#based off third rock from the sun | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunlightmurdock · 9 months

Text

The Odyssey | 0.4 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Bradley wakes up beside you, tensions boil over.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity, bickering and teasing through the chapter, mlre warnings to be added on a chapter by chapter basis. 18+ minors dni, wc 4.6k

…

Turning onto his side reminds him that he’s not at home. His cheek meets the edge of the mattress, his arm already hanging freely off of it. He groans softly, then clears his throat, but otherwise makes no effort to move.

Your fingers curl and then uncurl, fiddling with the edge of the bedsheet. You’ve been up for twenty minutes now, staring at the man in the bed opposite you. He has kicked the covers off at some point in the night, discarded his belt too. His khaki shorts are still on, just unbuttoned for comfort.

He’s laying on his front, one arm bent and tucked under his pillow to support his head. Ashamedly, your eyes keep wandering back to the same thing. That long, even line down the stretch of his back. Starting at the waistband of the shorts, extending up along a plain of tanned, freckled skin, onto broad, thick shoulders. Before this, you’ve never thought about what Professor Bradshaw had looked like under those one-size too big button up shirts he wears.

Even his breathing is just so heavy.

Routinely, he’ll shift, pressing his face into the pillow and rocking his hips a little to try to find comfort again. Behind you, the sun has risen, casting a golden shadow over half of the lake, and, incidentally, Bradley too. Before now, you’ve never noticed quite how many freckles he has.

Finally, reminding himself that he’s got a hungover nineteen year old to go and reprimand, he forces himself to blink a few times. After opening his eyes for the first time, he’s somewhat aware of your presence. It isn’t until maybe the third blink that he finally draws his brows together, lifts his head and squints at you.

You stare back at him as he mumbles your name, his voice deep and gruff from a night of sleeping with his lips slightly parted.

“Are you watching me sleep?” He pushes himself up a little more, turning so that he’s sitting up in bed. Curls a mess, still trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes, rolling those thick shoulders to stretch them.

“We need to talk.”

“Jesus Christ,” He scoffs, pressing the base of his palm into his eye socket in an attempt to wipe the blur from his vision. “Can you let me wake up first?”

It’s already dawning on him that he made a dumb decision in falling into this bed last night. He probably shouldn’t have left Luke alone with Robin. Even if he had, he shouldn’t have let himself into your room. Natasha would’ve gotten him a different room in a heartbeat. He had just been so exhausted, and your door was right there.

“You were in the military?” It wasn’t what the topic of conversation was supposed to be about, you’ve just never noticed that silver-balled chain dangling around his neck before. Bradley glances down at the tags resting against his bare chest and rubs at his eye again.

“Navy, for a bit.” He tells you, the sleep starting to clear from his voice. Six years, actually. He shipped out at eighteen and came back a man.

“Did you go to Vietnam?” That’s always the question that follows, and when you’re a man who turned eighteen in 1971, there’s usually one answer.

He turns his head and looks across at you, “Only for a couple months.” Finally, he takes note of his half awake state and lifts a hand to try to tame his curls. Twisting them apart and brushing them back off of his face. “Why are we talking about the Navy?”

“Because I didn’t know that you served,” You reply, lifting your hands away from the covers and instead toying with your nightgown. Bradley watches your hands fiddle in the lemon coloured material, thinking back to the conversation he had had with Luke. He’d been expecting something uglier. It’s old-fashioned, but he doesn’t hate it. “You just don’t seem like the type—“

“I’m not.” Bradley interrupts you. He pushes himself up from the twin bed and stands straight, stretching his arms above his head and craning his neck from side to side.

He looks bigger without his clothes on. All three buttons on his shorts popped open revealing the waistband of white boxers inside. A steady trail of brown hair extending from his bellybutton to that waistband, stretching from the middle of his chest across his pecs. His biceps flexing as he tucks his arms behind his head.

“Do I have something on my face?” It’s more of a groan as he stretches out again, he peeks his eyes open to remind you that you’re staring at him.

“You have a lot of nerve,” You push yourself up swiftly. Here we go. He raises his eyebrows, intrigued but far from intimidated. You walk closer, barefoot and dressed in that cute little nightie. “First you let yourself in here and pass out next to me—“

“I was halfway across the room and in a different bed, it wasn’t—“

“Then,” You interrupt, talking louder to him, “You keep me up with your snoring—“

“I don’t snore.” He tries, still calm as you stomp around the twin bed to get to him, poking your index finger into his toned chest.

“And don’t act like I don’t know what you did last night, Bradshaw. One phone call and I can have you fired.”

Bradley’s lips quirk at the fact you think you have that power, but his brows knit together. “What do you think I did?”

“You! And Natasha!”

“Are friends, yes.” He’s talking down to you, slow and soft like you’re stupid. You smack his chest with the base of your palm, then point at him again. He looks down at the digit pressing into his skin, then back at you seriously.

“Were all over each other on the balcony last night!” You correct him. He glances down at your finger on his skin once again. You consider stepping back a little so that you don’t have to look up at him quite as much, but stay where you are.

He lifts his hand and wraps it over the top of yours, taking it away from his skin, holding it just a little too tight. “I don’t know what you think you saw, or what you think you know, but I can assure you that whatever it is, won’t get me fired.”

“She’s married! Do you have no respect for her marriage, if not her as a person?”

He stares at you. You can see it in his face that he’s trying not to smile. He looks down at your hand in his and examines your engagement ring. It’s a pretty sizeable rock on that band, but that’s no surprise.

“I respect Natasha,” Bradley decides, lifting those big brown eyes to look at your face again. “Enough to know that she's a grown up and can make her own decisions.”

He lets go of your hand and reaches for the buttons on his shorts. Your gaze falls to track the movement of his hands. He buttons them slowly, watching you watch him.

“If the Dean knew that you were—“

“Are you going to tell him?” Bradley prompts, stepping invasively closer to you. His brows seem to be permanently drawn together when he’s talking to you. Your neck leans back further so that you can keep your eyes on his face. “If I go home, so do you. Meaning you don’t graduate, genius. How’s your Dad going to take that one?”

Your eyes widen and then narrow.

“It’s no wonder that all Natasha wants you for is sex — I don’t think that any woman could put up with you for longer than that.” You decide. He stares back at you, lips quirking to let you know that he’s going to be harsh before he even speaks.

“And what would you know about sex?”

He knows. He watches you react to his words try to piece together who told him or why he thinks it’s acceptable to mock you for it. Truthfully, Zoey had drunkenly giggled it last night. He was standing behind her with her hair scooped messily into a ponytail, averting his gaze as she puked into the toilet, when she had sat back and wiped her mouth.

“Hey, Bradley, did you hear that your — star pupil hasn’t even fucked her own fiancée? — She’s — a virgin.” Zoey had hiccuped, grinning amusedly.

You’re quiet for long enough that he stands there and readies himself for you to try to hit him, he knows better than to leave himself open to you.

Then, you exhale slowly and stand up a little straighter, like that makes any difference in the way he stands over you.

“You’re going to start tutoring me, starting tomorrow.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because if there’s any chance that I’m not going to pass this class then I’ll just send the both of us home today, I swear to god.” Your fists ball at your sides. He stares back at you, understanding your rationale for maybe the first time since he met you. “Either you make sure I pass, so this whole circus is worth it — or we’re both fucked.”

His lips quirk. That’s the first time he’s heard you swear. Sounds awfully grown up spilling from your lips like that. He gives you a quick once over, trailing his gaze from your bare feet to the way your lips are pursed at him.

“I’m not going to do the work for you.” He decides. If there was enough room between you, he might’ve crossed his arms over his chest. If it wasn’t so hot from the window being open and the baking morning sun creeping in through the window, he might have stayed longer. His hand cups your waist as he pushes you out of his way and steps around you. “Get Pasquale to give you his book, read chapters two and three before tomorrow.”

And with that, he leaves your room. His belt, shirt and shoes remain on your floor. He passes Robin in the hallway, wearing one of Luke’s striped t-shirts, ignores her completely and swings the door to his own room open.

Robin winces at the sound of Bradley yelling as she renters her own room. She stops, her gaze falling down to the unmade bed and Bradley’s belt, shirt and shoes on the floor. She lifts her gaze to look at you. You scowl instantly.

“Got sick of waiting, huh?” Robin’s tone is dripping with mockery as she steps past you, barefoot and not wearing a single item of her own clothing.

You’re tempted, then for the first time, to shove her, but don’t. You let her walk past, but holding your tongue is too much to ask.

“Not all of us are as easy as you.” You remind her

“Prude.” She spits, shooting you a venomous look over her love-bitten shoulder. She doesn’t even have time to turn before you lurch forwards and grab a handful of her hair, tearing her backwards.

Lake Como begins to rise, peaceful and quiet outside of the open window. It’s going to be a beautiful day. Golden rays of sunlight across the still water of the lake, a gentle breeze and a freshness in the air.

Downstairs, from the breakfast patio, Natasha sips on her espresso as Bradley pulls the two of you off of each other. His voice carries through the valley, disrupting her breakfast guests as he reprimands the two of you for your childish behavior.

Your punishment is to be exactly where he can see and hear you, for the rest of the day. At ten, sharp, you sit on his left while Robin sits on his right. All three of you looking equally miserable.

You’re being spoken to as a group by an older man, he’s grey all over and sun-spotted, but you can tell he would have been handsome in his day. He’s telling you all about Lake Como’s history.

“In 49 BC Como town came into its own under the rule of Julius Caesar,” His accent is thick but his English is good, he has grown around the tourists and knows exactly how to talk to them. “Who populated the town with its first 5,000 inhabitants and named the lake Larius. Como itself was known as Novum Comum and played host to famous authors such as Pliny the Elder and Pliny the Younger during this time.”

Bradley breaks his gaze to scan across his students quickly. Abigail is taking notes, an Italian dictionary poking out of the top of her backpack with various sticky notes poking out of it. Luke’s enthralled, watching intently with his lips parted. You’re looking down. He leans forwards and cranes his neck to get a better look at you. You’re sitting up straight, frowning down at Pasquale’s book.

More notably, the artwork on the left page. It’s a Florentine painting from the sixteenth century of two women. Nobles, both of them. One of them’s sprawled out across a bed, her undergarments bunched, breasts exposed. Her modesty would be too, if it wasn’t for the second woman with her face buried between the gasping woman’s legs. He studies your expression, unimpressed by how you’re scowling at the work instead of just reading.

Reaching over two students, he taps harshly on the back of your head and points towards the front, “Pay attention.”

You look up quickly and snap the book closed. Bradley stares at you. You stare forwards, trying to focus on the lecture after what you had just been reading. You’re certain that if your father had bothered to look over the syllabus, he wouldn’t have cared so much about you taking this class.

“The stunning scenery also attracted artists such as Byron, Wordsworth and Shelley, acting as a muse to many poems including ‘The Daisy’ by Tennyson and ‘Cadenabbia’ by Longfellow.”

The furthest thing from your mind, truthfully, is Alfred Tennyson. If you were really being honest, the one thing on your mind is the image of Bradley standing at the front of the hall, reading aloud what you had just read. Hearing the words pour off of his tongue. Maybe during a morning lecture, where his voice would have been gruff and deep like you had heard this morning.

The lecture continues on and, as much as Bradley wishes he could pay attention, he glances across at you periodically. You’re still making that face. Like a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar. He doesn’t get it, nor does he get you — you’re acting like the required reading for his class is porn. Turning his gaze to the water behind Guiliano’s lecture, he considers that for you it probably is.

He almost scoffs at the idea. Some sixteenth century painting being radical is such a foreign idea to him. He thinks of being eighteen, and impressed by the nude pictures on lighters and playing cards in the Navy. Impressed by the women he met at ports who liked the look of his uniform. Impressed by Natasha and everything she had taught him.

By the time it came to seeing that painting, calling it explicit was far from his mind.

“Great composers like Liszt and Verdi were also inspired by the lake. Many poems have been written about Lake Como both historically and more recently, but it’s not hard to see why the unrivalled beauty of the lake would inspire even the most amateur to put pen to paper.” Breeze carries forwards and sends Guiliano’s hair brushing back off of his forehead as he speaks. Bradley catches you turn out of the corner of his eye and looks. Meeting his gaze, you swallow and look quickly back to the water.

The morning passes slowly, it feels like Bradley’s eyes are burning into your back but maybe that’s just the warming sun. Lunch is quick, Bradley sits with Natasha and her husband. Her hand sits on top of her husband’s, diamond sparkling in the light.

Bradley stares at it as he eats his salad. The sapphire he had given her half a decade ago was prettier with her skin tone, but that’s at the bottom of the Mediterranean now.

After that, more lectures — then free time around the lake. This time, the students have organized to take a trip up to one of the towns further along the lake driven by Pasquale.

It’s less humiliating that you haven’t been invited now, because at least you’ve got the excuse of being stuck in the library of the hotel with Bradley all afternoon.

Gaze focused down, you watch the way Bradley scrawls across the page, his handwriting legible but not exactly neat. His hand’s just gripping the pen, but you can’t help but think of the way it had curled into her hair. Being six years old and having your ponytail pulled on the playground feels far from this.

You’ve been at this for a while, and it’s clear that you’re both equally irritated by each other. Slamming the pen down, he takes one look at your face and knows you’re about to ask him if he’s sure this translation that he has given you even makes sense.

“Don’t.”

You close your mouth, scowling across at him. He leans across the table and points towards the bottom of the dictionary, where a brief explanation of the Latin term you’re looking for exists.

“Stop getting yourself so mad,” He tells you calmly, shaking his head. “You’re bad at it because you don’t practice. Take a breath, think about it. It’s going to get easier.”

That’s the first nice thing he has said to you since you got here. You press your lips together, sigh, and then wet them with your tongue, trying to focus. He studies you from across the desk, each of you soaked in warm afternoon sunlight, the floor length windows open, the breeze soft. There’s an artificial smell of citrus in here.

You look back down to the work and exhale softly. Your chest rises and falls, the pale blue of your shirt catching his eye, just briefly.

“So, you didn’t like chapter two of the book, huh?” Maybe he thinks that this is an icebreaker of sorts. Your gaze is heavy, lifting slowly from your work to stare at him. He feels the need to elaborate instantly. “The painting.”

Suddenly the translation of the word fortuitous is a lot more interesting than it had been. Bradley taps his fingers against the desk as you avoid the discomfort of meeting his gaze.

“I just mean—“

“I don’t see why it should be in an academic text.” You say simply. He can tell that his question has annoyed you, but most things he says annoy you, so he moves swiftly on.

There’s a long pause between the two of you.

“Okay, you should know that I’m asking this seriously — so don’t bite my head off,” Bradley rests his palms flat on the aged, rust coloured wood, then leans forwards. His face is serious, his eyes big and round. “But, do you even know what my class is called?”

Sunlight peeking in from behind his shoulder, bathing the room and everything in it in a honeyed gold. The heat from the day starting to ebb away, a breeze from across the lake blowing at the curtains just slightly. No birds, no bustle outside — everyone’s either at dinner or getting ready for dinner. Everything in this valley is calm except you.

“Yes,” You bite, scowling across at him from over the top of the far too detailed painting in front of you. “Classics. You keep saying it.”

“Yeah, classics is the subject. But do you know what my class — the class that you picked, and enrolled in, is called?” Bradley asks slowly, like he’s just trying to be patronizing.

“It’s about Roman literature.” You answer, knowing that you’ve failed to produce a title, but are along the right track anyway.

“My class is called ‘Sexuality in Roman Culture and Literature’,” Bradley shares finally. You sit across from him, blank-faced. He taps the table softly, staring back at you, enjoying this probably a little bit too much. “That’s why the book is so ‘graphic’.”

Catherine — your maid-of-fucking-honour — enrolled you in a class on sex. You’re going to murder her. This cruel joke might have been funny if it hadn’t cost you your summer.

“But, then again, you would know that if you had bothered—“

“Oh my god, will you shut up about my attendance?” You grumble, slamming your pencil down onto the table. He stares at you, unimpressed and clearly biting his tongue. “We both know I’m here for credits and not because I care about the way people had sex a couple hundred years ago. Just do what they pay you to do and teach.”

Bradley’s brows draw together as he leans closer, his frame dwarfing the table. There’s a lingering silence as he stares across at you.

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I just—“

“No,” Bradley holds a hand up and pushes himself up from his seat. Standing, the table seems even smaller. You feel even smaller, tipping your head back to look up at him. His eyes darken as he squints. “You either learn to watch your mouth around me or you head home and admit that you fucking failed. You hear me?”

You stare up at him, swallowing thickly as shame burns through you. The smell of dust hurts your nose, the warm, dust-covered lights make your eyes tired. You want to go home.

“Tell me that you understand. In Latin.”

Another beat of silence. The look on your face tells you that he’s far from joking. Sighing quietly, he watches as you bow your head and open the dictionary.

He gives you a moment, just hulking over you as you search for the right term. Finally, you lift your gaze and spit it out, quietly. He glances down at the page.

“Work on your grammar.” Bradley tells you, slowly relaxing back down into his seat and tucking it in. “I’m going to give you a play. I want you to read it, I think it’ll help you with some context clues.”

Just like that. He relaxes — well, relaxes as much as you’ve ever seen him be capable of — again.

You exhale. Without realizing, you had been holding on to that one breath the entire time. Your gaze drops, falling down to his rolled up sleeves, the veins snaking out from under the white linen and down across the backs of his hands.

You wonder if Natasha gets him wound up like this.

The second that the thought crosses your mind, you squash it. Staring wide-eyed at the page in front of you, you’re at war with your mind. And he’s just sitting there, head leaned back, palms flat, staring at the ceiling. He has no fucking idea.

Staring at the ceiling is truly the only way forward. He can’t stand another minute of having to watch your lips purse when you’re staring at him.

It’s so difficult, trying not to hold something that you don’t even remember against you. He knows how blacked out you were that night, you barely remembered your own damn name.

He remembers that stupid, blue fucking dress. It came in around the waist and had these thin straps, more of a powder blue than any kind of stronger color. He remembers the snow on his car windshield, still falling. He remembers his heaters up as high as they would go and his coat around your shoulders.

Finding you sitting on the side of the road, in the fucking snow, and bundling you into his car, trying to keep you awake.

And then, the two of you sitting outside of your childhood home and your freezing cold hands wrapping around his palm, pleading with him not to make you go inside. He had only seen you a handful of times at this point, but he was sure you weren’t a bad kid. You just had shitty friends.

He lifts his gaze now and studies you as you card through the information before you. Lips pursed.

“You can’t sit in my car all night, kid.” Bradley said quietly, watching you like you were something foreign to him. You blinked back, saying nothing, but looking so sad.

“I just — please don’t make me go in there.” Your voice trembled. Maybe from exhaustion, mostly from fear. Bradley knew what fear sounded like. His face creased with concern, but he hadn’t budged. You frowned at him, eyes wide and pleading, “Please.”

You must have been able to tell on his face that he was about to disagree with you. You sat forwards, reaching out to rest your manicured palm against his thigh. His gaze hadn’t faltered from your face. He had been here before, with love sick girls who seemed to think he was going to be their saving grace.

He was nicer about it back then. He was trying to be nice to you. With your smudged mascara and your missing boyfriend and your quivering bottom lip. He should’ve kicked you out of that damn car and marched you inside right then. You were still too drunk to sit still, swaying just slightly — he wanted to give you a minute to collect yourself before your parents saw you at least.

He sat there for a moment, just trying to think about what to do with you. And then, seeming to think that this would get you your way, you had sat up and you’d kissed him. Turned your head twenty degrees to the left, lips just slightly parted, pressing softly into his. Pillowy and purposeful.

He swallows, glancing down at the page in front of him. God, he wishes you hadn’t done that. But, he can’t help but wonder where that odd little impulse had come from. What had driven that shivering girl to drive forwards and kiss him, clinging onto his shirt like it was some kind of life preserver — and where was she now?

Certainly not sitting in front of him and too timid to look at a painting.

You continue on with your studies, pretending like you aren’t thinking about him back in that lecture hall, his voice dripping like honey as he tells you every intricacy that that painting detailed.

Bradley crosses his arms over his chest and looks up at the details chiseled into the ceiling. He can’t help but wonder where those impulses go when you’re with your fiancé. You’d been damn near climbing into his lap after an hour alone with him — and yet, Malcolm has made it through four years of high school and three years of college without fucking you.

He curses himself. He shouldn’t think about it that way. He shouldn’t think about it at all. He glances down quickly as your foot knocks into his and withdraws as quickly as it has inched forwards.

Looking back up, you’re looking at him again. Just fleetingly, and you’re back to your work, and he’s back to thinking about you fucking kissing him. He just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand the knee length nightgown, or the weird reaction to the painting — or, you at all, really.

So, the two of you let the silence linger between you. Even as he shifts, pushing his leg forward and slotting his foot between both of yours under the table, letting it linger there.

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice e @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @cherrycola27 @sugarcoated-lame

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #jake seresin #trouble in paradise #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #the odyssey #professor bradley #bradley bradshaw imagine #Bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun: maverick

372 notes · View notes

blurredcolour · 3 months

Text

Take These Broken Wings

Dick Winters x Enlisted!Unnamed Female OC/Reader

Trapped behind his desk, Dick finds out the unthinkable has happened to the woman he cares about. Now he has to deal with the consequences; first as her commanding officer and then as the man who loves her.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Angst, Implied Sexual Assault, Descriptions of OC/Reader Injuries, Discussion of Retaliatory Violence, Gentleman's Agreement Not To Prosecute, Period Specific Ideas about Honor and Protection of Women, PTSD, Weapons, Language, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. Because of the sensitive nature of this fic, I chose to write it in the third person but only a nickname is used so it can be read as a reader fic. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within, particularly the Red Devils in this case!

Special Note: Dearest tag list, I have chosen not to tag any of you because this is so wildly different than my usual fics, I just wasn't sure who would want to read it.

Word Count: 4148

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

October 17, 1944 – Schoonderlogt, Holland

It had never been his intention to fall in love with her. With any of the female paratroopers in the 506th, for that matter. But like the slow erosion of a river carving a new path through bare rock, she had ever so gradually hollowed out a place for herself in his heart until all at once he realized he could not live without her. Of course, if one were to ask her, she fell in love with Dick Winters the first day they met in Toccoa, Georgia, sun scorching their skin, blazing his hair copper – or so she liked to remind him often.

His realization had not come until he’d found her halfway up a tree in Normandy, tangled in the lines of her parachute, desperately trying to slice herself free before she was discovered by enemy troops. The sheer panic he had felt as his mind flooded with all the possible ways he could have lost her that night had only served to drive home how deeply he cared for Peaches. Dick didn’t often use the nickname that Nix had bestowed on her; a nickname born of some sordid adventure involving cans of peaches that he’d decided he’d rather not know about. But he did love the way it made her nose crinkle when he slipped it into their stolen moments together. Moments that were becoming harder and harder to find now that he had been placed in charge of 2nd Battalion.

Several pages being laid on his desk by Zielinski tore Dick out of his inner musings and he lifted his pen to add his signature to the line where his Orderly pointed expectantly. Sink had assured him the paperwork would be ‘nothing to sweat’ but Dick was certainly sweating it now. The call of Nixon’s voice as he came up the stairs was a welcome reprieve from the rapidly multiplying stacks of paper on his desk, something that his friend seemed only too happy to point out.

Dick could only feel envy, mixed with trepidation and a certain amount of helplessness, as Heyliger informed him Operation Pegasus was preparing to launch in a matter of hours and he remained trapped in his combination office and bedroom in the attic. As the pair of them made their way down the stairs and out of the requisitioned farmhouse, Dick looked up from his typewriter once more as he heard Nixon’s bright greeting.

“Hey there Peaches, you’ve got something on your face.”

“Very funny Captain. Lieutenant.” He heard her voice reply and did his best not to grin.

“Zielenski, could you go grab a new box of pencils from the storeroom? It’s going to be a long night.” Dick swallowed, doing his best to come up with an excuse for two minutes alone with her, five if he was lucky.

“Yes, sir.” There was a note of confusion in the man’s voice but thankfully he complied, hustling down the stairs.

There was a moment of silence before he heard the door shut followed by the sound of her jump boots scuffing up the worn wooden steps, grinning as she was startled to find him waiting for her at the top of the stairs.

“And here I was thinking I’d surprise you…Who was that?” She glanced back towards the door, and he sighed, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it, how’re you feeling about this thing?” He asked softly, taking her hands in his.

“Should be fine, Moose picked mostly people who can swim, the Canadians are nice. That Colonel Dobie sure is handsome.” She teased lightly, lacing her fingers with his.

Despite her teasing tone, Dick still felt a little annoyed at the comment, particularly given the fact that the man was free to swim the river in reconnaissance and join the operation that night while he was a glorified paper pusher.

“Too bad for him I like ‘em tall as a stalk of corn and copper as a penny.” She leaned in to press her lips to his and Dick felt his eyes fall shut, tension that he’d been carrying for hours slowly ebbing from his body.

She pulled back with a soft smile before frowning apologetically. “Sorry my love I got grease paint on you.” She licked her thumb and swiped at his cheek like he was a grubby toddler, and he could not help the broad grin that stretched his features even as he felt his cheeks heat up at the term of endearment she’d only recently begun to use.

“I’ll get it in a moment, Peaches.” He muttered, glancing around to ensure they were still alone before sliding an arm around her waist to pull her close, kissing her soundly. “Be safe out there…don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…”

“Oh, like run across a field toward two companies of SS by myself?” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he pressed his lips together, still able to hear every word of her displeasure at being left behind for the agonizing seconds it took for the red smoke signal to appear.

“Especially that.” He muttered, clearing his throat and taking a step back as he heard the door open at the bottom of the stairs.

She quickly grabbed her handkerchief and soaked it with water from her canteen, passing it to him so he could scrub at his face, hopefully removing all evidence of their interlude.

“Pencils sir.” Zielenski held out the box proudly and she raised an eyebrow, introducing herself warmly to the Orderly.

“That’ll be all, Sergeant, good luck out there.”

“Thank you sir, appreciate your time.” She replied smoothly, looking completely unaffected while Dick was very aware of the residual heat in his face.

Dick took his time opening the box, watching her back as she slowly descended out of sight until the door closed shut behind her. Sinking into his chair he submitted himself to another few hours of pointing and signing with his Orderly before sending the boy to bed, peering out his window hopefully when a great ruckus arose from one of the barns out back.

Glancing at his watch to confirm it was nearly 0200, he smiled a little to himself as everything seemed to have gone off alright. Rain drops began to sporadically strike the windowpane before the clouds opened into a steady, driving rain. Dick dropped the curtain with a sigh, the room filled with the rhythmic sound of water striking the roof and rolling off the eaves. It was dangerously tempting to lay his head down on his desk and give in to the heaviness in his eyelids, to allow himself to be lulled to sleep. Shaking himself physically, he turned back to yet another report and began striking the keys of his typewriter with a vengeance, hoping to keep himself awake with the racket.

Dick was just spooling a fresh page into place when Nixon was suddenly hurrying up the stairs, followed by Colonel Dobie himself. Both men were wet as drowned rats, but it was the seriousness of their faces that pulled Dick to his feet immediately, securing the pencil from between his teeth into his fist.

“Dick, you remember Colonel Dobie.”

“Yeah…yeah I do…” He replied slowly, trying to ignore the feeling of a sword dangling over their heads as he waited for them to tell him what was going on.

“Terribly sorry to barge in at such a late hour but I wanted to inform you of this incident personally. Well, incidents more precisely. It appears that one of our men, a Holman from Yorkshire, has been severely beaten by a couple of your men from Easy in retaliation for his attack on one of your female soldiers.”

Dick nodded once as he processed the news, heartrate picking up immediately. There were a total of twenty-seven women in 2nd Battalion, but given that it had been only Easy involved in Pegasus, that narrowed it down to a possible nine, of which just a handful had been chosen for the operation. Dick merely had to glance at Nixon to confirm his worst fear. Peaches.

He didn’t realize how tight his grip on the pencil in his hand had grown until the wooden object snapped in two.

“I am willing to consider the matter settled and in need of no further action. The man in question will be returned to England and assigned to some menial duty once he recovers from his injuries.” Dobie continued.

“That will take some time?” Dick asked calmly, despite the searing rage he felt rushing through him.

“Your men were thorough, Captain.” The Colonel replied, grimly.

Dick stood there a moment, eyeing an ink stain that had seeped into the wooden desk top while he was refilling his pen, considering. A beating and unpleasant assignment as punishment for heaven knows what the man had inflicted on her. But to demand more formal proceedings would immediately require testimonies and punishments for the men who had taken it upon themselves to defend her honor. He closed his eyes a moment, vision immediately flooded with her smiling face on one of the blissful outings they had enjoyed during their furlough in England. Forcefully setting the image aside, despite the way it wrenched at his heart to do so, he nodded again. If only to save her further pain.

“Agreed.” Dick offered his hand, Colonel Dobie sealing their agreement with a firm handshake.

Dobie turned to shake Nixon’s hand as well before seeing himself out, Dick waiting until he heard the door close before he spoke again. Two questions on the tip of his tongue, two men inside him, warring for dominance. To his dismay, he had to allow the Battalion’s commanding officer to speak first.

“Who are our vigilantes?”

“Martin and Randleman.” Nixon replied, sitting on one of the folding chairs at the small table in the corner with a heavy sigh. “Moose has them downstairs if you want to talk to them.”

“Yeah. Show them up.”

Nixon leveraged himself out of the chair and was halfway across the attic before he suddenly turned back. “She put that can of peaches in Parkes’ footlocker.”

Dick eyed his friend in confusion, the information seeming utterly irrelevant to their current situation until he suddenly remembered one of Sobel’s impromptu barracks inspections back in Toccoa.

“That dumb bastard wouldn’t leave the women in her squad alone, so she planted it there to get him in trouble – never expected him to get thrown out entirely.” Nixon sighed heavily.

“Where is she?” Dick asked quickly, the words almost melding together in his haste to get them out of his mouth.

“Johnny thinks she’s holed up in the supply barn, I’ll find out.” Nixon replied with a frown and Dick nodded silently, muscles of his jaw clenching almost painfully as he clung to the last vestiges of his focus.

He tossed the broken halves of the pencil onto the desk, frowning at the mess of lead on his palm and pulled the handkerchief from his pocket, frown deepening at the smudges of grease paint there from her face. He clenched the fabric between his fingers as Moose entered the office followed by a hard-faced Martin and a typically laidback Randleman.

“What happened?” He asked plainly, eyeing them expectantly.

Moose stood off to the side, watching Martin and Randleman exchange a look.

“Don’t all talk at once…” Dick prodded calmly, and Martin turned back to him.

“Bull and I were on our way out of the celebration, wanted to beat the rain and get back to our quarters – didn’t work out. Ran into Peaches as we got around the corner of the building. She looked like hell, roughed up, wouldn’t tell me what happened.”

“She just ran, not like her at all, sir.” Randleman chimed in.

“And then that bastard from the Devils, or whatever they call themselves, came around the corner looking all pleased with himself. Adjusting his pants.”

“Knuckles busted up.” Came Randleman’s addition once more.

“Anyway,” Martin continued after a sharp nod of agreement, “it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

Dick exhaled a slow, measured breath. “I can appreciate why you both did what you did. Next time, and we can only hope we never have to have this conversation again, bring him to Moose, to me. We have systems in place, alright?”

“Sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All that said…well done.” Dick said with quiet emphasis, letting his pride and gratitude burn brightly in his gaze. “And you’re both on latrine duty for the next two weeks.” He tacked on because he really had no choice but to punish them.

A pair of smirking salutes was the only response before Moose ushered them out. Dick waited until the count of twenty before sliding the suspenders of his OD pants onto his shoulders, shrugging into his jacket and clapping on his helmet. Grabbing his M1 and flashlight, he quickly made his way down the stairs and out into the persistent deluge toward the supply barn, nearly slamming into Nixon on the way.

“Follow me.” His friend nodded and continued to lead the way, nodding to Liebgott who was standing guard at the door, soaked to the skin.

“Joe.” Dick greeted him, noting the way he had his collar turned up obscuring half his face. The way his hands were shoved deep into his pockets.

It easily could have been in an attempt to protect himself against the elements, but Dick also knew Liebgott was the sort of man to never let anything go unanswered and if he was standing out here in the rain, he was surely more involved than anyone was letting on.

“Peaches is in there, sir. Doc Roe tried to help her, she wouldn’t let him touch her. Thought I’d make sure no one bothered her until she was ready.”

“Good thinking.” Dick swallowed.

He ought to press further, ferret out the truth of Liebgott’s involvement, but standing just outside where she was hiding, the other half of him was very much in charge now – wanting nothing more than to throw the door open and charge in. But by the sounds of it, that approach would be quite unwelcome.

“Why don’t you go warm up for a bit, we’ll take a turn.” Nixon said to Liebgott who looked between the pair of them before nodding in return.

“Thanks, sir.” He agreed, glancing back toward the barn once before jogging off into the night.

Dick waited until they were well and truly alone before slowly opening the door, stepping into the dim space, sliding his helmet from his head. The sound of footsteps retreating into the far corner behind crates of supplies drew his attention and he took a slow breath, calling her name softly.

“It’s me. Dick. I’m here to check on you.”

There was a soft, smothered sound and he clenched his fists, keeping his progress gradual and measured, trying not to make any sudden movements or noises to startle her. As he reached the rear of the barn, he rounded a stack of crates and his heart clenched painfully as his eyes fell on her wedged between a few bundles of blankets and sacks of something it was too dark to read the labels of. Her knees were hugged tightly to her chest, M1 tucked into the crook of her elbow as she eyed him warily in the dark.

Her normally tidy hair was in disarray, and the side of her face that he could see sported a gash across her eyebrow. He took another step closer, the air shuddering from his lungs as she flinched away, pressing tightly into the wall behind her, revealing her split lower lip, the swelling along her left cheekbone, the barely-dried tear tracks on her face.

Dick had never seen her shy away from anything since the day they’d met – not the obstacle course, the rifle range, Currahee, or jumping out of a C-47. For his proximity to garner such a reaction from her felt very much as though she had torn his heart from his breast and stomped it beneath her heel.

Sinking slowly into a crouch, he swallowed before speaking just above a whisper. “Peaches…”

The look of disgust, whether it was at the nickname or at herself – perhaps both, mixed with horror that crossed her face had Dick seriously considering if he had enough time to find Holman before his trip back to England and land a few blows himself. He gently corrected it with her name, teeth grinding together audibly in his skull as she turned her head to the side revealing small knicks at her throat. He’d held her at knife point.

“They’ve already found him. Some of the boys took justice into their own hands, but his superiors know now too.” He tried to reassure her, let her know he was no longer out there, no longer a threat to her.

Dick’s eyes dropped to follow the movement of her fingers as she picked at the torn ends of her nails, several cuts visible on her hands as well. Knowing her she’d probably put up a hell of a fight.

“P–” He stopped himself before he accidentally used the offensive nickname again. “…please you’re hurt. Can I clean you up?” He asked, voice trembling with the emotions he was desperately trying to keep at bay for her sake as he shifted forward onto his knees.

She shook her head violently in response, hugging her limbs tighter to her body, which hadn’t even seemed a possibility until it was done. Dick swallowed painfully, carefully laying his rifle and helmet down on the wooden floor beside him, sitting back on his heels.

“I love you.” He blinked rapidly at the gathering dampness in his eyelashes. “No matter what’s happened, I will always love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

She eyed him skeptically, no words passing between them for a long while. The sound of the persistent rain outside pounding against the roof filled the barn, drowning out the sound of their breathing, until she opened her mouth to speak at last.

“I froze.” She whispered, tone thick with self-loathing as she released her grip on her M1, laying it down beside his before sealing her palm over her mouth.

She began to shake with sobs so ferocious that no sound passed her throat, rendering the smothering effect of her hand unnecessary. Dick felt his heart shatter as he automatically reached for her, wanting nothing more than to pull her close and soothe some of her pain. Her repeated aversion to his touch, however, came flooding back and he froze, arms outstretched and aching to hold her, but wanting to respect her wishes.

The feeling of her body colliding with his chest as she launched herself into his arms punched the air from his lungs for several reasons, nearly sending him toppling over backwards with the force of it. Dick’s arms quickly gathered her onto his lap, one hand rubbing along her spine as her strangled sobs soaked his jacket, her hands clutching at him in return.

“You survived, my love.” He whispered against her hair, deciding he really ought to call her that in kind. It was only fitting for it was exactly how he felt. “You did what you had to do to survive in that moment. Please forgive yourself.”

He felt her shift against his sternum, the shudders wracking her body gradually slowing as she took deeper and deeper breaths, sniffling and wiping at her face carefully.

“Who did you have to yell at?” She murmured wetly, peering up at him cautiously.

“Martin and Randleman. Fairly certain Liebgott is somehow involved as well.” Dick replied softly, fighting back the urge to stroke her face. One step at a time – being allowed to hold her would more than suffice for now.

She sniffed. “Johnny must have figured it out first. I couldn’t even come up with a plausible lie I just…ran away from him outside the party…” Her eyes lowered in shame before she sat up slowly, Dick biting back a frown at the barely concealed wince that crossed her features.

“Nix is outside keeping watch. Can I take you back to CP? Get you cleaned up?” He swallowed, really wanting her to allow Roe to look her over but doubting that would be an option.

She looked to him, eyes suddenly wide with the terror of realization. “Oh god Dick, what if I catch something or…wind up pregnant…oh fuck…” Her face began to crumple, and Dick swallowed, quickly cupping her uninjured cheek hoping to startle her out of that train of thought.

As she jumped and looked to him sharply, he apologized gently. “My love, we don’t know if any of those things will happen. Hopefully they won’t, but no matter what comes next, we’re going to face it together.”

“But Dick I’m–”

“Don’t go and say something melodramatic, now. You’re the woman I love and something horrible has been done to you. It doesn’t change who you are to me.” He replied firmly, swallowing as she stared at him startled for a moment, before nodding slowly. “Now I’m taking you to CP and we’re getting you cleaned up, ok?”

“Should I salute you, Captain?” She raised an eyebrow before wincing and restoring her face to a neutral expression.

He felt his cheeks redden, a sure sign that things would some day return back to normal. That the woman he loved was still with him, she just needed a lot of care right now and he was more than happy to provide it. “That won’t be necessary, Sergeant.” He replied and tried not to smirk as she scoffed slightly in surprise before shifting to her feet slowly.

Dick passed her rifle to her before grabbing his own, rising to his feet and sliding his helmet on his head. He offered his hand to her, swallowing back his sigh of relief as she laced her battered fingers through his and followed him out through the maze of supplies to where Nixon was still waiting in the rain.

“Christ, Peaches…” He breathed when she came into view and Dick shot him a sharp look, trying, too late, to stop him using the nickname.

“Son-of-a-bitch ruined the nickname, Nix. I trust you to come up with a new one.” She sighed, sounding positively exhausted, and Nixon nodded quickly in reply.

“Noted. You sure you’re alright?” He asked softly and she shook her head.

“No. But someday, maybe.” She replied honestly and Nixon nodded empathetically as Dick squeezed her hand gently.

“Let’s get out of this rain.” He led the three of them back into the farmhouse, taking her straight to the washroom where he filled the basin with water. “Help or no?”

She paused a moment, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror left behind by the home’s original owners and Dick waited patiently until she turned back to him. “I can do it.” She replied softly and he nodded, closing the door to wait in the hall.

Nixon shuffled by carrying his pillow and Dick raised an eyebrow. “Give her my bed, I’ll take your crappy little cot.” He muttered, making his way to the attic before he even had the chance to reply.

The ghost of a smile crossed his lips as he leaned his head back against the wall, thoroughly spent by the events of the day, knowing he’d have to be up in just a few hours to face the rest of the paperwork on his desk.

“Dick?” Her soft voice startled him, making him realize he’d actually fallen asleep standing up, for just a moment.

Her lips twitched slightly with a hint of amusement, and he smiled slightly in return, nodding as she looked more herself despite the still-fresh injuries.

“This way.” He offered his hand and led her towards Nixon’s room, gesturing at the bed. “Gift from Lew.”

Her face softened, eyes glistening suddenly, reminding Dick just how fragile she still was. “Where is he sleeping?”

“Attic.”

“Then you need a bed too…” She replied as she crawled onto the mattress, sighing at the softness of the bedding.

“Oh, the floor is fine I…”

“Please hold me.” Her voice was small, her request simple and one that he did not need to hear twice to honor.

He unlaced his boots and removed his outer layers before crawling in with her, letting her curl up against him before sliding his arm around her carefully. “Comfortable?” He asked in a hushed voice.

“Very.” She replied sleepily and he allowed himself to drift, listening to the rise and fall of her breath, letting sleep nibble at the edges of his consciousness.

“Dick?” She whispered and he snuffled awake quickly.

“Yeah?”

“Does it smell like pee in here?”

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

Band of Brothers Masterlist

#dick winters x reader #dick winters x oc #dick winters imagines #dick winters imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers #tw sa implied #tw assault #tw sa

105 notes · View notes

mimefish · 4 months

Text

From the desert to the valley, his bases and alliances, Scar has always been the earth, wreathed in flowers and undeniably human.

In Third Life, Grian, the sun, swears loyalty to him, and together, they settle in the scorched desert. They build their monopoly atop a mountain, a sandcastle despite all the sand slipping through their fingers. Scar dies in a ring of cactus to his first ally, and his body is wreathed in lilacs and poppies, and the sun steps off the edge of the mountain and sets over the desert.

In Last Life, Scar is alone, but finds his purpose, finds solace, in crystals. Charms plucked straight from the ground, enchanted to aid whoever wields them. He builds atop another mountain, this one decidedly magical, but nonetheless, dies in the wrong place, at the wrong time, after stumbling across an old foe. The stars shine on.

In Double Life, Scar is drawn to a past ally. The sun finds him among new companions in a grove of bamboo and proves to him that they are, again, together, irrefutably and without room for protest. The gravity of their bond doesn't stop the sun's attempts to escape it, however, but Scar shrouds himself in a sanctuary of bamboo. He plants a safe haven. The roots of the bamboo take hold and keep his pandas safe for as long as it can, but Scar dies outside of it. The safety the bamboo promised was not enough to combat the rules of the game, but the moon wins by breaking them.

In Limited Life, he finds a family on a new mountain. The Clockers keep careful track of time spent in their dysfunctional relationships, and Scar builds the foundations of a clocktower on the entertainment rock, stone and cobble bricks to protect them. It doesn't work. He dies at the base of the mountain, betrayed by his first true ally, stabbed in the back and out of time. He never even saw it coming. A final betrayal wins the series.

And in Secret Life.

In Secret Life, Scar adorns himself with sunflowers, settling in a valley of plants and fortifying it with dark walls to protect the flowers within. He greets the moon in sunflower fields with the name of a past life, startling her. Despite the warmth of the sunflowers, however, he is isolated, and the server's assigned villain. He reacts by shifting from the flowers pointing to the sun to the lilacs and poppies that once decorated a different alliance, one with the sun himself, embroidered into a black shawl, one usually suited to a funeral, one that cloaks him in past memories. And when the moon embraces him into her orbit, he follows. Scar joins the Mounders, if temporarily, the group dedicated to their silly hills and dirt bases, and when they fall apart, the moon remains with him. Throughout it all, the moon stays, reflecting the sun's light, and when she dies, knocked down to earth, to a ravine by the valley of sunflowers, Scar lives. He keeps living, and he finally succeeds.

Scar wins, mountain after mountain, rock after rock, crystals and mounds and sand and cacti and flowers and bamboo and plants. Inhospitable biomes turn to growth. The plants enwreath him, and guide Scar to victory. From the barren desert sand to the flowers that herald the sun, Scar grows. And finally, he reaps what he sows.

#secret life spoilers #secret life #trafficblr #life series #life series smp #life series spoilers #grian #pearlescentmoon #secret life smp #goodtimeswithscar #mcytblr #mcyt #earth scar my dearly beloved and cherished #there's so much more i could say oh my god #elfy talks

62 notes · View notes

forasecondtherewedwon · 1 month

Note

You tired of seeing me your inbox yet? 🥲❤️ please do tell me if the third Buck/Bucky prompt in a row is too much, I’d hate to ask for something you ain’t feeling and to impose.

But, if you are so inclined I like the idea of what your writing magic could conjure up with:

12. Cloying sweetness on the back of your tongue or/and 26. The smell of Cologne/Perfume on warm skin

Thanks in advance once again, for real.

little fix

Fandom: Masters of the Air Pairing: Gale "Buck" Cleven x John "Bucky" Egan Rating: E Word Count: 2778

Summary: Gale dabbed on extra cologne in preparation for the many, many hours he knew he'd be spending in the cockpit. Once in Algeria, the heat reinvigorates the scent, and John notices. Gale kinda likes that he does.

Algeria, and the heat rose shimmering from the dusty earth as well as radiating down from the white-hot marble of the sun. The temperature in combination with the losses they’d suffered in enemy airspace had the boys hankering to go off on their own. Limited shade had snaffled those plans, forcing them together.

Gale grabbed the dog tags hanging from his neck, tossing them aside so they flicked around and hung down his back instead, the hot chains tracing a fine, burning line across his throat. He hated waiting. Then he felt bad about that, since this baking purgatory was better than death. He knew how to manage the heat, how to move slowly, how to soak the shirt of his uniform and put it on his head so his vision wouldn’t swim in this dry desert pool. Still, he was irritable, feeling useless. What he really hated was circumstances beyond his control telling him to stop—making him stop. He felt pressed beneath the world’s sweaty palm. It was pointless to wriggle. That wouldn’t get him free.

He stood by his plane, resisting the urge to reach up and lean, as it would’ve meant placing his hand on the burning wing. To occupy his restless hands, he plucked the tank from his chest and flapped it to simulate a breeze that just wasn’t there. He was watching John amble past when his friend stopped abruptly, as if called to attention. John’s head whipped around to face his way. His dog tags glinted. His eyebrows drew together above his sunglasses.

When Gale lazily lifted his hand in greeting, John ignored it, continuing on. Well. Sound seemed muffled to Gale in the heat; he couldn’t hear what John was saying to the boys, but they shifted into halting motion, congregating a hundred yards off. John sauntered back his way.

“You givin’ orders now, Major?” Gale lobbed.

He studied John’s mouth, which twitched and pinched, fighting some smartass comeback. He wondered whether John had just contained an order for him.

“Just keepin’ ’em sharp while we wait for the twelfth,” John said, joining him by the wing. He stopped, pushed his sunglasses up his forehead, and squinted around. “You know you’re not in the shade, right?”

“I won’t feel any real relief until we’re back in the air,” Gale confessed.

He probably should’ve stepped out of the sun though; he could feel the sweat rolling down his skin. Releasing a puff of breath to ready himself for movement, Gale swiftly peeled the damp cotton tank from his skin and let it fall to the ground.

From John, there came a sound like a groan that rippled into a short cough. Gale looked at him askance.

“You smell,” John explained bluntly, before dropping the glasses back over his eyes.

Gale stared at him in numb disbelief.

“You really gonna—”

“No,” John said, cutting across Gale’s retort, “you smell good.”

“Alright,” Gale replied simply.

But he’d felt something at John’s surprising response—a kind of tingle up his back. Refreshing.

“It’s cologne,” he added, when John continued to stand next to him in silence. “I knew I’d be sittin’ in that cockpit a long time, and I didn’t want to smell like I had. Spare my boys’ noses.”

“What’d you do? Bathe in it before we left the base?” John rocked towards him, just a little. His chin tilted up and Gale knew John was inhaling. He was being breathed in.

“Too strong?”

“Nah, I’m just surprised I can still smell it. Seems like England was forever ago.”

Gale shook his head to indicate he didn’t have an answer.

“Must be the heat,” he offered, because that seemed as good as anything.

“Right.”

John stood there another minute, hands on his hips. Sunlight flared off his sunglasses and Gale couldn’t tell whether or not John was staring at him. He glanced towards the men. They were awfully far off, comparing logs, by the looks of it.

“You want help checkin’ your ship?” John proposed.

Gale shot him a quizzical look. Checking his ship? What, had Lemmons taught John some secret fix Gale didn’t know about? He doubted it. John’s hands moved, thumbs tucked into the waist of his pants as they slid towards his fly, palms settling on his hipbones. The triangle made by his index fingers drew the eye. Yeah, Gale doubted it very much.

He heaved on the hatch and offered, “After you.”

John’s mouth stretched into a thin, dangerous smile, and he hauled himself up into the plane. Gale followed.

The air inside was hot and dense, making him immediately lightheaded. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the interior, adding to his disorientation. There was John, removing his sunglasses and casting them aside at the navigator’s station. Careful, Gale wanted to caution. You’ll need those again. But not inside, not in here. He smirked as John suddenly tried to play it cool, scanning his eyes unseeingly across a chart. Gale reached up and braced his palms overhead, just to wait John out, but when John turned, he knew he’d caught the scent of the cologne again. Mostly because John went, “Oh, god,” and swept his gaze down Gale’s body.

Gale was already growing hard when he advanced on John, planting a hand on his chest and shoving him into the navigator’s seat.

“Not sure it’ll hold us both,” he muttered, but John’s hands were on the back of his thighs, and hell, it wasn’t like this wasn’t exactly what Gale’d planned to do.

He straddled John, sinking onto his lap. As soon as he was close enough, John had his nose thrust against the middle of his chest, breathing deeply. Gale prided himself on his ability to maintain his composure, but he couldn’t have denied the broken groan that left him when John’s tongue lapped a wet line up his skin. John exhaled, making the air on the licked strip feel almost cool.

“Can taste it,” John muttered against him. “Sweet, salty.”

Gale grasped John firmly by the chin and raised his face.

“Lemme see,” he said, eyelids lowering as he stared at John’s mouth.

Before he felt John’s lips, he felt his tongue, pressed flat and slick as it stroked across his own. Gale rubbed his hand along John’s unshaven jawline, fingers on its hinge as John opened his mouth wide and Gale went on the offensive. Instinctively, he shifted forward on John’s thighs. John’s hands kneaded down his back before landing on his ass and attempting to yank him even closer. Gale parted his legs a little more, feeling John’s erection, rubbing against it until John broke the kiss with a low grunt, with a hard-bitten, “Fuck, Buck.”

The sweat rolled down Gale’s spine and John wiped it back up, fingers racing to hook into the chain that still hung backwards. The slight pressure on Gale’s throat had him tipping his head back. John’s eager tongue tasted his neck, his teeth closing in a pinching bite below Gale’s jaw.

“Don’t you fuckin’ mark me,” Gale sighed out, even as his cock throbbed with a rush of blood, making him jerk against John—John, who only bit harder.

The plane was becoming a furnace as they swallowed each other’s tongues again in a probing, insistent kiss. John kept grabbing him, like somehow, he could get Gale closer. Gale was sure they were soaked in each other’s sweat, and more than sweat—John pushed a damp patch of his pants into Gale’s abdomen, his cock straining behind it to be palmed, to be sucked, to be allowed to glide over all the skin John’d licked, Gale could only assume.

Unexpectedly, John stood, bringing Gale with him, until he lowered him, huffing a breath against Gale’s cheek as his feet hit the floor and he nudged his hips into John’s. They maintained contact as they edged around each other. Finally, Gale sat, looking idly up at John. He felt a smug smile on his mouth and tapped it with his fingers.

“Get on your knees, John,” he instructed softly.

John gave him a sloppy salute and promptly followed orders.

It was a pity, Gale thought, that the navigator’s station really wasn’t made for this, that he couldn’t slump down more comfortably when John snuck his fingers behind Gale’s knees to draw his hips forward on the seat. He leaned forward, ignoring Gale’s erection, and kissed his stomach.

“Where to, Nav?” he asked.

Gale scraped his fingers into John’s hair and directed, “Due south.”

Having only been on nice dates with nice girls before the war, Gale couldn’t really wrap his head around the sight of John kneeling before him, John’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock. He groaned quietly, flexing his hand on the back of John’s head as he bobbed. John took him deep without warning; Gale felt the squeeze of his throat like a near-death experience—the pressure, the flush of heat up his already sweltering body, the darkness dancing at the edges of his vision from the intensity of the pleasure. It beat getting flakked.

Never mind the swaggering walk John’d adopted outside this plane—within it, John had one pace, and it was urgent. Gale’s hands seemed to move without his conscious thought, his fingers tightening in John’s sweat-dampened hair. He couldn’t tell whether he was demanding more or begging for a quarter John wouldn’t give. There was only his grip, John’s mouth, the vivid sound of it that hounded Gale when he shut his eyes, trying, for some reason, to last longer. The 12th could turn up at any time, but he didn’t want this to end. John had his head bowed over Gale’s lap as though in prayer and Gale liked it, liked it way too much.

When he lost himself down John’s throat, John did like they’d been trained to do with mission plans if they had to bail out: he swallowed the evidence. Gale grit his teeth together so the noise he made when he spilt couldn’t gather into a scream the boys would hear. Gradually, he went from tugging on John’s hair to stroking it, mumbling apologies that John didn’t seem to give a damn about as he stared adoringly up at Gale with a grin on his face and his cheek resting on Gale’s knee.

“Goddamn,” Gale mumbled. He rubbed a hand over his face and tucked himself back into his shorts, leaving his pants open for the moment, as though to give the heat John had fuelled a chance to escape.

Looking very proud of himself, John got to his feet. He thrust his shoulders back to stretch his back. It put his hips right in Gale’s sightline, or close enough to be no accident; visible through the khaki, his rigid length was as thick with suggestion as the unusual silence John wasn’t filling.

Languidly, Gale reached for those hips, smirking up at John as he reeled him back in. John reached behind him and took hold of the navigator’s table while Gale thwapped his belt open. Before doing more, Gale caught John’s eye. He crooked his finger beneath the hem of John’s stained tank. He dragged the material up, then leaned in and kissed him there, below his navel, the soft fuzz of hair against his lips, the heavy scent of John’s skin right under his nose.

“You’re goin’ too slow. Gonna get us busted,” John warned, but Gale heard the shimmy in his voice. It came from the tender place he wanted people to think he hadn’t been born with. Impervious all the way through, his smile the smile of a man who couldn’t be touched. And here was Gale. Touching him. He kissed him again, so light and soft, and unzipped his pants.

“It’s not your turn anymore,” Gale reminded him.

John cleared his throat as Gale took hold of his pants and shorts both, pulling them down to expose his rosy cock.

“Roger,” John acknowledged above him, like handing over control of the aircraft to the bombardier. “Your turn.”

Gale gripped his shaft, heard the panted breath.

“My turn,” he agreed.

He began with kisses that barely skimmed the skin, just to drive John wild. It gave Gale time to think, to recognize again and again that this was his best friend, that it felt right, that he’d never been so hot for anyone—nothing to do with the temperature. When he finally added his tongue to circle the head of John’s cock, John went literally weak in the knees, almost falling on Gale. To Gale, it was so incredibly attractive of John to forget how to hold himself up that he completely scrapped his tactic of leisurely, torturous attrition and opened his mouth, sucking as much of John as possible.

“God fucking—” John spat. “Son of a—”

All his curses were clipped as though punched from a machine, but when Gale hummed in enjoyment, John snarled like a big cat, low and lingering and ragged. Gale groaned with his mouth full and John slapped a hand to his naked back, drawing him close. The intimacy of the act—John’s fingers tensed between his shoulder blades, not John’s cock shuttling faster across his tongue—made Gale a little weak in the knees himself. He held John’s bared hips for strength.

“Major? Buck?”

It sounded like Douglass, shouting up to them from outside the hatch.

Gale pulled his mouth wetly from John, which left John looking like he was in no shape to deliver a rational response, even though Gale knew he’d probably try if he didn’t speak up himself.

“Sit tight, Lieutenant,” he called back. “Just got a little tinkerin’ to do on the ship.”

Sitting back, he closed his fist around John’s length and started up a smooth stroke.

“Need any help?” Douglass asked.

“Nah, just some bolts that need tightening, wheels to grease.” Gale winked at Bucky and spat into his palm before returning his grip, stroking faster.

Douglass didn’t reply and Gale felt it: the rush he associated with high-risk scenarios. Could be that Douglass would climb dutifully up through the hatch to offer a hand. He’d see John with his top pushed up, his pants dropped down, gasping and moaning as Gale disassembled him like picking the fluff from a dandelion. The both of them sweating. Gale with his feet planted wide and his hands placed for control, and yet drooling from the corner of his mouth until he picked his moment to swallow. Because John was audience enough, he did it now. There was a hiccup in the rhythm of John’s thrusting as Gale’s throat snugged around him. And then John was shoving insistently at Gale’s shoulder. Gale sat back, disgruntled, and looked up to see John’s beet-red face scrunched in concentration.

“You don’t think I can manage?” he demanded, meaning the swallowing, meaning the hot gush he’d been working himself up to feel pour down his throat. His voice sounded rough.

“I wanna see it on your chest,” John said tightly.

He took himself in hand and Gale tried his best to consume it all with his eyes: the tension in John’s features, the furious pumping of his fist, the pillowy veins that wound down John’s forearms and into the back of his hands. Gale flinched when John came—the sudden warmth of it on his skin. He could feel it sliding down, so he leaned back in the chair as much as he could to slow it. John panted above him, chest heaving, gaze fixed on the milky streaks that resembled Mustangs’ contrails, if Gale’s body were the sky.

“Satisfied?” Gale asked wryly.

John settled his stare on him, a dark, blistering blue.

“Extremely,” he said. He sighed and hung his head. “And I need water.”

Gale jerked his chin towards the hatch.

“Go. But get me somethin’ for…” He glanced from his chest to John.

“Nah, looks good.”

Gale raised his eyebrows.

“Alright,” John conceded, giving a hop as he hitched his clothes back into place. “Stay put, Buck.”

“That’s the plan.”

John patted him twice on the shoulder, then held on. He leaned down for a kiss. The prodding tip of his nose into Gale’s cheek; the enthusiastic press of his lips, full on Gale’s mouth. John straightened, collected his sunglasses, and headed for the hatch. This felt so natural to Gale already, and yet…

“I never thought we’d be here,” he admitted.

John paused, sitting at the edge of the hatch.

“Africa?” he asked facetiously.

Gale snorted. Grinning, John slid his sunglasses into place and dropped out of sight.

#thank YOU #I could never tire of you! I treasure you!#always sending me the good prompts 👌#my writing #MotA #Masters of the Air #Gale 'Buck' Cleven #John 'Bucky' Egan #James Douglass #Buck x Bucky #MotA fic

29 notes · View notes

powerofelvis · 1 year

Text

Why Marry

Pairing: Elvis Presley x black!reader

Word Count: 13.3K (I got carried away again, I’m not sorry)

Summary: Elvis and Y/N are childhood sweethearts in Tupelo, Mississippi. The love that they have for one another even blossoming when he moves off to Memphis. While he is away in Germany, Y/N marries another man. As time goes on, the two sweethearts grow distant, but can distance cause the heart to grow fonder?

Warnings: ANGST, reader marries another man, mentions of the colonel, a few time skips, talks about Elvis at Sun Records, eventual smut, FLUFF, happy ending for the two

A/N: This is the third installment of my Sweet Inspirations inspired saga. This one a bit sadder than the rest, but I hope that it doesn’t deter you from reading. The fic is based off of The Sweet Inspiration’s ‘Why Marry’. If you would be so kind, check the song out! It’s really good! Like truly! I’m not really good at writing angst, but I think I did a pretty good job at writing this one. It made me cry. As always, I hope you guys enjoy :)

There are two types of childhood sweethearts: the seasonal sweethearts and the lifelong sweethearts. You would like to think that as long as you knew Elvis, he would be your lifelong sweetheart. You and Elvis were always together, ever since you were kids. There was never a place you or he would go without one another. You were born and raised in Tupelo, living at the Shake Rag because your father left your mother when she was pregnant with you. She was forced to penny pinch and work multiple jobs even after you were born. Your grandmother would watch you, catching on early that you were ever the social butterfly. There was never a stranger that you knew, always wanting to help out even if you didn’t have the financial means to do so.

Elvis and his mother, Gladys, arrived at Shake Rag when he was a child as his father was carted away to jail for financial troubles. Your mother and grandmother welcomed her and her son with open arms, sometimes inviting them over for dinner when things were a little too rough for them. They even admired little Elvis because he took on the responsibilities of being the man of the house, working alongside his mother so that she wouldn’t have to suffer and struggle alone. At first, he was shy. He wouldn’t speak a word when you would try to share your toys or when you would invite him out to play with you and the other kids.

As time went on, you didn’t even remember that he was once the shy kid who spent his time reading his Captain Marvel Jr comic books. The only thing that you did remember was he was your best friend and you were his. The Presley family and your family would continue the ritual of having dinners during the weekends, even welcoming Vernon when he returned to his family after his stint in jail. Vernon was a man of only a few words, but he welcomed you into his family as if you were his own. However, outside of Shake Rag, you couldn’t be seen with them due to your color. Times were hard; sometimes, you would cry because you wanted to attend school with Elvis, having to attend a different school because schools were segregated. “Mama, I don’t understand why I can’t go to school with Elvis. He’s still my best friend.” You would cry into your pillow as your mama tried to console you. “Darling, nothing will change between you and Elvis, but you know how outside people will view your relationship. He’s white and you’re black, baby. That’s the way God created you.”

You would try to not let the situation deter you, waiting for Elvis to return home every afternoon from school. Both of your mothers would let you sit on their porch alternatively, where you would do your homework together. He would even read his comic books to you, telling you his dreams of wanting to fly to the rock of eternity just like his favorite comic book hero. You grew to admire his aspirations, thinking about your hopes and dreams and how Elvis would fit. You could only hope that the world was ready to embrace you and Elvis together.

Your relationship with Elvis would change drastically as he grew into a teenager, puberty nearly catching you by surprise at how handsome he had become. He was finally changing from the shy kid who never went far without his mama to having full confidence due to his looks. You also couldn’t miss how girls would follow him wherever he would go, causing you to experience your first taste of jealousy because you were afraid that you would lose your best friend. However, Elvis would always remind you that you were his bestest girl; that nothing and nobody would ever change that.

You would hold on to his words, noticing how he would linger his gaze on you as puberty finally caught up with you. His eyes would move along your curves, commenting on how the only girl that lived in Shake Rag projects was turning into a woman. You didn’t miss how his hands would linger at the swell of your hips as he would hug you, his touch sending shivers through your body. Times were changing and you weren’t getting any younger. You didn’t know what to do with the feelings that you felt whenever you were around Elvis and you could tell that his feelings were changing from platonic to much more.

One night, Elvis was sitting outside of his house, strumming his guitar that his daddy had bought him from the general store in town. You had finished helping your mother with chores, deciding that you needed some air. You also wanted to catch a glance of the boy who was starting to become the center of your world. He was singing a song that you had heard him sing before; Woody Herman’s ‘Let Me Love You Tonight’ but it was something about the way he crooned that sent your heart reeling.

Let me love you tonight

Let me tell you how much I adore all of your charms

Though you leave me tomorrow, for this night we’ll borrow a love song

Let me love you tonight

Let me thrill to the touch of your sheltering arms

Til the scent of the roses caresses and closes your eyes

You sat down beside him, his eyes staring into yours as he continued to play his guitar. You hummed along with him, closing your eyes as you listened to his crooning and only in that moment, it was the two of you. He finished the song, placing the guitar down beside the rocking chair that he was sitting in. You opened your eyes, looking up at him with a smile, but he didn’t return it. “What’s the matter, honey? You look like you’ve been told some bad news.” He sighed, standing up from the chair before walking towards the side of his porch; his eyes looking towards the night sky. “We are leaving Tupelo.” You stood up in a hurry, walking over to where he was standing; your body facing him as you made sure that you heard him correctly. “Leaving? Where are you going?” You asked, feeling your heart tearing apart at the seams. He turned to face you, his eyes shining with tears as he couldn’t meet your eyes as he started to explain the shift happening in his life.

“We are moving to Memphis. At the end of the week. Daddy got a better job out there, so we are packing up and going with him.” His voice shook as he tried to hold himself together, the pain of having to part from you seemingly turned his world upside down. “Did you just find this out? Why are you only telling me now?” Your eyes filled with tears, unable to hold them back as they freely flowed from your eyes. Elvis took you by the hands, holding them tightly in his as he looked at you. He had never seen you cry like this; sure, he had seen you cry when you were kids when the neighborhood kids would tease you about having cooties, but he had never seen you cry like this. It broke his heart into many pieces, but there was nothing he could do about the situation. “I found out last night, Satnin. I just couldn’t find the words to tell ya. Don’t be mad at me, please? Not when we only have a few days to spend together.” You sniffled at his explanation, looking away from him to look up at the night sky; the stars seemingly not as bright as other nights.

“Satnin, I think before I leave, I have to get some things off of my chest or it’ll kill me.” You looked back at Elvis, pulling your hands away to wipe the tears that were drying on your skin. You nodded your head, crossing your arms to hold yourself as you waited for him to speak. “Y/N, I don’t wanna leave Tupelo without tellin’ ya how I feel about ya. You know you’re my bestest girl and that’ll never change. But, I don’t wanna be friends anymore.” He put his hand up to stop you from responding, taking a deep breath before he stepped forward towards you.

“I don’t want to only be your friend. I don’t wanna be the older brother to ya, I don’t wanna be the boy that you run to when you’re havin’ boy troubles either. I wanna be more than that, lil’.” You shook your head, not comprehending what he was saying, but you kept your mouth shut in hopes that he would connect the missing piece. “What I’m sayin’ is, I’m not good at this confessing type of stuff. I wanna be your boyfriend, honey. I wanna be the one you can run to when you’re having troubles, the one you call when you have exciting things to say. Ya get what I’m saying to ya?”

Elvis looked into your eyes as you stared back at him, unable to fully grasp what he was saying to you. “M-my boyfriend? Well, yeah. I want you to be my boyfriend, Elvis. I’ll be yours and you’ll be mine. I just don’t want you to leave.” You whispered to him, sniffling once again as the tears threatened to flow once again. Elvis wiped your cheeks with his thumbs, pulling you into his arms as his mood shifted from what was somber only a few moments ago. “I’m sure glad to hear that you agree. Mama told me that I should make a move before it was too late, but I’m so glad that you agreed.” At that moment, he pressed his soft lips upon yours, taking you by surprise as he pulled you closer into his embrace. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, kissing him back softly before he pulled away; his eyes moving back up to the night sky that shined brightly as the only peace that was present was having you in his arms.

The week flew by, the pain and heartbreak that you felt grew as you knew that Elvis and his family were leaving. The day that they were due to leave, your family waited in front of their house, helping them pack everything into their family truck. You were clinging on to Elvis, sobbing with grief as he repeated over and over that he would call you every day. As they got everything settled, you were forced to let him go so that he could climb in the truck after his mama. You and your family watched as they pulled away from Shake Rag, Elvis’ eyes never leaving yours until their truck was no longer in sight.

Elvis stayed true to his word, calling you every day and sending letters about his new life in Memphis. He would tell you how much he missed you, how much he wanted you there with him. He had started school shortly after, telling you about how the boys would pick on him because he would walk around the school grounds, strumming his guitar and singing. He would also tell you about how the girls would follow him around, wanting to hear more from the new kid with the southern croon.

School was uneventful for you as you would only go to school and then rush home because you didn’t want to miss a phone call from him. You would beg and plead with your mama to pack up and leave Tupelo behind, wanting to move to Memphis to be closer to Elvis and his family. Gladys would stay in touch with your mother, telling her about the opportunities that Memphis held. It didn’t take much convincing for your mother to agree, so at the end of the following year, your family packed up and moved away from Tupelo, finding a new life in Memphis. Your mother managed to find a cheap home, taking a job as a seamstress in town as you would continue with school. You would eventually pick up a job as well at the local diner downtown in your spare time, but you would also spend as much time as possible with Elvis and his family.

Memphis was much different than the life that you had in Tupelo. You were in another world compared to Shake Rag, so it took some time getting used to. There were places where you couldn’t go, only imagining how life would be if segregation wasn’t a thing. Elvis was about to graduate high school and so were you, so there was no doubt that things were going to change and hopefully for the better. Elvis didn’t have any plans about what he wanted to do after high school, but one thing he knew that he wanted to do was marry you. You were over the moon at the thought of becoming Mrs. Presley, talking to your friends about how you wanted to be by his side every step of the way.

Your mother thought you were crazy, in fact, she made it known that she didn’t think it was a good idea, considering how the world was. “Baby girl, you and Elvis are no longer at Shake Rag. Do you know what people would say if they saw Elvis walking around town with a black girl on his arm? You and him could be in for a world of trouble.” You didn’t care though, dismissing her words as her just being worried. “Mama, I know where you are coming from. Believe me, I’ve seen the hateful looks that I get when I’m walking to work. Elvis ain’t that way and neither is his family. As long as they’ll accept me, nothing else matters.” Your mother would sigh, rubbing your back as she shook her head. “You’ll see, baby. You’ll see.”

You would tell Elvis about the conversations that you and your mother would have, him sighing over the phone as he couldn’t seem to understand how people could have a problem with him wanting to marry the woman that he loved. “Honey, you’re my bestest girl. You know that, right?” You would always tell him that you knew that, but the truth always nagged in the back of your mind that maybe your mother was right. Soon enough, Elvis graduated from Humes and you were on your way to graduating a few days after. During the summer, Elvis would spend time with you at his house where his family would have barbecues and family gatherings. He would always carry his guitar, stating that he never knew when an opportunity would present itself.

At night, he would sit on his porch beside you, singing ballads about love. You knew that he loved you and you loved him just the same. By the time August rolled around, he still had no plans for the future; taking odd jobs to help his family when Vernon couldn’t pay the bills. Although this plan wasn’t getting off the ground, you still supported him in everything that he did. One morning, he called you excited. “What’s going on, Elvis?” You could feel his enthusiasm through the phone, smiling widely as you listened to him speak. “I finally have the chance to go down to Sun Records to record a song! I want ya there with me, baby. Can you come, please?” His boyish whine flipped your heart in your chest, remembering the charm that he had all those years ago in Tupelo.

“Of course, Elvis! I wouldn’t miss anything like this for the world. Are we going today?” Elvis hummed, the tone in his voice made you feel exhilarated. “Yes, I’m gonna come pick ya up shortly! I want ya to dress in your best, this is gonna be the beginning of our lives, Satnin. I’m finally gonna be able to do something other than work on iceboxes.” You hung up with him shortly after, running past your mother as she looked confused at your sudden excitement. “Elvis is going down to Sun Records to perform a record! He wants me to come with him!” She laughed, shaking her head as she told you to be careful and to make sure to be home for dinner. Elvis made it to your house shortly after, honking the horn to get your attention. “Mama, Elvis is here! I’ll be home for dinner, I love you.” You kissed her cheek before running out of the door. Elvis kissed your forehead as you entered his truck, speeding away from your house. On the ride there, Elvis would practice the lines for the songs that he was going to record, you listening with a smile on your face.

You were anxious and rightfully so. You knew that this was a brand new journey for the boy that you loved and yet, you were frightened that he would be let down. You didn’t want to tell him your thoughts, so you kept them at the back of your mind as you neared the recording studio. Elvis didn’t let the car completely shut off before he jumped out of the driver’s side, running around to help you out of the cab of the truck. “Come on, Satnin. I don’t wanna be late.” He grabbed you by the hand, leading you inside. The recording studio was small on the inside, but you were astonished at the sight of guitars and pictures that adorned the walls. “I’m here for the noon recording. I’m Elvis Presley.” The woman looked at him with a smile on her face, handing him the clipboard for him to sign in. “Pleased to meet ya, Elvis. I’m Marion Keisker. If you enter that room right over there, we will get you set up for your session.” Marion looked over at you, a smile on her face as she moved from around the desk.

“Are you here for a session, miss?” You shook your head vigorously, pointing towards the room that Elvis had now disappeared to. “Oh no, ma’am, I’m here with him.” You were waiting for her to look at you in disgust, fearing that she would throw you out of the studio for even thinking about being in the same room as Elvis. Instead, her smile widened as her eyes never left yours. “You’re more than welcome to join him, it looks like he’s gonna need your good luck charms.” She led you into the room, your face in awe at the equipment that looked like it cost more than you made in a week. “Satnin, this is great! Look! They got a picture of B.B. King!” Elvis was like a kid in a candy store, awestruck that he would be recording in the same building as the musicians that he grew up listening to. Marion and a man who was holding the clipboard that she was once holding before, entered shortly after. “Alright, Elvis. I’m Sam Phillips, the owner of Sun Records. Let’s see what songs you got for us.”

Marion stopped Sam before he could leave to go into the booth, turning to Elvis before crossing her arms. “What kind of singer are you, Mister Presley?” Elvis turned around from where he was standing, gripping his guitar as his smile crossed his lips. “I sing all kinds, ma’am. I can sing whatever ya want me to sing.” She smiled, pressing the matter further. “Who do you think you sound like?” Elvis shrugged, his cerulean eyes glittering under the studio lights. He was in his element, you knew it from the time that he walked inside. This was his moment and you were going to be there every step of the way. “Well ma’am, I–I don’t sound like nobody.” Sam nudged Marion, tilting his head toward the booth. “Well, let’s get this show on the road.” Sam and Marion disappeared in the booth, leaving you with Elvis. “You sound like Elvis Presley, honey. That’s good enough for me and it’ll be good enough for everyone else.” Elvis smiled at that, leaning in to kiss your cheek before he moved towards the microphone.

“Alright Elvis, what is the first song that ya wanna record?” Elvis thought for a second before leaning into the microphone. “That’s where your heartaches begin.” You smiled, knowing that was one of the songs that his mother adored. Her birthday was coming soon, so you knew that he wanted one of these songs to be a gift for her. “That’s where your heartaches begin, take one.” Sam spoke, pointing toward Elvis to begin. You sat in a nearby chair, watching as Elvis crooned into the microphone, his fingers strumming on the guitar strings. He sounded beautiful, making you swoon with each word. Elvis may have been playing around when he would sing on some occasions, but you could tell that he was singing from his heart. You looked over at the booth where Marion and Sam were, noticing that Marion looked amazed at how he sounded. You couldn’t help but to smile, knowing that he was sure to be discovered if he kept this up.

Once the recording of the song was finished, Elvis looked over at you with a hopeful smile. You could tell that he was a bit relaxed now, but he was still trembling with nerves as if he was performing before a huge crowd. “You can do this, honey. I believe in you.” The next song was My Happiness, a song that you heard him sing on multiple occasions when it was only you and him. You were sure that this would be your wedding song with him, picturing yourself dancing the night away in his arms after he made you his wife. He winked at you, making your face heat up with ease as he always had done. Sam pointed towards him again, giving him the cue to begin. Elvis took a deep breath, playing on his guitar once again as he began to sing.

Evening shadows make me blue

When each weary day is through

How I long to be with you

My happiness

Every day I reminisce

Dreaming of your tender kiss

Always thinking how I miss

My happiness

You could do nothing at that moment, the feeling of love pouring out of his soul as you witnessed Elvis doing the thing that he loved. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as Elvis continued crooning into the microphone. He was truly out of this world; you knew that this was his time to shine and that he was sharing that light with anyone who would listen. He finished the song as Marion and Sam walked into the room. Marion still had a smile on her face, while Sam clapped his hands in astonishment at the boy who stood before him. “Thank you sir, I really appreciate ya lettin’ me record these songs for my mama.”

Sam patted him on the shoulder, not really saying much words before Elvis took you by the hand, leading you out of the studio. “Do ya think mama would like these records? I feel like Sam didn’t really like it.” Elvis told you as he drove you back to your house. “Are you hearing yourself, Elvis? Your mama will love it! You’re her world. I’m sure they liked the songs too. You are extremely talented, honey. Don’t ever doubt yourself.” Elvis didn’t say anything at that moment, the silence was still nice as the drive continued.

As time went on, Elvis didn’t hear anything from Sam or Marion, so he figured that they didn’t care for the songs. His mother adored them, playing the records until it drove the entire house crazy. You didn’t mind it, supporting Elvis was always something that you loved. As the new year rolled around, Elvis would return to Sun Records to record more songs and you would be there every step of the way. It wasn’t until the following summer that his luck would finally turn around when he had the opportunity to record more songs. Elvis had met new people around that time: Scotty Moore and Bill Black and they had formed their little group “The Blue Moon Boys”. Scotty and Bill had become brothers to you, always happy to see you when Elvis would come around. The summer was grueling and unforgiving in Memphis, but you never swayed in your support of Elvis. You were sitting in the studio again until the night, fanning yourself with one of the lyric papers that Elvis had.

Elvis was growing impatient with the entire thing, hinting on one or more occasions that it was time to lay down the guitar and continue working at the electric company. You were a little worn out at the late nights, but you knew that if he continued on, he would eventually strike gold. Elvis decided that he would be his normal joking self, playing tunes on his guitar as he danced around. He decided to sing Arthur Crudup’s That’s All Right, jumping around and making jokes. Bill and Scotty decided to join in on his shenanigans, thinking that it was only something to lighten the mood. Sam peeked his head out from the booth, listening for a while before he asked them what they were doing. “We don’t know.” Scotty responded, beginning to put down his guitar. “Do it again.” Sam said as he went back into the booth, pointing to Elvis to start again. You were enthralled, watching the boys dance around as Elvis sang into the microphone, not sure what would come out of it.

However, he would soon know what did come out of that night session as three days later, Elvis called you on the phone, telling you to turn on the radio. “They are playing my song, Satnin! Turn on the radio.” You hurriedly ran into the living room, turning on the radio where you heard Elvis’ voice singing through the speakers. You thought that you were dreaming, yelling out for your mother to join you. “Mama! Elvis is on the radio!” Your mother walked into the living room, a smile on her face and you thought you saw a stray tear fall down her cheek as she pulled you into a hug. “I knew Elvis could do it, honey. I’m gonna call Gladys later to congratulate them on raising a superstar.” You were so proud of him, wanting to scream at the top of your lungs that your sweetheart was on every radio station. However, you decided to keep yourself together so that he would thoroughly enjoy this moment.

His stardom didn’t stop on that fateful July afternoon. In fact, he was beginning to perform every chance that he could. You couldn’t go to these performances as much as you wanted to, your mother would remind you repeatedly how dangerous it could be to publicly show your support and love for Elvis. You felt defeated; the thoughts that crossed your mind was nothing short of doubt that your relationship with him would withstand his newfound fame. You could see how the girls liked him, screaming like canaries whenever he was in the room. While he was gone, you wouldn’t hear from him days at a time, but you knew that in your heart that you were his only girl. When Elvis returned from his performances, he had a new person in his circle. He told you that this man was his new manager, someone who could help him with making it mainstream. Colonel Tom Parker was a strange man, in fact, he didn’t look like any colonel that you’ve seen.

Elvis didn’t notice the things that you did, excited at the idea that he would soon star in his first film, ‘Love Me Tender’. The film was a success, shooting Elvis further in the limelight. With Elvis enjoying the attention that he was enjoying, you were suddenly no longer enjoying being left in the dark like a secret. This would start unwarranted arguments between the two of you, leaving cracks that were beginning to show in your relationship. You had never fought with Elvis, even as kids. You could tell that Elvis was blind to the fact that your feelings were beginning to be hurt, not wanting to stand in the way of his success but you also didn’t want to be ignored.

Through all of this, Elvis would constantly remind you that you were his bestest girl and when the time was right, you would be married. This time around, you weren’t so sure if you believed him. He was so far away from you, even if he was in the same room as you. You could only continue supporting him from afar and as much as your mother would tell you that this was the only choice that you had, you were beginning to see that maybe it was the right one.

You would continue working at the diner, taking as many shifts as you could so that you wouldn’t think about losing Elvis. One day, you were working when a man walked into the diner, a smile across his face as you welcomed him. He was handsome; tall but slim, and his brown eyes shined under the light. “Welcome to Maggie’s, I’m Y/N. What can I get for you?” The man smiled at you, reading off his order to you as you jotted it down before turning around to leave. “Wait, ma’am. Would you like to join me?” You were flabbergasted that this man was subtly flirting with you, a pang of guilt hitting your gut as you shook your head. “I can’t do that, sir. I’ll be right back with your meal.” You walked away from him, reading off his order to the cook. You begged your friend, Yvette to take over for you; not wanting to show your face to the man again, in hopes that he wouldn’t speak another word to you.

After much pleading, Yvette agreed. She returned moments later with a sheet of paper, wiggling her brow at you as she smirked. “His name is Charlie.” She walked away from you, leaving you standing in the middle of the kitchen with a sheet of paper with his number scribbled on it. Charlie would become a regular and at first, you would try to avoid him at all costs. However as time went on, he became a dear friend to you. You would speak on the phone with him sometimes, learning that he was a businessman.

You would lean on Charlie whenever Elvis was away, listening to stories about his life and how he moved to Memphis from Chicago. “Chicago? What made you wanna move all the way down here to Memphis?” Charlie would chuckle over the phone, humming under his breath before responding to you. “I used to think the same thing, but now, I have a good reason why I moved down here. I didn’t think I would meet such a beautiful lady as yourself.” You would remind him that you had a boyfriend, but he would tell you that if your boyfriend had any sense, he wouldn’t leave you alone.

Elvis was busy all of the time, traveling back and forth from Memphis to California as his movie career was taking off. You didn’t miss how Elvis would call you sometimes at night, hearing women in the background. He would dismiss your claims of him cheating on you, telling you that he didn’t want to be with anyone other than you. You were growing tired of being away from him, fed up at the fact that you knew that he was lying to you but you couldn’t do anything about it. Then, Elvis returned home for the holidays.

It was 1957, the year had flown by with Elvis being gone and you working as much as you could at the diner. Elvis invited you and your mother to his home for Christmas, telling you that he wanted to celebrate like you had always done. You begrudgingly agreed, but at the back of your mind, it didn’t feel the same. You and your mother arrived at his new home, taking in the atmosphere of being around him and his family. Gladys welcomed you with open arms, hugging you tightly. “We haven’t seen you in a while, sweetheart. How has life been treatin’ you?”

You smiled at her, your heart breaking as you could tell that something was bothering her. “The same old, the shifts at the diner are starting to wear on my body. I think it’s about time that I do something else.” She could only nod, hugging you once again as Elvis entered the room. He wore a frown on his face, his eyes glistening over with tears as he pulled you into his arms. His scent as always sent your heart soaring, wanting to be near him every chance that you could. “What’s the matter, Elvis? You look as if someone died.” You chuckled, but he didn’t return your smile. “I’m being drafted, Satnin. They are sending me away to Germany for two years. Will ya wait for me? I know I’ve had you waiting for me for three years, but all I’m asking is for a little more time. When I come home, we can get married and you’ll never have to be away from me again.” You were beside yourself at that moment, tears pricking at your eyes as you glared up at him.

“I’ve been waiting for the moment when I could marry you and now you’re just leaving? Like that?” Your mother looked at you with a look of grief, knowing that your heart was breaking at the words that were passing his lips. “I don’t have a choice, baby. You know if I dodge the draft, I could be arrested. I don’t wanna ruin everything that I’ve ever worked for.” You pulled away from him, taking in the looks from everyone who was witnessing the news. Gladys was crying in her hands, while Vernon was holding her in his arms. Your mother couldn’t say a word, only patting the tears in her eyes at the sight of her daughter’s outburst. “Baby, calm down. Elvis has to go, but he will be back. Don’t worry yourself sick.” You shook your head as you ran out of the house, ignoring the calls from Elvis and your mother. You had to get out of there, not wanting to break down in front of your mother and his family.

This is it. You’re losing him forever. Elvis is no longer the man that will be your husband, the father of your children, your best friend. He was going to Germany and you don’t even know if he would come home. Your brain screamed at you, causing more tears to flow as you were forced to accept that the cracks that were forming in your relationship with him were now ripping it down the middle. Your mother returned home later that evening, knocking on your bedroom door.

She peeked her head in, her heart breaking as she saw you staring at the picture that you had of you and Elvis as kids. You were happier then, the fame and the women didn’t exist. He only had you and you had him, but things were different now. “He’s leaving after the new year, baby. He told me to tell you that he loved you and that he hopes you’ll be waiting for him when he returns.” You turned your head, eyes glazed over with tears as you shakingly sobbed. “I don’t think he will want me when he comes back, mama. I think we are over.”

She sighed as she entered your room, sitting next to you on your bed before pulling you into her arms. “If it is meant to be, baby. If it’s meant to be, he will come back to you. You know that.” You shook your head as you sobbed in her arms. She didn’t say anything else, only holding you until you fell asleep in her arms. She was your comfort and she had always been, even when Elvis was around. As time ticked closer to Elvis’ departure, you would avoid him. You wouldn’t return his calls; you were in so much pain that you couldn’t bear to hear his voice. You would even turn the radio when you heard his songs playing. It was as if you were completely shutting him off from you, distancing yourself from him as much as you could.

It was finally time for Elvis to ship out to Germany. Your mother was on the phone with Gladys as she cried over the fact that her son was leaving. You would listen behind the door, sobbing quietly as you knew that it was the beginning of the end. The love of your life was leaving and you were so out of it that you didn’t spend as much time as you wanted with him. Your mother called for you, opening the door to the kitchen before handing you the phone. “Elvis wants to talk to you.” You shook your head, pushing the handle of the phone away from you.

“Baby, please. Talk to him. He has something he wants to say.” You sighed, taking the phone from her hands as you put it up your ear. “Elvis?” Your voice shook with so much emotion that nothing else could pass your lips but his name. “Satnin, I know you’ve been avoiding me. I know why, but I want ya to know that I really meant what I said. I’m gonna marry ya when I come home, so please…wait for me.” You could hear his sniffles, your heart breaking all over again as you nodded your head. “I’ll wait for you Elvis. I’ll try to wait for you.” Elvis told you that he loved you for one last time before the phone hung up.

You placed the phone back on the hook, sobbing in your hands as he was gone. He was gone and he would be gone for a while, but you were still consumed with the pain that it would be all over. You could only deal with the pain as you always had, taking shifts at the diner, where you would run into Charlie. As time went on, you would lean on Charlie to take the pain of Elvis’ absence away, eventually going on a few dates with him.

You thought nothing would come out of it, only taking him up on his offer because you were lonely. A year into Elvis’ deployment, you were suddenly engaged to be married. Charlie had become a favorite of your mother, always bringing flowers to the house when he would pick you up for your dates. You thought that your mother would be ashamed that you were cheating on Elvis, but she would tell you that maybe this was for the best. After all, Elvis was across the world and he was even far away even when he was in Memphis.

Your mother approved of Charlie, noticing how he treated you wonderfully. The wedding planning was done by your mother; she would ensure that her little girl had the most memorable day of her life. You wish you could say that it would be memorable, but you were guilty that the man that you were marrying wasn’t Elvis. Your mother would still keep in contact with Gladys, gushing about the upcoming nuptials between you and Charlie.

You knew that Gladys would tell Elvis, but you knew that he would be powerless to stop it. Besides, you heard from Gladys that Elvis had met a girl in Germany and that he was spending all of his time with her. Gladys sounded regretful over the phone, apologizing profusely that she hoped that it didn’t ruin your big day. You knew that Gladys wasn’t telling you the news because she didn’t care about you. It was quite the opposite, she wanted you to know that you weren’t in the wrong for finding your own happiness.

However, happiness didn’t exist in your world without Elvis in it. The wedding day went by in a blur; you couldn’t even remember your wedding dress, the champagne, or the wedding cake. Charlie was a wonderful man, but he would be gone for weeks on end due to his business. It was as if you were destined to be alone; your husband flying to different states for conferences and meetings and your childhood sweetheart was stationed on the other side of the world with another woman who easily took your place. You were alone, being the dutiful housewife that you could only imagine being while married to Elvis. You would cook for your husband whenever he was home, making sure that the house remained tidy and clean. But no matter how much you played into the role of being someone else’s wife, your mind would always linger to Elvis.

It wasn’t easy for you to continue on with the marriage, but you forced yourself to do so. Time would continue to go by; the days growing closer to when Elvis would return back from Germany. You didn’t know how you could face him, knowing that he would be betrayed that the woman that claimed to love him was now married to someone else. Elvis would finally return home from the Army, glowing with excitement as he was welcomed warmly. You watched on your television on the day of his arrival, fans beaming with happiness and crying that their beloved idol was finally back safely. You wish you were there, wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around him, kissing him again. He had returned more handsome than ever, his jawline being more prevalent than the way you remembered.

As you watched his press conference, you sobbed at his cheekiness, knowing that he used to act the same way with you. You were still in love with him, not wanting to accept the cruel reality of it all. You figured that if you would revolve your world around your marriage to Charlie, you could forget how much you did love him. Charlie could sense that you weren’t the same, often forgoing sleeping in the same room as you because he didn’t like how you kept him awake at night as you sobbed in your pillow, hoping that he didn’t hear. The marriage didn’t last long, you couldn’t bear continuing to lie that you loved Charlie. “I can’t continue lying to you, Charlie. I want a divorce.” Charlie wasn’t shocked, shaking his head as he forced a smile on his face.

“It’s Elvis, isn’t it? Your mother told me all about your story with him. I can’t say I’m not surprised, but I also can’t say that I’m not disappointed that I can’t even keep my wife away from him.” You knew he was right, every woman in the world wanted him. You were no exception. The only difference between you and those women was that you had history with Elvis, the kind of history that these women could only dream about. The divorce was grueling but oddly smooth. Charlie didn’t want anything from you and neither did you with him. Charlie would tell you that you could still be friends, packing up his things as he decided that he would move back to Chicago with his family.

Your mother moved in with you shortly after the divorce was finalized, helping keep a roof over your head as the divorce was a burden on your finances. Here you were again, alone and on the verge of losing everything that you have but you couldn’t lie to yourself that the only thing that got you through was Elvis. Your mother would tell you that you should forget about him, the only thing that your relationship with him gave you was heartbreak. “Mama, I can’t forget about him. I love him and I know he still loves me too. We literally have so many memories together, you can’t forget about decades of loving each other.” You decided that you would face him again, after all, he was your best friend before anything else. Your mother, a little weary about the whole situation, ultimately agreed as she phoned Vernon to see if Elvis was settled in. Gladys, Elvis’ beloved mother had passed away almost two years ago, which had broken your heart completely.

She was like another mother to you, someone you would talk to when missing Elvis had become too much to ignore. You knew that Elvis knew that you were still in contact with his family, but he never reached out to you. How could he? You had sworn that you would wait for him, yet, you married Charlie and ultimately became the girl who had broken his heart. People knew that there was a girl who had gotten away while he was away, but he played it off to the media as if there were no such thing. The least you could have done was apologize to him, even beg him to believe that you still loved him. Vernon told your mother that Elvis was home, resting for a couple of weeks before he picked up where he had left off. You didn’t waste any time, the following day, you made the frightening journey to Graceland. Graceland hadn’t changed since the last time you were there, in fact, it was still as beautiful as it was when you had left.

His Uncle Vestor was surprised to see you, pulling you into a hug as he held a look of relief that you weren’t one of those fans who would try to push by him for a look at their idol. “Y/N, my word. You haven’t aged a day, you still look just as beautiful as you always have.” Your face heated up at the compliment, eyes traveling past him to look at the mansion that sat beautifully behind the gates. “I’m here to see Elvis, Uncle Vestor. Can you let me in?” He nodded happily, pressing the button which allowed the gates to open. Your heart flipped in your chest, knowing that the time was finally here. You were going in with no perception about how your reunion with Elvis would go, but you wanted him to at least hear you out first. As your car pulled up the long road, your heartbeat was the only thing that you could hear. You know there’s a chance that Elvis wouldn’t want to see you again, so why are you here? Your thoughts questioned your decision as you exited the car, seeing Vernon standing at the door with a small smile on his face.

“Little dancer, how are ya?” Vernon pulled you into a hug, a knowing look across his face as he knew that you would be coming. “I’m doing alright, my mother sends her love. Does he know that I’m here?” Vernon stopped in his tracks, staring into your brown eyes before shaking his head. “I haven’t told him, he hasn’t done anything but linger around the house and play around with his friends. He hasn’t left his room yet today.” You sighed, dread settling in the pit of your stomach as Vernon led you inside of the house. He pointed up the stairs before leaving you standing alone in the foyer. Maybe you should leave. You’re nothing to him now but a stranger, let’s leave it the way that it is. You ignored your thoughts, slowly making your way up the stairs, playing multiple scenarios in your head as you followed where you knew he would be. You stood in front of his door, your heart racing at this point.

Part of you wanted to turn around and run out of the house, knowing that what you did was unforgivable. However, the other part of you deserved to explain to him that you had never intended to hurt him. You were living with so much guilt that your marriage didn’t last, so you could say that karma had paid you a visit. You knocked on the door, hearing shuffling from behind it before the man that you thought about night and day stood before you. The pictures in the newspaper and the conference on the television did no justice; he was still as handsome as ever. His eyes widened with surprise as he pulled you into his arms, not sure if he was dreaming that you were standing in front of him. You wrapped your arms around him, rubbing his back as you heard little sniffles passing his beautiful lips.

“Satnin. You–What are you doin’ here?” You looked up at him, tears glistening in your eyes as you studied his features. You were memorizing every part of him, not wanting to forget how he made you feel. “I wanted to come see how you were doing. I’m sorry for not coming earlier, it was a lot happening all at once.” Charlie didn’t mind that you had a relationship with his family, even being supportive when you decided to go to Gladys’ funeral with your mother. You didn’t stay long, being in the same room as Elvis was too much for you to handle.

“I saw you at mama’s funeral, but you were gone before I could collect myself and talk to ya.” Elvis’ eyes shifted with the pain that you saw two years ago, but he masked it with a smile. “I didn’t want to ruin the mood, it wasn’t my intention to leave you alone. I only felt like you needed to be surrounded by the people who you loved.” Elvis’ face turned into a look of disbelief, taken back by your words. “You could never ruin the mood, Satnin. Don’t ya know that you’re the only person that I needed? I had already lost ya to Charlie, but you weren’t thinkin’ about me, were ya?” You knew that this was coming, the conversation switch to your marriage to Charlie was something that you always knew you had to have with him. “I was thinkin’ about not causing a scene at your mother’s funeral, Elvis. There is a place and a time to talk about us and it was not the place nor the time to talk about it while you were mourning the loss of Gladys.”

Elvis removed his hands from your waist, raising them above his head as the disbelief turned into borderline anger. “And what if you never came back? Would we have talked then?!” You stepped back slightly as your eyes turned to the ground. You knew he was right, he knew that you were avoiding him, but it still didn’t make it right that you left him alone when he needed you the most. “Did ya know how much I needed ya?! I needed ya and you could only think about yourself! I’m not surprised, you were always this way! You married another man while I was away in Germany because that’s what ya do! To hell with all the others. To hell with me, right?!”

Elvis turned away from you, stalking away into his room. You followed him, grabbing him by the arm before turning him to face you. “I didn’t know that you felt that way, Elvis! You never communicate with me about how you are feeling! I know that I was wrong for marrying Charlie, I know I promised you that I would wait. But when your mama told me that you were seeing another woman, I could only think about how you were forgetting about me! Forgetting about what we had! Yes, I married Charlie because I was hurt beyond belief. I was hurt and I made an irrational decision that caused me to lose you forever but I’m sorry for not waiting for you.”

Elvis didn’t want to hear your excuses, snatching his hand out from your grasp. “You’re sorry? Sorry?! I LOVED YOU, Y/N! I have always loved you and yet you make everything about yourself. Did you ever stop and think how losing you made me feel?!” You were beginning to get angry at this point, but you knew that once Elvis’ temper started, there was no stopping him. “Elvis! I’m not making anything about myself, it has always been about you! I’ve always made decisions in my life surrounding you! This was the first time in my life that I have ever made a decision about me! How could you even think for one second that I haven’t thought about losing you?”

Elvis placed his hands on his hips as he leaned in to you, sizing you up under his cerulean hues. “You know that’s a damn lie, Satnin. You made this decision because you didn’t wanna wait. You heard that I was seeing another girl so you wanted to hurt me. Come to think about it, you used to want to be married to me! You always wanted to be married and so to get what you wanted, you picked some random joe from the street so you didn’t have to wait.” Your heart was slowly ripping apart at his words, your thoughts that you pushed in the back of your mind returning to the surface.

He’s right, you didn’t wanna wait on him. You married Charlie because you couldn’t wait for two measly years to marry him.

“That’s not true. It’s true that I married Charlie because you were with someone else. But that was it, I swear to you, Elvis. I thought that our relationship was over. Mama and Gladys knew that I would sit here and wait on you while you were off across the world doing everything that you wanted! I left you before you could leave me!” You screamed, tears streaming down your face. “But I still loved you! I still love you! I have always loved you and I don’t think I could ever stop loving you. It killed me to look at you, to hear your voice because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I would cry at night so much that Charlie couldn’t even bear sleeping next to me at night. We divorced because of how much I love you! So, how could you even say that?!” Elvis chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re something else, you know that? You divorced your husband and now you think that we can just pick up where we left off?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying-” Elvis put his hand up, stopping you from speaking before he took a breath. “I’m gonna stop ya right there, baby. There is no picking up where we left off, there is no us anymore.” Your heart broke immediately after hearing his words, not sure why you were surprised because you knew there was no longer you and him. “I’m getting married. So, I don’t know why you’re explaining yourself to me. I don’t even know why you’re here, you could have continued on with your life as if we had never met.”

“Elvis, I-.” Your voice quivered with sadness, reaching out to take his hand before he stepped away from you. “As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never existed in your life. It was nice to see ya again, Y/N. I hope to never see ya again.” He took you by the hand, jerking you towards his bedroom door before pushing you across the threshold. He gave you one more look of condensation before slamming the door in your face. You pounded on the door, tearfully screaming out his name but you were unheard.

You found out that he was marrying the woman that he had met in Germany. His engagement traveled fast around the world as you and the fans alike were heartbroken. You didn’t know why you were heartbroken, it was your fault. You had hurt him, you knew that. You just couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that Elvis didn’t want to see you again. He was your best friend, the only one who understood you. For months, you would hole up in your room. The only thing that you could do was cry, the look in his eyes tormenting you for days on end. Your mother would try to get you to leave your room, but you could never bring yourself to look at her because you didn’t want her to see you crumble into despair at the sight of Elvis parading his fiance around for you to see. “Baby, you did all that you could. Maybe, it wasn’t meant to be with Elvis.” She would tell you, but you didn’t want to think such things could turn out as bad as it has.

Elvis would marry his fiance the following Spring, the thought of seeing him happily with her tore your heart over and over again. As the new year came around, you decided that you would wish him well. You sat at your kitchen table, deciding to write him a letter instead of showing your face to him again. You couldn’t bear the thought of him turning his back on you as he did months ago, not wanting to experience that type of pain again. Once the letter was finished, you placed it in your mailbox, sending your heart right along with it, hoping that he would at least hear you out one last time before he was no longer yours. Yours? How hysterical. As the time neared for his wedding, you didn’t hear anything from him. You weren’t shocked that he didn’t write back, after all, he was still mad at you for leaving him. You decided to find a new job as the hours at the diner weren’t doing much for you. The new job at the boutique paid well and you still had time to be at home with your family.

You didn’t date, not quite ready to love someone else. You were happy with how things were in your life, even though you weren’t quite happy with the things that were happening in your personal life. You could at least be happy that Elvis was happy with his life. He made a couple movies and put out a couple of songs. You supported him from afar as you always had, knowing this was all that you could do. Now that spring time had finally arrived and his wedding was happening in the next couple of days, you were thoroughly anxious about it as if it was your wedding.

The invitation to his wedding sat on your bed, mocking you that it wasn’t you that he wasn’t getting married to. You would think about how you wished that when you opened it, it stated your name instead of hers. You had given up on the thought long ago that you would ever marry him, but it would return as the days ticked by. “Are you going to the wedding, mama?” You asked your mother, placing the invitation in her hands as she looked over it. “If you don’t want me to, I won’t. But, I think you should at least go to wish him happiness. You were friends once, Y/N. This childish game that you’re playing with him needs to end.”

You hated to say that she was right. You were thinking of yourself, something that Elvis had said when you two had that argument a year ago. Elvis was right, you didn’t think about how he felt when you married Charlie. You didn’t think about him when you had shown up on his doorstep expecting him to take you back and you weren’t thinking about him now when you thought about not making an appearance at his wedding. “You’re right, mama. I should go to wish him happiness. After all, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for him, to be happy.”

The memories of following him to the studio appeared in your mind, seeing his happy face as he sang his heart out was the answer that you needed to attend. The day finally arrived, you and your mother pulled into the parking lot of the church where the wedding was being held. You could see Vernon standing at the door, a tux adorning his body as he spoke with the priest who stood beside him. Your mother pulled you to the side before you could walk inside, noticing that something was off.

“It looks like Vernon is upset about something. Why don’t you go see what it is about? I’m gonna go talk with Minnie Mae.” You nodded your head as you parted ways with your mother, walking over to where Vernon was. “Hey Vernon, is everything alright?” Vernon turned his face away from the priest, smiling at you nervously before shaking his head. “Elvis is talking about calling off the wedding. I haven’t been able to get in contact with him all morning, I was gonna ask ya if you had seen him.” Your eyebrows raised, shaking your head as you didn’t know where he was.

The priest would leave you alone with Vernon as your mind ran with thoughts about where he could be. “I haven’t talked to him since that day at the house, are you sure he said he wanted to call off the wedding?” Vernon nodded, the look of sadness covering his features as he opened his mouth to speak. “He’s been havin’ cold feet all week. He left last night after going on and on about how he didn’t want to marry Maryanne, that it didn’t feel right. I thought maybe he was speakin’ out of his ass, but he sounded real serious about calling the wedding off.”

You covered your mouth, worried that something had happened to him. “We should go find him, lord knows where he is!” You handed the keys to your car to him. Vernon nodded his head as he followed behind you, you looked over at your mother who was watching you with a smile on her face. “Mama! We’re going to go find Elvis! Stay here with Grandma Dodger!” She waved you off, taking Minnie Mae by the hand. “We’ll be alright, sugar! Go find our boy.” Dodger replied, whispering to your mother as they walked inside of the church. Since there wouldn’t be a wedding, they might as well wait around for Elvis to come back to tell everyone. Vernon peeled out of the parking lot, you looking out of the window as you searched for anyone who looked similar to Elvis.

He wasn’t at any of the places that you thought he would be, seemingly becoming defeated at the thought that he would show his face. “Do you think he’s at Gladys’ grave, Vernon?” Vernon looked over with you with a look of realization that the cemetery where she was buried would be the last place he could be. Vernon didn’t say a word, driving towards the cemetery, your heart beating loud against your ears as you played with your hands. Hold on, Elvis. I’m coming. Vernon pulled your car into the cemetery, immediately seeing Elvis sitting in front of Gladys’ grave. “He’s here, Y/N. This damn boy.” You didn’t wait for Vernon to put the car in park, immediately getting out of the car as you raced between graves to get to him.

Elvis looked up at you, tears streaming down his face as he stood up from where he sat. “Elvis! Where have you been? Your family has been worried sick, you’re talking about canceling the wedding and you didn’t show up. Are you-?” Elvis didn’t give you the chance to finish, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pulled you into him. He was full on crying at this point, holding on to your body as if you would go away. “I couldn’t marry her. I can’t marry her, Satnin. I don’t love her.” He sobbed in your neck, the words almost blending together as he spoke. “Elvis, you can’t just leave everyone wondering where you are either. If you can’t marry her, that’s fine. You just can’t worry everyone to death either.”

He pulled his head out from your neck, looking down at you as he shook his head. “I’m sorry for worrying you, Satnin. I-I just can’t marry her. I don’t love her, I can’t marry someone that I don’t love.” You placed your hands on his cheeks, wiping the tears from his eyes with your thumbs. “Baby, that’s okay. But, you have to tell her. You have to tell her why you can’t commit to her, I’m sure she will understand.” He looked like the boy that you fell for all those years ago, his boyish eyes looking over you as he told you on the porch of his house that he wanted to be with you. “I told her that I couldn’t marry her because it wouldn’t be right. That I would be making a huge mistake by not marrying the woman that I love. I love you, Y/N. I ain’t ever stopped lovin’ ya and I don’t think I could go through being married to another woman when I love ya so damn much.” At that moment, he pressed his lips to yours in a heated kiss.

Your eyes glassed over with tears as you returned his embrace, holding him tightly against your body as your lips moved with his. Your heart jumped in your chest, the butterflies fluttered in the pit of your stomach as you realized that he still loved you. Elvis Presley still loved you and you still loved him. You weren’t going to lose him to another woman and you were happy about it. He pulled away from you, his eyes searching yours as he caressed your cheek with his thumb. “Satnin, I’ve put this on hold long enough. I can’t imagine being with nobody else but you. I’m sorry for everything that I said, I-I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it, baby. After you left, I haven’t been the same. I’m crazy about ya, Y/N. I love ya, more than I’ve ever loved anybody in my life. Will–Will ya marry me, baby?” He pulled out a black box, opening it to reveal a diamond ring. “I know I’m askin’ ya too late, I should have asked ya to marry me before I left for Germany but I couldn’t get in touch with ya.” You placed your finger on his lip as your tears flowed down your cheeks. “That’s okay, Elvis. I’m sorry too, I should have waited for you. It wasn’t fair to you that I went and married someone else, not when I still loved you for so long.”

Elvis placed his hand on your wrist, pulling your hand down to rest into his. “I’m not blaming ya for marrying Charlie. I should have made you my wife before he did though.” You giggled, squeezing his hand before you looked into his eyes. “Yes, Elvis. I’ll marry you.” His eyes lit up with happiness as he slid the ring on your finger. It fit as if it was meant to, glistening under the Memphis sun. “I’ve had this ring stashed away for the perfect time, but time went by so fast that I didn’t realize that it was always supposed to be you that I marry.” He wrapped his arms around you once more, hugging you tightly against his body before he kissed your cheek happily.

Vernon stood by the car, a huge smile on his face as he watched you with Elvis. “Alright, you two! We’ve gotta get back to the church to let everyone know that there won’t be a wedding today!” Elvis looked at Vernon, a mischievous smile crossing his face as he shook his head. “Who said?” Your eyes widened as you looked at Elvis. “We can’t get married today, I don’t have anything planned. I have no dress, we haven’t told everyone.”

Elvis only smiled down at you, taking you by the hand as he led you over to your car. “We don’t need any of that baby, if you need a dress, we can stop and get you one. I’m marrying you today. I can’t wait any longer.” You groaned inwardly, knowing that you couldn’t deter Elvis from getting what he wanted. However, you were overjoyed that you would be the one that he was marrying today.

He stayed true to his word, stopping at a dress boutique, letting you pick the wedding dress that you wanted before he whisked you away to the church where his family and your mother waited. Your mother walked over to you, pulling you into her arms. “You look beautiful, baby.” You pulled away from her, knowing that she knew all along that Elvis had this planned. “How long did you know?” She laughed softly, taking you by the hand as she squeezed it. “Your whole life, honey. Elvis called me one day when you were at work, apologizing like a fool. He told me that he couldn’t marry that girl, not when he loved you as much as he does.”

You looked over at Elvis with adoration in your eyes as he stared at you, his tux sitting nicely on his body. Although this was supposed to be a wedding for him and another woman, you could only think about how lucky you were that the feelings were still there for you and for him. “Go on baby, go and marry the man that you love.” Elvis walked inside of the church, his family looking on in confusion because he was late and seemed to be a bit anxious. “I’m sorry everyone for the tardiness, I had to think about some things. There won’t be a wedding today between me and Maryanne. I couldn’t go through with it, knowing that I would be breaking the heart of the woman that I truly love.” There were murmurs throughout the church, his family looking around to see if Maryanne would show her face.

“You all know about Y/N. She’s been my best friend since I was a child, we promised each other that we would marry each other. Of course, things happened. But, I decided that I couldn’t go on without her. I’m marrying her today, so I wanted to give my apologies for keeping ya waiting.” His family clapped their hands, glad that there was going to be a wedding and that he was marrying you. “About time you made a wife out of her, son.” Uncle Vestor spoke over the cheers, getting a laugh from everyone around him. He walked up to the altar, beside the priest as he waited for you. Your mother stood at the door of the church, holding you by the hand as you walked inside. You knew that there was no planning on your end, but you didn’t care because you were finally marrying Elvis.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as your eyes watched Elvis, tears streaming down his cheeks as he watched you walk down the aisle towards him. His family stood in awe, smiles gracing their faces as they nodded their approval of how beautiful you looked. Minnie Mae leaned into your direction, pressing a kiss to your cheek as she smiled with tears in her eyes. “You look beautiful, baby girl. You make my boy happy, I’m so glad that you’re gonna be his wife.” You sniffled, wrapping your arms around her as you hugged her tightly. “Gladys would be thrilled to see that her son is marrying the woman that she chose for him.” You thought about how much Gladys would want to be there, beaming happily as you continued walking towards Elvis.

“Alright then, there is a wedding! Who gives this woman to be lawfully wedded to this man?” You looked over at your mother, who looked at the priest before looking back at you. She was holding her handkerchief in her hand, sobbing into the material before shakingly speaking. “I am, thank the lord. I am.” The church roared with laughter as she placed your hand into Elvis’. “Take care of my baby, Elvis. She’s been waiting and praying to be your wife since she was a child. You two belong together.” Elvis nodded his head at your mother, wrapping an arm around her as he kissed the top of her head. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of her as long as I live.” You sniffled at the interaction between him and your mother, looking up at him as he stared down at you with love in his eyes.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to witness the beautiful union of Y/N L/N and Elvis Aron Presley.” The priest would begin his speech, but all you could focus on was the man in front of you. He was finally yours, nothing stood in between you as your union was finally becoming one. The vows were beautiful, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room as you went through your own words of how much you loved Elvis, how much you waited and prayed that he would make an honest woman out of you. “Before God and everyone who has attended, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride, son.” The priest said, stepping back as Elvis leaned down, pressing his lips on yours. Your new family clapped happily, cheering at the sight of Elvis finally marrying the woman that he loved.

The gathering after the wedding was simply beautiful; the mixture of your mother and your new family was as you always imagined. This time, you took the time to reflect on the wedding dress, the champagne, and even the elegant wedding cake. Just as promised, your first dance was to My Happiness, bringing memories to the surface of him recording the tune at Sun Records. Everything was different than the first time, but you felt as if you were married for the first time. That night, you had returned to Graceland; your new home. Returning there was so poignant, not forgetting that you rushed out those doors heartbroken that your now husband turned you away. However, Elvis welcomed you with such warm arms as he carried you over the threshold of the same room that he once pulled you away from. He took you in his arms as he danced with you as he sang into your ear.

Gently, your eyes met mine

Tender, trusting, and true

Gently, your hand took mine

Thrilled me through and through

Gently, oh so gently

Gentle as the dawn

Gently, oh so gently

Our true love was born

You were truly blown away that your dream of becoming Mrs. Presley had come true. It was all that you wanted, and now it was on this day, that you were reunited with Elvis and that your long-lived love had blossomed like a beautiful tulip on a spring day. His cerulean hues looked deeply into your brown eyes with nothing but love as he placed you, his bride on your marital bed. You caressed his cheeks with your hands as his soft lips pressed against yours gently. As your wedding dress was shed from your body, tears lingering on your face, you were reminded that he had always loved you. The anger that once brewing in his eyes had also had the hint of love, you wish that you could have seen it clearly. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to take ya like this, Satnin.” You whimpered with so much emotion as you pushed his jacket off of his shoulders. Elvis kissed all over your body, leaving no part of it untouched. You hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off of his torso as you took in his body.

You had only seen his torso a few times before, Elvis not wanting to make love to you then, only promising that he would do so when you were his wife. The time was finally here, you were excited and so was he. His fingers pulled your bra straps down off your shoulders, the heat of your skin causing goosebumps to arise as he tenderly rubbed your skin. Your bronze complexion was glowing even under the little light that was in the room. Once your bra was off of your body and thrown somewhere that you didn’t care to know, he moved his lips down your chest as his hands cradled your breasts.

You moaned out slightly, carding your fingers through his hair as your mind screamed for him to take you. His trousers and underwear were next, pooled on the floor with your dress. Suddenly, he was inside of you slowly but with such need. The moans that bounced off of the walls were like music to your ears, remembering all of those times that you would be in his room at nights when your mother and his parents were off in the other room. He would pet your body, whispering how much he couldn’t wait to make you his.

His thrusts were sending your soul out of your body, pants and moans passing his lips as he held on to your hands. “Elvis.” You moaned as he sped up his hips, grunting in your ear in the process. “I’m gonna show you how much I missed ya. That you had always deserved to be mine.” Your head was thrown back in ecstasy as you returned his gaze, nodding your head. Elvis placed your legs around his hips as his thrusts continued pounding into you, hitting spots that you never had touched. “The first thing I’m gonna do is give you a baby. Our baby is gonna look like me, but have your eyes.” He moaned into your ear, causing a sob to pass your lips. The coil in your stomach was pulling, heat pooling over your body as you cried out in pleasure. Elvis continued to grunt, pushing himself in and out of you with such love that your body melted into the sheets beneath you.

“I love you, Y/N Presley. Oh, God. I love you so much.” Elvis cried out as he fucked you into an orgasm. You cried out loudly, holding on to his hands tightly as your legs shook around his waist. He roared shortly after, spilling inside of you as his hips shook with pleasure and from adrenaline as he fucked himself through his orgasm. He let go of your hands only for a second as he laid beside you, pulling you into his arms. You looked up at your husband, smiling softly as he looked down at you with love in his eyes.

All of the waiting, crying, and pining led up to this moment finally being in his arms, never to leave again. He made true to his promise, you were pregnant soon after. Your daughter was born the following year, bringing you and him closer together. You would tell stories to your daughter about how you and your father’s love withstood him moving away from Shake Rag to Memphis, you marrying another man while he was away in Germany, and even him almost marrying Maryanne. Nothing could have been better when the following year, you were pregnant with his son.

Elvis was such a great father and husband, like you always knew he would be. He spoiled his wife and his children as years went on, his career skyrocketing with him performing at his comeback special in 1968. You and your children followed him everywhere, not wanting to be away from him at any moment. Your love was idolized by every fan, learning that you were indeed the girl that had once gotten away, but not for long. The life that you were promised when you held Elvis all those years ago back at Shake Rag was better than you could have imagined. You were happy; there were no more tears, no more pining, and no more waiting for you because you had your mother and you had Elvis. Who said that the love affair would end when you said I do?

Taglist: @lindszeppelin @loving-elvis @lovininapinkcadillac @steph-speaks @austinbutler-91 @flwrs4aust @cryingabtab @missmaywemeetagain @plasticfantasticl0ver @oh-my-front-door @oh-kurva @rainydayz101 @flowersofcement @wonka-gifs @star-shard @ep-supremacy @stitchattacks @infatuatedharleys @polksalademma @elvisabutler @samfangirls @literally-just-elvis-fics @dre6ming @troubleinapinksuit @rosaminny @thatbanditqueen @isthlsfate @rjmartin11 @arianatheangel-girl @austinsmutler @dkayfixates @venus-haze @foreverdolly @babylovepresley @ab4eva @presleysdarling @woundmetender @crash-and-cure @marriedtopresley @burninlovebutler

#elvis presley #elvis 2022 #elvis presley x black!reader #elvis x black reader #black writers #black reader #daisy writes

234 notes · View notes

luciddaydreamsstuff · 4 months

Text

Was meant to post this yesterday but forgot, so here’s more of the Caring Corporate AU (don’t know if Ima keep the name or not)

A bit more background information: FazBear is essentially the Disney of this world. Henry and William are both the founders of FazBear Entertainment but William is given more credit due to being more vocal and extroverted than Henry. Fredbear’s Family Diner was the first location and is considered the “golden era” or “humble beginnings” of FazBear. Then the location of Fnaf 2 and Fnaf 1 are the “renaissance” of the company. FazBear Frights isn’t connected to the company but after a lawsuit, then belongs to the company. FazBear tried pop-up pizzerias to gain money which is where Pizzeria Sim falls, then Security Breach and the pizzaplex are considered the “resurgence” of FazBear’s. The company started off as a family and friends establishment but with William going insane and becoming a murder it hurt the reputation. Then CEOs after only used FazBear as a way to get rich, making the company into a cash cow. After the events of Security Breach, FazBear goes through multiple temporary CEOs before landing on Henry, who then stays as the CEO bring FazBear back to its roots as a family and friends based company.

Info on DJ, Puppet, and Baby along with separated designs under cut.

DJ Music Man: Mostly referred to as DJ or the DJ. DJ is the tallest animatronic standing either 10’3 or 7’1. DJ had gotten an update after the event of Security Breach. Speaking of, due to how large DJ was, the virus could only latch onto one of his protocols it being the Bouncer Mode DJ had. Whatever was in his “territory” would trigger Bouncer Mode and therefore the virus would take hold for a bit. With the upgrades the other animatronics were getting, the staff thought that DJ should also get some upgrades.

While his regular body hasn’t changed much aside from a new paint job, DJ was given a smaller body that he could freely walk around in. The manager thought it unfair that Sun was able to walk around the pizzaplex before sometimes but the DJ wasn’t. His smaller body mirrors his more spider like one, with some changes. Around his waist, DJ has two more sets of arms that are interchangeable in size to help his Bouncer Mode. DJ has “dreadlocks” which are just cables that he can plug into any sound system and project music from it or his body or be used as a charging cable. DJ’s eyes are shaped like sunglasses and kinda work like Fresh Sans’ glasses if you’ve seen how that works. DJ mostly stays in the West Arcade where he is in a bit of a rivalry with Glamrock Puppet. He is closest with Moon, Monty, Puppet, and Ballora, though DJ is friends with everyone.

Glamrock Baby: Otherwise known as GB, Glam Baby, or just Baby. Baby stands around 6’5 and is one of the more middle sized animatronics. GB had been around from the start like Ballora, Puppet, and Foxy but due to budget restraints before the events of Security Breach, was shelved away for a later use. GB doesn’t know much about the virus or what happened after she was put on standby other than what staff and the other animatronics told her. While Baby doesn’t fit the “glam rock era”, her design is more based off of retro diners and 1950s diner fashion. She’s given roller skates in her feet to help her move around quicker in her area, though the wheels can be stored away similarly to heelys.

GB’s area is a food establishment within the plex called the GlamRock Diner. While the diner is her biggest attraction, Baby has a Cooking Mama-like attraction near China’s Bakery. In which Baby will allow children to try and make a recipe similar to how the Cooking Mama games play out. She also hosts an event similar to Master Chef in which she’ll allow the adults to make whatever they want under a time limit. GB is the closest with Chica, Sun, and Ballora.

Glamrock Puppet: Otherwise known as Puppet. Puppet is the third tallest animatronic standing at 6’8. Like GB, Puppet has been around since the start of the pizzaplex but due to budget restrictions had to be shelved some months before the events of Security Breach. Puppet doesn’t really know much about the virus, only knowing what staff told them. They don’t want to ask the other animatronics due to it being a sore topic and wanting bygones to be bygones. Puppet was the hardest to design but inspiration arose from the fanon Glamrock Puppet design along with some things from Glamrock Chica.

Puppet works in the East Arcade, mostly because if DJ’s area is referred to as the West Arcade,there had to be an East one. They have a friendly rivalry with DJ about whose arcade is better. Puppet tends to stay in the Prize Corner section of their arcade. Puppet’s main gimmick within their arcade is one similar to gambling or taking bets. Essentially, someone in the arcade goes to battle against Puppet in a game of the audience’s choosing. Whomever wins gets a prize out of Puppet’s Box, which has gain a reputation of having the best rewards. If the West Arcade is similar to a club/nightclub, then the East Arcade is similar to a casino/bar. Puppet is closest to DJ and Foxy.

37 notes · View notes

icey--stars · 1 year

Text

Stories To Be Told: PART 2

Series Index

A shadowsinger, a warrior, an Illyrian, that's what she was. Trained by one of the most formidable female warriors. Escaped the Illyrian camps and her clipping when she was barely sixteen and is now the holder of 6 siphons. What happens when she tries to sneak into the City of Starlight? And starts down a whole new road of chaos?

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

I curiously stepped out of the door. The little building I was in had 5 other rooms, and an exit that had a small platform before it dropped off a mountain. Up, I supposed, was the direction to this House I was now required to attend for dinner.

With my High Lord. And Spymaster. Probably the General too. Great, I groaned.

I jumped off the platform, gliding lazily down into the trees where I settled to gather myself. The sun was much farther in the sky than it was early morning when I had reached the rock outcropping.

What was I going to do now? One trip to Velaris had landed me in chains, and a promise to go to dinner. At least I had all my things now. I paced across the mossy ground, wondering. I probably would have to share quite a bit about myself to stop the chains from coming back, and I probably could do that without a panic attack, but what would happen afterward?

And what the hell was that reaction after Azriel had slapped me? Immediate disappearance? Really? What even did that mean?

I hung out, hidden among the trees until the sun hit the horizon.

I was sitting in a tree, watching around me. I knew someone was watching me, but I didn’t know where or why, so I instead gave them nothing to watch.

When the sun touched the horizon, as promised, I went to dinner.

I took off into the air, pumping my wings downward to fly up the mountain ridge. As I was doing that, I also made sure my shadows were under control. I kept that part of myself hidden. Lest others think of me as more than ordinary, and through that, more dangerous. It was tiring to keep them hidden all the time, but I made due. I could not risk it. Right?

I landed on the obvious balcony, settling my wings against my back and looking around wearily. The door opening inside opened. Azriel was behind it.

“This way,” he said simply, holding the door open. “Just walk straight down the hallway.”

I cautiously walked inside, hearing the door shut behind me as Azriel followed me inside. I slowed a bit to make sure Azriel wasn’t walking right behind me.

“We’re not going to harm you,” he assured, walking beside me down the decorated hallway. “Nobody in the room will if you don’t.”

“How many are there?” I asked.

“Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian and I. Mor and Amren and then Elain, Lucien and Nesta,” the spymaster listed off. “Don’t glare at Nesta. She’s more fiery than anyone here.”

I didn’t reply, just categorized the people in my mind based on what I knew.

Rhysand and Feyre were the High Lord and High Lady. Mates, and extremely powerful individuals.

Cassian and Azriel, the most powerful Illyrians alive.

Mor, the third and pretty powerful on her own.

Amren, terrifying in her power. Second in the Night Court.

Elain and Nesta, Feyre’s sisters. One of which is mated to Cassian.

And Lucien, a male from the Spring Court, who was born in Autumn Court. Who I knew absolutely nothing about.

I didn’t bother to take off my weapons as Azriel led me into a room full of all the people he’d spoken of.

Rhysand spotted us, standing next to his mate. He waved us over.

Azriel stood by me while I kept my wings pulled in tightly as I walked over.

“Feyre, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is the High Lady and my mate, Feyre,” Rhysand introduced us.

I dipped my head to her. I knew of what she’d done to free us of Amarantha and then of Hybern. She deserved my respect.

“It’s very nice to meet you Y/N,” Feyre said, smiling. “And just call me Feyre. Rhys likes to make a spectacle.”

I nodded stiffly, hands curling at my sides to rub the sweat off. I guess I had reasons to be nervous at the moment, I decided.

“Let’s all take a seat to eat,” Rhysand suggested.

Nobody took the head of the table surprisingly, I noticed. I was sitting in between Azriel and who I thought to be one of Feyre’s sisters. Either Elain or Nesta.

She glared at me when she caught me scanning her. I settled back into the chair for wings I sat in, quirking a brow.

“Do you even know how to use those weapons you carry?” She asked, sneering.

I saw Cassian tense beside this female, and Azriel’s shadows drew closer to his body.

“I’m trained,” I replied simply. “And who might you be?”

“Nesta,” she replied simply, turning back to Cassian. Her mate, I noted.

Across the table sat Mor and Amren. I only knew that because one unlucky visit to Hewn City almost got me run over by Amren. A terrifying experience to be honest.

“Anything interesting about you?” Amren asked, spotting me glancing around. “Or just another boring Illyrian?”

I tensed slightly, curling my hands into fists beneath the table. I really didn’t want to share much here, but I saw a lot pause to look at me in the corners of their eyes.

“I escaped about 2 centuries ago from a war camp,” I replied simply. “And I was trained by the Raven.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“The Raven, eh?” Amren replied. “Very interesting. Is she still out and about in that forest?”

I shook my head. “Dead, resting in a cave with the sounds of a waterfall nearby, peaceful.”

“I see, I’m sorry for the loss, assuming you two were close,” Amren said. I just averted my gaze. Gods, now everyone in the room was sizing me up and judging me.

Nesta spoke up beside me, “Who’s the Raven?”

Cassian answered, “A well known female warrior from the War. She shifted into a raven and was a very good warrior.” He regarded me. “Interesting you were trained by her. How did she die?”

I pursed my lips. “She was my master in Winter for a century. She passed when I re-entered the Night Court at the border. Illyrian patrol.”

Cassian choked on his wine. Then he sputtered. “How long ago?” He demanded.

I narrowed my eyes. “About a hundred years, why?”

“So that’s why the fucking patrol died. Goddamn,” the General sighed. “They murdered the Raven?!”

“And I murdered them in return,” I finished.

Cassian sighed. “Alright, considering who they killed, they were asking for it.”

“How many siphons do you carry?” Azriel asked beside me. “I can't quite see them all from here.”

I turned to face the other male, lifting my chin slightly and turned to either side to let him see the siphons. “Six,” I replied simply.

“Interesting,” the shadowsinger said. “I suppose that would allow you to kill that many. Not with ease though, how injured were you? I’m just curious.”

I replied before I thought. A dangerous mistake. “No injuries.”

“How?” Azriel asked.

I tensed, hands in a fist and wings drawn in tightly. I took a deep breath before wreathing myself in shadows. My shadows. My whispers.

Amren’s eyes sparkled with surprise. Azriel remained still, frozen beside me. Nesta, looked me up and down again, reevaluating.

Cassian and Rhysand seemed very surprised.

“A shadowsinger,” Feyre breathed aloud for everyone to hear. “You’re a shadowsinger?”

I met her gaze and then nodded. “I weave the shadows as my own,” I replied. “I winnowed to avoid injury. With rage fueling me, it wasn’t all that difficult.”

Rhysand spoke up, “now that is very interesting. You come from a war camp though, how were there no reports?”

“I suspect the lord kept it to himself, or it was unconfirmed, as I killed the ones who hunted me. The shadows did not come to me until after I’d escaped,” I explained. If I was already sharing so much about myself, why not a little more?

“Wait,” Cassian suddenly spoke up. “Are you the Escaped? Female Illyrian rogue who was thought to have died?”

“Yes,” I answered. “That's me. I left the Night Court and returned. That’s most likely why they assumed my death.”

“I remember hearing the news when I first became High Lord. The rogue’s death was celebrated by Ironcrest even,” Rhysand said. “Do you know which war camp you come from?”

“Ironcrest,” I said.

“Why did you run?” Cassian asked, curious. I looked at him and everyone else for a moment. Just to see if anyone was going to stop the horrible memories from coming out. Most just looked at me, curious as well.

“My friends were clipped during their first bleeding. My mother told me what it was about. And so I tried to escape. I was caught. I had stolen a single siphon, and when the lord came out with a knife to clip me, I ran,” I explained, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

I saw the three Illyrians in the room tense at the mention of clipping. “I see,” Cassian breathed. “Perhaps you were labeled wrongly as a rogue then.”

“There is a story behind everyone,” I said simply. “Some are horrid.”

A couple beats of silence followed. Then Mor spoke up. “Let’s eat,” she suggested.

Then food appeared on the table. How? I didn’t honestly know, or care. Probably some sort of magic. Or perhaps it was Rhysand.

On my plate was meat with mashed potatoes and then bread that had cheese melted into it. After only having deer meat, or rabbit, this kind of meal looked heavenly. And it had been almost a century since I last had potatoes of any kind.

Everyone elected to dig in, trying to ignore the conversation that had just occurred. I ate quickly, but tried to not devour my food like a monster. I managed to be civil enough to use a fork.

After I wiped my face with a napkin, Nesta turned to me. “How well trained are you with those weapons?”

I eyed her suspiciously. From the things I’ve heard about this female, she was not the type to be kind.

“Over a century of training and a century of practice on top of that,” I replied simply, meeting her gaze. “I’d say I’m very well trained, considering I beat the Illyrian males with ease.”

“And do you live nearby?” She continued.

I narrowed my eyes, focusing on her, my shadows also floating nearer in curiosity. “I have no current location I'm staying at,” I replied. “I live in the forests in temporary homes where the food is common.”

Nesta averted her gaze for a moment, as if thinking about something. I stared a bit longer until she finally said, “Would you like to come to where we train?”

Cassian coughed beside her, and Nesta simply kicked him with her foot. I held back my amused smile as Cassian went to glare at his mate.

“Where? And when?” I asked. “I wouldn’t mind coming I suppose.”

Nesta smirked and answered, “Here, early morning until around noon. But there are a couple rules.”

I dipped my head slightly for her to continue.

“The females that are training come from the library below us. Most are… damaged. So be gentle. I don’t know you, so if you’re rude, I have no trouble kicking your ass,” Nesta threatened.

“I understand,” I replied. “I’ll kick my own ass. Tomorrow, then?”

Nesta nodded slowly and then turned back to Cassian. I turned away. I suppose it wouldn’t be bad to see what the new female Valkyrie team were up to. I’d been curious how they trained, seeing as two of them made it to the very top of the mountain during the Blood Rite. That news spread impossibly fast through the lands. Even to other courts, I bet. The Archeron sister that was Made by the Cauldron, has been training and has a new well trained female fighting force. Named by that of the Valkyries from old times. Rainne, my master, loved to tell me stories about the old ones. She fought beside many, but never became one herself.

After the dinner was over, Rhysand came up to me. “Good luck with Nesta,” He said. “If you would like… there is a residence in Velaris you may stay in, should you decide to stick around for training.”

I eyed him. “Maybe,” I simply replied. “Thank you for dinner, but I’ll stick to my normal living pattern for now.”

Rhysand nodded. “Very well. Good luck then.”

I dipped my head and he walked off, speaking to Feyre about checking on someone named Nyx. Their child, my mind reminded me. Feyre and Rhysand had a youngster to care for. This had probably been too tense of a dinner for them to bring the young child.

Once most had left, Azriel came up to me. “I’ll see you at training then?” He said in a questioning tone.

“You’re coming?” I replied.

“Who do you think helps train them?” He chuckled. “Cass and I are the ones training them.”

That made sense. “Then I suppose I will see you there,” I said. “Goodbye.”

He waved and as I walked down the hallway back to the balcony to dive off, I made sure my shadows were hidden. I made sure my emotions were also in check and then I leaped off the balcony, gliding for about a mile before making it to the forest. I walked an extra mile for good measure through the darkness and then I went into the bag laying between my wings and pulled out a small little beaded pillow I carried around and then settled up in a tree branch, my wings being crushed against the bark, sure, but I didn’t plan on setting up a camp here. It was too close to Velaris in my opinion. And the ground here was dry.

I put the pillow behind my neck and then, with a dagger resting between my thighs for an easy grab, I fell into a deep restful sleep.

#azriel #azriel x reader #azrielxreader #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #rhysand #cassian #bat boys #feyre #nesta #mywriting

219 notes · View notes

aycief · 1 year

Text

my pieces for @hoennzine !! i can't even begin to express what an absolute joy it's been to be a part of this project. if you missed out on preorders you still have a chance to get the book + merch when leftovers open on Jan. 27 !!

[ID: three digital illustrations. the first is of Tate and Liza floating in space with their aces. Liza, in the foreground, rests against Solrock's back with her limbs splayed out. she is winking and smiling widely at the viewer. behind her, Tate rests on Lunatone with his legs floating up behind him, looking at the viewer somewhat surprised. they are backed by a starry sky, various planets, and shooting stars that highlight the characters.

the second image is of a Minun performing in the contest hall. it is dressed in a pink tutu with a blue waistband and a pink ribbon with a blue emblem resembling its cheeks on its left ear. it is jumping in the air, smiling and winking. its cheeks are glowing and it is holding up two blue light sticks with electricity sparking off of them. below it is the stage and a plusle, dressed similarly, cheering it on.

the third image is the main room of Granite Cave as seen in ORAS. in the center is large set of stairs carved from the rock, surrounded by large stalactites and stalagmites, and on either side of the stairs, an omega and alpha symbol is carved in the rock. the stairs lead up to a massive mural on the back wall of Groudon and Kyogre fighting. Groundon, on the left, is standing behind erupting volcanoes, breathing fire and backed by a scorching sun. Kyogre is among large, swirling waves, dark clouds, and a raging lightning storm. between them, a triangular 'meteor' falls. at the base of a mural there is a hiker with a Ninjask beside him, illuminating the mural using Flash. thin streams of light leak into the cave from the upper right. /END ID]

#tate and liza #solrock #lunatone #plusle #minun #pokemon #hoenn #rse #oras #pokemon zine #zine #my art

185 notes · View notes

rabbitenn · 6 months

Text

LAST DIMENSION.

You were warned not to eat or drink anything if you ever found yourself in the place where the starlight can’t reach. And yet, before you knew it, your lips were already sweetened with honeyed nectar. What awaits you in this part of the Underworld?

ft. demon Tsunashi Ryunosuke x gn! reader.

cw/genre: halloween special, fantasy au, romance.

third of the halloween fics based on spooky night ! I hope you enjoy <3

In the months you had spent venturing every corner of this decaying world, you had learned there were certain rules to abide by.

If you wanted to stay alive, anyway.

Your existence might have not been luxurious or even easy.

Nothing in this world was anymore. Everywhere you looked, trees were dying, birds sang off key and strong winds howled.

And yet, you still had hope.

Perhaps any other semblance of joy had escaped with the sun that had vanished a long while ago.

But the stars still remained, the only difference between day and night at this point.

And that rule danced in your mind.

“If you ever find yourself in the place where starlight can’t reach; if you ever succumb to total darkness, with no Polaris to pull you out, keep your wits about you. No matter how much your senses play against you, don’t trust anything you hear or see. And most importantly: if you want to make it out, never drink or eat anything in that lightless pit.”

Well, good to keep that in mind, but you really didn’t intend to begin exploring dark holes; you had enough already with trying to find something edible so as to not starve to death.

Or so you thought.

Until that thunderstorm.

Jagged lightning shot across the sky, the heavy soot-like clouds rumbling with every flash of light.

Staying outside like you used to doesn’t seem like an option tonight.

Sighing heavily, you tug your ragged raincoat closer to your form, heading for the mountains.

You knew there was a cave there, perhaps no wild animals lounged on it today and you were lucky enough to take shelter in it for a while.

The rain gets heavier, your vision impaired by a downpour that looks as if the night itself was melting down in kerosene droplets.

Thunder roars even near.

At this rate, you won’t make it.

Then, you spot something from the corner of your eye.

Between some obsidian rocks, a crack widens into an opening.

It looks wide enough to fit one person and it’s only a few yards away from where you stand.

You hesitate for a moment.

Then, a branch from the tree right before you snaps, falling to the ground as smoke wafts off from it.

An overwhelming roaring sound shakes the ground, almost making you topple over.

You make a run for it.

—

Inside this newly discovered cave, it’s oddly quiet, the sounds of the raging storm outside not even a ripple in the stillness of a stygian lake.

A small fire crackles, lighting up the inky walls.

It’s… unsettling.

“Is there anyone here?” You ask, with your echo as only answer.

This place… there’s no one in here, and yet, it somehow seems… alive. As if the walls themselves were closing in to listen, to archive your secrets, every move recorded.

You really can’t shake the uneasiness, but you’re exhausted and soaked.

It might be better to try and sleep for a few hours and dry up your clothes.

Shrugging off your mud-stained coat, you lie down, dancing flames reflecting on a polished jet-black ceiling the last thing you see before your lids close.

—

Like the night prior, you awake to heavy silence.

The fire has died out, and faint light comes in from the entrance.

Probably not dawn yet.

Still, it’s never good to linger in one place for too long.

Picking up your dry coat, you get up and step outside.

The storm has ceased, and it’s still night.

Grey moonbeams filter through naked tree branches, their elongated shadows like clawed hands eagerly reaching for you.

The air feels hotter than before and then, you realize how thirsty you are.

Just your luck that your water has run out.

With your eyes peeled, you scan your surroundings for any source of decently clean water.

Then you notice it.

A tree somehow still untouched by this apocalypse.

Apples dangle from its branches, emerald green faded to gold, white blossoms flowering all over it.

You rub your eyes for a moment.

Are you hallucinating?

No, this seems real.

You approach it, cupping your hands under the dripping petals, rainwater pooling on your hands.

However when your lips taste it, it’s sweet.

Too sweet.

Then it hits you.

You set your gaze upwards.

The full moon shines amidst a spotless marine sky.

Well, shine wouldn’t really be appropriate.

It just hangs there… stagnant, lackluster.

Like a dull stone.

No clouds drift overhead.

And yet, not a single constellation can be seen.

No starlight.

This isn't your world anymore.

Just as you realize that, thorny vines wrap around your wrists, the ground between you opening wide as you plummet into total darkness.

—

One second you’re free-falling to your death, and the next you find yourself in a throne room.

Your hands are still tied in those vines.

“Ah… Sorry about that.” A gentle voice greets, from the center of the room.

Soft brown hair peeks from underneath the hooded attire he dons, a curved silvery horn curling upward from one side of his brow. Gloves that only cover three of his fingers reach his forearms.

In one of his hands, he fiddles with something round.

An apple, like the one from the tree you drank from, its colors now looking like venom to you.

The stranger’s eyes are a shade you no longer remember. Like summer evenings, when the sun sent its rays over sandy beaches.

Golden? Was that its name?

Then your gaze focuses on his neck. The same vines that bind your wrists loop around it.

That looks painful.

But is he human?

He looks like a demon. However, his demeanor seems so gentle…

“My name is Ryunosuke, but please call me Ryu.” He introduces himself. “I apologize that this land chooses such… uncomfortable methods to bring down here those who taste its nectar and fruit.”

He snaps his fingers, your wrists finally free from one another, though the thorned bracelets still remain.

Ryunosuke catches your gaze on them.

“Sadly I still really don’t know what to do about those.” He admits, bashfully.

“What is this place?” You ask, your voice hoarse, throat parched.

The demon sighs.

“We call it the Underworld. A place where the sky is fake and no light reaches. It tempts people with what they need most at a given moment, wrapping its vicious thorns around your soul, never setting you free once you’ve had a taste.”

So, this is the place.

Where starlight can’t reach.

And you’ve just bought yourself a one way ticket, with permanent stay included.

Well, at least this demon guy seems friendly enough.

As you stare at him for a moment too long, he already can read the question dancing in your eyes.

“No, once you’ve broken the rules there is no way for you to get out. I’ve been trying for years.” Ryu admits, with a sad smile.

“Fine.” You sigh.

It’s frustrating, even though it’s not like the Overworld was faring much better, all things considered.

“Why don’t you show me around?” You suggest.

His eyes widen in surprise.

“What? If I’m going to have to stay here from now on, I’d like to become familiar with the environment.” You shrug.

Ryunosuke chuckles, you seem to be taking this well. It’s been forever since anyone showed up, and the ones who did long ago were already driven to madness the moment they stepped into this realm.

“Alright.” He smiles.

And when he does, somewhere in your chest, you think you remember the warmth of bygone sunbeams against your back on early autumn afternoons.

—

After some weeks here, you realize this place isn’t so bad.

You have a roof under which to sleep now, food on your plate and considerably nice clothes.

If you had known the price to pay would have been just thorny shackles, you might have done this sooner.

Besides, Ryu is a very nice guy.

And your eyes can’t help but be drawn to his sculpted chest in that outfit of his.

No, wait, you definitely didn’t think that.

He’s just your companion… friend? Roommate?

It’s complicated to pinpoint right now.

However, one thing you’ve been missing from your world are the stars.

On lonely nights, when you felt you were the lone survivor of a land that knew no hope, you had a sea of constellations over you, at least.

If you were really quiet, you could almost hear them whisper, enticing you to wish upon them.

Even if they were faraway, they kept you company.

They gave you courage. Aim.

Something you don’t quite know how to find now while you stare at a concrete moon.

“[Y/n], are you okay?” A voice that’s become familiar and comforting during the last days asks.

You tilt your head to the side, your eyes meeting a golden gaze.

“I’m fine, I just…” You trail off, Ryu’s encouraging smile an indication to go on. “I was just… reminiscing. About the stars. I miss them down here.”

The demon looks into the distance.

“I might have a way to show them to you.” He offers, tone laced with a little uncertainty. “It’s worked before with the moon, the real one… So maybe I can try for you.”

“Wait, for real?” You ask, wide eyes reflecting the nonexistent rays of a faux satellite.

“I will try. You deserve to see the light of a starry night again, [Y/n].” Is the answer he breathes into the fabricated skies.

“Thank you.” You tell Ryu, putting your hand in his, showing him a genuine smile.

How long had it been, since you felt joy like this?

Wrapping you in his cape, Ryunosuke spirits you away to the place where he wants to make the universe’s light happen.

—

When you arrive, a motionless pool lays before you, chandeliers hanging from the small chamber’s walls, mirrored in the still waters.

This place feels warm, summery almost, a contrast to the bleakness you’ve become so used to.

Dipping his fingers into the pond, your companion closes his eyes.

Ripples start to appear on the previously stagnant surface, an ethereal glow emanating from the water.

You hold your breath, your body inclined towards the surface.

There, beneath the small waves, pinpricks start to appear, as the depths of the pool turn to indigo, mimicking what once was the night sky from above.

“Ryu…” You manage to breathe, in awe. “This is… it’s beautiful.”

You dip one of your own fingers into the glowing water. It feels as if you are catching stars in your palms; except they don’t burn you, they warm your heart, like no fire under sunless skies had ever done.

“Yeah, it is.” Comes his reply.

However, he’s not looking at the stars he created.

His gaze is set on the sparkles dancing in your eyes instead.

Ryu summoned a firmament for you, and yet, to him, no star could ever outshine the person standing before him.

Perhaps one day, he’d gather enough courage to tell you that.

Until then, well, he can wish upon the stars.

#idolish7 x reader #idolish7 imagines #idolish7 #ainana #ainana x reader #idolish7 hadcanons #idolish7 scenarios #tsunashi ryunosuke #tsunashi ryunosuke x reader #idolish7 fluff #idolish seven #idolish7 x you #idolish7 x y/n #anime x reader #anime imagines #anime fluff #halloween

27 notes · View notes

voorice-corp · 2 months

Text

A Dinoverse Creation Myth

(in three parts)

before we start - I am highly aware that what I put below is largely irrelevant to the "present day" stories of the Dinoverse games. however, though most of it was pulled out of the ass, at its very foundation the following is based on one-off mentions of what is likely a mythos for the world that the games take place in, despite it otherwise being very much sci-fi with no fantasy to speak of... perhaps a relic of a bygone era of superstition?

and if you know me, I am an enthusiast when it comes to mythology, from both real cultures and fictional worlds - though tenuous, I did notice some parallels in the excerpts from the games and a certain creation myth from real life - uncannily matching in what is literally stated in the first part, and while not as literal with the third part has some corresponding themes about the nature of humanity and destiny. both of these are from Phantom Of The G4, the translation of which you can read HERE (specifically at the bottom of page 4, and the middle of page 10).

(note: one day I might attempt my own translation, as Chinese is my second language since childhood)

the second part, meanwhile, is directly explained in VTSOM's chapter 4... albeit referencing real life a little too much. now this is probably intentional if VTSOM is set in a future Earth, but I doubt it (I mean, I can't find anywhere the g-districts match up with geographically)... and besides, it takes away all the fun of making up new lore! anyways, HERE is a chapter 4 playthrough (spoilers naturally abounding) with the timestamp where this piece of lore is discussed.

anyway, enough rambling, let's get to the proper writing I did...

I In the beginning, there was simply a vast nothingness. From this nothingness were born the light and the dark, still diffuse; it took many aeons for the light and the dark to coalesce, and become encased in an egg. And it was from within this egg that the Great God awoke, with a honed blade in hand. He sliced a boundary between the light and the dark, to create the heavens and the earth, and stood in the gap between to fully separate them. But still the world was an empty one, and the Great God knew that the only way to fill it was to use his own body. And so, facing the light, with his back to the dark, he abandoned his body to become a spirit that moved across the heavens. The place upon which he died became the Mount Arrat, where others after him shall ascend the same way. His bones became the rocks, and his marrow, precious ore; his flesh, the soil, and his hair, the plants; his blood, the rivers and seas; his left eye the sun, and his right eye the moon, still and forever keeping watch upon the world in both the light and the dark.

II From his remains, the spirit of the Great God could will new life, populating the land, and the seas, and the air with living creatures of all shapes and sizes. Among them was the great sea-serpent Liveiataan, or Leviathan; and she had become powerful and fearsome, with teeth like swords and eyes like the dawn. Her power and her ferocity made the spirit of the Great God wary, for it was only meant to be him who could create, and bestow, and change, and remove, and destroy. And with her heart like unbreakable stone, and her mouth that could not be shut by any force, Liveiataan did not submit to his will. Thus, the spirit of Great God took his sword and slew Liveiataan, and from her dead-flesh also willed new life; from it came gods shaped like men, but with the tails of serpents. And the spirit of the Great God found it good that these were now under his control.

III Among the gods born from Liveiataan's remains was the Serpent Woman; while her brothers took to the heavens, she remained on the earth, and grew lonely. Thus the Serpent Woman pleaded with the spirit of the Great God for companionship, which he understood, and gave her permission to create new life. From clay and fertile earth she molded the first humans, and showed these to the spirit of the Great God, who found her creations worthy to rule the world. From the heavens he called down the Serpent Woman’s twin, the Bright One, who taught the humans to hunt, fish, and tame the other living creatures whose world they now lived in. Though the Serpent Woman wished to create even more humans, the way she had previously made them was far too difficult, too time-consuming, and drained her of her power. And so she found a simpler method, by dragging a cord through the mud; and while this produced many humans, their quality was mediocre compared to those she had molded with her hands. And neither the spirit of the Great God nor the Bright One favoured these humans, who had to be taught by their predecessors. Thus, the people born from the mud, of which there is a great abundance, are forever destined to be inadequate, unable to ascend Arrat and join the gods; and the people shaped by the Serpent Woman’s hand and taught by the Bright One destined to lead and illuminate the path to the future.

now, an explanation of the inspirations for this story - as well as some extra thoughts not included in the story itself, left out for others to figure out later.

this tale is largely based on Chinese mythology - elements of which seem to show up elsewhere in the Dinoverse, possibly because Dino themselves are Chinese, and that I will touch on another time because of how fascinating mythological motifs are to me.

the Great God is based on the creator deity Pangu, who just like the "god" mentioned in POTG4 created the world from various parts of his body, down to the sun and moon being his eyes. however, instead of an axe, his weapon of choice is a sword as per his description in VTSOM.

the Serpent Woman was more or less original on my part, and based on the goddess Nüwa, creator of humans using different methods for nobles and commoners (which parallels the "some souls forever destined to be inadequate" thing in POTG4); and the Bright One likewise, based on her brother Fuxi. (it seems that for many of these ancient Chinese gods, their mark of divinity was having a serpentine tail/lower body, hence the Serpent Woman's other, unnamed brothers, who may be significant in another story.)

and while Liveiataan bears some resemblance in role to the aforementioned twin deities' parent Huaxu, she is based more on the Near-Eastern Leviathan as well as its forerunners Lotan, Tamtum, and especially Tiamat, who some have noted similarities with both Pangu and Nüwa. the odd spelling of "Liveiataan" is intentional, by the way, to avoid confusion with the real-world Leviathan.

speaking of Liveiataan - in-universe she is described as "a symbol of power, and perfect government" fitting as she was the only creature powerful enough to pose a threat to the Great God. Myers was certainly onto something to have a poster of her in their basement, doubly-so one with the image of the Great God cropped out, as Vincent discusses how they wish to achieve godhood and create a new world order.

interestingly, they do this with their cyborgs, and to create such, they infuse the bodies of the worthy - the ones created by the Serpent Woman - with (presumably?) metal - the refined bone-marrow of the Great God, if we are going by the myth...

now again, this is all p much pulled out of the ass and written at around 3am of last night, so forgive me if it is all very unhinged. but I had fun writing and analysing, and would like to hear thoughts.

#voorice writing #voorice headcanon #vincent the secret of myers #vtsom #phantom of the g4 #potg4

7 notes · View notes

azsazz · 2 years

Text

A Court of Four Horsemen (Part 2)

Cassian x Reader

Summary: Based off of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse featuring Rhysand as Conquest, Cassian as War, Eris as Famine, and Azriel as Death.

Warnings: War, famine, death, smut...a little bit of everything.

Word Count: 4,305

I. The Lost Girl

_________________________________________

II. The Last Petal

A shrill cry echoes in the mist.

It had taken three full days of travel to reach the lush foothills of the Spring Court.

All the while, you had taken turns riding on the back of nearly all of the group's horses, except for Azriel’s. He did not seem interested in carrying you on his steed, instead opting to hold the babe, who sat on the horse in front of him, giggling at the rocking nature of the creature he settled upon.

This is no place for a child; a war zone. You had already seen multiple injured, more gruesome than the things you had ever witnessed growing up in your poor town.

Flesh slashed open and flapping with each movement, crimson blood staining the mud red, broken bones and thwacked off limbs, the cries of pain and terror ringing in your ears.

Rhysand and his armies are at war with the Spring Court, though this was no surprise as it was no secret that he and High Lord Tamlin had never seen eye-to-eye, even going so far as to share the same mate.

“I’ve killed his family and I’ll fucking kill him too,” Rhysand growls, covering his son's ears as he curses. Nyx furrows his dark brows, looking up at his father with a squeak of confusion that turns into a fit of giggles when he’s handed off to Cassian for a tickle. “We move tonight.”

And you might get a bit distracted, watching the scarlet stone clad Illyrian general, scarred with the brutality of many wars, holding the babe against his hip as he moves his armies’ pawns across the map spread out on the table. It’s exactly how you wish you were spread open on the surface instead.

He looks at you from the side of his eyes, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, ruddy hazel gleaming suggestively with mischief and you blush bright red.

You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since it happened. Rhys’ body tangled with yours in the sheets of the dirty inn you’d suggested. He hadn’t sent you away after, either, he’d kissed you all night long and taken you again for a second, a third time, until the morning sun had risen well into the sky and Cassain had pounded on the door.

Rhys had opened it, freshly showered and a snarky remark on his lips as he took his son into his arms, cooing at the babe and kissing the top of his head.

The warlord looked over his brother's shoulder to you, still in his bed, sheets pulled up tightly to your chin, a wicked gleam of wanting in his eyes as he followed across the bruises on your neck, dipping down to where the sheet covered the rest of you.

“Kill him and get it over with,” Eris speaks boredly, reaching over the shoulder of the warlord to run his fingers through the babes silky soft hair.

“Oh I will, don’t you worry about that,” Rhysands smile is twisted a little too happy to finally get his hands on Tamlin. After centuries of harbored hatred for the male, he finally has his chance.

“If he’s out on the battlefield,” Cassian snorts, “His little beasty ass is probably still moping around that ruined mansion of his.”

He doesn’t want to be in the Spring Court, hates it with all of his being due to his allergies. Would Cassian let it stop him from commanding Rhysand’s troops in a war? No. But would his nose be runny and eyes be itchy while he was in this Gods–awful territory? Absolutely.

“He wouldn’t miss the chance,” Rhys responds confidently, taking his son back into his arms as the little Illyrain reaches out and squeaks for him, “Isn’t that right Nyxie?”

“How are you so sure that he won’t be hiding away in his mansion?” you question, mulling the idea you’d been formulating as you listened to the males speak over in your head.

Rhysands eyes gleam with excited fury, “Because, he’s been waiting to meet me in battle for far too long,” his grin falters and his heart pangs as he thinks of the reason for all of this; Feyre.

Spring is the last of the southern territories he’ll conquer. He won’t break down the wall separating the fae and the mortals, no, he wouldn’t reign over them as a last wish from his late High Lady. Her human sisters would remain unharmed in the mortal lands, left to mourn over the loss of the sister they’d never cared for.

“May I?” you ask, pausing your hand by Rhysands pawns, eyebrows raised in question. He gives you a nod, violet eyes flickering with interest.

“So if you know he’s going to be on the battlefield, why don’t you each attack from different sides instead of head on? We know that Spring and Autumn have gathered their troops, what if Eris leads the Summer Court down across Day and into Spring, all the way to the wall so we can protect the humans,” you explain, moving the yellow colored pawns across the map, “Then, Azriel can bring the Winter, Dawn, and Night troops in, putting pressure on Autumn so they know we’re coming for them next.”

All of the males around the table are silent as they listen to you intently. Even Nyx, who’s chewing on a wooden pawn that looks eerily like Cassian. Their scents are overpowering, making your head dizzy and your legs clench beneath your skirts, heat pooling in your abdomen.

“Cassian, you lead the Darkbringers and Illyrians in from the west and we push them towards the waters, completely surrounding them. And Rhysand,” you look up, meeting those shining violet eyes, power prowling within them. You smirk at him, “You give us all the signal to go to war.”

He has to hold in his groan at your words, telling him exactly what he wants to hear.

“Well,” his grin is feral, hungry for the chance to be the High King, “Let’s prepare for battle.”

__________

They let you paint markings on their horses, runes that match the ones on the Illyrians shoulders, vibrant purple for Glory, and now bright red for Cassian’s horse.

He peeks at you from the other side of the animal, where he’s thrown his saddle up and over its back, grinning at you. For someone who is about to put his life at risk, he sure doesn’t seem to be overthinking anything.

“How are my two girls doing?” he asks, and you’re impressed that he’s standing normally, flat-footed on the ground and can see you from over the horse's back. He’s bulky and tall, tanned arms out on display as he armors up his steed before slipping into his own protection.

You raise your eyebrows, looking up at him as the horse nickers in response. “Your girls?”

His cheeky smile turns sultry, “Ruin is,” he pats the animal on her neck for good measure, “Aren’t you?”

“No,” you huff, walking around to the other side of the horse to paint the same marking on its other flank, “I’m not.”

He tuts playfully, adjusting the weapon holster around his waist, “Awe, but (Y/N), you want to be, don’t you? I can smell it.”

You gape at his raunchy words, your cunt clenching at his suggestive tone. You’re sure he can scent your slick pussy even now because his grin only widens.

“I hope your dick is as big as your ego,” you mutter, admiring your work and wiping your hands on the cloth, trying to ignore his own masculine aroma.

“Do you want to find out?” and you don’t need to cut him a glance from the corner of your eye but you do anyway. His hair is tied up tight at the back of his head and his hazel eyes are alight with laughter. He’s so gorgeous like this, and you find yourself wishing you could rip the tie from his hair and let it all hang loose as you bury your fingers in his long locks.

“You know,” he purrs, voice lowering sensually, his breath a kiss of wind against the shell of your ear, “That was a pretty good battle plan back there,” he nods towards the tent, “How about you run it through one more time. I like to make sure I have all of my bases covered.”

You flush, staring down into the red paint in your hands, swirling a finger around the liquid, thinking. You want to, but what would the rest of their group think? What would Rhys think? You aren’t some lowly whore to be passed around him and his friends, no matter how beautiful each one of them is.

Though you hadn’t been with the High Lord since the night at the inn, you were left wondering what was going on between the both of you. He’d set you up in your own tent each night, bidding you a soft departure as he retreated into his own with a last look over his shoulder and Nyx in his arms.

You can see Cassian's reflection in the paint as he comes up behind you, “Are you thinking about Rhys?”

You peek over your shoulder at him, biting your lip as you nod guiltily in response.

He places a large hand on your cheek, “You don’t have to do that, he won’t mind,” his thumb brushes across your lips and the electricity sparks between the two of you. You stick your tongue out on a whim, catching against his rough finger, his salty skin awakening your senses.

You swallow harshly, gazing up at him. His eyes are so wide and intense with honesty and he’s standing so close that you can’t help yourself, agreeing with him. He slides a warm hand around your waist, guiding you back towards the war tent. Your heart is racing with anticipation, and when you go to set down the paint he stops you, “Don’t. Bring it.”

You’re inside the tent all of three steps before he’s taking the paint away from you with one hand and lifting you off of the ground with the other. You squeak in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he crosses to the table in a few large strides, setting you down on the edge.

He’s massive, easily thrice your size as he towers over you, hooking his hands on the underside of your knees, spreading your legs and pressing them up into your chest, skirts pooling all around you with your undergarment covered cunt on full display.

He curses softly under his breath, rolling his hard length into you and you throw your head back in a delicious moan that he’s sucking out of your mouth a moment later.

He presses you flat into the table beneath as he rubs against you, his cock aching in his pants. You sneak your hands between you, letting your head roll to the side to give him access to your neck, where he seems preoccupied with marking you. Loosening his leathers, you struggle to pull them down over his thick and powerful thighs.

His breathy chuckle sends shivers up your spine as it dances over the wet marks on your skin. “Need some help there?”

“Please,” you whine, tugging on his leathers frustratedly. Looking up at him as he pulls away from your throat your breath catches. The genuine smile on this male’s face…Gods he is immaculate. His strong arms cage you in on either side of your head as he stares down at you, bumping his hips up into yours playfully only to elicit a debauched moan from you.

“Now, now, (Y/N),” he brushes the hair back from your face, stroking a thumb across your cheek, admiring you beneath him, “Be good.”

“I will,” you promise, writhing your hips to try and catch his, needing the friction against your pulsing cunt.

His smile is a slash across his face and he need not say more as he takes your hands in his own large ones, assisting you in shoving his leathers down, his cock springing free. You can feel the raised scars across his otherwise smooth, tan, skin as he moves your hands across his own hips, falling away as you reach his cock, silky and heavy in your hands.

You bite your lip hard at the sight. He could easily split you open with how big it is, and he hums appreciatively when you slide your thumb over his slit, collecting the beading precome at the tip and slicking it down his shaft.

And he watches with intent like he’s the spymaster and he is trying to commit this to memory, to relive over and over and over again until he dies, as you bring that same hand up to your mouth, licking across the mess in your palm all the while holding his gaze.

Cassian looks like he could snap at any moment, chest heaving and hands gripping the edge of the table so hard that you swear you can hear the wood groaning in protest. His pupils are wide with lust, the ring of caramel around them only a hairline stroke, his throat bobbing in time with yours as you swallow.

“Normally I’d be a gentleman and make you come on my tongue first,” his voice is deep, reverberating in your bones, in your pussy, wet and tremoring at his tone. “But I think we both know that Rhys is far more skilled at that,” your cunt throbs at the memory of the silver–tongued Lord licking between your legs, “You won’t even remember your own name when I’m done with you.”

He pulls the drenched fabric away from your dripping cunt and finally rolls his hips forward and you feel like you’re out there on the battlefield. His length stretches you far beyond capacity, and he’s moving so slowly, hands clamped on your hips bruisingly tight because he can hardly control himself from sheathing his cock fully inside of you. Year after years of self–restraint training at the Illyrian camps had never prepared him for something like this, your tiny, little, dripping cunt wrapped around him.

You clutch onto his forearms, nails biting into his skin so hard it draws blood, but he doesn’t mind. If anything, the warlord feels guilty. He doesn’t want to hurt you, and he halts immediately when he notices the tears slipping from your eyes.

He kisses the wetness away, voice full of concern as he speaks, “Should I pull out? Work you open with my fingers first?”

And the generosity and sincerity of this male has you letting out a single sob, arching into him and wrapping your legs around his waist, urging him on.

“No,” you gasp, heart slamming in your chest, “You feel incredible.”

Cassian's head goes lax into the crook of your shoulder in relief at your greedy words, continuing to inch further and further into you, your keens and mewls only spurring him on.

You’re positive you’re not breathing by the time his hips meet your and he’s buried deep inside of you. You swear you can feel him in your throat, and he’s drawing you out of your haze by pressing quick kisses to your lips, encouraging you to respond.

“Fuck,” he groans, breath hot across your lips, “Can I–”

“Please,” you beg again and he’s pulling back out only to snap his hips into yours again, eyes rolling into the back of his head in pleasure. You fit him perfectly, he notes as he quickens his pace at the noises that spill from your mouth.

He needs to taste the begs pouring from your lips so he dives down to meet you, the kiss sloppy and frantic like his movements within you but you’re matching his energy, trying to gasp when you can, like with each thrust of his hips it presses the air from your lungs.

Cassian grunts, fucking into you harder, your wetness dripping down the length of him, each jerk easier and easier the more coated his prick gets. His tongue is on you, greedy hands snaking down to your covered chest, tearing open the buttons with ease. You gasp as he sucks a nipple into his mouth, twisting the other between his large fingers.

You could see why he rides a horse when he sinks back into you, wings unfurling in pleasure only slightly. There’s hardly anything left, mostly bone structure of what used to be, the expanse of the leathery skin torn and shredded throughout time in war. But he is beautiful nonetheless, and you don’t stare long.

You can see the battle raging within him as you caress gently over them, avoiding the rips and scars that had healed over the centuries, the conflicting emotions raging behind his hazel eyes. He shivers beneath your touch as you explore the sensitive skin, pounding into you that much harder, the feeling of your delicate hands on his wings making him lose all control.

You climax first, but only barely, the rhythmic pattern of his thrusts had the head of his cock rubbing furiously over the bundle of nerves inside of you. His name on your lips as you scream out in pleasure is what pushes Cassian over the edge.

He comes with a war cry that awakens all of his soldiers, grabbing for their weapons on instinct, ready to be commanded by their general.

But the only order they receive is to leave him, as he collapses on top of you, shielding your lax body from the onlookers at the entrance of the tent.

__________

The Spring Court wasn’t meant to host a war. With the sun beaming down on the lush rolling hills, flowers in full bloom, it’s a place you’d like to have seen without the blood painting the beautiful terrain red, falling warriors’ cries drowning out the chirping birds.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of Cassian.

War took: took the lives of those easily and messily, took the lives of those both innocent and not, unfortunate souls who found themselves fighting for a High Lord they did not agree with. He was not picky, he’d kill anyone who got in his way that weren’t his own men, large sword swinging down with poise as he leans over the side of Ruin, reigns held tightly in his other hand.

He’s incredibly intelligent, and when he rides over the crest of the hill on his auburn haired horse, there’s a breath of a moment when all battle ceases, staring upon him in wonderment.

In that same moment Azriel had taken the lives of three, Rhysand had claimed reign over another territory of the Spring Court, and Eris had worked his way across the battlefield, burnt soldiers falling limp by his sides.

You’re stationed at one of the triage camps, helping the nursemaids where you can, fetching fresh water from the nearby creek, cleaning wounds, and helping move injured soldiers.

It’s gruesome, some of the injuries you’ve seen, and you aren’t much help, holding their hands during their dying breaths, struggling to keep back tears. You wish you were back with Nyx, but they need you here.

You’d stumble away after a gruesomely injured fae male died in your arms. You are in a state of terror when you’d seen him stumbling into the med tent, entrails hanging out of a large slash across his body. He looked like death walking, eyes glossy with shock, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out.

You’d thrown up in the bushes behind the tent, falling to your hands and knees, narrowly avoiding the mess you’d made. You hadn’t seen anything quite like this before.

You’d grown up around famine, the townsfolk simply withering away silently and slowly, from sickness or starvation, here one day and gone the next. This…all of the blood, the cries of both victory and pain, it was truly something else.

When you calm your breathing you scrub your hands on your skirts, trying to rid them of the blood. They’re shaking, and after further examination of them, you find blood embedded into the cracks of your skin, a tattoo you’d never let yourself forget.

You try to gasp down any fresh air that you can, but the spring breeze carries only the scent of doom and blood. The metallic in the air chokes you, your senses overloaded with what you’ve seen. You aren’t built for this, and you can’t force yourself onto your own two feet to return back to the tent.

Instead, the song of swords clashing draws you nearer. You crawl on your hands and knees, uncaring of who sees, hoping that someone would come along and put you out of your misery.

Peeking through the brush that hides the triage tents, up above the battle on a tall hill so that Rhysand’s armies could protect if the Spring Court tried to attack the helpless, the war raged below.

In the heat of the Spring Court you watched the well trained Lord’s battle.

Cassian nearly wore a smile on his face, grin feral and wicked with delight. He was a war machine, executing killing blows with grace while Ruin carried him effortlessly through the battlefield, weaving in and out of warriors like the racehorse he was bred to be.

They moved as one, seeming to know exactly what the other was doing at all times, two steps ahead of his enemies. The mane of his horse ris oached, with one long braid painted red bouncing as she runs, Cassian’s matching braid tucked up with the rest of his hair.

How he manages to look so godly you have no idea. His tan skin gleams with sweat and blood beneath the bright sun, and though his eyes look a little puffy from the pollen, he’s still as gorgeous as ever.

He pulls on the reins, halting Ruin in her path. The horse obeys, skidding to a halt and your breath catches in your throat. What the hell is he doing?

The warlord dismounts, Azriel on his horse racing past like shadows across the battlefield, snagging Ruin’s leather straps and leading her away from her master with a cry of her own.

He unsheathes a second sword from between his boney wings, eyes alight and bracing for attack.

He is far more skilled at war than one should be, in your opinion. Slitting through the throat of an enemy with ease, slicing limbs from bodies, stabbing opponents in the hearts or any part he could manage.

Sometimes it’d be a one kill blow, but when he can, you’ve seen him take longer with his victims, like their cries of mercy are fuelling him further, music to his ears. Blood soaks his leathers, clinging to his skin and you’re disgusted with yourself as your mind fills with sinful thoughts at the sight.

As if he knows you’re there, can read your mind or smell your arousal he turns, hazel eyes locking on yours through the slit in his helmet, bright and sparkling, as if offering another round in the sheets with him later.

You’d blush if you had kept eye contact with him any longer, but something snags your gaze.

In the center of the battlefield is Rhys and Tamlin, the High Lord of Spring. His long blond hair tied back tightly at the nape of his neck, a sword clenched in his own hand.

Rhys sits atop Glory, chin held high and a taunting smirk adorning his lips, the same exact look he’d given you when he’d bed you.

The battle rages on all around them, but they don’t care, eyes glued to each other, unmoving.

You can’t hear what they were saying to each other, but the Spring Lord growls loudly and drops to all fours, a gasp catching in your throat as he shifts into a wolf the size of Glory right before your very eyes.

Rhysand only smirks.

The beast pounces and Glory dodges easily, trained to be quick and nimble. The High Lord of Night’s eyes flash with fury and the beast halts beneath his gaze.

It’s a sight to behold, as Tamlin struggles against the mind breaking powers of Rhysand, who holds him tightly to the ground, his haunches rippling with muscle, trying to physically break out of whatever mental powers are keeping him frozen.

It’s all over for Spring, you know it. Tamlin’s own soldiers know, the hiss of dark power rippling across the battlefield.

Storm clouds roll in, dark and heavy with rain as Rhys stalks closer, twisting his knife in his hand. It was Feyre’s blade, the one she’d always kept on her while she was alive. She’d killed the Attor with it, fought Hybern with it, and now he’d kill Tamlin with it.

One by one the Spring Court soldiers fall to their knees, dropping their weapons and bowing their heads, surrendering.

Rhys leans down and whispers something in Tamlin’s ear and the wolf growls so loud it matches that of thunder and shakes the ground all the way up to where you sit, watching intently.

Cassian, Eris, and Azriel stand behind their High Lord, looking ever like grace behind him, faces stoic and standing tall, proud, ready to jump into action should they need to.

They don’t need to.

Like a strike of lightning Rhys slams the sword deep into the head of the wolf, nearly to the hilt, and the battlefield goes silent as Tamlin’s beast form falls lax.

No one dares to move as Rhys removes the knife with a squelch and straightens, triumphant, the bloodied weapon raised high above his head, a battle–raged grin on his face when his armies begin to cheer.

Only one more High Lord to go.

#cassian x reader #cass x reader #cassian #cassian smut #cassian/reader #acotarxreader #acomaf #acowar #acomar #acotar #azsazz #smut #a court of four horsemen

337 notes · View notes