#which implies that the bees are too broke again to afford a practice room but anyways--

[nguyenfinity]

>×> more lil Brohaku please on these trying times AFTER YOUR TEST

long day of outdoor practice for lil bingus :]

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

Tennessee Lovin’ (AldoxFem!Reader)

Requested by @tealaquinn

@inglourious-imagines @owba-chan @war-obsessed @tealaquinn @struggling-bee

Let me know if you wanna be added to the basterds or OUATIH taglist :)

You'd just come home from a mission. Well...what you called home. A hidden orchard in the middle of nowhere, where the basterds safely and secretly pitched up their tents in rows. They set up a fire between a circle of logs...which they called a living room.

There you all usually ate and drank, and well...lived together.

As they passed around the sandwiches and liquor...you excused yourself. You claimed you weren't really hungry.

Oddly enough, you didn't even stay for the usual racket: A royal rumble regarding baseball. Or the austere argument between Wicki and Hugo: Austria vs Germany. Or the New York nuances narrated by Omar and Smitty. Or the cheeky Chicago humor Hirschberg tended to charge with.

That was usually your favorite part of the war's basterdized days...

And yet you slipped away.

You stood in your tent, your left hand was shaking. The searing pain had subsided....which worried you. It was replaced by a numbingly freezing sensation.

You were about to take your glove off when you heard footsteps approaching.

You turned around, and kept your hands behind your back.

"Sir..." You smiled when you saw Aldo.

He narrowed his eyes, spotting your hands behind your back. He half-joked, trying to get a smile out of you, though he was really worried about you. "Ya didn't even salute..." He shook his head, "So don't you go an' 'sir' me."

You rolled your eyes and sighed, "Fine. Aldo. That better?"

Aldo may have been a hillbilly bootlegging basterd, but he was a smart man. And he knew you all too well. "Lemme see your hand."

"What?? I....There's....But I-"

He reached his hand out, and gestured for you to put your hand over his. "Come on. That's an order."

"You're not really gonna pull that rank card on me, are ya?"

He narrowed his eyes, "Look, Y/n... Just cause I love ya don't mean I ain't still your goddamn lieutenant."

You sighed, and quickly flashed your hand at him. "Now you see it, now you don't."

"Come on, lemme see it, L/n."

You frowned, unamused,  "Oh ho ho...Last names now, huh?"

"Rank's next. Come on."

You rolled your eyes, as you held out your hand, "I don't  see what the big deal's  about anyway." You held out your hand, still covered in your blood-soaked glove.

Aldo's eyes widened. He took your hand in both of his, and carefully pulled the glove off, though it was sticking because of old blood, "Jesus, what the fuck?! Ah hell, y/n!!!" He looked at the deep and possibly infected wound on the palm of your hand.

"What? It's not that bad....it's just a....just a flesh wound..."

"Just a...." He muttered under his breath 'for fuck's sake just a flesh wound.' He took a breath trying to control himself, but...ultimately couldn't. "THERE'S A PIECE OF A BULLET IN YOUR FUCKIN' HAND GODDAMN IT."

"Yeah...and...?"

He shut his eyes trying to get himself together, but he couldn't help but feel a bit betrayed. "Were you not going to tell me?"

You were frank..." Nope."

"And...why the hell not?"

You could tell he was losing his mind over you getting hurt. "This..." You gestured at him with your other hand. "This is why."

You turned around, and took your hand from his. You picked up a bottle of vodka, pulled the cork out with your teeth, spat it out, and took a drink straight out of the bottle.

You then reached for some tweezers, part of a set of makeshift medical supplies you'd already laid out, and sanitized to the best of your abilities.

"Whooooaaaa." Aldo took both the tweezers and the alcohol from you. "We're doin' this the right way."

"No. I'm doing this the right way."

He planted his hand against his face, and muttered, "Oh for the love of..."

He took your hand. And he poured alcohol over it. It was tough love...and it killed him to see you squirm under the burning pain that he'd just caused you, but he needed to clean it.

"First of all, we can't afford 'flesh wounds' out here, and we sure as hell can't afford botched hack jobs."

He took your trembling, bleeding hand, and looked back at you, trying to lower his voice, "Lemme help you, Y/n..."

You looked up at his eyes. His blue, lovin' eyes...

Apart from that moment, he would never ever hurt you...

You knew that from the way he held your hand. It was an old, familiar feeling. Somehow his rough, calloused hands were still gentle enough to love after all he'd been through.

He sat you down on your cot, and he sat by you. He took his time, made sure he properly disinfected, cleaned, and treated your wound to the best of his ability.

Aldo handed you the vodka just before he pulled the bullet out. The second he did, you practically screamed into the bottle.

It broke his heart to have to hurt you like that, but he'd rather do it than let you hurt yourself.

He stitched your hand up, and wrapped it carefully.

When it was all over, he softly kissed over the bandage. "That better?"

You sighed a little, blushing out of embarassment and soft love as he gently held your hand and rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.

He eyed your hand, having pictured a ring on your finger countless times, in daydreams and in sleepless nights. It was a specific ring. One he'd seen just before he shipped out, in a tiny dusty antique shop in Maynardville, Tennessee. 'Bernadette's Antiques'. It been there since the civil war. The old lady who ran it, 'Little Bernie,' was the original owner's granddaughter. She seemed to be  ahundred years old to him...but she promised to hold that ring. The most beautiful ring that penniless bootlegger from the Smokey Mountains had ever seen. She'd hold it for him till he got back, till he had a girl to give it to.

Then he met you...

He hoped he'd get that chance some day...

Until then, holding you was enough.

Aldo kissed you softly, though his lips were jagged from the cold wind and long mission. "Get some rest, I'll be back."

He left the tent with a sigh, knowing the boys will be making jokes about the scream, implying it was the good kind of scream.

But anyway...Aldo was dead set on getting you something to eat, so he was fine with being the butt of a few jokes if it meant he got to do something for you.

But everyone was silent...highly uncharacteristic of them. Still, Aldo thought they should know. "For the millionth fucken time, one of you's kept a fucking gunshot hidden from me, an' you know I had orders against that! Y/n got a bullet in the hand, and-"

Wicki tossed the butt of his cigarette into the fire, "We know."

"You knew and didn't tell me?" Aldo felt completely betrayed. They knew how much Aldo cared about you.

Smitty nodded, "Yup."

"May I ask what in hell would make you do some stupid fucken thing like that?!"

"Umm..." Hirschberg glanced over at the others, hoping one of them would speak up.

"Well ya see, sir...." Smitty clasped his hands together, wishing someone else found the right way to word it.

"Uh..." Donny patted his pat a few times against the ground, trying to avoid eye contact.

Aldo put his hands on his hips, "Spit it out, goddamn it!" Hugo looked at everyone else, then back down at his cigarette, unbothered. What went on between you and Aldo was none of his business...that would be defense if it ever became his turn to explain.

Omar cleared his throat, "Frankly sir....we're a little more scared of Y/n than we are of you....if...if it's not too bold to say..."

Aldo squinted at them. He opened his mouth, about to chew the basterds out, but he stopped mid breath.

He nodded...

"Yeah...I get it." He chuckled a little.

A wave of relief flowed over the boys who started to joke around again as Aldo took some food for you.

He came back to the tent, and set some food down for you. He pulled you in  his arms, and smiled down at you, "That's enough excitement for a day, darlin'."

You smirked a little, then pouted your lip a little, "That ain't like you at all, Aldo." You winked at him as he laughed, and swayed wth you in his arms.  He planted a kiss at the top of your head, and rested his cheek there for a moment or two.

You rested your head on his chest for a while, then he stepped back a little, holding your hands in his, being extra careful with your wound.

"I'm sorry about snappin atcha earlier...I just don't want nothin' to happen to you, darlin'... I really don't know where I'd be without you."

You smiled softly at Aldo, and let him know everything was alright.

"Come on, baby."

The worry faded from his face as you wrapped your arms around him, and kissed him. He smiled softly at you, a way he never really smiled at anyone else before he met you... He was right, though. It had been a long day.

He was tired too.

But that didn't mean there wasn't time for some of his trademark Tennessee lovin'.

The notorious Aldo the Apache was known across the front as a ruthless nazi-scalping basterd... But there was something about him only you knew: he was a cuddler.

So he kept his protective arms around you as you fell asleep.

It was hard to love in war: There weren't a lot of moments.

But when there were, Aldo made sure each one of them counted.