on the back of her neck. A comforting gesture, yes, but when paired with his next words seals her fate.

“Take what ya need right now. Jus' takin’ care of ya. It’ll help get more outta ya. That’s it, Lil darlin, Elvis’s gotcha.”

A keen, high pitched and pained, leaves her mouth as she feels herself fluttering around—no, clenching around—his fingers before becoming practically boneless against him, the aftershocks from the orgasm causing a new round of shivers and goosebumps to happen. Her face burrows into his shoulder as he works her through them gently before her hand moves to grab his wrist, the sensitivity finally becoming too much.

“Elvis it’s, o-oh—” Lily struggles to articulate her words and breathe and exist in this moment, the sensation drowning out any thoughts other than the pulse of her own heartbeat she feels between her legs. “It—”

Elvis shushes her, trying his hand on her neck, rubbing it and tightening over and over as he finishes cleaning her out, knowing that whatever is left is too high up for him to reach. He’d have to just pray to god for that to be done away with. "Shhhh, Lilly… Darlin', I'm sorry, bein' as gentle as I can.”

Lilly should object to how his hand at her neck feels almost as if she's a kitten being dragged along by their mother but she can't find it in her to do such a thing. She can't find it in her to since objecting would mean he'd remove something that truthfully is keeping her tenuous grip on reality and the Earth there. She figures she'd float away without it. There's a part of her that doesn't think she'd mind in that moment, that she'd understand floating away after what's happened because it almost doesn't feel real, especially as he takes care to wash her body despite her being fully capable of doing it herself. His grip loosens for the last time as she watches him lean over and unplug the drain. The water swirls slowly at first, gaining speed the longer she stares at it and the more of his release slides down the drain. She hears the crack of Elvis's knees as he stands up and winces for him even as his shadow towers over her. She should get up out of the tub, she knows this and yet her legs feel just shaky enough that she finds the task impossible until she feels his arms underneath hers.

Getting out with his support allows her to fully catch her bearings as he hands her a towel that she wraps around her body, drying herself off as he grabs another and assists with her legs, his knees cracking once again at him getting back down. She makes the mistake of looking down at him and seeing him look up at her with a surprising sense of worship she only ever usually associates with church and God. A shiver makes its way through her at the realization.

Her voice sounds like it's going through a tunnel as she says something about how she's fine from here. She swears she hears herself say Mr. Presley and hears him say Mrs. Harris like he hadn't seen her naked and like he hadn't just helped her to clean out his release. Their formalities would make her laugh in any other situation, especially if she thinks of his seed catching inside of her. It wouldn't do to call her that when she was carrying his child, now would it? Wouldn't do for her to call him that as her belly rounded out with his baby, would it? Would it?

He leaves and she waits until she hears a goodbye burst forth loud enough to break through the tunnel her ears are in to finish drying off and getting ready.

She barely finishes making dinner as Nathan walks through the door.

Elvis… Elvis finds himself under his shower cursing his actions even as he remembers her face and her pleasure. He dreams of a life. He dreams of a life with her. He dreams of their life together. It feels worse than any nightmare.

Charlie notices something is up the moment he walks in the diner and sees Elvis already sitting down at their table, a plate with just bacon in front of him in addition to eggs and what looks like toast, or at least he hopes it’s toast. It looks like a plate for him and Elvis and yet he sees the man he's willing to call one of his truest friends eating it all as if it's just for him. He ought to be gentle about the whole thing, ask Elvis a question calmly and innocently.

Instead, as any sensible friend who’s seen you naked and bleeding and cryin’ for your mama does, he steals two pieces of bacon and sits down in the chair across from his best friend and chomps on said bacon before asking one, singular question: "What are you doing?"

Elvis's hand darts out with a speed that betrays his army training to grab the other piece of bacon only to be rebuffed with a frown. "Eating bacon, Charlie. Ya suddenly blind now? Short and blind, what a catch for ya wife."

Charlie visibly recoils and waits for Elvis to apologize or give him some clue that the statement was just his normal, playful ribbing. The crunch of the bacon disabuses him of that notion as the minutes tick by. "We got a family so she must've seen something in me. Just thankful she didn't see you first."

"Ain't that everyone's damn thanks. Thankful I didn't see their wives back then but if I see 'em now they ain't gotta worry. Women don't go for this body like they did back in the day." Elvis stabs at his eggs and Charlie—Charlie thinks he knows what's going on and he can't help but roll his eyes internally.

"Did some woman turn you down and now you're moping? Over a plate of bacon after church?" He tries to keep the judgment out of his voice but there's still a hint there that he can't do away with.

If looks could kill as well as every gun both he and Elvis have ever used, Charlie's certain in this moment he would be preparing to go to sleep in his eternal resting place. As it stands he once again realizes that perhaps he ought to not poke his absolute bear of a best friend. Elvis's next words punctuated by another crunch of bacon and a laugh so bitter Charlie's never heard it come from him seals that idea.

"Oh. Charlie, my boy, my boy, that would have been better. I would have handled that like a champ," he shakes his head, "ya 'member Mrs. Harris? The—the woman I told ya 'bout?"

“Yeah, the one with the niece and the husband who can’t work his way ‘round a wrench. What about—?” Charlie stops mid sentence and stares long and hard at Elvis trying to school his face into something normal and something less like he looks about ready to murder him before realizing it’s impossible and saying the first words that come to mind in the most hushed tone he can manage. “Wasn’t one of your rules you wouldn’t sleep with a married woman?”

Elvis can’t help but curse the fact that Charlie has seen him through some of, if not the worst, parts of his life and can regrettably read him like an open book sometimes. He doesn’t answer with words. Instead he allows himself to eat a piece of toast that is both soggy and crispy all at once. His silence is practically deafening before Charlie exhales.

“You—ou got me thinking your daddy died or something and all this is because you slept with another man’s wife? A man who’s practically ignoring her despite how she looks like a—” Elvis swallows and holds up his pointer finger before practically growling.

“Not other fuckin’ word, Hodge. Not a single fuckin’ word. Lilly ain’t some fuckin’ European floozy we forgot ‘bout the next day. Don’t ya say ‘nother fuckin’ word.”

A chuckle leaves Charlie’s mouth despite his best efforts to stop it. Elvis is moping about a woman alright, just not the way Charlie thought he was. He wouldn’t have—He loves Elvis, he does but he would have never predicted him managing to charm a woman like that if she didn’t know who he was beforehand. If she didn’t know him as he was when they both came back from the war, both struggling with things they had seen yet pared down to a lean type of beauty: the scraggly pines that grew on Italian mountaintops. Yet maybe, just maybe, there was hope. Very stupid and unwise hope, but hope nonetheless that Elvis might be able to enjoy the same sort of life he has.

"Cursing on the Lord's day. At me. She's got you—pass me your whole pig's worth of bacon and tell me what happened, E."

Elvis stares at the plate and lets out a heavy sigh as he scoots the plate over. “It ain’t a whole pig’s worth of bacon.”

“It’s as big as my head.” Charlie states, motioning to get the attention of one of the waitresses in an attempt to get a plate and different food even as he eats a piece of bacon.

“Ya have a tiny head, Hodge. Like a damn lil hedgehog.”

Meanwhile across town Lilly finds herself in her sister’s kitchen, sitting at her dining room table with the light of the sun shining on her through the window. Her sister Melly busies herself with the finishing touches of a lunch for the two of them and Jerry. Lilly had tried to help only to be waved off with an ease that had her sitting down in the chair watching, her hands settling on her stomach as they had been since that fateful afternoon. It’s too soon to know, she reasons, too soon to know if Elvis’s seed took and has filled her empty womb with a child she’s craved for years. Yet her hands gravitate there anyway, almost trying to provide a cradle as if to tell the child she hopes is forming inside her that it’s okay to stay, it’s alright and that she’ll be their mother. She’ll take such good care of them and they’ll get to meet their cousins. They’ll get to meet their cousins and grow up with the one swelling underneath Melly’s apron.

Melly notices this, of course, notices how her sister is cradling her belly and yet she doesn’t dare ask. She doesn’t dare ask if Nathan’s finally done right by her sister and given her the baby she so desperately wants. Her chest hasn’t changed and she hasn’t felt a firmness when she’s brushed against her but perhaps it’s just too early.

“You’re looking happier,” Melly comments as she sets down the plates of food. She leaves Jerry’s on the counter, knowing her husband will grab it when he comes back inside from dealing with the yard.

Lilly can’t help the way she smiles slightly and practically preens at the acknowledgment that she seems happier. Elvis might not be—Elvis might not have been by since that afternoon but there was something so beautiful about his actions, so gentle and nourishing about him that it stuck with her. The throbbing in her vagina’s finally stopped after days of her cupping it and playing with it next to Nathan’s snoring body, wishing her fingers were thicker and longer and wishing it was Elvis’s cock sliding in and out of her. That he was keeping her full and telling her he’s got her, he’s always got her while filling her with so much of his release that there’d be no other choice but to swell with his child.

She doesn’t dwell on the fact that it’s taken another man to make her feel a way she hasn't for years. She can’t dwell on that because it’s improper and she’d like to just bask in the glow of everything for now. She’d like to bask in the glow of things before a different glow would overtake her.

“I feel happier.” Lilly answers, still continuing to grin as she digs into the food. There’s a hint of nausea at some of it but she chalks it up to being hungry. “I feel different.”

Melly’s eyebrows both move upward as she settles into her chair and takes a bite of her toast first, knowing how her stomach reacts to food without a bland base to start off with. “Different. Does that have anything to do with Nathan and you? Anything you want to tell me?”

Lilly’s hand stills in its subconscious rubbing as her eyes widen. “No. Not—not yet.”

There’s something that shifts in Melly, a brightness that shines through as she looks at Lilly. If she is pregnant it's too soon to tell but the idea that she'd be carrying her second while Lilly is finally carrying her first delights her in ways she can't put into words. It's perhaps a secret dream she's always had. The scrape of her chair against the linoleum is harsh to both their ears and yet it’s a small price to pay for the feel of Melly’s hand against her stomach.

“You’ll tell me as soon as you know?” Melly’s voice comes out as a whisper, as if she’s scared to speak it any louder. “You’ll tell me I’ll have a niece or nephew on the way?”

Lilly nods quickly as she hears the door open and hears Jerry’s voice carry into the kitchen. Melly’s hand moves off of her stomach as quick as can be before Jerry pops his head in and smiles. “Won’t ask what you two were doing before I got here.”

Life doesn't stop that Sunday and instead continues on and on with one week passing by and then another and another until Lilly knows she's due for her cycle and yet it doesn't appear. Her underwear remains pristine and white with not a drop of blood in sight. She doesn't dare tell Melly or anyone yet, knowing it could be a fluke, a stress induced issue but she swears she feels her womb hardening. She swears she feels it bloating in a way that feels different than what comes before her cycle. Perhaps, perhaps Elvis had done it. Perhaps Elvis had filled her and their child was forming unbeknownst to either of them. It occurs to her that she should try and reach out to him and see if he can come by her home. There's nothing that's broken for him to be fixed and yet he deserves to know what's happening inside her. That soon her stomach will round outward and their child will kick and roll and grow inside of her. That she is still married but it would be cruel to deprive him of ever knowing of their child.

It's too soon for him to know, she'll tell him when she's sure, when there's no mistaking what has happened to her because of their actions that afternoon. She'll tell him then, she'll convince him to come by and press his hand against her stomach so he can feel what he's—what she wished and prayed to have happen even as he washed himself out of her. He ought to be able to be in their life somehow because he's their father and he'd make such a brilliant one. He'd make such a brilliant one and her mind traitorously tells her it's a shame she wouldn't be raising the child with him.

Six weeks is a long time for him to be avoiding Lilly and he knows that. He knows that she didn't deserve to be left out in the cold like that—to be left without company and companionship like that but he can't help it. He can't help how his mind drifts when his exhaustion sets in remembering how her body felt against his when they danced and when she sagged against him. It’s a sin to covet a man’s wife as much as he covets Lilly. It’s a sin to want to be in another man’s home taking care of his wife in any way she’ll let him. It’s a sin and yet it feels so right, it feels like he’d be doing what he’s meant to be doing. Elvis is not her husband and yet his mind—his traitorous mind and soul tells him he should be and tells him she needs him in some way. She’s been happier, he thinks, since that afternoon—and his mind tells him that he had something to do with that. There’s a glow about her and it draws him in like a moth to a flame before he pulls himself away every Sunday when she passes off her niece. A nagging thought crosses his mind as the weeks go by and he swears that glow is stronger every time he sees her, that perhaps it wasn’t just happiness and joy causing her to glow that way. He ought to ask her and yet the idea feels invasive in a way that makes him think he has to find the right time for it. If his suspicions prove to be correct, he figures they both will need time to process it.

Six weeks is a long time for him to avoid her and it makes it so that when he gets a call that sounds like Lilly crying there isn’t a moment of hesitation before he finds himself jumping into his truck and driving to her house she shares with her husband. Her door is unlocked and he wants to admonish her for it, tell her that she shouldn’t leave the door unlocked because you never know who might come in but then he sees her. He sees her tear stained face and her rumpled dress and fears the worst. A flash of pure anger courses through his veins as his mind swirls with possibilities of why she’s crying. Why her face and body betray such anguish that it twists his gut and has his mouth opening to speak before her voice sounding so small in a way he’s never heard interrupts him.

“I was waiting. I was being careful!” Her words don’t make sense to Elvis even as his eyes trace over her form and around the house where they’re standing as if either thing holds the clue for what’s going on. As if some part of the way she’s carrying herself—hunched over—or the way things seem out of place—her lunch was sitting on the table only half eaten—would explain what’s happening, why she had called him crying, muttering about needing to fix things.

His tone is soft and comforting as he moves to touch her shoulder, to pull her into some form of a hug. “Darlin’—” The word slips out before he can stop himself but he continues. “What’s… what’s wrong?”

Her eyes look up at him and he’s struck by how bloodshot they look. How long had she been crying? How long had her body been wracked by sobs that no one was there to comfort her from? Elvis watches as her mouth opens and closes several times before she shakes her head. “I—the oven is broke again.”

“Lil—Mrs. Harris, things I fix don’t break like that. Not this quick.” He tries to defend his work, knowing there’s no Earthly way that it was broken already. He had made sure to fix it, he had made sure that her oven wouldn’t need his touch for quite a long time after he was inside of it that day. In the back of his mind he thinks he’s missing something.

“It’s broken, Mr. Presley. It’s broken and can’t keep heat and bake anything and I’ll call someone else over if you won’t fix it. Just please take a look at it. Just make it work like I thought it was.” Lilly’s voice shakes but doesn’t waver when she speaks. If anything it seems to get stronger the longer she speaks. It seems she’s more insistent with every word that comes from her mouth. Something is broken—the oven he was supposed to fix is broken and she wants him to check it again. That nagging feeling grows as he looks at her in confusion. He prides himself on being a smart enough man, but… maybe it’s because she clouds his judgment. He can’t tell what she’s talking about.

“Lil—Lilly, why did you call me here?” He manages to almost stutter out the words, wincing he hears it. She has to answer him when he asks point blank, doesn’t she?

Lilly is silent for the longest while and Elvis thinks he pushed too hard, thinks that he’s overstepped for once—twice—in their friendship and opens his mouth to apologize before she grabs his hand and places it on her stomach. In a rush everything clicks into place for Elvis and swears his heart stops. He should move his hand and yet he can’t, it’s almost as if there’s a magnet keeping his hand attached to her stomach. The oven is broken, her oven is broken and empty and can’t keep heat.

The night before, when his body gave out and had him sleep he tossed and turned over images of him and Lilly together. Images of her swollen with a child and laughing next to him. He remembers being on his knees kissing her still-flat stomach and laughing with her hand over his and telling her how she’s made him the happiest man alive. He could still hear her giggles ringing in his ears when he woke up. That was fantasy, a dream dreamed up by an old man who shouldn’t be dreaming of a life with a woman he isn’t married to and who is married to another. They’re brilliant company for each other but—but she is not his wife and he is not her husband.

“I’m sorry.” Elvis whispers the words and they feel so insubstantial, so insignificant to what he feels in this moment. The sorrow he feels for her being fed by her tears and the way her silence just drags on and on. Perhaps this was his doing, perhaps there was something there and he had broken it. Perhaps—perhaps he should have been selfish and not cleaned his release from her. Or perhaps—he can’t dwell on it. It threatens to drive him mad if he does.

And yet his mind can't shake another time and place where his hand is there for another reason, with her hand over his, a smile on her face instead of tears rolling down her cheeks and onto his suit as she curls into a hug he offers. She looks so young and yet like she's been crushed by the world all at once. A flower run over on the side of the road, soaked in the gutter. The attempt he finally makes to move his hand is thwarted by her own grasping his wrist, forcing him to press down to feel that she's bloated but still very empty.

It was supposed to be different. Things were supposed to go well, she had prayed and begged and cradled her womb and for what? For her cycle to be off and there to be blood mocking her in her underwear? For there to be cramping that feels like it might threaten to tear her in two. No one she’s known has lost a baby, there’s no one she can ask to see if that’s what’s happening. If the child she swore was growing from the moment Elvis released inside of her not once but twice was gone. Or if there just wasn’t one at all and she had been deluding herself. Either option feels almost unbearable and feels like a lead weight in her stomach.

Elvis doesn’t speak and Lilly’s thankful for it. Her dream of telling him and them figuring out how he would be involved has been flushed down the toilet multiple times today and is currently flowing between her legs. Her hand finally loosens its grip on his wrist and her chest tightens as she looks into his eyes. Those blue eyes shouldn’t be so caring, they shouldn’t look so caring when looking at her. There shouldn’t be sympathy in those eyes directed toward her or her empty womb. Yet there is and Lilly is struck not for the first time at how different Elvis is from Nathan. She’s struck by how she’s been in this sort of position before with her husband and she doesn’t recall there being nearly as much care and—dare she even pretend?—-anguish in his gaze. She remembers frustration at himself or, or her? She doesn’t know. She can’t recall just now.

“I—I was late,” She starts, and shakes her head, sniffling. “I was late for my cycle and I didn’t—I don’t know why I called you.”

Elvis doesn’t dare say the first thoughts that come to mind. Doesn’t dare tell her that he thinks she knows exactly why she called him because the mere idea shouldn’t be put into words. He’s already damned himself and her anguish, her pain is perhaps a consequence of it. Had he not given in to his baser urges perhaps Nathan would have given her a child that she could tell him she was growing inside of her. If he hadn’t given into his baser urges she wouldn’t have thought his child was growing inside of her. He shuts his eyes, trying to not think of the image of her swollen with his child once again.

“Comfort?” The word as an answer feels safe and from the look on Lilly’s face, how it relaxes just a little bit and how her hunched over position straightens out even as she grimaces in pain he was right. However, that urge to fix that had caused so many problems rears its ugly head again and Elvis knows he should ignore it but the grimace on her face reminds him that she’s in pain and to leave her in pain without attempting to help her feels cruel. It feels cruel to just allow her to deal with this on her own. Perhaps that’s why she had called him, taken the chance that he wouldn’t want her to be alone in this situation. Taken the chance to assume he missed her and just wants what he's craved from her more than anything else: her company.

A nod is the only thing she manages before her body is wracked with another flare of pain as Elvis watches. He’s never—he’s never been here when she’s on her cycle so he doesn’t know if this is normal or not but he remembers June and remembers the other girls and knows, in this moment, he can’t leave her like this. Especially after she had called him. His mind tries to think back on what other women would do before he remembers how some would curl up in bed and ask for heat and any number of other things. The flash of memory at her in the bath after their activities and a flash of a fantasy of her in the bath with him runs through his thoughts until he shakes his head to clear it.

“Missus—Lilly. Darlin’, I—wouldn’t it be better to be laying down? For your pain?” His words are chosen as carefully as he can and yet he still feels like he might have said the wrong thing until he sees her move to lean and sag against him as if he’s the only thing that’s going to keep her standing in this exact moment.

“My—oh, just help me to my bedroom, you don’t—” The words are lost as Elvis picks her up, earning a bit of a shocked gasp from her. “You don’t have to pick me up, I can w-walk.”

Elvis stays silent for a moment or so as he walks, ignoring the ache in his knees that tell him he should have prepared more for this. That he should have known better than to pick Lilly up like this and yet he finds that it’s easy to ignore the ache as her protest grows a little quieter and she practically burrows into his hold. He is not her husband and yet he wonders if her husband’s ever done this for her. Ever treated her with care when she’s like this.

Nathan had noticed her pain that morning and brushed it off, much to Lilly’s frustration. It’s not that she wanted him to know she had engaged in a transgression but she was his wife and she was in pain. Jerry had made sure Melly was taken care of after Lizzie and Nathan couldn’t even be bothered to call her sister or anyone. The neglect is what feels like an even worse knife than the one she swears she feels in her lower stomach. The neglect is why she called Mr—Elvis. Even in the short time she’s at least partially known him—the actual him, not the image she had of the man who taught her niece’s Sunday school—has taken care of her and hasn’t left her to rot and wallow in her pain and loneliness. He’s kept her company and fixed so many things around her house that at this point she’s thinking she’s going to have to break things just to have an excuse to get him to visit under the guise of working.

She knows she shouldn’t relax in his hold, she shouldn’t burrow into his arms like he’s her husband and he’s just carrying her to their bed but she can’t help it, the sheer joy and calmness that settles over her from the care he shows overwhelming her. His arms allow her to feel safe in the moment, help her to forget how much pain she’s in physically and mentally. They are a balm to her aches even as she potentially causes some for him. It doesn’t take too long for him to reach her bedroom, using his body to open the door the entire way from its cracked open position. Lilly hears him sigh and feels his head move to try and avoid looking around before she feels him shift her in his arms.There’s a difference, she thinks, in knowing that he would have to eventually set her down on her bed and him actually doing it.

A shiver runs through her body that has Elvis’s grip tightening as he moves his hands away. It’s not cold and yet here she was shivering like she was that fateful night.

“You alright?” he murmurs, low and questioning in a way that he shouldn’t be.

“You’re warm,” she whispers back at him, looking into his eyes and trying to pretend that answers everything. Pretend that telling him he’s warm will get him to stay and comfort her until it’s time for Nathan, cold, icily indifferent Nathan to be home. “I feel—it felt good.”

Elvis opens his mouth to speak before his breath catches in his throat at the sheer intensity of the look she’s giving him. He can’t put a name to what he sees in her eyes, only that it threatens to overwhelm him if he stares at her for too much longer. He has to leave, he needs to go back to work or home or just somewhere where her eyes aren’t burning holes into his soul. He finally starts to step away only for Lilly’s arm to find its way in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. Her hand moves to grab his and grasps it so tightly he can’t wrench it from her.

“Can you—can you stay?” She asks, quiet as a church mouse and looking as if she expects him to say no. As if she expects to be left alone to deal with things once again. It makes his stomach roil and twist and he feels almost like throwing up before he moves to sit down on the bed.

“Not for too long, Lilly,” he answers, as he watches her move to the other side of the bed, letting go of his hand as she does. He sits down, groaning slightly as he does at the feel of her bed underneath him. It dips more than it did when she was occupying the same spot, his weight causing the springs to creak just a bit more. Lilly waits until he gets comfortable to move closer to him. He stays sitting, his body leaning against the headboard, not even daring to try and lay down in her marriage bed. It makes trying to cuddle with him harder than it should be but after a moment of a deliberation she settles on laying her head in his lap. The warmth of his belly seeps into her head, soothing any headache she’s gained from crying and the vantage point allows her to feel encased in what feels like a protective shell. Elvis tries to keep his hands to himself but as he feels Lilly settle against him and sees every wince and shift his hands move to her hair, running his fingers through it. Scratching ever so softly against her scalp. Lilly’s sigh tells him it was the right thing to do and emboldens him to sing, breathe out into the world the first song that comes to mind when he thinks of her.

Lilly hears Elvis’s voice singing Jo Stafford to her, a song she’s only heard once or twice before but it feels so romantic that something inside her chest feels warm and feels almost like it’s blossoming the more she hears his voice singing in that low tone, his hands flowing through her hair.

“But just remember, darling, all the while, you belong to me,” he sings, watching as Lilly’s eyes start to flutter shut, the pain and the emotions of today getting the best of her. The more he sings the more he realizes he wishes those words were true. The more he wishes he wouldn’t have to leave in a few hours. But she is not his wife and he is not her husband and he’ll leave in a few hours as he should. He’ll leave after he shakes her awake lightly, grimacing as she winces in pain and as her eyes practically beg him to stay once again. He'll leave watching her curl back into her sheets but won't see her head move to where he had been sitting or see her hands grab at the pillow that had been behind his back.

She will wake up alone right before Nathan comes home. She will wake up to a simple dinner made with two plates on the table.

She calls him back over the next day.

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted, @marriedtopresley, @memphis-menace, @steph-speaks, @coolgirl462, @vintageshanny, @memphisflash1935-1977, @j-v-9-2, @sexystarfish, @duhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, @jessicarcates, @chirssycrumble9456789, @shantellescrivener, @yomammalolha, @honey6578, @urmom11111111111119, @myradiaz, @elvispresleyxoxo, @tryingtogettoelvis, @joegramoe, @rainblue-art, @fav-fanficssss, @moodyblueriver, @misspresley, @fallinlovewithurlove, @ash-omalley, @yynneessmons good heavens, i think that's everyone. those of you who didn't get the tag, know i'm gonna head to the messages within the day. also i including those of you who reblogged the first chapter. i would have done likes as well but there- there was a hefty chunk and i didn't know for sure if you all wanted to be tagged.

additional explanation: so if you haven't just read the fic instead of just scrolling down to the bottom to see what's up, hello. but even if you did just read the fic, let the record show that i myself did write this with the idea that lilly had a very early miscarriage. and it's why i added a tag just in case for it since i know some people avoid the subject matter for their own mental health. however i purposefully left it nebulous because she herself wouldn't know for sure and it's- the same result occurs either way, she is not pregnant and that wrecks her emotionally because she had put so much stock in the possibility that she would be. no matter what if she wasn't pregnant she was going to be sad and depressed and generally in a state of anguish. so, you can read this whichever way you want, it does not really change the intent/what happens afterward in this. but i didn't want to directly spoil all of you in the warnings especially since it causes a turning point of sorts, but i also don't want anyone to be in duress because of me. also i promise honestly these two have a happy ending, just trust me like y'all trusted me with professor presley, okay?

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x oc #big daddy elvis #big daddy and lil darlin'#elvis x lilly #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley smut #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #spark universe #elvis x reader #crawfever adjacent #elvis #ally writes #tw: miscarriage

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mdhwrites · 8 months

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So if Dana said she didn't have any original season 3 ideas, why did she also say on Twitter that she wanted 10-20 half hours for season 3?

Now apparently from the transcript and the like, what was said that there were like one sentence pitches for episodes but nothing concrete or the like. That I believe. After all, it's like taking sticky notes and using them to jot down passing thoughts. But... Ideas don't mean anything. You need to have an actual coherent thought as to how you are going to use those ideas as a creator.

So when she says she wanted those episodes, I believe her. But... Instead of it being so she could have coherently finished her story, something you can feel isn't exactly happening during S3, it would have been to explore her ideas and let it be her mouthpiece. Even as far back as S1, you can clearly see this conflict in the show. The First Day lets her take potshots at modern education and saying kids should have more freedom... At the expense of everyone forgetting that multi-tracking is literally illegal. But the idea was more important than the overall story so in it went.

Besides, when asked about your work that you cherish so much, are you going to tell people you wanted LESS time to do whatever you wanted? Or are you going to say you wanted as much time as possible? Especially since without a solid plan, you can't be like Matt Braley who straight up went "Nope. Amphibia wasn't shortened. It was always planned to be three seasons."

I still stand by the idea that Dana actually wanted to just keep going WELL past S3. Even now, she wants to do a spin off and one of her greatest regrets for what was missed was not being allowed to do more teenage Raeda stuff in the show. A second episode in the past. Expanding on what? Who knows but it's more time spent with the ship that Dana clearly loved.

I am not saying Dana was lying or a bad person but the question that is worth asking is if that time would have been spent actually wrapping up plot threads or exploring characters as they are now. Otherwise, it would end up being like the S2B and S3 we got where we are still getting elements added, refusing to wrap up story elements, and having to drag back plot points from almost entire seasons ago (Willow and Amity's friendship), if not MULTIPLE seasons ago (Willow's lack of power control) just to do something with these characters despite it being way too late to treat those elements as relevant. There is a reason why if I hear that Dana is the lead for another cartoon, I'll probably be staying away. Not when I don't want promising statements to never have a plan behind. Not again.

Expected this to be shorter. I'm rambly though. Also just wanted to clear this out. Admittedly, it's stuff like this that makes it so that if anyone ever told me they didn't trust me as a writer, I'd understand. Not because of me wasting time but because my mental health gets in the way and can cause ideas to die as my brain just refuses to write them. How we as writers use our time with the audience is important. It leaves an impression and for me, Dana's impression is incredibly negative because I care about story, even if characters come first to me.

Sigh.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

#the owl house criticism #toh critical #toh #the owl house

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slushiepizza · 8 months

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hi slushie (my redacted blog is cashandprizes in case this helps)! saw your post about work stuff and idk if any of this will help but just some ideas. for context i will say I'm also in school and working part time at an office job and can definitely struggle somedays to stay on task!

Category 1: skills/techniques

Organize your stuff - but not how other people tell you, in a way that works for your brain. So many people will tell you to get a planner and if regular journaling/writing doesn't work for you, this probably won't. I will say I make a google calendar for each class and put assignments and reminders in before the semester starts from the syllabus. As for work stuff, honestly I have my basic tasks that I'm always doing and the rest I get five million messages about in the work group chat. But this might not work for your brain! Maybe you're a sticky note person, or maybe you like phone reminders. Maybe you need fun notepads like this. You know your brain best.

Figure out the optimal background noise configuration to make your brain work. Some people put on music, others put on podcasts, some people listen to nature sounds, some people need complete silence (noise-canceling headphones are great for this). If you know you've been most productive in school libraries or coffee shops, find that ambience and play it. I always recommend mynoise because it really helped me during the pandemic and there's so many noise machines (nature sounds, public spaces where people "talk", ambiance, music, etc.) - I find the brain "hacking" (binural beats) are adjustable enough to keep me focused without being too anxious and can be hidden under music. But there's always youtube asmr or lofigirl or any number of other things - again, you're your own best expert

Timing. I'm a major pomodoro fan, because I find the work-break-work-break-work-long break system really helpful for not just keeping me on task but reminding me to get up and stretch. pomfocus allows you to modify the timers and I like it a lot, but you can also use a phone timer. what's useful for me is knowing that there's a set time limit - all things end, and I can keep trying and being unsuccessful but at least i did it for that whole time. idk, works for me, maybe it will work for you. or not, that's okay too!

Reward system. the rewards might be the most important part (might just be me). sometimes motivation is getting to the reward, sometimes it's being done, and if it's getting to the reward you gotta have a fun reward. I have set things to be my rewards that I enjoy (playing five minutes of a phone game, watching a video, scrolling down tumblr) like I made a playlist of shorts and short videos on youtube to watch during breaks. That and stretching out my body helps a lot and reminds me to stay focused when I am working.

Good snacks. I had a professor in undergrad tell me "if you're going to have a meeting with yourself you need a good snack" and she was wrong about a lot of things but not that. sometimes having an easy and yummy snack food and a yummy drink makes the difference when you're working.

Figure out what distracts you and plan for it. the thing is you can't eliminate every distraction, right? but if you plan for how to handle them, that can help. so first figure out what gets you distracted (silent enough to hear your thoughts, hearing other conversations, being cold/hot, uncomfortable chair, etc.) and see if you can manage that or plan for it. for example my office is freezing in the summer and sweltering in the winter, so I dress in layers and keep a snuggie in my desk when I'm on campus because if I don't i will spend all day complaining about the temperature and not working. do i look ridiculous in the snuggie, sure, but i wasn't shivering and got my stuff done.

Category 2: support systems

accountability buddies. if you have friends or coworkers or whoever that you can be like "ok. i am going to do this. if you see me on discord/tumblr please fist fight me" that is so helpful. sometimes when I'm working remotely I will sit in discord vcs to parallel play because I know it keeps me accountable for doing my work. if you can find or make something like that happen, it might help you stay on task or keep you motivated?

friends/supports in general. sometimes it's really nice to just talk about how you're struggling. they can't always fix it, but it can be nice to just be heard and validated. also, if you have coworkers, they might have had similar experiences or you might all be struggling, which could be an indicator that you are not The Drama

talking with supervisors/advisors/etc. definitely daunting, but sometimes talking to supervisors can be helpful - or it can suck. try to figure out their vibes and ask other coworkers first. you might also be able to get resources from your advisor, trusted professors, campus resources, etc. that are worth investigating.

i'll keep it short, but i always feel obligated to ask if you've considered therapy - it's because i'm in therapy school and this is my life sorry. it's not for everyone, but some people find it useful.

wow jesus sorry this was so long. i hope maybe any of this was helpful??? i am sorry you are struggling and i hope you have some good outlets to work through it and some solid friends. i hope things improve!!! wishing you the best (also i love your art not totally related but we praise your art constantly in the discord)

Hi, Lexi. Thank you so much for giving such a detailed explanation omg :")) it definitely helps a lot and it gives me peace of mind to have actionable steps like you've given me, I will try to apply them and hopefully they can help me get back on my feet again. And thank you for the kind words, and for always supporting my art; your kindness gives me the strength to keep doing what I do ^^ To everyone else, I hope these tips can be of use to you too!!

#slushiesaves #slushieanswers

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howlofhades · 1 year

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Wait, but I love these things! The shipping thing - cause it teaches you about your followers AND your ocs. It's like a 2 for 1 deal!

Anyway! I would love to see who you would pair me with. I'm shy, and quiet. I prefer reading, writing, and listening to music over any social event, and I love listening to other people talk, even if I don't have anything to add. Do tend to be very family oriented, but thats a side effect of coming from a large family. I'm average height, and at the moment my hair is green. I wear glasses all of the time.

I hope you have fun with this!!

❤️ - vodika-vibes

Honestly, I'm really excited to give these a try and see how they go!

I've read this over multiple times, and read through every oc notes that I have in my discord server where I store all my ocs stuff! So here's my thoughts! I'm not sure if these are accurate but here we go:

At first Storm came to mind, and hear me out I know he's a chaotic mess and not everyone can deal with him, he's a mess okay and we roll with it. But he's good with everyone you name it, he can fit in with everyone. Storm is intense just like his namesake, he doesn't always adore social events. Sure he can handle them, but not everyone can handle him if that makes sense? He'd never force you to come to social events, you wanna stay home? Bet, he's all for it. He might even suggest some music, he has some pretty good songs on his playlist, so of you need some songs bet consider it done! He can talk a lot, when he's super excited he'll talk really fast, please tell him to settle down he needs it.

If you're okay with it, he'd ask you questions about the book your reading, it gets him to settle down and he gets to listen to you what more could he want? Storm would absolutely love your hair, he'd think it's so cool! And your glasses? He loves them! If you need him to meet your family at any point, that's okay. Storm wants to make it easy for you, he can handle it even if he is secretly stressed but he won't let it show.

He'd absolutely read to you at night if you ever want him to.

I know Storm is too intense for some people, he's just not for everyone so I wanted to add someone who's on the quieter side of things.

Frey! I haven't talked about him too much so this also gives everyone the chance to learn about him. He's not chaotic unless put with anyone who is relatively chaotic, then he will raise hell. His ideal date would probably be sitting in silence with a book, which by the way Frey will annotate for you which when he's done he'll give it to you. Whenever he has to leave, he'll leave sticky notes for you to find with reminders and poetry that reminds him of you. He might even say that whenever he leaves, you keep apart of him here.

Social events aren't for him, unless Crimson and Pluto drag him and Bear there. Frey would never let someone disrespect you, it doesn't get past him ever. He always loves to know what you're reading, and if he can get you some new books to try. He'd be your biggest supporter when it comes to your writing. He's not an open book, and he doesn't talk too much not like Storm.

This boy is soft for you but will always deny it, you've stolen his heart but he's not complaining and he never will. Whenever you take your glasses off, he'll gently kiss your nose. He loves your glasses, he thinks your hair makes you unique! Frey tends to be an asshole but he won't let you see that, or he tries.

Even though you're shy and quiet, Frey isn't put off by that. He'll always come to your defense, nothing gets past him but he also knows when to keep his mouth shut but that doesn't always work. The first time he meets your family, he's tense he just stands there very out of place but as time goes on he gets better and eventually he will fit in.

#blue posts #blue's ocs #blue's oc rambles #blue's oc ship thing #oc ship thing #frey #storm #arc trooper storm #blue answers #blue's asks #blue's anons #from the galaxy #i wrote a lot for frey #oops im rambling #501st clone oc storm

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blaqtarentino · 2 years

Text

How I Made a Music Video in my Living Room

youtube

No money, no friends who want to be on camera, and an idea that I know will blow.

Problems, meet solutions.

Stargazing is a 2022 song by Atlanta Afrobeats artist Apollo Omenka. Upon first hearing the song a tale of lovers separated by a wartime draft came to me and was quickly placed in my notes app until the future, which is now.

First things first, was the shotlist. My process is very fluid. I walk around and talk to myself when brainstorming and will either write stuff in my notes app, or on physical sticky notes. Thanks for this tip, Mom.

For Stargazing, I knew parts of the idea in my head and made great care to write those pieces down for when I was going to eventually execute. When I was ready to begin production and make the shotlist, I had planned to have a session later in the evening to write it out, but the idea was really fresh in my head earlier in the day, so I quickly grabbed my camera and started reciting out the shots I saw in my head as well I could for my future self to jot them down.

Having a quick and broken up format to describe my story was very helpful when on set and having to snipe out each scene. Organization is key to not losing your mind when making films. The best thing you can do for yourself is know it will be made and believe that shit. The second best thing you can do is be prepared.

I’ve provided a free shotlist template, as well as a slightly modified copy of the shotlist I used at the link below.

(https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1G5eb6WdXugm_ECXz2gWikFRLknLU3kGw?usp=share_link)

With a fun and relatively descriptive shotlist, we move into storyboarding.

Storyboarding is going to change your life. I’ve heard old niggas talk about the importance of storyboarding my entire time liking this film shit, and while I love to draw, the daunting process of drawing out my entire film made me sick. It’s as though I’m making my film twice- the exact benefit of doing them. This point was best illustrated to me by a video Kent Lamb did on Standard Story Company’s site, regarding animatics: https://youtu.be/Diu_Gj7p_50?t=357

“Who wouldn’t want the chance to see their movie before they make their movie?...It’s the director’s job to be the most well prepared person on set. How can you be anymore prepared, than if you’ve already made your film before you even showed up on set?” (Lamb).

Your form doesn’t need to be at a master’s level to get out the general location you want each actor or item in the shot. You could use squares saying what they are supposed to be, or perfect sharpie renders of each actor, the choice is yours. You simply just need to know where the important parts of the frame are and should be. I used two dedicated days and 55 sticky notes to create the storyboard for Stargazing. I already knew how I wanted to approach shooting, so the conclusion of storyboarding quickly transitioned into planning.

A snag I knew I would run into was filming myself and the other actor in the video, my wonderful girlfriend, Sonya. Through a chance encounter, I met a photographer at an event and enlisted his help in the shoot. Sending him, my shotlist, storyboards, and inspirations I prepared for the shoot day.

I drew lighting diagrams based on tests I had run a few days in advance to follow on the day. I used two Neewer 660 colored lighting panels. I used umbrella diffusion on one, and let the other shine raw, primarily using the diffused one as my main light for the subjects, with the raw light acting primarily as a backlight in most of my setups. This is the page from my notebook with the diagrams I used on set, primarily noting the color temp that I was going to use. I likely kept my intensity percentage consistent, a little under 30%. I was mostly concerned with matching the warmth of the backgrounds as much as I could.

The backgrounds for the shoot were generated using Midjourney AI. The application exists in a discord server, allowing a user to enter a prompt that the AI, using a database of reference, will build into an image. Following my multi day experiment turned existential crisis using it, I saw potential in its use to generate backgrounds, initially, for animated projects. I would come across a video from Film Riot making me realize I could take it a step further. The video, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FtzrU-6-Y0Y) served as a heavy inspiration for my shooting process going forward. Iterate through backgrounds I would need based on my shotlist and storyboards, and prepare to light my scenes to match. I’ll likely do a deeper dive into Midjourney over time, but I recommend it highly. My only caveat will be to remember that as a computer, it will be limited by what you feed it and what you expect to be given from it.

Shoot day was fun, my only advice simply to be as prepared as you can. The difference between this shoot and others I’ve done is that I finally organized my process from ground floor to the day of, allowing me to simply cross each shot off the list. The passionate artful fun is only eased through not having to think of all the rigid logistics. Things will always go awry when making films, but if you have a plan, confidence, and flexibility- then you’ll be just fine.

Next week I’m going to break down how I edited the video, including compositing and file organization. In the meantime, feel free to watch the final video here (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=478jMjOjN5Y).

Thanks for having a look in and I’ll see you soon.

#short film #music #afrobeats #behind the scenes #Youtube

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secretsofblackthornhall · 3 years

Text

Kieran to General Winter

General Winter,

Three sunsets. I told you, I have three sunsets. I will be back in just that amount of time. It is not a very long amount of time. And yet you have written to me, spent your valuable time and mine because you could not wait three sunsets to know whether I prefer velvet in midnight blue or one in more of an eggplant, I believe was your phrase.

Forgive me my temper. I am not really angry with you. I am only somewhat out of sorts this morning, after a night of merriment and whimsy on the streets of London-Town, along with my Nephilim friends. Now, obviously any faerie revel contains such dark delights as mortals can only dream, and so on. But after the previous night I must concede a grudging respect for the reveling capacities of an unexpected group: London businessmen of late middle-age. In our journeys we encountered what is known here as a “Retirement Party,” a kind of movable feast in which these businessmen traverse the city in celebration of a chosen one. In this case I knew him only as “Kraig.”

We met his Party thrice last night! The first time, at the Tongue & Grapes, we shared only a mutual acknowledgement of fellow celebrants passing in the night. The second time, at the Inn of the Shaved Werewolf, there were mutual roars of recognition from both parties, and a ceremonial exchange of beverages, as is custom. And the third time, at the Pigeon & Spoon, we were welcomed and—a great honor—inducted as honorary members of the Party, whereupon we were bestowed with festive hats and jersey-cotton smocks proclaiming the majesty of the great Kraig.

So you will understand if I am shorter of patience than I would like, this day, for I have a vile headache engendered by too much of what mortals call “shandy”, a repellent beverage with a kick like an angry kelpie. It quite left my darling Cristina asleep on a rather sticky table at the Pigeon and Spoon; Mark and I had to carry her back to the Institute. She is awake now, of course, and demanding coffee with rather more force than usual. Given that my time is short, I shall endeavor to answer your queries as well as I can.

I like the midnight blue, for the throne room. I think it sets off the creeping vines well, and also I think that you were hinting you prefer it as well. Next, I am in general agreement that the overall aesthetic of the throne rooms should move in the direction of an opulent Gothic feel, rather than its previous occupant’s preferred mood of “blasted hellscape.” Let us remind our Court that we are the Moon, as the Seelie Court is the Sun; rather than that they are Beauty, and we Tackiness.

However, I disagree about the skulls. I think they should remain. Skulls are perfectly appropriate in an opulent Gothic setting. In fact, I am hard-pressed to think of a style in which skulls would not be an improving presence. If such a style exists, it would definitely not be a good choice for the throne rooms of the Unseelie Lord, let us at least agree upon that.

Lastly, I am disturbed to hear that the Seelie Court continues to rebuff my requests for a summit of peace. You were right when you noted your suspicions earlier; they have become more secretive in this past year, even for them. We will see if our scouts manage to learn anything, although in my experience our scouts mostly seem to fall into forbidden romances with Seelie scouts and then they run off together; we lose something like four out of five that way. I suppose what I am saying is that I am not exactly holding my breath. (A charming human expression, is that not?)

You do not need to suggest to me that I contact Adaon; he is my own brother and I speak with him often. Whenever I bring up the possibility of a united court, or a meeting between myself and the Seelie Queen, he says the same thing: now is not the time for a summit that might lead to discord — now is the time to preserve the fragile peace between the two courts by leaving well enough alone. He has the Queen’s ear, so I must trust he knows what I do not. Still, you know it is not in my nature to do nothing and call it progress.

Speaking of that fragile peace, I must inquire—have your redcaps learned any more about the strange presence that has been noted in Faerie, and whether it is beneficial or antagonistic to our interests? I feel it through my connection to the Land — I am woken sometimes, feeling that presence I cannot define, knowing it is both of Faerie and not of it, and that the Land itself is afraid.

Enough of that. I trust that you can manage to keep the Court in working order for the thirty-six remaining hours I will be gone. If more color selection is necessary before my return, I trust you to go with your instincts, which have always served you well.

Until then I have the honor to remain Your Eternal Sovereign, Master of the Hob and the Domovoi, Breaker of the Broken Lands, Crown Under the Hill, Dark Star of the Evening, Friend of Kraig, and King of the Unseelie Court —

Kieran

#secrets of blackthorn hall #sobh #kieran

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reyescarlos · 3 years

Text

shoutout to my enablers on discord. here’s another snippet from the firefighter!Carlos AU~

The end of Carlos’ first day with the team can only be described as a success, though TK hadn’t been harboring any doubts that this wouldn’t be the case. If anything, Carlos somehow managed to blow past the already high hopes TK held.

Carlos was incredible in the field, so much so that TK felt as if Carlos had been with the crew right from the very beginning. He found small ways to talk to him, but for the most part, he kept his distance. It’d taken a great deal of self-control, but he managed to keep a friendly atmosphere and not give away the fact that his attraction has been laying roots.

He did, however, manage to find a way to reach out to Carlos while still keeping to the promise he made to himself. TK had gone into today hell-bent on playing it cool with Carlos.

A small welcome note seemed like a good option, a happy medium he slipped into the grate of Carlos’ locker.

As their shift comes to an end, the team retreating to the showers and getting dressed for home, TK wonders if Carlos will approach him before the day is officially over—or if he’s even noticed the note at all.

He gets his answer a few minutes later as he’s tying his laces.

“Is this from you?” comes Carlos’ voice to the right of him.

TK turns and is brought up short by the sight of a shirtless Carlos, his perfectly toned torso exposed and glistening with water droplets from the shower. TK forces his gaze upwards, endeared completely with Carlos’ wet curls. It takes TK a moment to focus on what Carlos is talking about until he sees the Post-it note in the man’s hand.

“Yeah, I just thought...I don’t know. I wanted to say ‘welcome’ without being all up in your face, I guess.”

Carlos looks over the quick note and laughs.

“Consider it a success but, for the record, I wouldn’t mind you being all up in my face. This was really nice and I appreciate it. Thank you.”

TK’s eyes squint a bit at Carlos’ wording, but he cast the thought aside that he could actually mean anything by it. It’s more than likely that he’s simply wishing for more than what’s actually there.

“Don’t mention it.”

Carlos smiles warmly at him and for a moment, TK finds it difficult to gather his thoughts.

“You did amazing work today, by the way. Really incredible for your first day.”

Carlos takes a seat beside him and TK’s blood races at their proximity. They’re close enough for him to smell Carlos’ body wash and shampoo. The scents embed themselves in his memory effortlessly. TK looks him over, unable to make his brain disengage from the fact that Carlos is practically naked and soaking wet beside him. He watches a drop of water descend down Carlos’ abs and get trapped in the towel at his waist.

This is far more than he can handle right now.

He forces himself to focus on Carlos’ face, but that’s hardly much better. There’s a loose curl hanging over his forehead that he just wants to touch and Carlos’ perfect bow shaped lips look so soft and inviting, he wants to test the feel of them with his own mouth.

TK clears his throat softly as Carlos speaks.

“Thank you. I’ll admit, I was pretty nervous at first, but this is such a great crew. You guys are amazing.”

Carlos looks around for a second, almost bashfully. He leans in a bit closer, his voice a notch lower when he speaks again.

“I know it’s only been a day, but I’m really happy here. Everyone’s been helpful and things like this,” he says, holding up the sticky note, “go a long way so, again, thanks for taking the time out. I don’t think you realize just how much it means to me.”

These words warm TK’s heart to hear. All he could possibly want is for Carlos to feel comfortable with the crew. They’ve become something of a family and TK can only imagine how intimidating it must be to be a newcomer to such a dynamic. He thinks back to Carlos’ interview, how candid he was in talking about having a safe space to work in.

It makes him feel a bit guilty for essentially lusting after the man so shamelessly.

“We’re all here for you, whatever you need. Whether it’s work or personal stuff, I think we all pretty much hit the jackpot in having people we can turn to.”

TK falters for a moment.

“My number is on the back of that note,” he says slowly.

Carlos looks surprised and turns the small piece of paper over.

“So yeah,” TK continues, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m around after hours too, any time, if you need me.”

Carlos glances back up at him and holds his gaze for a moment. TK doesn’t so much as blink even once. He knows his wording was loaded. He only hopes it doesn’t scare Carlos off.

“Noted,” is all Carlos says before getting up.

TK sighs softly and resumes packing up his things, this time with shaky hands as his boldness sinks in. He worries he’s coming on too strong, but the way Carlos looked at him just now felt charged.

TK sits up and breathes in, instantly regretting the decision. Carlos may be gone now, but his scent still lingers. It makes TK ache for the real thing again.

#911 lone star #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #ronenrubinstein #userthai #tuserpaige #tusersonia #useralie #actuallysara #userbones #useream #usernicholas #kimmy writes

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aperrywilliams · 4 years

Text

Pour Some Sugar On… Me? (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist

———————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Summary: What if Reader and Spencer want to try something new in bed?

Word Count: 6522.

Warnings: Smut (NSWF); 18+ (please respect that!). Sexual talk. Fingering. Oral (male/female). Spanking. Penetrative and unprotected sex. Food play.

A/N: This fic was written to my dear friend @spencers-dria in the 3rd Fic-Swap from @imagining-in-the-margins Discord Server. For reference, the song alluded here is this one.

——————–

Days off are a blessing and a curiosity in your job. It's not that you hate it; on the contrary, you couldn't be happier doing what you do, but there are times when you need to take a break. Working at the BAU is something you always dreamed of, and once you got it, you were still willing to give your 100%. But the last few months have been intense and stressful. So having a day off was welcome. Most welcome if you could spend time with your now-boyfriend Spencer. Wow, how weird that feels to you. After working at the BAU for almost five years with Spencer, it was only four months ago that you dared to confess your feelings for him. To your delight, he also admitted that he had feelings for you. Of course, the whole team already knew that, except for you two. But hey, as they say, better late than never, right?

The first date was almost dreamy. Like a real gentleman, he picked you up at your apartment. He took you to dinner in a nice and quiet place where you both could talk. You guys had a lovely time chatting and laughing at how blind both of you were for so many years being friends and not admitting that you liked each other. At the end of the date, at the door of your apartment, you saw how nervous he was, and you took your chance: you kissed him first. After that, things flowed the way you always wanted them to. Spencer was the most caring, loving, and amazing boyfriend you've ever had. All of your previous relationships didn't even compare to this. You were sure you loved Spencer, but neither of you dared to say the three words until the first time you both had sex. It took you longer than people say. You guys didn't do it after the fourth date or the fifth. It was after a case. At that time, you had already been dating for almost two months.

It had been a difficult case. It took more than eight days to find the unsub. The entire team made superhuman efforts to identify and catch the killer. But you were one of the most affected because the case was in your hometown. You knew some of the victims or their families. That had you on the brink of collapse, but you managed to stay focused, and it was even you who managed to connect the dots and arrest the unsub. All the case tension showed in you when you guys flew back to Virginia, and you burst into tears.

Spencer was the one who sat next to you and hugged you, holding you in his arms throughout the flight. Whispering words of reassurance to you and stroking your hair and back. That night you asked him if he could stay with you. You didn't know if you were okay enough to be alone. He, of course, accepted. Neither of you both was thinking about anything other than being with each other. Still, the kisses on the forehead became kisses on the cheek, then kisses on the lips, neck, collarbone... that's when the three words came out.

"You're the bravest woman I know. You're the best in your job, you care about people. I'll never stop to amaze by that quality of you. I love you, (Y/N)," Spencer whispered, his lips brushing yours. And maybe you kissed him for the first time, but he was who said to you 'I love you' for the first time, and you lost your mind.

You said it back almost instantly, throwing yourself into his arms to kiss him and repeat those three words over and over again. You got up from the couch and took his hand, guiding him to your bedroom. That first time was slow, loving, gentle. It was the living definition of 'making love.' It was unique, and you never felt more loved in your life.

Spencer could agree with you on that. He always told you that accepting the fact he wasn't a man with a lot of experience in sex, he felt that time was the first time he knew what it was like to make love and not just fuck someone. Maybe he didn't use those identical words, but it was basically what he meant.

After that first time, many followed. And saying 'many' may even be an understatement. Not long after, you realized that Spencer was always eager to touch you and to have sex with you every time he could. It wasn't something that bothered you, quite the opposite.

Sex with him was always great. He always cared to satisfy you and make you come before him at least once or twice. Even when the time was limited, Spencer never allowed himself to leave you without an orgasm.

Thinking about that, there was something about that passion on him that led you to wonder what the limits would be for Spencer in bed - if he really had them. Sure, everyone might have thought that sex with Spencer was mostly vanilla and innocent - if the word 'sex' and 'innocent' were allowed to be put in the same sentence. But something inside told you that he could be into other things, that he maybe could be into experimentation in bed. You didn't know if Spencer could be a kinky guy. He never talked about that. But you could feel that maybe he had something like that in him. You promised yourself to find out.

But that afternoon of your day off, you weren't exactly thinking about that. Instead, you were focused on replicating a recipe that Rossi had shared with you last week. The last time you went to his house for dinner, you fell in love with the dish he made on that occasion. Spencer had offered you to call for some take-out instead of cooking, but you were hell-bent on replicating Rossi's recipe.

While you were cooking, Spencer was in the living room reading a book. He had offered you help, but you decided against it. You'd rather make a mess in the kitchen without him seeing you, and besides, he had the right to spend his afternoon off without having to cook.

You liked to cook. You didn't do it frequently for lack of time. And because you weren't a very efficient person at cooking: you always used more utensils than necessary, spilling as much as could be spilled on the floor and on the counters. That meant every time you embarked on something in the kitchen, you had to spend a lot of time cleaning everything afterward. But it was your day off, so it didn't matter. Thus you connected your phone to the speaker you had in the kitchen, put on your favorite playlist, and got to work.

You lost track of time when you realized you were almost ready. Tasting the sauce at its temperature and flavor, you were satisfied with the result. So satisfied that you started dancing and singing as you began the arduous task of cleaning up your mess. Coincidentally, one of your favorite songs started on your playlist. That encouraged you to dance and sing more animatedly.

You have always been quite eclectic for your musical tastes, but you can't deny that your guilty pleasure was the '80 glam. Which you have only allowed yourself to enjoy in the privacy of your home, doing tasks as domestic as cleaning the kitchen, in this case. The best part of the song was playing, and you couldn't help but pick up the broomstick to dance around it.

[You got the peaches, I got the cream.

Sweet to taste, saccharine.

'Cause I'm hot - hot, say what, sticky sweet

From my head -head, my head, to my feet

Do you take sugar? One lump or two?

Take a bottle - take a bottle - shake it up - shake it up -

Break the bubble - break it up - break it up

Pour some sugar on me.

Ooh, in the name of love.

Pour some sugar on me.

C'mon, fire me up...]

Singing wasn't enough, so you didn't save energy to put a show dancing into the music's rhythm. You were at it when you turned around and saw Spencer watching you from the kitchen entrance. The blush rose to your cheeks immediately, you stopped dancing and singing, but you still didn't let go of the broomstick.

Spencer stood up from the couch because he wanted to check on how you were doing and if you needed any help. He could hear the music and how you sang, but he didn't think he would find you dancing using a broomstick as a pole. Because that's what you were doing, an authentic pole dance in the kitchen.

Moving your hips sensually, up and down, with sweat running down your body. Your wet shirt clinging to your body accentuating your nipples - because, of course, you weren't going to wear a bra on your day off. The scene itself made Spencer freeze staring at you. Worse yet, when you added the music to the stage, it brought Spencer into the hot dimension. He could feel beads of sweat accumulating on his forehead and how his lower half began to reveal a particular need for attention.

"Spencer, oh my God. I didn't see you here," you apologized. But he didn't say anything or moved from where he was. Because undoubtedly he was lost in thoughts. About what? Well, not of you sexy dancing in the kitchen. Not him imagining you dancing naked in front of him. Not him imagining you naked over the kitchen's counter whit spread legs. No, he wasn't thinking about how your body could taste with sugar on it.

"Spencer?" you repeated.

Shit. What's that? Someone is calling his name. Oh yeah. You.

"Uhm?" he barely replied.

"Something is wrong?" you asked hesitantly. You didn't know if Spencer was shocked in a bad way.

"Uh- no. Everything is okay..." Spencer assured you.

"You zoned out, you sure are you okay?" you insisted.

"Yeah. Perfect. More than okay," Spencer said, trying to regain some composure.

"Did you want to ask me something?"

"Oh. I - just if you needed help," Spencer offered, remembering why he was there in the first place.

"No baby, I'm okay. Thank you. I'm sorry for the show by the way," you stated with a grimace and a blush in your cheeks.

"What?"

"I'm not a good dancer as you could see," you joked. He smiled and looked at you from head to toe.

"I wouldn't say that... I wouldn't say that at all," he stated with a minimal perceptible smirk. You took his response as a cue to relax.

"Okay, well. I'm done with dinner and cleaning. I think I need a shower now. Could you set everything in the dining table?" you asked.

"Sure," he replied. You passed by his side, stole a peck from him, and headed to the bathroom.

Spencer stood in the kitchen doorway for a few more seconds before reacting. His mind wandered into the world of possibilities of things he could and want to do to you. His erection agreed with each and every one of them. He was amazed at himself at the things that went through his mind. Not that he has never thought of 'different' things to do in bed, but he had never been motivated enough or found a partner to do them. Maybe you were the one for that. Why not? Spencer promised to test waters with you when he got the chance, but for now, what he was clear about was that he wanted to fuck you hard after dinner.

Not only were you satisfied with the result of the dinner. Spencer congratulated you for replicating Rossi's recipe so well, even giving it your own special touch.

After the dishes, you both sat on the couch to watch TV. But Spencer was distracted enough to pay attention. You were curled up next to him with your arms around his torso. He had an arm around your neck, stroking your arm. Slowly he began to kiss your head while his free hand caressed your cheek. You raised your head to look at him and found his eyes fixed on you. You smiled at him, and he leaned to kiss you. You kissed him back. As the seconds passed, the kiss became more intense and passionate. Without thinking twice, you changed position to straddle him. Thus you guys started a making-out session. You could feel Spencer's eagerness matching with your own. That intensity transformed into moans and dancing hands on both of you.

"God (Y/N), you feel so good," he whispered in your ear.

"Uhm. You too, Spencer. So so good... so so sweet," you added.

Spencer couldn't help but bring to mind the moment he saw you dancing in the kitchen.

"Like sugar..." he mumbled in your neck, grabbing your ass with both hands.

"Sticky sweet..." you said offhand, grinding your hips forward, looking for some kind of friction.

Your intention was not to bring the song you were listening to previously. Still, it was in your unconscious and apparently, in Spencer's too, because when the words left your mouth, he emitted the deepest groan you have heard from him in a long time.

"Oh, you liked that, uh?," you teased. Spencer nodded.

"Yeah... that show of yours in the kitchen did something in me," he confessed.

"Uhmm... and you think you would like to try something like that?" you probed, biting his earlobe.

"Try what?" Spencer replied, massaging your breasts over your shirt.

"Pouring some sweet on me?... and taste me?" you asked, and another groan left Spencer's throat.

"Yes. Yes. Surely yes," Spencer hastened to reply with his lips nibbling your collarbone. You smirked. Spencer Reid was showing the experimental side that you wanted.

You were about to suggest the first experimental activity when both of your phones started ringing at the same time. That only meant one thing: a new case. A growl of frustration came from both of you. Spencer looked at you with longing eyes, and you could only shrug.

"We'll have to put this on standby until we get back," you said after a sigh, pecking his lips.

"Okay, but I need a quick cold shower anyway," Spencer replied. You agreed.

The case took the team to Alabama. You and Spencer sat apart on the jet, both of you still feeling frustrated by the sudden interruption.

You tried to focus on the case and managed to do so. However, Spencer had a harder time doing it. Not that he was repeatedly thinking of you, imagining you naked in your bed, inviting him to taste your sweet body. Of course not. Damn, these days would be torture for him.

One of the first things you guys noticed once you got off the jet was the infuriating heat in the area. It was summer, and the town where you landed seemed to be the driest in the region.

Worse was realizing that the air conditioning was under repair at the police station. The entire team in a room trying to focus on the case, trying not to think about the place's heat.

"How uncomfortable! I feel so sticky and we haven't even been here four hours," you complained at one point. It was just you, Spencer, and Emily in the meeting room, going through files.

"Yeah, this heat barely allow to work," Emily agreed.

"Indeed, I'm sweating as I were in a sauna," you added. When you looked at Spencer to ask his opinion, you saw him flustered, with pink cheeks. You frowned, but you didn't want to say anything to him. His eyes barely met yours.

In Spencer's mind, only one verse was repeated over and over: 'Cause I'm hot - hot, say what, sticky sweet. From my head - head, my head, to my feet'. 'Fuck' he thought when he realized where his brain had gone. That was one of the moments where Spencer Reid hated his eidetic memory. He roamed your body with his eyes in the most subtle way he could. Spencer fixated on the sweat running down your forehead and down in your throat. That clearly wasn't helping the erection that began to show under his slacks.

By the second day, you guys had barely managed to get a few clues to locate the unsub. The good thing was that at least the air conditioning was fixed. You were with Morgan and Spencer in the meeting room. At the same time, Spencer wrote something on the board to illustrate a mathematical formula. Suddenly the marker stopped writing.

"What...?" Spencer wondered in frustration, looking at the marker.

"Baby, shake it up," you suggested. Spencer turned to face you, mouth agape.

"What?" he asked. Again you could see his cheeks all flushed.

"The marker. You need to shake it up," you replied. Morgan furrowed. He didn't know why Spencer was suddenly so nervous. But you started to find it out, and the thought made you smirk.

In Spencer's mind, another verse was repeated again: 'Shake it up. Break the bubble - break it up.' Along with that, he could see you in your apartment's kitchen, lowering your butt to the floor and moving you sensually. His mind went beyond, and he remembered the first time you gave him a handjob. Spencer froze when he saw Morgan and you looking at him. Then he turned, shook the marker, and kept writing. Jeez, what's wrong with me? he thought.

By the third day, you guys had already managed to deliver the profile and were in search for the unsub. After a round of interviews, you were in the station's kitchen making yourself a coffee. Spencer arrived with the same goal, apparently. He smiled at you, moving his mug in your direction since you had the pot in your hand. You put the precious liquid in his cup and left the coffee pot in its place. Spencer was adding his usual unhealthy amount of sugar to his coffee, and you couldn't help but make a comment to teasing him.

"Do you take sugar? One lump or two?" you teased. Spencer's eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he recognized the verse coming out of your mouth. You couldn't help but laugh, confirming your theory. Spencer was about to say something when Hotch came into the kitchen to put coffee in his mug as well.

"Are you two okay?" Hotch asked. You nodded yet chuckling. Spencer just nodded, focusing on his coffee.

You took the cream and put some into your coffee. Before you put it on the counter, you made the last move to finish off Spencer.

"Oh, sorry. I got the cream, do you want some? This one is so sweet to taste," you offered. And Spencer gave you a look that could have knocked you down right away.

If another day had passed, Spencer would surely lose his mind. Fortunately, on the fourth day, you guys managed to arrest the unsub and fly back to Virginia that afternoon.

You arrived at the BAU almost at dinner time. You hadn't had a chance to tease Spencer that day, and you thought it was for the best because as soon as you grabbed your things to go to the elevator, Spencer followed you from behind. You both entered the elevator without anyone else from the team. As soon as the doors closed, Spencer's lips were on yours, kissing you like he imagined doing it for the past four days.

"Tonight we are not going to cook, we are going to order take out, but after catching up, understood?" he clarified. You only nodded, feeling the heat between your legs.

As soon as the door to your apartment closed, Spencer dropped his go-bag and cupped your cheeks to begin kissing you. Almost as passionately as in the elevator. You moaned and dropped your go-bag as well. Your arms around his neck bringing him as close to your body as possible. Spencer began to kiss your neck while his hands danced between your sides and your hips.

You would have accepted that Spencer to fuck you in that moment and place, but you had an idea in mind and wanted to put it to test, no matter how eager both of you were at that minute.

"Baby, wait," you breathed out. Spencer stopped and looked at you with concern.

"What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?" He panted.

"No, no. Quite the opposite, but... I need you to ask you to wait a moment, okay?, could you do that for me?" you asked. Spencer let out a sigh.

"To wait?, yeah. I can do that. But, are you okay?" Spencer asked again.

"Yeah. I promise you this will worth it," you replied, pecking his lips and heading to the kitchen. Spencer looked at you confused, but he didn't say anything. He sat down on the couch, waiting for you.

You took your time, and Spencer started to worry, but you called him from your bedroom before he could ask something.

"Baby, can you come to help me?" you asked. Spencer stood up from the couch and walked towards your bedroom. The door was ajar, and he pushed it open. He wasn't ready for what his eyes found. Oh boy, he wasn't prepared. Or maybe he was. Too much prepared, you could tell: four days prepared.

You were lying in bed, your body barely covered in matching black lace. And even 'barely' could be too much. But to Spencer, that wasn't a problem at all. He enjoyed every time you took your time to surprise him with those details. He scanned all your body at the dim light of the bedroom.

"Wow... (Y/N). I thought - I, you... needed help?" Spencer stuttered. He couldn't move from his spot in the bedroom entrance. You smiled and played along.

"Yes. I do, actually. You can come closer?" you asked flirtatiously.

"Yeah. Yes. Of course," Spencer replied, taking a step forward, feeling his heart pumping hard. That wasn't the only thing he wanted to pump hard, though.

"Would you help me with something here?"

"Any- anything." You grinned at your accomplishment: Spencer in awe and speechless. So you pointed to a white bowl with honey in the nightstand. Spencer tilted his head.

"Would you... pour some sugar on... me?" You kept your voice seductive.

And... he lost it. His brain stopped working. All his bloodstream focused on that part of his body that wouldn't stop shrieking until its complete satisfaction. Like a small computer, his remained neurons only could process a simple string of commands: clothes off/ jump to the bed/ taste you / eat you / fuck you. Simple.

The first command was successfully completed in no time. You never saw Spencer peeling off his clothes so fast before. You couldn't deny how much his eagerness turned you on. You felt your wetness coating your panties. So warm. So hot. You didn't know if you would be capable of ending this foreplay without coming. But, who cares anyway? You surely would enjoy this.

Spencer was kneeling in front of you on the bed. You didn't think twice and started putting on a show. Still making eye contact with him, one of your hands took the bowl from the nightstand. You put two fingers into the bowl and took out a little amount of honey, which began to drain through your fingers. You slowly brought those two fingers to your mouth and started to suck the honey from them. A moan of satisfaction came from your throat at the sweetness. But what really made you lose your mind was seeing how Spencer, with his lips parted, licked them with his own tongue without taking his eyes off you. Another thing that worked perfectly as motivation for you was seeing his hard cock twitching at the sight of you. What a confidence boost.

When you finished cleaning all the honey from your fingers, you repeated the same. Putting two fingers inside the bowl, removing a little of its content, but now you offered the delicious treat to your excited boyfriend.

"Do you want to taste it, doctor?"

Spencer couldn't release any word but nodded and leaned, catching your sweet fingers with his mouth. Both of you leaving scape a deep moan when Spencer started to suck your fingers to remove all the honey from them. You closed your eyes, feeling his hot tongue around your fingers.

When there was nothing left to remove, Spencer's mouth released your fingers in search of your lips. When his lips found yours, he began to kiss you as if the world was going to end. It was a passionate, lustful kiss. You moaned into the kiss. He took the chance, and his tongue started exploring your mouth. The taste of honey on him was intoxicating.

When both parted for some air, you opened your eyes to see Spencer looking at you as you were the most gorgeous and sexy woman on earth. Well, you were for him. You blushed a little, his gaze was intense, and he hardly blinked. Spencer leaned to kiss you again, and when you parted, the only words that came from his mouth were...

"Did - did you know honey is associated with love and sex in both the Bible and the Karma Sutra? At traditional Indian weddings, the groom is often offered honey to boost his stamina," Spencer explained. He reached your cheek with one of his hands and stroking it. His lips latched in your neck. You chuckled mischievously.

"Well, it's good to know that. But I was thinking of using it in another way, you know?" you coyly stated. Spencer parted and saw you, smirking as well.

"Oh yeah?" You nodded as you get some honey from the bowl and spread it slowly onto your stomach. You took some more and smeared it in the column of your throat. You left the bowl on the nightstand and beckoning to Spencer to step closer.

"Do you want to taste it, doctor?"

"Oh God, yes," he hastened to reply. His hands roaming your legs.

"Then taste it, all of it," you invited.

Just a second took Spencer latching his mouth on your stomach. He started sucking and licking the honey from your body. His hands grabbing your hips and yours tugging his hair.

"You taste so good," he said, muffling his words on your skin. "I thought about this all-time we were in Alabama," he confessed.

"Did you? What did you think about? Tell me..." You asked. Spencer now nibbling and licking the column of your throat. A load moan escaped your mouth, feeling Spencer's hot tongue against your skin, moving to your neck. That sweet spot that drives you crazy.

"I thought about kissing your soft skin, about brushing you with my tongue, about... the sounds you do when I touch you, and you're aroused," you let out a moan, and Spencer smirked in your neck.

"Yes, those moans that I love so much. I thought about your breasts. God, your breasts..." he muttered as one of his hands unclasped your bra, taken and tossing it to the side. With your breasts on display, his mouth moved from your neck to the south. Before stopping in your bosoms, Spencer reached the bowl with honey, grabbing some with his fingers, and smeared it in your nipples. The substance was cold, and you hissed a little.

"Easy love, I'll take care of it," he said. His voice low and sexy. God, you sometimes had a hard time trying to understand that the shy guy you pinned for years was so hot in bed. You don't complain, though. You love it.

Spencer put his fingers in your mouth, and you wasted no time sucking them. He let out a groan of satisfaction and clasped his lips in one of your nipples, swirling it with his tongue and flicking the nub up and down, removing all the honey from them. You let out a howl, muffled with Spencer's fingers in your mouth, pressing your tongue.

"Fuck (Y/N), you indeed taste so sweet," he praised, letting out his fingers from your mouth and moving it, tracing a slow path to the hem of your panties. He slid them under the thin fabric, searching your clit massaging it gently.

"Spencer, oh God. That feels so good." He moved from one breast to another one, repeating his motions.

"Yeah, you feel so good. Your are so good for me (Y/N). I could stay here all night. You have no idea how much I thought about that stupid song and doing everything on you," he whispered, releasing your nipple to move his lips to your navel.

"Please, please Spencer..." you whined. If you teased him before, now you just wanted him to fuck you mercilessly.

"What do you need sweetheart?" he asked.

"You. I need you to fuck me," you replied, feeling Spencer's tongue in your navel traveling south.

"Yeah. And I need to fuck you. That's I'm going to do now. You want that dirty girl?"

"Yes!"

"So... you teased me all these days. You knew what you were doing. Don't you think I need to repay you for that?" Spencer said as toying with your panties' waistband.

"What? Are you going to punish me? Doctor?"

For those who said kinks don't fit in all relationships, maybe they were right. But in Spencer's view, this was not the case. In the most pleasant way possible, he discovered that the kinky side of him fitted perfectly, and you seemed pleased too.

"Oh, do you want that, my dirty girl?" And before an answer, Spencer slid your panties down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Now, his goddess laid naked on her bed, ready for him, waiting for him.

Spencer grabbed your thighs and pushed them open, revealing your core for him.

"What a beautiful pussy we have here," Spencer coed. Picking some more honey from the bowl, he smeared it in your inner thighs, tracing a path to the spot where you needed him most. You wanted to scream. Before you do so, Spencer started washing the honey from your thighs. He did it from down to up, brushing your clit with his tongue in every licking.

"Fuck Spencer, I know I teased a lot these days but please..."

Spencer smirked between your legs, but he kept doing what he was doing. When he was sure he removed all the stuff from your thighs, his tongue focused on your clit.

"Yes!... oh God," you cried.

He moved one of his fingers between your folds, coating the wetness, and the pleasure was indescribable. His tongue still focused in your clit, circling and licking. Spencer put a second finger, curling them and reaching that spot inside of you that had you whining in no time. Your moans encouraged him to speed up his motions. Your hands were on his hair, eyes fluttered shut, lost in pleasure. Moans filling the room while his hands kept your hips onto the mattress, stopping you from buck forward.

"Spencer, oh my God. Please, don't stop!" you begged. His fingers never stopped thrusting you in and out, and his tongue having a feast with your clit. You could feel the knot down in your belly about to explode.

"Cum for me, dirty girl," he mumbled yet with his mouth on your clit and his fingers thrusting mercilessly. Then you cried, feeling your orgasm hitting you like a train.

When you descended from your highs, you propped yourself in your forearms to look at Spencer. His mouth coated with your arousal and smirking at you.

"C'mon baby, I need to taste you too," you demanded with a lazy voice, still dizzy from your orgasm.

"As you wish," he replied, sitting on the mattress with his back resting on the headboard, looking at you. Eyes full of lust. You kneeling in front of him first admiring his big-hard cock, tip coating with precum. You replicated his same motions: grabbed some honey and smeared it into his cock. Spencer moaned at the simple sight.

"Now I'm gonna taste how sweet you are baby," you announced.

Resting on your elbows, you took the tip in your mouth, tasting it slowly. He groaned hard. Of all the times you gave him a blowjob before, for Spencer, this was undoubtedly the most amazing of all.

You moved your tongue, swirling around him, making sure of licking the pounding main vein. Spencer's breathing was sharp and unsteady.

"Oh shit (Y/N)… you take it so well, your mouth feels so good," he groaned. You keep your task hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head. You set a steady pace that made Spencer jerk with each movement. He tried to keep his eyes open to see how you were working on him, but when you speed the pace, he couldn't help throw his head back, closing his eyes in uncontrollable pleasure. Spencer was sure that if you kept doing that, it wasn't going to last much longer, and he was aiming to cum in another part of your body, not your mouth.

"(Y/N)… I need to fuck you right now," he panted. You released his cock and looked at him with a full satisfaction grin. "Knees and hands on the mattress," he commanded, still gasping. You happily complied. With your ass on display, Spencer hardly thought about it and instinctively spank your buttocks with his open hand.

You hissed to the sharp feeling, but it was pleasant. Spencer had never spanked you before, and the very fact had you turned on. Spencer hesitated a little when he realized what he did, but your words lifted any doubt he can have.

"Again! please!... do it again," you begged, and Spencer complied, spanking you again now in the other buttock. You moaned, and Spencer groaned.

"You like that, uh?" he teased.

"Yes!" And he did it again. The sharp pain was nothing compared to the pleasure that followed. You could feel the head of his hard cock in your entrance. Slowly but with no hesitation, he pushes into you. You could feel every inch of him, and it was glorious. A loud wail left your mouth. Spencer hissed, feeling your walls clench around him. Spencer bottomed out, and he took a moment to catch his breath.

"(Y/N)… shit. You're always so tight. You feel so good," he praised.

"Yes, baby, all for you," he grabbed your hips tighter, pulling out his cock almost to the tip and then pushing again into you as he started a slow but intense pace.

As you searched for the perfect rhythm, only moans, praises, and your names came out of your both mouths. Spencer pounded to you harder and faster. You were both a bundle of moans and sighs. You could feel beads of sweat running down your body. The skin-to-skin slamming sound was lustful and wild but delightful. You were both lost in the single goal of pleasing each other and reaching your orgasms.

"Fuck Spencer! I'm gonna cum!" you cried.

"Yeah, sweetheart, me too. C'mon, give me your sweet cum, and I'll give you mine," he commanded.

Spencer moaned, on the edge of his own pleasure. His words did the trick. He thrust you once, twice, and in the third one, your impending orgasm exploded in you, running through your entire body. You curled your toes at the pleasant feeling, moaning Spencer's name and another sort of lost words. Your walls clenched around him tightest, you still in your high, feeling his cock twitched before he expulsed his warm release into you. Your eyes squeezed shut in delight, feeling how he rode out your both orgasms.

You guys stilled for a moment, trying to catch your breath. Spencer was the first to move, pulling out of you, as you turned to your back in the mattress. He rolled to your side, both of you looking at each other with a huge grin, still panting.

"Wow... that was..." he trailed off, setting a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Yeah... I know. Amazing," you replied, giggling.

"Why we didn't do this before?" Spencer wondered.

"Well, I don't know. But I wanted to," you confessed.

"Why you didn't tell me then?" he asked, stroking your cheek.

"Maybe I didn't know if you wanted to try things like these?" you hesitantly replied. Spencer looked at you lovingly. He could stay and admire you forever if he could.

"I must confess I didn't know exactly if this kind of thing could like me, but with you... I'm sure there is nothing that could dislike me. If you want to try anything, I'm more than willing with you," he replied, leaning to kiss you. You smiled into the kiss. 'How could you be so lucky to have someone like him?' you thought. The funny thing is that Spencer believes the same about you.

"Well, I think this experimentation went quite well, don't you think?" you said, beaming.

"Yes, I do. But now we're sticky, we need a shower," Spencer acknowledged.

"Sticky sweet," you corrected. Spencer chuckled and offered his hand to you to stand up.

You both went to take a shower. Needless to say, the shower served not only to clean up the remnants of your previous activities but to add new ones. You guys came out of the bathroom exhausted, changed the sheets, and plummeted onto the bed.

You snuggled into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer hugged you and kissed your forehead. Both ready to fall into a deep sleep.

"Please, remind me tomorrow emailing to Joe Elliot to thank him," you mumbled, nuzzling into Spencer's neck. Your eyes flutter shut and dozing off.

"Who?" Spencer asked, confused. You chuckled, almost falling asleep. Of course, Spencer didn't know who he was.

"Let's say we both practiced today what is pour some sugar on me, thanks to him," you giggled. Spencer breathed a laugh.

"Oh. Okay. Thank him for me too," Spencer said, smirking.

"I will,” you replied, snuggling more close to Spencer. “Spencer?" you asked him, a few seconds far to fall knock out.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he mumbled, almost in the same condition as you.

"I love you," you blurted out. Because it was true. Your love for that man grows any second passed, and you didn't care to admit it now.

"I love you too, (Y/N)... sticky sweet," Spencer replied. You both giggled, groggy with sleep. "And (Y/N)?" he added like he forgot something important to tell you.

"Uhm?"

"Can we listen to your playlist tomorrow? I'm curious about what are we going to do next." You didn't remember if you replied to him, but you surely would think of something new to try next in your dreams.

———————

AN2: I’m sorry but I’m a sucker for 80′s music.

I’m tagging some moots around here!: @andiebeaword @blameitonthenight21 @dreatine @sierraraeck @paulaern @calm-and-doctor @spencers-dria @safertokiss @hopefulfangirl24 @reverdevivre @matthewstiles1912 @goldentournesol @psychedellic-phase @psychicdonuts

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #pour some sugar on me #def leppard #spencer reid fanfic

467 notes · View notes

rexsjaigeyes · 3 years

Note

hi divs i’m yet again thinking about calling THEE marshal commander cody a slut and him surprising himself by being super into it 😌😌 idk i just think he’s a slut and he knows it and likes to be reminded as he’s getting his shit wrecked u know

[long insufferable sigh] vee, I will never let you forget how you came to my inbox with this thot and basically FORCED me to write something about it. And yes, I stole one of your other ideas from our chat in discord; that’s what you get for bringing this up again.

Once again, I am thinking about pegging Cody:

He always turned into a moaning mess when you fucked him like this, but the stubborn commander still tried to keep the upper hand by spurring you on or holding your hips so he could control the pace of your thrusts. Even when you gave him the strap, you sometimes felt like he was desperately clinging to the last thread of control he once had. Frankly, he was being a brat. And you were having none of it. Somehow, you convinced him to get on his hands and knees so you could fuck him from behind, but that didn't stop him from pushing himself back to gain control of the pace again. You placed a hand on the back of his neck and leaned over him to whisper in his ear.

"Are you gonna be good for me, Commander? Or will I have to punish you for being such a needy little slut?"

You weren’t sure what possessed you to say it, but it drove him absolutely wild — you knew it the second he released a loud whimper. He immediately tensed out of embarrassment, but you weren't planning on teasing him for it. You felt a hot rush of pleasure in the pit of your belly, and you wanted to hear him whimper like that again.

You started thrusting again, but slower this time to test the waters. He leaned back, trying to chase your silicone cock each time you pulled out, and that's how you knew you had him right where you wanted him. Feeling more bold now, you pressed your hand against the back of his neck and gave a firm push, sending him face first into the pillows on the bed. Oh, he liked this position — you could tell by the way he moaned profusely into the pillows as his body shook in anticipation of your next thrust inside him. With his more vulnerable position, he didn't have the willpower to be so bratty now, so you took advantage of it.

"Do you like being called a slut, Commander?"

He moaned louder this time, and you smirked at how pliant he became purely because you degraded him like this. You never would have known the marshal commander himself would want to be talked down to like this. But now that you unlocked this side of him, you planned to use it to your advantage again and again.

He didn't even have the ability to speak full sentences anymore as you picked up the pace, fucking him at the speed he so desperately needed. His words were muffled by the pillow, but from the little you could decipher, it sounded like he had gone completely cock dumb, babbling nonsense while you angled your hips just the way he liked it.

Chuckling to yourself, you decided to finally give in and help him fall apart beneath your touch. You reached around his shaking hips and found his throbbing length, but you were surprised to feel just how much precum had dripped down the tip and left a layer of slick along his cock. You groaned at the feeling of it and stroked him with ease.

"You must have liked that name a lot if you're this wet."

As if to prove your point, the loud sounds of you pumping his cock filled the room, mixed with his whines and moans to create music to your ears.

"Are you gonna cum for me, Commander?"

Another long whine left his lips. You leaned in closer, knowing your next words would be the final straw before his resolve crumbled and he became a mess of sticky release in your hands.

"C'mon... be a good little whore and make a mess–"

You barely finished your sentence before he came with a gasp, spilling all over the sheets and your knuckles before collapsing onto the bed. You waited for him to catch his breath, warning him before you slowly pulled out and collapsed on the bed beside him. He had tired you out too, but you weren't going to complain after watching him fall apart like that. You looked over at him with a smile, noticing the way he stared at you as if you were one of the galaxy's brightest stars. You leaned closer to him to caress his face before kissing him, making sure to be gentle after the way you fucked him so harshly.

"You did a good job for me, darling," you mumbled against his lips. You pulled away to look at him, wanting to make sure he was alright with what just happened. "That wasn't too much, was it?"

He quickly shook his head, his enthusiastic response making you feel a little better about it. "Mesh'la, that was... amazing."

"Really?"

"Yes, darling." He gave you a shy smile, looking down as if he was debating something in his mind. You waited patiently until he finally confessed what he was thinking of. "I want to be called your slut again."

#HAPPY STAR WARS DAY HOES #vee why would you do this to me #but also thank you bc i had too much fun writing this #peg anon i hope you like this too!!#commander cody x reader #commander cody x you #commander cody smut #commander cody x female reader #the clone wars fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #divswrites

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thefanficmonster · 4 years

Text

You Call It A Mess, We Call It Baking

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Tons of fluff

Summary: A friendly argument via Discord leads to a baking session. Said baking session leads to a kitchen looking like it was the victim of a tornado. The lesson here is: don’t leave Corpse and Y/N in the kitchen together.

Requested by Anon, thank you so much for your request, hope I captured what you wanted well and I hope you enjoy reading it.

Corpse’s POV

I’ve been sitting in a Discord call with Y/N for about three years now, keeping her company as she’s editing some footage Sean sent her earlier. In the meantime, I’m reviewing the recently submitted stories by my viewers, reading some lines I find funny or downright terrifying to her.

“When I went in the kitchen to check on the cake, it was already out of the oven, a sticky note next to it on the counter that read: ‘smells nice’. My blood ran cold.“ I read the eerie sentence that is suggesting one of my most frightening scenarios - a stalker getting inside your house. I get chills just imagining what was probably going on in the sender’s head when they saw that.

“Jeez, it’s been so long since I’ve cooked something other than omelet.“ I hear Y/N reply absentmindedly, completely neglecting the fear factor of what’s going on in the story.

“Good job missing the point.” I chuckle, my eyes continuing to scan the email until my brain actually comprehends what she said, “Wait, you mean to tell me you have baked anything ever?! No offense, Y/N, but I was honestly doubting your ability to make an omelet as well. In all the years we’ve been friends I can’t remember you ever not saying ‘I hade takeout’ when I asked you what you had for dinner.”

The scoff that comes through my headphones is the most adorable thing ever. She’s one to easily take a joke and never get offended by anything, but I know how heated she can get with her sarcasm. If I’m being honest, I’m always here for it.

“There are many things you don’t know about me, Corpsy. A girl’s gotta have some aces up her sleeve.“ I can just imagine the narrowing of here eyes and the tilting of her head as she says that. She has a very specific way of expressing her thoughts. When we first met I accidentally made the comparison to one of those children’s books that have pictures, stories and small buttons for audio. That comparison has stuck with me and I look back at it very often. To fully catch her point, you don’t just listen to her. No, no, no. You focus on every change in her face and body. The way she looks away during certain parts of her speech, the way her voice plays with several different tones at once. Her posture while speaking. Just like those books - you don’t just listen to the audio, you look at the pictures and read the text.

“Well you know how much I like playing poker, why don’t you come over and throw those aces down.“ The last thing you should ever give Y/N is a challenge. She won’t only homerun it, but will never let you forget it either. When we met she was a girl with self esteem in the negatives, so seeing her brag about her achievements to me always brings me joy.

The details I’ve listed are pretty in-depth, aren’t they? That’s because I don’t want to let anything slip when it comes to her. This realization hit me early in our friendship and it was only like two years in that I finally connected the dots - this investment in her of mine was not simple nor platonic. Come to think of it, I reckon it never was.

“No way, I’m not changing out of my pajamas just to come to your house.” She laughs, once again making me picture her full body reaction to her statement.

I smirk, knowing I’m about to bring out my main weapon, “Oh come on, I’ve seen you in pajamas countless times. You can just admit you don’t wanna embarrass yourself. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

I can sense her fuming even though she’s like two miles away. “I’ll be there in 15.”

She hangs up before getting the chance to hear me lose control of the laughter I’ve been suppressing.

Man, I love this girl.

Y/N’s POV

“It’s on.“ I say as soon as the door in front of me swings open to reveal the smug smirking face of my bestfriend. The foundation of my tough, unbothered act is shaken up by the outburst of butterflies in my stomach which occurs every time I see him. I can never look at this man and not turn at least a little red in the cheeks.

It’s been long since I self-diagnosed with the malicious ‘falling for someone who would never reciprocate my feelings’ illness. I’ve been living with it for a while. What medication do I take? Dating other guys. One bad relationship after another, scolding myself that every one of them has been a desperate attempt to get him to change his gaze on me from ‘best friend’ to something more. Hell, I don’t even know how to define that ‘something more’. I once even tried to admit my feelings, but I was so vague and so incoherent that I didn’t understand myself, so how was he supposed to grasp my downright sad excuse of a confession.

“No ‘hello’, no nothing?“ He moves aside to let me in. I walk right past him with a sassy flip of my hair to mask the nervousness of being aware that his eyes were on me, “Rude.“ He murmured with an obvious smile in his tone.

He looks as cute as ever, black sweatpants and a black tee, hair messy as though he has just rolled out of bed. I can say with the upmost certainty that he’s the only one who can pull of that hairstyle.

I hide mine as I throw on the apron that’s hanging by his fridge, ready to take over his kitchen and put those aces of mine to use. I can’t help but furrow my brows when I see him enter the kitchen behind me and lean against the counter. That’s when I notice the counter is lined with all the ingredients I’ll need for the cake I had in mind.

“OK, what do we do first?“ he claps his hands together, straightening his posture as he gives me a expectant look.

It takes all my brain cells to prevent me from freezing up completely. I’m not usually like this, mind you, I’m a lot better at keeping what’s going on inside my head camouflaged. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I don’t have much time to dwell on that. If I do, he’ll pick up on it right away.

“Um, we are not gonna do anything. I will be here baking, and you will remain outside the kitchen until I’m done. If you need something, ask and I’ll bring it to you. I can’t have you sabotaging my project, impostor.” I narrow my eyes at him like he’s the most dangerous of threats. And he is, for my mental sanity.

He fakes a hurt expression, clearly fighting to the best of his ability to hide how much he’s enjoying messing with me. “We’ve known each other for five years, Y/N. Don’t you trust me?”

I lean over the counter to where we’re about two feet apart and whisper, “Not. Even. A. Little. Bit.”

He smiles, “You’re just trying to get away with making this cake by watching a YouTube tutorial. Admit it, you can’t even crack an egg properly.” His eyes are now as narrowed as mine as we stare each other down at a proximity that’s rapidly raising my body temperature and heartbeat. It’s not fair. I’m a mess around him so he automatically has the upper hand.

As expected, I give in, “You better not mess around though.”

After I force him to give me several different oaths, we start. I’m working on the batter, he’s working on the frosting. We decided to decorate it with crimson and dark purple frosting. We’re both really pick about the color shades so he’s currently struggling to get the crimson perfect.

“Let’s make it a layer cake.“ He suggests out of the blue, “Two layers, nothing crazy.“

I think it over for a moment or two before shrugging, “OK, but then you better grab a bowl and help me with the second layer. You know how to make the batter, right?”

He confirms that he does and walks out of my line of sight. I hear him open the fridge as I whisk the eggs I have cracked with the sugar.

“You want something to drink?“ He asks while rummaging through the fridge.

I decline, try to focus on the recipe that I have somehow memorized to the smallest of details. As I’m reciting the it silently to make sure I didn’t skip any steps with the batter, I feel something cold run down my back causing me to scream.

“What the fuck was that?!“ I turn around and glare at him just as the ice cube slips out from under my hoodie and falls to the floor. The fucker’s laughing whole heartedly, not giving a damn that he just gave me a mini heart attack. Mainly cause I thought it was a roach or something, and he know I hate bugs.

“You do realize how boiling red you are, right? You look like a lobster. I thought you needed something to cool you down.“

Instead of being annoyed, I do a full 180 and decide to play his game, “Yeah, I know...” I trail off, reaching my hand back towards the bowl of flour. Grabbing a a handful of the white powder I throw it at him before he can even catch on. Needless, to say, his outfit and hair aren’t so black anymore. “Ah, I knew your hair would look good with snowflakes in it, but you can never be too sure.”

“This means war, Y/N.” His smile is borderline malicious, getting me excited for what’s to come.

Him and I have always had these so called wars, but never like you’d imagine. We are silent, strategic, subtle. Neither of us knows when the other will attack until it’s too late. That’s why instead of going for a counter-attack right away, he heads to complete his mission of making the batter for the second layer.

All is quiet except the noises of the utensils clinking together every now and then. I keep a close watch on him out of the corner of my eye and I notice no sus behavior. That is until I see him take a spoonful of his batter and eat it. I whirl around at the speed of a gust of wind, eyes wide, “Do you want to fuck up your guts.” He ignores me as he takes another spoonful, bringing it close to his mouth. This time, I grab onto his arm causing the contents of the spoon to spill on my hoodie.

I roll my eyes, unbothered by the brown stain that by some miracle missed the apron and fell on my grey hoodie, “Don’t. Eat. The. Batter. Copy?“

“Paste.“ He nods, smirking with pride as he puts the spoon aside.

I sigh and return to my side of the kitchen, focusing on the next task: poring the batter into the circular baking tray which he, for some reason, has two of. He repeats the task soon after me and we put the two trays in the oven. I help him with the frosting, getting the shades close enough to what we had in mind.

After about five minutes of the crusts baking, a wonderful smell spreads throughout the kitchen. At this point, all we have to do is wait for the oven to signal that our cinnamon crust is ready to be taken out, wait for it to cool down and then frost the cake.

“It smells really good.“ He comments, turning his head to look at me.

I’m sitting atop the kitchen counter and Corpse is standing next to me. This is the only time him and I are at approximately the same height. The realization brings a thought to my mind, one that makes me feel like an evil mastermind.

“Hey, remember earlier when you said I couldn’t crack an egg properly?“ He hums affirmatively, “Well...“

The carton of eggs is within arm’s reach. I grab an egg, chip it off the side of the counter and crack it apart above his head, its contents coating his hair. “How’s that for a proper egg crack?” I ask victoriously.

He lets out a surprised sound, something between a gasp and a laugh. Shaking his head to get the yoke to fall down, he says amusedly: “I don’t know...you tell me.”

Too late for me to do anything. There’s milk all over me.

The malicious smile on his face is replicated on mine and now it’s really on. However, as we reach for the items meant to be out weapons, the oven dings.

Frosting the cake goes about as well as you expect: there’s more frosting on us than the cake itself.

“Let’s make amends, please. I’m so not looking forward to taking three showers tonight.“ I say, raising a white napkin and waving it around.

“Fair enough.“ He shrugs and we shake hands.

As I’m about to pull my hand back, he holds onto it, making me look up at him. Our eyes lock and I suddenly regain that same shakiness and vulnerability I always have around him. It never leaves me, I just manage to ignore it. The sound of my panic is muffled by the sound of my heart thumping the loudest it has ever.

Expectedly, he is the bold one who makes the first and final move. The move to end one era of us and start another. His lips touch mine and all fades. It’s just him and I. The friends who were never just friends. The cowards who suck at dealing with emotions. The fearful little kids that are afraid of rejection because we both mean so much to each other, to the point of suffering to prevent the possibility of losing one another.

We embrace who we are, finally admitting that friends is not what we are meant to remain forever.

The kiss might’ve been brief, but the meaning it carries makes it the most valuable moment of my life. One I’ll cherish forever. Something in his eyes tells me he will too. That’s all I need. That’s all we need. No words are necessary.

Suddenly, our bubble bursts as a result of his ringing phone. He lets go of one of my hands and takes his phone from the counter.

“It’s Dave”, he smiles, picking up the call and turning to get me in the camera frame. “Hey Dave, look who’s here with me.“

I wave at the camera and at the baffled face of Dave. “Hi!”

“What, in the name of God, is that mess?“ He raises both his eyebrows as his eyes scan us and the kitchen behind us.

“You call it a mess, we call it baking.“ Corpse and I look at each other and smile, blushing as red as the streak in Dave’s hair.

“Am I missing something here? Did I call at a bad time?“ He asks, still struggling to rationalize what he is seeing.

“Yeah, you actually did. I’ll call you back.“ Corpse dead-ass hangs up on him, putting his phone away before turning to me, “We have more important matters at the moment.“

He kisses me again, this time more confidently. His arms wrap around me and prep me up on the counter, insinuating that this kiss won’t be as short as the last.

#corpse husband #corpse #husband #corpsehusband #corpse husband fanficiton #corpse husband fanfic #x reader #reader #fanfiction #fanfic #corpse simp #request #requests open #romance #friends to lovers #love

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skyeet-the-writer · 4 years

Note

Can you write a corpse x reader when she finds out she's pregnant and she's playing among us and she imposter with corpse and she kill someone and someone sees and reports it right away she get all nauseous and let's it slip to everyone while she go to throw up and corpse doesn't know what to do but he's excited to be a dad. You can change it up and add thing if you want, I was writing everything down, sorry if this is weird.

And If You Wanna Stay … Please Stay

yes finally a pregnant request! also, i’m gonna be waiting to get the triggered pro-life people in my asks and DMs about how ‘iT’s A LiViNg BeInG”. like what’s the baby gonna do? tell it’s mom??

corpse x female!reader

summary: when the reader gets morning sickness during an Among Us game, Corpse and her expect the worst. And they get it.

word count: ~4.8k

warnings: swearing, vomiting, mentions of abortions, mentions of being pregnant, a little bit of suggestive content near the end but nothing happens

He’s finally asleep, you think to yourself as you watch your boyfriend’s chest rise and fall. He needed it.

Recently, Corpse has had trouble sleeping for more than three hours. You two had tried everything you could think of. You had tried staying up late to get him tired, you tried subliminals and music to get him to sleep. You even tried to give him a massage one time, but that led to other things.

You look over at the drawn curtains and pull them back a little. There, on the window, you have tin foil covering them. It’s a trick you learned from your dad when you were younger. When he worked night shifts, he had to sleep during the day, and he had trouble sleeping since your parent’s room had thin curtains. And so your father taped tin foil to all of the windows in their room so that he could sleep.

You’re not exactly sure why this seemed to work for Corpse, but you’re certainly not complaining. He looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping. He doesn’t look stressed, he doesn’t look sad. He looks so calm.

You lean forward and peck his nose. His breathing stutters and his nose wrinkles. You giggle and slowly, he opens his eyes. He blinks a few times and his brown eyes look around the room before settling on your face. He grins and your smile widens.

“That’s a pretty face to wake up to,” he mumbles and his morning voice makes you blush. “Oh my god, you’re already blushing.”

You blush even harder and bury your face in his neck. He laughs and hugs you around your waist. “Don’t make fun of me, asshole.”

He kisses your hair. “Morning, baby.”

“Good morning,” you mumble into his skin. You pull away so that you’re only a few inches apart. He leans forward and nuzzles your nose against his. Instead of kissing in the morning--you can’t handle his morning breath--you nuzzle your noses together.

“How’d you sleep?” you ask after you two pull away.

He smiles. “Really good, actually.” He chuckles and looks up at the window. “I guess the foil worked.”

You laugh and sit up. You’ve been awake for a little while and your stomach growls. “You hungry, babe?”

He nods and sits up as well, running a hand through his hair and shaking it out. “Can we have pancakes?”

“You can eat those, right?” you ask. You stand up out of bed and walk to the kitchen, your boyfriend trailing behind you.

“Yeah,” you hear him say. “Even if I couldn’t, I’d still want to eat them because you make really good pancakes.”

You smile. “Really? Thanks, babe.”

You get out the ingredients to make the pancakes when Corpse announces that he’s going to take a shower. You give him a kiss on his cheek and notice it’s a little scratchy. You grab his chin suddenly and he blinks at you as you run a thumb against his cheekbone.

“Want me to shave?” he asks softly.

You shrug. “If you want.”

He grabs your hand and presses his lips against your finger. He gives you a sweet little smile. “I’ll shave.” He squeezes your hand before walking back to your room.

After mixing all of the ingredients, you drop a few droplets onto the buttered up griddle. When it sizzles, you pour two medium-sized pancakes before going to search for the spatula.

When you find it in the dishwasher, you flip both of the pancakes and grin. They’re both perfect. You notice it’s quiet in the kitchen and call out, “Alexa.” You hear her go off in the living room. “Play some fall lofi.”

“Playing ‘Midnight Lofi - Fall Vibes’.

”You smile when it starts to come from the living room. It’s a little quiet, so you say, “Turn it up.”

The music starts to play a little louder and you smile more. It’s so aesthetically pleasing, lofi music. It’s probably one of your favorite music genres. Before you moved in with Corpse, you had to listen to something and you eventually began to fall asleep to lofi. But now that you’ve been living with him for almost a year, you don’t listen to it as much. Usually when you’re cleaning the house or playing music when you study for school.

You cook a few more pancakes and when you’re putting them on a plate, you have an idea. Corpse can’t eat chocolate because of his health, but you can. And you usually have a secret stash of chocolate in the back of the pantry. You’ve been craving chocolate a lot for the past week which is weird because your monthly hasn’t started yet even though it should have a few days ago. But you don’t dwell on that thought and pull up a chair from the small island and stand on top of it to reach the very back of the pantry. Your fingers skim the edge of the chocolate chip bag and you grab it between your middle and index finger. You grin at it and go to hop off of the chair when suddenly--

“What are you doing?”

You yell and you almost slip off the chair. Luckily, you land on your feet and wobble. You look up at your boyfriend when you regain your balance. He’s smirking and looking between you and the bag in your hand.

“Chocolate,” you tell him, making your way back to the griddle like nothing happened. “You know, just because you can’t eat it doesn’t mean I have to suffer with you.”

He laughs and leans on the counter next to you. “I know you have a stash, y/n.”

You look at him with wide eyes, stopping in your tracks. “You do?”

He nods. “Yep. I knew since the first month you moved in. You’re bad at hiding it, you know.”

You blink at him before shrugging, walking over to the griddle. “Well, you’re not allowed to have any.” You stick your tongue out at him and sprinkle the mini chocolate chips into the remaining batter. There are enough pancakes for Corpse, so you’ll just cook up the rest for yourself.

Usually, you and Corpse don’t wake up until after breakfast time since you have a habit of sleeping in. But when you can wake up early enough for breakfast, you both like to sit out at the small balcony and eat together.

“What are we doing today?” you ask Corpse, sitting across from him at the small metal table.

There’s a breeze and it ruffles his hair. “I was gonna stream Among Us later. You can play, too. My fans love you.” He smiles and looks down at his plate.

“As they should.” You flip your hair and the two of you laugh. “Yeah, I can play for a little while. I’ve got classes to do and a paper due tomorrow, though.” While Corpse is a Youtuber and a streamer, you’re a college student taking classes at San Diego State University, trying to get your major in anthropology and a minor in Spanish and engineering. “God, I have a test at the end of the week, babe. I’m gonna fail it,” you mutter, putting your face in your hands.

“What’s it in?”

“Spanish,” you tell him, pushing a blueberry with your fork.

He gives you a stare. “Babe, I’m literally half Mexican.” He laughs.

You throw the blueberry at his head and it bounces off onto the floor. “Shut up, stop making fun of me!”

He grins. “I can tell you the answers as you take the test. It’s online, right?”

You nod. “Yeah, I chose all online classes this year. I mean, you could. But that’s cheating.” You flip a piece of your pancake over. “And I don’t wanna cheat. I cheated all the way through high school. I want college to be different.”

Corpse grabs your hand and you look up at him. He’s smiling at you. “You’re smart, baby. You’re gonna do fine. You’re gonna get your degrees and you’re gonna be the best... what are you studying again?”

“Anthropology,” you tell him quietly.

“You’re gonna be the best anthropologist ever.”

You crack a small smile. “Do you even know what an anthropologist is?”

“No.”

You laugh and that gets him to smile. You lean across the table and press a gentle kiss to his lips. It’s a little sticky and sweet because of the syrup, but you’re not complaining.

Later that morning, after taking a shower while Corpse cleans breakfast up, Corpse says that he’s going to stream and you come and join him. There’s a monitor across from his that you use from time to time and a headset as well.

Your boyfriend sends you the code for the Discord and the Among Us game. Corpse looks at you from across the desks and you smile. He grins back and your stomach churns. You blink and wince at the feeling. You’ve been feeling nauseated for a few days now and you don’t want to get sick during a stream.

“Hi Corpse,” someone says as you load into the waiting room. You look back at the screen as someone gasps. “y/n! Best friend!”

It’s Sean and you laugh. “Hi, Sean.”

“y/n!” exclaims someone else and you realize that it’s Lily.

“I thought I was your best friend, Jack!” says Sykkuno and he sounds hurt.

You smile and move your character to the customization. You choose yellow and choose the leaf hat. Since your gamer tag is “lemon” you always try and be a lemon.

“Aw, y/n’s a lemon,” says Dave.

You laugh and run circles around him. “Hi, Dave.”

You hear him laugh and Corpse chuckles in front of you. You look at him and be flashes you a smile.

The round starts and the red “IMPOSTER” text lights up your screen. You’re paired up with Felix. You haven’t been the imposter with Felix too often, so you don’t know what to expect. You mute your headset and head down to storage to fake wires before going to fake another task.

You’re standing in the electrical room pretending to download data when Sykkuno walks in. You pull up the sabotage map and close the door before killing him and venting. You come out in the medbay and head over to the cafeteria.

When a body is reported, it’s Lily’s. You unmute yourself and bite your thumbnail as your stomach churns even more. You’re starting to get worried that you’re going to get sick.

“I found Lily in admin,” says Sean. “And I didn’t see anyone around.”

“Sykkuno is dead, too,” Julien points out.

“Oh shit,” you mutter and hold a hand over your mouth. You try to keep the bile from rising while everyone talks and you don’t bother to listen. You do hear someone say that they’re going to skip voting and you do the same.

When no one is ejected, you mute your mic once again and go to follow Corpse down to the shields. You stand beside him while he does his task. Sorry, babe, you think and kill him just as your kill cooldown reaches zero.

You smirk and run away in the opposite direction and you can feel him staring at you. You glance up at him and your smile widens. “What?”

He just shakes his head and you laugh.

You meet up with Dave and follow him around and fake wires with him. At one point, you and he cross paths with Felix and Toast. You may not know Felix too well, but any good imposter knows to go for a double kill. So as you run by each other in the cafeteria, you close the door and both you and Felix kill who you were with before venting away.

By the time you’re out of the vent and running away from admin, Dave’s body is reported. Your stomach feels awful now and you’re almost certain you’re going to throw up in the next thirty seconds.

“Fuck.” You unmute your mic. “It was me, I killed Dave. I’m the imposter. I’ll be right back.” You practically throw your headset off and run for the bathroom.

Corpse watches you practically run out of the room. For a second, he’s not sure what to do. Should he go after you? But he’s in the middle of streaming.

“y/n?” Sean asks. “Corpse, where’d she go?”

“Is she okay?” Julien wonders.

He nods even though no one can see him. “Y—yeah. I’m gonna go check on her. I’ll be right back.” He mutes his mic and takes his headphones off before leaving the room to go check on you.

He finds you on the tiled bathroom floor vomiting into the toilet. He curses and kneels behind you, pulling your hair back.

When you finish, he says, “This is the third time this week you’ve gotten sick, baby.”

You groan and lean your head on your arm. “I know. I don’t know why. Well, I—“ You cut yourself off and go still as if you suddenly had a realization.

Corpse tilts his head. “What is it?”

It takes you a few long moments to respond. “…My period is late. And I’m getting morning sickness. Plus I’ve been moody.” You turn back to look at him and he can tell you’re about to cry. “Corpse.”

You don’t need to say anything else. He’s already standing up, trying to ignore the pit in his stomach and his shaking hands. “I’ll go get you some tests.”

You grab his hand. “Corpse, no! I’ll go.”

He shakes his head and gets on his knees in front of you. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll be okay, don’t worry about me.”

Your lip quivers. “You don’t have to do this. I know how much you don’t like going outside. Really, it’s not a big deal, I can go get some.”

But then he kisses your forehead. “y/n, it’s okay. You need to rest. I won’t be out for very long.” He stands up after squeezing your hands. “I’ll be back in, like, twenty minutes.”

Before you can do anything to stop him, he turns around and goes to grab his mask and his wallet before grabbing your car keys. He doesn’t like to drive, but you’re worried and driving is quicker. And right now you’re the most important thing for him to be thinking about.

When Corpse leaves, you sigh and stay sitting on the floor for a few more minutes while your stomach settles itself. Afterward, you get up and brush your teeth after flushing the toilet. Deciding to get some school work done, you grab your laptop and head to the living room.

When you pass by his recording room, however, you see his monitor still on. You curse and head inside. He’s still streaming. You sit down and put his headset on and unmute his mic. “Hey, guys.”

You glance at the exploding chat as Sean asks, “y/n? Where’s Corpse? Are you okay?”

I’m probably pregnant. “Uh, I’m kind of sick, so Corpse went out to get me some, uh, stuff. Sorry, but we gotta go. Uh, it was fun streaming.”

“Okay,” says Sykkuno. “I hope you feel better, y/n.”

“Thanks,” you mumble. “Bye, guys.” You leave the chat and close the game before looking at Corpse’s stream chat. “Sorry about this, guys. I had fun streaming, though, I’m sure Corse did too. Have a good day.” You smile even though they can’t see you before ending the stream. You go over to your monitor and leave the game and chat in your own game. You lean back in your chair and press your hands in your eyelids.

You want to cry. You want to scream. You can’t be pregnant. You’re still a kid, you haven’t completed college yet. You and Corpse aren’t even married.

You suck in a shaky breath and wipe your damp eyes. “I’m probably not pregnant,” you whisper and stand up to go into the living room. “I probably just ate something bad. Yeah, that’s it.”

You sit in the living room on the couch with a blanket around your shoulders, trying to focus on your schoolwork. But you can’t. Your mind is too overwhelmed with the possibilities. You hope Corpse is okay. You know how much he hates going outside and being around other people.

You turn back to look at the lecture your professor posted and sigh. You just need to relax and calm down. Just wait until Corpse gets back and focus on schoolwork until then.

It takes a while, but he does come back. Some small voice in your head thought that he wasn’t going to come back, but you quickly pushed it away. Corpse loves you and he’d never leave you.

The front door opens and you look up from the paper you’re in the middle of typing. You meet him in the hallway where he’s taking his mask off, a plastic bag in his hand. He meets your eyes and cups your face in one hand.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

Your chin wobbles and you shake your head. Tears form in the edges of your eyes and you suck in a deep breath. “Did you get some tests?”

He nods hand hands the bag to you. But before you can take them, he grabs your wrist. “Hey. I’m not leaving, y/n.”

You nod before taking the bag from him and quickly walking to the bathroom. You’re scared to say anything because you know that if you do, you’ll start to cry.

Ten minutes later, you’re sitting on the bathroom floor with Corpse, leaning into his side as he rubs your shoulder. There are three tests on the counter and your boyfriend has a timer running on his phone for five minutes. So far, three minutes have passed. To you, they’ve felt like a lifetime.

“Are you okay?” Corpse asks quietly, finally breaking the silence.

You shrug, not entirely sure how you feel. “I don’t know. I’m scared.” You glance down at your stomach and place a hand on your naval. “If I am pregnant, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m young.” You look at him. “We’re young. I’m still in college. I can’t afford to have a kid!”

“I know.” He draws you closer to your shoulder. “But whatever you decide to do, I’m going to support you. And I’m not going to leave you, either. In case you were worried about that.”

Even though you shouldn’t have been, you were.

Luckily, Corpse changes the subject, going on to say, “I’ve been working on another song.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Yeah. It’s kind of a lofi type song. I can show you the lyrics, later, if you want.”

You smile a little and look up at him, staring into his shining, dark eyes. “I’d like that.”

He smiles back and leans down to give you a small kiss. When you pull away, his phone rings, signaling that the timer is done. He turns his phone off and you stand up, walking towards the counter where the tests are. You pick one up.

One line.

You let out a breath of relief and turn to Corpse where he’s leaning on the sink. “Negative.”

He smiles a little. “What about the other two?”

You look back down at the other two tests. You pick one up and your heart drops. Two lines. You swallow and gently place it down as your hands begin to shake. Maybe that one is a false positive. There’s still another one. Whatever this one says will probably determine if you’re pregnant or not.

And so you pick it up. And you smack a hand over your mouth when you see two lines. You’re pregnant. You’re pregnant. The test falls from your hands and you fall to your knees, tears streaming down your face.

“Baby, what did it say?” Corpse asks, coming to your side and trying to coax your face into his hand. “Babe?”

“I don’t want a baby!” you exclaim through your tears. “I can’t handle that. I’m too young, I’m not ready. We’re not ready.” You lean into his arms as he pulls you towards him. “Corpse, I don’t want it.”

He nods and you feel him run his fingers through your hair. “It’s your decision, babe. It’s your choice. And I’m gonna support you either way if you want to keep it or not. If you do decide to keep it, then we’ll figure something out. If not, I’ll drive you there and get you In-N-Out or something.”

That gets you to laugh as you tighten your arms around him. “You’ll really buy me food?”

“Yes. I’d do anything for you.”

Your stomach churns that night as you’re scheduling an appointment to get rid of the clump of cells in your body. You’re nervous and Corpse was sweet enough to order you whatever you want for dinner.

You get off the phone as Corpse grabs the food from the delivery person and walks into the kitchen. He looks at you as he places the bags down on the counter. “So?”

You swallow and lean on the counter. “My appointment is in a couple of days.”

He nods and approaches you, placing his hands on your hips and drawing you to his chest. “It’s going to be okay, love.”

You lean your head on his chest. “Am I a bad person?”

“Of course not. It’s your body. You can do whatever you want with it. And besides, it’s not like it’s living anyway.”

You giggle as you try not to cry again. “What’s the baby gonna do? Remember it?”

Corpse laughs his deep and rumbly laugh and you grin. “True. But I seriously will buy you In-N-Out if you want. Or McDonald’s.”

You laugh again and tighten your arms around him. “Okay. And, Corpse?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for being so supportive of wanting to get rid of it.”

He kisses your head. “Don’t thank me.”

When you and Corpse are laying in bed after watching a true-crime documentary, he’s gently dragging his nails up and down your back as you’re nestled into his chest. The tinfoil is still on the windows and it makes the room even darker. Which is actually the entire point.

Something had been rattling around in your head for the past few hours and you hadn’t gotten the courage to ask Corpse. But here, in the darkness of the bedroom the two of you share, you often ask each other stupid questions late at night when neither of you can fall asleep.

And it feels like it’s going to be another one of those nights because you’re wide-awake and you know Corpse is as well. And so you ask, “Do you ever want to have kids together?”

His hand abruptly stops dragging his nails on your back. “What?”

You regret asking him, but there’s no going back now. “When we’re older, would you ever want to have a family together?”

His hand begins to slowly go up and down your back once more. “Maybe. If you want to. If you want to have kids one day when we’re older, then I’ll definitely have kids with you.”

This makes you smile and you tighten your arms around his middle. “I love you, Corpse.”

“I love you, too.” He kisses your head. “Before we have kids, we should get married first.”

You grumble and say, “We’ll see who proposes first, then.”

He laughs and wraps his arms around your waist. “It’ll probably be you, baby. I’m too anxious.”

“Excuses, excuses,” you huff but the two of you laugh. “I’m too broke to afford a ring, though. You might have to settle with a Ring Pop.”

“If you propose to me with an onion ring and I would say yes.”

You giggle as something else comes to mind. “What about those cheap, plastic spider rings? Or the ones that come on cupcakes.”

Corpse laughs again and begins to scratch your back again. “If you do that, we would get married on the spot,” he says in that deep and gravely voice of his.

You grin. “I’m keeping that in mind.”

Corpse hums into your shoulder. “You’re not going to fall asleep anytime soon, are you?”

You shake your head. “No. Are you?”

“Nope.”

“What do you want to do?” you ask him, pulling away from him to look at his face through the darkness.

Even though you can’t see him too much, you know he’s smirking. “Well, there’s already a fetus in you. Want to see if we can get another one?”

You laugh and push his chest. “You’re disgusting, Corpse!”

He laughs and grabs your hands and lifts your arms up so he can roll on top of you. “Maybe. But it got you to laugh.”

You blush and turn your head to the side as he sits on top of you, holding your hands above your head. He starts to kiss down your neck and you sigh. “Corpse.”

He hums against your skin.

You bite your lip. “I’m not really in the mood, babe.”

Immediately, he stops what he was doing and lifts his head. “Okay. That’s fine, babe. It’s been a long day. Can we still cuddle, though?”

You nod and smile. “Of course. You can be the little spoon.”

“Yay!” he exclaims and climbs on top of you and rolls on his side. You get yourself situated behind him and throw one arm over his stomach and use the other one to play with his incredibly curly hair. Your legs get tangled together like they always do and you bury your fingers in his hair while he lets out a deep breath through his nose.

“Happy?” you ask him quietly and he nods. You squeeze his stomach with the arm you have there and kiss his head. “Okay. Try to sleep again, babe, okay?”

He nods, but both of you know you’re not going to fall asleep for a while. And that’s okay. You both sit there in the darkness talking about everything and nothing while you play with his hair and he holds the hand around his stomach with one of his hands. You don’t say anything else about you being pregnant or kids or how you want to get rid of it, and you’re glad. You don’t want to talk about it because you feel like a bad person for not wanting the baby.

Of course, you’re not going to change your mind. Neither you nor Corpse are ready for a child. But that small voice in your head tells you that you’re making the wrong choice or a bad decision.

But you don’t listen to it. You don’t listen to it that night while Corpse falls asleep again in your arms or when you’re in class the next day. Not even when you’re listening to a demo of Corpse’s new song in the car on the way to the clinic.

“It’s really good!” you exclaim as he parks in the parking lot. “I love it, babe.”

He smiles at you before glancing at the clinic. “Want me to go with you?”

You shake your head. “No, I’ll be fine. It'll take little while, though. So you can go do something else if you want to.”

He nods and leans in to give you a kiss. “Okay. I love you. Text me if anything goes wrong at all, okay?”

You laugh gently and nod. “Okay, I will.”

“Love you,” he tells you again as you’re putting your mask on.

You pull it down and smile at him softly. “You already said that, babe.”

He blushes and looks away. “O--oh. Sorry.”

You just kiss his cheek. “It’s okay. I’ll be back.” You pull your mask back up and gather your things before getting out of the car. You wave to him and then make your way into the clinic.

And Corpse did stay true to his words about getting you In-N-Out after your appointment. He even paid for it and got you a milkshake, too.

That night, after finally dragging Corpse away from his computer so he’ll at least try to fall asleep with you, you begin to think. You feel better after your appointment. Before, you were incredibly stressed out and even a little depressed. But afterward, you felt so much better. You felt like you could breathe and no have to worry about throwing up or eating the wrong thing.

And you didn’t regret getting an abortion. You and Corpse both knew neither of you are ready for one and that’s okay. You’re both still young and still new to being together. But as Corpse hums some song against your neck with his nose buried in the skin there, you feel the vibrations from his throat against your shoulder. You sigh happily and push a hand into his hair and gently scratch at his scalp. You feel him smile against your neck and you can’t help but mimic it.

Yeah. You and Corpse aren’t ready for kids. But maybe you will be one day.

---------------------

I’m sorry, but the tag list is closed. It’s just too stressful for me to keep adding them. I’m sorry, guys. Also sorry to everyone who messaged me to add them because I didn’t write them down and can’t access my messages now. Still love you guys! x.

@honeysuger @chubby-dumpling @polahorvat @annshit @simonsbluee @dad-ee-drea @save-the-sky @wibblytimey @thegirlwholikestomanythings @yagorlnessa @alilshit @majolittlemixgurl18 @the-bunny-anon @hufflepuff-always-and-forever @loraleiix @artist-bby @ellomellows @pillowjj @matthew-gray-g @myherotrashbin @sunnsetteeee @lxdybyrd @cultofandom @anngelllla @tododokizuku @pachowpachowbucket @gaysludge @bethpiercwhy @marvelkatwoman @c0rpsew1fe @your-cherry-bomb @bi-andready-tocry @redosmo @gracehaileym @helena-way07 @nekomacam @fadingprunebagelfestival @fifiyau105 @easygoingtheatre @satanwithagenda @gracehaileym @oumachii @mythicalreader @this-isnt-living-anymore @punkrainbows @kitsunedarian @crapimahuman @honestlyimstilllivinginthe90s @realnicoleworld @scarswideworld @bluewneptune @weeblyheaux @beebo-at-the-church @melmachh @abbiesthings @peterparkerspjsuit @mitchiesdungeon @theeerealpunkin @kaitlynw011 @bookoffracturedghosts @beebeomgyu @tooturntashbash @hughugh20 @spideys-gurl @reddeserths @heartbroken-writer @chimchimsugakookies @danny-devitowo @susceptible-but-siriusexual @moonnei @crystalbaby12 @cherry-pieee @girl-obsessed-with-things @sokkas-paintings @yobroitsjayden @boba-king-iroh @chouxfleur @bbecc-a @tayloryorkscurls @getdevils @nightly-daydreamer @beegobuzzbuzz @dxffxdils @mae-musicbitch @fangirlmisanthrope @bipolarbisexualdisaster @taliyahvermillion @unded-bride @kguerrero-23 @cold-deep-water @demoiselle-en-detresse00 @motheroffae @jokenotfunny @yongboxerrr @theolwebshooter @hawkssnugget @yoyoanaria @babyhoneystvles @rjwinterfell @simp-for-corpse @benjaminka @sailor-earth-1 @mmimozaa @zirvel @bombardia @parkchaeyoung1997 @tetsuluvbot @killuaz0ldick @xibrokensunriseix@fuckbuckyyy @luv-buggie @moneybagmara @betabeta0031 @adorkably @angelic-blxssom @littlebabysandboxburritos @thebriarpatch @i-have-arrived-bitch @alexandrium

#corpse x reader #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband #corpse_husband #corpse_husband x reader #oneshot #x reader #angst #fluff

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hauntedelation · 3 years

Text

Let Us In

(Picture found on Pinterest, I don't own!)

Description: It was time for Sy to be shown how much he is appreciated in that house.

Pairing: Gender Neutral Reader (No race or body type mentioned) x Mike x Captain Syverson. (Walter is mentioned.)

A/N: Alright, so this was from another Discord chat with my friends. @hope-to-hell and @feralrunaway. The overall back story is from Hope's universe with Mike, Walter, Reader and Sy. Here's the link to her master list and all of her stories that feature this dynamic!

Feral gave these wonderful lines that are highlighted red. Thank you, friend 🥺

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: smut (18+), oral sex male receiving, reassurance, praise, loving ass play and feelings

Sorry for errors, enjoy guys!

➽─────────────❥

He arrived with his fingers playing on the rim of his cap, ready to take it off to let some air grace his heated scalp. The weighty thud of the garage door resonated secondly.

Walt was out that night, working a later shift at the station. He took the short time leave his best, a little note with a his best addressed to Sy. His intentions were to be provided when he came home. He parted an hour before with a kiss to each of your foreheads,

'Don't overwhelm him, yeah? Have fun, I'll be home when the sun comes up.'

You were peering at the bulk of Sy's body, how it would tense with each move he made. He bent down, unlacing his boots and slid them off. "Hey y'all," he greeted you and Mike, but that drawl was muffled, drained.

Mike was gnawing on his bottom lip, his eyes sparkling in the setting sun through the kitchen window. His fingers tapped anxiously on the countertop, with no particular rhythm planned.

When he caught the eye of the southern male, standing a few feet away, he gifted him a nod and an awfully hidden smile.

It was contagious, you followed after Mike to welcome Sy more personally. You caught how his hands smeared the grease on his jeans, the sweat trickle along his forehead.

He had been at the exterior of the house the entirety of the day.

That, and with the passing months he had worked to improve dozens of things for the house. Though, never did any of you ask. Sy always found something, taking those problems in his hands and wiring his thoughts to fixing them.

He was tenacious, not you, Michael, or even Walter could convince him to halt his favors. All the man would reply with was, 'It keeps me busy, I don't mind a bit.'

This was a few days ago, the particular idea came with a conversation between you and Michael:

You needed to show him your thanks.

"How’s the project coming big guy?" says Mike as his hand lays on his thick bicep. The man sighs, clicking his tongue in thought.

"Well I reckon..."

You and Michael bring him into the kitchen, listening to his musings about today and what his plans were for finishing that project. Sy is speaking softly, his body relaxing more and more under yours and Mike's hands sliding over his clothed skin.

"You need anything?" You let your palm glide up his chest. His blue eyes gaze down at you before they flicker to the sweating pitcher of tea on the counter.

He gulps down a glass before you catch Mike's silent message. His chest is heaving in that thrilling suspense, the quick wiggle to his brow a signal.

"Sy, can we do something for you?"

The man places his glass down on the countertop, wiping away stray droppings of the drink with his hand. His chin tilts toward you, and he was mulling over that query until Mike stepped in, voice modestly shaky,

"Yeah, you got a minute to spare?"

His nimble fingers trace the sleeve of Sy's shirt, along the stitching and the fabric stretching over his arm. The man catches this, blinking slow at the younger man. He was distracted, missing the way that your lips pulled up in a vampish manner.

Sy rubs at his beard and drifts his eyes between the two of you, oblivious, unaware,

"Sure, what do ya need?"

➽─────────────❥

The Captain had fallen asleep, he was damn sure if it. He was still out there in the garage, hunched over that table and drawing, planning and redrawing those notes for that task. He swears that he must have drifted off and was snoring like a hog out there.

He had to have, because he was dreaming up a vision he thought he would never experience with his eyes wide open.

His curious words, "What're you two planning here?" they wavered away the moment he was brought into the bedroom.

It was real, far more tangible than anything else that could come to mind. Two pairs of wandering hands, pulling him into that familiar room, two pairs of lips pressing onto his skin and his own.

He can feel both of your fingers on his worn-out body, the way that you two had your own mission. You had your intent to venture past his garments, seeking every inch of him.

Michael enjoyed dragging his fingertips along his scalp, down the nape of his damp neck. He took the older man's lips with his and languidly, worked his mouth open. He was chasing that sweet, sugary taste of the ice tea.

You moved from his neck, his collarbone, before gently dropping to the floor before him. Your hands unlatched the leather binding his hips and soon his jeans slid from his thighs, his underwear accompanying.

The first taste of him, the gift, the raw sensation of his stiffening length. All of the salt and the wood, all of those hours he clocked in outside.

The flavor of Sy coated your tongue, and how that roused something in the both of you. You could hear Mike swallow every moan falling from Sy's lips.

Right there in the middle of the bedroom, with the door to his back, he had nothing to hold onto. You unknowingly placed him in the position of using his will to keep himself standing. He really wasn't trying to lose.

Mike joined you on the floor, grinning up at the Captain and taking his erection into his hands. They met eyes, and he tapped the head of his cock against his swollen lips, running his tongue around the ridges before taking him all down.

Michael and his talented mouth, he almost sent the older man tumbling.

Almost did, you could feel his smirk through Sy's skin. Though your hands steadied him, at least for a moment or two. They lightly squeezed his thighs, hardly able to make a dent in the muscle. He was alright.

At least until your fingers worked around his legs from the front to the back. You had found the white tube under the bed and slickened your fingers, creeping to that spot.

Your torturing mouth, nipping on his thigh and his abdomen, you whispered into him, "You need to sit down, Captain?"

His fingers trembled when he pulled at the hem of his shirt, sliding the filthy garnet off, and tossing it on the floor.

Michael pulled his mouth away and sent Sy a light-hearted chuckle, he followed the dark ring around his biceps and collar bone. The Captain had developed a perfect farmers tan.

Your finger worked just passed that taught ring, Mike returning his mouth and—

"Christ, sweetheart." He didn't know who to address.

Sy's hips also didn't know which direction to move. They fell back, chasing your digits and pushing you in deeper, then kicked forward into the heat of Michael's mouth.

He ran his palm on his buzzed head, then his knees grew wobbly and–

You both guided him to the bed. Sy was compliant, more than so, especially with the way his eyelids shaded most of his blackened blues. He was puddy at the hands of you two.

You tapped his knee and told him to position his hips just over the edge, thumb back to rubbing over his sensitive hole. Mike was panting in your ear, throwing out a comment about, "You take their fingers so well Sir, so good, and god–"

His jeans were way tighter than he could say was comfortable but he neglected that.

Mike took pleasure in holding Sy's pulsing cock, slickening the member to the point of glistening. It was like he craved to make a mess over him. Leftover saliva dribbled over the man's balls, dribbling more and pooling on the surface of the couch.

His other hand was still sticky with precum, but he gathered your jaw in those fingers. He removed your mouth from Sy's hole, your tongue lapping at the ring, and revealing the view of the man clenching around nothing.

You filled him once more before Mike slanted his mouth with yours, starving and needy, swiping his tongue repeatedly against yours.

Sy's nails sunk into that couch, hips jutting into the grip of Michael's hand. It was torture, the man didn't wish to stop all of this, hell he hoped that he wouldn't finish anytime soon. That would take every drop of thought in him.

His mouth fell open though, effortless the moment your third finger was slowly pushed into his hole. Massaging and working him open just the way that he liked.

"Mm, y'all I–"

And then yours and Michael's lips fell to the veins on Sy's erection. You both shared the salt of his precum, the thrum of his heartbeat through his skin. Neither of you fighting for it, sucking his head into your mouth and Mike licking at you to get a taste.

All the while your fingers didn't dare halt, pressing deeper and deeper to the point where Sy was crumbling around you. Stimulating that sweet spot in the depths of him.

If you had peeked through your lashes, you could see how his lips were perpetually open, revealing those ragged, low sounds from his core.

You would notice his flushed face, clear to the man's ears. You would see the way Mike's palm rubbed up that man's stomach, up to roll the man's nipples between his fingers.

And you could see how Sy could hardly keep his eyes open, struggling to take everything in in front of him. Those pretty eyes fluttered. Christ, did they keep on closing, did his head fall back into the cushion of the couch.

He could feel it, that pressure wind through his spine to the point where he could say he had never quite felt that so intensely before.

Sy's eyes would close only for him to be pulled back between his legs, needing to look into two pairs of adoring eyes.

"You two a-are killing me."

You pulled the tip of his erection out of your mouth, a wet pop emerging from your lips. Mike, who had been running his tongue over Sy's balls, delicately taking each one between his lips, eventually drifted back upward.

He was sloppily taking in your remaining spit, more liquid from Sy's leaking erection.

You kept on rubbing that spot, feeling how his hole clamped around your fingers. But with your free hand you found Sy's leg again, thumb grazing along the many hairs there.

He was taking you in, gulping down a strained breath well in his stomach. You kissed, and you kissed, over the flesh of his abdomen and the sides of his ribs, over the knotted markings carved into him.

"Sy?" It took him a minute,

"Mmh?" That's all he could push out, his hand soothed up your shoulder, a thick brow lifting shallowly. His other hand was tangled in Mike's unruly curls, watching the younger man's head bob rhythmically.

And how he was still quivering, his hand shakier than he had ever seen it. Through Michael's earnest mouth he could hear you,

"Sy we just wanted to thank you."

You pressed your lips over his ribs some more, before flowing down his stomach and over the trail of hair further south.

"We appreciate everything that you do. You need to know that. You need to know that nothing you do goes unnoticed, all of the favors and the things you improve in our lives. We want to show you how much you mean to us."

Your eyes met his and through that fog you saw that man, passed his thundering heart beat and through the muscle itself. It was a challenge, 'maybe he didn't really see', you worried.

There was still hope in your chest, you could sense that somewhere he was understanding, grasping.

He had been rendered speechless in your heard. His uneven breaths still fell from his mouth, his tongue wetting his bitten lips. That large hand of his soothed over the back of your neck, fingers brushing softly the skin behind your ear.

"You make us all happy, and feel so protected. You've changed our lives, more than you will ever know."

Michael took his mouth off of him, gathering his breath and letting the Captain swipe his thumb at the spit dripping over his lower lip.

His throat was hoarse, and after a tender kiss to Sy's thumbpad he told him, "Just lay back and let us make you feel good for a little while."

Sy didn't know whose eyes to watch, bouncing back and forth, captivated and welling with a hoard of emotions. The man decided to nod his head in a daze, trying out a controlled smile. He'd tried so much before he had to let his head rest into the couch.

Every bit of tension was dissolving from his body, he'd begun to allow his body to mold, shape under the both of you.

The weary Captain observed you and Michael, gazing at you two working your love into him.

➽─────────────❥

Taglist: @mansaaay @hope-to-hell @cavillryarchive @emyearns @feralrunaway @luclittlepond @madbaddic7ed

➽─────────────❥

#captain syverson x reader #captain syverson #mike hellraiser #mike x reader #captain syverson imagine #mike: hellraiser imagine #henry cavill smut #mike x reader x sy #Let Us In

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fortunesfavours · 3 years

Text

My gift for @casismymrdarcy as part of @starrynightdeancas wonderful gift exchange. I had so much fun writing this! Definitely going to try AUs like this more. A short and sweet one-shot featuring Dean as a camp counselor, ghost summoning, and the cute counselor from Cabin Three getting caught in the rain. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1189

Continued below the cut, will be up on AO3 once I decide on a title.

CW: slight mention of John Winchester/rough family life

Generally, in all of Dean’s sum 25 years of life experience, letting a pack of eight-year-olds that were already positively intoxicated on sugar near candles, a lighter, and his co-counselor’s Ouija board was a truly horrific idea. Yet, here he was, weary head in his hands, attempting to supervise the most hare-brained idea of the week. His co-counselor, an energetic woman named Clara he had first met at the staff meeting a few days before, was on her break, leaving him alone with their cabin. She had pulled him aside in the dinner line and told him that she had “stuff to let the kids experiment with” in a box under her bunk. He had (foolishly) assumed this would probably be art supplies, perhaps some glitter glue and cardstock, or maybe pony beads and string, but alas, here he was.

He had opened the box that had once apparently held Kirkland-brand orange juice to find an intricately-carved wooden plank, detailed with curling vines and celestial objects, as well as the alphabet, numbers, and a small selection of words engraved in a rather medieval-looking font. On top was an equally-ornate planchette, a pack of tea lights, a lighter painted with a spiderweb, and a sticky-note addressed to him.

“Dean,

Have fun ;) Break ends at 1 am, going into town. Don’t burn down the cabin.”

Dean had sighed, rolling his eyes and mourning his choice of summer job. Charlie had sung the praises of her childhood camp to him when he had mentioned his search, leading Dean to sign up as a counselor.

One of the kids, a little girl named Ella, was calling for Dean. He shook himself back to focus to see her frustratedly trying to work the lighter. The kids had set up a wobbly circle of candles around the board, and were clustered around it. Ella’s nose is scrunched up with concentration, and Dean pushes himself out of his chair to light the candles for them. He deftly sets the tea lights alight, and the room starts to smell of beeswax. One of the kids has scrambled over to the lightswitch, and with a flick of a switch, the cabin is filled with warm, flickering candlelight.

The kids promptly start an eager discussion of the proper way to summon a ghost, and Dean so desperately wants to just go to bed. Sure, his dad had been a little over-interested in these sorts of things, but that sure as hell didn’t mean he was going to pull out his childhood familiarity with the paranormal. He can almost see himself as a young child in their faces, bright with eager curiosity and uninhibited trust in the world around them. His chest twinges a bit at the thought, but he catches himself before he can start to dwell on his family issues. He and Sam are out now, out and living their lives. He can be a camp counselor now, he can think about the cute guy in charge of Cabin Three with the blue eyes and not hate himself for it. Dean chuckles, leaning back in his chair, and jokingly calls out, “You should try Latin.”

Charlie, a tall, gangly kid with serious eyes and a way of walking that vaguely reminded Dean of a bird, bounces in their seat at this suggestion. “I know Pig Latin! My cousin taught me!”

This new addition is eagerly accepted by the children, who clearly have decided that this is quite a good substitute for proper Latin. Dean closes his eyes and yawns, mind drifting to thoughts of rest and the chocolate bar he had stashed in his backpack. He could almost fall asleep here, listening to the crackle of the candles and the pounding of the rain outside. Reluctantly keeping himself awake, he tuned back in to hear the group chanting something that with translation was most definitely “ghosts of Lakeside Camp, we summon you” interspersed with humming of what might have been the camp theme song, and which also may have been some pop song Dean can’t conjure the name of. Their voices start to crescendo, getting more discordant but also more eager. All at once, there’s a pounding knock on the door combined with a boom of thunder, then a flash of lighting. One voice lets out a quickly-muffled scream as a gust blows through the cabin and extinguishes the candles. The cabin goes silent but for the rain, full of wide eyes and scared faces.

Dean looks around and as he opens his mouth to comfort his campers, is interrupted by another knock. He silently moves to the door, opening it a crack so as to not startle the campers. When he locks eyes with Cabin Three’s counselor, dripping wet and wiping rain off his face, Dean decides that this is either his lucky day or the gods cursing him. Only one way to find out, he thinks.

“Man, you’re drenched.” he says, and immediately curses internally. What an introduction. The man blinks a few times, and responds entirely genuinely, “My umbrella broke. May I come in?”

“Oh- yeah, yeah, of course. I’ll grab you a towel.” Dean swings the door open, and the man steps in, only to be greeted by twelve terrified faces.

“Yeah, um, sorry about that everyone. This is just… uh-” he glances over at the man, who realizes after a moment what Dean is asking for. “Castiel. I’m Cabin Three’s counselor.” The kids murmur amongst themselves before one speaks up.

“You’re not a ghost, right?”

Castiel squints, and Dean can’t help but find it adorable. “Not as far as I know.”

Hurrying off to grab a towel, Dean rifles through his suitcase before returning with his pool towel and handing it to Castiel. He gladly accepts it, and promptly wanders off to stand in a corner and attempt to dry his rain-drenched hair.

Dean spends the next hour herding campers through the process of getting ready for bed, sneaking conversation with Castiel in between. However, all this does is further send Dean absolutely further into his developing crush. With every sentence exchanged, Cas is nothing but clever, kind, and utterly unlike anyone Dean has ever met. By the time the kids are all asleep and the cabin is tidied up, the rain has subsided into a light drizzle. Cas, though, makes no mention of leaving. Instead, he and Dean wander out onto the porch to continue talking. By the time Dean’s co-counselor returns, Cas has to excuse himself back to his cabin. As Dean turns to go inside, Cas calls out and offers a folded piece of paper. Before Dean can open it, he smiles a beautifully soft smile, turns on his heel, and vanishes into the foggy night.

When Dean opens the paper later that night, he can’t contain the smile that breaks out over his face.

“Dean,

Go out with me tomorrow? I know a place I think you’d like.

Cas <3”

When they get ice cream the next day, they share a kiss over a sundae and Dean decides that taking this job was the best decision he’s made yet.

#spn #supernatural #supernatural fic #destiel #destiel fic #deancas edit #deancas fic #userstarry #my work

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keepyourpantsongohan · 4 years

Text

Hills of Marigold

Before that, we must find love and fill the vessel with it. (Chapter 500) | Discord Secret Santa 2020 for @chavelink. | AO3 | Holiday Prompt: Day of the Dead.

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It starts with Kakashi’s sticker chart.

Naruto is not quite old enough for the Academy yet, but his eagerness to become a shinobi is almost as vast as his ability to turn his home upside down the minute his parents look away.

Though Kakashi’s duties don’t usually leave him much time for babysitting, he knows more than most how rare it is that the Hokage gets free time, so he volunteers himself twice a month to be subject to the hurricane that is five-year-old Uzumaki Naruto in his sensei’s stead.

Out-running Naruto is not the problem. Kakashi is certainly fast enough to reach him before he can do any permanent damage. What really perplexes Kakashi is how to keep a five-year-old entertained. Naruto is more loud, curious and insistent on clinging to Kakashi every minute of he’s around than anyone he’s ever met. (Even Gai can be reasoned with, Kakashi thinks, trying to make rice with two sticky hands tugging on his jōnin blues.)

“Why can’t we eat ramen instead, Kakashi-niichan?” Naruto complains, scrunching up his face.

“It doesn’t have any nutritional value,” Kakashi replies, sighing.

Naruto pauses, and though Kakashi’s eyes are on the stovetop, he knows the younger boy is frowning. “What’s that?”

“Vitamins and minerals. Those things are in the vegetables you’re going to eat.” He eyes the other pan, and decides it’s time to plate the sweet potato and broccoli. Naruto doesn’t look particularly enthused, so Kakashi reminds him, “If you want to become a ninja, you’ll have to eat the kind of food which makes you stronger.”

At the mention of the word ‘ninja,’ Naruto’s face lights up. “Hey, Kakashi-nii, teach me a jutsu!”

It’s not the first time Naruto has asked, and Kakashi usually flat-out refuses. Naruto is destructive enough without any shinobi techniques. But an idea suddenly strikes Kakashi. “How about we make a deal?”

The deal Kakashi proposes is premised on the most basic of tactics Minato-sensei has instilled in his team: Positive reinforcement. If Naruto behaves well enough, Kakashi will teach him something.

It becomes clear to Kakashi in the first hour or so that Naruto’s impatience outweighs his focus. With the prospect of a ninja technique on the line, he is far more concerned about hassling the information out of Kakashi than he is about washing up after lunch, or cleaning his room. So it falls on Kakashi to improvise.

Kakashi holds up the latest Ichiraku flyer. “You see these stickers?” he asks.

“So we are getting ramen?” Naruto asks, bouncing on his heels.

“Not today.” Carefully, Kakashi peels up a circle which announces a 10% off deal on yakisoba. “If you can earn five of these stickers, I’ll teach you how to knock someone my size off of their feet. But I’ll keep the flyer with me, so there’s no cheating.”

Kakashi’s plan is more effective than he could’ve predicted. Not only does Naruto manage to keep himself clean the rest of the afternoon, but his attempts at taijutsu tire him out to the point where, for once, he is asleep in bed by the time Minato and Kushina come home.

“Are you interested in becoming a jōnin-sensei, Kakashi?” Minato asks him with a wide smile.

“Not on your life,” says Kakashi, shunshin-ing away with a wave.

—

Whether he likes it or not, Kakashi does become something of a teacher to Naruto. The young boy, distracted as he is, doesn’t shy away from hard work, as long as it’s something that interests him. After a while, they make their way through some basic attack and defence strategy (though Naruto seems to rely much more heavily on the former). Kakashi even tries to work with him on chakra control, but despite his size, Naruto’s chakra reservoir is enormous, so even gathering chakra to his palms proves difficult.

By the time they take a break in the late afternoon, Kakashi half-wishes he could reach for the book in his pocket and spend the rest of the day letting Naruto practice, but he knows shinobi at this age usually need supervision. He sighs, passing his hand over the dandelions wistfully.

“It’s not fair, y’know,” Naruto complains, sprawled out on the grass. “How come I can’t make my hands work like yours, Kakashi-nii?”

“You’re five,” Kakashi tells him, as if it’s that simple.

“But Sasuke can—”

Kakashi hears Naruto complain about Sasuke, his habitual playmate, often. Itachi’s little brother, if the name is anything to go by. Kakashi isn’t sure if Naruto sees Sasuke as his greatest enemy or best friend.

“It doesn’t matter how quickly you can learn. What’s important is that you work at it.” Kakashi says firmly. Sensing Naruto needs more reassurance, he adds, “Besides, Sasuke may not have as much chakra as you do.”

Naruto mulls this thought over, tugging the grass into his small fists. “Why not?”

Kakashi thinks of Kushina, and the overwhelming energy it must take just to contain her presence. “It seems to run in your family.”

As if summoned by these words, Kakashi feels a shift in the air which marks Naruto’s mother’s arrival. The sure-footed sound of her sandals landing on a tree branch, the smell of coconut oil from her hair, and the loud chakra signature which matches her son.

“It’s time for dinner, y’know!” Kushina announces, hands on her hips as she jumps down. “Minato made grilled saury, and I won’t have you boys coming back when it’s already cold.”

“Food!” Naruto says, hopping to his feet with a grin. He grabs his mother’s hand. “Let’s go, kaa-chan!”

Weakly, Kakashi tries to raise his hands in a warding gesture. “Actually, I have some food at home—”

“Nice try,” Kushina says, grabbing the collar of his flak vest with her free hand. “You’re coming too, Kakashi.”

Kakashi sighs, letting himself be tugged along. “Aren’t I too old for you to still be force-feeding me?”

“If you want to be a ninja, you have to eat strong things,” Naruto pipes up from Kushina’s side helpfully.

“You tell him, Naruto!” Kushina says, grinning at her son.

“I don’t like being a sensei,” Kakashi mutters under his breath, while Kushina and Naruto laugh at him.

—

Despite Kakashi’s words, dinner at the Uzumaki household isn’t so bad. Kushina may give him too many helpings of saury, Minato might be far too concerned about his social life, and Naruto might try to dump his vegetables on Kakashi’s plate, but there is a warmth in their home in which Kakashi cannot help but feel caught up.

It is this same warmth which has him linger after dinner is over, handing plates over to Kushina as Minato carries Naruto off to bed.

“I want to thank you, y’know,” Kushina says gently. “Naruto thinks pretty highly of you.”

Kakashi ducks his head, cheeks ruddy over the edge of his mask. “I’m not doing much.”

“He really looks forward to those stickers, and your lessons.” she says. Her eyes drift towards the fridge, where Naruto has stuck a colourful paper with his assortment of Ichiraku coupons. “I was wondering, do you mind if I join you both next time? There’s a place I’d like to show Naruto. And you, if you’re willing.”

The request leaves Kakashi taken aback. While Kushina doesn’t often leave the village, he knows she’s as busy as Minato-sensei, overseeing most of the genin and chunin missions in his stead. But Kushina’s eyes are sincere and bright, so he cannot bring himself to question the request.

“Ah, sure,” he replies. “What did you have in mind?”

What Kushina has in mind, it turns out, is a week-long trip to the coastline. It requires Kakashi to turn down a two-man mission with Tenzō, and an invitation from Asuma to join his former classmates for Yakiniku, but he is curious about what could Kushina could want to show them so much. A curiosity which only grows when he realizes that Minato-sensei will be joining them.

Kakashi leans against the doorframe, straightening up when his sensei walks in, backpack in hand. “Is it really okay for you to be leaving Konoha for a week, sensei? I mean, Yondaime-sama?” he corrects.

“I wouldn’t be leaving if I didn’t think so,” Minato replies firmly. “Our village is made up of more than just the Hokage, Kakashi. Shikaku-san will look after the the jōnin, and Chōza-san will see to the genin and chunin. Sandaime-sama has agreed to deal with any emergencies. Konoha will be fine without us.”

Kakashi’s brows draw together. “Whatever Kushina wants us to see must be important.”

Minato smiles. “I’ll leave it to her to tell you the rest. Let’s get going.”

—

It occurs to Kakashi, as they head east, that he has never seen Minato and Kushina on a mission together.

It is something to behold. They keep pace with each other naturally, even with Kushina carrying Naruto on her back. And though Kushina’s presence is louder and bolder than Minato’s, there is a synchronicity in their movements which makes Kakashi think of celestial bodies moving in each other’s orbit. It strikes Kakashi with the memory of being five years old himself, seeing two smiling faces looking down at him in the moonlight.

As they stop to rest for the night, Kakashi puzzles over if he’s ever taken a trip like this, just for the sake of it. If he has, it’s hard to recall. At Naruto’s age, his world had been so different.

Even his sensei has changed somehow, he decides, looking at Minato, Kushina and Naruto piled beneath one blanket. More at ease with the world, he thinks, watching as Naruto’s knee digs into his father’s chest. He hears Minato whisper something to Kushina, and watches their hands intertwine, musing on what it would be like to look so certain of his place in life.

“Don’t look so gloomy,” Kushina tells him the next morning, as they pack up. “You’re not on duty today. You can relax. Maybe even smile.”

“I relax,” Kakashi replies, crossing his arms.

Kushina laughs, reaching upward to muss up his hair. He wonders when he outgrew her. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The last half of their trip passes quickly. They stop in a seaside village long enough for lunch, but from thereon out, the rest of their trip is past far enough from the forest that the landscape remains full and vast before them.

Kakashi takes note as they pass over rolling hills filled with marigolds, adding unusual brightness to their path. Kushina’s speed finally slows down to a walking pace, and it allows Naruto to stare with open-mouthed appreciation at their view.

“Orange is my favourite colour,” Naruto announces, holding up a flower right up to Kakashi’s visible eye.

“I believe you,” says Kakashi.

Kakashi wonders if this is another trait that runs in their family, as he watches Kushina gather a bouquet of her own. Minato looks on with fondness, taking their son into his arms instead, so that his wife can move more freely.

When Kushina is nearly done, Minato approaches her and tucks a flower into her hair. His gaze is warm and soft in a way that makes Kakashi feel like he should look away. He wonders yet again why Kushina has asked him here, with their family, bright and orange and whole.

Kushina turns to Kakashi. “We’re almost there.”

Flowers clutched in hand, they walk until the flowers give way to grass, and until that grass shifts to sand. Though it’s approaching sunset, the water still shines with its warm reflection, straight through the lapping waves to let its bright golden twin rest at their feet. The salted air fills their lungs with every breath.

Wordlessly, Kushina removes her shoes, and Minato takes them into one hand and watches her walk slowly across the sand. Kushina approaches the edge of the water. Marigold petals fall into her footsteps, somehow unmoved by the changing winds.

“Mito-sama,” says Kushina, clear and certain over the breeze. “It’s good to visit you again.”

It only occurs to Kakashi then just where Kushina has taken them. Beyond the horizon line, though he’s never seen it, he’s almost certain there would’ve once been an island. The tide looks calm now, but he’s heard of the powerful current that few shinobi would be able to navigate unscathed.

Kakashi doesn’t expect Kushina’s call to be answered, if her words are for the person he suspects. To his surprise, however, he does hear something, a melodious whisper, by wind or water, that makes Kushina turn to them with the widest smile Kakashi has ever seen.

“Mito-sama,” Kushina says, with nothing pride in her eyes, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. Naruto?”

Minato sets his son down on the sand, and lays an encouraging hand on top of his hair. “Go on.”

Naruto is uncharacteristically quiet as he approaches his mother, gazing up at the horizon as he might a new friend. “The name is Uzumaki Naruto!” he proclaims, to the sea.

Kushina’s arms come around Naruto, allowing him to lean his back against her legs. “You told me once that I needed to fill this vessel with love. Naruto... it’s more like he makes the vessel bottomless, because he fills it with more to love than we ever thought possible. He eats lots, and grows every day. He’s really good at making friends. He’s not in the Academy yet, but he’s always doing his best to learn. He’s probably a little too much like me, but I see Minato in him too. We’re a family now, y’know?”

With that, Minato steps forward. Kakashi’s eyes are so fixed on the scene in front of him, he doesn’t notice Minato looking at him until a hand touches his shoulder. “Kakashi,” he says gently, inclining his head towards the water.

Hesitantly, Kakashi walks in step with Minato. When the sand grows wet beneath his feet and his toes are lapped at by the tide, he feels Naruto grab for his hand. He stares at the small fingers for a moment, feeling Minato’s palm still resting on his shoulder, and strands of Kushina’s long hair brushing against all of their backs.

Kushina listens to the wind’s rhythm intently, and continues. “You know Minato. We’ve been walking side-by-side since we were kids. And now, we look over the village together. I think you would like the way it looks now.”

Kakashi feels Kushina’s eyes turn to him. “And this is Kakashi. He’s like a little brother to me. Or like... an older brother to Naruto. I think he’s still too scrawny to be someone’s uncle. He takes too many missions, and he doesn’t spend enough time being a teenager, and he’s always slouching— but he also cares about people more than almost anyone, in this land or the next. I think he likes being Naruto’s teacher, no matter what he says. He’s family too.”

Swallowing against a suddenly tight throat, Kakashi tries not to let Naruto feel his hand shake. “Nice to meet you, Mito-sama,” he says, when he can find his voice.

He cannot make out the wind’s song over the sound of his thudding heartbeat, but he does feel a light breeze against brush against his forehead, leaving the same warmth in its path as his mother and father did when they pressed a goodnight kiss to his temple. His eyes widen.

“I’m glad you could join us, Kakashi,” Minato says, squeezing Kakashi’s shoulder.

In turn, Kakashi’s grip on Naruto’s fingers becomes tighter, if still gentle. “Me too.”

#kakashi hatake #naruto uzumaki #minakushi #kushina uzumaki #minato namikaze #uzumaki family #i hope this does justice to your prompt!#ayesha talks anime #fanfiction #mine #long post #sloaners secret santa #chavelink #discord

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