#private reiben

[bumpkinbitch]

Alright so.. I don’t normally do this but the lovely @southernbelllle charmed me into it so here we are.

Miller is returning home!

(I kill off the entire squad cause I’m evil and hate happiness lol you’re welcome!)

I didn’t proof read this so…..

Dedicated to the beautifulest Miller fan, Ms Belle

Without further ado:

Rosebud

Yeah, he’d been gone long enough for the fear that he’d forget what being back at home was even like to creep on into his conscience, right beside the tick that shook his bones and blurred his eyes.

Ah, home. He never thought he’d make it back, never thought it would be him who’d be walking down the red dirt road, beneath the apple and oak trees, following the scent trail of a cinnamon-apple pie - same apples from the greenery that engulfed him. Oh, how pleased he was. So pleased he figured he must’ve died on the field, alongside Jackson, or maybe Horvath.

“M’alright Cap’n! Just a fuckin’ poke.” Horvath’s last words, as his palms squeezed his punctured liver deeper into his body, ruby soaked fingers curled with each other, the same red sputtering from his lips that were pursed into a reassuring grin. Why should he live to see the sun and sky, not choked in dust, ash, and blood? See, in some part of his shattered mind, he was pretending that it was in fact Horvath, Jackson, Caparzo, Mellish, Reiben, and Wade, going home to their missus, their mothers, their dogs, their rosebushes, and their apple trees. But that wasn’t the case. He was very much alive and - damned if he didn’t say - well, making his way back to the place his heart had been calling to, all those years amongst the smoke and death.

He wondered what teaching would be like, if his weekend afternoons in the countryside, where the baseball diamond sat, twirling around the clayish dirt into the grassy air, would be any different. After witnessing boys as young as - some younger - than the kids he had taught to read and review Shakespeare, or the proper way to hold an old baseball glove, cry out to for mothers and fathers, gasping for one more little jar of morphine, one final breath of life. It sure would be different.

But that didn’t matter right now. He trudged along, cigarette in his shaky hand - this time just from the uncertainty of what would become of his life - with one goal in mind; get back to her.

His worn boots kicked along the gravel, the air was hot and sweet with the lush pollen of summer, and he could see it, he could see his rooftop peeking through the canopy of trees, the spice of ground cinnamon, tart green apples, and homemade pie crust, now dancing on his tongue.

Miller wiped the sweat and grime from his forehead, the weight of his rucksack starting to pull his - already heavy with war - shoulders, sure that the water in his canteen had grown warm and likely adopted the stale taste of metal - something he had grown accustomed to during his time overseas.

He turned the corner, greeted by a bluejay who had been perched upon a dusty, pink mailbox that read “Miller.”

He brushed his fingertips across the letters, the gate of the picket fence closed, behind it sprawled a vast, cared-for lawn of wildflowers and grass so green, you couldn’t forget it if you tried. The leaves of the oak shimmered and sang in the heat and the hum of the watering hose sent a pang to his tender heart.

He knew exactly where she was.

Calloused hands unlatched the gate, slowly passing through, he shut it behind him, his other hand clasped to the strap of his rucksack. The walk to the side of the house felt like an eternity. Miller’s heart pounded in his chest, deafening him. All to be heard was his breath, his heartbeat, and the quiet tune of her singing.

And so he turned the corner, coming to a stop, his hand now bringing his helmet off his head, pressed against his chest.

Maybe he did die and go to Heaven, maybe Jackson prayed so hard he got him a spot there. Yeah.

There she was. Honey brown hair soaking up the sunlight, soft skin blemished with moist garden dirt, clad in coveralls and gardening gloves that were engulfed by thorns and grime. The hose that was saturating the walkway with hot, rubbery water, was now soaking his boots, but he didn’t even care. He just stood still, blue eyes taken aback by the rosy angel, humming a familiar melody that he just couldn’t be damned to remember.

“Honey-“ Miller calls out, his voice soothed with the quiet buzz of hot July.

Even after all this time, she was in the exact same spot, at the exact same time, tending to the exact same roses that - amongst the spitting bullets, screeching chains of the Nazi tanks, the boyish weeping of men he had gunned down, and men who were his brothers - he had grown to long for, every single fucking day.

[baldurswifey]

Posting this here for the tumblr babes, I wish there were more edits on tiktokkk😭😭

Made sure to tag them all, long ass list of tags

[southernbelllle]

And He Was Haunted

Richard Reiben x Reader

Prompt: The war comes back to Reiben in many different ways, and it's up to you to help him cope.

Word Count: 2.6k

AN: I promise I will write for Platoon again soon lol. I just have to figure out how to finally tune my interpretation of Barnes into someone I can write something "sweet" about lol.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

The train ride back to Brooklyn was long and bumpy. Arduous, Richard Reiben sat in front of a lady dressed from head to toe in an emerald, green dress and fur coat. The jewels that hung from her neck were gaudy and chunky. They didn’t shine, they just sat.

“Soldier boy,” she spoke, voice coated in sugar. “Am I to assume you’re heading home?”

Reiben simply looked at her completely devoid of emotion. He spoke not a word, simply looking at the older lady. He could see right through such an individual. He could even before the hellish torment that was his time overseas.

He continued to ignore her, unwilling to engage with the absurdity of the common civilian. He had seen enough; he no longer had the energy to devote himself to the pointless. He doubted if he ever did.

“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” She asked with a sly smile. “Must’ve had the breath taken from you on your travels.”

“Bitch, you ain’t got a fucking clue.” He thought to himself. His body rocked with every chug of the train. He averted his tired eyes from the woman to the window that he had sat himself beside.

“The strong and silent type I see…” she lowered her eyes at him like a cougar on the prowl. He could sense her growing need to pull him into her grasp. He wanted no part in it.

“Strong yeah but far from quiet.” He stated bluntly. An annoyed smile that faked congeniality spread across his lips. Like a dog showing its teeth, but not posing a threat. Not yet at least.

“Oh…is there a way I could test that theory?” The woman flirted.

“Fuck yeah there is.” He was growing more and more annoyed as the time on the train dwindled. The combined screeching of the tracks against the wheels combined with the lady’s redundant question asking made him wonder if making it out alive was really worth.

But then he remembered you.

And suddenly, he found the will.

A thin brunette boy who worked on the train’s service crew was walking down the aisle when suddenly, he felt an arm stiff at his side.

“Hey kid.” Reiben said. “What’s a poor bastard gotta do to get a scotch around here.”

“I’m sorry sir, no alcohol after 8 O’clock.’ The boy answered cooly. His voice was quiet like a kitten’s whisper. Barely audible over the chatter of the train.

“Mother fucker….” Reiben muttered under his breath. He brought a hand to wipe the sweat that hung from his brow.

“What- What can I get?”  He asked with annoyed desperation. “I need something to get me through this God forsaken train ride.”

“At this hour we are offering water, tea, coffee, or juice.” The boy counted the options on his fingers. A damply wet towel hung from his forearm. Reiben noticed the tiny ghost of a mustache and the thin pencil like straightness of his eyebrows. He reminded him of someone, someone he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Uh,” He glanced down toward his toes, eyebrows knit firmly together. His fingers running through his hair in frustration. “Can I get a- a coffee?”

“Of course.” The man nodded. “It’ll be right out.”

Reiben’s head fell into his hands. He craved a quiet moment. He hadn’t experienced a true moment of peace since he left. He thought about you again. God, he couldn’t wait to get back home to you. You were the life’s blood that ran through his veins. Your gorgeously delicate face lived on the backs of his eyelids. In just about, he looked down to his watch, 10 short minutes this train ride would be over, and he’d be on his way home to you, and he could put all of this shit behind him.

“You know, if your looking for a way to get through this train ride-“the woman spoke up again. Her voice dripping in the same seduction. However, Reiben had lost his patience.

“Look, look look listen lady,” Reiben lifted his head up from his hands. Anger burning through his tone. “I don’t want you. Ok? I just fucking don’t.” He flashed a sarcastic smile as he threw his hands in the air. “I got a girl at home. A beautiful girl. Who’s been writing me letter after letter about how badly she misses me.” He scolded. “I know that you won’t understand this, considering your sorry son of a bitch husband is waiting for you at home while you’re out stalking men on trains, but I’m one lucky bastard to even have a girl waiting on me. Ok? So, if it’s fine with you. I’d like to end this miserable train ride in silence.”

The woman was gazing scornfully at the soldier. Her ego clearly bruised as she accepted her defeat. “Well.” She spat. “I guess I know when I’m not wanted.” She picked up the fox fur that had been sat around kitten heeled feet. Reiben watched as the dead fox’s head whipped around her shoulders as she got up. Finally, one fucking free moment.

His back bounced against the seat as he let out an exhausted breath. He looked around the train at the other passengers. A man with a big black top hat and well pressed suit, a woman with blonde hair in a Dutch braid, two small children dressed in faux military costumes celebrating the end of the war. None of these assholes would ever be dealt the blow that he had been. If they did, they’d know that there wasn’t shit to celebrate. No, not a damn thing.

Good men died wearing the same uniform they did, except only that time, the blood and gore was real instead of imaginary.

As he began to look at the children closer, he noticed the stark height difference between the two boys at play. The tall boy had caramel skin and buzzed hair. He played with a wooden sniper rifle that he’d point at random passengers on the train. The second boy was little. He flew a small toy blimp around with his tiny palm. He had big brown eyes like a baby deer. He’d seen that look before, when his wounded friend was looking up at him from the dirt. He averted his gaze.

Man, he was angry. He was an angry man before, when he was just another guy from Brooklyn spitting at the pavement and shaking his fist at the sky. Now, he was all of that plus running himself ragged from replaying the gut turning memories he’d collected from his time in France.

His ticket home was the worst thing to happen to him. He really did believe that out of the eight men he had been sent to search the French countryside with, he was the least deserving of coming home. He was pissy and rebellious throughout the whole mission. Quite literally even “giving up” at one point. Yet, he was the one chosen to come home. He knew that it should’ve been a soldier with talent and grit like Jackson, or a medic that had tended to the wounded quickly and devoutly, like Wade.

But no, it was him. One of two survivors. He’d made a point to fuck off as far away from Upham as possible because of the trauma that would flood his brain and make his face turn cold. He couldn’t look at him without seeing them.

The train whistled as it halted to a stop. The screeching of the tracks and abrupt ceasing of movement yanked him out of his thoughts.

He puled his gear out from the top compartment and slung it over his large frame. He started down the thin isle with steps heavier than boulders.

The two children dressed in the costume version of his current uniform ran past him. He stopped and stared as they ran toward the door.

One of the children, turned to look at Reiben, and with a toothy grin, saluted him. The boy then tapped the other boy’s shoulder and pointed at the towering man. Upon seeing him, the second boy shot the same nod and salute, then hurried off of the train.

Reiben was never a crier. He wore the rock-solid mask of a macho man everywhere he went before the war. But now, after the mission he’d had the misfortune of being thrust under, he cried at the drop of a hat.

Neither was he a Godly man before, but he felt God had temporarily shot his brothers down from Heaven for one last memory, seeing them one more time in a way that didn’t involve them groveling for mercy. Something to help him sleep at night. Jackson told him once that God would send him signs of his grandaddy randomly. He’d talked about how the two of them would go dove hunting every weekend, and after his granddaddy died, he’d have a dove gently rap outside his window. Peeking in to check in on how Jackson was doing. Reiben thought about how the two of them were probably flying across the Eastern Tennessee sky together now. It was bittersweet.

But he thanked God anyway.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Reiben stood still in the middle of the isle, lost in his own mind.

“Sir,” a man tapped him on the shoulder. Reiben was splashed by the surprise that washed over his face. It was the bus boy.

“We put your coffee in a cup to go. Your father suggested to us that you may want it for the walk home.” He said, handing the cup to Reiben.

“My father?”  He asked.

“Yes,” the bus boy said. “The man with the dark hair who ordered for you.” He looked across the aisle. “He must’ve gotten off already.”

“That’s impossible.” He spat. “I ordered by myself.”

The bus boy looked at him with confusion. “No sir. He told us that you preferred a lid because you take great clumsy, strides when you walk. He told us that he’d watched you walk in front of him and gripe. He seemed to have known you very well, sir.”

Reiben blanky starred at the thin boy. He looked him up and down with his, and gently took the coffee cup from his hand.

“Thanks,” He trailed off as he turned around, coffee cup in hand.

As Reiben walked off of the train (by this point he was the last man aboard) and grabbed the metal handle to help him step off.

Through the quiet of the train though, he could hear the gentle clicking and clacking of a typewriter tucked somewhere within the train car. He peeked back into the car and saw the small bus boy, clad in proper military gear, devoid of any scratches or stains, pecking on the keys of a typewriter.

Reiben remembered.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

His Brooklyn neighborhood late at night felt more foreign than homely. He felt as though he was a phantom haunting the streets of an innocent community. His steps poisoned each broken slap of concrete on the sidewalk. His whole life felt like a dream at this point. He was the angry troll that had returned to the kingdom to terrorize the civilians with his gruesome aura.

He walked up the steps of your shared town house and fumbled with the keys to the door. It was an old, familiar sensation of tying to match they key with the lock. He felt as if it had been a decade since he had performed such a mundane action. A goblin breaking into the princess’ castle with a battering ram is how it translated in his head. He felt sick.

Once he had opened the door, he saw a welcome sight. A sight he wasn’t aware that he’d missed, he saw a room clean. The apartment was spotless. You didn’t know when Reiben was going to return, but you knew it could be any day, and you wanted to make sure it was welcome.

It was warm, too. He slipped his jacket off to stand in his olive toned sleeveless shirt and trousers as he stood in the doorway. A kitchen, a living room, a bathroom with a toilet. He could’ve cried.

His eyes then led him over to the staircase that led up to his favorite room. The room where he knew you were asleep, blissfully unaware of the man and his baggage that were standing in the house.

He gulped a nervous swallow as he slowly walked up the stairs. Pictures of you and him framed and polished held his hand as he took each agonizing step. Your eyes, full and bright in each picture. You almost seemed like a fantasized legend of folklore at this point. The sleeping mermaid princess being rudely intruded upon by the evil great white shark. The angry, great white shark.

He finally arrived at the bedroom. He perched at the doorway and watched your sleeping silhouette rise and fall at a snail’s pace. He could see your satin nightgown hug your curves as the blanket laid loosely on your frame.

He almost felt perverse for watching such a sight. It had been so long since he’d been able to love you the way he wanted. To touch you, caress you, gently nibble at the shell of your ear as he felt your weight on his lap. It felt like a lifetime ago, and with his newfound trauma, wondered if you’d even ever let him again. He thought about it all the time back overseas. He’d just never really thought it through.

He took his shirt and boots off at the base of the bed. He looked down at the empty space beside you that had grown cold and hollow. He forgot how exciting it was to simply crawl into a warm bed.

He laid down and to his surprise, felt the mattress welcome him home by reforming back to the comfort level in which he liked. At least the bed remembered him… at least.

He then turned on his side to you. Your back was turned away from him. Sleeping so soothed and gently, he wanted to touch you. Truth be told, that was the very least thing he wanted to do to you, but it was a good start.

Terrified, he reached the palm of his hand to rest on your shoulder. He could’ve cried again. You were warm, and your skin was soft. He hadn’t remembered the feeling of being warm and soft.

He couldn’t help himself; he brought another hand to your shoulder and did the same. Warm and soft.

Like a grizzly bear, he couldn’t stop himself from wrapping you into a full hug. He loved it. He felt a sense of crazy euphoria. His skin goose bumped with the sensation. Bliss, that’s what it was, it was bliss.

The best part of the hug, however, was your sleeping figure turning to cuddle into his solid chest. Your nose brushing against his bicep as you settled into him. As if no time at all was lost, your two puzzle pieces fit back together and completed the picture.

He was angry, sad, and all ripped up inside when he came home to you, but with time, he felt that it would all be alright.

And when he awoke that morning, Reiben saw a white mourning dove sitting at his window.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

[saint-petah-the-good]

Wallpaper saving private ryan

[matue3crentue]

Mf sleeping like hes not going through the horrors of war💀

[forestvaleska]

THE CAST EVERRR!!! THE GUYSSS!!!

Spr the movie ever actually

[coquettesolek]

made this as a joke but i think i had a vision

[ncr-psyop]

i liiiiterally do not have any time to draw anything so. here's an edit of reiben and speirs because they're my husbands!!

ac: madixaudios on tiktok

sc: saxxscenes on ig

[satellitespeirs]

i miss him and his dumb pretty face

[couldtheyescortelliewilliams]

Do you want to submit a potential protector for Ellie? Click here if you do!

[couldtheycatchkira]

[bumpkinbitch]

⋆.˚𓅆࿐

i know he’s in over his head, but i love that man

⋆.˚𓅆࿐

little at home w/ reiben board cause writer’s block is real and i must deliver to the spr community.

[southernbelllle]

Cuddling with the guys??

Cuddling With Miller's Squad

Including: Miller, Horvath, Reiben, Mellish, Jackson, and Wade. Caparzo and Upham will be in part 2!

Warnings: Wade's gets pretty heated, but nothing too crazy.

AN: Hey so I had so much fun writing these. Like a blast. Thank you for requesting this anon!!! They are the men ever!!!!

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Miller

Birds twittered and sung outside of your bedroom window. The morning was quiet and slow; a pace of life Miller had grown to miss during his line of work.

You were still asleep, the serene of the morning still lightly blanketing your eyelids together. Gently, you breathed in the morning in even breaths. Still completely unaware of the morning sunshine shining through the glass pane and onto the side of your face.

Your husband, however, held the opposite point of view. Miller laid to your right atop your shared bed, taking in the golden scene of peace that slept in front of him.

He brought a lazy finger to a limp lock of your hair resting along the bridge of your nose and brought it behind your ear. There you were. He felt the corners of his mouth curl into a groggy smile. He hopped that you remained sleeping for just a little while longer, just long enough so that his reality could set in, the reality that he made it home to you. There had been so many times where he was sure he wouldn't have, but fate had other plans.

And thankfully so, because the only Heaven that existed to him, he was already in.

While you were still under the deep blanket of morning slumber, your husband brought you closer to him in a careful hug. He planted tiny, tender kisses to the nape of your neck when he settled you against him.

As he held you close, he closed his eyes and allowed your scent to lull him back into a dreamless sleep. Devoid of the terror and the hardship, the men he'd lost and the men who'd lost him, any tremors or tremblings, and simply just slept.

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Horvath

It was the coldest November recorded. It was rainy, too. Sad overcast clouds hung damply over the street your suburban house sat on.

Shivering, you retreated to your bed for a mid-day nap. There simply wasn't anything else to do. So, you untucked the corners of your previously taught sheet of your made bed, and climbed back in.

The atmosphere in the room was grey and smelled of a light mix of Lavendar and sage. A small wax stub of a candle perched on the night stand beside you, glowing a smudged amber in the lonely corner.

The fat droplets of rain rapped against the shingles of your window, singing a an almost nautical lullaby that reminded you of the days you'd spent with your husband out on his speed boat. The familiar sound brought your eyelids to drop ever so slowly, until your husband stomped through the kitchen door a few rooms away.

He had been out all morning at work, hammering and filing down on the newly constructed railways. His back was sore, and his brow dripped with sweat. He stood hulkingly in the kitchen taking off his thick coat and work boots, he had been out since the early hours of the morning.

He made his way to his bed, ready to finally return to the relaxation the workday had robbed from him.

He found you tucked under the light covers, still slightly shaking from the frigid temperature of the world around you. He knew what needed to be done.

He stripped himself of his work clothes and slipped under the same covers. He situated his body on top of yours, fully engulfing your frame with his bulky forearms.

He was hot, even after a long night-turned morning out in the elements, his body still radiated heat. The tight bear hug that he had wrapped you in ceased any shiver you may have experienced.

"G'mornin'" you mumbled under his hold. The weight of his chest alone was relaxing in itself.

"Good morning, again" he chuckled against your temple.

"What's the plan for today? you lazily murmured.

"This." He answered, nuzzling his nose into the hair drapping down beside your neck.

Your laugh served as response enough. This was good enough for the both of you. Laying together, your husband asleep on top of you, the natural music of thunder and rain mixing together to bring you two to restful slumber.

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Reiben

Not a single soul other than you and Reiben's were at the Manhattan Beach that day. It was a weekday, Wednesday to be exact. His Mom's shop was closed every Wednesday since before he could even remember. Which meant he had the entire day off to do anything he pleased. So, in typical Reiben fashion, he took you to the beach, because to him, there is nothing he'd rather do than spend the whole day gawking at you in a swimsuit.

You both walked down the length of the shore, his giant hand interlocking with yours. You both left sandy footprints in the damp sediment of the earth. Chatting about your shared week, happily engaging in each other's input.

"And I told her," Reiben explained with his free hand, "I says, if you're a size 4, then I'm the Goddamn Pope!"

You shook your head and let out a joking sigh, "Please tell me you didn't actually say that to that woman, Rich."

"I had to! You know bettah than anyone 'nat when I get somethin' in my head I gots tah get it out!" he met you on the jokey playing field.

You rolled your eyes, "Yes Richard I do. Don'tcha remember when your little war buddy came over and blabbed all about your 'conversation pieces.'" You shot a lowly look at him with your eyebrows.

Reiben blushed a tinge of embarrassment. "I-" he stammered. "Listen, I," He lost it again. "I just thought the story was funny! It was a tense situation, we coulda died!"

"'Whenever things get tough I wantcha to think of these?'" You quoted with a shit eating grin. "Why would you tell people that?"

"It's what guys talk about!"

"Oh my GOD, Richard."

"It's what we do!"

You impishly rolled your eyes and hugged into your husband's shoulder. The feeling of the waves crashing against the soles of your feet, and the view of an empty beach ahead made a strange pool of euphoria gather in your chest. The wind swept your hair and made your skin slightly goose pimple when it caressed your skin.

"Is it s'possed to storm today?" You asked Reiben.

He looked up at the grey sky, swirly clouds above, "Eh. Maybe. Clouds definitely don't look happy."

You looked up at the sky again, and then kicked the coarse sand below you.

Reiben brushed his hand on the skin of your waist, feeling every bump that the cold had brought on. "Is my baby cold?" He pulled you in closer to him as you walked. Slightly jesting at your sudden burst of cold. "Does this girl need a blanket? At the beach?"

"Quit it Rich, we live in New York." You smiled.

"Aye no worries, baby. Prince charming brought ya's a blanket." He pointed to the bag you two had left in the sand near the pier. "Why don't we head back and warm up a bit, eh?"

You nodded, and turned around to head back to your spot.

Once you two had reached your secluded spot in the sand, Reiben stretched out the balnket in the sand, and allowed you to take your place on the soft yarn. Not too soon after, he joined you. He lightly spooned you from the back, his arms were long and hairy, they tickled your abdomen when he'd pull you in closer.

You brought your hands up to hold his arms that were wrapped around you, lowering your head slightly to kiss his tanned skin. You felt his breath brush up against your ear, in and out, in and out.

In that moment, that tiny twinkle of time, you felt as though you and Reiben were the king and a queen of the beach. Like Poseidon and Amphitrite, you ruled over your kingdom. Just the two of you.

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Mellish

Mellish opened the door for you as you walked through the frame leading into your apartment. He carried his sport coat thrown behind his back, and you held your heels by their buckles. You were both absolutely exhausted. The evening had completely drained the two of you.

You had been out to dinner with Mellish's parents. They were good people, really, they were, but they were even more so wearing. The very first thing his mother had asked you (before you had even sat down in your chair,) was "so when can we expect to be grandparents?" Mellish had warned you that they were direct, but you didn't expect it right out of the gate. You attempted a subtle look at Mellish, who was mentally cussing his mother, and he met your gaze with an eyeroll.

"Cool it, Ma I promise when the time is right, we'll make ya a grandparent." He pulled your chair out for you. "Now can my wife please take a seat without any interruptions." Mrs. Mellish choked back a giggle and grabbed her husband's hand. "Thank you..." Mellish spat.

"Now," Mr. Melish spoke up, "How's the brightest street of them all?"

"Nothing better than hearing angry men spout off about both the money their losing and making. It's about a real barrel of monkeys."

"Well I was going to tell you, that my friend Carl, he goes to the same synagogue as us, has a son whose looking for work on WallStreet, He doesn't want to have start off interning though. He says that it's just not a good fit for his personality, which I agree, he's a real loud prayer, but he wants an office job-" Mr. Mellish seemed to have said every word that popped into his head.

"Father please," Mellish brought his head into his hands and gave a big wipe to his forehead.

"Sorry son, anyways I told him that you would love to show him the ropes of the business. You'd find a 'good fit' for him." Mr. Mellish smiled a toothy smile.

Mellish looked over to you with a look that nonverbally said, "I'm sorry, it'll be over soon." Like a lamb to the slaughter, you brought your hand to Mellish's and gave a good squeeze.

"Oh I almost forgot! Look at these pictures of baby Stanley I found while I was cleaning out the garage." Mrs. Mellish held three photos of a toddler Stanley, all dressed in tiny sport coats and baby lace ups. "He's always been my little man!"

You giggled at the photos that had been shoved toward you. "Wow Stanley, were you ever a child?"

Stanley looked at you with tired eyes that were already looking toward the front of the restaurant and out the door. It would be over soon.

Now though, you both were home, free of any prying voices or demands made without your knowing. Your bedroom looked more than inviting. It's magnetism seeming to pull you and Mellish in closer and closer to the warmth of a warm bed and each other's embrace.

With his jacket thrown to the side, and his tie falling across his upward flipped collar, Mellish laid down atop the comforter of your bed. He pat his thigh at you, beckoning you to come over and sprawl out on him. An offer you did not hesitate to take up.

You, still dressed in your evening attire as well, hair and makeup still done to the nines, you draped your body over his. You rested you head on one of his clothed pecs and listened to his calm heartbeat.

As you rustled around on him, trying to get comfortable, Mellish caught whiffs of your expensive perfume you'd only broke out on special occasions. "You smell good." He said as he brought his nose down to smell you again. His moustache tickled your neck.

You laughed, "stop babe that tickles!"

"Sorry hun, you smell too good," he said bringing his head up and his hands to play in your hair. "Just too good..." His voice quieted as his exhaustion began to take over.

"Are we going to talk about the dinner?" Your voice rumbled against his shirt.

"Tomorrow. Im too tired to talk about my parents tonight." He lazed.

'Understandable." You sighed sleepily and pressed a light kiss to his shirt. "Goodnight, Stan."

"Goodnight, precious." He barely replied.

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Jackson

Jackson had been planning this trip for months. He'd bought all new equipment too, brighter lanterns, cozier sleeping bags, and even a menagerie of different lighters. This was going to be the best camping trip ever. Not because of the new equipment though, but because he was bringing you with him!

He'd talked it up every chance he could get. "There's a small spring that shines lil' streaks of silver when the sun hits it just right. Oh, honey you're just gonna love it I know it!" Was one of the more frequent statements.

He had packed up the bed of his old beat-up ford with his new equipment and a few other essentials (cases of water, MRE's he'd swiped from the base because he actually liked those, and some folding chairs.)

"C'mon Sugar! I wanna get there before dusk! It's the best time to fish!" He'd called up in the house.

You were still inside the kitchen packing some premade sandwiches and canned sodas into a small cooler. "Coming my love!" You'd shouted back at him, slamming the lid of the cooler and rolling it out behind you and out the door.

You met him by the truck and watched as he hoisted the cooler above his chest and into the bed. His muscles tensed as he lifted the cooler, you'd watched as his arms became rough with strength. They glistened with sweat.

"Ok darlin!" He'd unknowingly snapped you out of your gawking. "Let's git this show on the road!" He opened up the door of his two-seater and held your hand as you carefully climbed in. He then quickly jogged to his side and started the truck up and began to drive.

Jackson never really mentioned where he was going to take you. You had assumed it would be far away though. He spoke about the campground like it was this far away fairy land. So, you packed rather heavily, even if it was just for the weekend. You were surprised however, when Jackson stopped and pulled his truck over not even 20 minutes away from your house.

"We're here!" He shouted, glee filling his voice. He ran over to your door and opened it up for you once again. "C'mon sugar let's go! We're losin' sun!" Confused, but happy at your husband's unbridled joy, you followed him to the bed, and then to the campsite.

You two had spent the afternoon pitching your tent, fishing, hiking random trails Jackson had memorized over the years, and roasting marshmallows in the fire Jackson had built. You ended the day by holding each other tightly in his extra roomy sleeping bag (he'd bought it before you two had even started dating, he just knew he'd be lucky enough to take you on a trip like this one day. He'd prayed for it.)

You still didn't know why Jackson would choose to vacation so close to his own home though, curiosity had been eating at you all day. You needed answers, and you had to act fast, because once Jackson's head hit the pillow it was crickets until 6:00am.

"Hey sug," you whispered to Jackson, "are you still awake?" Even though he was facing you, you could never be too sure. "Yeah darlin' i'm still up." He meekly replied. "Oh good! I meant to ask you earlier, but what made you want to weekend so close to home? Not that I don't enjoy it or anything, I'm just curious."

Jackson stirred, bring one hand to prop his head up (so he wouldn't go to sleep in the middle of speaking) and the other across your shoulder. "Well sweet girl, my grandaddy used to take me dove huntin' over here. Ever since I's a kid, he'd drive me up here and it'd be a weekend fer just the two of us. I wasn't just another siblin' up here. It's where Grandaddy taught me to be a man. It's special." His eyes lit up an electric blue as he explained. HIs lips moved so perfectly as he told you the story behind your trip's location. "When he died, we got em' cremated an' I spread his ashes out here. I think Jesus made em' over as a dove. He visits sometimes."

You felt your heart melt as fat tears welled in his eyes. You pulled his head down to your chest. "Oh my love," you massaged his head. "Thank you for bringing me here. I'm so very honored."

"Of course. Yer real special to me doll." That was the last thing you heard your husband say before he drifted into a deep slumber. His chest rising and falling at a snail's pace. You followed closely behind him, only to be awoken by the sound of a morning dove outside of your tent.

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Wade

When you and Wade had built your house, the only thing you desperately wanted was a small reading nook packed with books and comfy chairs.

It was money well spent too, because you and Wade both found yourselves huddled in the small area with your noses poked in a book (sometimes the same one) and a warm drink sitting beside you. You were both introverts, so this was quite the sanctuary for the both of you.

"Whatcha reading, handsome?" You asked Wade, who was sitting curled up with a thick, dusty book. It was so large that he had to use both hands to keep it open.

"It's an updated medical journal detailing new ways to perform the Heimlich maneuver and other methods of foreign body removal." He spoke in his usual fast paced speech.

"Oh. Riveting." You joked and sat on the blank spot beside him on the couch.

"You laugh but it could save your life one day!" He stated coyly, a sly smile creeping upon his face.

"I'm kidding sweetie," you rested your head on his shoulder to look at the many columns of medical jargon littering the page. "I don't see how you can read this stuff. The words are so small and squished that they almost look like little ants marching off of the page."

Wade laughed at your childish imagination, "You read enough in medical training that this kind of thing becomes second nature."

"Could you translate?" You asked him, puppy dog eyes looking up at him innocently.

"Of course, dear." He picked a paragraph that he thought would be easy enough to explain, "For victims who are not in an upright position, The American National Institutes of Health recommends positioning the victim on the back, then straddling the torso and employing chest thrusts."

"Yeah, that sounds about right." You kissed his cheek. "Stand up and try that out on me."

Wade looked at you with a sassy expression. "You want me to practice the Heimlich on you? When you're not choking?"

"Yes, Irwin in fact I do. Now get up here and hold me!" You demanded tauntingly. It clicked in his head why you had requested this; you just wanted him to wrap his arms around you for a bit. He obliged.

He positioned himself behind you and brought his palms to rest against your abdomen. "If you were choking, I'd have to grab you here," he pulled your body into his. "Then I'd bring my hands up to here, " he planted the palms of his hand against the skin of your stomach, "and I would usually pull here, but tonight I'll just..." he slid his hands up and under your shirt and explored the soft skin.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you ground yourself into the man behind you. The upper row of your teeth bit into your plush bottom lip, stifling any noises that may have escaped. "Usually," Wade started, "A choking victim doesn't enjoy it this much." He grinned, proud of the reaction he was bringing out of you.

You turned around to meet his lips in a kiss and led him back to the sofa. You both took turns nipping at each other's lips. Feeling the heat of your bodies pressed together.

When you both had tired each other out, you found yourself simply laying atop of him. Occasionally pressing a sweet kiss to his nose just to see his eyes crease in laughter and a blush wash his cheeks.

"I hope I never actually choke on anything," you broke the silence around you, "but I hope you do that again." He laughed slightly embarrassed at the way the situation had heated up, but definitely not upset.

"Me too." Wade agreed. "I may do it sooner than you think..." He took a beat and waited for you to look down at him from where you lay above him. When you finally did look down and into his eyes, he brought you into another kiss. This one even more passionate than the last, his eyes closed and his hands roaming.

All of this because of reading.

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[satellitespeirs]

ohhhh... so it's a type?

Reiben, Liebgott and Hoosier are three different versions of the same soul

[matue3crentue]

Mellish and Reiben discovering that Ryan isnt just a mith or a hologram, but in fact a real person

[forestvaleska]

Oh how much I love this movie I fear I will never ever get over it