#world war II au

[d-caryophyllus]

BENEDICT BRIDGERTON WWII AU MOODBOARD Inspired by @fayes-fics When The World Is Free

I have no words to express how much I adored this story so I made a moodboard! Hopefully this can convey all my love for this fic ♥️

[indigosunsetao3]

World War II AU

TW: Blood, medical procedures, medical inaccuracy

I literally dreamt of this scenario last night.

John Price is dragged into the medical tent by his team. Unconscious, bloody, and bleeding out as Gaz scrambles to tighten the belt on his arm to stem the flow. Beds are full with other injured soldiers who are screaming and groaning in pain. There’s nowhere to put Price as Soap runs ahead looking for a space.

Then you come around a partition. Frazzled, hair half undone from its nice bun and blood smeared all over your uniform. You see the injured man and zero in on him before scrambling for a folding table. He’s too big for it but it’ll have to do.

You set it up with a grunt and it seems the men have figured out what you’re doing without saying a word. People bustle by in the chaos, no one even batting an eye as Price is heaved up on the table that bows under his weight.

“Get his things off,” you order as you look for gauze. “Everything,” you tack on as you pat yourself down for scissors and hand them to Ghost. “How’d it happen?”

They give you a quick recap, it’s the same story as all the other men that had poured in that morning. Ambush, bombs, flyover planes. Doesn’t matter really, but asking for information is so ingrained you do it without thinking.

No gauze. The medical supplies had been depleted before this mass casualty. Shit. His blood is dripping down his arm already puddling on the floor.

“Rip these,” you snap as you grab the curtain of a partition and pull it off in one go, the rings popping and flying. “Long strips,” you shove them at Soap who follows instructions. Handing you long strips that you turn into a tourniquet.

“When I say tighten you tighten,” you instruct Gaz as you set up the knot and twist a discarded pen into it. “I’ve got to pinch it off,” you mutter and before any of the men can react you plunge your fingers into the large wound on Price’s arm and dig.

You don’t have time to flinch, to think, as you probe. The unconscious man groans the only sign of alertness from him this whole time. It’s hot and slick as you feel but you find it and catch it before it retracts further to where a tourniquet would do nothing.

“Now!” You shout and despite his shaking hands Gaz twists. He continues to tighten as you hold tight feeling the pressure start to drop as blood flow is cut off. “Keep going,” you tell him, watching as the cloth bites into John’s arm and visibly dents his bicep. He’ll have to have surgery as soon as possible if he were going to keep the limb.

“Blood type?” You ask as you slide your fingers out and absently wipe them on your shirt.

“Mine,” Soap answers as he moves to pull off his vest.

“I’ll need all you can give,” you answer as he follows you without instruction deeper into the tent.

“Bleed me dry,” Soap answers as you tug out a wooden desk chair for him to sit on.

“Careful what you wish for,” you answer as you search for tubing and collection items. You aren’t gentle as you jab him, you feel him flinch as you dig to find the vein but he doesn’t say a word. “Stay here I’ll be back.”

John is still unconscious but he’s been relieved of all his clothes, a towel for modesty across his hips. He’s covered in bruises, cuts, and old wounds but nothing major. You feel along his body for any breaks but find none and no signs of internal bleeding.

“Doctor will be by shortly,” you state wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. “He’ll need surgery soon.”

“What can we do?” Ghost asks as he shucks the cut-off clothes under the folding table right into the pool of blood.

“For him? Nothing now,” you say. “But you can help me. We need to make more room,” your eyes dart to the entrance of the medical tent as another truck pulls up with more injured.

And they do. They help you shift down beds, rip more sheets for bandaging, and move soldiers around the tent. Soap is dead on his feet from the amount of blood you took but he continues to assist in the chaos until it’s finally quiet.

Hours later as you sit on an empty crate half dazed John is wheeled back into the tent. He’s still out from surgery but it was a success. He’ll keep his life and arm. And despite the exhaustion, you get up to tend to him. He’s your patient and you’re going to see him through.

“I’m fine,” you mutter as you clean an area out for his wheeled bed.

“You’re not,” Gaz answers just as tired as he helps.

“You all need to rest not me,” you insist as you prop up John’s head before a hand gently grabs your wrist. Soap is staring at you pale as death but determined, nodding his head toward the exit for you to leave and rest.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. I wasn’t brought over here for nothing,” you mutter but as a chair is dragged over you collapse into it. You can monitor John from a chair surely. He’s asleep after all and will be for a while yet.

When you wake up sometime later John is up staring at you, his men scattered in close vicinity. Gaz leaned up against your chair on the floor, Soap sitting knocked back against a tent wall and Ghost standing at the head of the bed filling John in on what happened.

“Good to see you awake,” you answer with a tired grin.

[onetouchparadise]

Who for a Brocedes WW2 AU?

[freudianslumber]

TIGER MAN Master List

It took longer, but here is the master list and completed work for my second Elvis fanfiction.  Comparing with “Today, Tomorrow and Forever”, this story is more plot heavy and involves more original characters, some of them are foreign and with their own back stories.  Since the storyline is set in a historical background, writing also took more care and research, e.g., multiple times I had to look up if something actually existed back in the early 1940’s.  In addition, all the Elvis songs mentioned needed to be from way back then.  Considering these challenges, I’m overall pleased with the final product. Specifically, I think I’ve made some headway in terms of depicting the psychological evolution and emotional conflicts of my characters.

If anyone is reading this, enjoy and Merry Christmas!

Note: Once again, both original version in English and Chinese translation of this work are available on AO3.

Summary: The year was 1941, bandmates and secret lovers Scotty Moore and Elvis Presley got caught red handed by Scotty’s fiancée, and this led to the young men being thrusted headlong into the China-Burma-India theater of World War II as members of the first American Volunteer Group (The Flying Tigers).

Chapter 1:  Caught in the Heat

Chapter 2:   Flying Tigers

Chapter 3:   Lost and Found

Chapter 4:   Battle of Salween Gorge

Chapter 5:   Guest and Hosts

Chapter 6:   Fleeing from Danger

Chapter 7:   The Stand-off

Chapter 8:   Chamber of Darkness

Chapter 9:   Peace in the Valley

Chapter 10:   Garden of Roses

Chapter 11:   Life and Death

Chapter 12:   The Long Way Home  

[guroseinsei]

WITH SUNFLOWERS IN MY POCKET

🔱Rating: M

🔱 8k words

Summary: Where Izuku clings to the idea that Aizawa will come home, so he waits.

Link

[frosthexe]

The Fundamental Things Apply - TroubleIWant - Teen Wolf (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Casablanca AU started in that period when everything made me go STEREK!

- OR -

There’s only one song that Boyd isn’t allowed to play, which seems like a fair restriction. It’s Derek’s bar, after all - says so right on the sign. He’s well within his rights to banish one silly song.

Yet for some reason, that’s the melody pouring forth from the piano tonight. Derek is overseeing the craps tables in the far back room, but the first run of notes is instantly recognizable. In the space of a breath he's dragged viscerally back to Paris, to a carefree time of tree-lined boulevards and brown eyes gone whiskey bright in the sunlight...

Derek pulls himself back to the present day, and makes for the front room in a poorly-tempered rage. Why now? “Erica,” Derek interrupts. “Boyd. I thought I told you never to play--” and his voice cuts off.

It’s Stiles, sitting there in the flesh, right at one of Hale’s Cafe Americano’s tiny, imported tables. He’s sitting there as real as anyone, as if the intensity of Derek’s memories somehow dragged him out of the past and into the present moment.

“Hello, Derek,” Stiles says into the loaded silence.

[lostinfic]

Chapter 3 on Ao3

Excerpt:

Orsini tends to Cesare and Micheletto’s wounds: scrapes on their hands and faces, bruises on their ribs and knees. The scent of smoke and singed hair clings to them, and the taste of ashes still fills their mouths.

Cesare is supposed to rest and recuperate, but he’s fuming, body tense and flushed with anger. His jaw aches from clenching his teeth. How the hell did Lucrezia end up with their enemy? The Aragonas were supposed to protect her. Where is her pathetic excuse for a husband?

He plants his pocket knife in a rotten floorboard, digs into the wood until it splinters.

[silverhallow]

Chapter 4 of

📚Days Gone By📚

Is now on ao3

[thereiswasabi]

Messy NoP!Gangle sketches? Messy NoP!Gangle sketches

[juniorig0327]

Wrote this in like two hours how do y'all feel about this?

Percy can’t believe it went wrong so quickly.

He was enjoying his well deserved retirement from the demigod life, hell he was getting to a point where he almost believed he deserved it. That’s when he heard his mom call his name.

“-Percy! Hurry come quick!” Sally called out and he came rushing into the other room, clutching his pen.

“Mom? What’s wrong..?”

The only thing she did was point to the radio and turn up the volume.

“…This is KTU in Honolulu, Hawaii. I am speaking from the roof of the Advertiser Publishing Company Building. We have witnessed this morning the distant view a brief full battle of Pearl Harbor and the severe bombing of Pearl Harbor by enemy planes, undoubtedly Japanese. The city of Honolulu has also been attacked and considerable damage done. This battle has been going on for nearly three hours. One of the bombs dropped within fifty feet of KTU tower. It is no joke. It is a real war–”

His hands began to tremble. War? Oh no, oh hell no. He’d had enough war in lifetime. First with Kronos and then with Gaea. He was not going to fight in another war, he wanted no part in it, especially a war against mortals. Killing insane Titans and Primordial beings was one thing, but humans? Humans who bled red? Humans in which the only difference between them is that their ambition wasn’t golden? Not humans. He’d avoided directly killing demigods, people with flesh and blood like him – maybe not like him, he felt more god than human these days, those people were more human than he was weren’t they? – before, but he had a feeling. This might not be something he could escape from. He clenched his fists as they began to tremble and the talking continued.

“The, uh…public of Honolulu has been advised to keep in their homes and away– uh from the Army and Navy. There has been serious fighting going on in the air and on the sea. The heavy shooting seems to be…”

Fuck. Was it just his mind or did everything seem to be closing in on him? It got way harder to breathe, like it was a struggle to inhale and exhale. He could feel shaking at the balls of his feet but he didn’t know where it was coming from. All he could hear was static in his ears. Was he dying? Was this the part where his life would flash before his eyes? Would he open his eyes (he doesn’t remember closing them) and be in Charon’s boat? 

“--Percy!”

Something cut through the static. It sounded familiar, the voice (not like the voices in his head– something real). He heard the voice again, calling for someone. Percy? Who was Percy? Was that him? He didn’t know. 

“Percy. You’re in New York right now and I need you to calm down sunshine.’

Annabeth? That sounded like Annabeth. But Annabeth wasn’t here, was she? (Suddenly it got a lot easier to breathe.)

“Sunshine, I need you to open your eyes.”

Well, if it was Annabeth, he could trust her. He opened his eyes hesitantly to see an IM of Annabeth in front of him. “Annabeth..” He let out a sigh, looking up at her. “... I– we’re going to have to fight. Again. Against mortals.” 

“Percy you can’t think like that.”

“Yeah, you’re right I guess.”

-

“Yesterday the Japanese Government also launched an attack against Malaya. Last night Japanese forces attacked Hong Kong: Last night Japanese forces attacked Guam. Last night Japanese forces attacked the Philippine Islands. Last night the Japanese attacked Wake Island. And this morning the Japanese attacked Midway Island.

Japan has, therefore, undertaken a surprise offensive extending throughout the Pacific area. The facts of yesterday and today speak for themselves. The people of the United States have already formed their opinions and well understand the implications to the very life and safety of our Nation.

As Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense.”

Percy began packing his bags, staring at the sheet of paper on his desk. He felt a surge of rage and bitterness thinking about it. He was supposed to be done with fighting, all of this. But no, now he has to go fight for a country he’s not even sure he wants to fight for. But he has to fight, he has to fight against another evil, an evil that's not something of the godly world, but someone (thing) so terribly human it disgusts him.

“But always will our whole Nation remember the character of the onslaught against us.

No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people in their righteous might will win through to absolute victory.

I believe that I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost but will make it very certain that this form of treachery shall never again endanger us.

Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory, and our interests are in grave danger.”

He slung the bag over his shoulder with the letter in his pocket, taking – possibly – one last look at his room before closing the door. He stepped out to see his mom and Annabeth standing beside each other. He couldn’t help but smile a little as he stepped forward to kiss his mom on the cheek. “I’m gonna miss you both. Ma, don’t get all lonely without me. Don’t forget I’m an IM– or a letter – away, don’t hesitate to reach out.” He couldn’t help but be upset. Paul was at Pearl Harbor and died (in water, in his domain, in his dad’s domain. He can’t forgive himself for that) and now he was being drafted. His mom would be all alone (because of him the voice in head head helpfully supplies).

“With confidence in our armed forces with the unbounding determination of our people we will gain the inevitable triumph so help us God.”

He turned to Annabeth and cupped her face, leaning in for a passionate kiss. He could taste the coffee on her tongue as he brushed his thumb over her cheek. After kissing way too long for being in front of his mother he pulled away. “I’ll be back. I promise. Never Again remember?” He said, his voice shaky, as if he was trying to convince himself more than her. 

“Yeah.” She said back, her voice just as shaky as they pushed their foreheads together for a brief moment. Annabeth was the first one to pull back. “Go.”

“I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire.”

 February 5, 1942 Percy Jackson left for war.

[theoscarsproject]

Au Revoir les Enfants (1987). A French boarding school run by priests seems to be a haven from World War II until a new student arrives. Occupying the next bed in the dormitory to the top student in his class, the two young boys begin to form a bond.

Devastating on so many levels. This just works, somehow avoiding scenes of overt sentimentality or violence, let leaving you feeling the aching reality of both. Incredible performances from the young cast, lush cinematography, and a script that somehow manages to feel both sprawling and entirely focused. Pretty close to perfect, really. 9/10.

[georgiapeach30513]

Bullet in Your Heart, Part 6

Summary:  You and Clark couldn’t do it anymore

Pairings:  Clark Kent X Reader

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  angst, mentions of Carter’s death, explicit language, smut, unprotected sex, PIV sex, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  3K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics​

Clark leans his body against your doorframe.  You slept too much.  Refused to get out of the bed most days, and when you did it was stiff.  You ate only because your baby depended on you.  You got up only because Clark asked you to.  You survived because you promised Carter you would.  Your hand rubs over your tummy, and the baby rolls around.  Kicking at your stomach, wanting it to be known they were still there.

“Cricket bug,” Clark says softly.  He still struggled to walk past your door.  It didn’t matter anymore, Carter was gone and he was never coming back.  You were a widow, and the town accused you of sleeping with his best friend.  “I should find some place else to…”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you sit up in the bed, red rimmed eyes.  No more tears fell from them, because there was nothing else left to cry.  “I can’t lose you, too.”

“I’m making it impossible for you to remarry.”

A pained giggle bursts out of your chest, and you wondered what he had going on in his head.  It didn’t matter.  None of it mattered in the end.  The waiting that you made Carter do, and for what?  “Why should I remarry?”

“Cricket, I know…”

“You know nothing.  I wanted Carter.  I still want Carter!  And…all I have left is his child, and those letters.  Our baby is never going to know him.  Never know the times that he told me stories about the type of father he was going to be.  Never know the plans he had for the yard.  They’re never going to know how much he wanted to hold them.  They’re just not going to understand.  And I want my baby to look like Carter, and then in the same breath I hope I don’t have to resent my child because I can’t have their dad back with me.  You think I care about what those stupid women think?  They don’t know, they don’t have nightmares of their faceless husband.  They didn’t have to say goodbye to a box because I wasn’t allowed to look at his body.  Everything was taken from me, and you think I care what other people say about me and you.”

You look up at the ceiling as fresh tears stream down your face and you wipe them away fruitlessly.  “I’ve lost enough, Clark.  Why should I have to lose you, too.  Oh,” you gasp, grabbing onto your stomach.

“Cricket?” He steps one foot into your room, but backs out.

“Ow.  Ahh…Clark.  Clark!” You scream out as pain sets your body on fire.  Gripping to your stomach.  “The baby.  The baby’s coming.  Get your ass in here, and help me.”

There was a hesitation until you scream again, and he crosses into your room helping you up.  Your body locks up as you yelp.  “I can’t…I don’t wanna do this alone.”

“You’re not.  I’ll be with you,” finally grabbing you up, he carries you to the car.  His promise to Carter be damned.  You needed more than his shadow looming into your presence.  You needed him to step up for you and that baby.  This wasn’t falling in love.  This was doing what he promised to Carter.

Clark cradles your little baby in his giant arms.  She was healthy.  Beautiful like you, had her daddy’s cleft chin, and even Carter’s smile.  He couldn’t believe that his friend had created this perfect baby girl that he could hold with one hand.  The domestic life wasn’t something Clark thought he wanted, until he held this pink bundle in his arms.

Clark wanted to take back all those thoughts about wanting to leave the house.  He just wanted you to have as good of a life as you could.  But this tiny thing had stolen his heart, much like you had the past couple of months.  It wasn’t falling in love.  It was a duty.  A promise.

The baby’s eyes open, and she searches out your body to suckle, “Charlotte, you let your mother get some sleep.  Charlotte Abigail Baizen,” he swallows the lump in his throat, because it felt wrong to call her that.  Carter was her father, but he was the one that bonded with the baby.  There wasn’t anything Clark wouldn’t do to keep her or you safe.  It was a promise.

Her lips part and a pitiful squeaky cry slips out of her mouth.  Even her cry was dainty.  She was perfect, and Clark hated the emotions that he was fighting off.  He didn’t want to.  “Clark,” you croak, sitting up in the bed, “Hand her to me.  If you give me that blanket, you can stay.”

“Can I hold her when she’s finished?” You give him a gentle smile and nod your head.  There was more brightness to your eyes since you had her.  It was like birthing her gave you a rebirth.  You smiled.  More than once he caught you giggling.  

Handing you the baby, he turns around to give you some privacy while you get yourself and her situated, before covering the two of you up.  You lean back on the bed, “Clark, you can turn around,” he sits in the chair beside you, and you reach out for his hand to hold.  Nursing was uncomfortable.  It hurt more than you were made aware of.  

“You’re doing a good job,” he says, his eyes only on you.  The looks lingered more than they once did.  But it was because he hadn’t left your side.  Took on the role of the father seamlessly.  “She’s adorable.”

“She’s a little princess,” you peek under the blanket, and sure enough that tiny thing with her perfectly little fingernails, and soft curls was doing as feeding babies do.  

“Carter….Carter would have been proud of you both,” it stung to hear him talk about Carter.  The emotional pain you felt from Carter’s death was always smothering you.  It never went away, and somehow talking about what he would have done didn’t help.  He was never coming back, and it made things worse thinking that he would.  

You were never going to love someone the way you loved Carter.  There was only one Carter Baizen.  But sometimes, women don't marry for love.  You were just one of the lucky ones that did.  Any relationship after was going to be lesser than.  There was no point in arguing that.

“I’m sorry about what I was going to say earlier,” Clark looks down at the blanket, before quickly back up at you.  “Can she breathe?”

You peek again, and that perfect angel was still feeding, and you smile watching her, “Yeah, she’s doing great.  What did you say earlier?”

“About me finding somewhere else to live.”

“Oh,” that was the last thing that you wanted Clark to do.  You felt like he was already home.  “I’ve been thinking.  I know why you’re in the basement.  But there’s rooms upstairs,” his eyes move from the blanket up to yours.  He didn’t know where you going with this conversation, but you had piqued his interest.  “You should, if you wanted to, just move to the main floor.  You know you don't want to be too far away from Charlotte.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, I don’t want to be away from her.  You’ll need help.”

“Clark…she’s never going to know Carter,” he looks down at his lap, because this conversation was giving him emotional whiplash.  He was overwhelmed with his feelings.  “I want you to be her daddy.”

“Cricket…”

“You’re the closest thing to Carter.  No one knew him better than we did.  You should be her daddy.  Raise her with me, and…”

“Mrs. Baizen,” the nurse interrupts your train of thought, while she checks your vitals.  Her eyes constantly looking over at Clark.  It was improper.  You had gotten yourself into a whole heap of trouble.  And judging by the way that man was looking at you, he was getting himself into some trouble as well.  “Looks like you’re all set to go home.”

Clark had somehow, subconsciously migrated to Carter’s chair.  Holding a freshly changed Charlotte in his lap, playing with her feet.  The little baby squeals out her giggles.  Her chubby little hands reach up for Clark.  It was yours and her favorite time of the day, when Clark came home.

He gave you the time to finish supper while he entertained the baby.  Had this been under different circumstances, these were the sounds you always wanted to hear in your home.  Laughter from both your baby and her father.  Clark filled the role well, but you had left such dreams behind with Carter.  He wasn’t coming back.

Your body once recoiled from Clark’s touches to your side, now it craved for him to stay longer.  Sighing whenever his hand would move from your hip to the giggling baby at his feet.  She adored him more than she did you.  Clapped her hands whenever she heard his voice.  

Charlotte might have been the one to bring you and Clark together, but the feelings he had bubbling up inside of him was of his own making.  You allowed it because he was close to Carter.  It was sick, and it was wrong, but you didn’t care.  There was never going to be another Carter, and there were worse people than Clark.  He could give you a good life.  

It was like some divine intervention that he was never drafted before the war ended.  It was like Clark was always meant to be with you, and become Charlotte’s dad.  “Cricket,” he removes a skillet from the burner, and turns to stare at you. Charlotte perched on his side with her head laying on his chest.  Patting over him as if to tell you that he was hers.  “Hon…you okay?”

“Yeah, just was…I guess daydreaming.”

“Well, don’t burn the house down, huh, mama?” He adds in animatedly, and looks down at the baby, who smiles her two teeth grin and shakes her head.  “You sure, you’re okay?”

“Yeah, Nancy called, it was just stupid gossip.  Got me in my head,” he starts to speak, but you press your hand against his mouth, “I’ll be fine, Clark.”

“Ehh!” Your daughter screeches, shaking her head no at you.

“Cricket bug, I think she wants you to quit touching her daddy,” it was bittersweet for you.  Charlotte would grow up knowing no different.  But you were going to have to give Clark something.  He wouldn’t stay.  

“Lottie, you quit being so mean to me.  You two go set the table.”

“Clark,” you whisper at the door of Charlotte’s room.  Just like every night he was staring down at her crib.  She had only just fallen asleep, so he had to make sure she was comfortable.  Needed to reassure himself that she would in fact keep her eyes closed.  “Clark, she’s fine, and…will you dance with me?”

He brushes a few stray strands of hair off Charlotte’s face, and walks into the living room with you.  You start a slow song on the record player; it was so low, it was even a struggle for you to hear.  Things were a lot more comfortable between the two of you now.  He never hesitated to put his hand on your hip, while the other holds your hand, and he spins you around the living room.

There was a shift in yours and Clark’s relationship the moment that Charlotte was born.  One that neither of you could deny anymore.  It was comfortable.  And if the whole damn town was going to assume that you and he were living in sin, you might as well be.  Dropping your hand out of his, you bring his hand to your hip.  Sliding your hand up his chest, before pressing a chaste kiss on his lips.  

Clark whispers your name, and you kiss him again.  Letting your lips linger on his, and he finally returns the kiss.  His hands firmly on your hips, he pulls you closer to him, sliding those meaty hands up your back.  Your body was on autopilot, and wanted to feel something real.  Opening your mouth when his tongue swipes over your lips, and he dominates your mouth.  

Sucking your own tongue into his mouth.  His hands roam from your back, to your tits.  Cupping the spheres before he backs off completely.  “Cricket, I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because….because it’s improper.”

“Fuck it.”

“Cricket!”

“All my life I have done things right, and what did I get out of that?  I don’t care anymore, Clark.  I just want to feel.  And right now, I want to feel you.  Please,” stepping closer to him, you run your hands up his chest, and start slowly unbuttoning his shirt.  “Please?”

“On one condition?” You stare up at him owlishly waiting on his condition.  You wanted it.  Wanted him.  You loved Clark, even though it was in a different way, you did love him.  “After tonight, you let me make an honest woman out of you.  We go to the courthouse, I don’t need a wedding.  I know I’m second best to you, but…I won’t have us shacking up together and feeding these gossip mongers.  You get tonight, if you take my last name.”

That was a lot to digest.  Clark wasn’t wrong, the two of you couldn’t play house.  The two of you are living together, and the rumors were getting to Clark.  You didn’t want that stigma over your daughter’s head, and if Carter couldn’t raise Charlotte, you didn’t want anyone else, but Clark.

“Tomorrow.  We can go to the courthouse tomorrow.  Tonight, I want you,” his hands grab your ass and he lifts you up, hauling you into the bedroom, laying you down gently on the bed.  Kissing up your neck while simultaneously unbuttoning your dress.  Clark was very skilled.  His body and limbs worked in tandem.  Very little effort had you nude underneath him, while he seemed to just walk out of his own clothes.

He was massive over you, pushing apart your legs, and pumping his cock in his fist, “You’re sure?  We’re ready to do this?”

“Yes,” he pushes into your warmth in one swift movement.  Your back arches off the bed, and you cling to his back.  Your fingers dig into his skin, and he gives you the sweetest smile when you whimper up at him.  “Clark…” you pant out.

He grabs your leg one at a time, wrapping them each around him before his hips piston into you.  Driving into you slowly and languidly, laying down on you, so you feel his entire weight.  Propping himself up by his elbows, he brushes his fingers over your skin, “I’ve always loved you, Cricket.”

“You know I’ve always loved you.”

“Not in the same way,” you gasp when he pushes himself in you fully.  Scrapping your nails all the way down his back, until you grip his ass cheeks.  Head throwing back with your mouth open.  “I know I’m not him.  But I’ll be a good husband to you.  A good dad to Charlotte.  And if you wanted, maybe some more kids?”

“I know.  Yeah.  Yes, I want more.  With you.  Ahhh,” his mouth crashes into yours as he muffles your loud moans.  Swallowing every one of them as your walls clench around him girthy cock.  It had been so long.  And Clark was new.  He was experienced, and there was something arousing about knowing that the Clark Kent was taking care of you.  The Clark Kent was going to be your husband.

You didn’t need a wedding.  You had one, and it didn’t give you any longer with Carter.  Clark never wanted one.  Never even saw himself getting married, until you.  He never even thought he was going to get to hear you desperately mewl as your body spreads pleasure all throughout your limbs.  He didn’t think he would get to see your body like this, or have another man’s child be raised as his own.

You wanted him so deep inside you that you were practically using his ass to shove him further down.  One of his hands slams on the headboard of the bed as he starts pounding thrusts into you.  It had been just as long for him.  And you were perfect.  Better than any woman he had ever felt.  Your body was so responsive to his motions, and was clenching down on him so tightly.  

Clark wished he could make this last longer, but it was too much.  Too much for him to stave off.  Emotionally too much for him because you agreed to marriage.  It wasn’t the most romantic thing, but he had been trying to figure out a way to approach you with marriage.  

He wanted you.  Wanted that baby, and he wanted more.  Wanted to add a white picket fence to the yard with a swing set for Charlotte and the other kids.  Wanted to come home to you for a kiss, and an evening dance while the children giggled in their rooms, or played music in the basement.  He wanted it all, and he wanted it with you.  

“Cricket…I…I…”

“Clark, please.  I want to feel you,” you give him permission to release his seed.  If you were to marry him, then he should get the perks of a husband.  He spurts so deep inside you, and he presses his forehead against your own.  His chest heaves with all that had transpired.  When he kisses you, his mouth turns up into a smile.  He was happy, and you would be happy.  One day.  Hopefully.

Starting to get off you, he looks into the floor at his clothes, going to grab the items up, but you sit up in the bed, “Clark, this bed is yours now.  Ours.  Don’t leave.”

He slips on his underwear, tossing you a nightgown before crawling in the bed behind you.  His arm wraps around your body, and he pulls you flush with his body.  This was the start to a new beginning.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season​ @marveloustaylortot​ @pono-pura-vida​ @sstan-hoe​ @infatuatedharleys​ @missusbarnes-rogers​ @peaches1958​ @seitmai​ @smile1318​ @andydrysdalerogers​ @charmed-asylum​ @cjand10​

[kanthonyficrecs]

Featured Fic (Historical/Fantasy AU)

War Wounds by Allatonceyouaretheone Rating: T,M Status: WIP Summary: Kate Sharma meets a handsome and charming man. But she has no interest in starting anything with him. Until she sees him dancing with an elegant petite lady.

[tarnishedhalo]

Meme: How Do You Die in Star Wars?  His Royal Highness || Reliru “Rel” Ivers

In Battle with a Jedi I can say with almost complete confidence that you were looking for this answer because you're an edgelord deep down. I know you think you're evil (you're not), but you're good at it and honestly it makes you kind of sexy. You're messy and chaotic and almost definitely gay, but it works for you. Somehow. Now take your cool lightsaber and go deal with your emotional instability in a healthy way for once.

[freudianslumber]

Tiger Man

Summary: The year was 1941, bandmates and secret lovers Scotty Moore and Elvis Presley got caught red handed by Scotty’s fiancée, and this led to the young men being thrusted headlong into the China-Burma-India theater of World War II as members of the first American Volunteer Group (The Flying Tigers).

Chapter 3. Lost and Found

Pairing: Scotty Moore x Elvis Presley (m/m)

Word count: 2.4k

Warning: grieving, comfort sex, bombing of civilians

New Year 1942 brought with it new rounds of air combat for Elvis, Scotty and their squadron. They were sent back to southern Burma to reinforce the 3rd squadron there in the Battle of Rangoon. By then the Japanese had launched a full-scale campaign to take over the capital city of the British colony. To provide air coverage for the British and allied troops and to deliver ground attacks on the enemy, the Tigers had many encounters with groups of Japanese fighter planes known as “Oscars” and “Nates” and managed to come out victorious despite being outnumbered and outgunned repeatedly. In the process, the dynamic duo from Memphis was able to destroy another three enemy aircrafts with their seamless collaboration by the time spring turned around. From cousin Gene’s communication, it appeared the achievements of Flying Tigers even received a wave of publicity as part of wartime propaganda stateside, being among the few bright spots that could be gleaned from early part of the American involvement.

The overall direction of the war was not in their favor, however. The British was losing their footing in Burma to Japanese army’s advances, despite some reinforcement from the Chinese Expeditionary Force sent by the Chinese Nationalist government. After the fall of Rangoon, the Japanese ground forces began their relentless sweep northward through Burma. To aid the allies and distract the invaders, the Tigers started to take on risky missions such as carrying out air raids on Japanese bases in Thailand. Bomb racks were added to their p-40s for this purpose. In retaliation, large groups of Japanese fighter-bombers plagued the British airbases in Burma. Unsurprisingly, the Tigers began to suffer more casualties as the Burma Campaign wore on. A few good men had been lost in intense air battles or fell victim to powerful anti-aircraft artillery. Moreover, some p-40s were destroyed on the ground during enemy air raids. When their planes were damaged during battle, the parts for repair were very hard to come by. All of these factors caused the size of each squadron to dwindle and overall morale to slip. As the Imperial Army overwhelmed its ill-prepared and poorly equipped opponents during the spring months, it became more and more apparent that Japanese occupation of the entirety of Burma would be inevitable.

Despite all the setbacks in Burma and eventual retreat of his Squadron back to the southwest Chinese province of Yunnan, Elvis continued to perform well on all his missions, even managed to expand his air-to-air victory scores to five. Thus, along with Scotty who had six under his name, the former graduates from Humes High had officially become a pair of flying aces. Elvis wrote about this achievement with pride in his letters back home, jubilant over the bounty money he had earned for each kill which he would be sending to the family. Naturally he neglected to mention the precarious position the squadron was facing as the allied forces were being pummeled in this part of the world, the hardship they had to endure due to lack of supplies, or the close calls he had encountered numerous times during his air combats. He figured that Daddy and especially Mama did not need to know about these unsettling details. International mail service during wartime was shoddy at best, there was no telling if and when his folks would receive this communication. But Elvis kept writing regularly, the thought of family receiving good news like these was comforting and always served to lift his spirits.

Scotty sat on the wing of his fighter plane one day in April, inspecting the repairs the ground crew had just made to the wing guns. The Tigers were now based near the Chinese city of Baoshan, which was one of the locations near Burmese border under frequent aerial harassment by Japanese bombers and fighters. Another pilot, Joey Cooper, walked over from the direction of the barracks and stopped next to the plane, a look of concern on his face: “Hey Scotty, will ya take a look at Elvis? He got a telegram from home today, probably bad news. He was crushed and hadn’t spoken to anyone since!”

Scotty’s heart skipped a beat: “Oh no! I hope it had nothin’ to do with his Mama!!”. He jumped down from the plane instantly and ran towards the barracks. Scotty ran into two other pilots on his way there and they seemed to know automatically who he was looking for. “We tried…” One of them uttered apologetically and pointed at the entrance of the flat brick structure behind him. Scotty rushed in the door but then slowed down when he came upon the sad and lonely figure at the far end, lying in prone position with his face buried in the familiar single wire bed. His heart throbbed painfully as he started to make out the muffled sobs emanating from the young man. “Elvis, baby. What happened?” Scotty asked as he sat down at the edge of the bed.

Elvis’ shoulders shuddered for a second, then slowly he lifted his head. Tears streaming, nose running, face flushed, Elvis looked so pitiful it evoked an overwhelming sense of tender protectiveness within Scotty. He pulled his beloved over and held him tight, that was when Elvis finally made out something coherent: “Scotty, Mama is gone… I-I-I got nothin’ left no more!” He sounded so nasally it was almost like coming from another person. Scotty’s heart plunged into sorrow as the dreaded news was confirmed, he knew just how much Gladys meant to her son. He squeezed Elvis a little tighter, lightly patted his back in a soothing gesture, “I’m so sorry, baby. Life throws curveballs at us sometimes. I know it’s real rough.”

“Everyone at home were trying to keep it from me about how sick she had been. Last I heard she was amazed to hear about the Tigers in the news!” Elvis finally responded amidst a string of sniffles. He pulled back a little and that pair of large teary sapphire eyes locked up with Scotty's steely blue: “I should have seen it coming. I worried about her health but never, never thought she would leave this world so young. It’s just not her time to go.” He wiped his face messily with the back of a hand: “They said her liver and heart gave out. I know it, I worried her into an early grave!”

It pained Scotty to see his baby so lost and despondent, he had to will himself not to lean in and kiss away all his tears. He reminded himself they were in public, and anyone could walk into the barrack any time. So instead, he gently caressed the sobbing young man at the back of his neck: “Don’t think that way, honey. She was called on by God ’cause her earthly trials were done. She had been proud of you before she passed. Believe me, your Mama would want you to be strong like how she had raised you.”

With this gentle consolation Scotty stood up and walked over to the sink with a washcloth. He turned on the tap until warmth was slowly felt in his fingertips. He soaked the washcloth in water and then wrung it out before turning off the faucet. He then returned to the grieving young man who was sobbing and rambling, clasping a small, faded family picture in his hands. “Come on baby, let’s clean up your face.” Scotty sat down on the bed, nudged Elvis’ back a little and suggested. It almost felt like taking care of a small child as Scotty supported the back of Elvis’ head with one hand while using the other hand to pat his face with the slightly damp cloth. “Now there’s the flying ace Elvis Presley that I know.” Scotty joked as he tidied up the face of his flying partner and smooth out the wrinkles on his uniform.

Still looking numb and stiff from the tragic news, Elvis murmured: “I never got to see her one last time. It was all my fault, I left Satinin on her own. All those long nights she must’ve stayed up fretting for me… This is how God punishes me, he takes her away and, and I’ll never get to see her sweet face again!” His voice started to break down again while fresh tears circled in his mournful eyes.

“Listen to me, baby!” Scotty grabbed Elvis by the shoulders and shook him: “I know losing your Mama is a lot to handle, she meant the world to you. But you’ve got to toughen up for yourself and the rest of the family. You still have a lot to live for!” Staring Elvis straight in the eyes, Scotty’s tone turned from firm to tender: “I need you to be strong and brave for me, Elvis. Life is fragile, especially during wartime. Hundreds and thousands are suffering and dying all around us, but we still got each other. You are my true love; it breaks my heart to see you so heartbroken. In a few months our contract would be up with the Tigers, and we’ll get to go home then. We can go visit your Mama’s grave together and bring her flowers.”

“D-did you just call me your true love?” Elvis stammered with a stunned expression on his face. He looked so cute Scotty wished he could take him right then and there. Instead, he played it down: “You know what you heard.” “Scotty, you’ve always believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself. Without Mama I’m lost, but you’re such a blessing.” Elvis straightened up, took in a breath before speaking resolutely: “I promise from now on I’ll be strong for you and be worthy of your love.” His sincerity was promptly rewarded by a warm hug from Scotty, who managed to sneak in a kiss on the forehead too.

Elvis was given the next two days off for bereavement. Scotty was excused from regular duty as well, specifically tasked to cheer him up since it was obvious that only Scotty could prevent Elvis from crumbling psychologically. Both were now suffering from lack of sleep because it took most of the night for Scotty to calm Elvis’ sobbing and coax him to sleep. Elvis also lost all appetite ever since the terrible news. Far too quiet to be normal, he was noted by others to be often lost in thoughts. Taking account of all this, Squadron leader Tex encouraged Scotty to find Elvis some “distractions”. The implication was for the older pilot to take his grief-stricken partner to Baoshan city to seek some pleasure in brothels. Naturally the two lovers spent the precious time off with each other instead.

The owner of Changrong Inn smiled knowingly at the two tall American soldiers who checked into his modest hotel. Mr. Sun was fond of the foreign couple who had stayed a night here occasionally over the last month or two. They were polite and discrete, never got drunk or caused a fight, and most importantly, tipped well. He had even suggested some choice local eateries and nearby sightseeing locations to the nice young men. Business was slow over the last few years in this Chinese city under constant threat of Japanese invasion. Mr. Sun wished he had more wealthy and trouble-free tourists like these for customers, what they did behind closed doors was no concern of his. The thought was pushed aside as he handed the keys of one of his nicest rooms to the Americans.

Once inside the room and isolating themselves from the rest of the world, Scotty and Elvis were immediately locked in passionate kisses, hands going under shirts and fondling up and down bare shoulders and backs. They pressed their bodies against each other so tightly it felt like they almost melted into one. It took considerable patience and willpower for Scotty to unbutton and undress his lover properly. Elvis on the other hand was not so patient. He only managed to take off Scotty’s jacket and unzip his trousers. When guitar slinger’s already excited member popped out of his clothes, Elvis’ knees became weak and wobbly. He could feel the radiating heat and pulsing veins as he took the growing organ into his hands. With barely a push down on his shoulders, Elvis kneeled down at Scotty’s feet and kissed him on the tip. Licking along his length and lapping up his precum, there was a streak of desperation in those beautiful eyes as Elvis eagerly wrapped his mouth around Scotty and took him down as deep as he could. Scotty knew at that moment that Elvis needed him just like roses needed rain. He was the only one who could fill up the gaping hole which was in the young man’s heart, and make Elvis feel alive again.

Tears of contentment and gratification streamed down Elvis’ face as he let his lover use him any way he pleased. The more seasoned pilot kept his hands buried in those soft locks of light chestnut hair and held that pretty head still. He pushed against the back of Elvis’ throat repeatedly until a mind-numbingly satisfying release inside of his younger partner.

Twice more Scotty would spill his seeds within his gorgeous lead singer that night by the time their romp in bed was over. Elvis reached his own climax while being slammed from behind as he laid beneath Scotty. While he slipped into restful sleep for the first time since three days ago, he vaguely remembered being sponged clean caringly by his guardian angel, and the overwhelming sense that Scotty was what makes his life worth living in this lonely and perilous world.

The couple’s peaceful slumber was shattered by loud sirens as morning came around. This was soon replaced by sounds of explosion, low-flying bombers and screaming civilians as they were cut down by strafing machine guns. Scotty shouted: “Air raid!” In the blink of an eye, he pushed Elvis down one side of the bed and then rolled down himself only seconds later. As the pair huddled under the bed, their room shook for a few moments due to a stray bomb which landed within the confines of the Changrong Inn itself. A cloud of smoke and panicked cries could be heard rising out of the east wing of the little hotel. The rumbling of distant artillery suggested ground troops were not far from the city. The lovers embraced each other without words, both knowing in their hearts that Japanese army was moving closer, a full-scale confrontation was soon to come.

[lotharkarnstein]

When years later in my large-scale Star Trek: Strange New Worlds AU Ambassador Spock and Praetor Sera unify Vulcan and Romulus after forging a new lasting alliance and peace with Admiral La’an of the rebuilt United Federation of Planets, I will know peace.