#8 more chapters and I'm done can you believe it? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

badbatchsprincess · 7 months ago

Text

Heated ~ pt.6

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3 ~ Pt.4 ~ Pt.5 ~ Pt.6 ~ Pt.7 ~ Pt.8 ~ Pt.9 ~ Pt.10 ~Pt.11 ~ Pt.12 ~ Pt.13 ~ Pt.14 ~ Pt.15 ~ Pt.16 ~ Pt.17 ~ Pt.18 ~ Pt.19 ~ Pt.20 ~ Pt.21 ~ Pt.22 ~ Pt.23 ~ Pt.24 ~ Pt.25

Masterlist

Summary: This is an ABO Bad batch!Poly x Omega Reader smut with a plot. This takes place as an AU before order 66. Y/N previously served under the 501st before being transferred to Special Forces 99. This is her adventure with these rowdy Alphas in a quickly changing universe.

THIS IS AN ABO AU ABOUT THE BAD BATCH (NO CANON OMEGA!) Due to the unfortunate situation of her name being Omega… Omega the child from the canon series is not going to be apart of this fanfic/porn with a plot. I feel obligated to put this warning in because it makes my skin crawl thinking anyone could make that mistake.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, sex!pollen trope, some injury, sexual themes, masturbation, heat cycles, rut

Finally I got his chapter done lololol there's 4k extra words in this one so please enjoy haha!

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"We're under attack!" Wrecker pointed to the sky as more Separatist bombing droids came whizzing by, firing at the Venators in orbit.

"I'm getting Y/N," Hunter started, taking off running towards the growing commotion, but he was suddenly taken off balance when Tech tripped him with his own foot, causing the Sergeant to go tumbling into the grass. He looked up at Tech with a glare.

"You cannot go," Tech said, looking at the camp. "With your heightened senses, it may kill you. From what I can see, those wearing helmets are okay due to their air filters, but those who were caught off guard are starting to display signs of infection. Rescuing Y/N will only risk our own infection, and then it will be irrelevant."

Hunter looked back at the camp, distraught.

"We can't just leave her," Hunter growled, standing back up again.

"What if she's infected?" Crosshair asked, looking down his scope at the medical tent. "The Omegas on the science team died."

Wrecker growled.

"The Omegas died because they had no Alpha to cure their induced heat," Tech read through the researcher's report. "The heat symptoms progressed too far unnaturally."

Suddenly, their com channel cracked. "Hunter?"

"Wolffe?" Hunter responded, looking back at the chaos across the clearing.

"I got her, Hunter!" Wolffe radioed in. "Are you at the Marauder?"

"Yes, we're up here," Hunter said, relieved he could finally take a breath. He grabbed his scope and looked down the rolling hills, trying to see through the foggy red dust.

"We're on our way," Wolffe turned his com off, leaving the 99's in anxious silence. Hunter could pick up the stench rolling off Wrecker and Tech. While the scent was significantly less, even Crosshair was getting nervous seeing the rising tensions in the crowd of 104th regs.

"I see them," Tech said, zooming in his lenses. "1 o'clock."

"What happened to her?" Hunter tried zooming in closer to their silhouette. Y/N was thrown over Wolffe’s shoulder, dangling limply, while Echo followed behind, holding a bloody rag over his face.

"Is she hurt?" Tech asked, trying to get a clearer image.

"I can't tell," Crosshair hissed.

Wolffe and Echo ran as fast as they could, dodging regs and shoving their way through the chaos. When they finally made it up the hill, Wolffe was panting and rubbing at his eyes, trying to wipe the dust from his skin.

The others backed up, not wanting to get any closer.

Wolffe set Y/N down on the plush grass, letting Echo kneel down and press his hand to her forehead. He adjusted the little filtration mask pressed to her face, letting her head lull to the side. She was knocked out cold.

"What the hell happened?" Crosshair couldn't believe it.

"I don't know," Wolffe rasped. "But you gotta get her out of here!" He was panting, starting to feel the effects.

"Tech, power up the ship, we're leaving now," Hunter placed his helmet on, securing the filtration system. The others did the same, running to get the ship primed and ready.

"Radio the General, please!" Wolffe was tearing at his armor, starting to feel the unbearable itch of a rut forming. "Fuck!"

Hunter bent down, picking up the tiny Omega and turned towards the ship.

"What about the other Omegas?" Echo asked, looking back at the camp. The infected regs were raising their noses in the air, seemingly trying to tail a particular scent.

"We can't save them all," Hunter decided, saving Y/N was the top of his priority. "We're not risking it."

Echo just nodded and followed him onboard the ship, letting the door close behind him.

When Tech started to pull the Marauder up into the air, they could see the Commander crawling in the grass, fighting the effects of the drug, but in the distance, they saw the beady eyes of the infected following Y/N’s trail.

They seemed to fall into rage when they realized the Omega had gotten away; their howls could be heard from the ship.

"Maker…" Echo was in disbelief. It was hoards of feral Alphas, hundreds of them.

"What happened to Pip?" Wrecker was nudging her limp body, pathetically trying to wake her up.

"Is she infected?" Tech asked.

"No," Echo confirmed. "She got the mask in time."

"Are you infected?" Hunter looked at their co-pilot.

"No," Echo shook his head. "I'm barely human, nonetheless an Alpha. I don't think it affects me the same way it does all of you."

"We should still check," Tech put the ship into autopilot and went into Y/N's bunk to grab her med kit.

"What happened to her?" Hunter asked, setting her down gently on the floor.

"We just got to the triage tent, she was clocking in when Wolffe came to speak with her," Echo noticed the way Hunter’s eyes narrowed, possessively he might add. He was going to love rousting Y/N when she finally wakes up. "They were talking when the bombs dropped. She saw the red and knew exactly what it was. She grabbed a respirator and tried to save her friend, that little skinny Omega."

"Taran," Tech chimed in.

"Yeah, sure, anyways," Echo looked over to his longest-known friend. "She got knocked over in the chaos and hit her head. Almost got trampled but Wolffe found her and got her out." Echo wanted to smirk so badly, knowing it was going to drive his unit up the wall to know Wolffe saved the day once again.

They had been pining for her ever since they met her, but Y/N was too oblivious to notice. But the arc trooper noticed everything. His sense of smell may have been demolished, but he could see it in all of their eyes.

Echo also may or may not have caught Crosshair rutting with an Omega that looked nearly identical to Y/N the last time they were back for quarterlies. Echo didn't say anything though, but he was always watching.

"What do we do?" Wrecker took off his helmet and sat on the floor next to Y/N.

"She'll need bacta for the head injury and probably pain management when she wakes," Tech informed.

"I'll do it," Crosshair knelt down, taking the pack. "I did it for her once on Crait."

The others just watched as he found the liquid bacta and placed it into her injector. He cleaned the site and pressed the mechanism close to her neck. He pressed the button and watched the dose administer. Her head lulled back into his hand, and he gently removed the respirator from her face.

"Ad’ika?" Hunter cooed, running a gloved hand over her cheek.

Crosshair kept his hawk eyes carefully trained on her eyelashes. She tried to flutter them open, but they were too heavy it seemed. Instead, she just clutched onto his chest plate weakly and groaned in pain.

"It's okay," Hunter whispered, watching Crosshair help her sit up. "You're safe."

She turned into Crosshair, feeling dizzy.

"Get her the painkiller," Tech fussed. Hunter loaded the new cartridge and handed it to the sniper. He pressed it to her shoulder and pushed the button, hearing her wince as the medicine entered her system.

"She's too weak, get her something to lay down on," Crosshair motioned to their bunks.

Wrecker disappeared into her bunk and came back with her cot mattress. They made room on the main cabin floor where Crosshair gently set her down on the mattress, letting her lay down comfortably.

She rolled onto her side, keeping her eyes closed, waiting for the medicine to kick in.

Hunter just looked to Echo, who was concerned, watching his friend in pain.

"What do we do now?" Wrecker asked, watching the Venators approach.

"We let them know what happened, and then I guess we go to Coruscant for quarterlies," Hunter crossed his arms, peering down at the little medic. "We're not going back to Kashyyyk. Not with Y/N."

"It’s been three months already?" Wrecker groused, he hated getting his implant replaced.

"Shockingly yes," Tech replied. "We'll be coming up on seventy-five rotations, give or take a few days." He settled back into his seat to send the transmission to General Plo’s ship.

Up ahead, the darkness of space was lit up with blue and red laser beams as the Republic forces engaged the Separatist warships. Tech stayed far enough away to not be noticed, but close enough to get the message out.

"Well then let's set a course for—" Echo was cut off when their ship was suddenly rocked violently.

"Separatists!" Tech pulled back the controls and started making a beeline away from the planet to make the jump to hyperspace.

"They're on our tail!" Echo exclaimed, watching the red blast fly past them.

"I know…" Tech tried to snake the ship hopefully to throw them, but the droid ship just locked on.

"Make the jump!" Crosshair bit out.

Tech flicked the switch on the console, hearing the hyperdrive power up. Tech set the course for Coruscant, and Echo pushed the lever. Just as the Marauder made the jump, there was a blast coming from the back of the ship.

Just as they jumped, the ship made a loud rumble before falling out of hyperspace. They all lurched forwards as the Marauder was beginning to lose control.

"We've lost left rear engine and hyperdrive," Echo was scrambling to gain the controls back.

"We're heading straight for Mimban," Tech pointed out, seeing the brown planet approaching quickly.

"We're going to have to make an emergency landing," Echo grabbed his steering and tried to pull up to slow the ship.

"Brace!" Tech yelled, pulling up the nose last minute.

The crash was violent and rough. The entire ship creaked as its hull bent under the impact. The lights overhead flickered before permanently shutting off, throwing the whole crew into total darkness. Everyone on board was flung forwards as the Marauder skidded to a halt into something soft.

The emergency lights turned on with a red glow, signaling a total system failure.

~~~

Everything was fuzzy and dizzying the longer you tried to refocus your vision. The pain killers were swirling in your system, making you feel good… really good actually. This was probably the best crash landing you've ever been a part of now that you're thinking about it.

"Y/N?" Echo's face was suddenly in yours. "What is wrong with her?"

You heard yourself giggling. Echo suddenly had two heads, only making you giggle more. Reaching out, your hands felt strange, like they had grown scales or something. You just looked at them, watching your fingertips change colors with an amused gasp.

"Crosshair gave her too much painkiller," Tech brought his flashlight to your eyes, watching them dilate. You placed a hand against Tech's helmet lens, blocking his view, making him swat your grabby hands away.

"What do we do?"

"We just gotta wait it out."

"Well, I don't think that will be a problem. I don't think we're getting out of here for a while."

You could hear their voices talking. Hunter's smokey voice was like honey to your ears. You chewed your lip, looking down at your boots, feeling your cheeks heat up. You felt a tingly warmth start to fill your tummy the longer he talked, and the feeling only seemed to move lower as he continued. You looked up and stared at his criminally slutty waist and fit ass from your jump seat with a longing stare.

You barely registered when he turned to face you with a raised brow. Caught, you turned your gaze up to meet his pretty face and pretty eyes. You bit your lip and blinked owlishly as he studied your face.

"That's freaking me out," Echo grumbled, watching you go out of your right mind.

"Well, let's get to work trying to repair the ship. I don't want to find out what's out here come nightfall," Hunter ordered, "and don't let her wander.”

Soon, you found yourself alone, happily swinging your feet from the jump seat without a care in the world. Echo arrived and adjusted your seat straps so you couldn’t dawdle off like a lost pup. You just giggled and poked at his head ports, making him scowl.

He forced you to drink some water, mumbling something about flushing your system.

You felt the warm Mimban breeze blow through the ship as the boys opened the hatch and got to work digging the ship out.

Tech came to feed you some ration bars and give you more water before checking your vitals. When he determined you were able to hold yourself up without falling over, he unclipped the jump seat straps and helped you get used to your feet again.

“I would suggest you just lay down for a while until you’re functioning properly again.” You clutched his arm while he helped you walk to the mattress on the floor. You plopped down on your bum before flopping over on your side.

“Alright then.” Tech pushed his glasses up and went back to tinkering in one of the side panels.

You pawed at the sky, trying to feel the breeze with your hands, which earned you a few glances from your concerned pack. You nibbled at the food they left for you, but it started to taste funny, and you only giggled more.

“I couldn’t have given her that much,” Crosshair watched you play with your food with an amused look on his face.

“She’s small, even for humanoid omega standards,” Tech ripped out a clump of fried wires and began cutting through the damage, “The dose you gave her was most likely for a full-grown alpha, such as Wrecker.”

“Kriff,” Crosshair whispered and turned back to help Tech.

~~~

Night was coming fast, and you had now come down from being stoned beyond your wildest imagination. You stared at the wall, suddenly remembering everything and realizing the dire situation you were all in. You were beginning to miss the delirium of the painkillers. Luckily, your headache was gone, and the bacta seemed to heal the head injury.

However, you were still royally pissed at your unit.

You didn’t forget what happened, and how they had treated you. You tucked your knees into your chest and decided zoning out into the wall would be better than feeling the rage boiling in your chest.

You noticed they were starting to call it quits making their way back inside the ship. You decided you wanted to be alone and grabbed the corner of your cot to drag it haphazardly through the nearly sideways ship. With a struggle, you got the mattress back into your bunk and hauled it up onto the metal slab. With one final grunt, you shoved the mattress back into place, giving yourself a rest.

You decided to change into something a little cooler. This planet seemed to be a lot warmer than Kashyyyk. You haven’t been able to see outside, but you could taste the humidity in the air and feel the warming breeze. You yanked your long sleeve off and swapped it out for a cropped tank. The tight cargos got swapped for loose ones, and you kicked off your boots, opting just for your socks.

You heard a knock on the door and expected it to be Tech needing something from his bunk, but it turned out to be Echo.

“Hey,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” you replied, folding up your dirty clothes. Your nose immediately scrunched, “You reek.” It wasn’t his normal smell; it was something gross and terrestrial.

He sniffed his armpits, “I didn’t even think I still had sweat glands.”

You shook your head and pointed to his shoes, “Stinky!”

He looked down at the reddish mud caked onto his boots, “Oh… yeah, it’s nasty out there.”

You just made a face and covered your nose.

“You feeling okay?” He asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, but I don’t really know what’s going on. One second I’m on Kashyyyk and the next I’m higher than a hayroot, and then we’ve crash-landed on some stinky planet.”

“Well… you pretty much nailed it,” Echo scratched his head, “You got knocked out in the triage tent after separatists dropped the spice bombs. Then Wolffe carried you all the way back to the Marauder despite being dosed himself and handed you off to Hunter who tried to get away to keep everyone safe and get the message to the General, but we were shot down making the jump to lightspeed and then crash-landed here on Mimban.”

“Mimban?!” You screeched, “That’s in the middle of nowhere!”

He nodded solemnly.

“Did you guys send a distress call to the Republic fleet?”

“We tried… then Tech realized our comms have been squished.”

“Squished…” You narrowed your eyes.

“That was the word he used.”

“I see,” you crossed your arms, “So what I’m hearing is, we have no ship…”

“Correct.”

“No comms.”

“Correct.”

“No fleet.”

“Correct.”

“No one knows where we are.”

“Mhmm.”

“The entire 104th was chemically attacked.”

“Yes.”

“And we’re stranded on Mimban… with no way to leave.”

“Correct.”

“Are you all aware we are supposed to be on Coruscant in eleven days for quarterlies?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, feeling the anxiety creeping in. Great, this is just perfect.

“Are you… alright?” He asked, watching your eye twitch slightly.

“No.”

There was a bout of silence…

He smacked his teeth, “It’s an unfortunate situation.”

You nodded vigorously, “One might say that.”

“An extremely awful and awkward situation…”

“Yeah… it is,” you pushed your tongue into the side of your mouth.

“Well… do you want dinner?”

“I think I lost my appetite,” you gave him a plastered smile.

“Let me know if that changes… I’ll leave you to it.” Echo turned on his heel, leaving your bunk and closed the door behind him. It was only a few seconds before he heard you scream violently into your pillow, making the others jump.

“I take it she figured it out,” Hunter uncovered his ears.

Echo shook his head, “Yeah, I’d say she figured it out.”

“FUCK!” Your muffled scream made Hunter cringe again.

“I think she’s taking the news quite well,” Tech poked at his food.

“Was that you making a joke?” Crosshair raised a brow.

“I thought my sarcasm was obvious,” Tech bit into his warmed food.

“How was that obvious?” Wrecker grumbled.

“We have to get off this rock,” Echo chewed his dinner, “Stating the obvious, but your implants are going to wear out. If we don’t get an evac or somehow manage to fix the ship, we’re going to have a big problem.”

“Our first priority is to fix the com system and try to contact the nearest fleet,” Tech replied, “That would be the most promising scenario given we have no other hurdles.”

“And if we can’t?” Echo raised a brow.

“Then we’ll deal with it when the time comes,” Hunter was trying not to think about the fact that they could be dealing with an omega in heat with alphas in rut in a very confined space. The potential for a mess was likely.

“That gives me a lot of confidence,” Echo snarked.

“It’s all we can do.”

~~~

Day two on Mimban consisted of you coming out of your bunk earlier than the others to eat your breakfast. You looked outside the cockpit window to see nothing but orange fog clouding any terrain. You sighed and prayed to the Force that it would guide you back safely.

The rest of the day, you helped Echo, trailing him, trying to help in any way possible. You quickly realized that the soil on Mimban was reddish-brown clay and it was soft. That was probably the reason the ship hadn’t snapped in two on impact, but the nose of the ship was buried into a thick pile of the stuff. The boys were busy trying to dig out the hull while you, Tech, and Echo fixed the interior damage.

Day three, you were starting to get a little weary. Sleeping on an angle was a bit rough, and Tech decided rest was beneath him. He stayed up all night trying to repair the comm system but didn’t seem to be making any good progress. Echo had you carry around all of the spare parts he needed to try and fix the left engine. Hunter had elected to venture out with Crosshair to see if there were any towns that might be able to help. Wrecker was on shovel clay duty.

Day four, you realized your unit was totally alone in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. There wasn’t anything within remote traveling distance, and when Hunter and Crosshair came back in the morning with the news, you left to lock yourself in your bunk and cry.

Day five was much of the same. You leaned your forehead against the side of the ship while Echo abused your laser suture to weld some pieces of metal to the engine core. You were starting to feel the weight of the situation as the emotional exhaustion was starting to settle in. You missed Kashyyyk. You missed the food, and the fresh water, and the clean air. You missed talking to your unit. They still haven’t apologized, and you’re still giving them the cold shoulder even though they clearly cared enough to protect you from the attack on the war camp. Eating your meals in the bunks was the only time you got to yourself.

Day six was when the others started getting a little agitated. It started with Tech fussing about the mud caking on his boots and ass. He tried shaking off the thick clay but ended up getting so frustrated he screamed and kicked the Marauder with full force. It was so out of character everyone stopped what they were doing to look. No one said anything, but they watched their pack mate rip off his shoes and throw them violently into the cabin with a loud splat followed by very creative cursing.

Wrecker was starving as usual, and his food-related complaining was starting to make your stomach growl too. You had to resort to rationing your rations as you all were not prepared to be stranded for days on end.

“Someone had to have seen us get shot down, right?” You asked Echo, handing him his screwdriver.

“I don’t know, pip,” he sighed, scratching his head, “I don’t think this planet is very inhabited. And if it is, we don’t know if it’s advanced in any way.”

You sighed, taking the screwdriver back and handing him a wrench.

“I think the others are starting to lose it,” you whispered and peeked around the corner to see Tech angrily messing with the console with his mismatched socks on display.

“I’ve certainly never seen Tech yell before,” he snickered.

“I miss Kashyyyk,” you sighed.

“Do you miss Kashyyyk or a certain alpha on Kashyyyk?” he joked.

“Echo!” You whispered.

“What?” he laughed, “I’m thinking about that omega back on Coruscant I had before Skako Minor.”

You gasped, feigning scandal.

Echo smirked, “Whatever gets you through the day.”

“Guys, come out here!” Hunter’s voice echoed throughout the ship.

The three of you came out of the ship to see that they had cleared most of the clay away from the ship.

“We need help pushing her over so she’s back on her feet!” Hunter said, ushering you all to help. When you all were in position, you pushed with everything you had (Wrecker did most of the work), but you all watched in awe as the Marauder was finally on all four landing pads.

“We did it!” Wrecker hooted and picked you up spinning you around before depositing you back in the mud. You gave him a little laugh which made his eyes light up. If he was happy about the ship, that was nothing compared to hearing your voice again.

They all got back to their tasks while Wrecker lingered a bit trying to figure out how to hear that pretty sound again.

You just followed Echo back into the now level ship.

“She laughed.” Wrecker mused, “I haven’t heard her laugh in so long.”

Hunter just gave him a saddened look. He knew him and Crosshair still had to apologize for their behavior back on Kashyyyk. But so many things that happened since then he didn’t have time to think about what to say or how to even approach you. It was killing him that you didn’t want to be around them anymore. He was angered by the fact that Wolffe has offered to take you in, and you hadn’t denied him. Had they really pushed you so far? Your cries when Crosshair forced you to submit out of fear haunted him. It made his inner alpha cringe. He regrets not stepping in but he knew his jealousy had overtaken him. Hearing you giggling with Wolffe and coming back wreaking of him like a mated pair made his blood boil. He was far more territorial than he had ever given himself credit for even though he didn’t actually have a claim on you.

You on the other hand, had no desire to talk to either Hunter or Crosshair, even in this desolate situation you’ll never forget the feeling of Crosshair forcing you to do that.

Day seven then turned into eight, which morphed into nine and ten. By the eleventh day, you knew your time was becoming limited. The past few days had everyone’s sense of smell acting up. The pungent odors from the planet’s atmosphere were becoming stronger and you knew the implants were wearing out.

You knew you couldn’t beat around the bush any longer, by dinner time on the eleventh night, you emerged from your bunk full of anxiety. You walked through the galley and faced your pack who conversed over their food.

“So, whats the plan?”

They all whipped their heads around shocked to hear your voice. You stood there raising a brow and crossing your arms waiting for the shock to wear off and someone say something.

“I’m assuming you’re referring to our implants dissipating.” Tech spoke first.

You nodded.

“Well that means we have an undisclosed amount of time before we all inevitably have a rut and you a heat. That puts us in a precarious situation that I think-”

“We know!” Echo snapped.

“We can turn Wreckers bunk into your place for the week.” Hunter started, “You can stay there and we can rig the lock so only Echo can open it. The rest of us will just deal with it out here.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You retreated back into your bunk.

“Y/N! Wait.” Hunter stood up and followed you. He stepped inside your bunk to find you nervously chewing on your lip. You turned around to face him looking like a kicked pup.

“I-I…” He stuttered wanting nothing more than to reach out and embrace you like you had allowed before this whole fight.

“What Hunter?” You were getting agitated with his silence.

“I…I’m sorry, I’m bad at communicating my feelings.” He sighed knowing he was starting to sound like Crosshair, “I don’t know how I should approach you or… I…”

You just help up your hand stopping him, “Come back when the words find you.”

He sighed, “No I-I just need to tell you… how sorry I am. I was wrong. I should have stopped Crosshair and I shouldn’t have punched Wolffe. I just… something came over me and I lost it. It wasn’t okay and I should have protected my pack…I should have protected you and I’m so sorry we’re in this situation again. I don’t know what to do, I-I-“

“Hunter.” You stopped him, “Thank you for saying something.”

He shook his head, “No, you should be angry with me… with us. This isn’t how a pack is supposed to be. At least I don’t think. I’ve never actually been apart of a real one given I don’t have a family.”

“Hunter…we are your pack.” You sighed.

“I just… wait what?” His face suddenly lightened, “y-you’re staying?”

You raised a brow confused.

“It’s just I thought you were starting to court Wolffe, or rather he was courting you and then he offered you a spot in his ranks…” Hunter babbled.

“Hold up.” You shook your head, “Commander Wolffe?”

Hunter looked at you and blinked.

“Courting me? Me courting Commander Wolffe?” You couldn’t hold in the laugh anymore, “That’s what this is about? You thought I-… oh my god!” You were howling.

“He- you-“ Hunter crossed his arms confused now.

“Me what?” You giggled.

“You came back… from being with him.” He mumbled.

“Did you not hear me when I got back to camp?” You were amused at his confusion.

“It was kinda hard to listen when you came back covered in his scent.” He said pointedly.

“Hunter… I almost drowned in the river.” You scoffed, “Wolffe had to pull me out before I got swept down stream.”

He just let his mouth lull open.

“And yes, while we may have been naked, nothing happened…”

“You were WHAT?” Echo screeched from the main cabin.

“You were what?” Hunter repeated with a growl.

“Chill,” You warned.

“You didn’t tell me that!” Echo yelled.

“I may have left that detail out.” You yelled back.

“Look,” You smiled up at Hunter adjusting your crossed arms, “Wolffe has a good ass but he’s definitely not an alpha I’m interested in like that. Now what I cannot figure out is what the hell happened that made you all hate him so much. You didn’t have a problem with him hitting on me on Coruscant.”

Hunter just reached back and scratched his nape, “I uh…”

“Tell her Hunt!” Echo chided from the other room. What a little eavesdropper.

Hunter shifted uncomfortably, “He-he asked if I had claimed you on Crait…”

Butterflies fluttered violently in your stomach. You tried your hardest to steel your emotions but he continued, “I said no. That was the truth, but then he made it pretty clear he was interested in pursuing you. I guess I-”

Suddenly the pieces clicked…

“Hunter, are you jealous?” You put your hands on your hips.

“W-What?” He sputtered and you watched his un-tattooed side of his face turn pink.

“And Crosshair too?” You raised a brow. That would explain his sudden aggression towards you.

“I-I uh,” He genuinely didn’t know what to say but you knew the truth.

Suddenly you remembered the way they all started acting weird after Wolffe talked to hunter. They were all starting to get territorial. They thought Wolffe was taking you from them and they started changing their behavior trying to get your attention.

“I’m coming to save Hunter before he implodes.” Echo stepped into the bunk and let Hunter walk out redder than Mimban clay. Echo gave you a playful look before disappearing back into the cabin leaving you alone to think about everything. The one thing you desired was at least some kind of olive branch from Crosshair, you knew you’d never get a heartfelt apology, but until then you’d wait. He owed you that at least.

~~~

That night, your anxiety was at an all time high. Sleeping in the newly converted bunk the boys had made was making you a bit uneasy. Wrecker’s alpha scent was calming, but you were used to having Tech near by, instead the square box was feeling a bit prison like. The knowledge that you were locked in too didn’t help. You would have preferred to have slept with the door open but Echo insisted that this be how it is.

You curled up on your side holding Lula trying to close your eyes and let sleep take over, but your elevated heart rate disagreed.

You picked up your com and pressed the button, “Echo!” You whispered.

The line was quiet for a moment before he responded, “What?” His voice was raspy with sleep.

“I’m literally fine can you please let me out? I can’t sleep.” You spoke softly into the device.

“No.” The line went dead and you rolled over onto your back with a groan. You picked up your data pad and decided to read one of your smutty holobooks instead.

~~~

“What did she want?” Hunter rasped waking up from the noise.

“She wanted out.” Echo set the device down and curled back up onto his side.

“She’s not an animal Echo…” He sighed rubbing at his eyelids, “It’s not a cage.”

Echo just blinked up at the bottom of Hunter’s bunk, “…No.”

~~~

The mafia boss thrust his massive length into the sweet little omega’s pussy. Her soft mewls filled the gold lined dinning hall with her sweet sound. This only seemed to spur him on.

“Yeah?” He thrust a little harder, “You like when I maim the men who hurt you? You like feeling their blood on my hands?” He nuzzled into her neck lightly teasing her mating gland with his fang.

Elina suddenly clenched down at his words and he smirked knowing thats exactly what his little princess liked.

“Mmm I like that too Caspian.” Y/N chewed on her finger nail finally getting past the enemies to lovers portion and right into the good stuff. Reaching down for her water mug, Y/n suddenly felt a painful knot form in her abdomen.

With a grunt you put down your holonovel and rubbed at your stomach feeling the pain settle. With a deep breath you tried picking up your book again, but the movement caused another one to tear right through your muscles. You yelped and forced yourself into a sitting position.

“No. No. No.” You whispered trying to massage the pain away.

“Please no.” You begged but the dull pain was starting to become something more sinister. The heat started to emanate from the pain and spread throughout your body giving you a flush. You suddenly were uncomfortable in your little sleep set. You couldn’t get further enough away from the blankets on your cot and opted to curl up on the floor absorbing the cold steel floor desperate for relief.

~~~

Hunter was having a relatively boring dream when his senses started to draw him back to the land of the living.

He couldn’t help but raise his nose in the air while he blinked awake trying to follow the deliciously sweet scent. He barely had his eyes open when a gut wrenching yowl rattled the entire ship.

Suddenly Crosshair was shot up in the darkness holding his blaster trying to figure out what startled him.

“What was that?” Wrecker’s voice croaked from the floor.

Crosshair rubbed his eyes looking around. Everyone was sat upright listening carefully when another more pained warble made the hair stand up on the back of their necks.

“Y/N…” Hunter said looking at their closed door knowing she was just on the other side of the hall surely in pain.

“It started.” Echo laid back down using his pillow to cover his ears.

“It seems she’s… in heat.” Tech searched for his glasses.

“What do we do?” Wrecker asked concerned.

“Nothing.” Hunter groused and laid back down, “Go back to sleep.”

Another whine echoed making Wrecker tense, “She sounds like in pain shouldn’t we help her?”

“That’s the point idiot.” Crosshair snapped while he relaxed back down on his side staring at the wall.

Wrecker just grumbled to himself and forced himself to ignore pip’s desperate cries.

~~~

“Kriff.” You hissed and writhed on the floor feeling the unbearable heat terrorize your entire body. In this moment you cursed the GAR with everything you had. You missed Layla, she wouldn’t have ever let this happen to you. Instead the universe just had to crash land you on this hellscape of a planet with 5 devastatingly attractive Alphas whose scent was beginning to permeate the blast door’s seal.

You moaned smelling the delicious alpha pheromones as they all danced around your little cage like the worst form of torture. The smell immediately triggered your slick response. The wetness soaked your panties and little sleep shorts ruining them totally.

You cried out praying one of the men would snap and take pity on you.

This was significantly less luxurious than the heat house on Naboo. What you would give to have knotting toys and a vibrator right now. You shoved your tiny hand into your pants bringing them to the source of your wetness and dragged them through your silky folds.

You bit back a moan when you found your clit and started to circle it just how you liked. Just like the last time, you came fast, but the burn didn’t ebb. You just growled wanting nothing more than to be stretched from the inside. You wanted a thick knot to cure your pain.

You writhed as another wave of cramps hit and you let out a scream.

~~~

Hunter had held out longer than he thought we could have. He at least made it to sunrise before he couldn’t take listening to her suffering anymore. It was literally his biology to service an omega. Listening to her helpless sounds was making him feel ill and the rock hard boner in his pants wasn’t helping either. Her cries were so tempting. He tried to cover his ears but it was like a siren’s call. He knew that was the point, but it didn’t make it easier to hear especially because he could hear way more than the others. He could hear her panting, her silenced moans, the way her fingers squelched as she tried desperately to fill herself to dull the pain. It was a torture like no other.

“I can’t take this.” Hunter said throwing himself over the side of his bunk and exited the ship. He noted how the others hadn’t gone back to sleep either. How could they?

When he passed by the door, he heard the way she gasped and crawled over to the door trying to listen to his footsteps. Her desperate whines turned into sultry cooes trying to lure him closer to her. She was lost to the heat. He could tell from her cute little sounds, and the way he could smell her slick from the hatch door. She was slipping deeper and deeper by the minute.

With a bit of willpower, he continued outside hearing her crying fade and turn back into suffering wails.

He huffed and sat down on the hatch steps feeling on edge. He shoved his hands over his ears trying to down her out. He knew the others were starting to be affected, even their scents started to spike in response to the distressed omega. It wouldn’t be long before they were in rut too.

~~~

It was time for Echo to feed you. He seemed to be the only one not affected by the now pungent smell. The others resorted to fleeing outside the ship like Hunter had hours ago. Echo was obviously the only one permitted to open your door to make sure you were eating and could use the fresher.

“Hey Y/N?” Echo knocked on the blast door.

He just heard a small sound letting him know you were in there, “I got you some dinner and thought you could stretch your legs?”

“Alpha?” She rasped coming nearer.

Echo used his special pass code to open the door letting it slide open to reveal you absolutely drenched in sweat and shaking on your knees on the bare floor. He knelt down holding your food tray setting it down gently in front of you. You peered up at him with your massively dilated eyes. He sighed knowing how painful all this must be for you.

“Please Echo.” You whined reaching out for him grabbing his arm. He looked down at your flushed wrist feeling its heat on his skin. He leaned forwards to press his palm to your forehead making you preen. Your skin was hot making him a bit hesitant. He was really hoping you weren’t in any kind of health predicament because of this. He’s personally never seen an omega suffer through a heat alone. His partners had always been cared for and it had never gotten to this point. He was a little distressed looking at your current state. It felt wrong. What little part of him still carried the Alpha instincts, felt for you. He wanted to comfort you but knew it couldn’t do any good.

“I’ll take you to the fresher when you finish eating.” He said backing up making you drop with wrist with a pout.

“I’m not hungry.” You sulked.

“I know hun, but you have to eat something or you’ll get sick.” He reasoned.

“But…I-I…” You chewed your lip anxiously.

“Y/N,” He sat back with a more stern voice said, “Eat your dinner.”

“Can I use the fresher first.” You tried to negotiate.

“Fine.” He sighed standing up to assist you in standing, “But then you’re going to eat right after this, you haven’t eating anything in 24 hours.”

You just nodded and let him assist you to the fresher. Once inside, he left you to your devices to use the toilet and turn on the shower to cold. Once inside the shower, you keened feeling the freezing water soothe your burning skin. You tried your best to wash the suds over your hair and skin trying to clean yourself to the best of your ability despite the grogginess.

Echo handed you a fresh towel from a crack in the door letting you dry off and pull on fresh clothes he had set out.

You wobbled back to the room seeing the plate of food on the floor you had neglected and internally sighed. You didn’t want to eat. It didn’t sound good. Instead you wanted an alpha, a really really strong alpha. One that would scent you and fill you up so good. Better than that dumb food.

“Y/N?” Echo eyed the tray, “Remember what you promised?”

You pouted, “Echo please I’m not hungry.”

He just rubbed his face getting frustrated and grumpy.

“Can I have something to nest with?” You asked giving him your best begging eyes, “The floor is cold.”

He sighed and got up leaving you to glare at the steaming rations. When he came back he had every cargo/moving blanket he could scrounge up along with a few pieces of your clothing. He set them down presenting them to you and you chirped happily taking the fabrics from him with greed.

“Now will you eat?” He was getting annoyed.

You ignored him and started fussing around with the blankets rubbing the slightly rough material on your face trying to place them just right. It was making you a bit feral trying to place them correctly in the corned furthest from the door.

You heard the door slide shut behind you letting you know that Echo had abandoned his attempt to get you to eat something. You smiled finally feeling like you were getting somewhere. You wiped your sweat from your forehead and continued rubbing your scent all over the new nest.

Unexpectedly, the door slid open again and you spun around at being disturbed. This time, Echo wasn’t alone. Next to him stood Crosshair, who looked a bit crossed.

“Alpha.” You stood to walk over to him. His delicious smell was making you hazey and you practically tried to throw yourself at him. Crosshair came to save you…

“Stop.” His tone made you freeze on the spot. Your body started to vibrate the longer you scented him and stared into his piercing eyes.

“Echo said you aren’t eating, ad’ika.” His voice was making more slick produce in your panties. You swore you saw his nose flare at the smell that was radiating off of you. The only thing you could process in your dumb omega mind was how good his knot would feel like inside you right about now.

“Omega.” He snarled. You whined. Alpha is upset.

“I’m not h-hungry.” You whispered casting your eyes down to his boots.

“You will eat and you will finish that entire glass of water do you understand?” He commanded with a stern voice you weren’t used to. But man, did it do something to your instincts. You nearly fell to your knees pulling the tray into your lap. His alpha tone was like nothing you had ever heard before, and it sounded so so good.

“Yes, Alpha.” You said picking up the spork and shoving the first bite of food into your mouth, when you swallowed you took the tooka mug of water chugged the liquid not realizing how thirsty you had actually become. You looked up at the two Alphas desperate for their approval. Crosshair just gave you a little nod wanting you to continue.

“Thank you.” Echo whispered.

Crosshair grunted trying to keep himself in check. Even though he was engineered to have inhuman levels of self control and patience, somehow seeing you kneeling on the floor desperately trying to finish your plate to please him was making his pants tighten. The alpha in him was desperate to take your pain away. Echo had worried them when he said you were refusing to eat, he asked Crosshair to give the command knowing he’d be able to control himself for at least a little. He still was upset about your weight when you had come back from Naboo. Those karking droids couldn’t take care of you as well as a partner could. He knew he had no other choice but to step in.

“I’m done Alpha.” You said sweetly placing the tray down hoping he’d give you a reward.

“Good girl.” Crosshair praised watching your eyes light up as Echo took the tray away, “Now you’re going to eat everything Echo gives you, do you understand?”

She suddenly pouted realizing he wasn’t staying.

“Omega?” He raised a brow.

You nodded letting him know you understood.

Then to your chagrin, they closed and locked the door once again. You gave an anxious whine hoping they’d come back, but when the door remained closed despite your hopefully thinking, you resigned to the nest on the floor.

~~~

“She ate.” Crosshair joined the others in the makeshift tent they created outside. The others visibly relaxed.

Crosshair noticed Hunter’s cheeks turning pink as he seemed to be locking his vision onto the floor… the little omega must be trying to get herself off again he thought. Hopefully she’d settle down soon and sleep leaving them all to toil in the increasing rut symptoms.

“Is it getting hotter?” Wrecker tried fanning himself.

“You’re in rut Wrecker.” Tech bit out yanking at his own collar.

“Argh!” The giant groaned.

Hunter shifted uncomfortably noting the near painful bulge in his pants. That damn omega was making his entire system feel like it was on the brink of short circuiting. He was starting to get a little anxious on top of his agitation. It had never felt like this before…granted he didn’t ever let it progress like this…

“I’m so…” Wrecker stood up and pushed his fist into the nearest rock, “Argh!”

Pieces of red earth went flying everywhere.

“Wrecker!” Hunter snapped, “Go rub one out, thats an order!”

The giant just stomped away out into the distance to relive himself.

“I’ll admit, this is beginning to feel unbearable.” Tech slumped against the rock he was leaning on to stare up at the night sky.

“Imagine how Pip feels.” Echo sighed hoping to get some shut eye. She was being uncharacteristically quiet.

So much so, that after a bated breath, the others perked up their heads including Hunter trying to figure out why it was so silent.

Then there was a loud moan breaking the silence and they continued on knowing she was fine.

“This is cruel.” Crosshair crossed his arms looking at Hunter, “You didn’t see her.” His disapproval had been known since it had started.

“You don’t think I know that?” Hunter snarled, “But what the fuck are we supposed to do?”

“Go fuck her!” Crosshair leered.

“We cannot do that.” Hunter shook his head despite how much his body agreed with Crosshair.

“So you’re going to let her suffer like this for six more days?” Crosshair rolled his eyes at his stupidly moral brother, “This is cruel to her and you know it.”

“Since when do you give a fuck about her?” Hunter narrowed his eyes challengingly.

“I’ve always given a fuck about her.” He bared his teeth, “Like you said, she’s pack!”

Hunter just stared at his little brother. While Crosshair may be harsh and unyielding, Hunter couldn’t ignore the tiny soft spot Pip had carved out into his stone cold facade. It was the smaller things, Crosshair brining her stuff, keeping an eye on her wherever they may be, the gentle way he holds her when she’s in need, the bastard still treated her like shit out of jealousy, but that didn’t change the fact that Hunter did in fact see it.

“Alright everyone calm down.” Echo put a hand up in the air, “You’re hormones are taking over.”

Tech decided to stand up to stretch, the clay earth was dampening his trousers making him cringe. He really would prefer to be on Kashyyyk right about now, at least there they had wood for a fire and fresh meat. He decided it would be best for him to also find a secluded space to relieve himself before the frustration became too much.

“Then there were three.” Crosshair closed his eyes again trying to focus on anything else besides the throbbing in his pants.

Echo cleared his throat, “I agree with Crosshair.”

“What?” Both the Sargent and the sniper said at once.

Echo just looked at Hunter, “I already feel guilty about leaving her at that heat center, granted she had way more available to her, but this is wrong. You didn’t see her Hunter, she’s delirious.”

“No! We’re not subjecting her to that.” Hunter growled.

“What if she chooses?” Echo said diplomatically.

“It doesn’t change the fact that eventually she’s going to not be in heat and have to live with us. Then she’s definitely going to transfer to the wolf pack. She’ll hate us.”

Crosshair growled menacingly at the mention of the 104th.

“I don’t think thats the case.” Echo tapped his chin.

“What do you mean?” Hunter questioned.

“I just… look she hasn’t said anything to me, but I have eyes. She’s not oblivious to the way you four have been slowly courting her. She knows none of you are going to make a move without threatening to upset the others so she ignores it.” Echo sighed, “I just don’t think she’ll be as upset at you think Hunter.”

“I still don’t think it’s the right thing to do. She said she hasn’t had a heat in two years. Clearly she’s not interested.”

“Well… that’s not entirely true.” Echo smirked.

Hunter raised a curious brow.

“She had a bit of a thing with the captain stationed on Ryloth, before she transferred to you.” Echo continued, “It was after she was stranded in that village with the droids. The captain had been the first to find her with the pup. Everyone swore he fell in love at first sight. The lovesick idiot couldn’t stay away from her.”

“They were in a relationship?” Hunter prodded he fought back the jealousy flaring in his chest… with a reg?

“No, no.” Echo shook his head, “Just an arrangement. When she had a breakout heat, he’d be the on she went to.”

“Which captain?” Crosshair snapped.

“Howzer.” Echo hid a cheeky smile.

“Was he assigned to helping Cham Syndulla?” Hunter asked.

“Thats the one.” Echo confirmed.

They sat there in contemplative silence. Wrecker and Tech were making their way back at this point, pink cheeked, and sweaty.

“So, how would this work?” Hunter thumbed his chin, “How does this work without causing a massive problem?”

“Are you worried about her or the others?” Echo asked.

“Both.” Hunter answered, “I think it’s obvious we all like her.”

“We let her choose.” Crosshair repeated Echo.

“Then whoever it is, helps her, and everyone else agrees to be civil.” Echo added.

“And what about you?” Crosshair raised a brow.

Echo chuckled, “I don’t know if you noticed but…” He gestured down at his body, “Not an alpha anymore. Barely a human at that. I’m not affected by her smell or noise.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Wrecker had an idea but he wanted to make sure he wan’t imagining it.

“We’re putting Pip out of her misery.” Hunter shook his head unable to shake the feeling that this was a bad idea.

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?” Tech was a bit in shock that his brother caved like this.

Hunter just looked to Crosshair who spoke up, “Let’s get this over with.”

They got up, and made their way inside the ship all filing into the main cabin where Echo scooted past them to start entering the access code to Wrecker’s bunk.

The Alphas were squirming in their shoes in the presence of such strong pheromones. Her scent was everywhere and it was thick they could practically taste it on their tongues.

The door unlocked and slid open causing Echo to turn his eyes up to the ceiling. Inside, Y/N was nearly naked writhing on the floor as more cramps coursed through her little body.

~~~

“Alpha?” You whispered feeling how hoarse your voice had become.

“Just me tiny.” Echo folded his arms looking away trying to give you a little dignity.

“Are you making me eat again?” You asked sitting up to look at him.

“No Ad’ika… can you put on some pants?” He cleared his throat.

You got up on wobbly legs and grabbed a pair of panties and pulled them on with an agitated huff. Had he been still a normal reg, he wouldn’t have ever been able to resist such a pretty thing like you. He was starting to wonder how Howzer didn’t seal the deal and claim you when he had you like this.

“Thank you.” He sighed and looked back down at you. You noticed him looking to his side and wondered what he was seeing. “I’m going to let you out. The others have agreed to help you on one condition.”

“An alpha?” Your eyes suddenly lit up and excitement boiled in your tummy.

“Mhmm.” He nodded, “They’ve agreed to play nice, but you have to choose okay?”

“Okay.” You slowly made your way out of the confinement space raising your nose in the air smelling the delicious scent of purebred alpha. When you turned into the galley your scent spiked in excitement. Echo helped you stop swaying as you entered the main cabin. You let out a gasp seeing your pretty alphas all in one space.

“Alright, you got your pick of the litter.” Echo nudged you forward.

“It’s okay Ad’ika.” Hunter invited you to come closer.

You couldn’t help but feel the thrill of seeing them having to adjust themselves at the sight of you. You stepped closer taking Hunter’s sturdy hand.

“I have to choose?” You asked with doe eyes. He nodded.

You leaned forwards bravely placing your hands on his firm chest. The warmth was making you shiver. You brought your nose forward and pressed into his neck. He smelled as good as he did back on Anakin’s Venator. You shamelessly crawled into his lap straddling him. He let out a surprised yelp feeling your warmth on his crotch. He nearly collapsed when you affectionately rubbed your cheek up against his feeling his stubble along his chin. You repeated on the other side scenting him, you were getting frustrated with how he kept his hands off of you respectfully. You wanted him to grab at the tiny scraps of clothing you were still wearing and tear them off already.

“Alright sweetheart come’re.” Crosshair was getting jealous and lifted you off of his brother. You purred liking his dominance. He towered over you as he leaned against the dining table. You fisted his shirt in your hands as his hands wandered your back letting you explore him. You really liked how his presence dwarfed yours. His smell was similar to Hunter’s but just slightly different making him uniquely Crosshair. You stood on your tiptoes to reach his neck, he took pity on you and leaned down slightly to help. Your mouth instantly started to water and you opened your mouth to stick out your tongue to get a taste when his hand immediately fisted into hair to wrench your head back.

“Ah ah ah.” He chided, “Be good and follow Echo’s rules.”

You pouted before relenting, ignoring the rush of slick sliding down your thighs.

Next was Tech. He shifted slightly when you approached. You stood between his parted legs and bent over giving Hunter a perfect view of your dripping core and soaked panties. The poor Alpha gripped his chair so hard the metal probably bent.

“Hi Tech.” You smiled sweetly bending one knee to place it between his legs thinking he’d let you. Instead he took you by surprise and grabbed your neck keeping you from making your move. He raised a brow and tilted his head slightly in a domineering way you didn’t expect from the pilot it sent a rush through you.

“You heard Crosshair.”

Crosshair snorted watching Tech control your movements, it shocked him too.

“Yes sir.” You whispered letting him guide you to his scent gland. You shifted to get a good smell letting your hands wander his shoulders a bit hoping he’d let you run your fingers through is hair. When you tried, he leaned into your touch giving you the cue. You greedily let your nails scrape against his scalp and you felt the way he was fighting back a groan. When you were satisfied, you then turned to Wrecker who was watching every single micro movement you made.

“Wrek.” You smiled and crawled over Tech to sit in his lap. They didn’t stop you when you climbed over Tech to straddle the giant. Wrecker placed a massive hand on the small of your back making you shiver with his warmth. His scent was similar just like his brothers, but each of them had tiny notes of something different. They were equally delicious and you could help yourself but to grind down on his lap making him smile and moan.

“Omega…” Hunter warned.

“She’s a greedy little thing isn’t she?” Crosshair raised a brow.

“So?” Echo asked looking at you.

“I can’t choose.” You pouted pushing yourself into Wrecker who happily let you. You rubbed your forehead against his neck liking his scent. You hadn’t really been able to smell any of them before, not with your implants intact. But now, ugh it was so good. Your entire body trembled with excitement being around so many perfect alphas.

“What?” They all asked. That’s never happened before. Usually omegas can pick out one scent that they prefer.

“I don’t wanna- ah!” You clenched weakly around Wrecker as another wave of cramps pushed through. You let out a pained whine, “Help me. Please!” You begged to the room.

“Y/N we can’t help you until you tell us what you want.” Tech said struggling to control himself. Wrecker rubbed soothing hands up and down your back in an effort to relax you again.

You squirmed against Wrecker and tucked your face into his neck again mumbling.

They just looked confused before turning to Hunter.

He looked up at Crosshair then Tech, “She said she wants… all four.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Taglist: @substantial-exposure @rains-on-kamino @minimissmoo @z-and-the-batboys @aynavaano @9902sgirl

#abo #crosshair #hunter #wrecker #tech #smut #the bad batch #star wars #clones #99 #wolffe #commander wolffe #howzer #omega

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wardenparker · 5 months ago

Text

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 16

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story, dom/sub dynamics* Tooth-decaying sweetness, talk of pregnancy/impregnation, fleeting mention of everyone's least favorite Pike cousin. Summary: A bridal shower, a night out, and an evening babysitting that all have surprises of their own. Notes: Happy pride month, Pedro Nation! We're edging closer to the end of this story at a brisk pace. Just a few more chapters before the epilogue 🧡✨

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15

"Birdie, stop." The stern but loving words are an order as Sydney places both of her hands on your shoulders and demonstrates a slow, steady breath for you for the second time today. "Amelia and Sean have the whole party under control. Your wedding planner has done an immaculate job planning this bridal shower and my sous chef knows this menu like the back of his hand." Her thumbs press gently into your bare shoulders, the edges of your Jackie Kennedy-esque pastel 60s shift dress not quite covering your shoulders and making you feel much cooler on this hot July afternoon. You're both wearing white gloves, completing the ensembles you've chosen, but at this moment you're much less worried about propriety than other things. "It's going to be fun, you just have to chill out."

"I know." The closer the wedding gets the more anxious you get about absolutely everything, and you take a deep breath because Sydney is completely right. You need it. "Is it dumb to wish Marcus was here? I'm so jealous that the guys are all at a Nationals game today."

“I’m jealous too, but I also know that Marcus and Juan would love nothing more than to be right here.” She reminds you with a grin. “Firmly inserted up our asses, which is where they like to stay.”

"Only because you told Juan you wanted to wait for another baby," you snort under your breath, shaking your head at your best friend. "I think I just want everybody here and for things to be underway. Bridal showers can be brutally boring and I just don't want today to be like that for anyone."

“I didn’t mean like that.” She huffs, rolling her eyes and grinning at you. “Do you honestly think your bridal shower is going to be boring?” She asks, stepping back and gesturing to your outfits. “We are dressed up as famous women that have made significant contributions to our society, we are having our now famous tea service, and we have booze.”

It's true to say that this is not anyone's average bridal shower. The Famous Women of History theme had gone over wonderfully with guests and the tea service now being run each and every weekend by the inn has been written up in multiple publications all over the country. Even if you only had those two things going for you, you would be miles ahead of other parties. You soften into a smile, bolstered by her confidence. "Your Julia Child costume is immaculate, by the way."

Sydney immediately adopts the characteristic accent that Julia was so well known for. “Of course!” She agrees, grinning. “Who would not want to be me?”

Accents have never been your forte, but you aim for something vaguely Transatlantic and fall comically short when you reply: “No one I can think of, darling.”

Sputtering out a laugh, she grabs your hand. “Come on Jackie.” She teases. “We’ve got a party to go to.”

The gallery hall that has been rented for the party is stunning. Paintings hang immaculately on the wall and a baby grand piano sits at the ready, while small table for four or six guests each dot the area facing a larger, longer table. The pastel color palette is perfect, welcoming without being babyish, and you soften a little to look around and see flower petals sprinkled artfully over each table, brightening up the place settings and name cards. “No centerpieces, so we have room for the tea towers,” you hum, checking out each table. “It’s perfect, Syd.”

“I thought you would like that, letting the food decorate.” She beams at the compliment but she is more excited to celebrate you.

“I absolutely love it.” Simple and classy, that’s what the decor is, and you give your best friend a squeezing hug as people start to arrive.

The group is a mixture of family and friends. Everyone from Marcus’s side comes out, with the exception of one, which no one misses Hannah here if they were pressed for an opinion. The mood is festive and despite the invitation saying presents aren’t necessary, no one comes empty handed.

Your own side of the invitation list is a tad smaller, but no less enthusiastic. The girls from game night are all dressed as famous authors, including Sydney’s sister AnnaLeigh as Mary Shelley with a big heart necklace, and Selena is wearing a Rockford Peaches uniform for all the women baseball players she idolized growing up. Even Sydney and AnnaLeigh’s mother has come in from Philadelphia, dressed as Marie Curie with glowing jewelry to bring in the ‘radiation’ aspect.

It’s a given fact that your mother will always arrive last to any gathering, but she makes a hell of a splash arriving in her Votes for Women sash and the costume that she has worn for every Halloween party for your entire life. "Alice Paul." You laugh when she comes over to give you a tight hug. "I almost thought you might go for something else but it has to be Alice Paul. But I see you've gotten a new hat. It's perfect."

“Of course.” She snorts, grinning at you. “How could it be anything else? Birdie, this looks amazing.” She gushes. “Your bridal shower is gorgeous.”

"We said no gifts," you laugh half-heartedly, seeing the boxes and bags and assorted packages on the table by the door to the gallery. "I mean we knew most people wouldn't listen, but really it's so sweet of everyone."

“Honey, people are so happy for you and Marcus.” Your mother reminds you with a soft smile and a hug around your waist. “I’m sure that they just want you to know how loved you are.”

"We're very lucky." That is the least of it, but of course you're very lucky. Having the love of your life is about the luckiest thing you could possibly ask for in the world. Today is the icing on the proverbial tea cake, as far as you're concerned. But it's wonderful to get to see all the ladies of your family. "If you like what's been set up, then you should make Amelia Sharma your official event planner," you tell your mother, before seeing your sister spinning around the room like a whirlwind. "I think Junie likes it, too."

She hums as she looks over at your younger sister. “Is she— Jane Goodall?” She frowns slightly as she tries to understand the costume that she is wearing.

"Of course she is." It doesn't surprise you one bit, and you offer your mother a cheeky grin. "Her childhood hero. I would expect nothing less of Junebug."

“There was a time that your sister insisted that we adopt a gorilla.” Your mother snorts. “So I don’t doubt that at all.”

"Do you know why she stopped asking?" The smirk on your face is unapologetic, but considering you were not more than eleven or twelve at the time your baby sister insisted on wanting a gorilla for a sibling, you think it was still a clever comeback. "I told her we already had Alex."

Your mother rolls her eyes and sighs. “That’s why?” She huffs. “You always liked to try to rock the boat.” It’s an affectionate chiding and she is grinning while she delivers the chastisement.

"It only took her her entire childhood to be able to have a pet," you tease back. "Are you even the least bit surprised she named the rescue puppy Koko?"

“Not in the least.” Your mother admits with a wistful smile. “Just like I know Koko will go with Junie when she moves out.”

“All three of your kids have their soulmates, Ma.” You nudge her affectionately, and the warm and proud smile on her face grows with the reminder. “You might have a quiet White House next term if we all end up settled down and domestic.”

“All I’ve ever wanted was for the three of you to find your happiness.” She takes your hand and squeezes it. “My dreams and goals have never been any of yours, your paths are different from mine.”

“And we appreciate the fact that you recognize that. More than you could possibly know.” It would be easy for her to be blind to it, after all. Or to find the three of you unambitious because you don’t have goals as lofty as hers. But a small business owner, a future lawyer, and a future veterinarian are nothing to sniff at. You squeeze her hand back and tilt your head toward the other side of the room. “Come on, Mom. I sat you with Donna and with Syd’s mother. The Mom Table.”

“The Mom Table.” She hums. “I appreciate that. Donna and I have fabulous conversations.”

“It’s such a relief that you guys get along.” Of any two mothers in the world, you know your own mother and your future mother-in-law feel very strongly about wanting the best for their kids, so you’re glad they agree on what the definition of best is.

“I couldn’t imagine a world where we didn’t get along, to be honest.” Your mother admits. “I have been giving serious thought to having Donna appointed to a member of my cabinet.”

After staring at her for a few seconds you just blow a raspberry and shrug, letting out a small laugh. “I honestly can’t even tell if you’re joking.”

She frowns for a moment. “Why would I be joking?” She asks. “I don’t think that she accept Surgeon General, since we have a fantastic doctor in that role, but I think that she would be amazing at guiding our country forward through the mental health crisis that is emerging.”

You gape slightly, mouth open, and shut it again twice more like a fish before trying to talk again. “So you’re going to create a government position for a mental health professional alongside the Surgeon General…and offer it to Donna Pike?”

“Mental health is linked to physical health.” She has been considering this a lot and it’s the first time she’s mentioned it outside of her private office. “I think a practicing therapist and doctorate of physiology would understand the shortcomings of our current healthcare system and help put protocols in place to improve our mental health as a nation.”

“In no way do you need to convince me of the ongoing mental healthcare crisis in this country. I see my therapist every two weeks like clockwork.” Stopping in your tracks, you level your mother with a serious expression. “I think it’s a fantastic idea. Regardless of whether or not you appoint Donna, mental health needs to be made a more important conversation.”

“Absolutely.” She nods. “Would you mind if I broached the subject with her? Nothing would interfere with your wedding, or any wedding related activities.”

"Not at all." She doesn't need your blessing but it's nice of her to ask for it. "Why don't you guys have a walk around the gallery after tea? Talk all you like."

“After the party.” She won’t take away from this time for anything in the world, but your approval was important to her.

"In that case?" When you reach the table you show her which seat is hers and gladly accept another hug. "She's going to be in town all week. I bet she'd love some sweet tea on the White House lawn."

“I’ll have to have her put on my schedule then.” She shoots you a wink and sits down so you can focus your attention to other guests. “Go, mingle.”

There are a whole lot of people to mingle with. That was part of the point, of course, and getting to see more of the Pike family for the first time since April is a welcome occasion. When you eventually get to sit down at your table, it's a sigh of relief to be with your closest friends.

Champagne is distributed, although this isn’t supposed to be a boozy event. It is however a historical nod towards gilded age. The sous chef that is in charge of the menu starts to have the staff bring out the tiered tea service trays.

"So." When the tray for the six of you goes in the middle of the table between you, Sydney, Selena, AnnaLeigh, June, and Issy, you narrow your eyes at all of them. "When do I get to actually know something about my bachelorette party?"

“Nope.” Selena pops back, a grin on her face as she takes a demure sip of her drink. “Just that you are going to love it.”

"A hint?" You beg, trying to look suitably pathetic for your friends. You know it will be great, whatever they have planned, and you do love surprises. But they have been remarkably good at keeping this under their hats. "Are we talking a day? A night? Travel? Doing something at home?"

“It’s going to be fun.” Junie supplies unhelpfully with a knowing smirk. She knows how much you want to know about this and it’s been a huge planning event for all of them. They even created a group chat without you to organize it.

"Seriously, guys?" Snorting at them as you all start to pick through the assortment of finger sandwiches on the bottom tier of the tower, you just shake your head. "Fine. But be prepared for me to ask a million and a half questions while I'm trying to outfit plan."

“We’ve already got your outfit planned.” Sydney tells you. “Don’t worry. We will be bringing it when we get you.”

"You're kidding me?" They have been extremely thorough – extremely thorough – it seems, and you huff at the lot of them playfully. "You guys really thought of everything, didn't you?"

“It’s our chance to make sure that all you do is show up and enjoy yourself.” Anna Leigh snorts. “Even your bridal shower had you planning things. And you can’t tell me you didn’t because that would be a lie.”

"I like to plan things," you remind her, even to the point where you automatically pick up the teapot from beside you and start pouring for your friends. "I might not be as good as Juan, but it's fun."

“But there are times where you deserve to be treated.” Selena adds. “Your bachelorette party is one of them. We do promise that no scandals will erupt from the night. No strippers have been hired.”

"We will be saving that for Junie, I'm sure." It's really just to get a reaction out of your little sister and her face wrinkles immediately.

“Eeeew, no.” She snorts. “The last thing I want is for some strange, naked man to rub on me.”

"Couldn't agree more, baby sis." You fill up her teacup and hand it back across the table. "Could not agree more."

“No, I don’t think any of us would want that.” Selena huffs. “I think you would be too busy thinking about my cousin, as gross as that is.” She teases playfully.

"I could completely freak you out if I wanted to." The silent confirmation of that fact is the necklace you've worn almost every day since Valentine's Day, and you unconsciously touch the heart-shaped charm where it lies just under the collar of your dress and under the string of pearls that goes with your costumes. "Get all lovey-dovey and thoroughly gross you out."

“Please don’t.” She grimaces and everyone at the table laughs. “I am related to him, and despite what Hannah thinks, I don’t sleep with my cousins.” She snorts. “Just because I’m from Texas doesn’t mean I’m into that kind of crap.”

"Nobody reasonable thinks you do." It really is sort of a blessing that Hannah Pike couldn't come to DC this weekend, being stuck on a mandatory business trip. Keeping the bridal shower drama free is important to everyone. "For a fully different topic, did everybody bring their song request for the wedding band if you have one? I promised I would send the list of requests in this week."

The topic on much nicer things, the party goes into full swing and Sydney makes sure to glance around at the tables to see the reactions of the tea service.

"I'm calling it." Issy says, halfway through the tea service when the savory tea towers around the room are switched out with sweet options. "You're going to have at least three people wanting to reserve tables for afternoon tea at the inn after this party. Maybe up to five."

“It would be good.” Sydney hums. “The tea service has been good for business. The restaurant is now full most of the day. And guests at the inn have even requested tea trays to their rooms.”

"We're pretty much booked solid through to the end of the year." Which is startling considering it's only July, but the inn has been packed. "Tea service reservations have been filling up, too. Which reminds me," you glance around the table after snagging a teacup full of lemon tiramisu. "When we get back from the honeymoon, I want to take all of you guys and Alex and David out for a night. To say thank you for how much help you've all been and show my gratitude. And no protests, I know you've all put immense money and time into these wedding events. I'm grateful."

"I heard something about a special pianist?" Not knowing a whole lot about the classical music scene despite enjoying it, you had just smiled and nodded when your mother mentioned it.

“Yes, I’m sure he will be here soon.” Sydney smiles as she looks around the room. “I wonder how it will sound in here, I’m sure it will be gorgeous.”

“Will I get called cheesy if I say it’s just as perfect as everything else has been?” Of course there have been hiccups along the way — most notably the night of the engagement party — but they’ve been handled and haven’t affected how lovely the road to your wedding has been. It’s been an absolute fairy tale.

“Of course you will.” Junie grins. “But that’s okay, because you are cheesy.”

“You’ll be cheesy too,” you assure your little sister. “In a couple of years when we’re doing all this for you.”

“I don’t want a big wedding.” She shrugs. “I appreciate you doing this so I can claim that it was too much.”

“Glad to do my duty as your big sister.” That has you raising your teacup in salute, a gesture echoed around the table. “But things with Dylan are good?” Junie and her soulmate have been together just as long as you and Marcus, but you’re grateful to see them moving much slower. There’s no need to rush at their age.

“They are wonderful.” Instantly her grin softens and her eyes take on the moony quality she is constantly teasing you about. “Really, really good. His parents like me, so that’s a plus. His mom cried when she met me, happy that her son had finally found his soulmate.”

“Good.” Junie’s been so happy this last year and more. It’s been bleeding into every aspect of her life and you swear even her GPA is up just by proxy of being in a better mood so she’s less grouchy about studying. “Just as long as nobody’s pressuring you guys about moving faster than you��re comfortable with.”

“No, I think that Dylan wants to move in together soon.” She admits with a grin. “And I don’t mind that.”

The table going silent and still for a long moment before breaking out into squeaks of glee, each woman reaching for Junie or hugging her from the side as she expresses the sweetness and happiness of that news in her own words. “Our little Junebug is growing up,” you huff softly, carefully wiping away a sentimental tear so as not to smudge your makeup. “Whatever you need, you have all of us and Alex and David and Marcus and Mom and Dad—” The length of the list makes you pause, and laugh softly. “You have so many people who love you, Junie. And we’ll be here to help you with anything you need.”

“I know.” She does know that her family loves her, her given and made families. It’s something that gives her comfort and joy in knowing that she doesn’t have to be alone. “But right now, we have a bride to celebrate and that is my big sister.” She tells you. “A woman I have looked up to my entire life.”

“Well gosh.” You exaggerate the word and wipe your hands down your face like Goofy blushing in a Disney cartoon. “I love you too, Junebug. Being your big sister is a privilege.”

“I know.” She quips, making everyone laugh and distracting you as a man in a suit walks in and quickly strides to the piano to sit down.

“I don’t think I could eat another bite but I want to.” Selena sighs, and you hum your agreement with teacup in hand. The food, as is the custom for anything coming out of Sydney’s kitchen, has been both endless and utterly delicious.

No one notices him, except your mother, until the first sound of a key strike from the piano is heard. Conversation stops and heads turn as the broad-shouldered man starts to play, his back to his audience.

You recognize the song immediately. La Vie en Rose is the song that you played for Marcus the night you confessed that you had feelings for him and it has been your song for the entirety of your relationship. It's even what you have planned for your first dance at your wedding. So to hear it now brings a tear to your eye even before you look up to watch whatever mysterious musician your mother has hired.

Except you know those broad shoulders. The haircut he got barely a week ago. The cut of that suit. The charcoal suit that he likes to wear with a blue shirt to offset the dark tone. But since when does Marcus play piano?

Another man enters the room, a violin on his shoulder as he starts to slowly join in the song as Marcus plays. His shoulders move as his fingers caress the keys and pull the song out of them that has become so special to him.

One by one, a full band strolls into the room with their instruments to join the tune, and all you can do is try to ebb the flow of tears welling up in your eyes. By the time the song swells, there are six more musicians in the room with Marcus, and you're suddenly convinced that all those golfing trips with your father have been a cover for the time he must have spent learning piano for this moment.

The song comes together beautifully. The building design is actually perfect to echo the harmonious stringed instruments. Making Marcus smile as he works through the song.

You aren’t really sure at what point during the song you pushed away from the table, open mouthed shock in your face but with so much love and gratitude in your heart for this man that a few tears have spilled over while he plays. This is true proof, at least to you, of how thoughtfulness between partners can make moments that last a lifetime.

Marcus feels you staring at him, making him wonder if you recognize that it's him. He smiles softly as the song slowly starts to wind down after an extended verse, one he had added himself.

The whole room is on their feet with applause, but your feet are on a wholly different mission — carrying you forward through the gallery to throw your arms around Marcus’s neck almost the second he’s stood up from the piano bench. There are tears, of course there are, but they’re such joyful ones that when you sniffle in his ear and chastise him for keeping such a secret, he knows you don’t mean it.

Marcus holds you close and when you pull back just the tiniest bit, he is pressing his lips to yours. “Sorry for crashing your party, but I wanted to give you your wedding present early.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you insist, not quite understanding what he means but over the moon that he’s here. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He promises, admiring your outfit and reaching up and caressing your cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Even more than I already was.” Kissing him again gets a soft Awwe! from your assembled friends and family and you fluster a little. “Are you staying for the rest?”

“I don’t want to take away from the festivities.” He winks at you. “Besides, I still have a game to go watch with the guys.”

A soft pout only makes him chuckle quietly, but it earns you another kiss so that will have to be enough for now. “Then I expect you to come pick me up so we can sort through all the shower gifts at home tonight. Deal?”

"I will be here." He promises with a small chuckle. "I want to see how adorably drunk you get while you are celebrating with your ladies."

“Just tipsy enough to be cute,” you promise him. But before he can wave to your friends and make his exit, you place one soft hand on his chest. “You changed the song,” you observe quietly, as though it has only just occurred to you.

He smiles, eyes lighting up as you recognize that the song was longer than it should have been. "I added a lyric." He admits. "You'll hear it," he promises as he takes your hand and bows slightly like a gentleman would as he kisses it. "It will be in my wedding vows to the most beautiful woman I know."

Rather than your usual self-deprecation or teasing Oh yeah? When do I get to meet her? you find it impossible to do anything but smile and moon at him with the most lovestruck expression on your face as he makes his exit.

"When did Marcus learn to play the piano?" Selena walks up to you, wide eyed and obviously impressed with the display and a little envious of the lengths that her cousin will go to in order to show you the depths of his love for you. She can only hope her own soulmate would be as equally devoted.

“My guess?” When you turn around to face Selena, she looks as dreamy as you feel. “The regular golfing trips with my dad have actually been piano lessons.”

"Oh...you think?" It's entirely plausible, especially because Marcus spends all his free time with you beyond the golfing trips. "That's probably the sweetest damn thing I've ever heard."

“That’s…” you sniffle, wiping away the last bit of sentimental water from your eye. “That’s Marcus.” Perfect, wonderful, sweet Marcus.

"You deserve everything wonderful." Your mother comes up, flanked by Donna. "Marcus wanted to surprise you and give you a...'grand gesture'?" She tilts her head curiously.

“Learning to play piano so he can play our song and write a new lyric for it definitely counts as a grand gesture.” If you’re smiling half as hard as you think you are, you must be beaming. “It’s…something I did for him. My grand gesture was when I told him I loved him for first time. This is his.”

It's very sweet and very on point for the two of you. Donna smiles softly. "Marcus must have love that. So often he is the one to give a grand gesture."

“That’s why I did it,” you admit, knowing that it makes you an incredibly sappy couple together. “Because he deserves just as much love as he gives.”

"You are perfect for him." She coos, making your mother smile and shake her head. "By the time the wedding comes around, you'll be asking for a fireworks airshow with the Blue Angels and the Marine Corp marching band." She teases.

“Oh gosh.” The sound of it is sweet and very grand, but you shake your head and laugh right along with both mothers. “I think that might be a bit much. Even for us.”

Everyone laughs and your mother smiles softly. "Well, how about we move on to your gifts?" She asks, turning towards the table that stacked with boxes and bags. "There's quite a few to go through."

“There’s so many.” Unpacking the car with Marcus back at the house after the party is like unloading clowns from a Volkswagen Bug. “Didn’t we say that gifts weren’t necessary? We even listed a non-profit on the invitations for people to donate to instead.”

His eyes widen at the stack of gifts, and he chuckles, his hands on his hips as he determines the best way to attack the mound of boxes. "They love you. Or they just wanted to give you one hundred toasters." He glances back at you. "They aren't all toasters, are they?"

“Maybe,” you tease, looping your arm through the handles of all the gift bags on one half of the backseat. Just because you know what all the gifts are already doesn’t mean you’re going to spoil it for him. “I guess you’re just going to have to find out.”

"That's a lot of toasters." He huffs, shaking his head.

"Come on, baby." Leaning over, you smack a kiss to his cheek and grin, happy to be home. "Let's get this stuff inside and you can open everything while I enter who gave us what into a spreadsheet. I am not getting behind on thank you cards this early in the game."

Despite the fact that you no longer have to go up to the third floor or carry everything through the inn, it still takes several trips from the car to the house. "Did they buy out a Home Goods?" He grunts, finally bringing the last of the packages in.

"Two, I think." He's hauled everything into the living room, but you're in the kitchen grabbing drinks. "Do you want alcohol, caffeine, or to hydrate, babe?"

"I think we need to hydrate." His answer is slightly because of the heat, somewhat of how giggly you had been when you were picked up, and because it's too late for coffee.

"Two waters coming right up." You also grab your laptop from the kitchen table where you had left it this morning, and bring everything over to him on the big sectional sofa in the living room. "Where do you want to start, my love?"

"I honestly don't know." He huffs, "I guess we just go from one side of the room to the other?"

"Start with the thing closest to you, then." The spreadsheet is all made and ready to go, all you have to do is sit back and sip on your water as you enter data into it and Marcus marvels over the gifts that your friends and family decided would be perfect for your home. "The big box on your right is from your Aunt Clara."

"Okay, the big box." Marcus nods and moves towards it. "Have you already written down what everyone got us, or do you need to do that now?"

"Sydney did the typical bridesmaid with a notebook thing at the shower," you assure him. "Right now I'm just noting down if we have any specific reactions or ideas that I include in the thank you cards. Like 'Oh, Great-Aunt Martha, this electronic toaster is fantastic, we can't wait to make the fanciest grilled cheeses known to man.' Or whatever."

"Soooooo many toasters." He grunts, grinning at you before he opens the first box and finds the impressive looking espresso maker. "Huh...that's not going to toast bread, but I think I like it."

"It's definitely not." Giggling a little at how his eyebrows have raised, you tap the side of the box to draw his attention to the machine's advertised settings. "This is the model up from what we had on our registry. It's even fancier than what we picked out."

"Well damn Aunt Clara." He snorts, looking suitable impressed by the higher model machine. It will look good in the kitchen that currently sports a regular drip coffee pot. "We do have her sitting at a good table at the reception, right?"

"I think I have her at a table with David's parents because they're all scrapbook people." You glance up from your laptop and raise an eyebrow at him. "David's parents have already said they're making a scrapbook of the wedding, by the way."

"Interesting." He hums quietly, wondering if that will be something that you love or end up hating.

"However it ends up looking, it will be done with love." Pointing to the next bag to Marcus's right, you urge him on, trying to building momentum. "Next?"

He picks up at bag. "And who is this lovely gift from?" He asks, showcasing it playfully.

"That is from my baby sister." Scolding Junie had done no good, she just grinned at you and gleefully handed it over when it was time.

“Oh?” He hums as he opens it up and pulls out an organizer. “Ummmmm.”

“Flip it open,” you urge him, knowing that Junie put quite a lot of thought into the gift and he’ll like it once he realizes what he’s holding.

Once he opens it, he realizes what it is for. “Oh wow.” It’s an organizer, but it’s not for a single year. It’s for the two of you for your lifetime. Some pages are meant to be filled out separately, before your time together, but the majority is for you to record your major life events. Marriage, children, buying houses, moving. All organized into a beautiful leather binding that can be lovingly preserved for future generations.

“Our life together, between two covers.” Or, it will be, when you’re sitting together as old folks reminiscing as you fill the last pages. “Junie’s getting sentimental now that she has Dylan. It’s actually very sweet.”

“Dylan is showing her that emotional attachments are not just reserved for animals.” He has talked to the younger man several times and found him to be extreme nice and caring. That positive reinforcement has seemingly broken your younger sister out of her shell.

“Apparently they’re talking about moving in together.” It’s still a little unbelievable that you heard that out of your own sister’s mouth, but you absolutely couldn’t be happier for them Junie really does deserve the best and she’s been so happy since finding her soulmate.

"Oh yeah?" He looks both impressed and surprised. They are moving faster than he imagined, although it is still slow for some soulmates. "As long as they don't feel pressured."

“She said it was his idea and she seems so totally over the moon about it.” Flipping through the book together, there are some pages — engagement, moving in together, first house — that you can already fill out. “She thanked me for having the big public wedding so she doesn’t have to.”

That makes him laugh, a totally Junie thing to say since the younger sibling likes the spotlight even less that you do, although you handle it better. "I'm so glad we can help her out like that." He snorts. "I see Junie honestly doing a court house wedding with a small little family reception."

“I told both of my siblings when I bought the inn, that they just have to say the word and it’s their wedding site.” You shrug lightly and lean your head on Marcus’s shoulder. “I hope at least one of them takes me up on it, but we’ll see.”

"I think that it will be your brother." Marcus admits, shrugging slightly. "Whoever wants to use it, they will have a ton of help."

“Yes they will.” And it’s a comforting thought, considering how much work you now know a wedding to be. Marcus had tried to warn you, but you had been an enthusiastic new bride who dove in headfirst. Well, at least it’s been fun in addition to being a lot. “Want to open the next one?”

It takes forever to go through the stack of gifts, none of them were repeated surprisingly enough. It must have taken some behind the scenes coordination that you and Marcus weren't aware of. Maybe you should be considering everyone's love of surprises.

“If we recycle all this wrapping paper, we won’t have to buy more for a year.” Slumped back on the couch, both you and Marcus are boggled all over again by the amount of packages there were to open, but you made it.

“A year? Try three.” He jokes, shaking his head. “If you never knew how loved you are, you should know now.”

“This is for both of us,” you remind him, looking around at the piles of gifts you received today. Housewares, linens, gardening things, and decor amongst others.

"It's a bridal shower, not a groom's shower." He reminds you with a grin and drops a kiss on your nose. "You're loved, just admit it."

“I am loved.” That much you’ll agree to, dopey smile and all. “And I love you right back.”

He smirks and kisses your nose again. "Okay....we have our list, do you want to start messing with this stuff or tuck it away in that nice, empty storage room off the laundry room?"

“Why don’t we put each pile in the room where it belongs? It will be incentive to put it away.” You smirk at him and bop his nose with your finger. “Since you hate piles, it’ll bug you until we put everything away.”

"I feel like you are using that against me." He huffs, and shakes his head even as he starts to reach for the items to organize them for the rooms.

“Only in that it keeps me motivated too.” The pile for the kitchen is the largest so you move to that, first. “The fact that you’re happiest in a clean house makes me want to keep clean.”

“But if you’re tired, the dishes or laundry or whatever else can wait.” He promises. “Or I can do it my damned self if it’s bothering me that badly.”

“Oh, I’m not saying I feel pressured.” This stack is going to take several trips, you find rather immediately. The espresso maker is one trip in and of itself. “I’m saying you keep me honest, and I appreciate it.”

He chuckles and even though his hands are also full, he manages to shift everything to slap your ass as you pass by him. “Good to know.”

“So where are we going?” June asks, though she and Dylan are following dutifully behind as the six of you — her and Dylan, you and Marcus, and Alex and David leave Friday night dinner together. David had invited the siblings and soulmates out someplace but she can’t remember where.

"It's a surprise." David throws her a cheeky grin and a wink. "It wouldn't be any fun if I told you were we were going."

"Well, whatever it is, he has the blessing of the Secret Service," you note, glancing around the group of six of you to see the three agents giving you all a wide birth as you walk out to your cars. "Or is that just because we have Marcus?"

"I would like to think I have a little pull." Marcus teases, tapping your hip as he guides you towards your car. "Maybe not as much as I give myself credit for. But Agent Bailey appreciates the security around the house."

"She also appreciates that you built her an office with a daybed," Alex points out, smirking a little as he leans into his soulmate's side.

"I figured it was the least we could do." Marcus huffs. "The house is completely secure and that way whoever is with us can catch a nap."

“Step up, little brother.” Teasing between the six of you is natural, but of course it’s heaviest between the three siblings. “When you move out of the White House, make sure you have an extra bedroom for your agent.”

Alex snorts and shakes his head. "I'm honestly hoping that by that time, I can opt out of agents."

“I have to be honest…” As you walk, you glance back at the lagging agents and back at your siblings. “I’m pretty sure Mom exaggerated the mandatory part of our protection detail to us. But a lot of people were mad about the first female President being elected and I get how she would want us protected.”

"Yeah, I know." Alex snorts, shooting you a grin. "I looked up the rules before the detail ever was assigned." He admits with a shrug. "It gives her peace of mind and it's one less thing she has to worry about while she's busy being the most important person in the U.S."

“Maybe we’ll ask her to ease up next term.” Junie theorizes, shrugging as the group of you reach your cars. “Maybe not. By then, Birdie and Marcus will have produced at least one or two First Grandbabies, so she might double down on them and let me and Alex off the hook.”

"No." Marcus shakes his head. "We aren't going to have agents follow the babies around. I don't even think that's allowed for a protection detail."

“He’s joking.” David assures him, nudging his soulmate toward the car with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

"Follow you?" Marcus asks Dave as he opens the passenger door for you. Agent Bailey had followed in her car since Marcus's car is a government vehicle with the appropriate plates. It gives you just a few more moments of privacy.

“Yup.” The younger man nods and then tilts his head to June and Dylan as well. “It’s not far. Be there in no time.”

As soon as Marcus climbs in beside you, he asks the question while he's buckling his seatbelt. "So where do you think we are going?" He asks. "It's odd, right? Going off after dinner like this?"

"It's a little weird," you admit, buckling in as Marcus pulls out of the White House driveway behind your brother and his soulmate. "But more like a callback than anything else. When we would have big family dinners back in Philly, sometimes we would all go out after and shoot the shit somewhere. Usually in somebody's backyard or we'd go out to the suburbs where we knew we could find a pond or something to sit and stargaze. Our parents never minded as long as we all stuck together and didn't do anything illegal."

He hums, wondering if Alex and David just want to have a moment with Alex's siblings and their soulmates. Maybe they wanted to plan something for your mom and dad's anniversary. He knows there's nothing malicious, so he just follows the car in front of him and snorts at the six car motorcade that is winding through the city.

The National Mall is largely deserted when your little parade arrives well after dark on this arbitrary August night. There are very few people around, and none at all at the base of the Washington Monument when David pulls his car to a stop and everyone else follows suit behind him.

"The Washington Monument?" Marcus puzzles as he puts the car into park and glances at you, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Interesting."

"Don't look at me," you shrug, but point out the windshield where David and Alex have climbed out of their car already. "This is it, though."

You and Marcus join and equally confused Junie and Dylan, unsure of what the plan is as David shuffles you all together and towards the monument.

"So..." Alex starts, looking around at the confused group of you with a grin. "You're probably wondering why we brought you out here at night instead of when the Monument is actually open, but I promise it makes sense."

“Marcus and Dylan are new to this." David acknowledges, looking at the other two men. The other two soulmates to the First Kids. His adopted brothers in arms in a way that no one else can ever quite understand. "But when we were growing up, we used to stargaze all the time. And a couple of weeks ago...the night after Birdie's bridal shower...we were sitting out here after dark and we got to talking."

Alex shuffles slightly and reaches for his soulmate's hand. "David and I have decided to come out, officially." He tells you, a small - but determined - smile on his face. He's nervous, of course he is, but he's also tired of denying his love for the boy he will spend the rest of his life with. It's not fair to either of them.

"Oh my god..." June breathes, lighting up just a split second before you squawk the same words in a much more exuberant, excited tone.

"Oh my god, oh my GOD!" Both sisters sprint forward to wrap their arms around Alex and David, squeaking and babbling and giggling in absolute glee. The thing that has made their brother unhappy the most consistently in his life is staying in the closet – and that time is finally ending.

Marcus and Dylan hang back, allowing the siblings to smother the couple in affection before moving in with hugs and handshakes of their own. "Congratulations on making that decision." Marcus murmurs, knowing that sometimes doing the right thing is the hardest thing. "We will be right there beside you, for anything you need."

"You guys have been dealing with plenty of media bullshit over the last year and a half." David shakes Marcus's hand gratefully. "Any advice you have would be appreciated and valued."

Marcus chuckles, knowing that is the absolute truth. "Anytime. I would be glad if you and Alex don't have to go through any of that bullshit."

"Whatever comes our way, we want to try to be the best examples we can be for other people who have been afraid to be themselves." For as long as David has been thinking about this, personally, he's grateful to be surrounded by so much support. "It's...it's a lot to think about. And to process. But I think we're finally ready."

"That is great." Marcus grins, loving how completely besotted you look at the two of them as you squeeze Alex again. You have worried about him, often sounding out those worries to Marcus and this has to be a relief for you.

"Oh god, are you crying?" Alex huffs at you, trying to diffuse his own emotional reaction by teasing you about yours. You're both wiping at your faces anyway so it's all even in the end. "Of course I am!" And you're not even sorry about it either, as you squeeze both of your brother's cheeks in your hands. "I'm so proud of you that I don't even know if I can think of an insult to temper it right now."

"I didn't think it would garner this dramatic of a reaction." David jokes, moving over to Alex and slightly pulling him away from you. "But since the tears have already started...." He grins and one hand flicks away the tears under his soulmate's eye and he sighs softly. "There's another reason why I brought you out here."

"Please tell me it's to teach my sister that tears are contagious," Alex jokes, not sensing the deep tonal shift that is rippling through the group, starting with David.

David laughs, once again struck by how perfect Alex is. His thumb rubs the back of his hand and he shakes his head. "No. Something more important than that." He reveals. He doesn't look around to make sure that no one is watching. The area is deserted and he knows that he would rather this moment be more about just pure love and joy than looking over his shoulder. He smiles as he shifts down to one knee in front of his soulmate. "I need to ask you a question."

"Oh my god." He might be the last of the three siblings to say the phrase in the last three minutes, but when Alex gasps his hand goes over his heart and he looks down at David in utter shock.

“We have know that we are soulmates for so long, long before I ever truly understood what the word meant.” David tells him. “You’ve been my best friend, my confidant, my shoulder to cry on, my very best and worst secret. But there’s never been a day that I haven’t loved you.” Reaching into his pocket, David pulls out a ring box and opens it to show Alex a beautiful wood and tungsten ring that has a single diamond in the center. “Will you marry me?”

The air is sucked out of the whole group as Alex works to compose himself. You and June clutch each other's hands as well as your soulmates', and Alex gulps at least four times in a silence that draws longer and longer the more he tries to hold back tears and try to think of the right thing to say. Finally he just bursts out a "YES" and lunges for David, wrapping his soulmate up in his arms and claiming a kiss as he shakes with the joy and surprise of the moment.

David laughs into the kiss, holding Alex close and his own tears of joy slip out. He had honestly had thoughts at times that they would never be here and even if their parents aren’t, he had wanted to share this with you and Junie. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He always has. Since before Alex knew what love meant, he knew he was completed irrevocably by this boy — this boy who has grown up into a thoughtful and keen-minded man that he is proud of and hated having to deny. “I love you.” He repeats, the tears streaking down his face as they stand up together, still clinging to each other and the moment.

Marcus’s phone is used to capture the moment discreetly, having figured out what it was and pulled it out quickly. He knows that they will want it later on.

You and June are jittery on an inhuman level, practically dancing in place as David slides the ring onto Alex’s finger and steps back. He’s all laughs as the three of you fling your arms around each other and cling to each other in another moment of shared joy.

“You’re next.” Alex warns Junie, practically beaming bright enough to light up the night. “Only one of us left now.”

“We’ll let you two wackos get it out of the way first,” she laughs, sniffling as she squeezes both of her big siblings. “We’re just apartment hunting. No rings yet.”

“Apartments lead to sex on every surface. Sex on every surface leads to babies.” Marcus teases, grinning broadly.

“And they can have their life and as many babies as they want without getting married,” you remind him, smirking up at your fiancé and grinning. He’s so close to being your husband. Just a few more weeks until the wedding. “If that’s what they want. Just like we want to get married, and so do Alex and David.”

“Of course they can. Notice I didn’t say anything about marriage.” He teases right back and pulls you close. “Although I’m desperate to be married to you.”

“Four weeks.” The hum in your voice is practically a pure as you lean up to nudge his nose with yours. “Just one little month left.”

“And we still don’t have a single clue about our stag parties.” He huffs, cutting his eyes over at your sister and brother with their respective soulmates. Everyone is apparently in on the secrecy for both parties. He had laughed when you had pouted about not knowing and then he had found out that Juan wouldn’t say a thing about his own party.

“And you’re just as frustrated as I am, even after teasing me.” You tilt your head back and leave a kiss on his cheek, grinning the whole time. “Whatever they have planned, they’re keeping State secrets like pros.”

“CIA level secrets.” Marcus snorts. “Your mom I understand, but I don’t get why it’s so secret.”

"They're having fun with it." And given your love of secrets, you honestly are too. You may jokingly call it torture to be left out of the loop, but it's all in good fun. The playful delight of having absolutely no idea what it expect is actually pretty fun.

“Yes they are.” He grins as he enjoys the sparkle in your eyes. “We will be finding out soon.”

"The thing is, sweet Con..." you have a tendency to talk softly to your goddaughter when you're carrying her around, and babysitting is a time when you frequently have her strapped to your chest as you pick up around Sydney and Juan's house so they can come home to an even cleaner place. Sometimes – like today – you'll do a bit of cooking or baking too. There's muffins in the oven so that your best friends can have snacks or breakfast ready and waiting for them when they have crazy mornings with their almost-one-year-old. "The thing is, midterm elections are stickier than your hands after you play in applesauce. So things are going to get very interesting."

“Hey babe, I’m back.” Marcus opens the door and lifts the bag, the diapers secured. There had been a recall on the ones his goddaughter wore and when Syd had called you, he had immediately gone out to get some new ones. “We can change diapers again.”

"Yaaaaayyyy!" You cheer in the most hushed tone possible, waving Constance's little hand in the air. She'd curled her fingers around one of yours and held on tight. "Thank you, love."

“No problem.” He grins and winks at both you and the baby. Constance likes Marcus and giggles when he comes closer. “Is she ready for one, or still good?”

"She's still good for now. No bombs while you were out, thank goodness." With her hand around your finger, you make Constance wave and the baby giggles again. She really does love Marcus.

“That’s good.” He lifts up the second bag. “I also picked up dinner. I know you are baking, but I figured we deserved some take out.”

"Ooo, what kind of take out?" With the baby held tight to your chest, you rock her a little bit as you follow Marcus into the kitchen and try to get a peek at the bag, but there is not a single logo in sight beyond the diapers.

“Figured we would change it up this time.” He waggles his brows. “Thai. And Chinese. They had this new fusion place that I saw.”

"I like that even when we change it up, we stick to Asian." While he starts unloading the bags, you keep your movement going, dancing around the room with Constance to keep her laughing. It's almost naptime, which is perfect timing. "Did I tell you I had a nightmare the other night where I couldn't tolerant Indian food while I was pregnant? Woke up terrified and craving tandoori lamb chops. Very confusing way to wake up."

“Ohhh is that why you begged me to pick up Indian on the way home on Wednesday?” He tilts his head and chuckles. “That is your version of hell.”

"It really is. Having food aversions to highly spiced foods or to chocolate will make me utterly miserable when the time comes." Constance pauses in her laughter to yawn and you look down at her, wrapping both hands around the baby at your chest. "I saw that sweet girl. Is it nap time, honey?"

“She’s so damn good.” He can’t help but melt at the sleepy baby, “why don’t I put her to bed and you can go through the food?”

"Perfect." It takes a little maneuvering to hand her over to Marcus, but she goes relatively easily. After her parents, you and Marcus are two of her favorite people. as her godparents you've been a constant presence in her life, two of her most regular babysitters, and two of the first faces that she learned. "I'll grab plates and we can load them up in here?"

“That works.” She snuggles into his chest and he sighs. Almost willing to suggest that you go off your birth control now even though you are only three weeks away from your wedding. “Come on, sweet girl.” He coos. “Let’s get you down for that nap.”

Five or so minutes later, Marcus is back downstairs with the baby cam link pulled up on his phone and Constance happily set down in her crib with her current favorite stuffed animal – the panda bear that Sydney's sister gave her when she was born.

“Why do I think that Constance is such a good baby, that Juan and Sydney will be trying for a sibling soon?” Marcus asks, patting your thigh as you watch the monitor for a moment with the most poignant yearning in your eyes.

“Syd wanted to wait a year before they tried again.” After the trauma associated with the birth of her first, you were honestly surprised Sydney only wanted to wait one year. “We’re almost to that mark, so I guess it could happen any time now.”

“Yeah.” He hums, hoping that the next one goes so much smoother for your best friend. Although, if it’s like last time, Juan has already said that will be the last child they have. He won’t risk his wife’s health anymore and Marcus can completely understand that.

“Let’s make our plates.” As much as you could sit here and stare at the baby monitor all evening, food is good and relaxing with Marcus is even better.

“Sure baby.” Since you are baby sitting, Marcus had forgone picking up a bottle of wine. While neither one of you had a problem with having some normally, it was better to be sober while caring for the little one. He stands up and offers you his hand. “Then we will stuff ourselves and find something to talk about.” He teases, knowing that it’s going to be wedding or honeymoon related. Both of you are way too excited to talk about anything else right now.

“Oh that will be so difficult to do,” you tease, happily accepting his hand and winding your own into it. “We never ever have anything to talk about.”

“Nothing at all.” He jokes. “No plans, no dreams, nothing.” The walk to the kitchen only takes a moment and he appreciates that you laid everything out. “Thanks babe.”

“You picked it up, this is the least I could do.” It only takes a few minutes to fill your plates and then you’re sitting down together at the neat little kitchen table with Marcus’s phone between you to keep an eye on the baby monitor. “I got an e-mail from the inn in Inverness, by the way.” Alright, apparently it’s honeymoon talk. “A little welcome note from the owner and suggestions of things to do or places to eat while we’re in town.”

“Oh?” He loves how accommodating they have been and he knows you will be thrilled to stay in a Scottish inn. “That is incredibly thoughtful of them. Any ideas you didn’t already have?” He smirks. “I know you want to go to those Outlander stones.”

“I got a few good ideas for visiting filming locations,” you admit, grinning at him guiltlessly. “And some recommendations for places the locals actually eat at, instead of all the tourist traps that I’ve been finding online.”

He snorts, knowing you have been doing a deep dive on where to go and what to see. It won’t be disappointing at all. “I know you will enjoy that. Taking lots of notes for Sydney.”

“I’m under orders.” Solemn ones, to take pictures and notes about foods you both try and fall in love with while you’re on your honeymoon. “Which reminds me, our dinner reservation at Shish Mahal is all set.” The Glasgow restaurant where tikka masala was first served had been declared a mandatory stop on your trip around Scotland.

“I know you are excited about that.” He grins. “Although I want to try Scottish pub food too.”

“That’s why I was glad to get the recommendations from the innkeeper.” You tell him excitedly. “So you can have plenty of old school Scottish food to feed your heritage.”

He nods, happy you are so excited about the honeymoon. It’s going to be an adventure for both of you. Despite his time in Europe, he’s never been to Scotland and neither have you, so it will be something you can both enjoy together.

“Can I…talk to you about something?” You glance over at him from watching the baby monitor, food almost entirely forgotten — almost, it smells and tastes amazing so you’re not going to forget it entirely.

“Absolutely.” Marcus knows that it won’t be anything bad. It’s just something that has obviously been milling around in your brain until you were ready to talk about it. “Hit me.”

It doesn’t require a deep breath, or concern, or any kind of worry. It’s just a gentle smile that creeps across your face like sun rays from behind a cloud. “I don’t want to wait anymore to start trying for a baby. The only reason I wanted to wait earlier was because my dress was fitted already…and we’re so close to the wedding. A few weeks won’t matter even if we’re lucky enough to get pregnant the first try.”

The food is forgotten and Marcus almost forgets how to breathe. “Are you sure?” He knows you are, but he always likes to double check. “I know I’m ready whenever you are.”

“I’ve been ready,” you admit, tucking your hand into his to hold onto him tightly. “I just didn’t want to throw a monkey wrench in our wedding when we’ve put so much work into the day.”

“Baby, I would not have cared if you were about to pop, but I know what you mean.” He rushes forward to kiss you. “When can you make the appointment?”

“I’ll call first thing in the morning and see when they can fit me in.” Of course he’s just as excited as you are. You didn’t expect anything less. “Hopefully it won’t take long.”

“The appointment or getting you pregnant?” He asks, smirking slightly at the activities that involve getting you to that condition.

“Yes.” You tease right back, poking Marcus in the side as you both laugh.

He waggles his brows playfully. “So that breeding kink can come out to play?”

“Full throttle.” And you won’t complain about it one single bit.

“Yesssssss.” He pumps a fist playfully even though he’s only half kidding. Just the idea of it has caused some extremely good nights rolling around in bed together.

“I didn’t think you would mind that.” You lift his hand to your lips to kiss his knuckles and laugh again. “I’m excited, baby. And I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too.” Marcus promises softly. “And I’m going to love the day I call you Mrs. Pike almost as much as the day you tell me you are pregnant.” He smiles. “Our dreams are coming true Hummingbird.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers @missladym1981 @babeincolor @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #soulmate au #First Daughter reader #Juan Badillo #Graceland #Juan Badillo x f!OC #Juan Badillo x OC #PrincessPike2018 #PikeWedding2018 #WhiteHouseWedding2018

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chu-diaries · 4 months ago

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100 days of mental healthcare: day 76/100

Another day where I failed on exercising, but everything was all so rushed that I'll forgive myself for it. Today I had to cook and I also had a long intravenous iron replacement session. On the bright side, I read several chapters of my book and made friends with two nurses during the procedure. The day was so beautiful that I walked to and from the clinic. When I got home, I checked on my scented candles, did dishes, folded my clean laundry and got ready for my evening class. I got home very tired, but happy for another good day.

Answering 8/30 self-knowledge questions about myself: What have I learned from my greatest difficulties?

My greatest difficulties didn't appear until I was 25. Of course, there were difficulties before that, but it was at 25 that I finally learned that a mental illness can hurt much more than a physical injury or a broken heart. Until then, society had taught me to deal with all my problems, but I wasn't prepared to suffer so much inside my own head. After three and a half years of struggling with this, I learned that I am very strong. It's amazing to look back and see everything I've overcome. I am definitely very powerful and greater than my fears (I'm working on trusting this statement lmao). I learned that I don’t need much to be happy and that happiness is not in achievements or titles, but in the things that keep us alive every day. I also discovered that staying alive is a daily job: you gotta find a reason to keep going every day. Remember why you want to stay here, what you want to accomplish and what you already have today. Life is lived one day at a time. It doesn't matter who you were or where you came from, but who you are now and what's in your heart. When I was younger I thought all of this was very silly, but now I truly believe it.

🥀: day 23/28

💧: 2 L

🏃🏻‍♀️: 9178 steps

💃🏻: dancing (30 min)

📝: worked on two new contracts

📖: I attended a class on the migration of workers from the northeast to the southeast (3h)

🇰🇷: 🚫

🎧: stardew valley ost

🎮: 🚫

📺: one piece ep. 456-463 (I was peacefully preparing some meatballs for lunch when I discovered who is Ace’s father… somebody send help)

📚: hp and the half-blood prince (I had forgotten how amazing Ginny is in this book… my inner teenager is screaming at her romance with Harry)

🛑: 3 days pick-free

💊: I took all my vitamins + 3/5 sessions of IV iron replacement done

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ladykailitha · 3 months ago

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Well Met By Moonlight Part 19

I can't believe it, there is only one more chapter to go after this one and it'll be done. I'm really sad to see this one end. But as I've said in the past, I think it potential to be something more, so I'm having a good friend of mine read the story and let me know what she thinks.

We've got a lot of reveals to get through and a lot of twists to untwist. Buckle up, because the bumpy ride is ramping up.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18

“Hello, Murray,” Billy said stepping out of the shadows of the woods into the small clearing. “Are you going somewhere?”

Keith hurried out of the trees to stand close to the Dominus.

“Billy!” the bald little man cried out. “Hey...so you survived. Again.”

Billy tilted his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m special like that. Someone’s been a bad dog. Am I going to have to get the newspaper?”

Keith giggled next to him.

Murray smiled tightly. “Uh-huh. Dog jokes. Very funny. Now if you’ll pardon me, I’ve got places to be and can’t stand to chat.”

Billy chuckled darkly and walked up to Murray. He picked the man up by shirt collar. “You think you frighten me? I have survived your little machinations twice.”

“You should be afraid of me,” Murray huffed without even batting an eyelid at Billy’s rough handling. “I’ve been pulling the strings in this town for almost two decades. You are who you are because of me.”

Billy threw back his head and laughed. “You think you gave me this unlimited power, this beautiful body, this charm? Because that’s what got me where I am today. Not you weakening this town until it was ripe for the taking. Because I could have taken out Dr. Brenner without all of that.”

Murray wriggled out of Billy’s grasp and straightened his shirt. “You’re just some washed up beach bum with delusions of grandeur.”

Billy transformed. His bat form large and imposing. His chest expanded and wings sprouted from his back. His feet and hands became clawed and terrifying. His eyes were black and his fangs extended below his lips, glinting in the low light.

Billy roared, but before he could leap at the cocky werewolf, the manticore leapt from behind Murray and straight for his throat.

Billy and the manticore fought, ripping and tearing at each other but before Keith could leap into action Murray stabbed him in the back with a yew stake.

“This was a little gift from my benefactor,” he whispered as blood pooled from Keith’s mouth. “I could only use it the once, but I think you’re perfect for its use. Don’t you?” Keith fell to ground, the yew stake evaporating like dust on the wind. “Of course you don’t.”

A small white cat appeared at Murray’s feet, entwining itself among his ankles.

Murray looked down at it. “Why are you here, Sorcha?”

The cat sìth leapt to his shoulder to watch the battle.

“Fine,” he huffed, “don’t tell me.”

Far too soon in Murray’s opinion the manticore ripped off Billy’s head clean off. The body of the Dominus slid to the ground as the manticore tossed his head behind it.

“Wow,” Murray said impressed. “That was actually grotesque.”

Sorcha jumped down and walked up to the head. She opened her mouth and inhaled. A silvery mist came out of the mouth of the corpse’s head into hers.

“It is done.”

Murray blinked at her and looked around in confusion. “What the fuck? What’s done, Sorcha?”

She ignored him and walked up to the manticore. “You have held up your end of the bargain and we will hold up ours. May the road rise up to meet you.”

“And to you as well,” the manticore growled.

“You both can talk?” Murray asked, rearing his head back in shock.

“Will you explain it to him?” Sorcha purred. “I must return home. I grow weak in this magic wasteland.”

“Of course,” the manticore grinned. “Well almost all of it.”

Sorcha chuckled. “But of course.” And then like she was mist herself, she dissolved and was gone.

“What the fuck is going on?” Murray asked in fear. This had really slowed down his getaway. Alexei was waiting for him at that drug lord’s house.

“I will explain on the way,” the manticore growled. “The alpha has scented the battle.”

Murray’s eyes went wide and he grabbed his things, moving toward path that would take him to his mate.

Once they were far enough away from the clearing the manticore spoke.

“Billy isn’t a true vampire no more than you are,” the beast growled.

“Just how does that even work?”

“There are only two ways to become a vampire,” the manticore explained. “Either have the good fortune to be born as one or be bitten. To die a painful death to never breathe again. To have unlimited power but to never reproduce or enjoy the fairer aspects of life.”

Murray’s expression twisted in disgust. “Yuck.”

The manticore chuckled. “Yes, Billy felt the same as you, but he wanted the power that came with vampirism. Weres don’t live long enough to tempt Billy Hargrove. Oh no.”

“Sounds like he was fucked,” Murray muttered, scenting the air. There was no smell or sound of anyone near them, but he couldn’t put away his unease that he was in danger.

But that didn’t make sense. The manticore was bound to him. The beast couldn’t even break a sweat without Murray telling him to. But the sense of danger only heightened with each step.

“He knew something most people in this modern age had long forgot,” the manticore said with a hint of laughter in his tone.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“That real magic exists,” the manticore hissed gleefully. “He made a deal with Queen Titania. Serve her for one hundred years and he would be granted his wish. But Billy had no desire to actually be her slave. He managed to convince her to make him vampire first and then he’d serve her. He didn’t want to come out of the Seelie court in the year 2085 and not know anything.”

Murray shrugged. “Makes sense to me. I wouldn’t want to waste my life away in some Fairyland either.”

“Yes,” the manticore agreed. “But as soon as he got his power, he ran off to America outside of her power.”

“So she sent the cat sìth to hunt him down,” Murray guessed.

The beast nodded. “But by the time Sorcha found him he was too powerful to dislodge without some help.”

“So she enlisted you,” Murray concluded. “So what do you get out of this deal?”

The manticore merely grinned. “We’re here.”

Alexei popped his head up to the window and when he saw who it was, came running out, into Murray’s arms.

“We’re almost safe, my love,” Murray whispered. “Do you have the hostage?”

Alexei nodded. “She was too easy to catch.”

Murray chuckled. He had to give Steve props for tightening security but it’s a little hard to guard something you didn’t know could be taken.

“Go get her and bring her here,” he muttered. “I think we’re about to have company.”

Alexei nodded and trotted back to the boathouse. Murray pulled out a gun from his bag.

“Savage,” the manticore groused.

Murray chuckled. “I wouldn’t expect a beast like you to understand. You can’t change, you will always be what you are. A monster. But me? I use all the resources I have available to me. And that means guns and hostages.”

Murray grabbed the girl from Alexei’s grasp and pressed the barrel of the gun to her temple.

Then crashing out of the woods were Steve, Hopper, Jonathan, and Gareth. On Steve’s back was Tommy.

Tommy immediately leapt from Steve’s back as he suddenly transformed.

“Robin!” Steve called.

Once the fire had been put out and they took stock of who was wounded and who was just covered in someone else’s blood, Steve turned to find Tommy standing there, looking sheepishly at his feet.

“What are you doing here?” Steve growled. “I mean other than the obvious, spilling pack secrets.”

Tommy’s head shot up in shock. “You knew?”

“Since the town meeting.”

Tommy blinked at him a moment. “You never intended to mate with that vampire, did you?”

Steve scoffed. “It’s biologically impossible. You really should have paid more attention in school, Tommy.”

“Oh.”

He cleared his throat and then kicked at the dirt. “I actually was trying to warn Billy that they were going to attack, but I was too late.”

“Explain,” Steve growled. “And be quick.”

So Tommy explained everything. The deal he made with Billy, the information he had sold to him, and the puppet master and all his machinations.

Just then Hopper and Jonathan came tearing up to them, Gareth easily keeping pace behind them.

“Robin’s been kidnapped!” Hopper bit out, panting for breath.

Steve stood up straight. “Where would he go?”

“The clearing I spotted them in was near Lover’s Lake,” Tommy said. “Maybe they have a safe house near there.”

“Reefer Rick’s,” Hopper said gruffly. “He’s the closest thing Hawkins gets to a drug lord, but he’s got a house out there on the lake. He gets supplies air dropped on the lake and then goes out and scoops them up.”

Steve nodded. “Let’s go.” He turned to Tommy. “You’re coming with. You’re the only one who’s scented the mate. Hopper, lead the way.”

The old wolf nodded and waited for Steve to transform. Jeff helped the keeper onto Steve’s back.

“I’m going to find out what’s keeping Eddie and Wayne,” Jeff said. “They should have been here by now. We’ll all meet up at the lake.”

Steve nodded and waited until Jeff had taken flight before the three werewolves and the gwyllgi took off, heading for Lover’s Lake.

Robin was struggling to stay on her feet, her height far greater than that of her captor caused her to almost have to kneel to avoid being choked by him.

“If Hopper had just removed Alexei’s banishment none of this would have happened!” Murray screamed. “He didn’t do anything wrong. Those weren’t kids they were Hunters!”

“He tore them to pieces, Murray,” Hopper said, shifting into a human. He held out his hand, trying to calm him. “It doesn’t matter who they were, or what they were planning. He should have gone to his alpha told him about the Hunters. Let the alpha deal with them. But he didn’t.”

WHOOSH!

The three vampires landed deftly behind the ring of Shifters.

“It was sadistic,” Wayne said with a sneer. “They were played with. Alexei isn’t well.”

“He didn’t have a drop of blood on him!” Murray protested.

Hopper stepped forward and Murray tightened his grip on Robin. “If you take one more step, Hop, I’ll blow her god damn brains out. I swear I will. If you move, her blood will be on your hands.”

Something thrummed deep inside of Steve. That was a call back to what he had told Hopper when Eddie had to use force to get Steve to come out of the compound all the way back to when this all started.

“You sent the Hunters after me,” he said coldly.

Murray sneered. “You alphas are always the same all brute and no intelligence. Yes, I did it all you dumb mongrel!” He pulled on Robin’s hair causing her to scream in pain. “All of it! Sara’s death by having Alexei tamper with her chemo, getting Hopper on as many drugs as possible, the murder of your grandfather and parents, Hopper’s kidnapping! But still you stupid alphas refused to see the truth! Alexei had been framed!”

Then a sleek, dark brown wolf oozed out of the forest, all danger and cunning. Nancy was one of the most beautiful purebred werewolves Steve had ever laid eyes on. She was everything that humanity had ever written on the subject of werewolves. He still loved her, because how could anyone not, but god he was glad he had Eddie now.

“He hasn’t been framed, Mr. Bauman,” she said her transformation even more fluid and graceful than Hoppers. “Not in the way you think. You two don’t belong here.”

“Nancy?” Wayne asked stepping forward. “What’s going on?”

“I belong here, you witch!” Murray screamed and Hopped instinctively took a step forward.

They all watched in horror and slow motion as he pulled the trigger, the muzzle flash, and the bullet striking Robin’s temple.

Then falling harmlessly to the ground.

Robin blinked a moment. “You aren’t using silver bullets?” she asked sheepishly.

Everyone was staring at her in shock, all but Steve who was chuckling.

“I wouldn’t use something that would accidentally get me killed!” he protested. “I’m not stupid.”

Robin grinned and then leapt out of his hold, bright and golden. A bitten werewolf. She turned in the air like she was made to be a werewolf. She was stunning.

She bounded straight for Murray’s throat and the gun went flying. She tore off a necklace he had around his neck and it too went flying the other direction.

“No!” Murray screamed. “Not that! You don’t know what you’ve done!”

The scorpion on the necklace began to pulse. Then it shattered in a blinding flash of light.

Standing in its place was the manticore. In all its freaky glory. The face of a human, the body of a lion and the tail of a scorpion.

The manticore stretched out its lithe body. “The cat sìth made good on their word. I will have to thank them.” He turned to the crowd. “After I eat all of you, of course. It’s been so long since I’ve had such a buffet of delights.”

But as it leapt into the air, another creature appeared in the air behind it. It too had a human face but the body of a bird.

It began to sing about being still and quiet and everyone froze. The manticore crashed to ground in a crumpled form.

The siren grabbed the manticore by the mane and lifted it up into the air. He tossed it into Lover’s Lake like a rag doll. The beast howled and snarled as it was ripped apart by...

Seals?

Blood soaked the top of the water turning it dark red. Then one of the seals stepped out of the water and pulled back the seal’s head like the hood of a cloak. It revealed a red-headed girl with bright green eyes and freckles. Next to her the siren transformed into a chubby young man with wild hair.

“Barb?!” Nancy called out in amazement just as Jeff called out, “Brian!”

DUN! DUN! DUHHHHH! Hehehe. Cliffhanger!

Part 20

Tag List: THIRTEEN SPOTS REMAINING

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi

3- @fullpoetrybread @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookworm0690 @littlewildflowerkitten @just-a-tiny-void @potato-of-the-lord @thelittleclare

5- @goosesister @tinyplanet95 @she-collects-smut @irregular-child @y4r3luv

6- @fairytalesreality @anaibis @papergrenade @ravenfrog @blondie1006

7- @thedragonsaunt @sadisticaltarts @kultiras @blackpanzy @disrespectedgoatman

8- @kal-ology @w1ll0wtr33 @dreamercec

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #werewolf steve harrington #vampire eddie munson #supernatural creatures

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finnsbubblegum · 2 years ago

Text

Little Joel Miller (Joel Miller X Reader)

Pairing: no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: birth, needle, fluff, sweet joel, domestic joel (let me know if i missed any)

Summary (Series): reader as Joel’s neighbor. Joel’s wife left him so Joel asked his neighbor for help in babysitting Sarah.

Summary: welcoming little Joel Miller to the world.

Words count: 1.6k

A/N: This series is ending really really soon so be ready 🥺 This is part 20 of Where It All Starts. But it can also be read as a standalone. I'm so grateful for all of you! Thank you for your comments, reblogs, and likes ❤️ Love you!

Thank you @siesie2 for your comment and idea!!

Let's pretend the GIF is you and Joel because I can't find one that looks good for this chapter!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Epilogue

“Remind me how you convinced me to watch a horror movie again?” Joel tapped your shoulder.

You were laying on your sides on the couch, head resting on Joel’s lap.

“I love scary movies.” You scoffed.

“Well, I hate it.” Joel clicked his tongue.

“You’re a big guy but you can’t even stand scary movies.” You laughed.

“I can handle blood and killing stuff in movies but not ghosts.” Joel protested.

*eerie music from the movie*

Guessing from the music, you knew the ghost was coming soon. You got ready to scare Joel.

*the ghost appeared*

“Ahh!” You sat and screamed at his face.

“Fuuuck!” Joel screamed and flinched.

You laughed so hard at his face.

“You really have to see your face!” You laughed holding your belly.

“You’re really really bad, mama.” Joel shook his head.

His heart was about to burst. But you enjoyed teasing him. He was cute when he was like that.

“You need to be punished, baby.” Joel crawled to you and tickled you.

“No! No! Stop it!” You giggled.

Joel knew your weakness was being tickled. You were ticklish. But Joel had to have revenge. He kept tickling you and laughed. You kept giggling as he tickled you. Your belly moved up and down as you laughed.

“Ooh-Ooh.” You felt a gush of liquid.

“I think I just peed a little.” You giggled.

“Mission accomplished.” Joel proudly said to you as he got his revenge done.

You thought it was pee so you tried to hold it but you couldn’t. Apparently, your water broke.

“Shit, Joel. I think it wasn’t pee.” Your heart was beating faster.

“Don’t prank me again, baby.” Joel didn’t believe you.

“Do you really think I’m joking?!” You stood up and more liquid flowed down your thighs.

“Fuck! Ughh-” You groaned as you felt a shooting pain in your abdomen.

“Fuck-I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Joel stood up and held your hand.

You glared at him. You were not okay. You were scared actually. It was your first time having a baby and you were scared to death.

“I’m not okay, Joel. I’m scared.” Your voice cracked.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you to the hospital. Everything’s gonna be fine. I’m here.” Joel put his arms around you and guided you to the car.

You had everything ready a week before and put the hospital bag inside the car. So you wouldn’t have to move the stuff when you were already in a panic mode when your water broke.

Joel drove as fast as he could to the hospital. He lent his hand for you to squeeze throughout the way to the hospital. Even though it didn’t help to ease your pain, his touch and existence gave you comfort.

“Fuuucckk.” You made a low guttural sound to let out the pain.

“Wish I could take your pain, baby.” Joel sat beside the hospital bed you were laying down.

He took your hand and kissed the back of your hand. Joel kept kissing and rubbing your hand with his thumb hoping to ease your pain. His heart broke at the thought of not being able to take your pain away. He couldn’t see you in pain, his eyes were getting teary seeing you crying in pain.

“Joel..It hurts so much.” A tear fell down your cheeks.

“What can I do for you, baby?” He raised your hand and brought it to his lips.

“Ugghh..” You squeezed his hand.

Initially, you wanted to have a natural birth and feel the pain of giving birth without epidurals. But now you were having second thoughts. You thought you could handle it but turned out the pain was unendurable.

“Joel-please-” You cried.

“What baby? What can I do?” Joel nodded and looked at you.

“I want the drugs. I need the epidural.” You begged.

“Okay, wait here. I’ll call the nurse.” Joel placed a kiss on your forehead and left the hospital room

A few moments later, the anesthesiologist and nurse came in with all the stuff they needed to inject the epidural for you. You saw a really big needle. Your heart beat faster. You could handle the normal needle but this one was the biggest you had ever seen.

“That..is..the biggest needle I’ve ever seen.” Your eyes widened.

“Is that going to be inside me?” Suddenly the pain was gone.

“We will inject this to your spine, Mrs. Miller.” The anesthesiologist answered.

“Ughh..” You groaned.

Then the nurse helped to sit in the correct position and get ready for injecting the epidural. Joel was there beside you. His heart beat faster too as he saw the needle that would soon be injected to your spine.

“Hold my hand.” You asked for Joel’s hand.

Joel immediately lent his hand and gave a strong grip to your hand. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in and out before the needle was inserted to your body. You squeezed his hand when you felt the needle injected to your spine. You hissed at the sting.

“It’s done.” The doctor tapped your shoulder.

You breathed out in relief.

“Thank you.” You thanked the doctor and nurses.

The epidural worked so well. You felt less pain and you tried to sleep to get some rest. Joel was always there beside you. He took some rest when you sleep so he could stay awake when he needed you. A few hours later, it was finally the time for the baby to come out.

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to push in 1, 2, 3..” Your doctor guided you to push.

You held your breath, chin to your chest and pushed.

“You’re doing great, baby.” Joel held your hand and leg.

He kept telling you encouraging words and being your rock. You were grateful Joel was there because you couldn’t do it alone. After a few pushes, your baby boy was finally born. Tears falling down your cheeks when you hear a cry from your baby. Joel cried too.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” Joel tucked your sweaty hair behind your ear then placed a kiss on your temple.

“Hi baby. Hi~” You stroked your baby that was laying on your chest.

“He looks like you, Joel. Little Joel Miller is here.” You teared up adoring your baby boy.

“Hi there, son.” Joel leaned in to get a closer look at his baby boy. He was tearing up too.

Then the nurses brought your baby to give him a bath, weigh him and check everything. Your baby was healthy and that was everything you needed. Your weak body laid on the hospital bed happy but felt weird.

“I feel weird.” You turned your head to Joel who couldn’t stop looking at his baby boy.

“What’s wrong? Do you want me to call the nurse?” Joel panicked.

“No-no. I just-It’s weird that he’s here now. I used to carry him for 40 weeks and now he’s here. And the fact that we made him.” You chuckled.

“We made him.” Joel shook his head and chuckled at your words.

“He’s a part of the two of us, Joel. Can you believe it?” You started to tear up.

“Hey, hey. Why are you crying?” Joel came to you and sat on the edge of the hospital bed.

“It’s happy tears. Don’t worry.” You chuckled as you sniffled.

“Thank you for bringing him to this world, baby. Our world. I promise I will protect our family with my life. I love you.” Joel kissed your forehead and stroked your head.

“I love you too.” You smiled and invited him to lay on the bed with you.

Two days went by, you were finally able to go home with your newborn baby. Joel had called your mom and she said she would wait for you at your house with Sarah. Joel took the carseat with your baby sleeping in it then he helped you get out of the car.

“Hold on to me.” Joel put his arms around you. One hand holding your baby in the carseat.

“Ugh..” You groaned at the discomfort you were feeling as you got out of the car.

“You good?” Joel raised his eyebrows.

“Hmm. Yeah.” You nodded.

Joel held your weight and walked you inside the house slowly.

“Oh my God!” Your mom squealed as she saw the sleeping baby.

“How are you feeling?” Your mom hugged you.

“I’m happy mom. But I need sleep.” You joked.

“I’ll make you some tea.” Your mom went to the kitchen.

“Where is he? Where is he?” Sarah jumped and ran to you.

“Hi, sweetie. Your brother’s sleeping. You need to calm down.” You stroked her head and chuckled.

Joel put the carseat on the coffee table so everyone could meet his boy.

“Sit here, baby.” Joel put a cushion on the couch for you to sit.

“Thank you, honey.” You stroked his upper arm and sat.

“Hi Sammy!” Sarah took her baby brother’s small hands and waved it gently.

You and Joel decided to name your son Sam. But he would always be little Joel Miller.

“Do you want to hold him, babygirl?” Joel asked his daughter.

“Can I?” Sarah got excited.

“Of course you can, sweetie.” You rested your head on the couch and rubbed your belly.

“Sit here.” Joel patted the empty space between you and him on the couch for Sarah to sit.

“Place your hand like this.” Joel demonstrated to Sarah and she followed him.

“Hold his head, okay.” Joel slowly put his son in Sarah's arms.

“That’s it babygirl.” Joel smiled, proud of his daughter being a big sister.

“You’re a big sister now, Sarah.” You stroked her head.

“I’m your big sister.” Sarah cooed to her baby brother and kissed his cheek.

Joel smiled looking at Sarah holding her baby brother. Then he rested his hand on your shoulder. You smiled at him when he rubbed your shoulder.

“I love you.” Joel mouthed to you.

To be continued…

Taglist:

@lovelyygirl8 @skysmiller @moonlightdivine @crocodiile @angie2274 @pulchritudinousrogers @peqchsoup @msecho19 @happinessinthebeing @nyotamalfoy @nakedmoondiaries @dzaga890 @pa1g3-t0mm0 @prettysbliss @wanniiieeee @one-sweet-gubler @x-ap0llo-x @feministfanboi @ordinarylokix @afterglowsb-tch13 @padgraysonssram8re @tomorrowseverything @hummusxx @iranispunk @mrsyixingunicorn10 @likeanimagepassingby2 @mediocrewallflow3r @pedr0swh0r3 @mxtokko @dorck26 @cascactus28 @cheyxfu @stupidthoughtsinwriting @undermoonlightwalk @bigmoodyjoody @humanbug @sarahhxx03 @krisviciousx @quixscentsposts @dgct2 @dgraysonss @heybabyshae @fluffyspaceprincess @toottmblr @avengersfan25 @xixxala @dianaffddz @onzayhe @violetwitchmcu @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @kelh27

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timemachineyeah · 10 months ago

Note

I really, really need you to elaborate on this note you left on a post. I'm fascinated.

If you don't I'm sure I'll survive but this is an absolutely intriguing concept.

Whoooo, yeah, let's talk about Mormon theology and cosmology!!!

In response to me saying that this is basically Mormon theology, because it absolutely is

(I swear, being raised Mormon, and especially the studious and serious kind, and then leaving the church is like that bit in the first episode of The Office where they think they might be getting shut down and Jim says something like, "I know so much about paper. What I am supposed to do with all this knowledge if I don't work here any more." Like I never got very far in The Office, but I think about that feeling all the time.)

From the book of Mormon, 2nd Nephi Chapter 2:

22 And now, behold, if Adam had not transgressed he would not have fallen, but he would have remained in the garden of Eden. And all things which were created must have remained in the same state in which they were after they were created; and they must have remained forever, and had no end. 23 And they would have had no children; wherefore they would have remained in a state of innocence, having no joy, for they knew no misery; doing no good, for they knew no sin. 24 But behold, all things have been done in the wisdom of him who knoweth all things. 25 Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy.

Also worth noting that Mormons are so opposed to original sin that it's actually the second of the 13 Articles of Faith, which I had to memorize in grade school. The only article that comes before it is the one saying we believe in God, Jesus, and The Holy Ghost.

"2 We believe that men will be punished for their own sins, and not for Adam’s transgression."

And stealing from the church's official current website on the topic

President Joseph Fielding Smith (1876–1972) said: “I never speak of the part Eve took in this fall as a sin, nor do I accuse Adam of a sin. … This was a transgression of the law, but not a sin … for it was something that Adam and Eve had to do!”

Adam's fall is considered an unequivocal good to Mormons. So this whole take on theology taps into two very import Mormon principles.

The first is "agency", "free agency", or "free will". This basically boils down to: you can't grow, your actions can't matter, if you don't have a choice. The ability to choose is power, and we are here specifically to experience that freedom and to learn how to use it.

This was actually the basis of a premortal war (don't ask how folks without bodies who can't die do a war, I've no idea) between Lucifer and Jesus, because Lucifer wanted to guarantee everyone's salvation by eliminating the ability to choose wrong. The losing side was cast out of heaven and that's where Satan and demons come from!

Here have a musical number about from a VHS I used to watch constantly (in case the link malfunctions, relevant song starts at 10:55)

youtube

The second is, "opposition". Basically, things can only exist in contrast. You can only truly recognize something in comparison to something else. Ergo, a world without suffering or sin is also a world without joy or virtue. It is a nothing world. Here, a worse song from the same musical! (starts at 8:57)

youtube

By this principle, the Garden of Eden, while wonderful from the outside in retrospect, was not wonderful from within, because Adam and Eve had no frame of reference for it. To them it was just Existence, and as an existence was fairly bland.

Another thing to understand here is that Mormons believe in a premortal existence. We are all, spiritually, as ancient as God is. We've all always existed. Another Mormon principle is one of "Eternal Progress" - the idea that we are always on a journey to improve, and are capable of improving to even the state of Heavenly Father.

I remember asking once if Heavenly Father was done progressing, and told we can't possibly know, but it's possible that even He has more progress to make. But if so, we can't possibly comprehend what he is progressing towards and it's not relevant to us now.

It's important to realize that "As man is, God once was. As God is, man might become" is, like, central to Mormon theology. We aren't lesser things than God, just not as far progressed. He's among the first caterpillars to figure out how to make a chrysalis and become a butterfly and he's trying to show us how to do the same.

Regardless, a necessary step to this progress, to growth, is to live a mortal physical life in a body. A body is so important that Mormons believe at the second coming everyone who ever lived will be resurrected into "perfect" eternal immortal bodies. (This ALL creates MANY logistical and theological problems but we don't have time for all that!)

Other necessary steps include compulsive heterosexuality, marriage, and having children. Because of course.

But if God's power is not innate, but rather something he has gained by being Perfectly Good And Noble - which is like the Force or something - then he isn't truly omnipotent. He is so powerful and omniscient that to us mere mortals the distinction is meaningless, but God cannot endorse harm or cruelty without potentially losing his Godhood. Godhood is conditional upon good behavior. Morality is a natural force in the universe that can be utilized, but! See above about opposition! And free will! To utilize it, you have to be capable of knowingly being bad and choose good anyway!

This puts God in kind of a bind when it comes to guiding humanity.

He needs people to have knowledge of good and evil, but if he gives it to them directly, he'd kinda be doing a bad thing? Like, he'd be causing suffering to just force knowledge of good and evil upon us. The suffering can't be something inflicted upon humanity, it has to be a product of human choice. And choice is essential, but to learn to make choices, first you must be presented with simple ones.

Like Adam and Eve are immortal, physical, useless baby adults who cannot progress. They need to progress, and they also need to get to boning or else all the other spirit children waiting in heaven to be born will not have bodies.

So God sets up a little trap. A little trick. Just a fun little -just a fun little game.

He puts a tree in the garden and he's like, "Just leaving this over here. Don't touch it. But it's right here. See it? Right here. Just making sure you saw it. Yeah, don't touch it. In fact, two commandments for you.

Go have kids

Don't eat that fruit"

And Adam and Eve are like, "cool, great, awesome."

And God is like, really loudly in front of Lucifer/The Snake like, "Oh noooooooo. I sure hope they don't eat from this treeeeee. That would be terrrrrrible! They'd learn about SIN and BECOME MORTAL." and Satan is like "tehehehe I have a great idea!"

Meanwhile Eve, who is currently a metaphysical biological immortal, does not know what sex is and has no sex drive. She's like, "Sooooo? The kids part? How that?"

And the snake is like "You can find out, but you gotta eat this fruit" (true! this is Eden, it is still free from sin. The snake cannot lie here, yet. Because folk Mormon theology - Satan can't lie! That's a fun fact about him. He twists and manipulates truths, but lying is a Mortal gift we got from the whole Fruit thing that Eve is about to do)

And Eve is like, "Yeah, sure, I want babies. God told me to have them so...." and eats the fruit exactly as God intended her to, tempted by the snake exactly as God planned. And she was like, "Oh! I WANNA BONE ADAM. ADAM EAT THIS SO YOU KNOW WHAT BONING IS SO I CAN BONE YOU."

But then they were materially and metaphysically changed, so they couldn't stay in the Garden anymore. Less about casting out, more about God having to follow the Moral Metaphysical Laws that give him his power.

I was even taught it's not even that childbirth/periods/menstrual pain were punishments from God. They are just natural results of sexual reproduction and the part where God says that's gonna happen now isn't him giving Eve a curse, just kinda God giving Eve some sex ed. Since she'll need it.

Basically, God couldn't tell Adam and Eve to eat the fruit, and in fact was morally obligated to tell them not to, because doing so would cause suffering and death. But the suffering and death aren't a punishment from God, they're just facts about the world that become real when you know about them, but you have to know about them and experience them in order to know and experience good things also, and become closer to being a god yourself, and God wanted us to have good things, so he wanted us to eat that fruit. Which is why he put it there.

So very much like leaving water out for a cat who thinks they're being naughty but actually you just want your cat to be hydrated.

Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles observed: “This suggested contrast between a sin and a transgression reminds us of the careful wording in the second article of faith: ‘We believe that men will be punished for their own sins, and not for Adam’s transgression’ (emphasis added). It also echoes a familiar distinction in the law. Some acts, like murder, are crimes because they are inherently wrong. Other acts, like operating without a license, are crimes only because they are legally prohibited. Under these distinctions, the act that produced the Fall was not a sin—inherently wrong—but a transgression—wrong because it was formally prohibited. These words are not always used to denote something different, but this distinction seems meaningful in the circumstances of the Fall.”

And before any baby Mormons come in here like, "nuh uh!" about any part of this, your "eternal truths" have been so watered down in the past several decades by leadership trying to seem mainstream and cling to hemorrhaging membership. Y'all don't even know your theology anymore half the time, and what's worse is it's just as toxic as ever but like 200% less interesting. I like Mormonism better when they're proudly declaring Bigfoot is Cain and talking about how John the Beloved already has an immortal body and has been wandering the world for 2000 years and confidently claiming he was the stranger who helped them fix a tire that one time.

#timemachine wuz here #mormon

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professor-cold-ramen · 1 month ago

Note

Why do you worship your god YHWH as the only one? This is a legitimate question? What good does it do for you? Everything your god has done for you shouldn't have anything to do with his status, or uniqueness. I've seen the power of gods alien to your own, from Hel (the goddess I'm closest to, though I do worship others), I've seen her stop animals from moving, protect the sick and wounded, and cause a blind preacher to see her and flee. And I've felt her love, felt her comfort (I probably wouldn't even identify as agender if it wasn't for her help). But because she is not your god you would call this demonic? And say my soul is bound for damnation? Why not admit the existence of other gods, and keep to your own if you wish. How can your relationship with your god even be safe if you can't leave for another? How can it be called anything but bigotry to deny another god's divinity while you worship one yourself?

If you're looking for real answers, here are some answers in good faith. I can only hope my words do it justice.

"Why do you worship your god YHWH as the only one?"

Yahweh is the only god (small g) that I have seen working in my life and the lives of those around me, just as you have felt Hel work in your life. I have seen Him quickly answer my prayers and the prayers of others, in ways that I never would've expected. I have felt His love, even in the moments when I didn't deserve it. Especially in those moments. Because of what I have experienced, I firmly believe that the Bible is from Him and that every single word of it is infallible. I believe that Yahweh:

Created the universe (every piece of it, from the largest galaxies to the smallest gluons) (Genesis 1:1)

Fought for the Israelites, His chosen people, when they were being attacked (and always won, no matter what He was up against) (The Book of Judges has plenty of great examples)

Freed His people from Egypt and Babylon on separate occasions (two of the strongest world powers in those times) (The Books of Exodus, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Daniel)

Came to Earth as a baby (Luke 2:11)

Healed the sick and raised the dead while He was incarnated on this earth as Jesus Christ (The Gospel of John, Chapters 9 and 11 among many others)

Died on a cross to cleanse us of our sins that we might be with Him (Luke 23:46)

Rose again after three days, ending the powers of sin and death (Hallelujah!) (Luke 24:6)

Still works in the lives of those who seek Him (Acts 17:27)

Has given His Spirit to those with faith to assist us in our daily trials (Acts 1:8)

Will win the final victory once this world passes away (The Book of Revelation)

Will welcome those who believe in Him into His kingdom (Revelation, Chapter 21)

I believe that He is stronger than any other force in this universe, because He created all of them. Because of what the Bible says, I believe that Yahweh is the the Lord God (big G). He has already done so much for me, and will continue to do immeasurably more as I follow Him. I can see no reason to follow anyone else. No other god is worth following.

"But because she is not your god you would call this demonic?"

Not necessarily demonic. I am open to the possibility of there being other supernatural/divine forces beyond Yahweh. I don't claim to understand the supernatural world. Your gods might be demons or some other kind of spirit. I don't think I'll ever find out, but that is something I'd like to ask Yahweh when I meet him. It's always fascinated me.

"And say my soul is bound for damnation?"

All our souls our bound for damnation. My own soul is bound for damnation. When I die, I will have to stand before Yahweh and his judgment. I will never be able to meet His standards on my own. "Foremost among sinners," as the apostle Paul put it (1 Timothy, 1:15). My only hope is the loving grace and mercy of Jesus Christ, the son of God. Because of the redemptive work He did when He died a criminal's death upon a cross, I have been cleansed of my sins. Christ bore the judgment for me so I don't have to. Just like the prodigal son that Jesus spoke of in His parables, Yahweh will welcome me with open arms. The same can happen for you. I promise it isn't too late.

"Why not admit the existence of other gods, and keep to your own if you wish."

Because these other gods don't have the power to save you. They make promises but cannot deliver on any lasting goodness. You can believe whatever you want. I believe Yahweh has given you the free will to do so. However, I am called to spread the good news of Jesus Christ. Keeping to my own isn't an option.

Yahweh truly wants best for you, as do I. And what is best for you is to live in communion with your creator, who loves you and is calling you back to Him. He will leave the rest of the sheep in His flock to come find you (Luke 15:3-7). There is a part of you, no matter how small or how deep it is buried, that yearns to be with Him. Lean into it. Trust me on this, you will not regret it.

"How can your relationship with your god even be safe if you can't leave for another?"

I believe that I have the free will to leave Him. In fact, there have been plenty of times that I haven't been especially close to Yahweh, of my own volition. I screw up. I fall short. I turn away from Him to chase the fleeting pleasures of this world. Prone to wander, Lord I feel it. And every time He welcomes Me back. I pray daily that I might keep my eyes on Him and not fall away.

In fact, even King David, who was described as "A man after God's own heart" (1 Samuel 13:14) made mistakes. He chose his own ways and desires over Yahweh's, usually to disastrous consequences. However, he always returned to worshiping and praising Yahweh, and Yahweh accepted him back. (2 Samuel, Chapters 11 and 12, most notably 12:20)

This is true love. Yes, He will discipline us and let us deal with the consequences of our mistakes, but He will always forgive us and welcome us back. I truly hope that you have experienced an unconditional love like this. If you haven't, I hope you will experience it at some point from the future. In fact, I hope you will experience Yahweh's endless, undeserved, unconditional, overwhelming love. We were created to experience it. There's nothing else like it.

#ask tag

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summahsunlight · 4 months ago

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Perhaps It's Fate, Part 26

Rating: T, to be safe

Word Count: 2,142

Summary: After joining the Resistance as a mechanic, you were happy to keep to yourself, until a little orange and white bb unit and his master wander into your workshop one day.

Pairings: Poe Dameron x Mechanic!Reader

Start from the beginning!

Taglist: @ms-dont-care, @starless-eyes-remain, @elmoakepoke, @marvelobsessiononastick, @kiaralein, @softly-sad, @totalpoedameron, @ordinarymom1, @sevvysaurus, @spider-starry, @liadamerondjarin, @jingyuhearteu, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @paintballkid711, @ren-ni, @lostinwonderland314, @elite4cekalyma,@elisabethbathgate, @imabeautifulbutterfly

I'm back! I know it's been FOREVER. I hope this new chapter is worth it :) Reblogs, comments, etc. are appreciated!

Poe knew he had royally screwed up. He knew the moment you tearfully fled the command center. He knew he should have gone after you, to look for you immediately.

Instead, he stayed. You would come around eventually and seek him out when you ready. Poe could almost bank on this--so he was a bit surprised when he left the extremely long briefing with Leia--you were no where to be found. In fact, no one had seen you for hours. Not even BB-8, who always managed to find you to make sure you were alright.

He needed to find you. He couldn’t leave on the next mission without talking to you--there was a very real chance he wouldn’t come back from this mission and the last thing he wanted was for your last memory of him to be him angry and telling you to leave. But the longer he looked for you, the more Poe was beginning to believe that you had left. Rushing back to the command center he cornered the unsuspecting communications officer and demanded to know if you had boarded the last transport off planet.

“The last transport went to Mon Cal, sir,” the officer reported.

“Was she on it?” Poe growled, desperately.

“I’m not sure, I can pull up the passenger manifest.”

“Then pull it up!”

Fear flashed through the officer’s eyes before he quickly got to work on the commander’s request. Poe anxiously paced behind him. What if you had really gone? What was he going to do? There was no time to chase after you--he needed to leave soon--the Resistance needed to find that way finder so they could end this war once and for all--and there was literally no time to spare.

Briefly he thought about letting Finn and Rey go--she could pilot, he’d seen her skills, but damn it--they were both so green when it came to missions. Perhaps an ounce of military training between them and he was being lenient on Finn’s training with the First Order. He’d been trained to just follow orders, never think for himself...

...the communication’s officer cleared his throat, alerting Poe that he was done with his task. Poe stopped pacing and nervously swallowed. “Well?”

“Her name wasn’t on the manifest, sir.”

“Great. That means she’s still here on base.”

“Not...not necessarily. If she was a last minute passenger...”

“What do you mean by that?”

The officer took a deep breath, winced slightly as he replied, “The crew might not have put her name on the final manifest that they passed off to us because that would have meant having to resubmit all their flight plans again and delayed their departure. It happens all the time, sir. I’m surprised you didn’t know about that.”

Poe felt like he had been punched in the gut. You were gone; with his intense desire to protect you, to give you the life you deserved--he’d pushed you away, probably for good. Before he could even think straight, he asked when he could get clearance to take off. He was going to Mon Cal, he was going after you--the mission, the Resistance be damned.

****

If you were being honest with yourself, you were devastated that Poe didn’t show up to stop you from getting on the transport. Well, it's not like you told him that you were actually leaving, you thought, bitterly, wiping at the tears in your eyes.

Or perhaps he didn't love you as much as you thought he did. Maybe he really did want you to go. Somehow, you managed to beg your way onto the transport to Mon Cal--the last one to leave base that afternoon--despite not being on the original passenger manifest. The crew seemed annoyed by that; apparently they didn't want to add your name and delay departure. You suggested they didn't add your name--you didn't want to be found or followed.

"Fair enough," the captain said with a shrug. "Get on board."

One last glance to see if Poe had emerged from the base; one last little bit of hope dashed when you didn't see him. He doesn't love you, you're such an idiot for ever believing it.

Crying, silently, you found a hidden spot on the transport. No one could watch your fall apart back here, behind a large crate. There had been some questioning eyes when you boarded, however, no one actually said anything to you. For all they knew, you were on a mission for the Resistance--not trying to get away from the man that had broken your heart into a million little pieces.

At least now Poe was free from the burden that you were. He got put all of his attention on the war and the Resistance--he could find someone that could take care of his heart better than you. He could have that peaceful life after the war was over with someone else; he could bring that person home to his father and proudly introduce them--he could parade them around Yavin IV with pride beaming in his brown eyes--he could have the life he deserved.

You had been living a dream with him, a dream that you had to wake up from eventually.

"Sorry folks," a voice said, making you realize someone had been speaking. "We're experiencing some mechanical problems; they're working on it but our departure is going to be delayed."

A low rumble spread throughout the cabin as the passengers grumbled about the delay--you felt a little bit of relief--you weren't entirely sure you wanted to leave the Resistance behind, after all you had made some friends here and you wanted to help. You told yourself that if Finn, Rose or Rey were aware that you thinking of leaving--they would have come to stop you

Familiar beeps echoed across the base and from your hiding spot you were able to glance up and see Poe, rushing to his fighter--rushing off on another mission not rushing to make sure you didn't walk out of his life forever.

****

Poe stormed towards his fighter, BB-8 on his heels. If he hurried he could get to Mon Cal not long after the transport--that would give him enough time to find you and tell you that he was sorry, that he was so in love with you that he was terrified he was going to be the reason you died.

BB-8 was screeching at him and Poe spun about on his heel, ready to shout at the little droid that they were wasting time--until he saw what the droid had been trying to tell him--the transport had not left yet. You weren't gone after all. He could see a team of mechanics working on the ship, the passengers had disembarked and were milling about waiting for the opportunity to reboard and be on their way. His deep brown eyes scanned the crowd looking for you and his heart sank when he didn't see you at first--and then, he caught sight of you, the sunlight catching in your hair...

...Poe took off like a shot, dodging in and out of workers and ships trying to reach you.

As he got closer, he called out your name and when you looked up at him, his heart shattered. He would never get the image of you, eyes swollen from crying, the devastation reflecting back at him--and then the realization that he had been the one to do this to you. Not the First Order, not Kylo Ren or General Hux--but him.

You ducked into the brush behind you and disappeared. Poe clenched his fists as a pair of mechanics, unaware of what was going, stepped in his path, blocking him from following you into the jungle. Gritting his teeth, he lowered his shoulder and pushed his way passed the mechanics and then into the jungle.

He saw you running up ahead on the path. Poe caught up to quickly, gently grabbing your wrist and pulling you back towards him. "Please, sweetheart, please don't go," he begged. "I didn't mean it--I regret that I even put the thought in your head."

Violently, you yanked your hand back, noticing that Poe's hand dropped to his side and that his shoulders sank a little. "Why should I stay? It's been hours since we got back from that mission, hours since you told me to leave--now all of a sudden you regret that?"

"I regretted it immediately," Poe whispered.

"Sure you did," you snapped at him, tears running down your cheeks.

"I did; I should have followed you, I should have told you..."

"But you didn't Poe! Just admit it--you don't love me!"

Poe felt sick to his stomach. Even if he convinced you to stay, would you even want to stay with him? He was about to lose you, he knew it from the bottom of his heart. "Is that what you think? That I don't love you?"

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you sharply nodded your head. "Isn't it obvious? You've been so angry at me--I'm a burden to you--I'm in the way of your work with the Resistance. I'm a nobody, Poe, just... just got back to base and forget about me. It's just better this way."

"Better? You think this is better? Breaking both our hearts like this?"

"You'll find someone else! Someone better!"

"There's that word again! I don't want better! There is no one better! I want you!"

Drawing your arms around yourself, you hugged your shaking body, tightly. Tears freely streamed down your cheeks and you felt him take a step closer to you. "Poe," you pleaded with him, "please, please don't make this harder."

Poe heard his commlink going off; Finn must have been looking for him, but he couldn't leave on that mission--not now--he could not leave the base without making sure you'd be there when he returned. He took another step towards you, making the small space between you even smaller. "I know...I know I haven't...I've been terrible towards you recently. Angry. But it's not you I'm angry at, sweetheart. I hate this whole situation. I hate that I can't give you a safe place to call home, I hate that every time I leave--I might not come back to you. But I have never, ever stopped loving you. Please, sweetheart, you have to believe me when I say that."

You shook your head; why couldn't he just let this go? Why couldn't he see it the way you saw it? It was better this way--even if he now hated that word. "Just go on your mission, Poe. It's more important than me. Just forget me."

"No," he said, softly, firmly.

"No?" you repeated, looking at him through watery eyes.

"I'm not going to just forget about you."

"You should; you'll be able to focus on your mission."

Heavily sighing, Poe closed the last little bit of space between you. His fingers ghosted along your arms before he gently grasped your wrists in his strong hands. "You are my mission, sweetheart. Bringing an end to the First Order, bringing peace to the galaxy--making sure it's safe for you--that's my mission. I have to go on this mission with Finn and Rey--if we don't find a way to stop the reborn Emperor and the Final Order--there will never be peace. Promise me, you'll be here when I get back."

Crying, you buried your face against his shirt and you felt one of his hands let go of your wrist and his arm snake around your waist. You couldn't manage any words, just a simple nod of your head.

Poe pulled back, kissing your forehead. His comm was going off once again and he knew he couldn't delay any longer. "Promise me," he whispered, now kissing your lips softly. His hand holding onto to your wrist let go and his thumb wiped your tears away. "Sweetheart, please."

You sniffled, a few more fresh tears falling. "I...I promise...I'll be here when you get back."

Letting you go, Poe stepped back. His eyes locked with yours as he answered his comm and said he was on his way. Reaching underneath his scarf, he pulled the chain from around his neck. You saw the gold of his mother's wedding ring reflecting the sunlight and then he slipped the chain around your neck. "Keep this safe for me?"

"Shara's ring? I'll...I'll make sure it's safe."

"I love you; I'll say as often as I have too until you believe it. And then I'll keep saying it so you remember it."

Clutching tightly to the ring, you stood there while he kissed you, making another promise to come back to you and reassuring you once again that he did love you. Then he was gone--heading back through the jungle--leaving you standing behind, silently tears running down your cheeks.

Promise me, Poe, that you'll come back.

#my writing #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #perhaps it's fate #an update!#hope it was worth the wait #i know it's been forever

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studyblri · 3 months ago

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🐈‍⬛️༉‧˚｡🎓𖤐₊˖°. a lil update ₊ෆ🍙⋆🫧‹𝟹🎧⋆˚✧˖

⊹ I'm done with my last internship!! which means im no longer a student, but now unemployed :DD

⊹ I went to a wedding for the first time in about 7 or 8 years, i think. it was lively! (I took the middle-left picture there.)

⊹ I (unintentionally) lost weight. Around 7-8 kilos since may. i mean, i needed to lose weight and I still do, but the fact that it happened without dieting makes me happy :)

⊹ I’m visiting Germany in September!! I’m sooo excited because the only time i’ve been abroad was for just 4 days, but this time i’ll be there for almost a month!! i’m trying to stay calm, but i’m seriously so excited!!!

⊹ I need a series to binge!! i officially don’t have school starting tomorrow!! it’s impossible to believe lol. i need some dramas to watch… please suggest some ;)) (i also love true crime docuseries!)

⊹ i still have some things to do, though—like graduation and internship paperwork. It’s just paperwork, but the deadlines are important, and there’s a lot of it. So, I still need to focus and get things done. (boo hoo)

⊹ College is over, but I still need to study for language proficiency and master's exams in November. I'll be updating this blog more frequently from now on!!

⊹ I'm starting therapy this month, and this time I'm determined to go through with it. i know it's a bit ironic, being a psychology grad and being scared of therapy :) But i never knew where to start or how to openly face the challenges. Sharing everything with a stranger also feels uneasy :) I still don't feel fully ready for it, but I've decided to cross that bridge when I come to it. I just need to take that first step,,

TL;DR

I’ve closed a chapter in my life now, and I’m already excited for the next phase—my master’s journey. For this summer, I had so many plans, but I couldn’t find the time for most of them :( Now, I’ll focus on relaxing while also staying productive over the next two months. I don’t want to push myself too hard, though, because I haven’t had a vacation longer than one month since 2020!

╰┈➤‎ ‧ ₊ ˚ ✧ [ ♡٭* 🎧💿༘ ⋆๋࣭ ] ✧ ˚ ₊ ‧

For the past two weeks, I’ve been listening to just this album. Thanks to Google’s algorithm, the moment I started listening, my YouTube recommendations were flooded with analysis videos about Tyler, the Creator and IGOR :) He’s truly an amazing artist, and although I don’t have enough knowledge to praise him thoroughly, I can definitely appreciate how impressive this masterpiece is. You’ve probably heard it before, but I hope you’ll click and listen to it from start to finish again when you see this post!

bye!

#*logs #studyblr #study blog #study motivation #studyspo #life update #studying #inspo #langblog #langblr #schedule #study plan #study schedule #daily schedule #daily stuff #Spotify #*mine

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jjkamochoso · 7 months ago

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The Perfect Fit

Story Overview: Levi Ackerman begrudgingly finds himself falling in love with the Survey Corps’ seamstress. Will they be able to own up to their feelings for each other? Or is their love doomed to fail before they discover the truths of each other’s hearts? This slow burn reader insert story will be filled with angst, yearning, and a bit of mystery as we slowly unravel the truths behind Y/N’s past… and explore her and Levi’s future!

Chapter 9

Series Masterlist

Chapter 8 linked here

Chapter 10 linked here

Levi Ackerman x female reader

Warnings: cussing, blood mention (nothing overly graphic)

When you entered Levi's room to get him clean clothes, you took the time to be by yourself for a moment, trying to collect your racing thoughts. Everything had happened so quickly-- you went from being sound asleep to stitching up Levi's flesh. Not that his injuries were life threatening or something he had never dealt with before, but it still shook you when you remembered that even someone as strong as him isn't invincible. You took in a trembling breath, moving to rest your face in your hands for a second but you stopped before they made contact. You hadn't noticed until now that your hands were covered in Levi's blood. You groaned. Of course they were, he was bleeding like a damn geyser. You didn't want to soil his fresh laundry with your stained skin so you ran to the nearest water basin to begin your cleanup. With your now clean fingers, you began to warm up a big bucketful of water to use to wash off Levi since you knew he hated being dirty but was too injured to do it himself. While the water was heating up over the fire, you ran back to his room to grab some towels and his clothes. When you dropped them off in your room, Levi gave you a quizzical look.

"Why are you running around like this so late? I'm going to my own room so you can get some sleep." He sat up with his feet dangling over the edge of the bed, threatening to get up again and it took everything in you not to shove him back down like you had done minutes prior when the doctor was in there.

"Levi," you sighed, "please relax. I'm warming up some water so I can at least clean off the grime you're covered in. Then I'll help you into your room."

"Tch. You don't think I can clean myself?" As he stood from the bed, he winced and grabbed the side with his injured ribs. You stood there, eyebrows raised as he failed to prove to you he could act independently at the moment.

"By all means, Captain. Go fetch the bucket without gritting your teeth and swearing. If you can do that, I'll believe you don't need help."

If looks could kill, you would've been dead a hundred times over from the glare Levi gave you as he sat once more. "Brat."

You let out a triumphant "humph!" and left to collect the bucket, now heated up. When you came back, you swore you heard Levi release a sigh of relief, and you figured it was because he was ready to lose his mind if he had to sit there covered in blood for any longer. You took up your usual spot next to him on the bed and dunked the first cloth in the water, bringing it to his wounded arm. He moved lightning fast, grabbing the cloth from your grip.

"I can do it myself," he grumbled, eyes fixed on an empty spot of the room, "I'm not an invalid."

You chose your next words carefully as your hand hovered over his own, fearful of scaring him away with your touch. "Levi. You're not an invalid and you're not a burden. You're injured and I want to help you in any way I can. Not because you're not capable, but because I want to make your life a little bit easier in the ways I know how." You drew in a sharp breath as your voice went small. "Please. Let me help you."

For once in his life, Levi wasn't sure what to do. He couldn't stand the thought of you seeing him in such a state of weakness, fearing you would think of him differently than the strong soldier he was supposed to be, but here you were, instead fighting to come to his aid. He knew you were compassionate and caring so it was probably just in your nature to help people you deemed in need of it. Deep in his heart he hoped it was also because you recognized the connection you two shared, whatever it could be categorized as. He relinquished the cloth to your open and waiting palm, laughing internally at the surprised look that came onto your face when you realized he had complied with your pleads. You gently took his arm in your hands and began to cleanse the area around his stitches, not wanting to irritate the skin further.

"Is it alright if I clean the other arm for you? I don't want you to pop the stitches if you do it yourself, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable, either." He had an unreadable look on his face but his eyes held a softness that you were now becoming accustomed to and was a look that you secretly hoped was reserved just for you.

"That's fine," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. You nodded and worked on his other arm, down to his hands, up to where his shoulder met his neck. He was starting to feel less tense as the warm water and your benevolent touch melted away the stresses of the expedition. When you got the go ahead to wash his back, Levi's eyes fluttered closed at the first graze of the cloth. He had never received attention like this. He had never thought he even wanted, desired, craved, something like this before he met you. You were always going out of your way to help him, but it wasn't out of pity. It was like you enjoyed doing things for him in the same way he did for you too. Little did he know, you were thinking of the same sort of thoughts as you wiped away the accumulated sweat from his scar littered back. You didn't know much about his life before the Scouts, no one except Erwin and Hange did, but judging by how faded some of the scars were, he got them decades ago and you concluded he had a rough upbringing. Not that you were surprised, no one is as guarded as he is for no reason. You were just glad he accepted your help and allowed you to see him in such a vulnerable state. You figured you had to mean something to Levi to see him like this, let alone lay your hands on him.

"Okay, back is done. Chest next?"

He nodded as he faced you again. You readied the washcloth with more warm water, trying to balance being gentle with him while being speedy enough to not douse him in cold water if it sat too long. You were extremely gentle, taking great care not to touch his ribs more than necessary. You had gotten over your timidity of seeing him shirtless, knowing that professionalism took priority when you looked at him in this state.

"Done. Legs are next, do you need help taking off your pants?"

Both of you were too exhausted to be embarrassed by the connotations of that sentence. Levi was able to do most of it but you swooped in to finish the job of releasing the pant legs from his ankles so he didn't have to bend over. Thankfully his legs weren't too dirty so it was quick work. You turned around as he changed into fresh underwear and you helped him shimmy into the rarely worn pajamas you found deep in his dresser drawer. You collected his dirty clothes into a pile to clean later and when you went to assist Levi into his own bed, you slapped your hand to your head.

"I totally forgot to wash your face. All that hard work and I forgot to polish up the money maker."

You wore a teasing grin while Levi rolled his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. He found it so attractive that you took great care in your work, no matter what you did. He was about to stop you from raising the wash cloth to his face and suggest he could do it himself, but he decided he wanted to be selfish for once and relish in your loving contact for the limited time he had access to it. You gently dabbed the cloth onto his cheek, careful to not pull at the skin. You felt your heart rate skyrocket as you became acutely aware of just how close his lips were to yours. You felt his steady breath land on your arm as you brought the cloth to his forehead, pushing his hair out of the way, and then to his other cheek. You were getting lost in his blue gray eyes that never left your own. He was staring you down, not in a way that was threatening, but more like he was studying you. You were studying him too, as you had before in other quick glances, but this time felt different. Neither of you were afraid of the other catching you in the act of shameless staring. You both were unabashedly looking at one another, no ounce of shame or uncomfortable energy present. It was strangely familiar the way you observed each other, like you had done this every day of your lives. Come to think of it, ever since you moved to the castle, you and Levi had looked at each other a lot. Your eyes always found solace in his reassuring gaze, no matter the occasion. After a joke of yours that had the dining hall in wheezing laughter, after a sarcastic comment of his that had you fighting for your life so as to not get reprimanded by the higher ups for giggling. Bad news, good news, worse news. Any time anything happened, there was no doubt that you two would lock eyes and share silent understanding. Even now, as you tried your best to clean him up, there was no need for words. You were sharing unspoken thank you's; him to you for taking care of him, you to him for letting you do so. The air seemed to get heavier around you as you inadvertently leaned in toward him the slightest amount. Levi sensed the almost imperceptible movement but he didn't flinch away, even though his body was begging him to break away from your closeness. It was decades of dealing with shitty people in shitty situations that taught him not to trust anybody and that there's more than likely an ulterior motive behind any action someone takes toward him. Still, he found himself no further away from you as his mind reeled, telling him to run away from whatever was happening before you could hurt him.

That was the thing--he wasn't afraid of you hurting him. He had known you a little over half a year but you had proven yourself to be just as valuable to him as his closest companions and shared all of their greatest traits: you were caring like Hange, passionate like Erwin, as headstrong as Isabelle, as focused as Furlan. You were an amalgamation of every person he had ever cared about. They had never done him wrong and he'd be damned if he thought you were any different. The one thing that set you apart from those people, though, was the nature of his bond with you. You had gone from strangers to close friends in no time, which was fine with him, but his attraction to you had been confusing him nonstop since that day he ripped his cape for you. Levi was a total stranger when it came to romance. Having no good role models to show him what romantic love could be like, he grew to fear it. It was just a distraction, a pesky thing like a fly, that could only lead to heartbreak. In a world where death loomed around every corner, Levi felt he couldn't afford to lose any more people. If romantic love was as life altering as people claim it to be, losing a significant other would be world shattering. He put his life on the line many more times than the average person--what kind of boyfriend or husband would he be to subject his girlfriend or wife to the pain of losing her mate? What kind of man would he become if he himself felt the loss of yet another person he would go to the ends of the earth for? As all these thoughts flooded his mind, he still couldn't find it within himself to create a gap between you two. His heart was pounding in his chest and his blood felt like it was on fire as he took the cloth that was still resting on his face from your hand, enjoying the feeling of your skin on his own. He found an unsoiled spot of the same cloth and brought it up to your face, causing you to jump a little at the unexpected contact.

"You got my blood on your face," he said, still not breaking eye contact as he wiped your cheek with a tender brush of the fabric. You smiled airily as you savored this side of Levi rarely seen by anyone. You were sure that in any other lifetime you and Levi would've kissed by now, seeing as you were in such an intimate position, but this universe was far too cruel to allow you to indulge in affection like that. Still, you didn't let that stop you from relishing in the fact that you were here, with Levi, and he seemed to be enjoying himself as much as you were. You knew he would've pulled away in an instant if he didn't want to be so close so you took it as a win. However, you didn't want him to get too overwhelmed from your lovelorn staring so you cast your eyes and chin a bit downward. Levi immediately got your attention again by bringing his free hand to your chin and lifting it delicately so he could see your eyes again. You felt nauseous, but in the best way possible. Did he really just do that? Your heart felt like it was battering against the walls of your chest as Levi kept his eyes trained on you once more. It was like he was trying to use his irises to communicate to you everything he wouldn't dare say out loud. Luckily for him, you understood him perfectly. In a show of your dedication to him, you tilted your forehead forward and he easily comprehended what you were doing, meeting his own forehead to rest on yours. Your noses grazed each other and you had never felt a sense of peace wash over you like it did in that moment.

"I care deeply for you, too," you answered him, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes shined brighter than you had ever seen before and he was ecstatic you accepted the message he found too excruciating to speak. A barely there quirk of the lips was present on Levi, the man beyond relieved that he wasn't the only player in this game of love. You knew it was extremely late and you wanted Levi to rest before the sun came up so you reluctantly pulled away from him.

"Sleep here. I got some rest before you came back so I don't need the bed for tonight. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." Levi went to protest but you shot him the most serious look you could muster. That was enough to quiet him down as he sunk into the bed, exhaustion creeping over him as he finally succumbed to sleep. You truly weren't tired so you kept your hands busy, scrubbing the blood from his clothes and sewing up his ripped shirt. Before you knew it, the sun started shining into your window and you hurriedly pulled the curtains closed so Levi wouldn't wake up. You were still in a bit of shock that he practically confessed his feelings for you, but you were more so pleased that you weren't misconstruing his actions the past few months. You knew nothing would really change in your relationship after this revelation, and you took comfort in that. You guys would be doing the same things you had already been doing, but with the truth of the intent behind the actions known. There were no expectations or societal pressures you had to bow down to, it would just be two people enjoying each others' presence and knowing you had each other's backs, no matter what. You definitely wouldn't be opposed to it if Levi suggested he wanted to try more romantic things one day, but you were a patient person. You'd wait a thousand lifetimes to kiss him if it meant he was by your side, just existing. Even if he never found himself comfortable enough to try something like that, you wouldn't fault him. His unyielding gaze was more than enough reassurance for you. You were brought out of your thoughts by your growling stomach. It must be time for breakfast! You went down to the dining hall and grabbed your food to go. It was pretty empty, which you figured considering most of the Corps just came back a few hours ago. You took a few pieces of fruit and some bread for Levi as well, carrying all of it up in a napkin. You'd make him some fresh tea when he woke. You quietly slid out a chair at the table to eat so you didn't make a mess and stress Levi out with your crumbs everywhere. As you ate, your eyes wandered along the room but they, of course, landed on the black haired man in your bed. His chest rose and lowered with the deep breathing of sleep and his lips were slightly parted. In all honesty he looked pretty beat up and you hoped his recovery would go smoothly. He hated being out of commission and you were eager to take him on your charity trip to the interior. You peeked out of the curtains and saw the sun was now high in the sky, signaling early afternoon. You wrote up a small note to hang on your door to tell people to drop off their torn clothes in a quiet manner outside the door and you'd get started on them in order of first come, first served. With a full tummy and in a dark, warm room, you felt yourself starting to get sleepy. You tried to blink away the tiredness but it was no use as you were yawning nonstop. You hadn't heard any footsteps outside your door meaning work hadn't been dropped off for you yet. You figured a little nap wouldn't hurt so you tried resting your head on the table but you were supremely uncomfortable. Levi had your only pillow and you frowned at your lack of thinking things through. You didn't want the creaking of the door to wake him or else you would've gone to his room for an extra pillow. You figured he wouldn't care if you shared the bed, right? You'd just lay your head near his feet and it'd be like you weren't even there. You stealthily placed the chair at the foot of the bed and laid your head on your outstretched arms. It must've been even comfier than you expected because you fell asleep almost instantly.

Levi immediately woke up when he felt the bed dip slightly but when he saw it was you, he calmed down right away. He couldn't resist wearing a soft grin when he noticed you were out like a light once your head hit the plush mattress. Feeling comforted by your company, he was able to fall back asleep as well, this time dreaming of you.

Chapter 10

Taglist: @blueeclipsepaperstudent

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman x reader fluff #levi fluff #levi angst #levi ackerman x reader angst #captain levi

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missmaywemeetagain · 10 months ago

Text

Broken Glass, Chapter 9 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Eeee! I can't believe it's finally DONE! At nearly a whopping 14k, I truly hope this makes up for me not updating this story since September! 🎉 Many thanks to my darling @ab4eva for finally helping me knock this loose and reminding me I could indeed still write! 💗💋💗

If I'm honest, Broken Glass is one of my favorite stories I've worked on. I know it's quite the slow burn and not nearly as smutty as my other works (...yet), but it really does make my creative heart sing and I'm so in love with these two and their stark vulnerabilities. 🥹

I highly recommend rereading Chapter 8 to refresh your memory, but the TL;DR is we left a jealous, ailing Elvis having just found out Lori's big secret from Sinatra and Sinatra calling Elvis out on feelings he hasn't quite been able to admit to himself until now. 😬

This chapter puts us firmly back in Lori's (rather confused) perspective. Elvis is acting weird, and she is feeling the fear of her past nipping at her heels. She's trying to manage her own emotions and health while chasing after Elvis' moody ass, which is going just as well as you'd expect LOL. And of course we have Welcome Home Elvis with Frank Sinatra! You might want to watch the Elvis portions on the show to fully get in the mood--I hope I did them justice! 🥰

Things will really kick into high gear after this chapter, so this setup is pretty important to what's coming. I really hope you enjoy! You can catch up here using the Broken Glass Masterlist ❤️‍🩹

I can't wait to hear what you think!! 💗

Much Love,

Madi xoxoxoxo 💗💋

TW: references to SA/threats/abuse, Gianni, dissociation, emotional upheaval, nightmares/violence/blood, period-related misogyny, health issues (fainting, constipation, vomiting, etc.), Elvis being an asshole, Elvis being a damn snack, sooties 😏

Broken Glass Chapter 9

March 24th, 1960

Miami, Florida

“Just hang on, Elvis. Come on, open your eyes for me,” you say, patting his sallow cheek, the concrete biting at your knees where you’ve fallen ungracefully to the ground with him.

Your half a cigarette lies smoking and abandoned a foot away—a bad habit you picked up after needing an excuse to get outside after long, stressful shifts at the hospital. You haven’t smoked much since you left New York, not having much need for it when your current job is almost ornamental most days, except in those private, hidden moments away from the bustle of Elvis’ strange life.

But he’d pushed you to that Lucky Strike, what with his aloof behavior since Nashville and then his ridiculous jealousy over Frank Sinatra having the audacity to speak to you and you having the gall to laugh with him.

“You are. You’re jealous. Why? I’m not your girl, so why—”

“The hell you aren’t.”

Galloping in your chest, your heart betrays your tangled feelings about the way he’d acted, the way he’d said those words as if he thought for a moment you really were his girl. And before, how he’d kissed you so passionately…

The memory is interrupted by Elvis’ low groan, his long eyelashes fluttering open to reveal glassy but stormy ocean eyes, thrusting you back into the present emergency. You don’t particularly like the way he’s clutching his midsection or how wheezy and warm he is, but you can’t do much here, especially when people are starting to gather.

He starts, as if coming back into himself, and surprisingly tries to roll up and off you. “I’m fine,” he gasps, shrugging your hand off his shoulder in an uncharacteristic act of defiance.

You might be more annoyed if you weren’t so worried, but your feelings are beside the point right now. Treat him like any other patient, a voice in your head reminds you.

“You are not fine, and we’re going back to the hotel so I can get a look at you,” you whisper firmly in his ear.

He shoots you a petulant look.

“Unless you want to go to the hospital instead?” you throw at him, with a raised brow. That does the trick. His glare softens a bit and his eyes dart away as though he’s been scolded.

It doesn’t take more than a pointed look from you for Lamar and Joe to haul Elvis carefully to his feet. You may only be Elvis’ girlfriend in their eyes, but they do know you are a nurse with some expertise in these situations. And you can’t help but see concern on their faces.

Elvis clutches his midsection again with a gasping wince. The guys lead him to a bench outside the building.

“Joe, tell someone in charge Elvis isn’t feeling well. Lamar, go get the car, please. We’re leaving.”

Your tone leaves no room for questions, but the three men look at you with surprise. In truth, you are a little surprised yourself. Perhaps it’s your lack of outward panic, the calm surety of many a night on the emergency ward.

You can’t say the same for them, seeing the panic brewing in the eyes of Elvis’ friends. Along with that, none of them are used to taking orders from women, and certainly you haven’t shown much vocal backbone in these last few weeks, yet with hardly a pause, Lamar and Joe scurry off, leaving you with Elvis.

He doesn’t speak to you or try to joke his way out of the pain, which is unusual. Instead, he stares blankly at anywhere but you. A sliver of unease winds its way through your stomach, and while you don’t push him, it’s almost involuntary the way your hand falls on top of his.

There is no reaction at first. Is he trying to ignore you? Could he possibly still be mad about the Sinatra thing? Confusion washes over you at the slight, but then his eyes squint in pain and his hand finally grips yours.

You hold back the breath of relief at the response, and before you can spiral too much more into what ifs, Lamar pulls up with the car. With his help, you get Elvis into the backseat.

The drive to the hotel is mostly silent. Joe tries to crack a joke or two from the front seat, but Elvis’ lack of response beyond painful grimaces quiets the short man with the annoying laugh. Elvis continues to shut you out, his hands clasped around his middle now instead of your hand.

It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

He’s just distracted by his pain, you reassure yourself.

You spend the ride pushing away questions about his behavior towards you and try to focus on diagnosis and treatment checklists, going through in your head what you have to do once you two are alone. It grounds you.

Once you all arrive, the boys help him out, but he stubbornly pushes them away once they reach the lobby.

“I can get to the elevator by my damn self!” Elvis grumbles, his eyes darting around the open space with concern. He’s nervous, you think, about being mobbed in this condition. You’ve gleaned enough in the past few weeks to understand he always attracts attention and it’s almost impossible for him to say no to his fans, even when he’s in so much pain he can barely stand upright. You are continually amazed by his generosity and selflessness in this regard. It’s one of the most endearing things about him.

Luckily, the lobby isn’t busy, and you make it to the privacy of the elevator avoiding interruption from outsiders. The humid air in the small space feels stifling and heavy with concern, but no one speaks as the elevator lurches upwards.

The relief is palpable when the doors open to the penthouse, and without ceremony you help deposit Elvis on the king-sized bed in the suite.

“Should we call a doctor?” Joe whispers to you as you try to shut him out of the room. The look in his eyes shows real worry for his friend.

“No,” you snap back, wanting to avoid any doctors not already familiar with the complexity of the situation. Joe is taken aback, so you continue more gently, “Not yet, at least. Let me see what I can do, and I’ll let you know.”

You can’t close the door fast enough, finally able to rush to Elvis’ aid in earnest, grabbing your medical bag out of the closet.

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, preparing the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope.

Elvis doesn’t respond, looking sullen. You can’t tell if it’s stubbornness or pain that’s keeping him this way though. But the dull hurt of your near-constant headache coupled with his strange mood has your temper feeling short.

“You smoke,” he says with distaste, avoiding your question.

“What?” Distracted, you count the seconds of his pulse using your watch.

“Girls of mine don’t smoke. I don’t like it,” he adds with a petulant glare.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Okay, Elvis, I’ll stop smoking,” you placate, “but you need to tell me what’s going on with your body or I cannot help you.” The command is clear.

He looks up at you then, his eyes churning with pain and something else you don’t have time to piece through right now.

“I feel hot an’ short of breath,” he says quietly, almost clinically. “And…” He hesitates, looking down with embarrassment.

You urge him on with a nod as you squeeze the cuff. “And? What’s going on with your belly?”

He clears his throat with a grimace. “It hurts something fierce. It’s, uh, been awhile since…you know.”

You sigh. Logically, you understand how anyone—any man, especially one in his position—might feel embarrassed talking about their bodily functions with a young woman, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating that he hides these issues from you when it’s your job to know.

“How long?” you ask.

“I dunno,” he shrugs, his face going flush.

“Alright, then, lay back,” you sigh, popping a thermometer in his mouth. Thankfully, he obeys without a fuss, and you pull his shirt up. It doesn’t take much gentle prodding on his lower belly to determine the issue. In fact, you can see the distention on his normally lean frame. That coupled with his pained whimpers and wincing makes it clear that his chronic constipation is rearing its ugly head.

For a normal and otherwise heathy person, it might not cause the severity of issues you have to contend with now. But Elvis is neither normal nor healthy. His pressure and temp are too high, his asthma is acting up, either from the pain or exertion of singing, and you know he’s not going to like the solution. But if he wants to stay out of the hospital and out of the press, he’ll just have to deal with it.

Despite your headache and frustration with him for not communicating readily with you about anything he should, be it his feelings or his health, you urge him to the bathroom as gently as possible, gathering the materials needed from your bag. The caretaker in you pushes everything else away as you prepare the solution and guide him through the process of what must be done.

He goes from furious to ashamed to resigned rather quickly. You are a little surprised at how readily he becomes vulnerable to you, considering the circumstances. The treatment momentarily strips away whatever inexplicable ire he was holding onto. It feels so intimate the way you both quiet and with how carefully you tend to him, massaging his belly and rubbing his back as the treatment works its magic. And after the relief comes, you run a bath, washing him gently, watching as his handsome face finally relaxes. Never has a man looked so innocent yet so beautifully dangerous. He leans into your comfort, too, and as clinical as your brain wants to make this whole experience, you are a little frightened by the realization of your heart aching not just with him, but for him.

He falls asleep in the warmth of the tub. You don’t wake him, knowing how sleep comes for him so irregularly and infrequently, but you are loathe to leave him alone when he could easily slip under the water. Elvis Presley will not drown in a tub on your watch.

Or at least this is what you tell yourself as you take a moment to catalogue such peaceful and unencumbered beauty, knowing very few get to see him like this.

Your mind finally wanders then, back to the moment in Nashville you’ve tried desperately not to think about, when he sang directly to you in so intimate a way you thought you’d combust from the inside out with feelings and urges you barely understood. Fire and shivers cascade down your spine all at once at the memory of his eyes, heavy lidded and molten, as he sang to you about just how right it would feel to be in his arms. It was so seductive, so real, it felt like he put a spell on you. There were no secrets between you in that tiny studio—only want and need.

In those few minutes, he wanted everything from you, and you had wanted to give it to him.

That is his wonderful talent, though, isn’t it? you think. To make others believe in the words of a song. Perhaps he believed them too, in the moment. It sure felt like it.

But he became so incredibly distant after Nashville, just when you thought you’d gotten closer. It was confusing and exasperating, like he pulled the rug of logic and sense right out from under you. It hurt more than it should have to be shut out by him. He hadn’t been unkind, per say, just aloof and detached.

You purse your fingers over the bridge of your nose, wishing it would ease the dull throbbing in your head. Lack of sleep and routine has done a number on you these past few weeks, though you know it’s keeping up with the façade of a relationship challenging you the most. You’ve slowly been getting better at playing the part of the doting girlfriend, to be sure, but the switching from fake girlfriend to nursemaid and back again is altogether exhausting.

And no matter how much better you get, you aren’t an actress. You aren’t used to pretending to feel something but not actually feeling it. It’s getting harder and harder to decern if these complicated feelings you are starting to have for Elvis are just part of your new job or if they are…real.

You don’t want them to be. They can’t be. Not only would it be unethical, but it’s perilous to think—to hope—he might see you as more. You’re not the type of girl a man like Elvis Presley falls for. And even if you were, a smart, practical girl like you knows better than to get involved with a womanizer like him.

A smart, practical girl like you knows any man is dangerous.

Speaking of danger, as soon as you’d left the safety of Graceland, you’ve felt the creeping unease Gianni or your father could pop out at any moment to steal you away back to New York. They have to know by now who you are with, and you don’t hold any fantasy of them letting you get on with your life without a fight. No, they’ll come for you at some point, you just don’t know when or how, and the more you’re out in the world, the more exposed you feel. Your hypervigilance has you always on edge, and you make sure to stay by Elvis’ side as much as possible in the hope he and his entourage will protect you.

So, yes, you are exhausted. The litany of masks you’re wearing to stay functional are crushing you with their weight, and it is taking more of a toll on you than you are letting on. Perhaps that is why Elvis’ mercurial attitude towards you feels so barbed and painful because, by some strange twist of fate, he is the only one in this world who knows even a fraction of who you really are.

And with that thought, you try not to berate yourself too much for taking a stolen moment to gawk at the ethereal man, this god-like Apollo, naked and asleep in the tub. You are too tired to fight the searing memory of how he kissed you today in front of Frank, so possessive and visceral as he clutched you to him like he never wanted to let you go. The way his tongue, oh Madone, how his tongue had teased your lips to part and how you’d melted in his arms, unable and unwilling to resist his charms. He held you close and all you had wanted in that moment was to be consumed by him, embarrassingly so.

Maybe that was why you’d reacted fervently to his jealousy. It is whiplash, this pendulum of his attentions (or lack thereof), and it embarrasses you how easily you’d caved to his kiss, and in front of Frank Sinatra of all people. But then when you were alone, Elvis reminded you so clearly with his words that it was all a lie, while his body and actions screamed the opposite.

It all felt like too much, then, when he’d tried to put it on you, as if you were the one playing with his emotions. He is an infuriating, obstinate man, and it’s even more infuriating how everyone in his circle allows him to be so. It certainly isn’t fair he can also be so generous and kind and talented and handsome and vulnerable…God, it would be so much easier if he was always a spoiled brat and you could hate him for it.

But it’s not that easy.

He scares you. Not like your father or Gianni, no. Elvis scares you because he—

“You alright, Little Bird?” he croaks from the bath, eyes slits against the light.

It startles you, and you realize your head has been in your hands in lament as you spiral. You straighten, blinking away your lingering, dangerous thoughts.

“Yeah, yes, I’m fine. Just…tired.” It is not a lie, and you hope his own exhaustion keeps him from questioning you further.

“Well, we best get you to bed then, darlin’,” he groans, sitting up and stretching his long arms over his head. “Hand me that towel?”

“Of course,” you breathe, handing him the fuzzy, white towel, then you quickly turn away. You don’t want to leave because he may be unsteady on his feet, and it’s certainly not as though you haven’t seen him totally bare, but you feel your cheeks heat slightly anyway at his nakedness.

I’m only human.

Towel slung low on his narrow hips, you’re glad to follow him into the bedroom and not the other way around, worried the heat of his gaze might flay you open and reveal everything you are trying to hide from him. You don’t have the energy for masks right now.

It seems neither does he. He is docile and pliant as you help him into his silken pajamas and under the covers. You’ve noticed the pattern of him doing this after his episodes, putting himself completely in your capable hands.

As you head back to the bathroom to change and do your own nightly routine, you wonder if he’s ever been this way with anyone else, or if it’s just a special part of him set aside for you.

Stop thinking like that. I am his nurse and nothing more.

You keep a healthy distance between you and him when you climb into the sheets. It doesn’t take long, however, for your exhaustion to take the reins, and you quickly drift off, trying desperately not to think about the beautiful man—no, my patient—who sleeps so close by.

“Dolo-res, oh, Dolo-res!” The slithering sound of Gianni’s voice sing-songing your name in the dark sends your heart racing and your stomach dropping. His dress shoes click ominously on the wooden floor of your father’s house, slowly, taunting you. It’s as though he knows exactly where you are and is just biding his time. Finding pleasure in your fear.

You try to be as quiet as a mouse, but your breathing grows more ragged with each laborious step. The floor is working against you, like you are trying to run through water.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Sinatra sings, the sound slow and distorted. Frank watches you struggle up the stairs, his head tilting and those famous blues giving you a knowing wink from the hallway beneath you.

“You can’t hide from me, Bella,” Gianni purrs from behind you, his footfalls heavy.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Frank continues the song as though your world isn’t collapsing in on itself, as if you weren’t running for your life. The lyrics feel all too threatening under the circumstances.

Clawing your way to the landing, a sob catches in your throat. He’s too close. You can smell his awful cologne. It makes your head pound and your stomach roll.

If you crawl your way to your room…you could lock the door. You could be safe.

“Aye, aye, aye, Dolores,” Frank croons from below.

Gianni’s hands are frigid when they clamp on your legs and turn you over.

“No, no, no, no!” you whimper.

“Did you get my gift, Bella?” Gianni smirks, feeling his way up your thighs, up under your skirt.

Looking down at your hand, the engagement ring he gave you shines menacingly, weighing your hand down so much you cannot lift it to defend yourself. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

“I was made to serenade Dolores,” the song continues, but it’s no longer Frank’s voice from below. No, it’s deeper, and warm, like velvet. And oh, so familiar.

Elvis.

He’s on the landing behind you as he sings. You crane your neck and see him upside down, towering over you, only a few steps away.

“Elvis, please,” you cry. You aren’t sure if it’s a plea for help or one encouraging him to run. He looks down at you, almost absently, like he sees you but cannot be bothered. Perhaps he does not see you at all.

You aren’t sure what’s worse.

Gianni looks up and growls at Elvis, the whites of his eyes disappearing, turning all the way black. Dark, vicious claws form at the ends of his fingers. He looks like a demonic beast, ready to pounce on his prey.

“I would die to be with my Dolores,” Elvis sings, and you know then it’s over. You close your eyes, not wanting to see Gianni tear Elvis apart just for being near you. You feel the heat of Gianni leap over your prone form, feel Elvis being knocked to the ground with a thud. A roar. Screams. The sounds are sickening and the heat of blood spatters over your face.

“NO!” you sob, uncontrollably. Every breath is tainted with your agony.

It’s all your fault.

Then heavy silence.

Your chest heaves with the speed of your panicked breathing and you sense Gianni crawling back over you. You open your eyes, even though you don’t want to.

“What a break if I could make Dolores mine, oh, mine,” Gianni sings quietly, finishing the song, his face and hands stained crimson with Elvis’ blood. He smiles at you, a terrifying white gash amongst the red.

“Mine.”

Then he digs his claws deep into your belly.

You shudder awake, breathing hard enough to know it is another nightmare that wakes you. The sheen of sweat across your brow, the throbbing at your temples reminds you that you are alive, awake, and when you open your eyes, they meet the darkness of the hotel suite. Your cheeks are damp with tears and your hand flies to your abdomen to make sure Gianni’s claws are not deep inside you.

Much to your shock, there is a hand already there, large and splayed across your belly, but completely unthreatening. No, almost comforting. It knocks away the dream, this hand, as you try to puzzle through why it is there, who it belongs to, and why you aren’t afraid. You hold your breath.

A moment passes. You take stock of the rest of you: the queasiness of your stomach subsiding some, the solid warmth pressed against your back, your legs tucked but feet tangled amongst the sheets and another set of feet.

Elvis.

And you wonder if you are still dreaming because of the way his arms hold you tight. You wait for the panic to come as a result of the embrace, but it never does. Your heart skips then slows, beat by beat as you sink into calm, protected warmth, lulled by his slow breathing against your back.

I’m safe.

Sleep takes you with little fuss.

Your eyes flutter open. The room is dark, thanks to the heavy blackout curtains Elvis requested, but one look at the clock tells you it’s morning and past time to get up. A shiver rolls through you, which is strange despite the arctic levels he keeps any room he sleeps in because he usually a furnace next to you. But your body already knows what your eyes quickly confirm: Elvis is gone. Not in the bed, or the suite, or in the darkened bathroom.

Puzzled, you sit up and flip on the lamp. Your memory is hazy. Blinking, you vaguely remember a nightmare involving Gianni, but blissfully cannot remember specifics. There is something else you are missing, though, something important, just outside the reach of your memory. A comfort maybe? It doesn’t make any sense. Unease settles over you as you rise, your hand falling unconsciously over your abdomen.

Elvis’ absence bothers you, though you can’t put a finger on why. Perhaps it’s just the lingering dreams you can’t quite remember that have you anxious.

Or maybe it’s because in less than a month, your entire life has been upended and changed irrevocably.

Could be that.

After a glance at the time, you rise and hasten to get ready, knowing you are running late. Elvis will need to be at rehearsal soon. The rush is a good distraction from your muddled thoughts.

When you exit into the rest of the suite, ready to go, it’s much, much too quiet. Your skin prickles at the absence of Elvis and the usual boisterousness of the group of men you’ve become used to being around all the time and the relative safety they provide.

Something is wrong, and a tendril of fear of being alone and exposed winds up your spine.

Oh, Madone, something happened to Elvis.

Gianni.

It’s then that Cliff exits the kitchenette with a cup of coffee and you jump, startled, hand flying to your chest as you suck in a breath.

“Oh, hey, Lori,” he says. “You’re finally up.”

“Madre di Dio, you scared me!” you gasp, trying not to let the panic leech into your voice too much. “Where is everyone? Where’s Elvis?”

“Oh, they went ahead to the studio. I stayed back to drive you, if you still want to go.” He says it with pity, like you’re one of Elvis’ paramours that can just be dismissed on a whim, and frankly, he seems a little put out by this assignment.

“He did what?” Red lines your vision quite suddenly, anger washing away the worry you’d felt only a moment ago. Elvis is not supposed to be without you. It’s the reason you’re even here. He knows it.

And he just left you. Alone. Without a word.

Cliff backpedals instantly, sensing your indignation, looking very uncomfortable. “Oh, I…um…I think he just thought you were tired? And wanted to let you sleep?”

“Oh, I bet he did,” you mutter under your breath. Then you grab your purse and beeline for the door. “Let’s go, Cliff.”

He scrambles behind out you, following you to the elevator. At first, he nervously prattles on about the weather, trying to make small talk, but finally gives up once he realizes your piercing glare isn’t going anywhere.

You tell yourself you’re angry because Elvis has put himself in danger by not having you with him, but you are smart enough to know it’s more than that. He’s treated you like any other woman when you are not.

It’s downright disrespectful.

Furthermore, it put you at risk. Without the safety of Elvis’ protective and insular group, you are exposed. Gianni or your father would have no trouble at all disposing of Cliff and dragging you back to New York, before Elvis even knew what happened.

Because you haven’t told him, a small voice reminds you.

It makes you sick to think of. Your pounding headache is back, and you feel a bit carsick with the intense Florida sun beating down as Cliff drives you to the studio.

Your frustration and fear have you out of the car before he has barely parked. Heels click-clacking on the concrete and Cliff struggling to keep up, you show your special pass to the doorman. You hate the way the man examines your pass as though it were fake, giving you a once over. Cliff nods at the man before he finally lets you both through, and you huff at the slight.

This isn’t like you. Before Elvis, you would have meekly stepped to the side and let Cliff lead, content to fade into the woodwork. Happy, even. Maybe Elvis’ hotheadedness is rubbing off on you because the swell of rage you feel is like nothing you’ve felt before.

Fuming, you finally reach the studio and then stop short at what you see, sending Cliff almost running into you.

Elvis looks the picture of health, none of the pain or vulnerability you’d seen last night anywhere to be seen. In fact, he has a pretty girl on either side of him, both tittering and blushing as he smiles his famous quirky smile at them in turn. Flirting.

Your nails dig into your clutch and your body goes rigid. It shouldn’t, but it makes your blood boil with betrayal.

How dare he.

It’s a stupid thought, and one you try to shake off as soon as it comes. He’s not your boyfriend. God knows he’s flirted—and done much more—with other girls around you before, and it didn’t bother you then. Not really.

But maybe it’s because he laid into you so hard yesterday about Sinatra and your supposed flirtation and about keeping up appearances and his damned jealousy, and yet here he is, blatantly disregarding all of it. Because of double standards and whatever other petty reasons he has for acting so strange with you since Nashville.

Your eyes burn into him and with the little sixth sense of his, he notices. His eyes darken and hit yours intentionally, and there’s not even a hint of surprise or regret in them. Just an infuriating quirk of a brow before the girls steal his attention again.

Like he planned this.

You grind your teeth, forcing yourself to take a breath instead of doing something stupid like slapping that smile right off his pretty face. No, you’ve got to be professional about this. You seethe, trying to reel in all these senseless emotions suddenly swirling out of control in your mind.

For whatever reason, he’s trying to get under your skin. Maybe he thinks he’s teaching you a lesson about yesterday. About Frank. About the smoking. Who knows what else.

Well, two can play at that game.

You breathe in, out, in again, forcing your shoulders to relax, forcing yourself back into your clinical mode. God knows between the last few weeks, your upbringing, and your nurse’s training, you’ve learned how to deal with difficult people.

Elvis Presley has severely underestimated you if he thinks you’ll fold over this.

In another highly uncharacteristic move, you school your features into a relaxed smile as you walk towards him and the girls. You know he senses you even though he’s barely looking, but instead of confronting him or slinking into the shadows, you clip right past him and head towards the other famous men in the room.

His eyes are burning holes into your back as Frank and Sammy Davis Jr. notice your approach. You appreciate the fact that the two men smile so warmly at you, and not at all dismissively. It was a gamble, as you easily could’ve been rejected by them, too, but your gamble seems to have paid off.

“And who is this pretty young thing?” Sammy asks charmingly, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. You don’t even have to pretend to blush under the scrutiny of both titans.

“Oh, this is the delightful Miss Dolores,” Frank says, “Elvis’ girl.”

“Ah, I knew that kid had good taste,” Sammy smiles.

“We weren’t sure if you were joining us today,” Frank says, looking not so casually behind you.

Three, two, one, you count silently.

“Oh, well, I—” you start.

“There you are, darlin’! Wanted to let you sleep in after such a long day yesterday,” Elvis says, smoothly sidling in beside you and planting a kiss to your temple.

You hide your smile at your presumption coming true and at the suggestive nature of his comment. A dismissive “Mmhmm,” is all you give him back, though. You don’t even look at him.

“You know, my mother was a huge fan of you both,” you gush instead to the other men in front of you, ignoring Elvis. “She passed years ago, but any time I hear That Old Black Magic or Birth of the Blues, I can’t help but think of her.”

It’s not a lie, nor is the sudden swell of emotion you have at the thought of your mother listening and singing along to those tunes while she made supper. You sniffle and let out a little laugh.

Perhaps you imagine the gentle squeeze at your waist.

“Look at me, getting all flustered,” you say, waving away your tears.

Madone, why am I so emotional today?

“Oh, we’re just honored to be a part of your memories like that, honey,” Sammy says kindly, and you feel Elvis stiffen beside you at the endearment.

“Frank, Elvis, we’re ready for the Love Me Tender/Witchcraftrun-through,” George, the very serious production assistant, interrupts.

Elvis starts directing you away. “Okay, then, baby, why don’t you—”

“Oh, I’d love to hear more about your mother, if you want to share,” Sammy says to you. “Don’t worry, Elvis, she’ll be safe with me.” He winks, reaching for your hand.

“I’m sure she—” Elvis starts.

“Well, how could I refuse the great Sammy Davis Jr.?” you interrupt, a little coyly. Part of you wonders when you became so bold as to flirt so shamelessly with men like this.

You aren’t feeling much like your old self these days.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

Tension ripples off Elvis and you honestly couldn’t have planned it better.

You can tell Elvis doesn’t want to offend Sammy as he hems and haws a bit too long. “Sure, sure, of course. I’ll come find ya after,” he finally gets out, a tad flippantly, and you don’t miss the amusement in Frank’s sparkling blue eyes as he leads Elvis away.

If you thought that would be the end of it, you were sorely mistaken. Your pleasure at winning the battle distracts you momentarily, making you think you’ve taught the man a lesson by giving him a taste of his own medicine.

You were wrong.

Instead, Elvis has doubled down on his nonchalant dismissal of you, barely even acknowledging your presence. Suddenly, there are more girls around than before and all of them seemed more than happy to be on the arm of the all-too-handsome singer, even if only for a moment.

You realize fleetingly he’d been true to his word in keeping the girls away before now because of your perceived relationship. But not anymore.

His message seems clear, even though you still don’t understand the reason behind it: You are easily replaced.

If you were actually his girlfriend, maybe that would be true. For a second, you feel the sting of his rejection as if you were just some poor girl fawning over him.

But the reality is much more complicated. Much worse is the dread pooling in your stomach at the thought of being fired and having to fend for yourself against the wolves nipping at your heels. As much as you don’t trust the Colonel, you don’t imagine he’d cast you aside so easily considering everything you know and the pains it would take to bring another nurse into the fold. And Elvis is smart enough to know it. It is a bit of a salve to the fear churning in your belly.

No, what Elvis is doing seems like some sort of strange tantrum, like he’s hurt and sending you a message the only way he knows how. What it truly could be, you have no idea, but having a slew of younger brothers, you understand that sometimes boys just need to wear themselves out with their nonsense. Doesn’t make it any less frustrating or humiliating for you, but you’ve been through worse than an adult man being immature and unable to communicate his feelings.

You almost wish his health was struggling a bit more because it would force him to engage with you. As it stands, he is the picture of health right now and he is only listening to you out of the necessity of keeping up appearances or when you have the gall to talk to another man.

It stings more than you want it to. More than it should.

It’s easy to blame it on the ever-growing fatigue you can’t seem to shake and on the fact you have less experience dealing with these kinds of relationships than most girls your age. It’s not as if you have a lot to compare it to, or even any girlfriends or relatives you talk to in order to help you try and understand what is wrong with him.

A deep loneliness sinks down over you suddenly, threatening to drown you in the overwhelming realization that you truly have only yourself to keep you steady. The worst part is Elvis is the only one who has any understanding of you at all, and for whatever reason, he is shutting you out. You force back the tears trying to spring to your eyes, swallowing your grief and resignation.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you mope as he entertains the girls the other guys have procured for the evening, you smile and keep up pleasantries for as long as you can before retiring to the bedroom to read. Not that you are able to, as the words keep swimming in your vision and you stay on the same page for much too long. Finally, you close your eyes against the emotional tide and your persistent headache, and it’s not until Elvis comes to bed that you stir again.

You don’t open your eyes, however, though you can feel him looking at you. His gaze burns through you, making your heart race. There’s a long moment of silence before he finally undresses, gets in the bed, and turns out the light.

March 26th, 1960

The studio is vibrating with energy. Not only are the people involved in the show bustling about, but the audience, packed full of young women, is tittering so much that you can feel it in your bones.

Surprisingly, Charlie came out and grabbed you after Elvis’ appearance in the opening. Elvis looked smart in the dress uniform he’d been so glad to be rid of those first days you’d met. While he’d been nicer to you today in general, you are unsure why he wants you backstage after the way he’d shooed you out before the show started. But there are thirty more minutes before his performance, and you are suddenly concerned he’s not doing as well as he made himself out to be.

You make your way back into the dressing room, trying to offset your own nerves. You slept terribly, thinking too much about your future, mulling over every worst-case scenario again and again in your head. But the moment you enter the dressing room, it all goes out the window.

Elvis turns around when the door opens, an absolute vision in a black tuxedo that does everything to show off his long frame. Everything.There’s no helping the sharp intake of breath you try to swallow and the way your feet stick to the floor as you take him in from top to bottom. He is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.

His dark hair is swooped back on the sides, but styled tall and soft in the front, adding the appearance of at least three inches to his height and highlighting his long, chiseled jaw. His artfully applied makeup is subtle and does everything to show off his deep blue bedroom eyes.

Eyes that just happen to be swallowing you whole. A wave of heat washes over your entire body. You feel suspended in time and know you are gawking, but despite having spent over three weeks solid with the man, enduring every quirk and his maddening mood swings, you hadn’t been prepared to see him at his best.

Oh, Madone.

He has you locked down with his gaze, and while every professional bone in your body screams at you to be normal, it’s impossible. Every reason you’d been furious with him for the past week is forgotten in the blink of an eye. It’s as if it is suddenly dawning on you why Elvis Presley is who he is and that you’ve been working for him all this time without really realizing it.

“A-alright, everybody out. I need to talk to my Little Bird alone,” he drawls, but the command is crystal clear, sending all the boys filing out behind you. His nickname for you has never sounded so utterly sinful coming out of his mouth before. Your heart thuds in your chest and you hope to God Elvis cannot hear it or see the flush on your cheeks.

The door clicks shut, and Elvis sighs audibly in what seems like relief, his shoulders sagging a bit, and as he deflates, it breaks whatever strange spell he had on you. He adjusts his cufflinks nervously, then shakes his hands at his sides, bouncing on his toes, like he’s trying to expel the nerves out his limbs.

“Are you okay?” you ask, finally able to speak again.

“O-oh, honey, I-I-I-I’m so damn scared, I feel like my heart’s ‘bout ready to fly right o-o-outta my chest,” he stutters, looking at you as though you can provide him some relief. “S’like I can’t breathe.”

This kicks you into gear, the need to make sure he is healthy enough to perform washing away the awe at the handsome figure he cuts.

“You’re okay, just take off your jacket and sit down,” you guide him gently. He doesn’t fight you at all, but you can see the way he trembles with anxiety. The change in him seems strange to you considering the easy ego he’s been coasting on for weeks.

Maybe he’s been such a jerk because he’s been nervous, you think suddenly. As quick as it comes, you push it back out again, wanting to focus on his care.

You don’t have all your things, but you take his pulse, which is noticeably racing, and his breathing seems fast but not wheezing.

“I-I-I’m not dying, am I? W-w-what i-if I-I go o-out there and p-pass out in front of—” He is stuttering so much, it’s hard to understand what he’s saying, but his fear is clear: he’s terrified he’s going to mess up this critical piece of his comeback in front of the world and some of the greatest performers out there.

“Elvis,” you say gently, grabbing his hands in yours and stilling them. Once his fearful, wide eyes find yours, you continue, “You’re going to be just fine. You aren’t going to die out there, I promise. Now, take a deep breath with me.” You inhale deeply, hold, and then exhale nice and long, then do it again until he’s matching you.

In, out, in, out, again and again.

The breathing has just as much effect on you as it does him. The energy in the room calms substantially, your fears and his dissipating a little more with each breath.

You’re not quite sure how long you sit there with him, his hands dwarfing yours, but when he opens his eyes and meets yours, you can all at once see every iteration of Elvis Presley coexisting in harmony: the playful boy, the charming but humble superstar, the fiery and moody young man. He is both the most human you’ve ever seen him, yet the most ethereal in the same breath. The vulnerability and complexity astound you speechless once again.

“You are magic, Little Bird,” he says softly, eyes tracking over your face. Your heart skips a beat, then two. You’re in freefall for a few seconds before you can tear your eyes away from him enough to regain your wits.

When you look back at him, his face is a handsome mask, giving little away. Perhaps it’s just him preparing to perform, locking some of himself away. But something tells you there is more to it than that.

His thumbs trace up and down, sweeping between your thumbs and pointer fingers in the same rhythm as your breath. Somehow it grounds you while still making you feel a bit dizzy. He says you are magic, but he is the one enchanting you and all at once you want to tell him everything. Every single thing weighing on your mind. All your fears. The feelings you are starting to have for him that terrify you. How you see him. How you’ve deceived him to protect him. To protect yourself. It’s not the right time, it never is, but it’s like he’s drawing it out of you with his caress. You can’t bear for him to go cold on you again, not when he’s your only glimmer of hope.

They say the truth will set you free.

The words start to tumble out of their own accord, “Elvis, I need to tell you—”

A sharp rap at the door interrupts your confession before it even starts, and your heart catches in your throat.

“Places, Mr. Presley!” George yells through the door.

“Thank you!” he yells back. His eyes shine with something hopeful behind them when he turns his attention back to you, almost expectant. “Save that thought, honey.”

It’s all you can do to nod, tamping down on the adrenaline pouring through your veins. He leaps up, releasing your hands, severing the connection you hadn’t realized until right now you needed so much. Pulling his jacket on, he adjusts, and you stop him, craving the sense of intimacy that is slipping through your fingers like a sieve. You step up to him, straightening and smoothing the velvet lapels of his jacket. Your hands linger a moment too long near the button and you look at them, unable to stop the heat on your cheeks or to look up into Elvis’ eyes.

“Wish me luck, baby?” he says playfully, but with an edge of need you force yourself to ignore. He squeezes your hands, encouraging you to raise your head. You school your features into something calmer than what you feel.

“You don’t need it. You’ll be amazing and they’ll love you. They already do,” you say. It comes out much more breathless than you’d like, and you look everywhere but in his eyes.

The air gets heavy, crushing all sensibility, and you can’t help your eyes darting up then. His full lips part the slightest bit, his body leaning forward enough to make your breath catch. Suddenly every one of your nerves is on fire, crawling under your skin, something new and forbidden winding its way into your belly.

He’s only ever kissed you in a performative way, playing to an audience, but this, this is different. The way those sapphire eyes drink you in is much too much. You’re drowning in them, wondering how different it will be if he kisses you and not pretend-girlfriend you. He is so close you can smell the now-familiar, delicious waft of his cologne and feel the heat of his breath on your face.

Oh, Madone, we can’t. The thought stabs through your head with a panic, straightening your spine like a ramrod, and Elvis is nothing if not observant. So expertly does he change course you doubt he had any other intention than to press his open mouth to your cheek. The soft feeling has you sighing, but you aren’t sure if it’s in relief or disappointment.

Not unlike the look on his face.

Stepping back breaks the tension in the air enough for you to recover what is left of your wits. You smooth the front of your dress. “Would you like me in the audience or backstage?” You hope it comes out more professional than you feel.

“Needja out front. Wanna be able to see your pretty face unable to take your eyes off me,” he jokes, oozing charm, but his twitching hands and serious eyes belie his nervousness.

“Oh, we’ll see.” You roll your eyes, playing into what he seems to need in this moment from you, though your heart is still galloping enough that you feel breathless. You barely register opening the door and walking back out to your seat in the audience, feeling the roll of anxiety in your stomach, both for his performance and for what you almost let happen in the dressing room.

Before you can spiral too far into beating yourself up, Frank is up introducing Elvis. The girls in the studio go so wild, they sound possessed, chants of “We want Elvis!” devolving into shrieking. You resist the urge to stick your fingers in your ears to protect your eardrums.

But then Elvis, in all his breathtaking beauty, is ambling downstage, managing to be cool, casual, and charming, but also bashful, like he didn’t expect this reaction. And it’s not a put on.

He didn’t think they’d still love him, you realize.

The way he bites his lip, then runs his tongue over his teeth before erupting into an almost embarrassed grin makes your heart flutter at its sweetness because you know just how scared he is. His skill, however, is that no one else does.

He turns to signal the band and the first bars of Fame and Fortune come in. The man who turns around to sing is someone much different than the bashful boy of just a second ago. The sultry look he throws the audience takes your breath away, but as he waits to come in, he can’t totally hold the pose, that lip of his curling up and his tongue trying to banish it in the name of being serious. The girls scream in response, eating it up, and you can’t say you blame them. He looks up to the sky, perhaps saying a silent prayer, to regain his composure before he opens his mouth to sing.

Now, in the last few weeks, you’ve become well acquainted with his gifted voice, but it is not until this very moment you understand the scope of his talent. The spell that he casts over the room feels nearly as intimate as the one he had with you in the dressing room just minutes ago. The nervousness you know is there is so artfully maneuvered that it opens him to the audience rather than pushing them away. Few other stars would get away with smiling and laughing at the reaction of their audience in the middle of their ballad but when he does it, you feel it down to your toes.

Or maybe it’s the how his voice is like silk in your ears, a contradiction of impressively light but warm and rich. The honeyed timbre winds its way down your spine, right into the core of you. It’s not just in your body but your soul, too. The hair on your arms stands straight up, a visceral reaction proving his effect on you isn’t in your imagination.

A woman could fall in love with that voice alone.

Despite the way you want to fight the hold of his performance and its battle in your mind with the man you’re getting to know, it is quite impossible. You get utterly sucked into the tide of Elvis Presley.

He is stunning.

You can’t help the way your mouth drops open and your palms begin to sweat. There is brilliance in every move and sound he makes, and you’re amazed at his ability to include everyone in the room, from the camera, the band and backup singers, to how those bedroom eyes scan the entirety of the audience in one breath. You feel like you’ve been struck by lightning every time they catch yours.

If you weren’t so dumbstruck, you might chastise yourself for feeling so carried away, but it’s hard not to feel like he’s sharing something important with you right now—an essential part of his soul, this thing he was obviously born to do. It brings tears to your eyes.

As the song winds down, you and the rest of the audience mourn its end. But in the split second he bows his head and bites his lip, you see the utter relief that fills him at the realization that he’s still got it. Then the upbeat lilt of Stuck on You comes in and he’s immediately reinvigorated.

He knows he has you all now, and it’s as if suddenly his body remembers everything that made him a star. Sure, it’s toned down some for his new adult image, but those unique movements are still there. He’s playful and energized in a way you’ve never seen him before. It’s not just in his long limbs (which you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from) but also in his voice. Flirtatious and silly, he wraps you all around his snapping fingers.

The girls are going crazy and rightly so: you find yourself having to bite down on your lip to keep from squealing with them. A bead of sweat runs down your spine and you cross and uncross your legs to try and stave off the total, uncontrolled insanity you are feeling trying to reconcile this Elvis with the one you sleep in the same bed with, the one you care for when he’s so ill he can barely function.

Nothing about this is remotely helping the feelings for him you know are brewing under the surface. It’s like being dragged under by a riptide—you can’t fight it, not now, and you just have to give yourself over to the current.

But one thing is for certain: there is nothing sane about any of this.

You can see even Frank is off kilter because when he comes out for the duet, this cool-as-a-cucumber, wildly talented star in his own right is stumbling over his lines. The man is struggling to maintain his dominance as the host and the elder, more refined performer. Sensing what you think is his competitive edge, you watch Frank rebound for control as best he can, but even he has got to know Elvis is in a class of his own. He’s upstaging Frank without even trying.

Part of you knows you are witnessing history in the making. You can hardly believe it. A month ago, you were living an entirely different life. You certainly didn’t care much for Elvis in the beginning, and now you want nothing more than to stay in his orbit. It’s strange to feel so starstruck around him.

The whole thing is madness.

You are still buzzing and a bit dazed when Charlie pulls you backstage. The prideful, overly logical part of your brain wants you to calm yourself before you see Elvis, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a big head around you, but the giddy girl in you doesn’t care. That silly little girl eats up the grin spreading across Elvis’ face and falls straight into his open arms. He hugs you tight, like he means it. It feels real and not for the benefit of all those around you thinking you’re the adoring girlfriend congratulating him on his triumph. The way he squeezes you and presses his lips to your temple feels special and just for you.

“What didja think, Little Bird?” he whispers in your ear.

“Oh, well, the guys did great, and Nancy was lovely,” you hear yourself teasing.

The playful, possessive little growl he makes and the way his fingers press into your ribcage has you fighting unsuccessfully to suppress the shudder of excitement running through you. You curl your toes in your heels trying to absorb the heady feeling it leaves you with to get yourself right enough to speak again.

“Well, I’m a bit loathe to admit it, but you were wonderful,” you finally say, looking up at him and placing your hand on his chest. His heart thumps wildly under your palm and under any other circumstance you might be concerned, but you let it be. This is his moment.

“Better than Ricky Nelson?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“Hmm, marginally,” you tut, trying to keep a straight face.

“’Marginally’, huh? I’ll show you marginal!” he laughs. And then he buries his head in your neck, his hot breath and soft lips pebbling your skin and setting your body aflame. You don’t recognize the gasping giggles erupting from you like a schoolgirl.

It’s all for show it’s all for show it’s all for show…a voice in your head viciously reminds you.

“Okay, okay!” you laugh breathlessly, trying to still his ministrations. “I will concede that you, Elvis Presley, are a very talented man.”

“Oooh, am I now?” He wiggles his brows suggestively, sending another wash of heat over your body.

Your mouth pops open, but before you can think to respond, someone cuts in. “Hey, Presley, quit making googly eyes at your girl and get over here!”

Elvis responds by doing the silly little thing he does with his eyes that makes all the girls scream and you can’t help but laugh.

The moment he walks away, taking his warm essence with him, you find yourself deflate a little. It sobers you quickly and the letdown of the entire experience has you unexpectedly emotional. Without his warmth and light, you feel cold and unprotected and alone.

Sneaking away to the restroom, you lock yourself in with shaking hands. Oh, God, what is wrong with me? you think as the tears well and then escape in rivulets down your cheeks. You swipe at them, fighting what you fear is happening but cannot quite admit to yourself.

You refuse to be like every other woman, falling over your own feet for Elvis. Desperate for any sliver of attention, living for his small touches and knowing gazes. Blinded by his talent and fame.

You are not that girl. Breathing in and out, trying to calm yourself, you remember he is just a flesh-and-blood man, and you cannot give another man the power to hurt you again. He is your employer, your patient, and nothing more.

Liar.

Pushing those treacherous thoughts away, you switch tacks. You need to protect him from the storm you know is coming but your survival instincts are doing everything possible to keep you safe, and Elvis might be the only person who can do that. Telling him about Gianni and your background risks his rejection. Your heart aches at the idea of him letting you go, and not just because of your safety. There’s no way you can tell him the truth about you now, not when he’s flying so high, not when for the first time in weeks you finally feel connected with him again.

Maybe too connected.

No, you’ll just have to wait until the right time. You can’t spoil this for him. Talk of Gianni and your father would destroy this goodness, and you can’t let them destroy anything else.

Forcing yourself to put it on the back burner, you paste on a smile and play the devoted girlfriend for the rest of the evening. Every little touch is like tinder catching flame under your skin—his hand around your waist, thumb grazing so near your breast, his fingers interlocking with yours—and the sparkle in his eyes makes your heart dance against your ribcage. It’s easy to believe he truly cares and that he’s yours.

He's a better actor than they give him credit for.

For once, you let yourself lean into it, pretending he wants you. You are swept up into his joy and relief and affection. It’s an addictive and glorious drug. By the time you both stumble exhausted into the bedroom of the suite, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Your body hums a little from the glass of champagne you allowed yourself, mind buzzing with the excitement of the day and from your proximity to the man of the hour. Elvis seems to be much in the same boat, riding high and energized as he takes off his jacket, throwing it over the chair in the corner. The tiny tie was lost long ago when he unbuttoned his top buttons at the studio and sweat glistens in the divot between his collarbones as he begins rolling up his sleeves. You were unaware until this very moment how attractive forearms could be.

Suddenly your mouth feels very dry. You lick your lips, watching his every movement.

Elvis looks up quickly, catching your undivided attention, and his lip quirks in a slow smirk that is both sinful and self-conscious. His eyes flash with a heat that makes your toes curl into the soles your shoes and your pulse flutter wildly.

Oh, no. No. I will not get flustered by Elvis.

Cheeks heating, you look away and focus every ounce of attention you have on undoing the straps on your heels.

Elvis starts to hum a song you don’t immediately recognize, the sound vibrating and warm and sultry. Like a siren’s song, it threatens to hypnotize you. It distracts you enough that you fumble with the stubborn clasp on your heel, unable to wrench the leather free of the buckle. You let out a huff.

“Here. Lemme help, baby,” he says, more a soft command than an offer, the sound wrapping around you like velvet. He kneels before you, placing your foot on his knee, his long, nimble fingers working the strap free. If you hadn’t already been holding your breath, the way he gently massages the crease the strap left on your ankle through your stockings might have caused you to gasp.

“How’d I never notice these pretty lil’ sooties?” he coos, rubbing his thumb into the sore arch of your foot.

You bite back the moan threatening to slip free due to the sensation, but it escapes anyway, as a tiny whimper instead. Perhaps you imagine the way the apples of his cheeks go pink at the sound. Either way, you feel like you are about to come apart at the seams.

He makes slow work of massaging your foot and then placing it back down. You suck in a breath, just as he grabs the other and repeats the action of freeing then massaging it.

“Elvis,” you gasp much too breathlessly. You want to melt into the sensation, but the rest of your body feels like it’s on fire, a molten pit growing in your belly that you can’t seem to stop. You should push him away, you know you should, because this is too much, too intimate, but you can’t seem to will yourself to do so.

“Hmm?” he replies innocently, as if he truly has no idea what he has reduced you to. His hand squeezes down your foot until he reaches your toes. “Oh, honey, why ain’t these perfect lil’ piggies painted?” he asks, near scandalized.

The question throws you. “I…I’ve never seen the need,” you stutter out. “It’s not as though anyone would see them and being on my feet all day in the ward would just ruin them…”

His brows furrow. “Not even with your girlfriends? Or for a day at the beach?” he asks, genuinely confused as to why a young lady would never paint her toenails.

Your heart aches acutely all the sudden. The words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them: “I didn’t have many friends like that. Or time to spend with them. I was busy raising my brothers and then I left for nursing school….”

“Oh.” He says it so softly and full of compassion you nearly want to cry. Then, his demeanor shifts. “Well, all that changes now, Little Bird.” He gives your feet one last pat and then smoothly lifts himself off his knees, going towards the door.

“What?” you ask, confused. This man has your head spinning.

He flings the door open. “Hey, Charlie! Charlie!” he yells into the penthouse.

“Yeah?” you hear Charlie call back.

“I need you to get some nail polish. Pink is best, but red’ll do.”

You hear a long pause, then a shuffle. “Ummm, where am I gonna find polish in the middle of the night, EP?”

Elvis sighs. “Use yer brain, buddy. You tellin’ me none of those girls out there has any polish on ‘em? I have faith you can figure it out.” Then he shuts the door with a grin.

Dumbfounded, you gape at him. “You can’t be serious, Elvis. It’s late and we need to get some rest…I don’t particularly want to paint my toenails right now. And truth be told, I’m not very good at it,” you say, feeling panicked by the whole idea. The idea of him watching you trying and failing to paint your toes makes you squirm.

He just grins. “Good thing I ain’t tired, then, baby! You can relax and I’ll take care of it. Go get in your jammies.”

Your brain feels broken. He can’t possibly be suggesting what you think he is. Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

“Close that purty mouth—you look like a big ol’ guppy over ‘dere,” he laughs, his accent seeming stronger than usual. “Now, go on—get ready for bed,” he orders, pulling you off the bed.

“Elvis—”

“Nope, don’ wanna hear it, honey! Go!”

Which is how you find yourself in the bathroom, changing into the modest but silky, white, button up pajamas Elvis bought for you on your shopping spree a few weeks ago and doing your nightly routine with a flock of very baffled butterflies in your stomach. You are also a little afraid for the state of your toes by the time this is all said and done.

And yet, Elvis manages to surprise you again, not only with the fact that Charlie was indeed able to get his hands on pearly pink nail polish at this hour, but with his ability to paint nails. It’s more than adorable the way he concentrates on getting it right, tongue caught between his teeth, even sticking cotton between your toes to keep them apart. Usually, you would hate having someone touch your feet, but he’s so gentle about it and you are so distracted by how unbelievable the situation is and how a dark lock of hair falls imperfectly over his forehead as he bends over your toes that you can’t bring yourself to tell him no.

As always, time seems to warp with him, and it’s so late it’s early. You find yourself yawning, wiggling your freshly pink toenails in a state of strangely pleased disbelief.

“You like ‘em, Little Bird?” he asks, eyes shining with an unexpected need of approval.

“Yes, they are lovely. If this singing thing doesn’t work out, you could open a salon. The girls would go crazy,” you joke.

He bows his head with a bashful smile, then looks up at you through those long lashes and you feel like the bed has dropped out from under you.

“Naw, this is only for the special lil’ nurses who hafta put up with me every day. No one else.” His eyes twinkle, lighting your body with electricity.

Why does he have to be so charming?

Part of you wants to scream at him to stop being so nice to you. If he knew what trouble you were, what you’ve brought to his doorstep, he’d never be looking at you like this or treating you with such care.

No one since your mother has treated you with such care.

Tears threaten to spring to your eyes, and you push your feelings as far away as you can, as fast as you can.

“Speaking of,” you say, clearing your throat, “I should take your vitals before you sleep.”

Elvis looks confused and maybe a little hurt at your abrupt subject change but recovers quickly enough. “Aww, come on, Little Bird, not tonight. I feel fine, I swear it.”

But you need your armor, and your job gives you that. It gives you space from these stupidly complicated feelings you are having. “Grab my bag and we can prove it.”

Elvis sighs, but does what you say, quiet as you take his temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. When you finish, surprise fills you.

Elvis looks concerned. “What is it? Everythin’ okay? I’m tired, sure, but I feel—”

“No, I know,” you interrupt, “your numbers are good. Apparently a wildly successful comeback performance coupled with giving a late-night pedicure was just the right medicine.” You can’t help but smile at him.

He looks at you wide eyed, then gives you a blinding smile. “Or maybe you’re just that good for me, darlin’.”

Your heart flips in your chest, beating in your throat, but you refuse to let it show on your face. “Sure, mister. Quit your flirting and get in the bed,” you say firmly, only realizing your mistake when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“To sleep! Go to sleep, Elvis!” you say, rolling your eyes. You cover the blush on your face by turning over to flip off the lamp on your nightstand.

His hiccupping laugh makes you smile in the dark when he slides into the bed next to you. You are acutely aware of the heat of him, and though he doesn’t touch you, you can’t help but sense that he wants to as his chuckles die down to silence.

After a pregnant pause, he speaks again, quiet but direct.

“Was there something you wanted to tell me, honey? From earlier when we got interrupted?”

Your heart trips, then races with both surprise and fear. Thank God he can’t see your face because you are battling the onslaught of thoughts spiraling in your mind.

He won’t understand. He’ll kick you out on the street.

No, don’t keep lying to him. He deserves the truth.

Not now, later.

Protect him, protect him, protect him…

It’s the vision of Gianni ripping out Elvis’ throat that makes the decision for you.

“No, it was nothing,” you whisper shakily, clutching the sheets in your hands.

“Oh,” he says, almost blankly, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he sounded upset.

But that wouldn’t make sense.

“Goodnight, Elvis,” you say quietly.

“Goodnight, Lori.”

Your stomach drops at how he uses your actual name, all the warmth from earlier gone from his voice. As tired as you are, shame and regret churn in your stomach—a stew of nausea that won’t seem to abate, even after you eventually drift off to sleep.

Three more days you spend in Florida, each one bringing even more maddening behavior from Elvis. Somehow, when you weren’t looking, a switch flipped yet again. He’s rapidly vacillating between moody and sullen to downright cold and cutting.

He keeps you close, to be sure, while going water skiing and taking long drives and cavorting with his friends, but the sweet, compassionate closeness from the night of filming the special is nowhere to be found. You feel like an accessory he strapped to his wrist, desperately trying to make sure he doesn’t run himself ragged with all the “fun” he is having. He doesn’t even attempt to hide the flirting and the inappropriate jokes and jabs not fit for mixed company. No, he does it with you at his side, like he’s trying to make a point.

Even the Colonel is distressed, confronting Elvis about spending too much and making the return trip to Memphis one by bus instead of train as some sort of power move to wrangle the star. Elvis just laughs it off, and in what seems to be true Elvis fashion, he seems to spend more rather than less just to stick it to the Colonel. All of it put together reminds you of the adolescent behavior of your younger brothers.

It’s exhausting, running after this moody man-child who acts like you hung the moon one minute and in the next ignores you. You remind him until you are blue in the face that he must rest and have some semblance of a normal routine when he can, instead of running himself into the ground by overindulging in nearly every sense of the word. The man seems to have no concept of the word “moderation” and as annoyed as you are, you are more worried this will lead to another, more serious episode.

It's easy to blame him for the near-constant headaches and exhaustion ailing you. Having to pretend to go along with his antics as his girlfriend while also having to babysit him as his nurse is continuing to run you ragged. Not to mention the emotional upheaval of trying to piece out your own feelings for him and manage your lingering fear about Gianni at the same time.

The worst, however, is the lack of playfulness Elvis had with you coupled with the brooding silence he shoves between you in your very few moments alone. Nothing reminds you more you are just his nurse. The rest, whatever it was, seems a folly concocted by your addled imagination.

You can’t shake the feeling of being punished for some unknown offense. Maybe it is just your guilt brewing under the surface, trying to make sense of this man. It’s hard to break the habit of feeling like no matter what you do and how good you are at your job, you are somehow still a burden to the men in your life.

But it isn’t just that. Every stunning smile or touch he gives another woman fees barbed and has your blood boiling, even though it shouldn’t. Every sly remark about being “tied down” he makes to the guys makes your skin crawl. Worse yet, he starts poking fun at you any chance he gets, edging more into mean spirited with each jab, and even his friends shoot you apologetic looks by the end of the trip.

And yet another full day with them all, coupled with Elvis’ ire, all the stupid jokes, and the rampant gas that all the men seem to have, this time trapped on a smelly chartered bus, has you feeling claustrophobic and ready to throw yourself out the window. It’s unusual for you to feel so bothered by such things—you grew up in a houseful of men after all. You learned early on to keep your feelings to yourself, especially to keep off your father’s radar. Patience for rowdy men has historically been one of your greatest virtues, but Elvis has you digging your nails into your knees and biting your tongue more than once as the bus slowly ambles towards Memphis.

He's just an unruly patient—don’t take it personally, you chant to yourself all the way home. You try, you do, but your stomach ties in more knots with each passing mile and with the memory of feeling cared for by him contradicting everything he’s lobbing at you.

By the time you arrive back at Graceland, you are ruing all your life decisions. Despite reminding yourself of how, logically, you are safer and more secure here than you’ve ever been in your life, you’ve reached your limit of patience with Elvis and his entourage for the day. Maybe the week. Or the month.

Oh, Madone, how am I supposed to do this for the unforeseen future if I can’t make it a month with this man?

At least here you can safely put some space between you. You fly off the bus as soon as the door opens.

“Hey! Hey, where do you think you’re goin’?” he yells from behind you.

Why do you care? is what you want to say, but you swallow the urge instead.

You keep walking down the driveway, away from the house, pretending you don’t hear him. Nothing good can come from you answering him right now, not when you are feeling so on edge. Besides that, it’s hard to think with the throbbing behind your eyes and the slight carsickness rolling in your stomach from being on the bus all day.

“Lori, stop! Goddammit, Dolores, where. Are. You. Goin’?” he shouts, punctuating each word, your name rolling off his tongue like an admonishment. You stop in your tracks. It infuriates you he deems to use your given name like you’re the one who has done something wrong, like it’s your behavior that’s been so poor.

“Away from you!” you shout back at him, unable to keep your frustration locked in any longer.

Your heart sinks, immediately knowing you’ve overstepped but annoyed enough not to quit while you’re ahead. You start walking again, hurrying away as if you can still escape this whole situation.

The chorus of men chuckling and “oooh”ing at Elvis as they amble off the bus does not help matters.

“What the hell did you just say?” he growls low, his large strides hard on the pavement as they try to catch up with your smaller ones. “Hey, don’t walk away from me when I’m talkin’ to ya!”

“Leave me alone, Elvis! It’s obvious you’ve wanted me out of your hair for weeks, so go! Do whatever it is you need to do to get whatever this is out of your system,” you snap, still stomping forward, pulling your coat tight around your middle as you try to reacclimate to the early spring chill in the air. “Go…get laid or something,” you mutter, surprised at your own crassness.

“Hey! Stop bein’ such a b-bitch and stop walkin’ away from me!” he roars, grabbing your upper arm to pull you around.

You gasp as his rough touch lances through you, sending a lightning bolt of fear down to your toes. “Get your hands off me!” you hiss, violently yanking away from his grasp. Your heart knocks unpleasantly in your chest, faster and faster as your breath heaves. Part of you wants to run away as fast as you can, but you are frozen in place.

He’s not Gianni, a soft voice whispers. He won’t hurt you.

You want to believe it, you really do, but the fact is you barely know this man. You’ve wanted to believe so badly he is warm and caring, you’ve wanted to trust him because there is no one else you can, but your hopes don’t make it true.

Seeing your distress, something besides anger flashes in Elvis’ eyes and he quickly drops his arm from you.

All your pent-up fury washes over you then and you lash out uncharacteristically. “And don’t you dare call me a bitch when you’ve been acting the way you have,” you spit back at him.

He shutters his look of shock at your outburst so quickly you barely see it before flames darken his eyes again. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You’re just crazy.” It’s cutting but it’s obvious you struck a nerve.

Blood rushes in your ears, your heart pounding and your head throbbing with a hundred emotions threatening to tear you apart.

You’ve never felt so bold or off the rails before, but the words fly out of you with little thought of the consequences as you point your finger at him. “Listen to me, Elvis Presley: I’m not Anita or one of your sycophantic girlfriends you can play your silly little hot-and-cold mind games with. I’m not crazy. I’m here to do a job. And instead of letting me, you are making it hard every step of the way. For days you’ve been sulking around like a child who hasn’t gotten his way instead of communicating like an adult what is wrong!”

Elvis’ eyes go wide as he reels back like you’ve slapped him in the face. Then his brow furrows, eyes blazing before locking you out once more.

“Oh, you’d know all about mind games, wouldn’t ya, honey?” he says coldly, advancing on you. “Why communicate w-w-when y-you can just pretend it’s not happenin’ and run away? I’m sure your fee-an-cè and his mafia buddies would have a lot to say about that, now, huh?”

Your heart screeches to a stop.

Dio mio…he knows.

“Elvis…” you breathe out, and then you can’t seem to breathe in again. Your shock is eclipsed by the fact somehow Elvis knows your secret. Everything else is forgotten. All your panicked mind can think of is how Gianni or your father somehow got to Elvis and they must be here, now, to take you back to New York.

An involuntary shudder overtakes you as you whisper, “How?”

“Oh, your good friend Sinatra told me the w-w-whole damn East Coast of mobsters is pissed o-off. Called you some mafia princess Helen of Troy and told me to cut you loose, if I-I-I knew w-what w-was good for me,” Elvis barrels on, his handsome face dark and storming with anger.

“What?” It’s so breathless, you aren’t sure you said it aloud. Frank knew? Of course.

Oh, God, everyone knows.

They are coming for me.

The acid in your stomach bubbles, and if it weren’t empty, the contents would be spilled over Elvis’ expensive shoes.

“I-It w-was humiliatin’, not knowin’ what the hell he was talkin’ about! But you wanna know the worst of it, Lori? That I gave you every chance to tell me and you still didn’t. You lied. I thought…” Elvis keeps speaking, his low voice angry and hurt, but suddenly it sounds like he’s in a wind tunnel. All your focus turns inward, though you are vaguely aware that you are shaking like a leaf.

Elvis is going to send me back.

And he has every right. He’s got to protect himself. You were selfish and brought this to his doorstep and didn’t even have the courtesy to warn him. Then he had to go and hear it from Frank of all people.

It was no wonder he’s been acting so strange.

He’s been preparing to let me go.

Your chest constricts and your heart aches. It feels like betrayal, though you know it’s not. You are the one who betrayed him, not the other way around. You’d thought maybe Elvis was different, he’d shown you such compassion at your worst moments, but that was before he knew what you’d dragged him into. And you are a horrible for doing it. Maybe you deserve the hell you know Gianni will put you through.

There is no stopping the tears from pouring down your cheeks.

“I-I’m so, so sorry,” you sob, now a hiccupping, shivering mess.

Gianni’s obsidian eyes and horrific smile when he sees you again flash in your mind. “Hello, Bella…”

Oh, Madone, I can’t go back, I can’t. He’ll kill me. Or worse…

The air in your lungs seems to evaporate, leaving you gasping and dizzy. That weightless space, the one you go to when you can’t bear to feel anymore, awaits you, but you can’t seem to reach it because Elvis is grabbing your shoulders, the anger gone from his eyes and replaced with concern. But he is tethering you to reality when all you want to do is disappear. And you can’t help but feel like you’ve damned him.

Your stomach churns once more and you lose the battle, heaving bile off to the side and onto the pavement. It steals what little strength and air you have left, and the edges of your vision bleed black, like the shadow of Gianni is finally here to take you away.

I’m sorry, is the only thought left when your knees buckle and your body crumbles into Elvis’ arms.

Then there is just dark, blissful silence.

Thank you for reading and supporting my work!! As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated if you enjoyed what you read! 💗

Taglist Pt 1

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@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

#broken glass #broken glass ch 9 #elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis fanfic #elvis fanfiction #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis smut #elvis x oc #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x dolores #elvis presley x oc #elvis 1960 #frank sinatra #italian mafia #1960

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