Never in your life had you measured your days by the arrival of the daily mail. Had your friends told you the sight of the postman coming down the road with his bundle of mail would have stirred something in you as much as it did, you would have scoffed and called them crazy.
And yet here you sat, nervously twisting your fingers from your seat at your studio apartment's window. Your eyes flicked back and forth as passersby walk the sidewalk below. Nowadays there was less traffic, less leisure in the city. Understandable, you supposed, given the conflict still ensuing overseas.
The second story provided a good enough view to watch for the man you'd come to look forward in seeing each day. You check the small clock sat on your windowsill--a strange place for such a thing, yes, but it was a comfort to your nightly routine--a few minutes shy of 6 pm.
Drat. You were always early.
You lean back in your seat, taking a long breath to calm yourself. You could never be sure when the next letter would come, but certainly enough time had passed that one was due any day? War was unpredictable, that much you knew. But there was always the vain hope that you'd still receive something at regular intervals. And for the most part, you had. The 2 years of training meant, at the very least, a kind of routine you could come to rely on.
Movement down below caught your attention, and you perked up in the seat. The postman was right on time for his route, his bulging bag of mail swinging and bumping against his hip. Seeing you in your usual spot at the window, he holds up his hand in greeting.
In very unladylike fashion, you scramble from your seat and make your way downstairs. The neighbors must have gotten used to your daily racket as you hastily descend the stairway to the apartment mail room. You hadn't ever gotten a noise complaint.
You reach the mail room just as the postman pushes his way through the door. In his usual, gentlemanly fashion, he tips down his hat and gives you a nod. "Evening, Miss Y/N. I hope you're well."
"Good evening to you too, sir. I'm as well as I can be. I'd be better with all of our boys home." You say, if only to keep up the airs of polite courtesy. But your wringing hands and bouncing heels scream your impatience well enough. "Is there anything for me today?"
"Well, let's see now..." He pulls his bag in front of him, rifling through the many envelopes and parcels in search of anything addressed to you. Your eyes flick back and forth from his expression of concentration to the contents of his bag, hands itching for something, anything.
He idly mumbles the names and locations that don't pertain to you, as if it would help him search any faster. You so wish to simply look through the bag yourself, believing it would garner you an answer much faster.
"Ah, I knew I caught a glance of your name. Yes, here you are." He says, lifting a white envelope from the stack and presenting it to you. You eagerly take it from his hands, smiling with relief as you read your name and address writing in neat, familiar handwriting on the corner.
"Thank you, truly." You say, turning to leave as he tips his hat once more. You're tearing at the envelope before you even reach your living room, but you dare not read a word until you're seated on your bed, in the privacy and safety of your four bedroom walls.
'Dearest Y/N,
We've departed Iceland, by order of the General. Knowing you, it won't be pleasing to hear that we've finally been deployed for active combat. But don't fret, the 2 years of training hasn't gone to waste, and D-Day is a month passed already. The greatest threat is yet to come, but for now, we are relatively safe.
Yesterday, we landed on Utah Beach. I can't begin to describe the sight of the remains of battle. I don't rightly want to. There's a stench of death that hangs in the air. Everything sounds too quiet. There are many ghosts left on that beach. We were silent until the sand was long behind us. Still gives me the shivers.
We're camping rough right now in the countryside, not yet to our first defensive position. Don't laugh, but I miss that awful sofa of yours. For as terribly uncomfortable as it is, I prefer it to the way the rocks dig into my backside while sleeping on the ground. When I return, I won't say another word in complaint about it. I swear it.
I hope you're well, and that Stanley Evans doesn't think he's got a chance with my girl back home while I'm out fighting the good fight. Wouldn't put it past the prick. I know you throw a mean right hook, though. Just don't give Evans the time of day, if he comes asking how you're faring without me and gets a little handsy...he's done for.
That aside, I will come back. We'll see each other again. I can't say when, since this terrible war doesn't seem to have an end in sight. But no matter what, don't give up on me, Y/N. I'll fight tooth and nail to get myself back home.
I'll write again soon,
Kid'
After reading the letter through, your eyes scan it once or twice more, committing each and every word to memory. You clutch the paper to your chest, careful not to crumple or rip it by accident.
You knew it'd been futile to hope the war would end before the Fifth Infantry required deployment. And by now, upon receiving this letter, he was several weeks into enemy territory. Hearing word from your love always came as a relief, but your own anxiousness over the contents now left your heart further aching.
You hoped this damned war would end soon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's another month before you receive Kid's next letter.
"A fine evening to you, Miss Y/N." The postman greets you when you meet him down in the mailroom once more. It's a chilly day, and his coat collar is flipped up to shield his neck from the wind. He gives you a reassuring smile. "Don't you worry, I saw one with your name on it at the post office. Let me just find it here..."
"You're very kind." You say, thankful that he thought of you like this. "I know I'm always so anxious when we meet-"
"It's no bother, Ma'am." He says, grabbing the envelope for you and placing it in your eager hands. "God knows I'd rather be delivering these letters to worrying loved ones than those telegrams."
A somber thought. One you didn't want to think about. "Yes, I suppose you're right."
"Bearing the worst news to us back at home, I can't imagine it." He gives a thoughtful nod, before tipping his hat. "Until next time, Miss."
You're up the stairs in a flash, closing your bedroom door behind you as you sit once more on your bed. You're careful not to rip the letter inside, even in your haste.
Kid's familiar handwriting makes you smile.
'Dearest Y/N,
Have you been worrying about me? I'm alive and well, don't get in a tizzy. I'm sorry for not writing sooner. I've heard it's taking longer than usual to get letters from the front.
The war has kept us preoccupied. We've captured several objective points, slowly moving further in towards Angers. If there's one thing I will say, it's that these bastards put up a hell of a fight. Hasn't been easy, but we're damn determined if nothing else.
We're to push further in the morning. For now, we're camped at the bottom of a steep hill to try to shield us from the worst of the rain. There's no helping it, of course, and I can't help but feel like someone is watching us from up top.
Unlikely I'll get any sleep tonight, but at the very least I can write this letter while I eat these bland C-Rations. If I close my eyes and think of you, I can almost pretend they're as good as your cooking back home. I'd kill for a taste of your potato soup, Y/N. There's nothing like it.
We've been apart far longer than I'd hoped for. I'm sorry that duty has kept us so far away all this time. But I'll come back a hero, and a proud soldier, and we'll live a nice quiet life together after that. Life will be mighty fine for you and me. You've always wanted a dog, right? Or maybe it was a cat...either way.
You're in my dreams often. Most times, it's disappointing to wake up to the wet German countryside rather than your small little apartment. It's a relief to know that soon enough I'll have you in my arms once more. Every day is a day closer to seeing you again. That's all a man can ask for, truly.
Always yours,
Kid'
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You try your hardest not to pay too much attention to the radio. The daily reports felt too positive, too upbeat and hoo-rah for your comfort.
Kid's letters painted a very different picture of what was actually going on. He kept the details sparse--spreading detailed information could be dangerous, after all--but even that made you doubt some of the stories the radio broadcasts told.
You couldn't help but worry. More than one of your friends had received the unfortunate news of a loved one's terrible fate. It was maddening, the thought that one stray bullet, one hidden mine, or one bad strategic decision could cost the life of the man you loved dearly. So far away, on the other side of the world...any news of his wellbeing was weeks delayed.
He could be gone, even now...No. You couldn't start thinking like that. He'd promised to return, and he would. Kid always kept his promises.
"Miss Y/N, always a pleasure." The postman greeted you upon arriving to your apartment building that evening.
"Likewise." You said, seeing that he was already holding out a letter for you to take. "You checked before you even got here?"
"I admit, I'm always thankful to see his letters to you." The man says with a decline of his head. "Knowing that someone's at least still out there alive and kicking is a comfort I can't begin to describe."
You haven't ever thought to ask until now, but...your curiosity is piqued. "Do you have someone fighting in the war?"
"My son." He said with a sad smile. "An airman in the 82nd."
"He writes to you?"
The postman gives a slow nod. "As often as he can."
"I'm glad." You say, laying a hand on the man's shoulder by way of support. "I know he'll make it back home soon, once this dreadful war is over."
"That he will. Take care now, Miss Y/N."
You part ways and return to your home, thoughtful as you pull the letter from the envelope to read the contents.
'Dearest Y/N,
It's late, as I write this. I should be asleep, but it's unsurprising that I toss and turn in such uncomfortable terrain. Nowhere is ideal for sleeping, no matter how much you toss and turn. Sometimes I wonder if I've forgotten the feeling of a real bed.
I miss the nights laying beside you, I miss the warmth of the comforter and the softness of your skin. I miss waking up in the middle of the night to see you there beside me, not a care in the world as you dream. There's nothing like it.
You're all I think about, when it's quiet and the fighting has stopped. I brought a picture of you with me, bet you didn't know. My lucky charm. You'd think I was a sap, but it's true. You're the first thing I wake up to, and the last thought as I slip away into a restless sleep.
I hope you think of me. I know it might be lonely, without me there. But I'll return, and then we'll never be apart again. I've never been good with romantic words, maybe I sound all sorts of doll-dizzy, but I suppose a war will give a man a better perspective on what's important.
Keep me close to your heart, and I promise that's where I'll return. If I wasn't sure before, I'm certain now. Next time we meet, I'll be asking a very important question, and you'll be needing a fancy new dress soon after.
All my love,
Kid
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You feel your heart skip several beats when you open the door to see a young-faced teen boy standing at your door, overalls a bit too loose on his thin body. Before you can utter a word, he holds up the beige, square envelope for you to take.
"For Miss Y/N." He says in a hurry, turning and sprinting down the hallway as soon as you'd accepted the slip from him.
Your fingers fumble at the envelope, tearing the top open and shakily holding up the card to see better in the light. Your nerves couldn't bear waiting long enough to retreat to the safety of your bedroom.
'WESTERN UNION
'WE SINCERELY REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR LOVED ONE PRIVATE FIRST CLASS EUSTASS KID HAS BEEN REPORTED MISSING IN ACTION SINCE 14 SEPTEMBER. IF FURTHER INFORMATION IS OBTAINED YOU WILL BE NOTIFIED-'
The telegram slipping from your fingers, you collapse to the floor as the ache in your chest becomes too much, the world going dark around you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Weeks pass, with no further word from the military as to Kid's whereabouts. Missing in action, as you well know, could easily mean killed in action without a body to confirm. It's a terrible, horrifying thought that you wished never to have to think upon. But this is your reality now, and it makes you sick to your stomach nearly every day.
It's almost worse, having that tiny sliver of hope to hang on to. Missing. Notdead. Just missing. But in a war, how could one be missing, and not presumed dead? You're unsure, and the uncertainty is surely killing you.
The telegram sits on your windowsill, a constant and unpleasant reminder that you'll likely never receive another letter again. You've tried throwing it away, but if this were to be the last proof that Eustass Kid was ever alive to begin with, you simply couldn't bring yourself to. Something foolish in you believed that throwing it away was giving up on the man entirely.
You'd never give up on him. No matter how much it hurt...he'd promised to return. And you kept him to his promises.
You nearly rip the door off it's hinges with the force that you open it, hearing a knock at your door. But rather than an unfortunate young lad left to deliver more terrible news, it's the postman that you've gone over a month without seeing.
Your sudden and violent opening of the door makes him take a step back. "Apologies, Miss Y/N, I didn't mean to startle you."
"You haven't." You say, placing your hand on your forehead. Really, such an action had been terribly rude. You take a deep breath and face him again. "I'm sorry...forgive me the rough greeting. It has been incredibly difficult lately-"
"Understandable, news from the frontline has been slow as of late. It's been hard on us all, left in the dark back home." He says, with a small smile. "I've been worried, not seeing you in such a long time downstairs. That's why I figured I'd bring your letter up to you so you didn't miss-"
"Letter?" Your head perks up, eyes zeroing into the envelope that he holds in his hand. Your heart does a little somersault in your chest. "For me?"
"Of course." He says, taking no offense as you practically rip the thing from his hands. "It's a little late this time around, but there's no reason to worry. I'll leave you be, now. Have a lovely evening." He says with a kind tip of his hat, turning to leave down the hallway.
You give no care to the outer envelope, accidentally ripping one corner of the letter underneath, and read it with frantically hopeful anxiousness. The handwriting is foreign to you, and yet still the words sound so familiar.
'Dearest Y/N,
I know you've probably gotten a telegram by now that I'm missing in action. Maybe the last few weeks have felt like a kind of hell, but I'm alive. I'm alright. I'm going to make it. They stuck me in a military hospital, and won't let me leave. I'm having a nurse write this down for me since I can't write, but it's me.
Things didn't work out so well on the last mission. I don't know what happened, exactly. I woke up in a smoking mortar crater with a missing arm and half of my comrades gone. It hurts, but the morphine's keeping me sane. I'm sorry you have to find out this way, but I don't want you to be afraid when I return home not quite in one piece.
They say I'm no longer fit for duty. They're sending me home, even if I don't like it. The docs won't listen to my protests. The war's not over, and I have all the more reason to want those bastards to pay. But I can't carry a gun, and I'm all but useless in the field if I can't carry my weigh in ammunition boxes. I can't even use a shovel, let alone dig a trench, either.
I'm ok, just know that. Don't be afraid for me, and my missing arm. I can learn to live without it. I might not be able to hold you so tightly now, but that won't mean I care for you any less. If you can accept the love of a one-armed man, then you'll never go a day wondering how crazy about you I am.
Once I'm recovered enough to leave, they'll send me back to the Homefront. We'll be together again soon.
Thinking of you always,
Kid'
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You can't contain your tears of relief as you open your door to see the man you'd been missing for so many months. He's different than you remember, in many ways. It's only the second time you've seen him in uniform, the green giving him every bit the look of a soldier. Strong and experienced.
Hair longer and face wearied from the horrors he'd seen in battle, there's a faraway gaze to him that you don't remember ever seeing before. And even if you'd prepared yourself for the most glaring difference, his missing arm was still a painful sight to behold. A reminder of how close you'd come to losing him.
He looks at you and drops his pack to the ground with a thump. His expression is so full of relief and something so much heavier that you're struck still. "Y/N..." He mutters, stepping forward to embrace you tightly.
Your arms wrap around his neck, dragging him backwards into your apartment. The feeling of his arms around you, his strength and warmth and everything else that made him the man you loved, had you gasping out sobs of joy. You're babbling incoherently, squeezing him with all of the life you had in you, thanking whatever it was that had kept him safe for bringing Kid back home to you.
And when your lips find one another, sharing the kiss that had been months in the making, you're overwhelmed by the need to feel just how alive he was.
You unconsciously drag him back towards your bedroom, eager to show him just how much you'd missed him in your time apart. Kid was a willing follower, going wherever your hands tugged from him to go.
Your lips barely break apart for air, always finding their way back to each other as you kiss like you'd never get to do it again. Even though it would be the first of many, many more to come, you can't help but feel as if this one should be cherished most of all.
Your hands tug at his military uniform, and with the help of his hand, you toss the garments to the ground, leaving his chest exposed for you to run your fingers over. You feel the cold chain of the dog tags at his neck, but the warmth of his skin and the persistent beat of his heart underneath is all the more important.
You can hardly breathe, but it's more than enough feeling his fingers struggle to release the snap of your brassiere. Normally he's the one to fully undress you, but without one arm, you know he isn't used to his new limited mobility. You're quick to slip out of your blouse, then your bra after that, rewarding him with the sight of your torso completely exposed.
Your skirts and his pants are the last to go, leaving the both of you bare and vulnerable to one another. Kid doesn't seem to mind one bit the fact that you're basically taking the lead, pushing him back onto your bed with an eagerness you didn't know you were capable of.
You take up a position on his lap, too impatient to bother with much foreplay. Months apart was long enough, you couldn't stand even another few minutes. Having him in your arms was a drug you were happy to become addicted to. So long as he never left your side, you'd be content.
You rock down on his cock, your wetness sliding along his flesh and causing him to groan. His forehead falls forward against yours, and he breathes your name in whispered awe. His fingers grip tightly at your waist, pulling you down in whatever way he could to find more friction against his member.
Your bedroom is filled with a mixture of moans and breathy whimpers, all manner of emotions overflowing between you at once. Your head feels dizzy as you hurry to angle your hips to place his tip at your entrance.
You slide down and tilt your head back, savoring every inch of his manhood. His lips at your collarbone suck a painful pleasure, marking you and simultaneously reassuring himself that you indeed were real, that you were here, and he'd made it home after all. That this was no terrible dream as he lay dying in the crater of a mortar in the countryside of Germany. He was home, and he was alive.
You rock a steady pace on his lap, feeling tears slip down your cheeks. It's too much, and yet nowhere near enough to be satisfied. You want so much more, desperate to find that ceiling of ecstasy alongside him, lost in the throes of passion and love.
He groans beneath you, watching with wonder as you ride him with eager rocks of your hips. His hand reaches up to brush away any tears he can find. The love that he often couldn't speak outside of his letters comes through as clear as day, the gratitude that you hadn't given up on him almost too much for you to bear.
It's been so long, that neither of you can hold out for long, desperate to feel as one. His breathing grows shallow, panting grunts and the subtle thrust of his hips indicating that he's close. Your toes curl back, muscles tensing in preparation. And with a tiny adjustment of your hips and several thrusts that has his shaft rubbing against your clit, it's euphoric in a second.
The feeling of your walls convulsing and squeezing him is what does him in. His arms wraps tight around your body, holding you as close as he possibly can get you. You both cum with shaky spasms, mouths open in groaned satisfaction as the waves of pleasure cascade and recede slowly.
You dare not move, pressed against him in the safety and silence of your bedroom. Nothing in the world could pull you away from Kid in that moment. He made no mood to either, basking in the afterglow of sex and the way you felt pressed to him.
Your hand snuck up to feel his rapidly beating heart, and you knew yours thumped in time to its rhythm. This man, so alive with love, was here to stay.
ns 15.158.61.54da2
