#man I should get back to learning German again

[shikasual]

was geht’s?

(outfit based on acnh lmao)

21.03.2022

[radiation]

I’m soooooooo hungry I want domios pizza I want talkoyaki I want anything. Get me some fettuccine alfredo gimme that uh, that spicy spaghetti that ramen noodles anddddd I’d like a glass of milk please and some peanut butter and crackers and strawberries and a grille cheese… don’t forget the red pepper flapes…. I have a sweet tooth a salty tooth a sour tooth, all of my teeth all the food all for me I’m the delightful foodie with so much to see gimme a little bit of rice and sushi I want it now… a burger of a medium size a side of cruspy yumbly fries give it to me as I please and I’ll show you the Foodie’s Fantasy I’ll eat anything for dinnerspiration….a fond milkshake a BLT even though I don’t care for bacon … hot dog you name it i crave it, I save it I’ll savor it with an open mind I’ll try and I’ll and find , my food joy , the hidden glee , I haven’t been able to see , and for the record I wanna say I’m sorry, for Eating that tomato past when I should, it wasn’t good but I’ve learned mh lesson I won’t be messin if it’s past its due date, I know I don’t wanna waste but there’s danger in that taste, so see me turning over a whole new leaf, spinach leaf, romaine , I’m back to real life again and I just wanna give a shout out to those who believed in me even when I made food mistakes, you gave me a break and I will forever appreciate the kindness it took to see me at my worst , But now I’m well versed so PASS THE BRATWURST shout out to German ancestry, shout out to every country everywhere reppping best foods, I’m talking india ethiopia a foodie’s utopia. Let’s make dinner let’s make a move let’s make a stand let’s go international hand in hand eating every dish we can and when the plane lands - back in america that freedom land they’ll look at me and say, what a truly Hungry man.

[lovelytsunoda]

one of the boys // charles leclerc

summary: she's worked for ferrari for four years now. four years that only let her feelings for their number one driver grow stronger and stronger, until she wishes that charles leclerc would stop seeing her as just one of the boys, and start seeing her the way that she sees him

pairing: charles leclerc x mechanic! reader

warnings: ferrari fuckups, sexual tension, sad charles, actually charles goes through a whole range of emotions, matchmaker seb, mentions of workplace harassment, set in the 2022 season when charles won australia, sexual innuendos and references.

she sat on the halo, her feet resting against the seat as she leaned over the engine compartment, her boiler suit tied off around her waist and her hair pinned to the back of her head as the bahrain sun beat down.

ferrari had bottled it again. which meant double-duty for the pit crew to fix it for jeddah.

the radio hummed softly in the background as she cursed, losing her grip on the ratchet. when the engine fried itself, it had also made the parts a lot harder to take apart.

"fucking hell." she groaned, resting her head against the cool, red body of the car. "vasseur was supposed to fix this."

"what are you still doing here? you should have left at least an hour ago?"

the movement in the garage, as well as the voice breaking the almost-silence was enough to get her to look up, heart hammering against her ribcage.

the same annoyingly alert reaction that she'd had to his presence for the last two years.

"charles. what are you doing here?"

"hiding." the driver smiled sadly. the balaclava lines had faded fomr his face, but she could still see the sweat in his hair, the scent of the race mingling with his team-sponsored cologne. "you know how it is after a weekend like this."

"yeah, i do." she could feel the blush creeping onto her face, and she subtly pinched herself to try and make it go down. charles leclerc couldn't give her butterflies, it wasn't right. technically speaking, he was her superior.

but that didn't change how much she cared about him, how much she longed to feel the monegasque's lips against hers

"you should not be working. come out with the rest of us, we're getting drinks and commiserating. did i use that word right?"

it was hard for y/n not to smile at charles' attempt to learn the english language. he had a fantastic grip on the language, but when he tried to use larger words to sound cooler, it was usually followed up with uncertainty, all adding to what she liked to call his 'boston terrier energy'.

"yeah, you got that one right." she chuckled, dismounting the car, pain rocketing through the nerves in her feet as she hit the ground too hard. "that's a beauty of a car. such a shame that the scuderia doesn't know how to treat it properly."

standing next to charles, she was all too aware that she was wearing nothing but a sports bra on the top half of her body, and she wondered if she could pull her boiler suit back on without charles noticing.

charles snorted. "try driving that thing."

she patted him on the shoulder, a sad smile on her face. "give me ten minutes to go put some proper clothes on, and then we'll go out somewhere. drinks are on me, god knows you deserve it."

______

"seb, i don't know what to do!" y/n groaned, face against the tabeltop as the german man laughed.

sebastian vettel had been the closest thing she had to a father when she was on the road with the scuderia. in all fairness, the job with ferrari hadn't even been what she went to school for. she had picked engineering at college because it was what everybody else was doing, and she'd stumbled upon this job by accident with the promise of travel. when she was starting to regret everything, it had been sebastian who had convinced her to stay.

"ugh, this is so not funny!" she shouted, throwing her arms in the air and wincing as her knuckle banged against the shop window. they were in a quaint little café in fiji ahead of the australian grand prix, and y/n was in need of some serious advice.

but to get advice from seb, you needed to bribe him with coffee first. hence why they were in the rustic cafe, every bare surface covered in plants that sebastian had spent ages talking to the manager about.

sebastian vettel was a nerd. in a good way, of course.

"you're a lovely young woman, y/n. you have a nice figure."

"does hanna know you're out here complimenting younger women?" she joked, taking a sip from her strawberry lemonade.

sebastian laughed, shaking his head. "you need to let everybody else see that side of you, y/n. let your hair down, wear a nice pair of jeans for once instead of that boiler suit. let the world see the lovely girl that we all know is there."

"i'm going to miss you when you retire."

"i know, kiddo. listen, we're all going out after the race, to have drinks and whatever. go out with hanna, buy yourself a nice new dress on my credit card, and then come out for drinks with us. i guarantee that one look at you will whip charles into shape. you're a catch, y/n. i think that charles would be lucky to have someone like you in his life."

"i'm already a part of his life. as a work friend. and i'm accepted that i'm not likely to be anything more."

seb raised an eybrow. "doesn't sound like it."

in another bar, on another part of the small island of fiji, carlos and charles were having a very similar conversation.

"carlos, i can't make a move! technically, i'm higher ranking at ferrari than she is. there's a power imbalance, what if she feels like she can't say no? it's a harassment case waiting to happen!" charles whined, a pint glass clutched in his hands.

carlos shook his head, an annoyed sigh escaping the back of his throat. "you're an idiot, hermano. she's in love with you! you think you're the only person who sees her staring at you in the garage?

"forgive me if that's not something i want to be wrong about. i could be staking our careers on your little hunch."

groaning, carlos buried his head in his hands. getting through to his teammate was a hopeless and futile affair. once charles leclerc was set in his ways about something, there was no changing his mind.

"what about the party in australia? ask her to dance, buy her a drink? you're not getting any younger, charles. you need to get back out there and start dating again."

______

as f1 descended on albert park, the glitz and glamour taking over melbourne, y/n y/l/n and hanna vettel were standing in a small, glitzy boutique, armed with hanna's husband's credit card. the young ferrari mechanic was standing in front of a floor-length mirror, her hair falling around her shoulders.

"hanna, i don't know how i feel about this." she inhaled, staring at her reflection and the ferrari red dress that hugged her figure. "i love it, honestly, i do, i just cringe at the thought of ever wearing it outside of the house. especially if i;m in front of charles!"

hanns sighed, brushing her fingers through the younger girl's hair. "have a little bit of faith in yourself, darling. you look stunning, this dress shows off all your best physical attributes, and charles already knows your best qualities."

"yeah, because who else is going to sing nineties stoner rock songs in the car on the way to the track with me?" y/n laughed, remembering singing ‘teenage dirtbag’ with charles on their way to the track in jeddah, a carpool with some of the other mechanics. charles barely knew the words, but then again, y/n got them wrong a lot as well. “yeah, okay. lets do this fucking thing.”

hanna grinned. “that’s our girl!”

hours later, she was regretting her decision, standing in front of the club in her baggy leather jacket, shaky knees knocking together as she stood outside the front door in her heels and that tiny little dress, voices and laughter wafting through the walls as the inside hummed with the rarity of a ferrari victory. she nervously tapped her fingers against the side of her purse as a group of haas mechanics crossed the parking lot, wolf whistling at her before she flipped them both the bird.

“are you coming inside, or are you just going to stand there and freeze your balls off?”

“oh, if only I had balls to freeze. and this is bloody australia, its not even that cold.” y/n chuckled to herself, turning to look at jessica hawkins, one of the aston martin young drivers. “I need someone to remind me that I dont look stupid in this goddamn dress that hanna vettel picked out for me.”

jessica cocked an eyebrow, looking the mechanic up and down. “babes, you look hot! who are you trying to impress?”

“charles.” y/n mumbled, her face flushing pink before she cleared her throat. “its stupid, isn’t it?”

the other young woman shook her head. “not at all.” she grinned, linking her arm through y/n’s. “come on, lets go get you your man!”

the inside of the club was crowded, yet closed to the public as f1, f2, and the w series descended on the establishment. all of the f3 drivers were too young to legally drink, and had made their displeasure quite clear as they were herded away to an italian restaurant instead of the club.

"drinks for the lovely ladies?" abbie eaton chortled, bringing tequila shots over to where the mechanic and jessica were standing. "cheers on three, yeah?"

jessica sounded off with the countdown, the three women tapping the tiny glasses against each other before throwing back the burning alcoholic drink.

"if i'm going to do this," y/n began, raising her voice to be heard over the drake song that was playing. "i'm doing it right!" she took off her jacket, throwing it over a chair before she made her way over to the dj booth, her ballet flats sticking to the floor.

after a whispered conversation (and a monetary bribe), wheatus' 2000 hit 'teenage dirtbag' began to play over the speakers as y/n and jessica took to the floor, champagne flutes in hand as they began to dance.

from across the way, under the deep blue lights, charles leclerc was in a trance as he watched the way she moved, laughing and giggling as she sang along, finally getting each word right. adn charles would be lying if he said he didn't love the way her legs looked in that short little dress, how full her breasts looked in the red fabric that cradled them.

"is he still being a pussy?" pierre gasly groaned. "come on, man! you won the fucking race, and that's still not giving you the confidence you need to tell her you have a crush on her?"

"i'd rather not embarrass myself too much, thank you pierre." charles grumbled, taking another sip of his fruity mixed drink.

"he won't even drink proper alcohol." carlos commented. "i think she broke him."

pierre shook his head. "i will not stand for this, i am not letting it go on any longer. ilies!" he shouted, waving over his best friend- save for charles of course- and social media manager. "we need you to do something for us, for charles."

ilies nadri nodded. "it's about that girl he keeps talking about, isn't it?"

"exactly. so here's what you're going to do."

back on the dancefloor, y/n was beginning to forget that charles was watching, laughing and singing with jessica as the dj began to play 'toxic' by britney spears, at a drunken lando norris' request.

"looks like you've got an admirier. and it's not charles." nerea marti pointed out, nudging her head in the direction of ilies nadri, who was beginning to make his way over to the girls.

"well, if charles isn't interested." jessica shrugged, calpping her on the shoulders. "you look too pretty tonight to go home alone if you don't want to, and it looks like there's a good looking bloke who wants to join ya."

moments blurred as nadri took y/n's hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles and making her laugh with a french come-on, and before she knew it they were dancing to britney.

and she had forgotten about him, about the reason she wore that red dress in the first place.

but charles never forgot about her, his eyes boring into the back of ilies' head as he watched them dancing to a christina aguilera song. his grip was steadily tightening on his glass, and carlos looked over at him with a concerned glance.

"are you sure that getting her to dance with ilies was the smartest idea?" carlos whispered under his breath, raising his eyebrow at pierre. "he's going to break the fucking glass."

"or, he'll get jealous and go over there." pierre reasoned.

"how the fuck do you have a girlfriend, gasly?"

but pierre's reasoning must have been rooted in proof, for charles put down his glass and tromped over to the dance floor, his eyes a certain shade of jealous as he prepared himself to finally make a move.

he didn't speak, sweeping over the dancefloor to grab y/n's arm and pull her away from ilies and away from the dancefloor and it's illuminated vinyl flooring.

"charles, what is wrong with you?" y/n shouted, tispy on her feet and buzzing from alcohol as she tried to ignore the way her chest tightened and her heart skipped a beat at charles' possessiveness.

"i'm in love with you." he blurted out, desperation in his voice. "and i'm tired of hiding how i feel. i don't care how it looks to the outside, or to mattia, but i want to be with you. you were never just one of the boys to me, y/n. you were just you. and i like who i am with you. i want to be able to be that person for you, all the time."

"charles." she said softly, heart softening before starting and stopping again in an erratic beating pattern that would have worried her if she could have heard the beating over the refrain of charles' confessions playing on loop in her mind, louder and louder each time. "just kiss me."

and that's what charles did, an *nsync song playing in the background as he mashed his lips to hers, backing her up against the wall as she giggled, wrapping a slender, bare leg around his own, arms looped haphazardly around his neck and over his shoulders.

"charles, your phone isn't in your front pocket, right?" she panted.

charles looked confused, resting his forehead against hers. "no, i always put it in my back pocket."

"fuck." y/n all but moaned, arousal pooling in her own thighs as she thought about what was in between charles'. "that means that it's your rock-hard cock that's pressing against me right now, and that's so fucking hot."

grinning to himself, charles pressed up against her even more. "whay don't you join me at my hotel, and i'll show you just how fucking hard you make me."

"is that a threat or an invitation?"

"it's whatever you want it to be, mon cher."

"kiss me one more time, and you've got a deal."

[vampsquerade]

CAN YOU PLEASE GIVE US HARD DOM KÖNIG WITH A FEMALE READER i just need that big hunk of man meat to dominate me- dies

DOM KÖNIG YES I LIVE FOR DOM KÖNIG SO FUCKING MUCH UGHHHH I WANT HIM TO CRUSH MY HEAD WITH HIS THIGHS AND BICEPS UGHHHAVBAHSHSH THANKS ANON I KINDA WENT WILD WITH IT

(also pls forgive there might be some annoying mistranslations istg i’m learning german i promise also sorry for not answering dms and stuff you’re gonna have to give me a minute cause i’m very prone to anxiety after being off my meds for a bit)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

König x Female!Reader: Royalty’s Cruelty

Trigger Warnings: NSFW, smut, rough sex, dom!könig, sub!reader, spanking, bondage, fingering, orgasm denial, degradation, asphyxiation, aftercare

Wanton and loud cries of pleasure for your beloved military boyfriend fell from your lips each and every time his large, callous hands came into contact with the skin of your ass. “I thought I warned you about what would happen if you teased me while I was on a mission—you know damn well you deserve this kind of punishment.” König scolds venomously, pure malice and sadism dripping as he speaks. “I-I’m sorry!” you cry out as his hand smacks loudly against your skin once more. “Halt deine Hurenmaul! I don’t want to hear you telling me you’re sorry!” He commands. Tears stream down your face pathetically, whimpering in pain as he stops momentarily. “The very knee you’re bent over is the same one I use to kill my enemies—do you want to hear just how exactly it is that I do it?” he says coldly.

“H-Hah…~ What do you do to them with this knee..?” you ask softly, not wanting to further incur his wrath. König’s hand then tightly grips at your flesh with the strength of a hawk’s talons, making your severely sore ass sting even more. A sob emits from you, turning your head slightly so you can look up at him, “I snap their spines and necks on here…I even go so far as to cave their heads in…” He says in a chilling tone, chuckling darkly. His eyes are shrouded with the mists of sadism, relishing in the sight of you pathetically bent over his knee. “Now tell me—just because you’re my cute little liebling, do you think I should offer any semblance of mercy to you? Do you think you really deserve it even after I warned you?”

You hesitate on what to say, swallowing your saliva hard. Your mind is racing as you try and get a hold of yourself as you hear just how evil König’s voice sounded. “Don’t make me impatient, liebling. Your punishment is just starting and you know how much I hate wasting my time.” König warns. Body tensing in anticipation, you just nod, “N-No…not even I deserve your mercy…I willingly put myself into this position…” You whimper softly, yelping loudly once he begins to fondle your flesh. “Good girl—not even my liebling deserves my mercy…” König says. His hand then travels off your ass and to your dripping cunt, gently stroking his hand from your clit down to your core that twitches with each and every movement.

“Mmpf..!~ König…~” you moan softly, not even able to hold yourself back. “I don’t think I gave you permission to speak. Not a single sound is to fall from those whorish lips of yours—you don’t want it to get worse.” König seethes. He then fully pulls your panties down and discards them somewhere across the floor, his gloved fingers then letting go of your ass and continuing to tease your dripping cunt. You bite your lip and smack your hand over your mouth, letting his large gloved fingers continue its work against your clit. “Unless that’s exactly what you want…” König whispers. You can hear the sickeningly malicious chill in his voice before he speaks again, “Want me to show you just how ruthless and unrelenting I can be? Does that thought excite you?”

You hesitate, unsure if you’ve been given permission to speak, so you nod your head sheepishly. Behind his sniper’s hood, you can just see how excited he is about this. You could see the sadistic smile he always gives whenever you misbehave; it’s a pleasantly frightening sight when you get the chance to see it. You practically drip more at the imagination you have, biting your lip harder as you stare up at him. “You do? Mein Gott, you really are a degenerate…to think I'd never imagine seeing someone as sweet and as caring as you to be into this kind of thing…” König breathes, degrading you. His hand then stops what it’s doing, as he brings his fingers up to inspect them. His eyes seemingly squint even more out of pure delight as his sadistic smile only widens.

“But yet here you are—bent over my knee and getting wet at the thought of me absolutely ravaging you…proving me wrong to think you would never be so depraved…” He chuckles, licking his gloves clean, “Such a naughty, naughty girl…” König then pulls his glove off with his sharp teeth after bringing it under his hood. He then spits it out of his mouth, and puts his hand back in between your legs. Now feeling his warm hand right up against you instead of the gloves, it makes you shiver at the sensation of skin touching skin. You try to moan as his middle finger strokes up and down your even wetter cunt, eyes screwing shut to focus on keeping yourself quiet as his finger drags itself up and down. “So wet…You have no idea just how addictive it is to watch you squirm and try to keep yourself quiet.” König purrs.

His middle finger soon dips inside of you and you can’t help but clench around him. Your eyes open wide at the feeling and it just gets harder for you to keep quiet. Agonizingly slow, König begins to pull his finger out before pushing it back into you with enough force to drive you crazy already. Your bottom lip was bleeding from how hard you were biting it, keeping yourself as quiet for as long as you can. You huffed out a puff of air with every other breath each time he teased you, pushing his fingers in a little faster with little effort before slowing back down. The limit was getting closer and closer every single time but right when you were going to reach it you were forcefully pulled away in an aggressive manner. And not even realizing, you had let out a loud whine from your bitten lips behind your mouth.

König stops his fingers after having just added a second one inside of you. The air becomes so thick it’s hard to breathe; either because of that, or because his other hand was gripped tightly around your throat. “Ich habe dich verdammt noch mal gewarnt – jetzt wirst du unter den Konsequenzen leiden, du dreckiger Degenerierter.” König seethes in a tone you had never heard before. Suddenly, you were lifted up by his right hand’s vice grip around your throat before he lightly let you go once you were safely over the mattress. “You had better appreciate me not downright slamming you onto the bed. That’s going to be the only time I’m nice to you tonight—I’ll fuck you until the only thing that’s on your mind is your broken obedience.” König seethes.

The towering man then climbs over you and rips off your bra before pulling you up by the nape of your neck. “Do you really want this? Once we do this,” his striking blue eyes hold bolts of lightning within them as he stares you in the eyes, “you can’t go back ever again,” König warns you. Though it doesn’t sound like it, he seems to be offering one last chance to save yourself from the wrath that’s coming. More intrigued at just what is in store, you decide to just open up Pandora’s Box. “I do…” you mumble. König then lets go of your neck and pushes you back down on the mattress. Sitting atop your abdomen, he unbuckles his belt and removes it from the loops in one swift motion.

He’s quiet and focused, gripping both your wrists tight before putting them between the bars of the headboard. König then tightly wraps his belt around them, “No escape for you, little rabbit—you’re all helpless and exposed for the big hunter. Aren’t you excited?” he asks. Feeling a sense of genuine fear, you can’t help but whimper softly. “Oh, don’t be so scared all of a sudden,” König chuckles, getting off of you to undo the button to his pants as well as his zipper, “you asked for this.” He then lifts your legs up and closes them, pushing them up to your chest. “As much as I’d love to fuck those cute thighs, I’ll settle for what you’ve got right,” König says as he pushes in already, making you cry out for him, “here.” he growls as he forces himself inside you.

You expected it to hurt because of how big he is except this time around, the pain makes you moan loudly. “A-Ah!~” you cry out. “You filthy degenerate…just listen to how loud you’re moaning for me already. Do it some more—let me hear you scream for me.” König demands. His large hands grip your calf and thigh on each of your legs tightly as he pulls himself out just so he’s barely inside of you. He doesn’t even look at you when you stare at him with wide eyes and shaking your head no; he’s purely driven by the desire to show you just how ruthless he can be with you if you misbehave. König disregards your silent pleads before pushing back in. “Mmpf!~” You moan, biting your bottom lip hard for a moment before opening your mouth again.

Each harsh thrust from him gets you a loud groan and growl, as he feels you convulse and quiver beneath him. Your eyes roll back slightly as the pain now completely subsides as the way he thrusts his massive cock in and out of you over and over again. “Tell me…how does it feel, little rabbit?” König asks. You try to look at him, but once the tip of his cock starts hitting your cervix you can’t even respond. He then strikes your thigh hard, forcing you to pay attention, “I thought I fucking asked you a question. “How does it feel, little rabbit?’” he seethes. You cry out, eyes rolling back down to look at him, “Feels so good!~ God—König!~ I already feel so close..~” you moan loudly. “Oh do you now?” König asks before laughing maniacally. His thrusts are no longer as fast as they were, much slower and more forceful.

He built you up so high and forced you back down, making you whimper and whine. “I’m not done with you quite yet. Hold it the fuck in.” König says. You whimper and whine even more now, and König appears to be getting annoyed by it. He then leans forward and as punishment, decides to only lightly grind himself against you before then wrapping a tight hand around your throat. You strain to breathe now, his crushing grip once directed to your legs has now focused on your throat. “Moan like this—I want to watch you writhe and squirm before you lose consciousness.” König says as he continues to grind into you. Even like this he manages to be forceful, his tip still rubbing right up against your cervix. This alongside the vice grip he had on your throat, it was just driving you further into the stars, moaning louder and louder despite rapidly losing consciousness.

Your eyes start to flutter shut as a dark vignette begins to surround the corners of your vision. Before you could pass out, König’s hand comes up and shakes you to make you come back. “Keep your eyes open. Breathe for now before I crush your trachea again.” he threatens. You nod, regaining your breath as best you could before he started again. “Güt?” He asks, his hand creeping up to grip your throat against. “Y-Yes…” you mumble softly. “Louder.” he says as he slowly begins to apply pressure. “Yes!” you exclaim much louder. “You’re very obedient—maybe I should let you see my face, ja? Or do you prefer the sniper’s hood while I’m deep inside you, pounding away at you like you mean absolutely nothing to me?” König asks as he starts choking you again.

“K-Keep it on…” You strain as his hand crushes your trachea. “Filthy whore…” König growls as he starts thrusting into you harder and faster than he was before. You wail and cry out on pleasure, being able to slightly breathe a little better as you do since he wasn’t choking you too hard. That previous build up to an orgasm was coming dangerously close, as you stared pathetically into König’s sharp blue eyes pierced into your own. Behind the sniper’s hood, his jaw was clenched tight as he growled deep within his chest and throat. His breathing was heavy, focused on just finally pushing you over the edge. “Want to cum, little rabbit?” He asks, unrelenting with his thrusts. It seems König was already at the edge himself, and wanted to finally get over it with you.

“Y-Yes! Please…please let me cum, König! I-I promise I won’t misbehave or be disobedient ever again!” you moan loudly as König’s grip on your throat becomes tight once again. “Then cum…cum for me…” König growls softly. As if right at his command, you scream his name so loud that it manages to catch him by surprise. His hips stutter as you start to cling to him tightly and he spills himself deep inside with a soft moan of your name. The two of you stay like this, catching your breath as your bodies seemingly melt into each other now. “Fuck…are you okay..? Did I hurt you too badly? I’m so sorry if I went overboard today…” König apologizes, breaking the silence. Seeing his demeanor change completely like this, it just filled your heart with a warmth you’d always held for him.

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be really sore tomorrow…” you say softly, laughing breathlessly. König’s hands begin to gently caress your legs as he pressed gentle kisses against your calves. He pulls himself out of you slowly, sighing contentedly once he watches a bit of his semen drip out of you. “You did really good today…I’m so proud of you for holding it together…I’m still really sorry if it hurt…do you need water? A massage? I’ll give you anything to make sure the slaps and spanks I gave you earlier…would ice also help?” König suggests, praising you for how well you did. “Maybe a nice shower with my big boyfriend would be much more helpful…I feel so sticky.” you day, laughing softly. “And don’t be worried about hurting me too hard—if it was too much for me, I would’ve used our safe word. You did fine, alright? Don’t feel guilty about it. I love you, and I trust you, König.” You reassure, giving him a pleasant smile.

König nods before then removing his sniper’s hood, tossing it somewhere in your shared room. He puts your legs down to properly kiss you, his hand that once held a crushing grip on your neck now gently and lovingly strokes your cheek. You kiss him back, smiling softly as you bring your own hand up to caress his as he gently holds onto your face. After a bit, he pulls away and peppers your jaw, face, and neck in little kisses. “Ich liebe dich, kleines Kaninchen…” he whispers softly against the crook of your neck. “I love you too…now let’s go take a shower. We can come back and cuddle for as long as we need to,” you say, tilting your head downwards to kiss the top of his head. “O-Okay…I’ll carry you and make sure to hold you up, I don’t want to risk you falling over and getting hurt.” König says, giving you a soft smile.

[reshinless]

may i ask (politely) for a chuuya x reader where his lover is just like- in the nicest way possible, a mix of a german shepard person and a calico cat. They are just the sweetest person, yet also can get upset if called out or someone insults those close to them (as in full on plotting a murder but is too sweet to actually go through with it) like just a normal day story pls- if they were also a pm member I'd love you to the moon-

─── my only one, moon and sun..

𝜗𝜚 synopsis. the sweetest ever!!!... plus chuuya i guess /j (chuuya x really nice reader

𝜗𝜚 pairings. chuuya x gn!reader

𝜗𝜚 director's notice. HIII I LOVE THIS IDEA SM. ty for sending this in. IM SO SORRY THAT I COULDN'T MAKE READER A PM MEMB I COULDN'T FIND A SILLY NICE CUTE WAY TO WRITE FOR THEM :( i wanted to do like a lil story b4 the actual thing so i'm sorry.. you can say i got a little carried away (i forgot the prompt) follow & rb to support ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ

pre-relationship!chuuya who was surprised by how undeniably sweet you were to him. didn't you know how dangerous he was?

pre-relationship!chuuya who had just helped you from a robber who tried to snatch your bag. you were just sweet enough to invite him out for dinner as a thank you

and boy was pre-relationship!chuuya all over the idea. although enamoured by the mere thought of being out with someone who was everything he ever looked for in someone, he kept refusing, not wanting to take up any of your precious time. but you were stubborn, and firmly insisted on taking him out. and god did he like that.

pre-relationship!chuuya who'd already forgotten the meeting he was supposed to attend at 7:00pm sharp. it's already 8 and he's still talking with you. but of course, he didn't wanna make the interest too obvious, but subtle enough to notice.

and finally when you two exit the restaurant, pre-relationship!chuuya's eyes can't help but broaden as you tell him 'thank you'. damn he hasn't heard that in forever. awkwardly had to look away, gosh this was the first- no it wasn't even a damn date! and his face was already dusted with pink.

"look it's fine.. really it is.. it's what any good person would've done seeing your situation." ( ˶°ㅁ°) !! "but i still want to say it. i still want to tell you thank you. not many people are good nowadays, you know." (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ )

although before pre-relationship!chuuya didn't wanna make it obvious, definitely wanted another dinner like this with you.

"...say how about i walk you home? the least i could do after dinner. wouldn't want your purse/bag to get stolen again do we?" (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ a brief chuckle from you, and a smile forms. damn is it just him or were you just smiling at him? "sure! chuuya right?" "y-yeah! yeah! yes!"

safe to say that wouldn't be the last time pre-relationship!chuuya walked you home. he'd make sure it wasn't at least.

boyfriend!chuuya who suddenly had the need to let you spend all his money. even if you refused. that's so honestly why he fell for you in the first place.

boyfriend!chuuya who followed you into any store you went to, card in hand, and suggested to buy anything you picked up.

boyfriend!chuuya who was minding his own business while accompanying you to the cute little fruit mugs over there 'till two rude girls who were suddenly arriving in the same aisle as you both were in

"oh my gosh.. no way that girl is going out with a man so small.." "yeah literally.. i would never have said yes. can't believe there are actually women that prefer men below 6ft!"

boyfriend!chuuya's whose eyes twitched hearing what they'd just said, but then decided not to mind them. if he'd learned anything from you, he wouldn't say anything back.

but you never said you wouldn't talk back.

"what do you mean? he's nicer than your deadbeat father for sure."

the two girls gave a look of disgust but quickly left. and your expression, well more like your demeanor changed as they did.

"we should get the banana and strawberry ones, right? let's match!" "huh? oh yeah sure."

boyfriend!chuuya is still stunned from what you said, but ended up just muttering an "yeah sure" before you both paid and left the store.

boyfriend!chuuya who asked why did you defend him, even when you weren't trashtalked about, after you both left and got ice cream.

"well we're partners now right? no one should talk about you like that. besides, you aren't that short." ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´- "of course i am not!!" ୧(๑•̀ᗝ•́)૭

boyfriend!chuuya who loves it so much when you defend him after that interaction. you aren't afraid to assert yourself to others. you aren't afraid to tell them something bad in return. and damn was it hot to see how you looked confronting anyone who had insulted either of you two.

boyfriend!chuuya who's so in love with you what a silly little guy

GN ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I'VE WRITTEN FOR BSD..! i hope this was somewhat coordinated with the prompt dear anon

[teejaystumbles]

For Sandtober #6, "golden", and the Monsterfucktober bingo square "undead", I present you something based on one of the books that left an impression on my teenage mind and now that is all I can think of when I get "bones" and "gold" in relation to one another -

Servant of the Bones AU

In Babylon, about 600 years BC, Hob, a young handsome shepherd, is forced to become the new statue of the god Marduk but through a secret ritual conducted by a witch does not die and is made into an undying spirit who has to serve whoever owns his bones. The witch botches up the ritual and dies, leaving Hob with his mind his own - even if he has to obey the bones’ current master, he is able to think for himself and over the centuries he outsmarts a lot of his crueler masters, leading to their demise and to the box being inscribed with more and more warnings not to summon what is inside.

First AU variant: In 2022, Dream Endlos [lol let’s give him the German name variant for once], a successful author of books and screenplays, buys an old mansion (Fawney Rig) which is full of old occult stuff from the previous owner. While he sorts through the stuff he comes to the conclusion that he’ll have to hire an expert to ascertain the value of a lot of objects. He trips over a box on his way out and it falls over and unlatches, revealing a glimmer of gold inside. Curious, Dream opens it and finds the golden bones of what seems to be a complete human skeleton. The box is inscribed with ancient warnings in almost every language from cuneiform to hieroglyphs to Greek and Latin. Dream is both horrified and fascinated.

He reverently places the bones back inside the box, carefully handles the skull and wonders about the person they belonged to. He goes to bed, his mind spinning with possible scenarios and stories concerning the bones, the box, the warnings. He lies awake for hours. Late at night he gets up again and goes back downstairs. He takes the box back up into his bedroom and sits before it. “Who were you?” he asks the box, and there is a quiet whisper of a man’s voice near his ear. “My name. Is Hob.”

Second AU variant (that I like almost better because I know how it would end): 

Burgess gets his hands on the bones after he captures Dream. He uses Hob to try and get Dream to talk, in so far as that he sends him down to talk to Dream and learn his secrets, in the hopes it might work because Hob is a supernatural being. Hob is fascinated with Dream immediately and tells him that he should not talk to him so he won’t have to betray anything to Burgess. “You mustn’t tell me anything important, I cannot lie to my master. If he commands me to tell him what you said I’ll have to answer. But I can tell you about a lot of things, if you’re bored. You must be bored, right?”

Dream is in turn fascinated with Hob and his strange curse and after a while they talk about unimportant things, things they like and dislike, they tell each other stories. Hob tells Dream how he was made into what he is against his will. Dream aches with sympathy. Burgess is frustrated because he gets no results. Maybe he also tries to have Hob use force on Dream but luckily the magic circle and spells make it impossible for Hob to enter the sphere Dream is held in. Events happen like in episode 1, Alex inherits Hob’s bones but barely uses him to do anything because he’s almost more scared of Hob than he is of Dream. Hob talks to Paul more than he talks to Alex and he tries to subtly influence the man to let Dream go. It takes decades but eventually Paul is showing signs of having had enough. Hob warns Dream to be alert and begs him to please take his bones with him if he escapes. Events unfold like in canon and Dream breaks free. He leaves without Hob’s bones, too weak to search for them right away. He knows where they are but he can’t get them without reclaiming his power first. 

Hob thinks Dream has left him to his fate and is full of sadness and despair. He returns to the bones, his master caught in an eternal waking nightmare. Paul takes the bones and calls on him to help Alex, but Hob can't help and so he ignores the pleas and doesn't even manifest. Paul is frustrated and puts the bones into a safe and out of his mind. When Dream has got the sand, helm and ruby back he goes back to Fawney Rig and searches for Hob. He finds his bones and takes them with him to the Dreaming, putting them into his own private rooms. Hob does not answer him and Dream pleads for forgiveness and begs Hob to come back to him. Only when he places a kiss on the forehead of the golden skull do the bones start to vibrate and come together and Hob is able to form himself a new body, with the help of the power of the Dreaming, a body that holds his bones and is free of the box so he will not be bound to any master ever again. :)

[compacflt]

For the requests/open inbox, this may not be the lane you're looking for, but you made a throw a way mention in a response to the ask about Ice's enforcement of DADT that Bradley and Ice probably got into it at one point about Ice being totally okay with DADT as a policy (which I love your read on Ice being like, 'yeah, nobody should ask and nobody should tell. what's the problem here?') I would love to see that argument go down. Or honestly, just any Ice and Bradley interaction after the reconciliation that suits your fancy. I find that dynamic in your world super interesting. Bradley sees him as a father, Ice sees him as the person whose father I killed. I love the drama.

Five times Ice was so obviously Rooster’s dad + one time he explicitly wasn’t.

[Carole. 1994.]

He’s such a nervous man. Usually that’s not the word people associate with him. Nervous? Never! But he is. Carole Bradshaw’s more a religious woman than a spiritual one. She’s never put any stock into “chockras” or “ouras” or whatever the other girls her age were fooling around with in the late sixties and early seventies. But she does believe that you can understand a person just by looking at him or her, and when she looks at Tom Kazansky, she sees a little anxious creature, shivering in the cold, like one of those tiny spindly dogs who always needs a sweater. Maybe it’s her southern maternal instincts, something primal and animalistic inside her, I need to take care of you—and when he nudges her with a nervous shivering shoulder and whispers, “Can I bum a smoke?” —she reaches down to take his hand and says, “I only have one left. We’ll have to share.”

She knows she makes him nervous. His ears are red, and so’s the back of his neck. It’s early on a Saturday morning, and the church is crowded, and he’s self-conscious about the fact that she’s holding his hand. Good. It’s so rare she gets to make a man nervous anymore. She waves to Bradley, proud in his little striped button-down and his little blue bow-tie, where he’s lined-up with all the other aspiring pianists against the stage along the far wall, under the bare postmodern crucifix. The recital isn’t going to start for another five, ten minutes, and it’s organized by age, so Bradley’s somewhere in the middle. If Tom Kazansky needs a smoke, Carole Bradshaw will bum him a smoke.

They exit out the side door, and the low murmuring of the other proud parents in the church fades to the quiet of the alley. Birds chirping nearby. The sound of a latecoming car on gravel somewhere far away. Her cigarette and the flick of his lighter, her eyes on his mouth and his puff of smoke—it’s lit. He takes a drag, closes his eyes, then passes it to her. “Sorry to make you share,” she says, and she’s watching the red flush creep up the side of his throat with a silent pleasure. When she takes her own pull, she looks down to see that the filter’s gone the sweet red-pink of her old lipstick. Kind of like a kiss, sharing a cigarette.

“That’s okay,” he says. Nervous spindly little dog. “Uh, what’s he playing?”

“Beethoven. ‘Für Elise.’” Then, before he can think to judge, she goes on quickly: “It’s more complicated than you’d think. Goes up and down and all over the place.”

“It’s a good song,” Tom Kazansky says, “though I don’t know too much about piano.” He pauses. “I’m learning a little German, though. I think it’s E-leez-ah. She must’ve been an alright girl if Beethoven wrote a song for her.”

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know what to say to that. So she says this instead: “Thank you for coming. It made Bradley—well, over the moon, I guess.”

Tom Kazansky smiles shyly. “Sorry Maverick couldn’t come. I know he wanted to.”

Of course he brings up Pete Mitchell. Drags her back into reality. “He’s in Washington again, isn’t he?”

“Correct.” He reaches out for the cigarette; she gives it to him. “TOPGUN’s biggest advocate. I keep telling him he should go into politics. I just talked to him yesterday—he told me he went to the Natural History Smithsonian on Wednesday—he bought Bradley a dinosaur picture book, I think. Does Bradley like dinosaurs?”

Carole Bradshaw shrugs. What nine-year-old boy doesn’t like dinosaurs, but… “He’s more into sea life these days. Whales, sharks, fish.”

“Some fish used to be dinosaurs, they think,” says Tom Kazansky, clearly just trying to fill the silence. Ears red, lips red. Smoke out of his mouth like a fire-breathing dragon.

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know how much dinosaur history she actually believes. So she says, “It’s still really nice of you to come. You know, Bradley—Bradley thinks of you and Maverick as his—well, his fathers, I s’pose. So it’s nice for you to be here.”

She watches his reaction—just nervousness. Straight anxiety. He doesn’t meet her eyes, like she’s just kicked him in the ribs. He does not want to be Bradley’s father. 

She says, “You don’t have to sign any papers, Tom. You don’t have to put a kid seat in your car. I’m just saying. Don’t worry about it.”

He says, “I can hear the kids starting inside—we should probably go back in.”

So Carole Bradshaw drops the cigarette butt to the ground and steps on it with the bottom of her flat. They go inside, and wait for a kindergartener to finish an overly simple “Canon in D” to take their seats again. She takes his hand. He lets her. After another half-hour, Bradley sits down on the bench in front of the hand-me-down Steinway and busts out “Für Elise” without a single missed note. It still shocks her, sometimes, to watch him play—it still shocks her, sometimes, that she is the mother of all that talent. And now maybe Tom Kazansky is the father of all that talent. How did that happen?

At the end of the recital, Tom Kazansky lets go of her hand. She knew he would. Knew his fatherhood is only temporary. But he lets go of her hand to accept Bradley’s great-big hug in the parking lot: “Gosling, that was so good.” Bradley’s proud smile is missing a few teeth. It makes Tom Kazansky laugh.

And after he drops them off at home, and peels away with a wave and a smile, Carole Bradshaw lights another cigarette from the half-full pack she’d brought with her to the recital and brings Bradley out to the backyard so he can play and she can watch him. But before she lets him go, she looks down at him and says flatly, “If kids at school ask you about Uncle Tom and Uncle Pete—you need to tell them they’re just friends.”

And in his eyes, she can see the confusion of a little boy who hadn’t been aware that Tom Kazansky and Pete Mitchell were anything other than just friends—the confusion of a little boy learning about duplicity for the first time in his life. 

“Okay,” he says, so she lets him go.

—

[Maverick. 1998.]

“Don’t go easy on him,” Maverick hollers breathlessly over his shoulder, fishing around in the ice chest in the sand for two cans of Coors; “He just joined the J.R.O.T.C.; don’t go easy on him; he’s tougher than all your squadrons combined; beat him into the dirt…”

“Thanks, Uncle Mav,” shouts Bradley from across the volleyball court, where he’s getting initiated into one of the volleyball teams of younger fighter pilots. 

Maverick flashes him a thumbs-up and finds his T-shirt on the first bleacher bench, pulls it on with one hand, and then hops up the rest of the benches to sit with Ice, who’s got his CVN-65 ballcap on and a book open in his lap and is offering informal career advice to one of the other lieutenants: “Yeah, so, in my opinion, it’s all down to what you think you can stomach… If you want me to look over your C.V., I can totally do that—I think I’m free Monday at around thirteen-hundred, if you want to stop in to talk. Not a problem. Not a problem. Alright. See you later.” He watches the lieutenant go, then lolls his head over to look at Maverick, who’s tossing an ice-cold can of Coors up and down. “Hey. Good game. —Coors, Mav? This is an insult.” But he takes the offered can anyway, looking out onto the court, where Bradley—fourteen and just entering his beanpole phase of evolution—is currently spiking the ball. “Cool.” It’s a nice summer Saturday, a casual opportunity for the officers of Miramar to socialize with their families (Ice is wearing a golf shirt and jeans), and by now pretty much everyone knows that Maverick Mitchell’s raising his friend’s kid and that he and Captain Kazansky are good friends, so this is pretty nice. Not much to hide.

“C’mon,” Maverick says, popping open his own can, “you and I were having a scintillating conversation, a few minutes ago.” He’s hunting around for the sunscreen so the tops of his feet don’t burn to ashes in the sun.

“Scintillating. That’s a big word for you. Wow.”

“You’re rubbing off on me, Sir Reads-a-lot—”

“See, that’s funny,” Ice interjects, “because I seem to recall, before you so-rudely interrupted me to go play volleyball with the kids, I was telling you that it’s really not that interesting. It’s actually, Maverick, quite boring.”

“Well, I’m intrigued now. Go on. Finish it off, I wanna know.”

Ice slaps his book shut and gives the long tired sigh of a man who is very self-conscious about the fact that he’s about to turn forty. He pops the tab on his can of Coors and huffs in exasperation when it foams all over his hand. “I mean it, my family history’s really not that interesting. Typical eastern-European immigrant shitshow. U.S. officials change one letter in our last name and everyone loses their goddamn minds… Actually, that story might be apocryphal, I keep forgetting which former Soviet Socialist Republic I’m actually from, I just can’t remember, all the borders got redrawn so many times, one of ‘em…”

Maverick smiles and pulls his TOPGUN ballcap back down onto his head, tugs the brim down low over his eyes so he can tip his head back and not go blind from the summer sunshine. He’d thought Ice would be reluctant to share his family history, but it turns out that most people are just afraid to ask him, and he’s actually pretty eager to talk, if you just ask. Maybe over-eager. He’s rambling. Maverick cuts him off: “Yeah, you do have a left curve to you, don’t you. Genetic.”

The dirty joke strikes Ice dumb for a second, but then he forges ahead, wisely choosing not to engage. He keeps going, oblivious to the fact that Maverick’s not really listening… “Anyway, my grandfather was Jewish, but he died literally the second he stepped foot in America, so it doesn’t count…my grandmother was Orthodox, crazy story how they ended up together; actually, that story’s probably apocryphal, too…she’s the one who raised me, pretty much. I told you that. She brought my dad out to Southern California when he was a little kid, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, So-Cal’s not exactly the Mecca of Orthodox churches or anything, so he wasn’t very religious at all… My mom was from Milwaukee, I think. Or maybe Minneappolis. Some kinda Protestant. Forget which kind. The preachy kind. But then she died and I didn’t have to go to church anymore, so I didn’t.”

“You just never believed?” Maverick mumbles, half-joking.

“Nah. I mean, I always had too many questions no one wanted to answer. For instance: okay, say you’re bad. Say you commit sin…”

“I’ve never sinned, sir. You’re talking hypothetically.”

“Right. Me, neither. Hypothetically speaking. So you go to Hell. Well, the devil’s there, too, ‘cause he’s a sinner, too. But why’s he want to punish you? What does he get out of it? You’re both in the same boat!”

“Probably a sexual thing,” says Maverick, watching the purple-green imprints of the sun dance around behind his eyelids. “He probably gets off on it. The devil, I mean.”

Ice laughs and laughs. “Sure. Try saying that in front of my mom and see if you survived. I learned pretty early on that they don’t want you to be too curious. So I kept all my questions to myself.” He’s also joking, not taking this super seriously, but that’s a pretty in-character answer. “What about you, Mav?”

“If I’ve told you my family’s history once, I’ve told you a thousand times…” That’s a joke. Maverick’s the one who doesn’t like talking about his family history. Ice hasn’t heard any of it, and for good reason. Maybe someday he’ll tell him about it. “Later. But, remember, I used to be Southern Baptist? Jesus, I was serious into that shit, Ice.”

Ice snorts. “Yeah, right. You.”

“Not joking. I had about eighty girlfriends between fourteen and eighteen, but that’s the most pious I’ve ever been. Lotsa loopholes to make my relationships biblical. Was thinking about being a youth pastor. —I’m not joking. It was my whole personality, for a while. Most of my childhood, anyway.”

Ice is still laughing in disbelief. “Oh, yeah? And then what happened?”

Maverick smiles. “…Got hooked on sinning.” 

“…Yeah,” Ice replies, and Maverick can hear the nervous smirk in his voice, “I guess I’d know a little something about that.”

And normally that would be the end of the conversation. But Maverick’s feeling a little sun-drunk, a little giddy, and he’ll never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Ice just for the fun of it. From beneath the brim of his ballcap he mutters, “…You think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

Ice huffs a laugh, and says through a lazy yawn, “I’m not militant in my atheism, no.” But he, also, will never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Maverick just for the fun of it, and his curiosity’s clearly been piqued. He stews in it for a second before he snaps, “Do you think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

“I’m just saying she has him readin’ outta the Bible, like, five times a day. She sends him to church camp. Does something to a kid.” He has no dog in this fight, but this is fun.

“And what did it do to you?” Ice says, reaching down to shove his shoulder good-naturedly. “Weren’t you just telling me not five seconds ago how you used to be the perfect model of Christian charity?” Maverick mumbles a retort sleepily; Ice pushes on through it: “Bradley’s a human being. Either he grows out of it like you did, or he doesn’t, in which case, whatever, land of the free. That’s the First Amendment. You swore an oath to the Constitution. Maybe you should read it.”

“I’ve read it. I’m not Congress, shithead. How’s it go, you want me to cite it to you directly, ‘Congress shall make no law…’ actually, I don’t know what comes after that. Got me there.”

“Don’t call me shithead, dipshit. And whatever. Good thing he’s Carole’s kid and not yours, then. He’s got a mom who wants him to go to church. It’s up to him if he wants to listen to her or not. That’s growing up.”

Maverick tips up the brim of his ballcap to look at him, sprawled out in the bleachers very unprofessionally for the CO of this entire volleyball court, and snaps back, “Well, he’s a little bit my kid. The same way he’s a little bit your kid.” 

Ice just flicks his sunglasses down onto his nose and purses his lips and neither confirms nor denies this allegation. 

They watch the game together for a while, Ice’s toes pressed against Maverick’s lower back discreetly, trying to work their way under Maverick’s T-shirt. Until one of the young pilots approaches a few minutes later: “Sir!” / “What’s that kid’s call sign again?” Ice mumbles to Maverick, prodding him with his foot. / “Hooker.” / “No shit.” / “Sir!” says Hooker again. / “Which one of us, kid?” says Maverick. / “Captain Kazansky, sir. We’ve got a spot opening up. Wanna play?”

Maverick looks up at Ice expectantly. Ice sighs and harrumphs and waffles for a minute— “I’m too old for this shit.”

“Sir,” says Maverick, “it’s not a competition, but if it were, I’d be winning.” 

Lighting the fire of competition under Ice like that is always a good strategy. He rolls his eyes, but immediately stands and tugs off his shirt and rolls up the cuffs of his jeans; “I’ll only play if I can play with the kid.” 

So Maverick watches the teams get scrambled again with a smile, and sits up to watch Ice join Bradley in the sand. Bradley’s only just now taller than Ice, and Ice clearly isn’t used to having to reach up to curl an arm around his shoulders to strategize, his eyes narrowed like an eagle’s, staring down the competition. Maverick can read his lips from across the pitch: Alright, kid, I’ve been watching for a while, and I think I know these guys’ strengths and weaknesses…okay, here’s what we’re gonna do… And the game begins when Bradley spikes the ball.

Ice won’t always be this fun, this down-to-earth, this human. The admiralty and the guilt and the grief of the years to come will strip it all away from him, bring him back to the cold, remove him from his own humanity. And maybe, even if it isn’t conscious, Maverick can recognize that, right now, watching Ice dive into the sand with a laugh: this summer sunshine is only temporary. It’s gonna have to end at some point. So he doesn’t take it for granted. He keeps his eyes open and watches and tries to commit it to memory.

And after the game, Ice and Bradley come over so Ice can finish his beer and put his shirt and his baseball cap back on, and Maverick can make fun of them for losing. And: “What were you guys talking about for so long before the game?” Bradley asks Maverick with a grin.

“Whether or not your mom’s brainwashing you,” Maverick says.

“Oh!” Bradley says mildly. “…No, I don’t think so!”

“Oh, that’s a great start,” Ice laughs. “You would’ve made a great Soviet. No, I don’t think I’m getting brainwashed. Hey, by the way, Gosling, if you want a beer, Maverick and I won’t tell anyone.”

“Aw, really?” whispers Bradley. “Thanks, Uncle Ice!” And he races down the bleachers towards the ice chest in the sand.

Maverick watches Ice watch him go, fingers still pinching the brim of his CVN-65 ballcap, clearly worrying about something the way Ice always is. 

Then he looks down at Maverick, stares openly for a minute, and says, “You don’t think we’re teaching him to rebel too much, do you?”

—

[Bradley. 2000.]

“Kiddo! You’re here early!” It was Uncle Ice, walking through his own front door, catching a glimpse of Bradley watching the Astros-Nats game on the TV. He was still in uniform, but smiling wide, and he set his bag down near the couch and leaned over to ruffle Bradley’s hair goodnaturedly.

“Practice ended early today.”

“Oh, okay. Cool. Maverick should be home soon, still at work—your mom’ll be here in about an hour—she told me to put the chicken breasts in the oven, but you know me, every time I use this oven I set off the fire alarm, so you oughta help me with that…”

“And,” Bradley said, watching Uncle Ice wash his hands in the kitchen sink, “I got here early because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, sure!” chirped Uncle Ice. Then he paused, sensing a trap. “What about?”

“Advice,” Bradley mumbled. He took a deep breath, and stood to follow Uncle Ice into the kitchen “I was just—I was just curious. If you had any advice for me joining the Navy. You know, with me being gay, and all. How do I—I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It’s kinda been weighing on me. Do you have any advice?”

Uncle Ice was still drying his hands off on a kitchen towel. Rubbing them red and raw. And when he raised his head to speak, there was something dull and startled in his eyes: “I don’t, um—no, I don’t—I don’t know anything about that. —You should ask Uncle Maverick about that.”

“I did,” Bradley said desperately, because he had. Yes, he’d gone to Uncle Mav first. “He—he told me to talk to you.”

“…Oh,” said Uncle Ice, now standing in front of a shelf to return one of his books to it. This surprised him. Maybe hurt him a little. “No. I—I, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“But—”

“And there are probably better people to ask than me or Maverick. I—I don’t know—that’s not really my…I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

Uncle Ice swallowed, put the book back on the shelf, then clasped his hands together and set them on the shelf, too, as if leaning over his captain’s desk to chastise someone. He blinked for a long moment. Clearly shifting gears. Becoming someone else so easily. Why couldn’t Bradley do that? “But I can tell you this,” he said, and his voice had gone grave and dim, “and I know you and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on politics—but I can tell you this, professionally, because I respect you, and I care about you, a lot—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Dismayed, Bradley said, “Why?”

“Why’s a funny question to ask about something like this,” said Uncle Ice curtly. He shrugged. “Why? Because it’s the law. That’s why.”

Bradley swung his bat at the hornets’ nest. This was always dangerous with Uncle Ice. “It shouldn’t be a law. Don’t you think?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s the law. And we get paid to enforce the law, internationally speaking. And the military doesn’t work if personnel refuse to follow the rules in broad daylight. So.” He trailed his fingertip along the spines of all his precious books, then eventually found a different one, started flipping through it absentmindedly. “And even if it weren’t the law, it’d still get enforced extrajudicially. You know what that means?” He did that, when he was intentionally being cruel; used big words that Bradley didn’t know to make himself sound smarter. “It means outside the law. The way people talk to you. The way people respect you or don’t respect you. And this business, the one you want to go into, is all about respect. Being a pilot is kind of like being a knight: you have to be noble, you have to be honorable, you have to respect your service and your adversaries and yourself. And because I respect you, and because I care about you a lot, I’m just telling you the truth—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Bradley blinked. There was something crushing and overwhelming about the truth—maybe the fact that it was the truth, maybe the fact that he hated the fact that it was the truth. It made sense. But it also meant his future was unspeakably bleak. He tried to speak over the lump in his throat when he said, “Yeah. That’s what Maverick told me, too.” And what he’d wanted to hear from Uncle Ice was that Uncle Mav was telling a lie. 

Something went soft and slightly wounded in Uncle Ice’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” Uncle Ice said gently. “I wish I could give you better advice than that. But that’s all I know. I don’t know any more than that.”

“Don’t you want to know more than that?”

“No.”

And thus did the generational gap widen into a chasm. 

—

[February 2003.]

Dear SN Bradshaw, / Please call/email/write me back when you get a chance. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2003.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I hope you’re doing all right. I hope at some point you and I can get in touch to talk. Please let me know if there is some other address I should be sending my letters to. I am not sure if they are finding you. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[May 2004.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I wanted to congratulate you on your acceptance to college. Yours is a very good AE program & you should feel very proud. Please let me know if there’s anything you might need as you prepare to start your first year. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2010.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / I wanted to let you know that I’ll be at NAS Oceana for a conference from December 6-9. I understand that’s your neck of the woods—would you be interested in having dinner with me on either that Tuesday or Wednesday night? I would love to hear how you’ve been doing. You can reach my secretary at the number below. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[October 2014.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / We Maverick and I want to wish you a Happy Birthday 30th Birthday. We heard you are deployed out in the Atlantic now—we hope you will be able to enjoy the enclosed gift card when you make it back to terra firma. Our updated personal cell numbers are below. / HAPPY BIRTHDAY! FROM UNCLE MAVERICK & Uncle Iceman.

…

“Haven’t heard back from the kid yet.”

“…You think we ever will?”

The longest silence.

—

[Pacific Air Type Commander Beau Simpson. 2016.]

You could see it in the way they held themselves. An utmost similarity. Aristocratic propriety. Maybe a little sense of entitlement: look how hard we’ve worked to be here. All three of them had it. More accurately: Captain Mitchell and Admiral Kazansky both had it, and had passed it down to their son.

“Captain Mitchell.” Everyone was watching. The sun had only just set; the sky was melting from horizon-red through orange and yellow and teal up to midnight black above them.

“It’s an honor, sir,” said Captain Mitchell, accepting Admiral Kazansky’s handshake. God, you’d never know it by looking at them. Half the people here on this Roosevelt flight deck knew about them, but they were so convincing that more people weren’t sure. TYCOM Simpson glanced at Rear Admiral Bates, who glanced back in confusion—I thought they were…? They were, TYCOM Simpson signaled, just abnormally good at keeping it a secret.

“Honor’s all mine, Captain,” said Admiral Kazansky, and he passed by without a second glance.

And when he made it down the line of aviators to Lieutenant Bradshaw—you could see it. The similarity in the way they held themselves. Straight and rigid and unyielding. Cold and dismissive beyond belief, even to each other. Admiral Kazansky held out a hand. Lieutenant Bradshaw took it, but refused to make eye contact. Quiet rebellion under the radar: Admiral Kazansky had taught him well. 

TYCOM Simpson glanced at Captain Mitchell, to gauge his reaction. And for once, he and Captain Mitchell were clearly thinking the exact same thing.

Like father, like son.

You could see it in their stubborn determination. How far they were willing to go. How hard they were willing to push. How long they were willing to hold their own hands to the fire, if it meant the familiar painful comfort of staying warm. “Ice-cold, huh?” TYCOM Simpson asked him the next morning, trying to pin down their strategy, trying to secure a guarantee that their family would do what their country asked of them, even if that meant death. Even if that meant the ultimate sacrifice.

“Only when I have to be,” replied Admiral Kazansky, which meant always, and—soon thereafter, he ordered Lieutenant Bradshaw to his death.

But also, Lieutenant Bradshaw went willingly, too.

“Dagger One is hit.”

“Dagger Two is hit.”

Loss is supposed to hit a man in stages. Isn’t that the truth? —Not so for Admiral Kazansky, whom grief obviously swallowed whole in just an instant. He did not break, or bend under its weight. Just stood there staring at the E-2D AWACS screen with wide wounded eyes—not disbelieving eyes. They were gone. Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw were gone. He was in no denial whatsoever. He had leapt straight to acceptance.

“Sir,” said TYCOM Simpson hesitantly, and he reached out to touch him—the stars on his shoulder—guide him back to reality—what must it be like, to lose a son?—to willingly forfeit your family?—

But before he could make contact, Admiral Kazansky drew a breath, moved away, and closed his eyes for just a second. Perfectly composed, even with the waters of grief closing over his head, even with three dozen observers in this C2 room all scrutinizing him for his response. Perfectly composed. How did he do it? How could he manage? How was he possibly still this proud?

“Vice Admiral Simpson,” he said calmly, “I relinquish my command to you, until you deem me necessary to return to my post.”

“Sir,” said Rear Admiral Bates, darting panicked, sympathetic eyes to TYCOM Simpson, but it was too late—Admiral Kazansky was already leaving the room. Head held high and steady. 

Some confusing weeks later, after Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw returned from the dead, TYCOM Simpson and Rear Admiral Bates would casually debrief the mission together in the lobby bar of the Waldorf-Astoria in Washington, D.C. No hard liquor, just beers. Just barely enough alcohol to give them an excuse to philosophize. “You think pride is a sin or a virtue?” TYCOM Simpson found himself asking, tracing the rim of his gilt-edged Stella Artois glass with a finger, after having recounted the above testimony.

“Neither,” said Rear Admiral Bates. “Gotta be a vice.”

“A vice.”

“Yeah. Good men die because of pride, bad men die because of pride…we send our sons to battle because of pride…wars are fought and won and lost because of pride… every war in human history, when you boil it down, begins when someone says, ‘You’re wrong and I’m right, and I’m proud of my own righteousness, proud enough to kill, proud enough to die, proud enough to send my sons to die…’”

“Oh, okay. That’s the root of all human conflict, then, according to you, Warlock. Okay.”

Rear Admiral Bates smiled and laughed at himself, too. Pride, he mouthed. Then shook his head. “We’re a proud species. It’s our vice.”

TYCOM Simpson was thinking about the two proudest men he knew, Admiral Kazansky and Lieutenant Bradshaw, and wondered what it was, exactly, that had driven a wedge between them, you’re wrong and I’m right and I’m proud enough of my own righteousness to send you to your death/inflict my death upon you… And then he remembered the warnings he’d previously received about Lieutenant Bradshaw and Lieutenant Seresin and their open relationship, and then he remembered Admiral Kazansky coldly shaking Captain Mitchell’s hand… and he wondered if the wedge between them was exactly that: the matter of pride.

—

[Tom. 2018.]

“Merry Christmas and a happy new year, and all that,” says Pete, raising his glass and reaching over the dining table to clink rims with Tom and then Bradley. “A good year! A really good year! —Sorry your guy couldn’t be here, Rooster. We’ll call him tonight before you go. Tell him we miss him.”

“Where is he again?” Tom asks.

“Washington,” Bradley says with a smile. “Big conference at the Pentagon. I’ll see him next week.”

“You know,” Pete says with a sly grin directed at Tom, “I’ve never actually heard the story of how you two got together.” 

“Oh,” Bradley says, shrugging as he tears open a dinner roll, “not that interesting. Pretty much what you’d expect. Inter-squadron competition-turned-sexual tension. Not exactly within regs, but we did meet each other before D.A.D.T. got repealed, so it wasn’t like we’d’ve ever been within regs, either…” (All the while, Tom’s smirking over the rim of his wine glass at Pete, No, Mav, I’m not gonna tell him I had them reassigned to the same boat…) “We broke up when I got sent to TOPGUN. But we figured it out eventually.”

“Glad you did. Sorry he couldn’t be here.”

Bradley hesitates, then says, “You know what I just realized? I never heard how you two got together…! You’ve never told me that story!”

Tom glances over at Pete, do you want to take this or shall I, and when Pete motions all yours, he sighs and says, “Uh, we don’t really know. We’ve just been telling people nineteen-eighty-six because it’s easy. But in a much more real sense…” He thinks about it, then shrugs. “Whatever. If you really want to know. In nineteen-ninety-three, right after I came back to San Diego to take command at Miramar, he and I had a drunken one-night stand. By accident. Which then turned into twenty-five years of accidental one-night stands. So.”

“Oh, c’mon. You guys bought a house together.”

“Yeah, that,” says Pete, “that was, uh, to facilitate the accidental one-night stands. Make it more convenient for everyone.”

“Cut out the middle-man,” Tom supplies, then shrugs again at the look on Bradley’s face. “That’s our story, kid. It’s not super romantic. We weren’t thinking about it that way. We didn’t know how.”

Pete raises the wine bottle to refill Tom’s glass—though it’s still halfway full—and then raises his eyebrows when he “notices” the bottle’s empty. Changes the subject as he stands: “Okay, what’s everyone feeling? Red, white, what’s next?”

“Red,” Tom says absently. “Anything big, I guess—first cab you see…” But then he thinks about it, and he amends his order before Pete leaves earshot: “Actually—we’ve got that petite sirah we gotta drink—two-thousand-four. Israeli. Might be somewhere in the back, sorry. But now’s a good occasion, I think, to bust it out for the holidays. No reason to save it.”

“Israeli sirah two-thousand-four,” Pete repeats, “okay. I got that.” 

Then he steps outside, leaving Tom and Bradley alone. It’s not awkward—they’ve worked really hard over the last two years to make it not-awkward, after the mission—but human beings are human beings. Prideful, stubborn creatures. There will always be a little guilt between the two of them, and a little blame.

“I have to be honest,” Tom says after a moment, interested in being honest for Bradley’s sake, “sorry we don’t have a better story to give you, about us. It is a little hard to talk about.”

“Why?”

“Well—we don’t know the words we’re supposed to use, for one. It’s your generation who sets the standard for that kind of thing. You young people. We’re a little out-of-date. And…well. I guess we’re just jealous of you. It’s hard to talk about.”

“Jealous?” Bradley repeats quizzically. “Why?”

Tom leans back in his chair and really thinks through what he wants to say. This is one of those impromptu speeches you never really intend to make, but are probably still important to get off your chest. “Maverick and I,” he starts carefully, “will never stop feeling guilty about what we did to you. Ever. You need to know that.” And when Bradley scoffs and huffs and tries to interrupt, he goes on, “Not just pulling your papers from the Academy. It goes back further than that. We will always feel like we deprived you of your father. The merits of that feeling are debatable, sure, but it’s a fact of life. A fact of our lives, anyway. And it’s dictated so much of how we live, and how we’ve lived, over the past thirty years. Part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with you and your mom. Because I felt I owed you that, in return for what I’d taken.”

“You didn’t kill him,” Bradley says. “Or, at least, I never blamed you for killing him. You or Maverick both. You guys were my dads. You didn’t take anything from me. —Excepting the obvious, the Academy, but that was mostly my mom, I guess, so, whatever.”

“I’m just telling you what our lives have been like since the day I met you. Why we did what we did.”

“Okay. But I still don’t understand why you’re jealous.”

Tom smiles, a little faintly. “Because the other part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with Maverick,” he says, “and I’m jealous of you because I didn’t recognize that at the time. —Everyone hopes, when they have kids—because, look, I’m not your dad, but you are my kid, really—everyone hopes they can bring their kid into a better world than the one they had when they were a kid, and we did. But no one prepares you for how jealous you get when your kid grows up in a better world than you did. I’m not sure people your age understand how hard it was for us when we were your age.”

“I do.”

“Sure, but I don’t think you do. I—I didn’t…” He sighs. “I never meant to fall in love with Mitchell. He never meant to fall in love with me. There certainly were men in relationships in the Navy back then who could make it work—we weren’t those guys. We looked down on those guys. Most people did. And when you were an officer, your job security and your paycheck relied on your subordinates’ respect for you. If we’d rocked the boat, traded away our respect for our relationship, well, we’d have each other, but we’d be out of a job. And then, if we’d been fired—what did we kill all those people for? For nothing! What a waste of all the lives we took! It wouldn’t have been honorable. Would’ve disrespected the Navy, our careers, the men we killed. So we didn’t talk about our relationship. You know that. Didn’t talk about who we were, or what we were doing, or why, because we were afraid of losing our own honor. Didn’t talk about it until the day you two died and came back from the dead. That’s what it took. Maverick still hates talking about some of that stuff, all the labels, all the words—that’s why I sent him to get a bottle at the back of the fridge, he might be out there a while…”

“Cunning,” Bradley says softly, but leaves the space open after he speaks.

Tom looks away. “Maybe this is getting too deep into the weeds. I’m just trying to tell you what it’s been like for us. Not sure how much of this you want to hear.”

“All of it. —All of it.”

Tom clears his throat. “…Well, Maverick keeps trying to convince me that we never wasted any time. And I know there is some truth to that—we didn’t start out liking each other at all—even if we’d been as brave as people your age are nowadays, even if we’d been open with each other about that kind of stuff, we still probably wouldn’t have ended up together. I mean, we really didn’t like each other. Especially right after your dad died, and especially after you left, in two-thousand-two. So maybe it was better for us in the long run that we didn’t talk about it. But I look back on the thirty years I’ve spent with him, and…it still all feels like a waste to me.” Maybe he really is too deep into the weeds. But he just wants Bradley to understand. “Look, Mitchell is, beyond any possible shadow of a doubt, the love of my life. Always has been and always will be. Right? —I just wish I’d known that at the time. I’m jealous of you because you’re exactly the age I was when I came back to Miramar to be with you and your mom and Maverick, and you’re already married, and you won’t ever have to sacrifice any of your honor for your marriage. You’re one of the most respected men in the Navy.”

“So are you, Ice, and you’re also married to another man.”

“I’ll remind you, though it hurts a little, that I’m almost exactly a quarter-century older than you, and you and I got married within a week of each other. I had to wait for times to change.” He holds Bradley’s gaze for a moment, then finishes the last of his dinner and sets his fork down on his plate. “So, if you were ever wondering why Mav and I are a little bitter around you and Jake, well, it’s because we are.”

“Oh,” says Bradley. “See, I always thought it was just because you and Maverick are both notoriously bitter people.”

“We are,” Tom admits through a laugh. Then he continues, “But—you should also know how proud of you we both are. How proud of you we’ve both always been. We’re not very brave men—well, we are, of course, but maybe not in the way that matters. It’s pretty gratifying to have a kid who’s braver than you are. Every parent’s dream, whether we want to admit it or not. You’re brave enough for all of us.”

It’s at this moment that Pete opens the garage door and sticks his head inside and hollers, “Ice, I can’t find it. What about a merlot? Can we do a merlot?”

“No, baby, the sirah,” Tom answers without turning his head. “It’s on the second shelf, you might—have to rearrange some of the bottles—we have too much wine. We need to drink more, me and you.”

“Not a problem,” says Pete, and he shuts the door again.

“It’s on the third shelf,” Tom tells Bradley in an aside. “He’ll find it eventually. He would’ve tried to change the subject six times by now. —The previous Secretary of the Army—he actually just got married this week, I think; I need to send a card—also gay. He and his partner invited Maverick and me out to dinner the last time we were in D.C. Most uncomfortable I’ve ever seen Mav in my whole life. Asking us questions like, ‘How did you guys get together…?’ ‘Was it easier for you guys because you were in the Navy…?’ ‘When did you…know…?’” When Bradley laughs, Tom does, too. It’s really nice, it turns out, to joke about this stuff with someone who understands. “We just made our answers up out of thin air. I was uncomfortable too, admittedly. That’s what I’m saying. Mav and I never learned the vocabulary to answer questions like that.”

Bradley starts taking their plates to the sink. What a good kid. “You know,” he says from the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder when Tom joins him at the counter, “it’s so funny you bitch that you and Mav don’t have a romantic love story, or whatever. When I was a kid, you and him were literally the pinnacle of romance.”

“Oh, really.”

“Yeah. There’s something romantic about the secret, too. When Jake and I made our relationship official—the first time—I begged him to keep it a secret just for a little while. You know; it was sexy, for a few minutes! Something only he and I knew!”

“And you immediately discovered how awful it is, I’m sure,” Tom says noncommittally. “I’m jealous of you that you learned that lesson young. —Yeah, real romantic. Maverick and I could’ve ended each other’s careers fourteen thousand times over. Real romantic.”

“And trusted each other not to,” Bradley points out—

—which makes Tom reconsider. 

Yeah, okay, maybe it’s a little romantic. The way Grimm’s fairytales, once you wipe away all the blood, are just a little romantic. “I’m of the opinion that the only thing getting old is good for is looking back on your life through rose-colored glasses. Sure. Historical revisionism it is. It was a little romantic.”

“What’s a little romantic?” says Pete, stepping into the kitchen and triumphantly brandishing his 2004 petite sirah; “Have I missed something funny? —It was on the third shelf, by the way. Could’ve told me that before I went and reorganized the whole fridge.”

Tom graciously accepts the half-annoyed kiss to the cheek, and answers, “Nothing you would’ve laughed at, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, one of those conversations,” says Pete, hunting around in the drawer for the corkscrew. “If you were planning on continuing, I can go out and rearrange the wine bottles by region instead of by year—” and scoffs when Tom kisses him back to reassure him, conversation’s over.

“Did you know,” Bradley says, “your husband is now openly calling you the love of his life?”

“Oh, yeah,” says Pete with a smile, popping the cork from the bottleneck, “he tells me that all the time. Nothing new.” Tops up their glasses, then deftly changes the subject: “Oh, gosh. I never asked. This is the big news. How are you and Hangman enjoying SOUTHCOM?”

“Oh, God,” says Bradley, rolling his eyes. “Let me tell you…”

“I think we did good,” Pete says later that night—they’re alone now, so he’s fine talking—as he tugs loose the tucked sheets to clamber into bed, and when Tom moves to turn off the light he adds, “No, you can keep reading.”

Tom sets his book down onto his chest and pulls his glasses off anyway. “Well, you and I are known for doing ‘good,’” he muses after a second. “We’re pretty universally renowned for being good at stuff. But, regarding what in particular? —Raising our kid?”

“Yeah. We did good.”

Actually, they didn’t do very well at all. But of course that’s not what Pete means. Pete means: it’s shocking and stunningly fortunate that they did as poorly as they did and still somehow ended up with such a good kid. Tom’s looking up at the ceiling and feeling very small. “How did that happen? Genuinely, how did that happen? I did always build getting married into my plan for my life—but I never thought far enough ahead to consider having kids. And now you and I have a kid who’s in his thirties. How’d that happen? I remember when he could barely walk!”

Pete yawns and rolls over onto his side and closes his eyes. “You and I have a kid who earned a Medal of Honor.”

“I know exactly how that happened” —and doesn’t like to think about it too much. “I suppose we’re just a family of overachievers. A lot of failing upwards, you and me. Somehow we failed our way upwards into a very happy lifelong relationship, a superstar kid…a few dozen medals each, ourselves…”

“That’s life,” says Pete sleepily.

“That is not most people’s lives. You’re aware that our lives look nothing like the average person’s life, right? You understand that?”

“That’s our life.”

Tom considers this. Yeah, it is their life. Wild how that happens. 

He smiles at the singular word life, sets his book on the nightstand, presses a kiss to Pete’s bare shoulder, and turns off the light.

[thefloorisbalaclava]

your love is king II [könig x f!reader]

▸pairing: könig x f!reader ▸words: 2,592 ▸warnings: domestic könig!!, könig helps you with your anxiety, he is turned on by thinking about you lying in the prone position with your sniper rifle, SMUT (unprotected p in v sex, shower sex, spooning sex, woman on top, reverse cowgirl) ▸summary: you are the most important thing in könig's life, and he has different ways of showing you that.

▸a/n: a little more plot this time? honestly i just want to think about making love to this man in all types of ways.

▸[part one] ▸[masterlist]

König could no longer keep his mind off you. Every waking moment on this earth was now spent thinking about you. Of course, he did not let this distract him from what needed to be done to his enemies, but you had become his reason to survive. He had something to fight and live for now.

“What’s on your mind, König?” you asked as he stared down into his cup of tea. “You need something stronger?”

He chuckled. “No. I’m just…thinking of you.” He finally looked at you.

“Good or bad?” You tilted your head.

“It is never bad when I think of you, liebe.” He put his hand over yours. “I hate leaving you. I hate being separated from you and not knowing if you’re okay. I want to ask if they can put us on the same operation.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want you getting in trouble if someone finds out….” You gave him a nervous smile.

“If they find out, let them. The way I feel about you, and my need to protect you is much stronger than any fear I may have.” He pulled you to him.

“There’s my romantic,” you teased.

“Yes, we have established that I am a romantic,” he said, “But I see that you love to tease me.”

“Yes, my King.”

“You should not call me that,” he said in a low tone, “You know what it does to me.” He kissed you softly, and you pressed your body to his.

“Do I?”

“Unruhestifter…” he said quietly.

“I am not a troublemaker,” you giggled.

“Ah, learning more German, hm?” His fingers pressed into the small of your back.

“Yes. For you,” you told him.

“Oh,” he breathed before kissing you again. “I don’t care what anyone says, I’m taking you with me. I cannot leave you here.”

“What if I become a distraction?” you asked.

He pulled back from you with a pout, and you cupped his face. You will never forget the first time he showed you his face.

“You could never be a distraction. Never call yourself that.” He turned his head and kissed your hand.

“I just…”

“I’ll talk to the captain,” he said before you could finish.

“Are you sleeping with him?” Price asked after calling you into his office.

“Sir…I…yes…” you said without looking at him. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Does anyone know?”

“No, sir. Well, just you.” You shook your head. “It wasn’t planned.”

“I know that. Look, if I send you two out on reconnaissance, will you promise to actually get some work done?” he asked, and your face grew hot.

“Y-Yes, sir.”

He pointed at you. “No one finds out about this.”

“Sir.” You nodded.

“Fucking lovebirds,” he complained, and you laughed quietly.

“Thank you, sir.” You left his office with a smile that made your cheeks hurt.

König could not stop kissing you when he found out that Price agreed.

“I want to make love to you to celebrate,” he murmured against your lips.

“I think you’re addicted,” you teased.

“Who wouldn’t be? I am addicted to being inside you, the way you feel around me. I want to live inside you,” he admitted.

You never had someone want you so much and so badly. You also never had someone who had so much stamina.

“I love to hear you call out for me. It lets me know that you are real, I am real, and we are together.”

“Come on.” You took him by the hand and led him to the bathroom. You turned the shower on and undressed. He smirked and did the same.

You stepped in first, and he followed.

“Will you moan for me, my King?”

He pressed you to the shower wall. “Yes, meine Königin.” He had taken to calling you that. “Why do you like it so much when I moan?” He slipped a hand between your legs.

“It tells me that you’re enjoying it—that I make you feel good,” you moaned.

“The way I make you feel good?” He pressed his teeth to your jaw as you threw your head back.

“Yes. God, yes,” you cried.

“I need to be inside you. Are you ready for me?” he asked.

“You tell me.”

He took his fingers from inside you and brought them to his mouth to taste. “Mmm…sie sind bereit.” He lifted one of your legs to his waist and bent his knees enough to line himself up with you, kissing you deeply as he pushed himself inside you with one hard thrust.

“Ah!” you whimpered.

“Yes, let me hear you,” he groaned. “You take me so well after all our practice,” he joked.

“I love the way you take me. Harder, please,” you whined.

“I need both legs around me.” He quickly hoisted you up, and you wrapped both legs around him. You pressed your forehead to his as he pumped in and out of you faster.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “I want you so full of me that you feel it all day.”

You looked into his eyes. “Do it, please.”

“You beg so well for me.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep yourself steady against his thrusts. “Don’t stop, König.”

“I wish I never had to,” he said. “Touch yourself.”

Something you had discovered about König is that he loved to watch you touch yourself. He looked down as you slid your hand between your slick bodies. You were sure to make sure your fingers brushed along his cock as he pumped in and out of you.

“So good for me,” he breathed. “Cum for me, beautiful. Look into my eyes.”

His eyes were your favorite thing about him. “So handsome,” you moaned.

“I can feel you squeezing me. Go on.” He pressed himself deep within you to feel you pulsing around him as you came undone.

You dug your fingers into the muscles of his back and cried out. Now that you had finished, you knew to hang onto him for dear life because he needed to finish, and you always told him not to be gentle.

His fingers dug into your soft thighs, and he squeezed his eyes shut. There was nothing more euphoric than watching him lose himself inside of you.

He moaned with every thrust and said your name and a litany of curses. It sounded like his version of a prayer, and you were the goddess he worshipped.

Suddenly, he shouted and pressed you against the shower wall hard. You could feel him filling you as he sucked on the sensitive skin of your neck. He mumbled something in German against your skin before resting his head on your shoulder.

“Are you okay, my love?” you asked him.

“I am afraid to move. My legs do not feel strong enough right now.” You could feel him smile against your skin.

“How do you think I feel?” you joked.

“I can carry you,” he offered.

“We need to bathe first,” you reminded.

“Oh, yes, that’s what showers are usually for.” He chuckled. You loved his humor.

After actually showering, König insisted on making breakfast. He loved hearing what you thought of his cooking.

“I tried something different with the pancakes this time,” he said proudly. He watched as you took the first bite. “Well?”

“Delicious,” you told him, and he smiled brightly.

“I love these moments,” he said, looking at you dreamily. “We don’t have many of them.”

“That makes them so much more special,” you told him.

“You always know what to say to make me smile.”

That’s what you try to remember the most—his smile. Out on the field, he is hidden from you, and the love between you is hidden from everyone else. The only thing shared is glances here and there and subtle brushes of arms and hands. A quick ‘beautiful shot, königin’ shouted over the sound of gunfire.

“Where did you go, my Königin?” He grasped your hand and rubbed a calloused thumb over your knuckles. It was a soothing action that had you on the verge of tears.

You shook your head. “I’m just being silly.”

“The stress is getting to you again. I can tell.”

“König—”

“Come,” he said in a way that left no room for argument. He tapped his large thigh. You moved slowly to his thigh, then buried your face in his neck, his stubble tickling your cheek.

“Can we stay like this forever?” you asked.

“If it were in my power to make each of your wishes come true, I would,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“König…” You sniffled before kissing him deeply.

König sat across from you on the helicopter, which was full of a flurry of excitement and preparation. He could see your leg bouncing, and he held a hand out, silently telling you to be calm. You breathed deeply and nodded once.

How badly you wished that he could hold your hand right now. You wanted to be beside him—breathing him in, getting doused in his scent of cedarwood and petrichor.

“Königin,” he called over the comms. “Ready?”

You nodded and forced out a curt “Yes.”

Being on the cusp of life and death almost every day was frightening. All it takes is one thing to go wrong; that could be the end.

But that wasn’t what you were afraid of. You didn’t fear the darkness or death; you feared those around you dying. No matter how many times König would tell you that he would be fine, your heart ached with the fear of losing him right before your eyes.

“We might be here for a while, Königin.” His voice crackled to life in your headset, and you sighed in relief.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. He would know something was wrong by the way you responded.

“We are alone on this channel, Königin. Talk to me.” He talked in hushed tones, dulcet and soft even in this wasteland.

“I want to be with you,” you said. It sounded like whining, and you hoped he wouldn’t think you were a brat.

“I know, liebe. Me too.” He went quiet for a moment, then, “What are you doing?” he asked, which seemed a little silly.

You chuckled. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“I know, but…describe it to me,” he said eagerly.

“Prone, elbows dug in….”

“Ah, but…”

“But not too much,” you added.

“Continue.” His breathing was slow and steady, but there was a hint of desperation in his tone.

“Breathing is slow and calm.” You demonstrated for him.

“My Königin,” he said lowly. “You must look beautiful right now.”

“König…are you…”

“No! But my mind is occupied with thoughts of you lying there…so focused…that lovely bottom of yours….”

“König!” you scolded playfully.

“When we make love again, I will take you just like that. Would you like that?” he asked.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“That is all I need to hear. I will live through this just to feel you again,” he rasped.

It fell silent between you two then.

There was a heavy but comforting weight on your back—one that kept you anchored to the bed and to the earth itself. A big hand enveloped yours, and you brought it to your lips to kiss. You could taste the salty tang of sweat from exertion and passion.

König pumped into slowly whispering things in German—some things you understood and others you didn’t. Just having his voice in your ear was enough. You two were together again, and, as he promised, he was making love to you the way he said he would.

Lying prone, there was no target for you this time. The only thing in front of you was the headboard, and one of König’s hands pressed flat against it while the other moved to hold both of your hands together by the wrists.

And instead of the dark and desolate feeling of dread, you were surrounded by warmth and the comforting scent of cedarwood, petrichor, and sex.

“Ah, Königin,” König moaned against the back of your neck. “So warm, so tight.” He pressed himself deep, and you pushed back against him.

“Harder,” you whined.

“Whatever you want,” he said before thrusting into you hard. You both cried out, and a thrust punctuated each moan.

The sound of his hips against your ass was deafening in the best way. You arched your back a little more, and he groaned at the feeling of being even deeper inside of you.

Suddenly, he rolled over with a grunt, and you gasped. You were on top now, reverse cowgirl style.

“Don’t stop now,” he said breathlessly. He grabbed your ass with two giant hands and squeezed, helping you move on him.

You held onto his thick thighs to keep yourself steady as you bounced on him. The feeling was overwhelming. You had never been this full before.

“Fuck!” he groaned before sitting up and pressing his chest to your back. “I need to be close to you.”

You continued swirling your hips on him, and he put a hand between your legs so he could touch you. He found your clit with ease. You nearly fell forward when he did, but he held you close and steady with one strong arm, refusing to let go.

All those little magazine articles and even your friends would tell you that what happened tonight wasn’t possible, but you’ve found that with König, everything was possible.

You came together in a whirlwind of pleasure, pain, lust, want, and need. Love.

He cried your name loudly, whimpering into the skin of your sweaty shoulder. You cried out to him, for him, with tears in your eyes.

His thighs trembled under you, and your body went limp. After a few moments, he laid down and took you with him—staying inside you as he turned you on your side. You wriggled a bit, and he hissed.

“Cheeky little Königin, hm?” He bit down on your shoulder gently, and you giggled.

“Cheeky?”

“The English guys say it a lot,” he told you, and you laughed even harder. “Stop moving,” he grunted, holding you tightly.

“Why?” you asked, being bratty.

“Because…I am still inside you and want to stay inside you until I am ready again.”

You turned your head so you could look at him. You met his green gaze and realized that this was the first time you had looked into his eyes since the night began.

“König,” you whispered, tucking your fingers into his hair. “Kiss me.”

He touched your lips gently before kissing you, groaning as his cock grew hard again inside you.

“Who’s cheeky now?” you teased.

“Maybe I am.” He grabbed your leg from the back of your knee and put it over his before pulling out of you, then pushing back in slowly but deeply.

“Ah, yes,” you whimpered, still sensitive.

He made love to you languidly because there was no reason to rush. You two had each other for as long as forever. There was no one to hide your love from here. There was just you and him and a love that radiated from every nerve in his body for you; you felt it in every thrust, every whisper of your name, every kiss, and nibble on your neck and ear.

“Ich habe mich in dich verliebt,” he whispered, bringing tears to your eyes.

“I have fallen in love with you too.”

[ureternalmajesty]

Hypnosis

summary: You are a medic König's best friend and he's hypnotized by her.

Warnings: confession, smut, slight size kink, biting, marking, google translate German, I headcanon that König has a tongue piercing and more but I'll get into that later, is not proofread, p in v, cumplay, reader can understand german

authors note: @nuhteyam as soon as you left the request I started working on it knowing I had to be up in 4 hours. I saw your profile and I went with your pronouns. I hope you like it. This is based on a sleep token song. This is not proofread at all so if there is a mistake I'll go back and fix it later.

MDNI 18+

You and König have been friends for 7 years. It started off as you just wanting to learn German then you both enjoyed each other's company. You were his nurse in the field and on base and he made it known. All his appointments were with you—even his little pop-up visits. It was late and you just finished cleaning the last rooms for the nurses. Once mopping the last room you locked up making your way to your room for a shower. The smell of antiseptic was still lingering. You smelled of it and it was another reason to take a shower.

You were a combat medic your time split between fighting and helping your squad or helping the nurses here at base. So you should be used to the smell of antiseptics. But no the smell made your skin crawl. Making your way to your door you noticed a familiar figure with their hand raised going to knock on your bedroom door. “König? Are you alright?” I asked as he stood straighter to his full height. The black paint that surround his blue eyes made them pop. There were very hypnotizing. The tall colonel shifted from left to right. “Ich brauche deine hilfe, hase.” He mumbled avoiding eye contact. 

“Okay come in and make yourself at home.” Giving him the best smile you could and opened the door to your room letting him in and closing it behind you. He sat on the end of your bed leg jumping slightly. His eyes stalked you like a predator stalks his prey. Eyes watching as you shed the jacket you were wearing off ur curls bouncing as you walked over and sat next to him. “What’s the matter Kö?” Looking towards him. “There’s something wrong with my heart…it’s getting faster hase am I dying?” he spoke as you shook your head chuckling. 

Eyes burning into the side of your head while you laughed. “What’s so funny?” You could hear the irritation in his voice. “There’s nothing wrong Kö. I think you have a crush. Shoving him slightly was not enough to move the tank of a man. “I thought you were hurt!” Slapping his arm. “Who said I was hurt?” He looked at you. “Where are you hurt big guy?” He points to his heart. “I told you it was a crush Kö.” You go to turn away from the man only for him to grab you by your wrist turning you to face him.

“wenn ja, dann küss mich, Schatz.” You chuckled and rolled your eyes. A gloved hand coming up making you look directly into his eyes. “Küss mich” he spoke again dropping his hand. You reached and lifted the hood only so much. Before you could kiss him a hand came to the back of your head and your lips intertwined. The kiss was soft and gentle before it grew sloppy and lust filled. 

Pulling away from the kiss his mouth placed kisses along your neck sending a shiver down your spine. “König.” You whined, eyes dilated looking at him. The corner of his eyes wrinkled, giving away the smile you couldn’t see. “Yes, Schatz?” He paused for a bit before continuing to place kisses along your neck, hands gripping onto you like you were his lifeline. “Please.” You begged hands gripping his shirt.  “Please what y/n?” His eyes bore into yours as his hands dropped to your waist. “Please need you.” You pleaded. “Need me to what Schatz?” You could hear the smirk in his voice and it made you more frustrated than you already were. “Touch me. Please touch me Kö.” Hands moving to lift your shirt off your body, throwing it somewhere in the room.

The other hand reached up and unclipped your bra flinging it in the same direction before cupping both your breasts and a glint caught his eye. “Naughty girl y/n nipple piercings?” He pinched one of your nipples and pulled up the hood and popped your other nipple in his mouth arching into him at the feeling of metal meeting your nipples. He continued this for a while with you squirming in his arms and your panties soaked. His hand dropped from your breast as it made its way down unzipping your tactical pants pulling them down the best he could as you shimmed and stepped out of the pants before straddling his lap. Your clit bumped against causing you to let out a loud moan. If no one heard you before they surely heard you now. “Ready Schatz?” He turned, tossing your body up the bed and your head a few inches away from the pillows. Climbing between your legs and sliding your panties down and throwing them somewhere his eyes were glued to your dripping pussy. “Wait Kö what about your crush?” You were oblivious to what was going on. “You.” He answered as he threw your legs over his shoulders. “What?” You are confused by what he said. “It’s always been you. You know you make me hypnotized.” As you went to speak he licked a stripe between your folds before sucking on your clit making you cry out in pleasure feeding his ego.

“F-fuck Kö more.” He sucked and rolled your clit between his teeth, feet digging down on his back, and your head was thrown back as he happily ate you out. “Don’t stop! Fuck please don’t!” He continued to keep building your pleasure adding a finger which soon became two then three. You were close and he knew taking his fingers from your dripping pussy you immediately raised your head and looked down at König. He moved your legs from his shoulders and pushed himself off the bed standing and stripping off his clothes. Reaching a hand down dipping your fingers in only for them to be snatched out. “Keep your hands off what's mine.” His tone was stern as raised your fingers to uncovered lips slipping both fingers in his mouth as he groaned at the taste of you. Dropping your hand you looked at him with widened eyes as he sat on his knees between your legs. You gave him a small nod and watched as he slowly bullied his way into your pussy. Hands gripping his forearms as your mouth drops in a silent moan. Lifting up your head you look down at your stomach seeing the bulge. “Oh fuck me.” You mumbled.

You knew Konig was a big guy but you didn’t think he would be so fucking big. He was thicker than anyone you’ve been with. “Oh, I will don’t worry hase.” His hips moved at a slow pace slowly getting faster and rougher moans spilled from both your mouth and his. “Sorry Schatz can’t help it.” He groaned as he caged you in with his forearms his mouth placing kissing and leaving marks along your neck. Where your shoulder met your neck he bit down making you scream out. “Fuck Konig!” He lifted up and threw your legs over his shoulders once more folding you in half and continuing with his same pace just deeper. “Gonna cum! Can I please?” Your hands gripped the sheets as your breast bounced with each thrust. “Cum for me.” He grunted his thrust becoming sloppy back arching off the bed legs shaking. Dropping your legs from his shoulders he pulled out and thrust into his hand as he released all over your stomach. He leaned back against his legs admiring his work. You reached down dipping your fingers into the cum that was on your stomach and spreading it around before bringing it to your mouth sucking it off your fingers. “You look so beautiful, Schatz.” He mumbled as he grabbed his shirt using it to wipe the cum off your stomach then pulled you on top of him and the blankets over the both of you. “Did you mean what you said earlier?” you asked him drawing shapes on his chest. “Yes, I meant it. It will always be you and only you.” He spoke arms wrapped around you placing a kiss on your forehead.

Dm to be added to my tag list!

[greenpolicelight]

"Currahee"

: ̗̀´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒OC's ̗̀´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒

Prt 1 - Prt 2

WORD COUNT: 6K

June 1942 – Camp Toccoa, Georgia

The humid Georgia air is thick as Easy Company stands in formation with all of their gear. Rene is standing in the back attempting to discreetly move his left leg to scratch his right calf without making it obvious. He brings his foot down, standing straight, at attention, as Captain Sobel walks up, moving in front of the company, "you people are at the position of attention!" Sobel walks between the men, stopping in front of Perconte who moves his gun, getting it ready for inspection. Sobel looks down at Perconte, "Private Perconte, have you been blousing your trousers over your boots like a paratrooper?"

"No, sir."

"Then explain the creases at the bottom."

Rene's eyebrows crease slightly, wondering how Sobel could have been able to see creases, "no excuse, sir."

Sobel looks up, looking around at the other men, "volunteering for the parachute infantry is one thing, Perconte," Sobel looks back at Perconte, "but you've got a long way to prove that you belong here. Your weekend pass is revoked." Sobel turns, walking off, looking for someone else to stop in front of. He stops in front of Luz, "name?"

"Luz, George."

Luz moves, getting his gun ready for inspection before Sobel grabs it, barely looking at it before tossing it back to Luz, "dirt in the rear side aperture. Pass revoked." Sobel moves on, looking over the other men again, before turning around, only to stop next to Lipton. Sobel moves closer, grabbing onto a piece of string from Lipton's sleeve, holding it up to him, "when did you sew on these chevrons, Sergeant Lipton?"

"Yesterday, sir."

"Long enough to notice this." Sobel brings his hand up next to Lipton's face, "revoked."

"Sir."

Sobel moves on, standing in front of Malarkey, "name?"

Malarkey moves, getting his gun ready for inspection, "Malarkey, Donald G."

Sobel grabs the gun, raising an eyebrow slightly, "Malarkey? Malarkey's slang for bullshit, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Rust on the butt plate hinge spring, Private Bullshit." Sobel toss's the gun back at Malarkey, "revoked." He moves on, "name?"

"Liebgott, Joseph D., sir."

Sobel looks down, reaching to grab Liebgott's bayonet. He holds it up, looking at it for a moment before speaking, "rusty bayonet, Liebgott. You wanna kill Germans?"

"Yes, sir."

Sobel smacks the bayonet against Liebgott's helmet, causing him to flinch lightly, "not with this." Sobel walks away, moving to stand in front of the company, yelling now to speak to the whole company, "I wouldn't take this rusty piece of shit to war, and I will not take you to war in your condition." Sobel throws Liebgott's bayonet down to the ground, pointing towards the company, "now, thanks to these men and their infractions, every man in the Company who had a weekend pass, has lost it." Sobel pauses for a moment, "change into your PT gear, we're running Currahee."

Sobel turns, walking away and leaving the men to their platoon leaders. Winters turns towards Second Platoon, "Second Platoon fall out. You have two minutes."

"Fall out!" Rene grabs his gun up, turning to jog to his barracks with the rest of the company moving towards their own barracks.

Rene takes his O.D's off, already having his PT gear on underneath it, having learned from previous experience it's the most efficient way to live in Toccoa with Sobel. Rene folds his O.D's, setting them on his cot as he sits down, leaning down to tie his boots back up. He pauses as he hears Perconte speak, "I ain't going up that hill."

Rene rolls his eyes as the door slams open, Martin walking in, a small glare on his face, "hey, Perconte, what are you thinking of, blousin' your pants?"

Rene looks up at Martin as he walks by, Perconte responding, "shut up, Martin, alright? He gigged everybody."

Rene looks back down at his shoes, as Martin scoffs, "yeah, well, you should know better. Don't give him no excuses."

"Excuses? Why don't you come here, look at these trousers, get down and tell me there's a crease in 'em." Rene looks up again as Perconte stands up before he notices White still in his O.D's.

Rene stands up, looking between Martin and Perconte, "guys, c'mon, this is bullshit, and you know it. But, that ain't any reason to argue with each other about it."

The two look at Rene, and Perconte is about to say something back to Rene when Lipton's voice comes through the barracks, "alright, let's go, on the road in PT formation. Let's move, move, move." Rene and Perconte hold eye contact, having a small staring contest, neither giving in as the men around them quickly make their way out the door. Lipton sighs as he looks between the two, "Perconte, let's go, Perconte." Rene stays where he is as he watches Perconte aggressively undo his jacket and takes it off. "Flores, c'mon, that means you too." Rene glances at White before looking back at Lipton and walking out the door, jogging to catch up to the others.

Sobel's voice is loud and grating, as he yells at the men, causing Rene to wince lightly, "where do we run?"

The men yell back as they run, "Currahee!"

"What does Currahee mean?"

"We stand alone!"

"How far up, how far down?"

"Three miles up, three miles down!"

"And what company is this?"

"Easy Company!"

"And what do we do?"

Rene rolls his eyes, "stand alone!"

Rene hears someone yell out, before hearing Sobel yell, "do not help that man! Do not help that man. We do not stop. You've got thirteen minutes to get to the top of this mountain if you wanna serve in the paratroopers. Hi-ho, Silver!"

Luz, who's running next to Rene glances over at him before glancing at the others around him he can see. Luz looks back at Rene, wondering how Rene doesn't seem affected by Currahee the same way everyone else is. The men around them are struggling to breathe, struggling to even run anymore, and Rene, it looks like he makes Currahee seem like the easiest thing in the world.

Rene runs behind Bull, following Perconte, and Luz as they run up to the stone at the top of the mountain. Rene rolls his eyes as he hears Sobel's voice yell out, "we are coming on twenty-three minutes. That may be good enough for the rest of the Five-O-Six, but that is not good enough for Easy Company."

Rene pushes his food around with his fork, not actually eating anything as he looks around, observing the men around him as they eat their food. Rene watches as the men become quickly acquainted, acting as if they hadn't just recently met each other. He internally grimaces, beginning to hate his lack of social skills even more than he had growing up.

Rene looks up, being brought out of his thoughts as someone sits in front of him. Joe Toye. Rene never talked to the man, only saw him around camp and heard others talk about him. The two sit in silence, both discreetly glancing at the other until Joe speaks up, "I'm Joe Toye."

Rene looks over at him, slightly surprised he broke the silence. Rene stares at him for a moment, blinking, before responding, "Rene Flores."

"Where are you from?"

Rene gives him a confused look, "uh, San Diego. You?"

"Houghestown. It's in Pennsylvania."

"Pennsylvania?"

"Yeah, you've been there?"

Rene chuckles, shaking his head, with a soft smile on his face, "no. Never met anyone from there either."

"Yeah? Well, now you can't say that."

Rene shrugs, "I guess." The two sit in silence again, only this time it isn't awkward. It's relatively comfortable for the two, until Rene breaks the silence, "what did you do before this? I mean like for work."

"I was a coal miner. Then I enlisted before deciding to join the paratroopers."

"So you were already in the army?"

"Yeah, went through training and everything, but I wanted some more money so," Joe shrugs, "I figured why not."

Rene smiles at him, "yeah, a double volunteer?" Joe nods slowly, as Rene tilts his head, shrugging a shoulder, "why not, right?"

Joe gives him a smirk, before he nods towards Rene, "what did you do?"

"I worked for anyone who would give me the time of day. Newspaper boy, construction, delivery."

"You go to school?"

Rene shakes his head, "no, I went when I was younger, but I stopped after my mom died."

"My dad made me drop out in Junior high, so I could work in the coal mines."

Rene purses his lips, "damn."

Joe looks Rene over, "you got any hobbies?"

Rene squints his eyes at Joe, "I like drawing."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe you can show me someday, Re?"

Rene makes a confused face, breathing out, "Re?" He looks up, grinning at Joe, "yeah. Maybe, Joey." Joe smirks at Rene as silence comes over the two again, neither minding it. The two know a bond formed between the two, one that didn't need words spoken to be true. The two quickly understood each other, both knowing this was the start of something neither of them had felt before, the start of a friendship that would make them closer to each other, than the brothers they were surrounded by.

Rene is laying on his cot, messing around with his lighter, listening to the men as they play poker. Luz continues glancing over at Rene, before leaning into the men and speaking quietly, "we should ask him to join."

Rene glances over, noticing they had become quiet. Perconte looks over at Luz, giving him a look, "why would we do that?"

Luz shrugs, "I don't know, we can't hate the kid forever."

"We don't hate the kid. We just don't like 'im."

Hoobler shakes his head, as he looks over at Perconte, "why? It's not like he's all that bad. He really helps when we run Currahee."

Luz nods, "he's pretty good at giving us motivation."

Randleman looks over at Rene, catching his eye. Rene smiles softly at him, which Randleman returns before gesturing with his head to the open seat next to him. Rene scrunches his face before shaking his head and returning to messing around with his lighter. He takes a deep breath before looking back over at the group, I can't just expect them to accept me. I've got to put my own energy into it too. He nods to himself as a way of reassuring himself, before standing up, moving towards the group. Randleman grins at Rene as he walks up, "can I join?"

The men look up at Rene, not expecting him to come over. Randleman chuckles, gesturing to the spot between him and Martin, "there's an open seat for you right here."

Rene sits down fidgeting with his hands as he looks over the cards. Luz looks over at him, "you know how to play?"

Rene shakes his head, "my dad tried to teach me. I got so confused, so I became the only one in the family that doesn't know how to play."

Randleman chuckles, "we'll teach you." Rene thanks him, as he begins to tell Rene the rules, explaining what was happening as the men around them played.

"Flores?" Rene's head snaps up, looking at Luz, "where you from?"

"San Diego."

"You got any siblings?"

Rene tightens his lips before pursuing them and shaking his head, "I have a brother and a sister, both of 'em enlisted in the Marines."

"You got any hobbies?"

Rene furrows his eyebrows, "what's all the questions for? This some kind of interrogation?"

Martin shakes his head, turning to Rene, "we just want to get to know you, Flores."

Rene shakes his head with a confused face, tilting his head slightly, "why? I ain't anythin' special." Rene doesn't know it, but his words are what tells the men around him exactly what they need to know.

The game is over, and the men decided to call it quits on cards for the night. Rene is still sitting with Luz, Martin, Randleman, and Perconte all of them sitting in silence for a bit, none knowing what to say. Rene clears his throat, as he shuffles the deck of cards for something to do, "my whole life, my family called me Bean."

The four men exchange looks, not expecting Rene to say that. Luz shakes his head, "why?"

Rene shrugs before Martin shakes his head, "why are you tellin us that?"

"I don't know. You were the ones who wanted to know more about me. I figured it was somethin' interesting. We can forget I said it though if it ain't helpful."

Perconte smirks, "nah, Bean, it was plenty helpful." Rene looks up, surprised as he stares at Perconte for a moment before grinning at him. Perconte returns the grin, something the others around them never expected as they knew whatever Perconte had against Rene, is gone.

The company is on their usual Friday night march in their full gear. Rene's marching next to Bull who speaks up, "I'm gonna say somethin'."

Luz looks over, "to who?"

Rene shakes his head and looks back forward after glancing at Bull, "besides, what do you think is gonna happen?"

Bull ignores the two, calling out, "Lieutenant Winters."

"What is it?"

"Permission to speak, sir?"

"Permission granted."

"Sir, we got nine companies, sir."

"That we do."

"Well, how come we're the only company marching every Friday night, twelve miles, full pack, in the pitch dark?"

"Why do you think, Private Randleman?"

"Lieutenant Sobel hates us, sir." Rene snickers, his eyes widening slightly, not expecting someone to say that, especially Bull.

"Lieutenant Sobel does not hate Easy Company, Private Randleman." There's a pause, "he just hates you."

There's scattered laughter from the company, as Bull nods, "thank you, sir." Rene snickers, smiling slightly, grateful to have Winters in their company who knows exactly what to say to the men.

After finishing the march, the men are standing in formation in front of Sobel. Rene stands next to Bull, beginning to get a chill from the cool air and rain hitting his sweaty skin. Sobel's voice is shrill as he speaks from where he stands next to Winters, "Lieutenant Winters, I want canteens out of belts with the caps unscrewed."

"Easy Company, canteens out and open." Rene reaches to his hip, grabbing his canteen, opening it.

"On my command, they will pour the contents onto the ground."

"On the CO's order, you will upend your canteen."

"Now, Lieutenant."

"Pour 'em." Rene flips his canteen over, the water flowing out. Rene moves his eyes, watching the water come out of the canteen, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as his thirst hits him with full force. Rene takes a deep breath before bringing his eyes back to the front.

Rene cringes lightly as Sobel quickly moves between the men, yelling, "who is this?" There is a slight pause before Sobel begins yelling again, " Christensen! Why is there no water in your canteen? You drank from your canteen, didn't you?"

"Sir, I—"

Sobel cuts Christensen off, "Lieutenant Winters."

Winters speaks from where he's standing in front of the company, "yes, sir."

"Was this man ordered to not drink from his canteen during the Friday night march?"

"He was, sir."

"Private Christensen, you have disobeyed a direct order. You will fill your canteen and repeat all twelve miles of the march immediately."

"Yes, sir."

"Fall out!" Rene winces as Sobel screams before watching Sobel move back to the front and bring Winters aside, talking quietly with him, before walking away.

Rene stands in front of Sobel in his full gear, as Sobel glares down at him, "why are you here, Private Flores."

Rene's voice is louder than normal, not wanting Sobel to think he's intimidated by him, "I'm gonna be in the airborne, sir."

Sobel nods, "then prove it. You have forty-five minutes to the top and back. I will be watching you."

Rene nods once, "yes, sir." He steps around Sobel and begins running towards Currahee.

After running up and back down Currahhe, Rene stops, standing face to face with Sobel, his breathing slightly uneven from the run. Rene's surprised to see Sobel standing there, actually timing him, but soon his surprise turns to annoyance as Sobel stares at the stopwatch in his hand. He looks at Rene, his eyebrows scrunched together, "forty-six minutes and fifty-one seconds, Private Flores. Again."

Rene takes a deep breath before he gives Sobel a nod, "yes, sir."  He turns around, rolling his eyes as soon as he knows Sobel can't see him and begins to run up Currahee again.

When Rene makes it back down in front of Sobel, his breathing is heavier than it ever had been after running Currahee. Sobel's voice shows his annoyance as he speaks again, "forty-six minutes and three seconds. Private Flores, this is not good. I thought you could run fast, however, this is a disgrace. Again. How can you think you can become a paratrooper if you can't even run in the right amount of time."

Rene nods again, sniffling lightly as his nose runs from the drizzle falling, "sorry, sir. It won't happen again, sir."

"It better not, I can't stay out here all night, Private Flores. Again."

"Yes, sir." Rene turns around again, his eyes widening in annoyance as he forces his body to move. The exhaustion begins to flow through his body as he tries to run again, but he pushes himself, not wanting to prove Sobel right.

The third time Rene finishes running Currahee, he believes he may never catch his breath. As he comes to a stop in front of Sobel, he struggles to calm himself down as he pants loudly while Sobel gives him a nod, "forty-three minutes and seventeen seconds. Private Flores, why didn't you do that the first time, instead of wasting my time like this?"

Rene takes a deep breath before he coughs and gulps, "no excuse, sir."

Sobel nods, looking Rene over, "you will run Currahee once more for wasting my time, then you are dismissed, Private Flores."

"Thank you, sir." Rene watches as Sobel walks away before turning and staring up at Currahee, breathing out as his body seems to deflate from disappointment. He takes a deep breath, before slowly starting up the hill, at least this one isn't timed.

Rene takes a deep breath before he coughs and gulps, "no excuse, sir."

Sobel nods, looking Rene over, "you will run Currahee once more for wasting my time, then you are dismissed, Private Flores."

"Thank you, sir." Rene watches as Sobel walks away before turning and staring up at Currahee, breathing out as his body seems to deflate from disappointment. He takes a deep breath, before slowly starting up the hill, at least this one isn't timed.

Luz looks at Rene's cot, not seeing anything on it like he usually would. He turns to look at the other men, pointing at the cot, "where's Bean?" After the night of poker, the men started calling Rene, Bean, which seemed to have caught on with the men from other platoons as well. Even for the men who haven't really interacted with him, Bean became the way people referred to him.

Martin looks at the cot before looking at Luz, shrugging, "I didn't see him in the mess hall."

Perconte turns, "someone said they saw him talking with Sobel."

"Shit, really?"

Suddenly, the door opens and Rene walks in, his gear muddy from tripping on his run and the rain with his helmet in his hand. The men take him in, seeing how he looks dead on his feet, with his face pale, his eyes squinting, and drenched in a mixture of sweat and rain. "Jesus Christ," Luz breathes out. Rene takes a deep breath, keeping his gaze on the floor as he makes his way to his cot, tossing his gun and helmet onto his cot before falling face first onto it.

Luz gulps, his worry for his friends skyrocketing as Perconte speaks, "the fuck happened to you?"

Rene turns his head, to face Martin who's in the cot next to him, "I hope jumping out of an airplane is fun."

Martin gives him a look mixed between amusement and concern, "what happened?"

Rene sighs before he turns his head to face his cot again, letting out a loud groan before he turns and begins to slowly stand up. His movements are slow as he begins taking his gear off, showing the men around him just how exhausted he is.

"Bean, what did you just do?"

Rene takes his jacket off, turning to Luz, "George, I just ran Currahee four fucking times."

"Why?"

Rene puts his helmet on the shelf, hanging his jacket up, before moving his gun. As he begins to get undressed, he turns to the men, "I don't know, apparently I had to prove that I could run and that I wanted to be in the airborne. Pretty much the same thing he did to Gordon. Apparently, we don't work hard enough to show that we want to be here." Rene moves, sliding into his cot and immediately falling asleep. The others look at each other, extremely concerned for Rene. He's proven he deserved to be there on many occasions, he hasn't been the best at PT, but he does extra work to ensure he can show Sobel up by not giving him a reason to call Rene out. There were many instances where some of the men would wake up in the middle of the night and spot Rene doing push ups on the ground in front of his cot, just to be able to keep up with everyone during PT.

Rene sits between Joe and Malarkey in the mess hall, playing with his food as he struggles to stay awake. Luz, Perconte, and Guarnere sit across from the three when Luz looks up from his tray, giving Rene a confused look, "hey, Re, how—"

Joe cuts Luz off, his voice low with annoyance, "what did you just call him?" Joe stares at Luz, as the men sitting around them, turn to watch them.

Rene's eyes widen as he looks down awkwardly at his tray, clearly not expecting Joe to respond like that. Luz looks between the two, his face crinkling in confusion, "I, uh, I called him 'Re'."

Joe shakes his head, "you don't get to call him Re, only I do."

Rene's head comes up, looking at Joe with a small smile, as his voice is teasing, "aw, Joey, you make me feel so special."

Joe's hand comes up, pushing Rene's head away, "no I don't, you're loosin' your mind, Re."

Rene's head hits Malarkey's shoulder, causing Rene to look up at him, shaking his head, "sorry." Malarkey shrugs, looking over at Guarnere who's looking between Joe and Rene. No one really knew when they got close enough to have their own nicknames, but, apparently, no one was gonna use them but each other. Rene looks up to Luz, "what were you gonna ask me?"

Luz shrugs, "I was gonna ask how you managed to get so good at running?"

Rene nods, taking a bite of food, "my brother was on the track team in school. I didn't have too many friends and since I stopped going to school, I would get super bored, so I would always run with him. My dad and my sister would make bets about whether I could keep up with him." Rene smiles lightly as he takes a bite of the peaches, before scrunching his face as he swallows hard, "fuck, those are gross." Joe chuckles, reaching over to grab the rest of the peaches from Rene's tray.

Rene is sitting on his cot, still in his muddy O. D's, not having a chance to shower yet. He grabs a cigarette, lighting it before grabbing his notebook and a pencil. Rene opens his notebook, beginning to draw parts of the barracks, as Martin walks in, sitting on his cot next to Rene's. He sits there for a moment, watching Rene, before finally speaking up, "what are you doin'?"

Rene looks up at Martin, talking slowly, "I'm drawing?"

Martin raises an eyebrow, "are you asking me?"

Rene's eyebrows crinkle, still talking slowly, "no?"

Martin purses his lips, his voice going monotoned, "really?"

Rene gulps, looking back down at his notebook, "sorry."

"What are you sorry for, Flores? You ain't done nothing wrong. What are you drawing?" Martin pauses as he looks around the barracks, "there ain't really anything to draw in here."

Rene shrugs, "just things. A mix of things." Rene flips the page of his notebook, turning it to face Martin who looks surprised Rene is showing a drawing to him.

Martin looks at the drawing, seeing different parts of the barracks put together, almost like a collage. Martin looks the drawing over, seeing how Rene manages to get the barracks to look so different yet so real. Martin's eyes widened, "shit. Bean, this is amazing."

Rene smiles sheepishly, looking down again, "thanks, Mar."

"Mar?" Rene looks up, shrugging, as the two share a smile. Martin clears his throat, glancing around the barracks, "when, uh, when did you and Toye get so close?"

Rene makes a face, "what d'you mean?"

"I mean, I heard about what happened the other day in the mess hall. When Toye pretty much told the whole company that he was the only one to call you Re."

Rene shrugs, "honestly, that surprised me. I don't really know when we got close. I mean, I guess if I had called one of you my best friend, it would be Joe." Rene looks over at George, who's listening in on their conversation while laying on his cot, "no offense."

Luz shrugs, "eh, I understand, we all see it. It was like you guys just instantly understood each other."

Rene stands in line to get his food, only for his face to scrunch up as he looks down the line, seeing what's getting put onto the plates of the other men. Rene moves up, watching as the noodles are put on his plate, the sauce following after. He looks up meeting the eyes of Winters in the kitchen, causing Rene to raise an eyebrow, to which Winters shrugs back. Rene grimaces before turning and walking away towards the table. He sits down next to Dittrich, grabbing his fork, taking a bite, before making a face and putting the fork down, speaking in Spanish, "fuck, I don't like spaghetti, then you add ketchup to the mix."

George turns to look at Rene from his spot next to Perconte, "Bean, we have no idea what you just said."

Rene looks at George before he shrugs, clearly not caring. Dittrich speaks up, his voice annoyed, "this stuff is orange. Spaghetti ain't supposed to be orange."

Rene scrunches his face, "this ain't spaghetti."

Perconte nods, "yeah, this is Army noodles with ketchup."

Guarnere walks over, sliding into the seat across from Rene, "you ain't gotta eat it."

Rene nods, taking a bite of his bread, "I know, I ain't gonna."

Perconte and Guarnere look at Rene before Perconte looks at Guarnere, "oh, c'mon, Gonorrhea, as a fellow Italian, you should know that calling this crap spaghetti is a mortal sin."

Hoobler turns around from the table behind them, reaching for Perconte's plate, "you don't want it, I'll have it."

He makes a move to grab Perconte's plate, but Perconte grabs it up and takes it out of Hoobler's reach, "no, no, no, I'm eating here."

Guarnere nudges Hoobler, "hey, get outta here." Hoobler turns and sits back down causing Rene to snicker as he takes another bite of his bread.

The sound of a whistle blowing causes all movement and sound in the mess hall to cease. Rene looks up to see Sobel walking in, "orders changed, get up!" Rene and the rest of the company stand up at attention, Rene continuing to chew the bread in his mouth, "lectures are canceled." Sobel begins to walk between the tables, "Easy Company is running up Currahee." Rene and Guarnere give each other a look of annoyance before Guarnere brings his head down to his chest, "move, move!" The company begins to rush out, "three miles up, three miles down. Hi-ho, Silver! Let's go, let's go."

After running for a little bit, the men of Easy are feeling the effects of running after eating spaghetti. Hoobler pukes next to Rene, who scrunches his face up from the sight of the orange puke. Rene glances over at Hoobler, "you're okay, Hoob. You got this. We gotta prove to him nothing can stop us."

Rene makes a face as Sobel runs up behind them, not at all hiding his feeling as Sobel yells, "you're a washout, Private Hoobler! You should pack up both your ears and go home." Rene takes a deep breath, catching Sobel's attention causing him to move and yell in Rene's ear, "Private Flores, can you run Currahee now? You want to quit, don't you? You can quit anytime you want, Flores." Rene closes his eyes tightly for a moment before opening them back up. Sobel moves towards the back, "looks like Gordon's done. Aren't you, Gordon? You finished? You do not deserve to get your wings." Sobel moves forward again, this time running in front, yelling at Bull, "Private Randleman, you look tired. There's an ambulance waiting for you at the bottom of the hill. It can all be over right now. No more pain, no more Currahee. No more Captain Sobel."

Rene takes a deep breath before opening his mouth, beginning to call out, hearing George do the same, "we pull upon the risers," the rest of the company joins in, "we fall upon the grass, we never land upon our feet, we always hit out ass." Sobel runs in front of George for a moment, surprised he would get the men to start chanting, before moving to run along the side of the company, slowing down as he watches them all running through their pain. "Hidee hidee, Christ almighty, who the hell are we? Zim-Zam, godddamn we're Airborne Infantry." Rene glances over, seeing how Sobel stopped, watching them run by before continuing, "we pull upon the risers, we fall upon the grass, we never land upon our feet, we always hit our ass. Hidee tidee, Christ almighty, who the hell are we?" Rene yells out louder, hoping to motivate some of the men, "zim-Zam, god damn, we're Airborne Infantry. Hey!"

"So, do we feel like we're ready to be army paratroopers?" Rene sits in between Bill and Popeye, the parachute on his back pulling him down, closer to the ground as he squints up at the instructor standing in front of the group.

The men speak in sync, "yes, Sergeant."

"I hope so. This'll be the first of five exits from a C-47 aircraft scheduled for today. Upon the successful completion of your fifth and final jump, you'll be certified Army Paratroopers. There'll be a lot of men dropping from the sky today. Hopefully, under deployed canopies." Rene snickers slightly, yeah, hopefully. The Sergent gestures to the chalkboard behind him, "jumping from one-thousand feet AGL, in sticks of twelve jumpers per aircraft. All you have to do is remember what you were taught," he pauses for a moment, "and I will guarantee you gravity will take care of the rest. And, gentlemen, rest assured, any refusals in the aircraft or at the door and I guarantee you, you will be out of the Airborne."

Rene takes a deep breath, picking at his fingers as he sits on the plane. He looks over towards the door, seeing the light turn red and his heart stops for a moment as the jump sergeant stands up, calling out, "get ready!" Rene grabs his clip in his shaky hand, sitting forward in his seat as he gulps. "Stand up." Rene stands up with everyone else, turning to face the front of the plane. "Hook up." Rene brings the hook up to the wire running through the middle of the plane, hooking onto it, struggling lightly as he tries to get his hand to stop shaking. "Check equipment!" Rene moves, checking the equipment for Martin, who's in front of him, his mind racing at the possibility of Martin's equipment not being good and being the reason something goes wrong. "Sound-off for equipment check!"

"Nine okay!"

"Eight okay!"

"Seven okay!"

Rene feels the tap from Hoobler on his shoulder, causing him to flinch slightly before patting Martin on the shoulder, "Six okay!"

"Five okay!"

"Four okay!"

"Three okay!"

"Two okay!"

"One okay!"

"Stand in the door!" Rene moves up with the line, as the first person, Lipton, stands at the door. The light turns green, and the jumpmaster calls out, "go, go, go!" Rene moves up with the line as more of the men jump out of the plane for their first time, "go, go, go, go, go!" Rene breathes out, standing at the door, bringing his hands to hold onto the outside of the door, just as he was taught, his heart beating loudly in his ears, his stomach rolling as he looks out below him, the jumpmaster's voice echoing in his head as he waits to hear his signal. "Go," Rene jumps, not thinking twice about it, knowing if he did, he wouldn't get out the door and he would prove Sobel right. Rene looks around as much as he can as he descends from the plane, how the hell was I so scared of this? Once he lands, he immediately reaches up and grabs the parachute, wrapping it up as quickly as possible, not wanting to get hit by other falling men.

Rene jogs to catch up to Ramirez as they make their way to the bar to celebrate, "oye, Ramirez."

Rene puts his hand onto Ramirez's shoulder, causing Ramirez to stop walking and turn to look at Rene, "what's up Bean?"

Rene smiles at the use of his nickname, slightly surprised it spread so quickly, before speaking in Spanish, "I heard what happened."

Ramirez gives him a confused look, "what happened?"

Rene nods, "in the airplane."

Ramirez nods, making a face, showing he understands what Rene is talking about now, "ah, sí. Going to tell me that I failed?"

Rene smiles at him as he glances at the group behind Ramirez, watching the two, before looking back at Ramirez. He shakes his head, "I just wanted to tell you, I think you have a lot more courage than the rest of us and you should be proud of yourself."

Ramirez's eyes widen, "seriously?"

Rene nods, "jumping the first time is one thing, but jumping after refusing is completely different."

Ramirez squints his eyes at Rene, trying to decide if he can trust him, before he grins at Rene, "gracias, Bean. I was nervous you guys would think I shouldn't be here or something."

Rene crinkles his eyebrows as he begins moving towards the group waiting for them, speaking with a scoff, "please, what kind of brothers would we be if we felt that way. If anyone gives you trouble, send them to me."

Ramirez laughs following Rene to the group, as he shakes his head, "not too good I guess. And I will." Rene laughs as they make it to the group, all of them making their way to the bar.

Rene is standing next to Joe at the bar, leaning with his back against it, watching the men around them celebrate with a small smile on his face. Rene turns his head, looking at Joe who has his head down as he faces the bar, causing Rene to chuckle, "too much to drink, Joey?"

Joe looks up at him, "fuck off, Re."

Rene smiles before he turns, facing the bar at the sound of their names, "Corporal Toye, Corporal Flores." The two look up at George who's impersonating Sobel as Joe stands straighter, "there will be no leaning in my company." George leans against the bar on the other side, getting a closer look at Joe's jump wings, "are those dusty jump wings?" Rene snickers as Joe brings his hand up, rubbing them, "how do you expect to slay the Huns with dust on your jump wings?"

Joe leans forward, grabbing onto the front of Luz's uniform, bringing him closer, before he shakes his head, "Luz, just get me a drink."

George grins at him, "hell of an idea, Joe." He looks over at Rene who shakes his head, picking up the beer he's still drinking. George nods as he reaches down, grabbing Joe a beer, setting it down on the bar, "here you go." Rene smiles as George grabs his own beer, holding it up, causing Rene and Joe to grab theirs, bringing it to meet Luz's, "three miles up, three miles down."

The three take a drink after the cheers, Rene almost choking as Sobel yells out, "ten-hut." Rene sets his glass down, quickly swallowing, turning to stand at attention.

Colonel Sink walks up to the small stage, looking over the men, "well, at ease, paratroopers." Rene moves, spreading his legs out, bringing his hands behind his back. "Good evening, Easy Company."

The men call out in sync, "evening, sir."

"Now, Parachute Infantry is a brand new concept in American military history. But by God, the Five-O-Six is gonna forge that brand new concept into victory."

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to know that I'm damned proud of each and every one of you." Rene grabs a beer, moving to hand it to Grant, "now, you deserve this party." Grant hands Sink the beer, "thank you, Sergeant Grant."

Grant gives him a nod, "sir."

"So, I want you to have fun, and remember our motto. Currahee!"

The men hold their drinks up, calling out, "Currahee!" Rene laughs before finishing his beer off, setting the now empty glass on the bar.

Joe turns, wrapping an arm around Rene's shoulder, "we did it, Re. We're fucking paratroopers."

"What is it, Re?"

Rene glances at George who leans back against the bar, listening in as Rene lowers his voice lightly, "I, uh, when I joined, I was scared of heights."

Joe looks surprised, glancing at George, who's also surprised before looking back at Rene, raising an eyebrow, "really?" Rene nods, causing Joe to shake his head, "why the hell did you join?"

Rene shrugs, "I ain't too sure, I just know that when I looked out the door, I had no idea what I was so scared of."

The three laugh as Joe shakes his head, "only you would join the airborne even though you're scared of heights."

[stuff-i-found-while-crying]

A stage of fire and dreams

inspired by @gwandas and they post: modern Neris AU where Eris is a trust fund asshole at Harvard Law, Nesta is a professional ballerina with the Boston Ballet

anyway... the idea stuck with me and now im making it your Problem... this could be the first part of many. (or it will be another story idea that never learns to walk)

Also! English is my second language and I might accidentally mess it up.... just believe that my writing would be better in German and we can be friends

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO! PLEASE ENJOY THE SHOW

main role: Eris (xNesta)

also appearing: his mother, his younger brother, Odette/Nesta

Chapter one - Giselle

Eris hated the Ballet.

He hated it so much, that he bought front row tickets. At least that way his critism would be honest. Brutal, maybe a bit irrational, but also honest. And no one could argue with that.

"This will be a wonderful performance", his mother said next to him. "I heard the new ballerina is quite unique. Nesta Archeron. Don´t you think it will be wonderful?"

He hummed in agreement. For her Ballet was beauty. Stories told in movement and rhythm. She could gosh about the grace of dancers for hours.

Once Eris had done the same.

His father hadn`t liked it. And what his father didn`t like he would not tolerate.

"At least it will not be as sappy as the last one", his brother Cyrus said, leaning over his mother to wink at Eris.. He had the same red hair as Eris and their mother. A trate she had given all her children. But Cyrus wore it long, while Eris at least tried to keep his curls tidy.

"Hush you", his mother swatted at her son. "Sleeping beauty is one of the most perfect, romantic,…"

"flowery", Eris added.

Cyrus laughed.

His mother did not. She just looked at him. "When have you become so cynical?"

When indeed?

Eris grinned at her and leaned closer. "I´m sorry. I am sure Giselle will be more interesting."

The spark of excitement returned to his mother. "It will. She turns mad at the end and dies. So tragic."

Cyrus raised his eyebrows. He never read the stories before.

Eris did. He read them all. And he memoriesed them to see if the dancers did them justice.

They never did.

Before his brother could ask another silly question, the lights dimmed.

And Eris leaned back to pass Judgment.

That was until she appeared.

Giselle.

His mother was right. Ballet was beautiful.

She held her gaze steady. Her grey eyes piercing the entire audience at once. One heart beat the world stopped turning. Then it started again.

His heart beat in the rhythms of her Pirouttes. He forgot who he was and why he was here.

All that matteres was Giselle. And her small body that danced passionatly the story of love.

A love so powerful that it would turn her mad.

His Giselle should not turn mad. He wanted to safe her.

But how could he safe her? He had to also keep watching her dancing. And both at the same time seemed impossible.

Then she was gone. Someone else had a Solo and Eris fell back into reality.

"She is extraordinary", his mother whispered next to him.

He just shrugged. "A bit small."

But his mother knew him better. Eris hated that. Nothing could get passed her.

"I need the Loo", Cyrus whispered.

Luckily for him there was a break. And while his brother ran to the restrooms, Eris took his mother to the bar.

"I think i would like to meet her", she said.

Eris nodded to one of the employees who stood near by. The man nodded back and dissapeared threw a door. Arrangenments would be made. His mother would meet his Giselle and he would pretend to be bored.

He shook his head.

Not his Giselle. The Giselle. The dancer. The small tiny woman with the grey eyes.

"Maybe he needs a drink", Cyrus said way to close to his ear.

Eris shuffed his brother off. "What the hell."

His brother laughed.

"You do look a bit out of it", his mothers brown eyes scanned him. "Are you feeling well?"

"I´m fine", he said. Normally he would smile for her. He always tried. But his Giselle had messed up his head and he was still trying to gather back his thoughts.

Her tiny frame spinning on stage. The way she fell into the arms of her partner. He was certain that at one point she had looked directly at him. She had to!

"It´s like he can´t hear us."

"Oh dear, we should go back to our seats", his mother grapped his right arm. "Seond half is surelly as beautiful as the first one." 

His brother threw back his drink. "The things I do for you, mother."

Eris threw him a look. It was worse than the drink for his brother started coughing. They had agreed, although more in silence than in words, to not say anything to upset mother.

No. They would make her happy again. Truly radient and joyful, as she used to be.

That was the only reason Eris let his mother guide him back to his seat.

The second half would start. And His Giselle would turn mad.

He was still contemplating how he could safe her. In real life he would never let her become so mad. He would never let her alone.

The lights dimed. And for a while Eris forgot how much he hated ballet.

Because Giselle was dancing right in front of him. What would he give to hold her in his arms. This late in the story the dancer had let her hair fall loose. Honey blond curls fell down her back. It was made to run his fingers threw it.

If he ever found his Giselle, he would never let her go. He would guide her threw her dance for eternity.

But Giselle died.

Her grey eyes found his for a moment and he almost jumped on stage. Anything to get that sad look out of her eyes. But he was just a man. And she was perfection.

With a soft sigh she dropped to the ground.

His mother cried next to him. She silently gave him a tissue, too. He discreatly whiped his eyes. 

Something in his chest was moved. During the performance she had touhed a part of him, that Eris had thought dead. Ironically her death had awakened him.

What was he even doing with his life?

He had to find his Giselle.

And luckily his mother hat already requested a meet up with the dancer.

Part 2 here

[alisbackalleybbq]

Hands

@bravosierra6 I finally finished the first chapter

Bode Donovan/Leone x OFC Arizona Telford

Summary:  After Bode left Edgewater, he thought that was his rock bottom.  He moved away, started going by a different name and started working construction.  One day he ended up getting hurt and landed himself in the emergency room where he met Doctor Arizona Telford.  It was a whirlwind romance and they were married after being together for eight months.  Then Bode relapsed.  He ended up disappearing, robbing a store, and going to prison.  Arizona was surprised to see her husband in the newspaper for robbing a liquor store. She tried to see her husband in prison but Bode never put her on his visitor list.  Arizona learns that her husband is at the CalFire con camp in Edgewater and decides to go see him.  Will Arizona have it in her to fight against naysayers, Bode’s family, a new love interest for her husband, and against Bode himself to prove that she’s in this thing forever?

A/N:  AZ is pronounced like Mazie, except without the “M”

Face claim:  Camilla Luddington for Arizona; Lauren German for Lilith, Christian Kane for Dean

TW:  cannon danger, violence, mentions of gun violence and death

Arizona huffed out a nervous breath as she walked towards the inmates scattered around the Three Rock CalFire con camp where her husband was housed.  It had been three and a half years since she’d seen her husband, Bode Donovan.  Arizona remembered the day she saw his picture in the newspaper for robbing that liquor store.  She went to every court date and tried to support Bode the best she could with him doing everything in his  power to push her away.  It broke her heart when he refused to let her visit him in jail and then in prison.  She’d thought about divorce.  Her sister, Lilith, and her brother, Dean, suggested it any time Bode’s name came up in a conversation.  But Arizona needed to talk to him first.  She needed him to know that she still loved him just as much now as she did on their wedding day. 

“Can I help you?” A voice pulled Arizona back to the present.

“I’m looking for Bode Donovan.”  She smiled at the man with blue eyes and a fu manchu.   

“You’re not on his visitors list.”  The man responded.  Arizona gave him a questioning look.  “I’m Captain Manny Perez.  I know every one of my guy’s visitors.  You’ve never been here before and there’s not a name on Bode’s list that I don’t know personally.”

“Captain Perez,”  Arizona started, wringing her hands together, “I really need to speak to Bode.  I haven’t seen him in three years.  It’s important.”

“Who’s my dad talking to?” Gabriella asked Bode.

“Whoever she is, she’s beautiful.”  Sharon said.

Bode’s breath left his body and all the blood drained from his face when he saw who Manny was talking to.

“Bode, are you okay?”  Vince asked him.

“Y-yeah,” Bode nodded numbly.  “Give me a minute.”  He didn’t give anybody a chance to respond as he walked towards Manny and his wife.

“Arizona?”  Bode asked, not quite sure he believed what he was seeing.

“Bode,” Arizona gave him a small smile. 

“What are you doing here?”  He asked, the words coming out harsher than he intended.

“I should be asking you that question,” she shot back.  “It’s good to see you’re not dead.”

Bode closed his eyes and took a calming breath.  He never imagined seeing his wife at Three Rock.  In fact, he never imagined seeing her again.  His eyes traveled to where she was twisting her wedding band she still wore.

Arizona’s hands were Bode’s favorite part of her body.  Sure, his wife was gorgeous with a great body but her hands were his safe place.  He was honest with Arizona from the beginning about his past.  He told her about the accident that caused Riley’s death and how Vince blamed him.  He explained that his dad told him to leave Edgewater and never return.  Any time they talked about the hard stuff, Arizona’s hands were there to calm him.  She’d stroke his arm, play with his hair or his beard, rub his back, twist their fingers together.  Those soft caresses calmed the noise in his head and started healing the hole in his heart.  

When Bode relapsed, he was ashamed of himself.  He knew he didn’t deserve a woman like Arizona.  He didn’t deserve love.  So, he did what Bode Leone did best:  he left.  He robbed a liquor store and found himself doing three to five years in prison.  On those long nights in prison, he’d think about her hands.  How they made him feel alive, wanted, cherished, loved.  He thought about writing to Arizona so many times but he just couldn’t think of what to say.  How do you apologize to the love of your life for letting them down so badly?

“Bode, who is this?”  Manny asked.

“This is Arizona.”  Bode said, his eyes never leaving her fingers.

“I can’t authorize a visit.  She’s not on your list.” Manny sighed.

“Manny…” Bode trailed off, not sure what to say.  “She’s…she’s…”

“She’s his wife.” Arizona finished for him.  “I know it’s been a long time, Bode.  But I’m still your wife.”

“I’ll give you two a minute.”  Manny clapped a hand on Bode’s shoulder before walking off.

 “How did you find me?” Bode asked her.

Tears pooled in Arizona’s eyes.  “After all this time and that’s what you want to know?” 

“I never wanted you to see me like this, AZ.”  Bode could never imagine how much it hurt to see his wife like this.

“You never wanted me to see you, period.”  Arizona sniffled.  “You shut me out completely.  I would have been there, Bode.  I would have been with you through it all.”

“I don’t deserve that.”  Bode answered simply.

“And I don’t deserve to have my husband abandon me without so much as a letter telling me it’s over.”  Arizona glared at him.

“I…” Bode looked up at the gray, California sky, trying to find the words to convey what he wanted to say.  “I never wanted to hurt you, Arizona.  I fucked up.  I ended up in prison.  I waited for divorce papers from you every day for months.”

“Well, if you would have let me see you, I would have told you that I wasn’t going anywhere.”  Arizona crossed her arms over her chest.

“It’s been too long.” Bode said.  “We can’t go back to what we had before.”

“I didn’t come here to have some big reunion, Bo.” She tucked her hair behind her ears.  “I came because…”  She swallowed thickly. Arizona shifted from foot to foot not wanting to say what she had to say.  She knew it would devastate him.

“Because why?” Bode said quietly.  “What happened, Arizona?”

Arizona’s eyes met Bode’s.  “Jesse…”

“What about him?”  Bode asked, fear running through his body.  Jesse Tulane was Arizona’s best friend.  He was also a cop in the small town where Bode and Arizona had lived before Bode fucked it all up.  Bode and Jesse became really close through their mutual relationships with Arizona.  Jesse had been the closest thing to a brother Bode had had since he left Edgewater.

“We lost him, Bode.”  Arizona whispered, tears streaming down her face.

“What do you mean we lost him?” Bode demanded.  “Isn’t there people out looking for him?  He’s a smart guy, Arizona.  He’ll find his way home.  He’s been lost before!  He’s taken me out hiking plenty of times.  He knows how to get out.”

“Bode!” Arizona said in a commanding voice to stop his words, her hands resting on his biceps.  “He’s dead.”

“No,” Bode’s brain refused to accept her words.  There was no way Jesse was dead.  He’d kept in contact with Jesse throughout his incarceration.  “I just talked to him!  You’re wrong, Arizona!”

Arizona broke down sobbing.  “I want to be, Bode.  I really want to be.  He’s gone.  He’s gone and I just…I want him back.”

Bode hugged her against him tightly.  Tears streamed down his face as she sobbed in his arms.  After a few minutes, he led her to a picnic table near where he’d been visiting with Gabriella, Sharon, and Vince.  He sat across from  her and took her hand in his.  “What happened?”

“He was serving a warrant on that sketchy house on the corner of 4th Street.  Somebody pulled a gun.  Jesse got shot in the neck.”  Arizona explained.  “We did everything we could but there was too much damage.  I pronounced him dead at 3:43 this morning.”

“You pronounced him?”  Bode asked, wiping the tears from his face.

Arizona gave him a small smile.  “I knew the team wasn’t going to stop with me in the room.  They know how close Jesse and I are.  They know how much he means to me.  I also knew that there was no getting him back.”

“I’m so sorry, Arizona.”  Bode whispered.  

“Me too,” Arizona squeezed his hand.  “He told me just yesterday that he was looking forward to you getting out so he could take you fishing in a new spot he found.”

Bode gave her a lopsided smile.  “I’m surprised he even still wanted to talk to me.”

“He said there was no way he was giving up on the only guy who could outfish him.” Arizona chuckled lightly.

“What now?” Bode asked.

Arizona shrugged her shoulders.  “I haven’t really thought about it.  I took a shower after I got home and came straight here to tell you.”

“How did you know where to find me?” 

“Dean called in a favor.” Arizona answered.

“I’m surprised he was willing to do that.”  Bode shook his head.

“You know Dean.  Anything for his youngest sister.”

Bode nodded.  “This doesn’t seem real.  I feel like I’m about to wake up back in prison.”

“It’s a lot to take in.”

“How long are you staying in town for?”  Bode asked.

“I got a room at the hotel in town.  I’m going to get some sleep then I have to head back.  There’s a lot to do.  I have to pack up Jesse’s things, find a new place to live.  I can’t stay in that place.  There’s just too many memories.  You, me, and Jesse had some great times in that place.”

“We did,” Bode smiled.  “He always said he was going to marry the manager of the bar that our apartment was above.”

“He never even got her number.”  Arizona laughed.  

“Of course,” Bode chuckled.  “He talked a big game.” 

“Yeah he did.”  Arizona nodded.  

It was quiet between the pair for a long beat.  “I don’t want to leave you.” Arizona whispered.

“I don’t want you to leave.”  Bode admitted.

“How about you finally put me on your visitor list?”  Arizona suggested.  “That way I can come back.”

“I’d like that.”  Bode said.  

Arizona cupped his face in her hand.  “It’s good to see you, Bode.  I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too.”  He admitted.

Arizona dropped her hand from his face, gave him a small wave, and walked back towards her car.

“Who was that?”  Vince asked once Bode had rejoined them.

“An old friend.”  Bode answered.

[melonba11s]

Playing for Keeps (Strade/MC/Tate Frost ficlet)

Don't perceive me I just wanna be smashed between two great sets of man titties and fat bellies.

Strade belongs too @gatobob

Tate Frost belongs to @bileshroom

my love for fat hairy men with great tits belongs to ME.

Contains: AFAB reader, gender neutral pronouns, Strade, Tate Frost, Dub-Con, Double Penetration, implied/mentioned drunk sex

How did you end up in this situation?

You gave a small squeak as the two men closed in, glaring daggers at each other.

"Sorry, *sugar*" the larger man grabbed your arm, pulling you against him. The pet name was directed at the other man though, who had a stiff smile on his face. "I saw them first. You'll have to go find another little bunny to eat."

The shorter man stepped closer, and you swallowed, your face growing bright red. His hand rested on your thigh, giving it a harsh squeeze as he met the taller mans gaze evenly.

"My apologies, *freund*, but I think I'm still gonna take them from you. Maybe *you* should find someone else to have fun with."

You should be wrestling your way out, you should be crying for help. But all you can think of is the two soft chests and chubby bellies rubbing against you as the two men get in eachothers faces.... with you stuck between.

One hand squeezes your thigh again while the other moves to your chest. You can't help it.

You let your face fall forward into the shorter mans chest as you let out a pathetic moan. A moan that makes both of them stop and look down at you.

The larger one with longer hair looks bemused, while the shorter man's face splits into a wide grin and he laughs.

"Look at that! I think they like us both... tell you what... Maybe, for their sake... we can all have a little fun out here." He rubs at the front of his crotch to bring his point home.

The larger man lets out a low whistle, then digs out a few playing cards.

"fine, but we're gonna play for who gets first pick of holes." As they both stepped back, you fell to the ground, knees shaking, breath trembling.

"Go on, Schatz. Undress while me and my new buddy figure out who's using what." The shorter man growled with a german accent.

"Sit tight, little rabbit, I'll be stuffing your cunt with my cock soon enough."

.

.

.

.

.

You definitely should have ran the moment they stepped away from you.

But god you were pent up, it'd been ages since you had sex, and the moment two big sexy men expressed interest in you it was all over."

Cards hadn't gone well. The larger man, who you learned to be called Tate, was a sore loser. So the other man, Strade, offered another solution.

Tate had easily lifted your naked body up, pressed against him with your legs spread for both of them to have access.

You should have protested, said there was no way. But here you were, squirming and panting in an old alley way as two incredibly thick cocks pushed their way inside you. It hurt, it made your body revolt in the most gut wrenching way possible.

You wanted more, a fuck drunk smile on your stupid face as they built up a rhythm, absolutely ruining your hole.

"I think they like my cock more." Tate grunted, "listen to those pretty moans."

"You can believe whatever you want, *Buddy*" Strade grinned, hair falling in front of his face as he began to thumb your clit.

You were pathetic. You were such a whore. It was humiliating and dehumanizing. You couldn't get enough.

One hand curled into Tates wild mane of hair while the other rested on Strades chest, trying to find balance as the two men sloppily held you up.

You didn't know if you had cum or not, all you knew was that it was hot continuous pleasure that shook you too your core and made you beg for more, pleading for them not to stop.

And when they came, messily filling your insides up, making you feel like you were about to pop. You hung limp in Tates grip as they both pulled out, Tate giving a few more thrusts with his softening cock before letting the mix of both mens cum and your fluids slop out of you, hitting the ground with a gross splattering noise.

"So. We never decided." Tate panted, leaning in to nibble your ear. "Who's taking them home?"

Strade hummed, tucking his cock back into his pants, before snapping his fingers.

"tell you what Buddy, I like you. I got a good stash of beer at home, lets go hang out there... and see how many drinks it takes for them to start slobbering over our cocks."

Tate chuckled, setting you down on shaking legs.

"Sounds good to me, I could go for a warm mouth right now. Especially when its been warmed up by a case of beer..."

[ladyvlolypop]

Bucky Barnes Headcanons

these are both dating and overall head canons, if you think the writing is a little out of my usual type it's because I wrote these while

My Masterlist

Bucky Barnes x gn!reader; sfw

Very gentle, his touches are very soft and he tries to avoid being harsh with you, knowing he’s way stronger than you(and because he’s unsure of his metal arm).

When he passes you he gives you subtle touches, his hand on your hip or waist for a brief moment.

He used to smoke when he was a soldier. Heavy smoker and drinker but he never touched a cigarette again after he became the winter soldier, not because he didn’t want to but he just didn’t want to be addicted to anything.

He can definitely speak and understand bits of german and italian because he was stationed in Austria and Italy during the war. He speaks french as well but much better(we love a multilingual king)

He understands russian perfectly but struggles to speak or write/read it. He understands bits of other slavic/balkan languages as well(if you speak russian freshen up his skills a little pls)

He sometimes still stares in awe at modern things, he imagined the world differently in the 30's. Will sometimes tell you how certain spaces changed and how they used to look like back in the day.

He likes to tell you about his childhood, liking to compare how you two grew up

Has lots oft things to catch up to

Has a flip phone w a loud ass ringtone

Jumps a little when hearing his ringtone

He has a smartphone for work but he barely uses it

Loves fantasy shows/movies and reading

LOTR and GOT fan honestly

Likes baking and cooking but he’s not good at it, he’s thankful for microwaveable meals and your cooking

Can’t ride a bike

Can’t drive, learned it just before infinity war happened

He probably let his his metal arm get hot in the sun and cracked an egg on it with sam

It fried

You only call him 'James' if it's serious or if it's to tease him

will use nicknames like "Doll", "Babygirl", "Honey","Darlin'(g)" or "Dear" for you

Uses lotion for his scars

would fold if you did it for him, def will offer to do the same for you(he gives really good messages let him)

Has a routine for his beard when he lets it grow out, likes to keep himself groomed

Same for his hair

Has insane home remedies

Pulls out chernobyl broth when you have a feet ache(boils sprite)(He read about it on facebook)

Doesn’t trust italians

He’s such a dad

Dad jokes all the way

Enjoys shopping for home gadgets

Knows how to haggle and will show his skills when he can

Will often come home with surprise groceries or gifts, things or snacks you like or some other stuff he got on sale

Likes to go to flea markets

Sometimes comes home with large amounts of certain products

Man will come home with 3 boxes of fruit because there was a sale

Love language is definitely gift giving and acts of service

Carries your bags or groceries for you without asking, pretty good at fixing things around the house

He’s good with kids, wants his own but unsure when the right timing for it would be

He sometimes shows them tricks with his metal arm

He’s not much of a talker unless you two are alone

Often rants about work

Good listener though, very attentive listener

He sleeps like a bear, very warm and keeps close to you, his arm cools down at night though and you might wake up with the feeling of cold metal against your belly

He started sleeping better when you were with him, still you will sometimes find him sleeping on the floor in the mornings, old habits die hard.

He’s very stubborn, especially if it's about your safety but he hates arguing with you

He hates the possibility of you getting hurt in any way

You're on his mind all the time

walks around with the thoughts of "would Y/N like that? Should I buy them that?"

first thing he does when coming home after missions is give you a tight hug

if it's really bad all he wants to do is hold you closely and cuddle for hours

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

if you think the writing is a little out of my usual type it's because I wrote these while on a call with my bsf and she was poorly singing lana del ray songs in my ear, some of these hc were even here ideas

[sgiandubh]

Cut the (Ghenea) crap

I have been anticipating since at least last Friday the very recent rumor overdrive about S and Mrs. Mădălina Ghenea, Romanian Horizontal Extraordinaire and I howled like a pack of hyenas in the dull silence of my flat.

Of all the rumors featuring S and divers representatives of the International Fitness Harem, this one stroke me as the most ridiculous ever. Downright scraping the bottom of the barrel, here, to be honest.

Now, as all of you know, I happen to be Romanian and if anything, you should at least grant me the benefit of a flawless knowledge of the terrain, so to speak. And as far as erotically ambitious Romanian chicks go, let's just say I am a sweet summer child, compared to this one.

Mădălina hails from Slatina, a small town in Oltenia, one of the most fascinating parts of the Romanian Southwest (I have a good quarter pint of Oltenian blood myself, so I think I know what the hell I am talking about: quick-witted, ambitious people, with a devastating, sarcastic sense of humor). She comes from virtually nothing: a working-class family of former farmers drawn to the nearest town by the quick and demented industrialization of the country during the Sixties, which is to say, the Lumpenproletariat our German friends can immediately relate to. But when you spend your childhood in the dull and poor anonymity of a non-descript block of flats (matchbox upon matchbox upon matchbox - think of it as a dignified favela of sorts), the only thing you want to do is to get the damn out of there, at all costs. Which, I have to say, she brilliantly and ruthlessly managed to, almost in record time. Granted, she is beautiful (to me, she is very cliché, but for any foreign male she is a Wanton Goddess of Sex, I suppose) and she does have the street smarts to safely get her through any urban jungle of this planet, too.

You can peruse her war credentials here, for a quick overview of the character, if you really, really, really need to: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M%C4%83d%C4%83lina_Diana_Ghenea.

I will just add (and you will have to trust me on this one), a couple of things:

Cynically speaking, she could be a decently plausible beard for S. After all, she did beard for di Caprio (an info I just corroborated over the phone with a friend who is a cinema & TV journalist, back home). Problem is, a woman like this is way over budget. I am afraid The Boy doesn't qualify, bless his heart: too meh for her eclectic, but high-end tastes (local cardboard millionaires, Bulgarian tennis players of the light mafioso type, Philipp Plein, Italian TV beaux and yup, Gerard Butler - but it did not end amicably, enough said). You have to understand that woman saw it all and she won't settle for a pap walk in the pishing drizzle of GLA, or even NY. This one knows perfectly well diamonds are a girl's best friend. And if you doubt me, maybe you won't doubt her, when she declared three days ago for the Daily Fail something along these lines:

[source, LOL: https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-12681539/EDEN-CONFIDENTIAL-Sexiest-woman-world-Madalina-Ghenea-yearns-real-man-stealing-hearts-Leonardo-DiCaprio-Gerard-Butler-Michael-Fassbender.html]

Read my lips: not going to happen. Not in a million years, not even for the sake of the fucking Narrative. Not even on a desert island. Never. Nuh-oh. No way.

At any rate, if God knows what sick plot twist happens, you'll learn it here first, probably: the Romanian gossip press would put to shame poor Deux Moi, with its needlessly chatty, exuberant, salaciously detailed style.

So I will say again here what I did say in a comment to an Anon who brought it up first @bat-cat-reader's :

TERMINAȚI CU TÂMPENIILE. Which is simply translated as CUT THE CRAP.

Of course.

[claudeng80]

Letters From the Front (WWI AU)

December 1914

I never expected to receive anything in the mail, least of all from you. When it had become clear I had nobody at home to miss me, my lack of letters because something of a daily jest for the unit. Your package put a stop to that, and my only regret was that I was so busy being surprised myself that I forgot to enjoy the looks on their faces.

The young master made a real point of the fact you were a generous sort. I guess the right thing to start with would be an apology, right? If I’d known you were this kind of person from the start, I wouldn’t have agreed to do what I did. I owe you one. Let’s all hope you get a chance to collect on it.

And thanks for the book. I heard a story about a guy who had a book in his pocket save him from a bullet. I’m not saying I’m counting on it, but why take chances? It’s going everywhere with me now.

That said, I’ve been assigned to the young master’s unit for good, so he’ll be keeping a close eye on me. Surely I can’t get into too much mischief anymore. He made the best face when I said I was writing you a letter, but he sends his regards. No, not regards, he says I have to cross that out and get it right, that’s an order. He sends his love.

And on that note I remain your irresponsible correspondent,

Obi

***

February 1915

Why am I not surprised you lined up for nurse training the moment you had the chance? It may not be your original plan- yes, I did overhear your intentions for medical school, and I’m not asking what happened to that- but these days none of us end up exactly where we plan to. But I’m sure you will be a great nurse. So many soldiers will be cured on the spot by the simple sight of your cheerful face that we will overwhelm the Germans with healthy numbers alone. Please write back and tell me about all the stupid injuries you see. I can’t wait.

The lieutenant sends his love, again.

Obi

***

May 1915

I promise I’m not going to make any more jokes about getting injured. If I had not already learned my lesson from the extensive lecture in your last letter- honestly, you do not need to waste so much paper on me- I would have learned it in the last couple of days. Today I write to you from a field hospital. Don’t worry, I am in one piece, all that is missing is a large quantity of blood and the nurse tells me I can fix that myself so long as the army sees fit to supply me with enough meat. I will do my best to keep the blood on the inside from now on, but I am not going to complain about the extra meat ration.

I know you’re going to ask me about the hospital, but I refuse to describe it. It’s much like any other hospital, save that all the medics are officers and order us patients around incessantly. You would have been impressed with the man who sewed up the hole in me, though- it’s hard to tell whether it was his stitches or the cursing that stopped the flow. He was truly gifted on both counts.

Lieutenant Zen stopped by to visit. He is very busy. He says he appreciates your letters greatly and sends his love.

Your only-a-little-exsanguinated friend,

Obi

***

July 1915

I will start with the most important news: we are all in good health. For now, at least, I should say, because the shadow of doom lies upon us. Our unit has acquired a creature. It is a scruffy dog of indeterminate breed that has an endless appetite for the beans we are all so heartily sick of and one trick that it will display on command. He falls down dead when “shot,” which is not that original a feat, but nobody thinks I’m funny when I remind them we’re all capable of the same. Somehow when the dog does it, it’s amusing.

I am not yet convinced it will not kill and eat me in my sleep, but it insists on bedding down on my feet. At least, if it does, I will go out with warm toes, I suppose.

I am very glad to hear that everyone at Wistal is thriving and that you are assisting Lady Haki in her plans. Zen has concerns about the practicalities of establishing a recovery hospital in such a grand home, but I am sure that with the two of you teamed up it can be nothing but a success. Do not let all the soldiers fall in love with you; broken hearts are not conducive to recovery, and we need them all back out here.

Zen sends his love. He says he will try to draw the dog for you. If he does, please save the picture because I want to see it.

With regards from the future dog food on the hoof,

Obi

***

December 1915

Last week I received five of your letters at once; it seems they have been chasing me around Europe for some time. The bounty of news from home is a bit overwhelming- I have been rationing them so as to take it all in manageable bites.

There is little more that I can tell you than ever; winter is cold, but dry. We slide on the icy mud instead of sinking into it; equally treacherous but a trade I, for one, welcome. Our French counterparts have celebrated the feast of St. Nicholas, and also we heard the faint celebrations from our opponents in the distance, but nobody would be foolish enough to leave their boots off for long enough to acquire treats, or to eat treats that had been in close contact with boots. Obviously the saint pays no attention when the rules aren’t followed, because we are entirely lacking in treats. It’s hard to imagine Christmas will be any different.

Oh, I suppose I do have one item of note to report- we came across the wreckage of a downed airplane. We hear them snarling overhead from time to time, but it’s the first I’ve had a close look at, and now that I have, you will not catch me clamoring any more for a ride in one. On the ground, it was a pile of sticks and cloth, no more substance than a toy. I’ll keep my feet on the ground, thank you.

With jaunts up walls and into the trees when warranted, of course. Those are sturdy and don’t count. But my point is that I got a piece of the plane as a souvenir. I can’t say I know what it is, but I hope I can show it to you someday.

I can’t get my hands on Zen to get a message from him this time, but I’m sure he would send his love as always if I could pin him down to do it.

Sincerely,

Obi

***

April 1916

I understand you may have had some distressing news about the progress of the front; whatever you read, you don’t need to worry about us. We are fed regularly and our feet are dry and healthy. I have not been eaten by the dog yet. 

Zen sends his love.

Obi

***

June 1916

I am well.

I have been admitted to hospital wounded/sick. I am doing well and will return to duty soon.

I have received your letter/telegram/parcel dated June 1, 1916.

Letter follows at first opportunity.

I have received no letter from you lately/for a long time.

Signature: Obi

***

Shirayuki lays the postcard on top of the stack. The edges of the cheap paper are starting to fray, but she can’t leave it alone. After all of these months of regular letters, he sends her a form postcard completely lacking in information, and then nothing. It's been four months. She doesn’t even know what to write back anymore.

“Put your boyfriend’s letters away already and come on,” Yuzuri complains, and Shirayuki yanks open the desk drawer. The pile’s too tall to fit now, and she has to split it, adding Obi’s latest letters on top of Zen’s much slimmer pile. “You’ll find out when you find out, reading that postcard for the thousandth time isn’t going to tell you anything new.”

“It’s not-” Objecting is a reflex now, but a futile one. She knows Yuzuri has heard the whole explanation at least three times now. She just doesn’t listen, or doesn’t believe what she hears. She doesn’t have a boyfriend, she has two soldiers she’s writing to. She’d known them both not even three weeks before they enlisted, and neither Zen’s hasty proposal or Obi’s abject apology makes either of them a boyfriend.

No matter what Obi thinks. She’s given up trying to explain to him either; her ink and paper are better spent on other topics.

“They’re going to start without us!” Yuzuri dances at the door. “Do I look all right?”

***

She’s not superstitious, of course, doesn’t believe in ghosts walking the earth on All Hallow’s Eve, but if she did, the light and chatter coming through the open windows make Wistal house a very appealing destination. She and Yuzuri and all the other nurses who board in the gatehouse take this walk every day, usually a few minutes of serenity before the intense day of work. Tonight’s train of nurses are anything but serene.

Lady Haki raided the Wistal attics, so they are a fancy parade as well as a merry one. Yuzuri leads the way in one of Lady Haruto’s old Royal Ascot outfits complete with hat, their precious victrola clutched in her arms. Haki comes next, very dapper in a morning suit borrowed from her husband’s closet. Shirayuki would have been fine to skip the fancy dress, but the others reminded her just how much their American patients were longing for a Halloween party. She couldn’t disappoint them, and that’s how she ended up wearing her weight in ruffles in some Wisteria dowager’s bustle dress. The color is nice, but it does feel very odd to know how much she looks like her grandmother’s wedding portrait right now.

When the nurses make their grand entrance, patients smile at them from under their bandages. Two of the more ambulatory, one with bandages wrapped loosely around him like a mummy and another wearing a bedsheet for a turban scramble to divest Yuzuri of the victrola and Haki of the pile of records, already squabbling about which music to put on first. The feathers on Yuzuri’s hat block Shirayuki’s vision, and when she turns to bat them away, her attention is arrested by an unfamiliar face.

Or perhaps not unfamiliar, but unexpected- she knows she’s seen those gold eyes under thin eyebrows, that hedgehog hair untamed by the uniform hat now tucked beneath his arm. He’s not a patient here, despite the bandages, but he knows her, too, she can tell.

Yuzuri’s feathers assault her nose again, and by the time she’s moved herself out of the danger zone, the stranger is a step closer. The victrola starts up with a crackle, the first lilting notes of the Aeroplane Waltz filling the air, and the corner of his mouth twitches. 

That mouth she knows, though. It was the same quirk on the stranger’s face before he admitted to being the real thief. His eyes twinkled, just for a moment, then the smirk slid into a full-on beam. Just a few words to admit he was the one who slipped the Wistal silver into Shirayuki’s bag, and Zen pushed him off the balcony.

One week later he was with Zen on a troop train to the Continent.

Her feet move faster than they should in a dress not her own, but she can’t help it. One stride short of her target, unfamiliar heels catch in the unfamiliar hem, but there’s only a moment of free-fall before she is stopped. Her hands lock around his wrists, and his hands around hers. “You’re here,” she breathes.

“In almost one piece,” he agrees, and then a true smile blooms. His hands twist out of her grasp and before she knows it she’s spinning, scrabbling at his shoulders as her skirt swishes around her feet even though he’s holding her steady. His laugh is a beautiful sound that for months she’d thought she’d never get the chance to hear, and somehow the Obi of her letters and this man in front of her click into place. He’s wry asides in awkward script, but he’s also solid muscle under green wool and raindrops in hair. She wants to grab hold of him until he is as familiar to her as all his letters.

But he winces, setting her down abruptly, and folds over stiffly. “Ow,” he says, like it’s a joke. 

She knows that reaction, and the shame behind it all too well. “You’re hurt.” He watches her out of the corner of his eye, as though if he pretends it’s not there she’ll do anything but scold him.

“Wouldn’t be here if I weren’t,” he says at last. A pinprick of blood spreads on his shirt.

Shirayuki sighs. “At least you’re in the right place.” The examination room should be empty, with everyone at the party right now. Yuzuri catches her eye with a quizzical look, and when Shirayuki points to the door, she answers with a wink. “Let’s take a look at the problem. But I can’t promise to be cheerful if you can’t take care of your wounds.”

“Oh, I do have an order to carry out,” he says, and Shirayuki pauses. It’s not going to stop her from getting his wound set to rights, but if he’s going to protest she may have to bring in reinforcements. “Zen sends his love.”

“Enough about him,” Shirayuki snaps, and Obi stares down at her. Perhaps she was a little harsh, but that’s not who she wants to hear about right now. She pushes Obi into the examination room. “Now tell me how this happened.”