#band of brothers x original character

[mercurygray]

The Darkening Sky - Chapter 53 - The End

It was the end of the war, and Joan was tired.

She could say that, now, where there wasn't anyone to hear her. They'd done a ten-miler today, hot on the heels of a seven mile pack march the day before. If she listened hard enough, she thought she could still make out the complaints from the replacements, drifting in from the courtyard outside, and the old hands roundly reminding them that war was hard, pain was temporary, and they'd be glad they'd had the practice when they were running to find a foxhole.

Temporary or not, her leg was still hurting, though not as much as it had been. The old wound from Carentan was being tested, and so far it was holding, but only time would really tell. She'd practically fallen into her bed the night before, thin lipped and sore, and Dick, tired himself, had wrapped himself around her and gently massaged the muscle until it was bearable once more. "You know you don't have to run these," he'd suggested softly, trying to be helpful as sleep started to come for the both of them.

The mere thought made her bristle with rage. Wound or no wound, her place was at the front, or she was no better than the men she despised. "What kind of leader sits them out?"

[read the final chapter, and the rest of the story in its entirety, here on AO3!]

#the darkening sky #i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #guys. this is for all the marbles #THE FINAL CHAPTER #there will be some epilogue stuff too don't worry #band of brothers oc #band of brothers x original character #band of brothers fanfiction

[coco-bean-1218]

Well-Behaved Women Never Make History

Prologue: Part Three: "Brains, Bravery, and now... Wings."

Chapter Soundtrack

Summary: Claire breaks some important news to her family.

A/N: Hi, everyone! Welcome to Prologue: Part Three: of Well-Behaved Women Never Make History! This is the final prologue part before the actual story takes place! I'm very excited about this one, and I hope you are too! As always, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

Warnings: Swearing, Claire getting confrontational

Taglist: @whollyjoly @footprintsinthesxnd @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike

Monday, January 5, 1942

Downtown district of Detroit, MI, USA

---

The January chill nipped at Claire’s cheeks as she hesitated on the snow-dusted sidewalk outside the recruitment building in Downtown Detroit. A mosaic of colorful signs emblazoned with military insignias adorned the facade, each vying for the attention of potential recruits. She adjusted her glasses and tucked a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear while absorbing the gravity of her surroundings.

"Army," "Navy," "Marines" – the words seemed to leap out from the posters, resonant with the call of duty and patriotism. Men, young and vibrant, streamed past her, their conversations a cacophony of hope and bravado. She drew in a deep breath, trying to still the fluttering in her chest.

With one last glance at the sky, now an expanse of solemn gray, she pushed open the door and stepped into the maw of the recruitment station.

Inside, the air buzzed with the energy of hundreds of young men, their voices merging into a symphony of determination. They clustered around tables where uniformed officers sat, clipboards at the ready. The clatter of typewriters punctuated the murmur of conversation, each keystroke a testament to the momentous decisions being made.

"Hey, watch it!" a recruit barked as Claire narrowly avoided bumping into him amidst the throng.

"Hey, I'm walking here!" she snapped back, her eyes darting around the vast room, "Fucking dumbass." Her heart hammered against her ribs; this was more overwhelming than any college exam hall.

Claire moved slowly through the space, her senses alert to every detail. She watched fingers grip pens with purpose, heard the scratch of signatures committing lives to service. Each step brought her deeper into the belly of the beast, the air thick with the scent of ink and anticipation.

She took another step, drawing closer to the heart of the station, to the precipice of her own journey. And somewhere amidst the clamor and the fervor, Claire began to find her footing, charting a course through the crowd toward the destiny of her choosing.

Claire's eyes swept over the sea of uniforms, her gaze landing on a poster that stood out from the rest, its bold letters calling to those brave enough to leap from the skies. "Join the Airborne," it beckoned, the image of a soldier descending from the heavens both terrifying and exhilarating.

"An additional fifty dollars in pay," she murmured to herself, fingertips grazing the edge of the poster. Her mind leapt to textbooks and lab fees; this could be the answer she'd been searching for—a way to fund her dream of medical school. The sum was significant, a beacon of hope amidst the turmoil of war.

With a determined step, Claire navigated through the throngs of eager recruits, each stride carrying her closer to the possibility of a future shaped by her own hands. As she sought the Army's station, a table draped in blue caught her eye, the acronym 'WACs' emblazoned across the banner.

"Women's Army Corps..." she read aloud, thumbing through a pamphlet that lay amongst a neat pile. The words within spoke of service and support, of roles unimagined by women just a generation prior. For a moment, her heart wavered, the path of a WAC presenting its own allure. 

"Could I really do this?" The thought hung heavy as she slipped the pamphlet into her pocket, a tangible reminder of choices yet to be made.

Her pursuit resumed, weaving between desks and dodging elbows until she found herself standing before a sign marked 'Army Enlistment.' She exhaled sharply, the weight of decision anchoring her to the spot, the pamphlet's presence in her coat a secret whisper of potential futures.

Each step was a silent conversation with herself, every heartbeat a question of courage, and with the pamphlet tucked close, Claire advanced toward her chosen battleground.

Claire's steps echoed against the marble floor, a cadence of resolve amidst the clamor. She halted at a long table adorned with crisp, official-looking documents and flags representing various military branches. Her gaze scanned the area, seeking the sign-up for the Airborne, when she was suddenly anchored by a familiar face.

"Peyton?" Claire's voice lifted in surprise, her eyes widened as they settled on her best friend standing behind the table.

"Claire!" Peyton squealed. The warmth in her brown eyes mirrored the joy dancing across her features. "What are you doing here?"

Claire leaned forward, palms pressing against the cool surface of the table. "I could ask you the same," she teased, but her laughter held an undercurrent of nerves. 

"Got myself a job," Peyton replied with a proud lift of her chin, "Helping Uncle Sam find his soldiers. And you? Don't tell me you came to wave the boys goodbye." The quirk of Peyton's eyebrow signaled she expected a more profound truth.

"I'm here to... I want to sign up for the Airborne," Claire said, her voice lower than she intended. She brushed a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear.

"Airborne?" Peyton's eyebrows shot up, a playful smirk teasing her lips. "My, aren't we the brave one?"

"Someone has to be," Claire retorted, though her heart thumped erratically at the reality of her words. Inside her coat, the WAC pamphlet felt like a secret confession of her hesitance.

Peyton reached beneath the table, sifting through papers with a purposeful intensity. "Well, if it's the sky you're aiming for, let me help you take flight." With a furtive glance around, she leaned closer, conspiratorially, "I'll snag you a form."

"Be careful," Claire warned softly as Peyton reached across the table, her fingers dancing swiftly over the stacked papers before procuring one of the coveted Airborne sign-up sheets.

"Come on," Peyton whispered, tucking the sheet under her arm. Together, they navigated through the swell of bodies, finding sanctuary in a quiet corner draped in shadows.

"Feels like plotting a secret mission," Claire joked, but her hands trembled slightly as she accepted the pen from Peyton. The weight of her decision pressed down upon her, each tick of the wall clock punctuating the urgency of the moment.

"Imagine, us girls changing the world," Peyton said, her voice a soft blend of wonder and conviction, "Seems like only yesterday we were both little girls wishing our fairy tale dreams."

"Changing our own worlds, at least," Claire replied, her smile tinged with the gravity of their unspoken dreams. She looked down at the form, each line a step closer to a future where fear mingled with hope, and the prospect of 50 extra dollars meant more than just money; it represented freedom, education, and a chance to make a difference.

"Are you ready for this?" Peyton asked, concern lacing her question.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Claire responded, her hand tightening around the pen. But in the sanctuary of her mind, she whispered a prayer for courage, for strength, and for the wisdom to choose the right path.

"Here, let's start with the easy stuff," Peyton said, pointing to the top of the form. "Name, date of birth, address..."

"Right." Claire filled in the blanks, her handwriting a neat script that belied the churn of her stomach. "I never pictured my twenties would look like this."

"Nobody did," Peyton agreed, leaning in to read over Claire's shoulder. "But we play the hand we're dealt. You've got a good one, Claire. Brains, bravery, and now... wings."

"Potentially," Claire mused, her gaze flitting to Peyton's own untouched sign-up sheet for the WACs. "It looks like we're both seeking some altitude."

"Seems so." Peyton's smile was a brief flash, her attention returning to Claire's form. "Next, they'll need your medical history. Any illnesses, surgeries..."

"Just wisdom teeth," Claire chuckled, checking the corresponding box. Her thoughts drifted again to the extra fifty dollars the poster promised, an amount that could put a dent in her medical school expenses—if the war didn't claim too much first.

"Emergency contact?" Peyton's voice cut through her reverie.

"Mom and Dad," Claire responded automatically, scribbling down her parents' details. Her heart clenched at the thought of their reaction; she hadn't even broached the subject with them yet.

"Alright, almost done," Peyton encouraged. "Just need your signature and—"

"Hope," Claire finished quietly, the pen hovering above the paper. She drew in a deep breath and signed her name with a flourish that felt more defiant than anything she'd ever done.

"Done." Claire set the pen down, her pulse racing as the realization of her commitment took hold.

"Then that's it," Peyton affirmed. "You're on your way, Claire."

"Thanks to you," Claire said, her gratitude genuine. She folded the form, the creases crisp under her fingers. "Now, let's get this turned in before I lose my nerve."

"Lead the way, soldier," Peyton said with a grin, and together, they stepped back into the fray, their bond a thread of certainty in an uncertain world.

Claire clutched the folded form in her hand as she glanced sideways at Peyton, who was busy scanning the room with an intensity that matched the gravity of their surroundings.

"Are you going to join the fight too?" Claire asked, her voice barely above a whisper, betraying a vulnerability she kept well-guarded.

Peyton turned toward her, her eyes holding a glint of resolve that seemed older than her eighteen years. "I’m considering the WACs," she admitted. "As a war journalist. Someone has to tell our stories, right?"

"Right." Claire nodded, pride swelling within her chest at the thought of her friend capturing the essence of these tumultuous times. "You'll be great at it."

"Thanks," Peyton said, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "Now, let's get you officially signed up."

They approached the bustling table discreetly; Peyton’s movements were deft and quiet as she slid Claire's form amidst a stack of others. The act was so smooth it was as if the paper had sprouted wings and settled itself among its brethren. No one noticed, no heads turned—they were just two young women in a sea of anxious faces, all united by a common cause.

"Call me later?" Claire's heart thumped loudly, her mouth dry.

"Of course." Peyton's smile was a lifeline. "And Claire? Be safe."

"Always am," Claire replied with a wink she didn't quite feel. Then, with a quick, tight hug that carried the weight of unspoken fears and shared dreams, they parted.

Claire stepped outside into the brisk January air, pulling her coat tighter against the winter chill. She could still feel the echo of Peyton’s embrace as she hailed a cab. When the old yellow car pulled to the curb, she saw the driver through the rolled-down window, his cap slightly askew.

"Where to, miss?" he asked gruffly, the lines on his face deepened from years of squinting into the distance.

Claire told her address, her voice steady even as her hands trembled.

As the taxi lurched forward, Claire leaned back against the worn upholstery. The city passed by in a blur of gray and white, but all she could see was the future unfurling before her, uncertain yet fraught with possibility. She gripped the strap of her handbag, the texture suddenly grounding her racing thoughts. What would home look like when she returned? Would the familiar streets whisper tales of her courage or sing laments for her absence?

"Almost there," the driver announced, snapping Claire back to the present.

"Thank you," she murmured, her mind already drifting to the announcement she would soon make. The door to her life as she knew it was closing, and with every turn of the wheels, she felt a step closer to the woman she was destined to become.

The rhythmic clacking of the typewriter keys filled the kitchen, a syncopated counterpoint to the soft scratching of pen on paper. Claire stood in the doorway, her silhouette hesitating against the afternoon light that filtered through the lace curtains. She watched as her mother's fingers danced over the black and white keys, her concentration never wavering even as she reached for her coffee cup with her free hand. Her father, meanwhile, was hunched over a notebook, his furrowed brow casting shadows over the figures he diligently noted down.

"Mom, Dad," Claire's voice trembled slightly, betraying the nerves she fought so hard to conceal.

Her mother stopped typing mid-word, the carriage hanging in limbo. She looked up, "Claire, honey, you're back early. Is everything alright?" 

"Hey, kiddo." Her dad glanced up, a flicker of concern crossing his weathered face before he set his pen aside. "You look like you've got something on your mind."

In the brief pause that followed, Claire could hear her own heartbeat, a frantic drumline marching toward an inevitable revelation. She took a deep breath, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint trace of a candle, grounding her resolve.

"I ran into Peyton downtown," she began, the words spilling out more easily than she anticipated. The mention of her best friend always had a way of easing tension in the room. She moved closer, coming to rest against the edge of the kitchen table, her hands gripping the polished wood.

"Is that right?" her mom asked, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "And what's Miss Peyton up to these days?"

"She's working at the recruitment station," Claire said, watching as her parents exchanged a quick, unreadable glance. "Actually, I..." she paused, gathering the shards of courage that felt scattered within her chest.

"Actually, what, Claire?" her dad prompted, leaning back in his chair, his eyes kind and attentive.

Claire's glasses slipped slightly down her nose as she met their gazes, the world around her momentarily out of focus. She pushed them up with a resolute finger.

"I have an announcement to make," she stated, the words solidifying into reality the moment they passed her lips. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a caged bird yearning for the freedom of the skies, "I've decided to enlist. I joined the Airborne to be a combat medic."

Her father raised his eyebrows, "The Airborne?"

"You do know what that means, right?" her mother questioned in disbelief.

"Yes, I do," Claire said sternly, "And I also know that there's an additional 50 dollars in pay. That could go towards college and med school."

"Honey," her mother sighed, "Med school is expensive. That could cover a textbook, maybe two."

"Yes, I know," Claire kept her ground, "And you guys always say I need to be more mature and independent. Well, here's my chance, all while gaining medical experience. Imagine how that will look on med school applications."

Her mother crossed her arms, "Now, Claire, when we said more independent and more mature, we didn't mean jump out of a plane into a war zone."

"But, you guys have also told me to take risks, to stand up for myself and what I believe in, to not let people walk all over me. What is it that you always say, Mom? A well-behaved woman never makes history. That's what I'd be doing - making history!" 

Her father chuckled, "Man, when this one tries to make her case, she really makes it."

"And besides, I only applied. It doesn't mean they'll take me," Claire shrugged.

"How does it feel fighting with yourself," her father said to her mother, laughing.

Mrs. O'Connor glared at her husband, "Oh, hush."

Claire laughed at the teasing between her parents. They had said many times she was her mother's daughter.

"Can you imagine? She'll probably argue with her CO," her father said, shaking his head.

"Of course," Claire stated boldly, "You know me."

"Or argue with the enemy itself and they'd back down," her mother retorted.

Claire laughed, "That's the plan."

Her mother then leaned forward, her voice now gentle yet steady. "Claire, we've always encouraged you to follow your dreams, to forge your own path. And if this is what you truly want, then we support you wholeheartedly."

"You know we'll always have your back," her father chimed in.

The creak of the stairs announced Emma's arrival before she appeared, her eyes questioning as she took in the sight of their huddled assembly. She leaned against the doorway, her silhouette softened by the hall light spilling into the living room.

"Everything okay?" Emma asked, her gaze flicking between her parents' drawn faces and Claire's determined stance. 

"Yeah, I joined the Airborne to be a combat medic," Claire said nonchalantly.

Her sister stopped in her tracks, "Huh. Well, that's something you don't hear every day. Good for you." Emma smiled and patted Claire's shoulder. "If anyone can do it, it's you." She then shifted her gaze to their parents, who exchanged a glance and nodded in approval.

"Besides," Claire added with a mischievous grin, "Who knows? I might catch the eye of a handsome paratrooper who's just dying to break through these walls." She shot a knowing look at her mother, who laughed. 

Unbeknownst to Claire, a couple of thousand miles away, that young, handsome paratrooper was also breaking the news to his parents and siblings about his brave decision to join the Airborne.

#band of brothers #band of brothers oc #my first oc story #my ocs #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #easy company #hbo war #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x ofc #chuck grant x ofc #chuck grant #eugene roe #eugene roe x ofc #original female character #ofc

[b2-ar19]

A slice of life

Alpha-17 grumbled, he wasn't a morning person. He never was. Right now his over-eager strill pup of a ad was busy climbing on his back, playing with his soft curls.

"Buir! Buir! Buir! Buir!" he chanted, yapping his mouth off. He then tried to tug on his brawny arm, causing him to tumble back off the bed. He heard him crash into the armor pile, when the beskar metal clattered on the polished floor of their yaim.

"Your ad is awake," Orion sleepily mumbled in his ear. He often wondered how he got so damn lucky. Orion Howlett, former member of Easy Company, a dragon rider, Wolverine's son, a leader of a commando squad, the kriffing Manda'alor for cryin' out loud. Alpha admired the lean, yet toned form of his riduur that was evenly tanned. He would follow the man to hell and back, without question.

"Before sunrise, he is your ad," he growled out, it was way too early for this.

"Buir! You promised!" Jaster proclaimed, as he wriggled his way into the sleeping pile.

"Okay, ad, I'm up," Alpha yawned, showing off two sets of razor-sharp canines.

"Yes!" he cheered as he clambered off the bed, as he bolted out the door.

"Don't break him,"

"I won't, I carried him, remember?"

#star wars #star wars original character #star wars the clone wars #swtcw #clones #tcw #alpha 17 #original character #fluff #domestic fluff #band of brothers mentioned #X-Men mentioned #implied mpreg #Alpha-17 x original character #inspired by the one scene from the Lion King #clones are not fully human #Tuang species (Star Wars) #Mandalorians are not fully human #mando'a #Lion king inspiration

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 22: One Tough Broad

Summary: "I just needed to be someone else for a bit." A/N: I have not spoken French in about three years now, so Gene's dialogue might be completely wrong. But at least I tried 🤷🏻‍♀️ Also, while I've never seen raspberries growing on Currahee, there are so many plants, who's to say they're not somewhere along the trail? Warnings: mentions of war, injury, hospitals, language Taglist: @latibvles @lady-cheeky @liebgotts-lovergirl @lieutenant-speirs @ithinkabouttzu @hxad-ovxr-hxart

Belgium, 1944

Full of purpose, Gene leads Zenie from the Jeep to the town’s large church. (Perhaps it’s not very big – she’s just used to the small, white, wooden churches of the South where congregations squeeze together in hard pews to sing and renounce.) He hustles her right past the crowds outside, only sparing a glance at the piles of bodies lined up against a low wall. The scene steals the breath from Zenie’s lips, but there’s no time to stop.

“J'ai besoin d'une infirmière,” Gene announces when they enter the church. Some other medics glance up, but none answer. If he had wanted their answer, he would have asked in English.

Instead, it’s a young Frenchman’s voice that replies, “De quoi avez-vous besoin?”

“J'ai besoin de parler à une infirmière. C’est urgent.”

When the young man – Is he a doctor? He doesn’t wear an armband or uniform of any sort. He might be just a young man – rushes off, Gene once again guides Zenie. This time, he starts her toward the back of the church, to a more isolated area.

He finds a small room and leads her into it, shutting the door behind her before rushing back to check on Skinny and his leg. For a few moments, Zenie is alone in the dim room, waiting. Her only companion is the patch of wintery sunlight coming from a small stained-glass window on the wall above her. Some old crates stacked in the back corner provide a place for her to sit. She practically falls onto them she feels so exhausted, though the morning has just begun.

When Gene returns, a young woman follows him into the room. Zenie jumps up as the door quickly opens and shuts. The action makes Gene’s brows furrow.  

“Thought you might feel better if you had a, um, a woman to help out with the stitchin’ and all.” When Zenie blanches, he rushes on. “Don’t worry. I trust her.”

The woman is young, maybe the same age as them. Kind eyes survey her as she looks between Gene and Zenie. Though Zenie can’t understand what she says to Gene in French, the question in the woman’s eyes is clear: Who is this soldier, and why are we alone? Whatever Gene tells her, her realization is just as clear.

The woman approaches her the way that one approaches an animal that they are afraid of startling. She motions for Zenie to take a seat and then does the same, settling in on a box across from her. Her hands are folded in her lap when she nods to Zenie’s jacket and asks, “May I . . . ?”

“Yes.”

Zenie assumes that Gene has told this nurse about her situation, but the woman still starts slightly when she pulls back Zenie’s jacket and sees the bandages wrapped around her chest. Her shock is momentary. Her face quickly settles into a mask of concentration as she and Gene inspect Zenie’s arm.

She bites her lip to keep herself from flinching every time they pick a small fragment of shrapnel from her flesh. When she offers her a flask to draw from, she gratefully accepts it and downs the firewater, grimacing at the taste, as the nurse begins stitching up the long gash on her arm.

Before she knows it, it’s all over.

“Très chanceux.” The nurse pats Zenie’s good shoulder and helps her shrug her jacket back on. From the pocket of her apron, she removes a strip of bedsheet that she uses as a sling to secure Zenie’s arm. “Could have been much worse. Could have . . .” She doesn’t have to finish. Her eyes flick upwards, toward the stained-glass window behind Zenie’s head. “Someone is watching over you.”

“You won’t tell?” Zenie blurts out.

The nurse offers her a small smile and shakes her head. It’s all the reassurance that she needs.

“Thank you.”

She nods, then turns her attention to Eugene. “J'enverrai des fournitures avec vous.”

Zenie breathes a sigh of relief when the nurse leads them out of the room, back into the makeshift hospital proper. She hands Gene a small box and begins loading it with what she can. Not able to understand the French words they exchange, Zenie’s eyes wander, taking in the scene around her.

Wounded men are everywhere that she looks, some far worse than others. A feeling that Zenie cannot bring herself to name clings to them, its grip growing stronger with every breath that they take, waiting for its moment to strike. Weary and worn medics weave their way through them. Nurses hold hands and offer solace when and where they can.

Passing through them, she catches a flash – ever so brief – of dark hair rushing by with a man on a stretcher. Zenie pauses for a moment to stare. More nurses and medics follow, and Zenie loses sight of who she thought that she saw.

“How are you feeling, Skinny?”

Her fellow paratrooper looks up at her from the cot they have him situated on as he waits for his turn to be helped. Pain is evident on his face. His eyes are hazy with it, and glassy with that expression that she’s come to know from seeing him in bars and pubs after he’s had a little something to drink.

“They gave me alcohol, but I don’t think it’s doing any good.”

“You’ve built up a tolerance to it with all your partying.”

Skinny grimaces. “I guess. Hey, how about you? They fix up your arm?”

“Yeah. I’m going back with Doc Roe.”

“Oh.” Skinny settles back onto the cot, his body loosening with the action. “You’re getting out of here pretty quick, then.”

“The nurse said I was lucky.”

“You are,” he grumbles. He lifts his head a little, making sure she’s still there. “Hey, Tommy. Do me a favor, yeah? If you see Shifty and the rest of the guys, tell them that I’m gonna be okay.”

“I will.”

“Tommy!” Gene clutches the box of supplies tightly as he rounds the corner. He nods towards the door; time to go.

“Bye, Skinny.”

“Bye, Tommy.” For the sake of her friend, Zenie pretends not to notice the frown that tugs at his lips when she steps away, leaving him alone in a place so full of pain and suffering . . . and death.

Father Maloney is holding mass when they return. A good number of Zenie’s friends are kneeled before him as he speaks Latin. Bill and Babe tried to explain it all to her once, but she can’t figure out if they’re being blessed or reprimanded for their sins.

She thanks Gene for everything and then makes her way towards the group. “Go,” she can hear Father Maloney saying as she approaches. “and fight bravely for your country, and for your God.”

Well, she thinks, that answers that question.

The men stand. There are sighs of relief and a few laughs.

“Well guys,” Skip Muck says with a grin. “If we die now, we’re dying in a state of grace! Isn’t that right, Babe?”

The Philadelphian laughs, starts to say something, then stops short as Zenie and Gene approach. His eyebrows disappear underneath the rim of his helmet.

“You’re back?!”

Zenie can’t help but smirk. She might have a sling on her arm and a nasty looking scar where the nurse – or Renée, as Gene says her name is – stitched her up, but she’s back with Easy Company where she belongs. What was it that Bill had said when he made his glorious return from the hospital?

She claps Babe on the shoulder, smiling when she quips, “Had to come back and keep your ass in line, Heffron.”

Beside him, John Julian laughs. Babe, on the other hand, still looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Boy, Bill will be glad to see you,” Julian says. “None of us knew what the hell he was gonna do when we heard you got hit.”

Me neither, Zenie thinks, remembering how her friend had reacted upon learning her secret. Not badly, but . . . She wasn’t exactly around long enough to deal with any fallout. Beads of sweat appear under her helmet at the thought of what might have happened after she left – or what might happen now that she’s back. If Babe and Julian are joking around with her, then Bill didn’t announce her secret to the world the second that Gene swept her off to dig the shrapnel out of her arm. She hoped that he wouldn’t. Maybe she won’t be court martialed or sent home – today, anyway.

For a moment she stands frozen. Not for the first time, blood rushes in her ears like roaring ocean waves as she considers her options. Should she return to her foxhole? Or find someone else to share one with? She could always try her luck wandering to the outpost to find Shifty, could hide out there for a while.

Fate decides for her.

If there’s one thing that Zenie has learned in all the time she’s known Bill Guarnere, it’s that his insistence that you should never volunteer for anything is a lifesaver. With a sling on her arm, she shouldn’t be on a patrol. Sergeant Martin’s eyes pass over her, not even considering taking someone who’s injured his dominant arm. She slips away as Gene, Julian, and Babe all gather around for their sudden orders, her heartbeat still echoing in her ears.

Grey clouds and the branches of barren trees block the wintery sun that hangs somewhere overhead, out of reach. Its position is impossible to find, and the time is just as impossible to calculate. But if she had to guess, Zenie would wager that Bill is out doing his rounds right now, making sure that everyone is okay – or as okay as they’re able to be in this place. That will give her a minute to figure out what to say when she sees him. Or at least to give her a moment alone where she can breathe.

Her foxhole comes into sight. At almost the same moment, a helmet appears over its rim, shadowing eyes that latch onto her with suspicion. She stops in her tracks.

“Tommy?” Bill jumps out of the foxhole and stands before her in an instant. Over and over again, he looks her up and down, his mouth agape. “You’re back!”

Slowly, she nods. No one else is around, but she asks in a quiet voice, “Should I have stayed in the town?”

Bill’s eyebrows knit together. “Should you – what?” Understanding dawns on his face. “Oh!” He lowers his own voice. “I didn’t turn you in, if that’s what you mean.”

He didn’t say anything. Zenie’s heart slows a bit. Her secret is out, and so far, he’s kept it.

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Bill repeats. “Jesus, Tommy. You’re my friend, that’s why!” He drops back down into their foxhole. When Zenie doesn’t move, he gestures for her to do the same. They sit for a moment, staring out at the line, neither of them speaking.

When Gene learned her secret, he had called her brave. He wanted nothing in return except for her to take better care of herself so that her secret wouldn’t get out. Shifty had also called her brave, back when he uncovered the truth. He had promised not to turn her in, to be in her corner. So far, Bill has said that he hasn’t turned her in. But what happens now?

She glances at him from the corner of her eye. He’s looking straight ahead, out into the nothingness of the snow.

Ages later, Bill sighs. “So . . . Can we talk about . . . this?”

This. This lie, this charade. This secret.

“Okay.” She didn’t have this conversation with Gene; he hadn’t asked why or how she did any of this. With Shifty, she had made the first move by asking what he wanted to know. But with Bill . . . He’s a wildcard. There’s a reason that wild is part of his nickname.

“Okay,” Bill echoes. Silence, for a moment; not something Zenie is used to experiencing around him. When he finally speaks, his voice is much softer than usual – another change of pace. “So you’ve been pretendin’ to be a man this whole time?”

Zenie’s own voice is nothing but a whisper. “Yes.”

“How much of it all was true, though?”

Most of it, she realizes for the first time. She never lied about where she was from. And other than using a fake name, she’s never lied about who she is. Everything that she’s ever said about her family, her early life, her likes, her dislikes – it was the truth.

“My name isn’t really Thomas Driver, obviously. Other than that . . . Almost everything else has been true.” In all the times that she’s wondered how her friends would react if they learned her secret, she never got as far as imagining how she would explain what she’s done or why she’s doing it. Now she’s grasping at straws. “I just needed to be someone else for a bit.”

Still looking out over the rim of the foxhole, Bill nods. “What is your name, actually? Can I ask?”

“Zena,” she admits. The name feels different in her mouth now and fits strangely in her ears. For years now, the only person who has called her by that name has been Shifty. “Zena B McGlamery. But almost everyone back home calls me Zenie.”

“Zenie.” For the first time, Bill looks at her. Like Shifty before him, he’s looking at her for the first time and seeing Zenie instead of Tommy. He tilts his head. “What does the B stand for?”

“It’ll stand for Beat Your Ass if you tell anyone.”

Laughs burst forth from them both. Good; despite everything, she can still make him do that, at least.

“Beatrice,” she amends. “It was my Granny’s name.”

“Granny. God, if she could see ya now!”

Oh God. Who knows what she would say.

“Is that why you did all this?” Bill asks, his voice quiet again. “After she died – Wait! That letter from your ma, right before the jump. Christ! You really did run away! This is why they didn’t know you joined the army.” Half of his mouth quirks upwards as his eyes flick over her, taking her in in a new light. “You know, for someone so quiet, you really got a rebellious streak, huh?” He punches her playfully on her uninjured arm. “Shoulda known you were one tough son of a bitch that day with the raspberries. Er, one tough broad, I mean.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t remember that?”

He squints at her, like it’s the most unbelievable thing in the world that she doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “When we first got to Toccoa, when they were makin’ us walk up Currahee to get us used to it, Luz pointed out some berries along the trail. Everyone was worried they were poisonous – wouldn’t take a chance with ‘em, especially since there were briars everywhere. But you said ‘They’re black raspberries!’, shoved your hand through the briars, and picked a handful for all of us. Your hand was covered in juice and blood from where the thorns snagged your skin, and you didn’t even care. It was only the second day I’d known ya, and you’d already stood your ground against me and gotten covered in blood just for a few berries.” Bill makes a noise that’s half laugh, half scoff. “I just remember thinkin’, ‘This goddamn shortie is tougher than he looks.’ And I was right – I just didn’t know the half of it back then.”

Granny had taken her out to pick black raspberries when she was young. Of course she would recognize them, try to pick a few if she had the chance. But try as she might, she can’t place this specific story in her memory. She’ll just have to take Bill’s word for it.

The Italian shrugs. “Anyway. God, I still can’t wrap my mind around the whole thing.”

“Well, now maybe it all makes more sense.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Doc Roe and Shifty. That’s it.”

“Since when?”

“Since Toccoa. But Shifty didn’t confront me about it until England, the night that you tried to give me that pin-up.”

He winces. “Sorry ‘bout that. I probably look real stupid now.”

“No,” Zenie assures him. It just makes her look like more of a liar.

Before she can tell him as much, Bill’s eyebrows knit together. “Your ma,” he says, his mind back on the letter from the day of the jump. “She really has no clue. You gonna go back to her when the war ends?”

Zenie hesitates. Mama promised she would protect her. Yet her father . . .

“Probably.”

Bill tilts his head. “Probably?”

“My father,” Zenie explains. “I don’t know what he would do if I came back. Running away, everything I’ve done . . .” She makes a vague gesture, like that explains everything.

“Ah.” Bill leans back against the packed earth of the foxhole, his gaze once again wandering out to the expanse of snow before them. He shakes his head, the action causing his helmet to make a scraping sound against the dirt behind him. “I said I was gonna get you home to your ma, remember? That still stands. Even if I gotta put your old man in his place.”

The mental image of Bill escorting her back into her home, of such a wild young man getting in her father’s face like some sort of brave prince facing the wrath of a dragon, is enough to make her smile. Something she could never hope to do, but that her friend could do without batting an eye.

“You said that you needed to be someone else for a bit,” Bill notes. He falls silent again.

“Yes.”

“I dunno, Tommy. If anything, maybe this whole thing allowed you to be more yourself.”

More herself? Tommy is a role she plays. Someone who’s brave and who has friends and who does all the things that Zenie herself could never hope to. They’re completely different.

When she doesn’t respond, Bill shrugs again. “Just a thought.”

“Your first one ever?” She teases.

He grins. “You know, kid? I think you’re gonna be okay.”

#band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers #band of brothers x ofc #band of brothers x oc #shifty powers x original female character #shifty powers x ofc #shifty powers #bill guarnere #oc zenie mcglamery #eugene roe #my writing #like a girl (like a man)

[bowdre]

Band of Brothers OC

i. Basics

•Name•

Vera Eve Rutherford

•Nickname•

Sunshine

•Age•

In 1942> 20

•Birthday•

September 8th, 1922

•Gender•

Female

•Sexuality•

Straight

•Zodiac•

Virgo

•Height•

5'5"

•Occupation•

Airborne Paratrooper

ii.Relationship Status

Married in 1946 to Don Malarkey.

From the moment Don laid eyes on Vera at Toccoa, he knew he wanted to get to know her better. He was extremely nervous to talk to her for nearly six months, part of him was intimidated by her presence. As time went on, and Don noticed her friendships with Gaurnere and Nixon blossom, he slowly grew jealous. He too wanted her attention. With persuasive convincing from the rest of Easy Company, and endless teasing from Bill and Skip, Don finally grew the courage to engage in conversation with Vera. If she was being honest, for weeks she had been waiting for the man to come up and talk to her. The two practically become inseparable after that day.

iii. Appearance

•Hair colour•

Jet black

•Hair length•

Mid back

•Eye colour•

Forest green

•Skin tone•

White

iv. Personality

•Good traits•

Loyal, honest, confident, generous, ambitious, resilient, humorous

•Bad traits•

Lack of self control, cocky

•Strengths•

Bravery, charismatic, charming

•Weaknesses•

Reckless, stubborn, blunt

•Like•

Poker, salted peanuts, whiskey

•Dislikes•

Hospitals, laziness

•Habits•

Constantly muttering to herself

•Talents/skills•

Leadership, teamwork, making quick decisions

v. Relationships

•Mother•

Maisie Rutherford

•Father•

James Rutherford

•Siblings•

Watson (1920) and Ryker (1926) Rutherford

•Lover(s)•

Don Malarkey

•Friends•

Ronald Speirs, Eugene 'Doc' Roe, Albert Blithe, Dick Winters, Lynn 'Buck' Compton, Joseph Toye, David Webster, Joseph Liebgott, George Luz, Frank Perconte, Harry Welsh, Daryl 'Shifty' Powers, Warren 'Skip' Muck, Charles 'Chuck' Grant, Edward 'Babe' Heffron, Donald Hoobler, Floyd Talbert, Alex Penkala

•Close friends•

Carwood Lipton, Lewis Nixon, Denver 'Bull' Randleman

•Best friend•

William 'Wild Bill' Gaurnere

vi. Backstory

Vera was the golden child growing up, the one who was going to amount to the most within the family, despite the expectations of women during her time. Throughout her childhood, her parents conditioned her to be the best at everything she does. As the only Rutherford daughter, granddaughter and niece, she was expected to achieve great things with her life. Her parents went to great lengths to make this happen, including enrolling her in private school, signing her up for multiple sport teams, such as volleyball and basketball, and teaching her and her two brothers how to play piano. Vera excelled at everything she put her mind to, the only thing she failed at was mathematics. This only made her work harder, with the mindset of having to prove herself and her worth. As she grew older, this mentality grew into large scale problems. Anxiety, depression. She blamed her parents for this.

Vera kept herself busy during all hours of the day.  Family, sports, Toccoa. It wasn't until the late hours of night that she found herself any time to relax. This is when she would endugle herself in a good book, keeping her eyes on the pages until she fell asleep. Vera thinks very highly of herself, almost too highly. She was often referred to as egotistical by her peers in school and at Toccoa during her paratrooper training, though the term never bothered her. To Vera, if she's going to do something, she's going to be the very best at it.

•Military Rank•

Sergeant First Class (Technical Sergeant)

•Medals•

Silver Star + Purple Heart

#band of brothers #hbo war #don malarkey #donald malarkey #donald malarkey x reader #original character #bill guarnere #ronald speirs #doc roe #joe liebgott #joe toye #george luz #chuck grant

[hinkel-im-home]

A Georgian emigrée with dangerous ties, a knack for languages and a fiery longing to run far, far away from home. A French-American resistance fighter, the unfortunate bastard daughter of a socialite, who seems to always be pushed into the spotlight. A Swiss orphan who is just trying to stay alive, away from the danger that tainted her childhood and that she can't seem to shake.

If it had been fate, or destiny, or coincidence, nobody could say. What was sure, was that these women were brought together by the waves of misery and sorrow that tore through the continent in those brutal, crucial years. Their pasts trailing behind them like a shadow, always too close for comfort, they learned to lean on each other, slowly, warily. When a mission goes haywire and their position in the SOE is endangered, their carefully built foundations are shaken by a trip across the Atlantic, and they must acclimate themselves to raucous and suspicious troops they are meant to tolerate on a long trek through Europe.

hello! i've been gone for about a year, but ive been working on this fic for a while and thought i might share it. there are so many inspiring stories on this app and others from brilliant users who write compelling stories and characters, and though it's certainly stressful to publish my own writing, i thought i might as well. as soon as my account reopens on ao3, i'll likely post there too. this is just the blurb, and nothing is final, but i'd love to hear feedback from you, let me know in the comments if you would actually read this please!

kisses xx

#hbo war #original characters #women supporting women #im shaking in me wellies ive never shared any of my writing #oc x canon #band of brothers

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

(to the tune of Avril Lavigne's sk8terboi)

He was a human battering ram.

She was a recon sniper.

Can I make it any more obvious?

Headcannons - Fit for a King - König x fem!OC fanfic

Instead of making a y/n fic, I decided to create an original female character because I ususally write all of my stuff in POVs. Due to posting the chapters often right after I've written them some of the context and the characterization might not be explicit in every single piece, some of the information is only gonna get revealed down the road.

(TW: alcoholism, death, violence)

Karina Müller is almost 30 years old, she served in the Norwegian military from right after school until the death of her brother who was KIA on a mission together. She fell off the wagon after that, feeling responsible for his death and effectively being shunned by her family after that. Her pick of poison was alcohol and it got so bad that she more than once was drunk on the job which led to her getting kicked out.

The years after that she spent getting help, trying to get clean and going back to a civilian life, but the military was what she knew, so the civilian jobs didn't stick and she started to work as a mercenary, now a dry alcoholic. Which might be an issue for some contractors, but KorTac doesn't really bat an eye.

She's a compassionate person who loves to laugh, she's seen enough shit not to take any from her teammates and can stand her ground when faced with any challenge thrown her way. She's still working through some stuff, coming to terms with her past, but she has an optimistic spirit and a strong will.

Even though the Colonel seems scary at first, she learns pretty quickly that he is to be respected in training and on the battlefield, but on a personal level he's really not that bad. The 6'10'' killing machine, Austrian war criminal (insert "what murdeeer?!"-meme here) is quite an anxious person when it comes to basic human interaction.

Shouting orders at his team, stomping his enemies into the ground is more comfortable to him than just talking about mundane stuff with other people, he mostly keeps to himself (except for Horangi because that little shit would never leave him alone). And for the first time in a long time, Müller makes him wish that he could just go up to people and strike up a normal conversation like a normal person (don't we all).

König is 38 years old (we don't know his full name) and has the biggest metalhead dad vibes without actually having any children himself (his favourite band is Death, although he listens to a bunch of different ones, it's also their merch shirt Müller steals in "Are you wearing my t-shirt?").

When he started out in the military, he shaved his long metalhead hair off because that was the way to go back then, but he let it grow back when he was older and already Colonel. He has gauged ears and a plethora of tattoos all over his body because the soft pain of body modifications and working out until he almost passes out are his ways of dealing with his anxiety and stress. His body is a testament to that.

He has a huge scar on the right side of his face from when he got beaten to a pulp by his bullies at school, something he never let happen again after that (five on one was really unfair). His nose has been broken two times and sometimes his tattoos get destroyed by battle injuries, but he doesn't really care about that - or his looks in general. He's a soldier and not a model.

So the reason why he's always wearing the selfmade hood is not the scar. He prefers not to show his feelings to others, staying hidden underneath the mask for his own comfort, even if it makes him scarier also in situations where he doesn't want to be.

(CW: some nsfw headcannons ahead, talk about not wanting to have children) They're both switches, though König is leaning more on the Dom-side while Müller is a sub who likes to brat a little too much, just to see her man falter (for example when she calls him a good boy in random scene #1).

Müller is bisexual, something she discovered when serving in an all-women-taskforce of the Norwegian military (we don't really know about König's sexuality though). She decided a long time ago that she doesn't want to have children (she doesn't see herself leaving service again anytime soon and given her past, she doesn't see herself fit to become a mother), so she got her tubes tied. Which also comes in handy when a certain Colonel's favourite pasttime (well, actually second favourite) is leaving creampies inside her (no 'unexpected pregnancy' trope in this household).

König definitely eats pussy for his own pleasure, begging Müller to let him eat her out in "Sit" or losing a little friendly competition for a sexual favour in "But no funny business" (oh and he definitely steals her panties at any chance he gets). She's totally not opposed to servicing him as well, but the size of his dick makes this a whole endeavour (like seen in "Open wide, Prinzessin").

They match each other's energy pretty well, just going at it like rabbits at every chance they get, which sometimes proves to be difficult as they're sneaking around in secret.

Their arrangement is kind of a fuckbuddy/fwb-situation, they fuck hard and rough, without ever really kissing (the mask stays on), but after a while feelings start to get in the way... After all they do belong together <3

Read more at the Fit for a King - Masterlist or keep an eye out for the AO3 link - coming soon.

#könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig x fmc #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut #female oc

[nanaminokanojo]

BAD NEWS | CHAPTER INDEX/PROLOGUE (Ongoing)

-just when you thought you were over your humongous crush on your older brother’s best friend, geto suguru, you couldn’t be more dead wrong, and maybe there isn’t really anything holding you back from acting on it now that you’re all grown up…except satoru doesn’t like suguru for you because he knows his kind all too well: a huge ass playboy who breaks hearts like he changes socks. but you think. MAYBE you’ll be the exception...maybe not.

CHARACTERS: drummer!geto suguru x (fem/afab) reader | gojo satoru | itadori yuuji | kugisaki nobara | fushiguro megumi | sukuna | fushiguro toji | nanami kento | choso | tsukumo yuuki | shoko ieiri | utahime iori

GENRE: full-length smau + prose | band au, tats, piercings, the whole shebang | college au | stupid pining | aged-up characters | friends to lovers (?) | this is gonna have smutty stuff because why not?

TW/CW: strong/mature language | adult content so mdni on some parts; just skip them. you’re not missing much | mentions of alcohol, drugs | mentions of cheating, promiscuity, mild dubcon (consent >>>), etc. | again, god-awful pet names i’d cringe at if a 3d person says it | toxic behavior | will add more if something arises

AKI’S NOTES: I would like to express my sincerest thanks to everyone who loved and supported “Thawing Ice Queen” as well as those who participated in the poll on which smau I’m going to write next. So, this is what won in said poll, and I hope it gets as much as love as TIQ if not more. Reblogs and likes are very much appreciated, and I actively respond to comments as well as Asks. Also, if you’re interested, I will include you in the tag list. Just message me through whatever avenue you’re most comfortable with. Happy reading!

ADDITIONAL NOTES: i will be using pics and other media which would fit situations and make the smau-ness of this piece a little more realistic and entertaining when i believe it’s appropriate/fitting to the plot (as i've done with TIQ). having said that, with regard to inclusivity, i just want to put it out there that they will not necessarily be aimed as the exact descriptions to fit a supposedly generic reader nor will they be representative of a specific race or color (even if you’re/the reader is gojo’s sister here). it’s all for the simple fact of media availability, for funsies and the fact that i don’t exclusively write in consideration of those aspects when using reader-insert characters unless i specify it. thank you for understanding.

MASTERLIST

CHAPTERS: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S “JUJUTSU KAISEN”. [20240331]

PHOTOS/IMAGES/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS GO TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

#geto x you #geto x y/n #geto x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru #geto #geto suguru smut #geto suguru fluff #geto suguru smau #geto smut #geto fluff #geto smau #geto hcs #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen smau #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk smau #social media au

[parkerslatte]

Songbird

Eddie Roundtree x Fem!Reader

Warnings: sexual assault, drugs, alcohol, sexual content.

Summary: Up and coming singer, Y/N L/N is mostly known across the Sunset Strip for her deep and sultry voice. Despite this, she isn't signed to any label. It was her one dream to perform for people all over the world. Stuck working at a record store and living with two girls who don't even know her name, Y/N continues to perform gigs in McNasties, hoping to catch the attention of a producer.

While performing at McNasties, Y/N meets up and coming band, The Dunne Brothers. Just from listening to a few of their songs alone, Y/N knew they would be big in the future. How big she definitely underestimated.

Moving in with the band only a week after meeting them, she binds with them all and they all become fast friends - all bonding over the experience of trying to become successful.

Y/N was there for the tours, the performances and the arguments and now she's telling her part in the story.

Started: 3rd April 2023

Finished: 15th May 2023

Total Word Count: 60,747

Masterlist

Taglist

•••

Contents:

Track One; Oh No!

Track Two; Here We Go Again

Track Three; Exactly What I Want

Track Four; Dance Past Midnight

Track Five; Days Go By

Track Six; Sleeping With a Friend

Track Seven; Killer Queen

Track Eight; This is Trouble

Track Nine; Baby Said

Track Ten; Bubblegum Bitch

Track Eleven; Don’t Act Like You Don’t Know

Track Twelve; Maneater

Track Thirteen; Kill You With A Wink Of Her Eye

Track Fourteen; Ballroom Blitz

Track Fifteen; Sip the Gossip

Track Sixteen; I Want Some More

Track Seventeen; Out of my Depth

Track Eighteen; I Don’t Know Where I Belong

Track Nineteen; Nobody Loves a Gloomy Face

Track Twenty; Summertime Sadness

Track Twenty-One; Running Away From This Conversation

Track Twenty-Two; The Things You Love You Lose

Track Twenty-Three; Kiss Me Hard Before You Go

Track Twenty-Four; Look At Us Now

•••

SOUNDTRACK

I. fleetwood mac; SONGBIRD

II. marina; OH NO!

III. nelly furtado; MANEATER

IV. neon trees; ANIMALS

V. stevie nicks; EDGE OF SEVENTEEN

VI. toby sebastian, florence pugh; MIDNIGHT

VII. queen; KILLER QUEEN

VIII. sweet; BALLROOM BLITZ

IX. arctic monkeys; I WANNA BE YOURS

X. neon trees; SLEEPING WITH A FRIEND

XI. the orion experience; THE QUEEN OF WHITE LIES

XII. marina; BUBBLEGUM BITCH

XIII. the lumineers; HO HEY

XIV. måneskin; BABY SAID

XV. lana del rey; SUMMERTIME SADNESS

XVI. måneskin, tom morello; GOSSIP

XVII. florence + the machine; YOU'VE GOT THE LOVE

XVIII. daisy jones and the six; LOOK AT US NOW (HONEYCOMB)

•••

Authors note:

- This is an x reader version I am publishing. The original name of the character is Felicity Fletcher (so if the name is accidentally left in there that is the reason why)

- This fic will mainly follow the show with some things taken from the book.

- Finally I hope you will all enjoy this story. If anyone would like anymore information feel free to send an ask or message me :)

#eddie roundtree #eddie loving #daisy jones and the six #daisy jones and the six x reader #josh whitehouse #eddie roundtree x reader #eddie loving x reader

[liyawritesss]

ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍɪɴᴅ

Characters: MCU!Shuri Udaku x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Fic

Word Count: 1.2k

Synopsis: In your embrace, Shuri reflects on how far she’s come, and how your love has helped her through it all.

Warnings: mentions of t’challa and ramonda’s death, slight angst, overall bittersweet fluff, vulnerable!shuri

A/N: this was written as me taking a break from writing the series for a bit due to some blockage. I think it’s pretty cute…we need some vulnerable!shuri in our lives. Suggested Songs: "I Gotta Find Peace of Mind" by Lauryn Hill, "Not Today" by Alessia Cara

Tags: @inmyheadimobsessed @badass-dora-milaje @babyboiboyega @verachii @heartsforjojo @letitias-fav @kingstormpostsshit @shurismainbxtch @zayswriting @rxcently @nzia-writes @writingintheshadowsforever @hufflehans @kokichiis7 @h34rtsformilli @typicalme13 @shuris3leg @generallysapphic @ziayamikaelson @shuriszn @percsane @justariellove @n7cje @mbakuetshurisprincess @mxyx-rx444 @hippiedippyshit @arin-swear-rose @locoforshuri @sinsikoxo @6-noir @naomis-daydream @missdforever

It’s midnight, Shuri is sure of it. She can tell by the height of which the moon hangs in the sky, how brightly it shines into her bedchambers, casting a soft white-ish blue glow into the room. It stretches as far as the the frame of her floor to ceiling windows will allow it, cutting off just as the glow covers her large bed, of which she rests in. She’s propped up against the headboard, the moon’s shine casting an ethereal glow upon her cocoa skin. She sports a simple black sleepshirt, one that belonged to her brother years ago. It used to be a dress on her, swallowing her frame, and while it’s still rather baggy on her, she’s grown into the certain pieces she’s stolen from his closet as a late teenager. They’re part of the last remaining memorabilia of her brother, T’Challa. She doesn’t cry when she wears his clothes anymore. She slips into them, allowing the faint scent of sage and teakwood to envelop her, and she remembers the good days instead.

On her right hand, a ring rests on her thumb. It was her mothers; thick and gold and as shiny as if it were made that day. It is designed to replicate the look of a braid - at least, she has always believed that to be the case - with loops and interlocking of parts of the band that follow around the circumference of it. Shuri can hear her mother’s voice now - perhaps it is her own mind conjuring up the memory of her mother lecturing her on the meaning of it, perhaps it is actually her mother speaking beyond the Ancestral Plane - and she is reminded of it’s meaning; the depiction of infiniteness in any aspect of the wearer’s discretion. In Ramonda’s case, it was made to depict the infiniteness of her love; for her family, for her people, for her country - both maiden and current. 

Love, Shuri thinks; yes, her mother’s love is indeed infinite. She feels her mother’s presence in the moon - soft, regal, and calm, just as it was when she was alive.

Her hand is placed atop yours, and she smiles softly. She is having yours made at this very moment, in the traditional way it was originally created. She thought you’d like it that way. She hopes you do.

It would only be a small token of Shuri’s affections for you, but nonetheless, one with much meaning. She remembers how she was originally apprehensive when meeting you. She was apprehensive about everything back then. Yet now, you’ve secured yourself a place in her bed, and have carved yourself a place in her heart, and Shuri could no longer imagine life without you.

It was a terrifying feeling, Shuri remembers, opening up to someone once more, much less, falling in love. Romance was never intended to be a part of her story, you see. Shuri no more believed in love than she did in the Ancestral Plane, in the traditions of old. She had been married to her occupation as a scientist for the majority of her life, and even after the devastations of war and the death of her family, she never yearned for a romantic partner. And yet, you’d changed her entire perspective on the subject matter in ways even she couldn’t comprehend.

Shuri sighs as she traces your sleeping figure, commemorating your facial features to memory as she had done numerous times before, but always found herself mesmerized time and time again.

Your love was something Shuri could never comprehend. It was an equation she’d become comfortable not being able to solve. She’d come to understand that perhaps there were things in the world that didn’t need to be explained, and if it meant she could experience the love you’d provided for her for the rest of her days, then Shuri would willfully bask in her own ignorance for as long as need be.

Your love was gentle. No matter how harsh her words or standoffish nature was, the feathery touch of your affection always reeled her back into you. 

Your love was deep. She felt it in her core with every kiss, becoming one with her bone marrow and spreading outwards to the rest of her body.

Your love was healing. Shuri had believed herself to be broken beyond repair, and yet, when you came into her life, you helped her pick up the pieces, fitting them back together. You’d cultivated the monarch into a woman who learned from her pain, using it as a guide.

Your love was peaceful. It quelled the darkness in her mind that plagued her existence. On days where it became hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to exist - your tender touch and the beat of your heart gave her peace of mind.

That’s what you are, Shuri thinks, you are my peace of mind.

A hum erupts from your lips, and a small puddle of guilt forms in Shuri’s stomach as you stir awake, believing herself to be the cause of your broken slumber. Your eyes flutter open, and the soft irises that come to meet her own absolutely melts her. It almost pushes away that guilt, and with it, the apology that is ready to spill from her lips. Feeling her gaze soften on you, a small, sleepy smile graces your lips. 

“My love, you’re not supposed to be up,” You murmur, your shoulders shifting, causing the blanket covering them to slip off ever so slightly, “come here, baby.”

Shuri doesn’t even think twice about obeying your request. She’s more than happy to oblige, sliding down the mattress to match your position, facing you. Shifting onto your back, you pull Shuri’s head to rest on your chest, and she wraps her strong arms around your body, allowing the warmth of your body to penetrate her cold skin. She shudders softly, which is soon soothed by your hand caressing her back, smoothing out the fabric of her sleepshirt. She more than welcomes it.

“Thinking too much again?” You hum. Shuri feels the vibrations of your voice through your chest. She nots into your skin, nuzzling deep into the crevice of your neck, finding comfort in your warmth and your scent. 

“Relax, beloved,” you whisper to her, your hand trailing up to the nape of her neck, gently caressing the blunt fuzz that was her undercut, your thumb stroking the space lovingly, “I have you. Let your mind rest.”

Shuri nods into your neck once more. It only takes three deep inhales of your scent for the monarch to feel her mind already slowing to a halt. You continue to whisper sweet nothings into her ear, as her body gradually relaxes into your hold. It takes a few minutes, but soon, Shuri stills, her heart rate leveling out as she falls into slumber, still holding you close. You are just as much of her anchor when she’s asleep as when she’s awake.

And as this nightly ritual comes to an end, with the two of you holding each other impossibly close, basking in your love underneath the moonlight, Shuri’s final thoughts before she gives in to the sleep that begs for her, is she has found her peace of mind; and her peace of mind will forever be you.

#black reader #black tumblr #black marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x black!reader #mcu x black!reader #mcu x reader #black panther #black panther wakanda forever #black panther x reader #black panther x black!reader #shuri black panther #black panther shuri #shuri #shuri udaku #princess shuri #marvel shuri #shuri x black!reader #princess shuri x reader #shuri x reader #shuri x woc!reader #shuri udaku x black!reader #shuri udaku x reader #letitia #letitia wright #letitia wright black panther #letitia wright shuri

[mercurygray]

The Darkening Sky - Chapter 39

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Original Female Character(s), Lewis Nixon, Richard Winters, Harry Welsh, Ensemble Cast

Additional Tags: Alternate History, Women Being Awesome, Women in the Military, World War II, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

“Some will say that it is a sad state of affairs when a country asks its women to go to war. But there is nothing sad about patriotism, and from coast to coast, America’s women have answered the call in record-breaking numbers, happy and willing to serve in all branches of the service - including, if the posters are to be believed, an entirely new co-ed parachute infantry unit.“

--

Three days later, he could still hear screaming.

He'd been in explosions before, and seen men wounded before, and had blood on his hands before, but somehow, it was different, here, in the woods above Foy. In the silence, and the stillness, Dick could still hear Harry screaming.

They all knew that fire was a terrible idea - had discussed it, routinely and regularly, with the men, talking about artillery spotters and smoke and the possibility of burns that Doc Roe would be unable to treat. It felt like it was Dick’s fault, what had happened - if he'd spoken up sooner, if he'd made Harry put the fire out when he'd first seen it instead of settling in to warm his hands, if he'd just spoken up a little sooner, then maybe -

But there was an awful lot riding on that maybe. Who was to say any of it could have been avoided?

[catch up on the story and read more here on AO3!]

#the darkening sky #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers x original character #1940s girl gang #i have written a thing #IT LIVVVES #a little late but we got there #ten yards at a time still makes touchdowns #mercurygraypresents

[coco-bean-1218]

Well-Behaved Women Never Make History

Prologue: Part One: “A Date Which Shall Live In Infamy”

Chapter Soundtrack https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLizoOuqex7dKa_E3lICq4Rs0MrLoPcAHo&si=n8hgCN8T81xPMCpn

Summary: After the Attack of Pearl Harbor, almost nineteen-year-old Claire O'Connor begins to wonder what's in store for her future.

A/N: Hi everyone! and welcome to my first-ever fanfic. I've had this idea for about two years now and decided to take the risk and put it out there. Please be gentle with me, this is my first ever chapter. I hope everyone enjoys and please feel free to like, comment, and reblog, but do not repost!

Warnings: The Attack on Pearl Harbor, period typical behavior, anxiety

Taglist: Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

Sunday, December 7, 1941 Metropolitan Detroit, Michigan, USA 2:30 PM Eastern Time 9:00 AM Hawaiian Time ---

"We interrupt this program with an important announcement."

Claire was sitting on her bed, studying biology for her upcoming final exam when the Christmas music playing on the small radio in her room was abruptly interrupted by the announcement.

"The Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor from the air and all naval and military activities on the island of Oahu, the principal American base in the Hawaiian islands."

Claire's eyebrows furrowed as she listened to the news. The weight of the reporter's words hung heavy in the air, and Claire felt a knot form in her stomach.

"It is no joke, it is a real war," the reporter said, his voice filled with a mix of urgency and somberness

"Mom?" she called out of her room, hoping for some reassurance

When there was no response, Claire quickly made her way down the stairs.

"Mom?" she called again.

"In the kitchen," her mother replied calmly.

Claire entered the kitchen and found her mother standing near the sink. She looked composed, but there was a flicker of concern in her eyes. "Turn on the radio," Claire pleaded, her voice trembling slightly.

"Alright, take it easy," Mrs. O'Connor raised her hands in defense, understanding the urgency in her daughter's tone. She went into the living room and switched on the big radio, anticipation filling the room.

"-Again, the Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor. We are at war," the voice on the radio croaked, the words sinking into the depths of their souls.

"Oh my God!" Her mother exclaimed.

The two women looked at each other stunned, realizing the gravity of the situation.

"I'm going to call your dad," Mrs. O'Connor declared.

It was just Claire and her mother at home. Her father was at work, and her older sister was attending a school event on starting her Master’s degree.

Mrs. O'Connor walked to the phone and dialed her husband's work number. Meanwhile, Claire made her way back up the stairs. As she reached the landing, her gaze was drawn irresistibly to the large window in the front room. The world outside was transformed, covered in a pristine blanket of snow. The flakes fell gracefully from the sky, swirling and twirling in the gentle breeze. The entire landscape was bathed in a soft, ethereal glow.

Despite the chaos that Claire knew was unfolding beyond the confines of her home, there was an undeniable sense of tranquility in that moment. Snow had a way of hushing the world and creating a peaceful sanctuary. It was as if time had momentarily stood still, allowing Claire to find solace in the beauty of the scene before her.

Upon returning to her room, Claire slumped onto her bed and spaced out, losing all motivation to study. Biology was the last thing on her mind.

---

About an hour had passed when Claire walked down the stairs and headed straight for the phone. She dialed a number and tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for someone to answer. As she waited, her mother appeared holding a basket of laundry. 

"Who are you calling?" Her mother inquired. 

Claire lowered the phone from her ear and replied, "Peyton." 

Mrs. O'Connor smiled knowingly, "Ah."

Since fourth grade, Peyton has been Claire's best friend. When they were younger, they used to spend most of their time together and were inseparable. As they grew older, it became increasingly difficult to stay in touch. Currently, both girls are in college pursuing different fields of study. While Claire is interested in the sciences, Peyton has a passion for the arts. Despite their differences, they still hold a deep affection for each other. At least Claire hopes so.

But there was no answer.

Claire let out a deep sigh, "Figures."

"No response?" Her mother asked.

"Nope."

"Well, try later," Her mother assured her

Claire shrugged and walked into the living room. She sat on the sofa, staring out the window, her gaze fixed on the snow outside. As she sat there, she absentmindedly started picking at her nails, a long-time nervous habit.

Claire has always been a worrier since early childhood. Usually, she was not one to listen to the news. However, like most people, she was aware of the tensions in the Pacific and Europe. Today was different. Today, the world had an effect on her.

#well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #band of brothers oc #band of brothers fanfic #easy company #my first oc story #my oc #hbo war #band of brothers x ofc #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant x ofc #ofc #original female character #chuck grant #eugene roe

[synintheraven]

Okay let's clear some things out; 1) I don't write smut bc I suck at it 2) this is part of a bigger story where the main character/reader gets to know Sihtric throughout several situations, so this is perfect if you want to read about Sihtric & reader's little made-up adventures but not so much if you're only here to read naughty stuff 😅 3) I have no idea what I'm doing :p

pic credits to myself, feel free to use them too/ask for originals (:

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary/small introduction: reader (she/her) is a Norse, Sihtric is a (actual, as in born there) Dane. Sihtric & reader meet each other for the very first time, but I kept it simple and kinda short so you'll have to keep on reading to find out how this goes (; [Side note: Yggr is one of my ocs and the Jarl/Chief of the group, but will not be a current character other than to accompany/give orders to Sihtric and reader]

✵tw: mentions of violence

✵word count: 1,5k

characters info | part two

We were near; the tall cliffs once casting shadows over the sea were far behind us and the fog was getting thicker over the marshes. East Anglia was a land of fishermen huts, distant trees and bad weather: yet somewhere in this muddy land, a band of fiery fighters were hiding and getting ready to fight for their lord.

I recognized the stranded ship half covered in sand, which Yggr had described to me, surrounded by muddy rocks and a small spot of land untouched by the sea waters. Near the rocks, among tall reeds, the camp was set and a handful of men were sat around the bonfire in an attempt to fight the cold wind.

Except for one man.

A tall, dark haired man, covered in a fur cloak; his left hand was resting over the hilt of his sword as he stood near the coast, staring cautiously at our ship as if he was trying to tell who we were. But, as we approached the small island and the fog revealed Yggr’s wild hair, the mysterious man prepared to greet us.

The sail was taken down and the crew started to row against the current, sliding through the rather calm waves to take the ship towards the land. It didn’t take long for the prow to reach the sand and before we were fully beached, Yggr jumped off our ship to meet with the dark haired stranger.

He had a concerned expression and his hand remained over the hilt of his sword, ready to fight should the need arise. Yet, unlike him, Yggr was quick to smile and open his arms, embracing the now smirking Dane like a brother.

The man was Sihtric Kjartansson, a warrior that served the long haired blonde, though he treated him like a big stupid brother rather than as his lord and jarl. Both Danes had grew up together, sticking to each other as their parents seemed to care little next to nothing for the young boys, making it no surprise the concerned stranger was in command during the jarl’s absence.

I didn’t know much about him back then, only that he was a fine warrior and a loyal man; but I had also been told he was rather friendly and welcoming, yet Sihtric looked at me with wary eyes. I stared back at him, almost trying to decipher what was going on inside his mind: studying his gaze, the storm brewing inside his blue eye and the dancing flames around the pupil of his brown eye.

He had the face of a warrior, with scars running down from his forehead and marking the flesh over his deep cheekbones, making me wonder if he was hiding any other under the strands of hair over his temple or under the scarce beard around his rather full lips.

I had jumped on the wet sand of the island shortly after Yggr, however being the only woman among all those men, suddenly the warriors resting around the fire seemed eager to welcome our crew. Everyone but Sihtric, who embraced his lord for a while but pushed him away as his men came along with curious looks.

Unfortunately for everyone else, I was not to be touched or harmed: for I was there merely to help build the camp and eventually, should the strings of my destiny allow it, find the man that killed my family.

The first birds of the day were singing their songs and the sun was setting, the land slowly revealing itself from the fog. It was a cold morning and it got worse as we had to get our feet wet in order to cross from shore to shore, but we were to stay unnoticed and therefore not to use our ship.

We were scouting the surrounding area, following the shore in hopes to find a bigger place to set a new camp. I was walking beside Yggr, with Sihtric a few paces before us to guide our way around; the rest of our group were either guarding our current camp or exploring other areas, though all of us were after the same goal.

The best hiding spots were among reeds, trees and muddy rocks, but those often surrounded water and the rising tides could be treacherous.

We saw stone ruins, abandoned churches and half burnt farms, all a consequence of folk escaping their homes in order to keep their lives, to escape the horrors brought by the monsters from across the sea.

Danes like us were plundering all of Britain; they came with the promise of riches and vengeance but stayed to become kings and killed anyone who opposed them. They had come here to do what that mad man had done to my family, my people.

 I trusted Yggr’s words when he said he didn’t care about a title. He lost his chance to be king and decided to embrace a simple life, only hoping to find a nice place to thrive and stay unbothered by Saxons. Or so it was until the Great Heathen Army decided to terrorize the country, turning our heads into targets for anyone who caught us, Danes and Norse alike, wandering around.

We had stopped, suddenly. We were standing atop a small hill that went deeper in land, hoping to get a better view; the wind was blowing hard and the sun shone upon the land, easily revealing all areas of the territory.

Yggr remained silent, his mind lost somewhere in the dark blue waters from the ocean as the cold wind blew on his hair and beard. Sihtric stood next to me, his eyes narrowed because of the sun while he pointed his finger towards the tall roman ruins to the north.

—That looks like a good spot. —He said to Yggr then quickly looked my way, noticing I was the only one truly listening to him. It was, probably, the very first time he wasn’t eyeing me as if expecting me to take a knife to their throats. —I saw it before, but rain soaked the mud. It will take some work to stop that from happening again.

He had a very calming voice and explained all the work that had to be done for that old ruin to be a proper camp, though in truth all I could think about was the scars on his face: suggesting the man had been in many battles, despite being only a few winters older than Halfdan’s son.

—You two can go. —The blonde man interrupted, resting a hand on mine and Sihtric’s shoulder. —Find some horses and secure the camp, I’ll go find the men and meet you there with the ship.

—Just the two of us? —Sihtric sighed, despite trying to hide his discomfort. —What if the place has been taken? I can’t fight them with, no offense, a woman. —He glanced at me for a split second then stared back at Yggr, hoping to be released of my company.

—I am Norse. And my father raised a warrior, not a weak girl that needs some Dane’s protection. —I snarled back, watching as my words damaged his pride and brought a wide smile to our Jarl.

The only horses we could find belonged to a group of Danes camping in Theotford, a small town with thatched roofs and a run-down church that once sheltered Saxons.

There was about twenty of them, maybe more, standing watch in every corner and every small gap they could find.

—I am not “some Dane”, I’m a warrior too. —He finally added, remembering our earlier conversation.

—You’re the son of Kjartan, right? —I let out and he gave me a grim look then proceeded to avoid my glance, still walking between the tall grasses.

—We’re never going to make it out alive if we try to take one of their horses. There’s too many of them. —And he was right, those were trained warriors and we were merely a pair of lost dogs to them. —The ruins are not too far, we should get there before Yggr if we walk in a straight line and avoid following main roads.

And just like that, our short journey through the autumnal forests of East Anglia began. We walked through shrubs, trees, short walls made of stone and saw a few deer, but there was no sight of other people anywhere. We avoided getting too close to farms or church ruins, trying to remain silent whenever our surroundings were suspiciously quiet.

—So tell me, Dane, how did you end up in Norway? —I interrupted, getting a judging stare from him when he caught me walking closely by his side.

—He told you we should get to know each other, right? —He asked dismissively, moving a few steps ahead of me.

—He suggested we should get along if we’re to live together in the same camp, but you’re not as friendly as he promised.

A hint of a smirk showed on his face, though it didn’t last long. —My father sold information to Halfdan and left me in Alrekstad to either die or be raised by the king’s servants. —He admitted after a while, looking troubled as he spoke.

—There are worst destinies than to be raised with Yggr, I suppose. —I said and saw him grinning at my comment, finally showing some sort of emotion in my presence.

—What about you, Stavanger? —He taunted, making it obvious that our fool of a Jarl told him about my homeland and, therefore, my newly acquired nickname.

—That’s my homeland, yes. But I come from the Isle of Ikke, a once thriving city to the north of Stavanger.

—Then what brought you to Alrekstad?

—Vengeance. —I said cheerfully, but he gave me a concerned look in return.

Some bonus fun facts:

✯Yggr is the son of Halfdan, King of Alrekstad (modern Årstad, in Norway). He's not inspired by any TLK character, though he has a similar personality and looks to Ragnar The Younger, with some of Cnut's silly sense of humour. Yggr was to inherit his father's throne, but has no issue embracing a simpler life - even though his former position as a prince and charisma turned him into his Clan's Jarl (basically an english Earl, but a Jarl can also be someone trusted by its people and chosen as a chief).

✯Reader was born in a small island in Norway (Ikke, which is totally made up hehe) but her family was massacred when she was a baby, so she grew up seeking vengeance.

✯Sihtric isn't a bastard but his mother died giving birth to him and so Kjartan despises him/never properly treated him as his son (nor did he to Sven but he grew up to be just as his father and so Kjartan eventually accepted him as his son).

✯As this story is unrelated to what happens in TLK, I had Kjartan vanished from Denmark; though he became wealthy again by playing the pirate in other territories and selling information to kings as Halfdan, Harald Fairhair and few more across the sea...

#sihtric x reader #sihtricxreader #sihtric x you #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #sihtric kjartansson x you #sihtric kjartansson x reader #my writing #rtv #road to valhalla #okay bye I'll disappear now

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 36: The Thing With Anger (It Begs to Stick Around)

Summary: There’s a moment of silence that feels like all three of them collectively breathing a sigh of relief. Things are still uncertain, but at least now Zenie has some answers, and more importantly, a plan. No more waiting around in this purgatory. A/N: I promise I did not mean to post that last chapter and then disappear for *checks watch* almost two months 💀 Things just got crazy with the holidays and I didn't have a lot of time to write Title comes from "Seventeen Going Under" by Sam Fender Warnings: domestic issues (Zenie's dad), language Taglist: @latibvles @liebgotts-lovergirl @dcyllom @ithinkabouttzu @mads-weasley @mrs-murder-daddy @lieutenant-speirs

North Carolina, 1945

Zenie has only just stepped in the house when it begins.

From the other room, she can hear the frustration in her father’s voice as he rants. “If she’s going to stay here, then she’s going to clean this place top to bottom! Someone’s got to clean this place.”

“She’s not here that often,” Mama replies. “She’s at work, with me.”

So it’s a fight about her, then. Something that she’s done. Or from the sound of it, something that her father thinks she hasn’t done. Something that, it’s worth pointing out, he could very well do if he would ever pull himself up out of that stupid rocking chair, away from his precious radio, and put in the effort. But that would be too much to ask of him.

As quietly as possible, Zenie shuts the backdoor behind her as she slips further into the room. If she hurries, she could shoot for the stairs and sneak to her bedroom before anyone notices that she’s inside. She’s almost made up her mind to do just that when the smell of smoke hits her nostrils.

On cue, Momma’s voice can be heard from the kitchen once again. “You made this mess, anyway. What are you even trying to do with the stove? There are ashes everywhere.”

“None of your business,” her father snaps, followed by an all too confident, “I’m fixing things.”

In her curiosity, Zenie has crept to the doorway of the kitchen. She peers in at the scene before her. Her father standing �� for once – in front of the stove, a pile of ashes spilling from one of the eyes and onto the floor. Her mother, looking confused, angered – and then shocked when she looks up and sees Zenie’s questioning face gazing into the room.

Her father turns, too. His eyes go to slits. “Aren’t you supposed to be outside helping your mom with the wash?”

“I took a break,” Zenie replies. It’s sort of true. And with all the lies and half-truths that she’s used to build her life these past few years, what’s one more slight fib? Before he can demand any answers, she steps further into the room. “Do you need help cleaning that up, Mama?”

Her father scoffs. “Now she offers to help.” Then, in what he must think is under his breath, “Lazy fuckin’ bitch.”

“Oh, shut up.” The words escape Zenie’s mouth without her permission. She freezes, absorbing what she’s just said, the shock of the people in front of her.

A beat of silence – the most uncomfortable of her whole life.

“What did you just say to me?” Her father demands.

In for a penny, in for a pound. She thought that once before, back on D-Day. “Just stop,” Zenie says, almost pleading. “Just stop blaming me for everything. Just stop talking to my Mama that way. Just – everything!”

Mama’s eyes are wide. “Zenie – “

“Go to your room,” her father orders. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, like dealing with her physically pains him.

“I’m not a little kid.”

“Go!” He booms.

She will. This one last time, she decides, she will follow his order to the letter.

Despite her insistence that she’s not a kid, she stomps up the stairs to her room and slams the door shut behind her for good measure. She’ll go even further than this. Further than anyone expects.

Loudly and with gusto, Zenie rummages through her dresser, pulling out her favorite clothes, her most precious belongings. She shoves them into a carpet bag that she throws onto her bed. Her uniforms and loot from her time in the army find themselves carefully repacked into the bag she brought them home in. She checks and rechecks to make sure that her shiny jump wings are inside, just to be safe. She cannot leave anything she loves behind this time. Unlike that morning years ago where she assured herself that she would return someday, she makes no such promises now – doesn’t even let the possibility cross her mind.

Angry blood pulses through her ears so loudly that she doesn’t hear the tapping on the glass of her window the first time. Or the second. But she would have to be deaf not to hear the crashing sound behind her, the great tumult of glass shattering and then skittering in shards across her bedroom floor.

With horror, Zenie freezes, surveying the scene. She holds her breath. There is no noise from downstairs. If anyone had heard that, her father would have already started yelling. There is yelling, however – but it’s coming from outside.

“Zenie!”

Careful to avoid the broken glass that litters her floor, Zenie rushes to the broken window and sticks her head out. Down in the yard, a rock in his hand, stands Bobby.

“Bobby?” She calls. “You broke my window!”

Bobby ignores this. Even from up high, Zenie can see that his face is red, and that his chest heaves with his breathlessness. “Do you have a friend with a funny name?”

Zenie blinks. A simple I’m so sorry about your window was what she was expecting, so hearing a sentence that’s nowhere near that gives Zenie so much surprise that it takes her brain a moment to process what her friend has just said. “What?”

“Do you have a friend with a funny name?” Bobby repeats, voice impatient this time. “Starts with a G, I think? It doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard before. Gonorrhea?”

“Guarnere,” Zenie automatically corrects.

Down in the yard, Bobby nods, relief briefly flickering over him. “Yeah, that’s it! He’s trying to find you!”

“Find me?”

“Get down here!”

Dodging the broken glass again and abandoning her packing, Zenie flees down the stairs and starts through the house.

“Where are you going?” Her father demands as she passes the kitchen. “Zena Beatrice!”

But Zenie is already through the door and out in the yard. A hundred possibilities race through her mind. If Bill is trying to find her, does that mean he’s here? And if he’s trying to find her, then perhaps her friends haven’t forgotten about and abandoned her after all. Which means that maybe one of them knows where Shifty is.

“Find me?” Zenie repeats the second that she sees Bobby, who grabs her hand and begins pulling her up the driveway to where his truck is parked.

“I’ll explain on the way. Just get in!”

“You broke my window,” Zenie says again as she opens the door to the passenger side.

A few steps behind her, Bobby has the decency to cringe as he approaches the truck. “Sorry about that. But your dad wouldn’t let me in to see you and there’s no time – “ He’s already cranked the truck and has the engine roaring to life before he bothers to shut his door. The vehicle lurches on the gravel, and the next thing Zenie knows, they’re flying down the road in the direction of town. To her knowledge, Bobby has never driven this fast before.

After catching his breath and throwing a nervous look in the rearview mirror, her friend finally begins to explain. “I was taking a break at work when the phone in the office rang. When I answered it, there was a guy on the other end who wanted to know if you were working. I mean, it took me a minute to figure out what he was saying at first – I’ve never heard an accent like that before in my life.”

Despite everything, Zenie can’t help but chuckle to herself as she pictures the scene. Yeah, that sounds like Bill, she thinks.

“Anyway, I told him you hadn’t worked there in a while, so he asked if I knew any other way to reach you. I told him that I could have you call him back, but that it might take a while because you don’t live in town and you don’t have a phone at your house. Then some other guy in the background started talking and – I don’t really know because of the accent – but I think they argued for a bit about something. The first guy told me to tell you that it was Guarnere, and that this was urgent.” Bobby pauses, swallows thickly. “He said it was about Shifty.”

It's hard to imagine Guarnere using those words. More accurately, he probably told Bobby to hurry the fuck up and that the fate of the world depended upon whatever he has to say. And Zenie wouldn’t blame him for that. Her heart sinks when she hears Shifty’s name. It’s like an icicle has been driven into her chest. Her body turns so cold and shaky that all she can do is stare out the window for the rest of the drive.

Which doesn’t take long, to Bobby’s credit. They slide into the parking lot of the diner on two wheels, and Zenie has leapt from the truck before Bobby has even parked properly.

He leans out the window as Zenie goes. “There’s a piece of paper on the desk with the number to call! He said they’d be waiting by the phone!”

For the second time within the past thirty minutes, blood rushes so loudly in Zenie’s ears that she barely hears what’s being said to her. Later, she won’t be able to remember the way she ran through the parking lot, how she rushed through the diner so hurriedly that she missed her old manager calling out to her in greeting. All she knows is that suddenly she’s sitting in the rickety old chair behind the desk, phone pressed to her ear with one hand while the other clutches the cord against her chest.

“Hello?” A voice on the other end shatters her thoughts, and for just a second, the iciness and worry festering in her chest dissipate.

“Bill?” Her voice is only a whisper.

“Zenie!” Bill exclaims. It simultaneously sounds like he’s laughing in delight and scolding her all at once. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick about ya, kid!”

A thousand different visits to an empty mailbox flood her mind. “Me? Where the hell have you been? I haven’t heard from you in months!”

From some distance behind him, Zenie can hear another voice crackle through the phone. “Is that her? Lemme talk to her!”

“Hold on a sec, Babe, I’m tryin’ to get this worked out,” Bill says. Then, to her, “We’ve been gettin’ letters from you, but they never answer any of our questions. It’s like you’ve been writin’ into the void or somethin’, never acknowledging anything that we’ve sent you.”

The icy worry washes over her in a wave, making her wish that she had grabbed a sweater on her way out the door. “What do you mean? I haven’t gotten any letters from anybody.”

“You haven’t? Ow! Babe, wait your turn!”

“No.” Though the ice-cold dread in her chest thaws slightly once more. There have been letters. She just hasn’t received them. Why?

“So you don’t know then?” Babe’s voice floods the receiver.

“Know what?”

  From the other side, silence. Then, tentatively, Bill clarifies. “About Shifty?”

Zenie sucks in a breath. So something has happened to him. Somewhere deep inside her, down where her worst fears and panics fester while she pretends not to think about them, she’s always known that something had to have happened in order for her husband to not be here with her, to have not written to her. She wants so badly to know, to have answers. And yet, she can’t unstick the words in her throat. If they come out, she will get answers, and then there will be no more pretending that everything is fine. There will only be a real problem that must be faced in order to be moved past.

After a beat of silence, Bill speaks again.

“Zenie,” his voice is soft, like it was all that time ago back in Bastogne, a hundred years ago when he was asking her about her real identity. “Shifty was in a car crash on his way to the ship that was supposed to take you guys back to the States.”

The world stops spinning. Her heart stops beating. She stops breathing. Somehow, she doesn’t drop the phone, but her hand flies up to cover her mouth. It seems like she should be stifling a scream, but instead, she only breathes heavily into it, trying to catch her breath.

When her friends speak again, they sound such a long way off that they might as well be speaking to her from outer space.

“He was taken to the hospital,” Bill is explaining. “And apparently he got shipped to a new one somewhere in the States. No one seems to know which one, though.”

“And since you didn’t say anything in your letters . . .” Babe adds. “And they were all postmarked with North Carolina, we figured you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t,” Zenie whispers. “I don’t. I don’t know where he is.”

Miles and miles away and unseen to her, Zenie can still picture her friends sharing a concerned look.

“You’re with your parents?” Babe presses.

Well, she was, until right before she came here. Now most of her belongings are packed and ready to go.

“I have to leave,” she realizes aloud.

“Where?”

Bags are packed, but Zenie realizes that she never worked out where she was going to go. Her mind has to be made up now, though, and the answer suddenly becomes clear.

“I’ll go up to Virginia,” she decides. “To Shifty’s family. I’ll see if they know anything, and I’ll wait there, if they’ll let me. And if not . . .”

“You’ll come here,” Bill orders. “You’ll stay with one of us. Our families won’t mind.” Then, using his best NCO voice, “Zenie, promise me you’ll come to Philly if they don’t let you stay. We can’t lose ya again.”

Bill has extended this invitation to her once before. And Ma wouldn’t mind at all. Hell, after having her sons leave for the war, she’d probably be glad to have another mouth to feed, he had joked.

Circumstances are different now. Her secret is out. This time, she accepts. “I promise.”

“Good.”

There’s a moment of silence that feels like all three of them collectively breathing a sigh of relief. Things are still uncertain, but at least now Zenie has some answers, and more importantly, a plan. No more waiting around in this purgatory.

“Hey,” Bill says, tone lighter than before. “Congratulations on your wedding, by the way.” A pause. “But what the hell is this that I hear about Babe bein’ the one to give ya away? Ya couldn’t let your best friend do it?”

“I am her best friend,” Babe brags, followed by an “Ow!” as Bill, presumably, smacks him.

Zenie laughs. It’s a wet sound, and she realizes for the first time that there are tears leaking down her cheeks. She attempts to wipe some of them away before she speaks again. “You were my best man in spirit, Bill.”

“Zee, I’m always your best man.”

They talk for a little longer. More tears escape her, and Zenie is thankful that her friends can’t see the state that she’s in. Everything is happening so quickly. Plans must be made. That was what saved her before – having a plan, having a sense of direction, even as she was heading off into the unknown.

“Zenie, don’t forget what we said,” Bill reminds her. “You better come here at the first sign of trouble. Got it?”

“Yes, sir, Staff-Sergeant Guarnere.”

“Don’t worry, Zenie,” Babe offers. “Everything is going to turn out fine.”

He sounds so sure, his voice so kind. It only makes Zenie’s eyes water all the more. What did she do to deserve such good friends? All she can do is echo a sentiment that one of them offered her before. “We’re gonna be fine, boys.”

They fly home in Bobby’s truck, gravel pinging against the red sides and dust churning up behind them. There’s no time to lose – not when she’s lost so much already.

“I’ll wait here,” Bobby assures her at the top of the driveway. “Just holler if you need help.”

Zenie nods. After turning toward her house, she pauses for a moment, steeling herself. Then, she goes.

“Where the hell have you been?” Her father demands the second that she opens the door. But she ignores him, barges past, and flies up to her room.

“Zenie!” Her mama calls after her. “Zenie?”

Unlike her father, her mother follows her up the stairs, pauses in the doorway of her bedroom. She twists her hands together, brow furrowed as she watches Zenie grab her bags. Her breath hitches in her throat.

“You’re leaving again.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“I have to,” Zenie says. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“Lily!” Her father yells from downstairs. “What’s going on up there?”

In a few quick strides, Zenie crosses the room, grabs Mama’s hand, pulls her into the bedroom, and shuts the door behind her, effectively shutting her father’s prying ears out in case he should hear them.

She left her mother behind last time. Ever since she came home, she’s felt the guilt over that decision festering in her chest. Maybe all her mother needs is a way out, just like her.

“Mama,” Zenie begins, voice pleading as she takes a seat on her bed. Her mother’s hands are warm between hers. She holds onto Mama the way a drowning man in the ocean would hold onto a piece of driftwood. Then, she begs. “Please, come with me.”

Mama frees one of her hands from Zenie’s grip. It comes up to cup her cheek, and Zenie finds herself leaning into the touch the way a small child would. “What’s going on?”

Everything Bill and Babe have just told her flashes through her mind, lightning fast, too quick and too hot to grab onto. “I . . . don’t know.”

Except she does know. She’s leaving. And she’s going to find Shifty, wherever he is. Bobby is going to help her – again. But this time, things should play out differently. No waving to Mama from the top of the driveway and wondering when she will ever see her again. No leaving her behind to worry after all her children are gone. Zenie will make the right choice this time.

“My husband has been in an accident, and none of our friends know where he is,” she begins to explain after faltering a few times. “I’m going to Virginia to see if his family knows anything – and to stay there.”

“What if they won’t have you?”

“Then I’m going to Philadelphia to stay with my friends.” She squeezes Mama’s hand. “Please come with me. I don’t want to leave you here again. Not with him.”

Mama frowns. “Zenie –“

“No one will mind. Shifty’s mama would love you, and after we get our own place, you can come stay with us – “

“Zenie.” Her mother never says the word no, but from her tone, Zenie stops in her tracks, heart sinking as her mother’s answer sinks in.

Why stay here? No one else has. Zenie’s siblings have all moved on. Now she is, too. There’s no reason, as far as she can tell, to hold onto this household with a desperate grip, trying to keep it together, to salvage it. When Zenie leaves, it will be only her father and Mama. And Mama will spend her days working for others and then coming home to work for her father. What kind of life is that?

There’s a beat of silence where Zenie absorbs all of this. Mama watches her closely, waiting.

“Mama,” Zenie finally says again. She looks her mother in the eye when she asks, “Why do you put up with him? You deserve better than this.” She can’t help but tack on the question that’s always lurked in the back of her mind, always in the shadows, but too deep and murky for her to ever fully examine. “Do you love him?”

Instead of answering, her mother pushes a sigh through her nose. After a long pause, she doesn’t meet Zenie’s eye when she says, “Someday, you will understand.”

There is not someday. There is only the here and the now where everything has developed so suddenly and is moving so quickly.

“Go,” Mama tells her. “Go be with your husband. And with your friends. I’ll be fine.”

“But Mama – “

“I’ll be fine,” she repeats, patting Zenie’s hand with each word to drive the point home. “And I will always be here if you need me.”

No one can say that she didn’t try to change things. She doesn’t understand the motive, but she understands that Mama’s mind is made up. Instead of arguing, Zenie asks her, “Write to me?”

A sad smile turns Mama’s lips, a gentle hand sweeps a piece of hair behind Zenie’s ear. “Every day.”

True to her word, Mama does not let Zenie’s father do anything to her. She’s not sure what is said. All she knows is that when she trudges down the stairs with all her earthly possessions, her father is in the back room, stewing in his chair, radio on high. Mama kisses her on the cheek and hugs Bobby, telling him to drive safely.

At the top of the driveway, Zenie watches the reflection of her mother in the mirror. She is sitting on the porch, watching her last child leave. In the reflection, she is framed by mountains that, as Bobby drives them away, appear to hold her, cradling her with care. They have been there since time immemorial, and they will be there long after any of them are gone. Zenie will just have to trust that they will hold her mother and keep her safe within their grasp. They round the bend and Zenie loses sight of her. There is nothing to watch for in the mirror now, so she trains her eyes on the road ahead, trying to forget the past as she readies herself for what comes next.

#this is a chapter I've kept secret for AGES so I am losing my mind sharing it now #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers #band of brothers oc #band of brothers x ofc #shifty powers #shifty powers x ofc #shifty powers x original female character #like a girl (like a man) #hbo war #hbo war fic #oc zenie mcglamery #my writing

[thcfountain]

"When a fan wins a backstage pass to see BAD OMENS in concert, she ends up with more than she bargained for. A night of passion from her wildest fantasies ensues."

JOLLY KARLSSON X AFAB ORIGINAL CHARACTER (SHE/HER PRONOUNS) X NOAH SEBASTIAN.

threesome, reference to daddy kink, implied pre-established sexual relationship between Noah and Jolly, oral both male and female receiving, doggy style fuck. 3723 words.

banner by mikeykuns.

Her heart pounded with excitement - something it had also done a week prior when she had won a singular backstage pass for this show. She'd missed out on ticket sales - something not unheard of given that the ever-constant rise the band was on meant that ticket and merch sales were a battle royale based solely on luck to see who would actually manage it.

She, like many others, had not lucked out. Of course she was pleased for them when she heard they had managed to completely sell the venue out almost immediately but she was also disappointed to learn she would not be securing a ticket to the show. That was until the venue and a local radio station hosted a call-in contest. Become lucky caller number 9 and win a backstage pass to meet Bad Omens! 

For once luck had been on her side.

Excitement and terror had created an unholy tincture in her chest and stomach the second she found herself face to face with the band as they readied themselves to go on stage from a backstage room as their opener played for the crowd.

Noah had, initially, seemed disinterested in her being there and although it dampened her mood for a quick moment, she decided to chalk it up to him preparing for the stage and the known fact that he was an introvert. His social battery probably hadn't been prepared to meet a strange fan backstage, even if he'd been forewarned of the contest.

Folio was the kindest, wrapping his arms around her in a bone crushing hug that erased all of the anxiety that Noah's reaction had caused inside of her. He told her that he was excited for her for winning and he hoped that she enjoyed the experience and she assured him that there was no way she could have a bad time.

Next had been Ruffilo and to her, he came across as a quiet, but perhaps secretly sage, older brother. He listened to her gush about her favorite song and about the contest while quietly giving her an encouraging smile - as if everything she had to say was immensely important and he wanted her to feel safe enough to spill her guts. Though realistically, he was probably riding a high too good to be bothered - the light scent of weed had definitely permeated the air between the two Nicks long before she'd arrived.

Last had been Jolly, who's eyes had lingered on her from the moment she walked in. His voice had been soft, practically whispering to her so she'd have to get close and lean in just to hear him. His remarks and then flittering touches against her arm and lower back had seemed flirtatious and she shook her head to dispel the notion. He probably acted like this towards everyone or she was putting too much into the interaction and being delusional.

It didn't help that Noah's demeanor towards her changed almost immediately when he took into account how Jolly acted. It was almost as if he'd been waiting for some unspoken cue from the older musician, waiting to see how Jolly reacted so he could copy. He became almost puppy-like in an instant, wrapping an arm across her shoulders and pulling her close so the three of them were huddled up together, as if in secret council. It didn't go unnoticed either the looks that Noah cast towards Jolly and she was hesitant to try and put meaning to them.

If she didn't know who they were, she might have assumed the two were a couple. If she weren't a fan, she might have taken the way they acted to mean they wanted to share her. 

All too quickly she was released from the strange embrace as the band, one by one, left to go on stage.

Watching the performance from backstage was, undeniably, unforgettable. To hear them perform live was mesmerizing in a way she couldn't put proper words to and perhaps that was alright. The memory would live on in her head for years to come.

Jolly was the first to exit the stage and return. Covered in sweat from the performance he gave, he stalked straight towards her, a look in his eyes that made her think, for a second, that this is what it was like to be prey - to be hunted by a predator with one thing on his mind. His lips curled up in a smirk that made her think he could read her thoughts and as the distance closed between them, she struggled to find the words she wanted to say. 

His hand wraps around her forearm, grip tight enough to show he has meaning but not so tight as to hurt her and he leans down just slightly as if to take her into secret council. Instinctively she leans up towards him, eyes searching his for some answer to a question not yet asked as his thumb rubs across her skin. Goose flesh raises in response and her mouth opens just slightly as if to question what's happening but she gets no chance to speak as Noah comes bounding in, interrupting the strangely intimate moment that had come and gone so quickly. Jolly's hand is removed from gripping her arm though he seems to give an apologetic smile for it.

Lifting the bottom of his black tank top, Noah brings it up to wipe sweat from his face, showing off his stomach for a moment before he gives Jolly a look that she's not sure how to decipher. “Did you ask?” he says to Joakim, speaking as if he hasn't noticed her presence. 

“I was going to but someone rudely interrupted,” replies Jolly, a hint of amusement to his tone that makes Noah smile with, what seems to be, puppy like adoration. Jolly places his hand on Noah's chest, slowly trailing it upwards towards his neck, stopping short before he gets there. “I'm sure our little contest winner doesn't want to fuck you when you're sweaty,” eyes flicker down at her and the smirk returns. His words cause her breath to catch in her throat. “or when you're so desperate,” he continues and it was as if Noah's breath caught too.

“Um -” she stutters and stammers, not sure what to say and not sure if maybe she had just knocked herself out and was dreaming. “huh?” the word comes out, all question and confusion but she's not in the right mind to string together sentences because she's too scared that she's dreaming or somehow misinterpreting the situation.

“Dude they want to fuck you,” comes Folio's response from across the room and it's greeted by laughter from crew members who already could see what was going on.

Part of her wants to immediately say hell yes, to give into her wildest delusions for a night between Jolly and Noah but the other part of her feels conflicted - she wonders if they've mistaken her for some horny groupie, ready to fuck anyone holding an instrument. She forces herself to take a breath and let it out slowly. Her thoughts are a wild stream of do it and don't do it, all swirling around her head and making most thoughts feel cluttered.

“How about this,” Jolly's voice breaks through the panic of yes or no happening in her head, “we'll go check into our hotel and shower and you can decide in that time what you want to do.” It's clear even without him saying so that she won't be asked again. After tonight this offer won't make its way back around.

“We'd offer to take you to dinner first but the only thing open this late is probably Waffle House,” adds Noah, brown eyes looking her way.

“Okay,” she says, agreeing to Jolly's proposition but not sure where to go from there. “Should I go back to the hotel with you?” 

There's a grin making its way onto his face, like he thinks she's one step closer to a yes. “If you'd like,” answers Jolly. “Everything is up to you, we would never make you do anything.”

So she nods her head, silently confirming that she'll go with them to the hotel. Never in her wildest dreams did she think this kind of thing would actually happen. Not to her at least - maybe to someone prettier or someone with a bigger social media presence or just … someone else. 

The bus trip to the hotel is hectic. Somehow Matt puts her to work loading gear and although he doesn't say anything, she feels judged under his gaze, like he's sizing up whether or not she's actually good enough - even for a one night stand - with his friends. After everything is loaded and the bus packed, she finds herself almost forgotten on their bus as the boys talk about the show and the crowd and how close they are to heading home, given that they're on the last stop of the tour.

She has ample time to think, during those minutes to the hotel. Normally she might feel lonely, forgotten and ignored like this, but somehow she feels special. She knows the only reason she's not being given attention is due to the needed conversations happening now about hotel check ins and who in the band and crew would room with who and other such details. It felt interesting, to get such a personal view of how things happened behind the scenes, even with such mundane tasks.

Checking into the hotel seems to take them no time at all and before she knows it, she's sitting on a king sized bed, listening to the shower run in the bathroom. Jolly hadn't said much when he'd headed in to shower but Noah had giggled and immediately followed and she knew they were in there together.

‘Fuck it,’ she thinks, making the decision that she subconsciously knew she would. There would never be an opportunity like this again and so what if they thought she was just some band groupie? Before she can change her mind, she strips out of her clothes and leans back on the bed, against the pillows, hoping she makes for a sexy sight.

The shower shuts off and after a minute, the two musicians exit the bathroom, towels wrapped around their waists. She can't help but take in their tattooed bodies as one towel after the other drops to the floor when they take in the sight of her.

It's obvious who, of the two men, is in charge, as Noah follows Jolly's actions obediently, silently. 

“If you change your mind at any point,” begins Jolly as he approaches the bed, leaning forwards and grabbing one of her ankles, “you can say so,” he finishes, letting her know that everything is up to choice. He rubs his thumb over her ankle, waiting for confirmation that she consents.

“Yes,” she whispers, followed by a “please,” and then when Jolly raises one brow at her, she adds “take me,” and he grabs her other ankle, pulling her down towards him. Her legs dangle over the edge of the bed and Jolly grins.

Fingers trail over her thighs and her focus is all on him, as if it's just the two of them. Hands slide up her thighs, over her hips and stomach, leaving goose bumps behind. She wonders what he has in plan for her and is pleasantly surprised when he cups her chin and leans down to kiss her.

A soft kiss that steals away her breath, leaving her wanting more and he obliges by running his tongue against the seam of her lips, wanting to deepen the kiss.

A little whine causes Jolly to break their kiss and chuckle as he looks over at Noah, who seems to be suffering from the lack of attention. “Needy,” accuses Jolly with a smile before getting up. He crooks a finger in a beckoning motion and Noah crosses the distance immediately. She sits up on her elbows, watching the way Jolly holds Noah's hips, pulling him close so that they can kiss.

Noah's arms wrap around Jolly's neck and soft sighs of content manage to escape him despite their kiss being all tongue and teeth. The sounds he makes causes a little quiver to curl up in her lower belly, that telltale sign of being turned on by what she sees. Her eyes take it all in - the obscene kiss, the way that Jolly's grip is tight enough on Noah's hips that it will surely bruise, the way that Noah seems to want there to be no space left between them.

As she watches them kiss, she places one of her own hands on her chest. Fingers trail over skin, circling her left breast with her right hand in an almost teasing motion. She knows what she likes better than these two men would - knows how to tease herself. The tips of her fingers brush over her nipple and although the hotel room is pleasantly warm, her nipples begin to harden under her own touch. With her left hand occupied with her breasts, the right trails down her stomach, coming to a stop at her cunt. Middle finger slides down, gliding gently, teasingly over her clit and then between her lips, feeling the slick that's begun to gather. Soft sighs escape her and she doesn't notice the way that Jolly and Noah have begun to watch her.

“Aren't you a tease?” Says Jolly, voice bringing her back to the present and she only gives him a sultry smile. She watches as he gently smacks Noah's ample behind, gesturing him towards her. “Eat her out. Even from here I can see how wet she's getting. We can't let our little contest winner suffer, can we?”

Quick to obey Jolly's directives, Noah closes the distance between himself and the bed. He drops to his knees at the edge where her legs still dangle off, tattooed hands resting right above each of her knees as he looks at her. His skin is warm, fingertips calloused like Jolly's - a reminder that they've both spent years with a guitar, even if Noah's the vocalist of their band. He looks at her, dark eyes settled on her own and the intensity in his gaze earns him a little gasp from her. His hand that rests on her right leg grips a little harder and he leans down to place a kiss on her thigh. Soft kisses are pressed against different spots and she feels her eyes flutter closed, only to pop open again the second those kisses turn into bites.

She gasps, a little louder this time, as he bites her hard enough to assure that she'll bear proof of their encounter tomorrow. The kisses and bites are playful, albeit the bites get hard from time to time and she knows it's because he wants to mark her, but she's growing impatient and fast. “Noah,” his name leaves her lips and it's like he's read her mind because the second she's said his name, he swipes his tongue teasingly across her seam.

His mouth works wonders, miracles even, as he alternates between tongue fucking her and sucking her clit. He's spurred on by the sounds she begins to make, little noises and cries of pleasure and she doesn't know when but suddenly Jolly is there, his mouth on one of her breasts, leaving bite marks of his own against her soft flesh before closing his mouth around her nipple.

Her hands grip the sheets when Noah slides a finger into her wet core, teeth grazing over her clit and then she's pawing at Jolly, whining and panting her approval as he switches attention to her other breast. She's going to be covered in two sets of bitemarks come morning but the thought doesn't even register in her blissed out mind, especially not as that warm knot starts to form in her lower belly. She lifts her hips up, back arching under their ministrations as her breath comes quicker and cries come louder. 

Noah can feel the way her walls flutter against his finger, knows she's getting close, so he adds a second and it's not long before she's crying out as her orgasm washes over her. He finger fucks her through it and when it's over he pulls his fingers from her core and puts them in his mouth, getting one last good taste of her.

“Good girl,” she hears Jolly praise as she catches her breath and she can hear Noah whining from his spot on the floor. Jolly places a hand in her hair, soothing it down comfortingly. “It's time that you repay Noah's favor,” he instructs.

She sits up, ready to take his place on the floor, to get on her knees for him, but Jolly stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “You'll do it while I fuck you,” he says and she can't help but shiver again. His voice is low, lips practically against her ear when he says it and she realises she's never wanted anything more than she does in that moment.

Noah crawls onto the bed, reclining against the pillows in a way that suggests they've done this before and he knows what he likes and she gets on her hands and knees, settling in between his legs. As she lowers her head, tongue taking a quick swipe over the head of his erect cock, she can hear the telltale sound of a condom being opened behind her, almost drowned out by Noah's little whimper.

She places a hand around his thick cock, down at the base, just as Jolly grabs a hold of her hips. She licks a stripe up Noah's shaft and feels the head of Jolly's cock press against her entrance from behind. He's teasing her and at the same time he's waiting for a sign that she wants this, that she's ready.

She looks over her shoulder at him and nods her approval once before taking Noah in her mouth. His head falls back against the headboard immediately, hands resting on the back of her head as long fingers tangle in her hair. Jolly enters her slowly, stretching her, filling her until he bottoms out.

As he begins to thrust, ready to chase his own high, it becomes hard to keep rhythm. His cock feels better than Noah's mouth and her moans are muffled on the singer's cock. Jolly's speed slowly begins to pick up and if it weren't for Noah's hand on her head, guiding her to keep blowing him, she might have forgotten him in the pleasure of it all.

It doesn't take long for Noah to cum. He thrusts his hips upwards a little, catching her off guard as he cries out to Jolly, spilling warm seed down her throat. She coughs when he releases her, cum and spit mixed rolling down her chin but there's no time to deal with it as Jolly's grasp on her hips tighten and he pushes her head down, her cheek resting on Noah's lower stomach as Jolly chases his own release.

She feels herself getting closer to a second orgasm already and Jolly knows it. He begins coaxing her on, calling her a good girl, telling her to cum for daddy and holy shit she does. She lets out a cry, eyes closing, drool spilling out of her mouth and onto Noah's skin with the intensity of her second climax. The feeling of her walls fluttering and tightening around him brings Jolly to his own release which comes with a string of soft swears.

When he pulls his soft cock from her, she goes limp as she catches her breath and comes down. Noah's hands are in her hair, soothing her, they run down her back and after a few minutes, she's aware of him and Jolly helping her to get settled into the bed. 

Jolly's giving her water and Noah's tucking her in and they may be essentially strangers, as much as they could be after fucking, but she feels safe. She feels almost loved. A heavy drowsiness settles over her much like the blanket Noah covered her with and she falls asleep fast.

The sound of movement, of soft whispers, are what wakes her. For a moment she doesn't know where she is - the events of the evening are still lost in a dream-hazy mind. Slowly the memories tumble into her thoughts, replaying past her closed eyelids like a too good to be true fantasy. She sets up, rubbing her eyes as she takes in the hotel room and then notices Noah, who holds out a tray of food towards her. 

Items from the hotel breakfast, an assortment of foods since he doesn't know what she likes and her stomach growls loudly, earning her a laugh from Jolly as he sets a glass of juice on the nightstand for her. As she scarfs down food, it doesn't miss her attention that one of them had plugged her phone in during the night. They were thoughtful, they were surprisingly kind, even to a one night stand such as she had become.

After breakfast, she gets up and begins finding her clothes. No offers of sharing numbers are made, no promises that this was more than it was, and she didn't mind. “Hey wait, where are my panties?” 

Jolly just grins and shrugs. “You don't need them,” is the only explanation he offers.

She pulls on her pants and bra and then walks over to his open suitcase and grabs a shirt. “It's only fair,” she counters before he's even had a chance to stop her. She laughs, pulls on her shoes and grabs her phone and bag, and then without even a second glance back at them, she walks out the door.

A few weeks later, the tour is over and she's seen about a million photos, tweets, and posts about them across social media and each one has made her smile because of her little secret night with Noah and Jolly.

A text chimes from an unknown number and she instinctively flicks the screen, pulling open the message.

“How's our little contest winner?” Asks the text and she laughs. Of course they'd gotten her number.

#jolly karlsson fanfic #jolly karlsson smut #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fanfic

[hinkel-im-home]

A Georgian emigrée with dangerous ties, a knack for languages and a fiery longing to run far, far away from home. A French-American resistance fighter, the unfortunate bastard daughter of a socialite, who seems to always be pushed into the spotlight. A Swiss orphan who is just trying to stay alive, away from the danger that tainted her childhood and that she can't seem to shake.

-> Chapter Menu

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

#band of brothers #hbo war #original characters #ww2 #oc x canon #ao3 writer #fanfiction