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Literature Text
War on Love: Germany x Reader [P1]
The sun beat fiercely at the back of your neck. Your eyes strained to see through the blinding light. You gripped your gun tighter, sweat cascading down your back. The oblivious soldiers walking about the base were starting to get on your nerves.
Sniping was a pain in the ass. Especially if you were in the heat of the war.
Your radio buzzed occasionally from your safe spot. You got up from your squatted position, stretching out your muscles, and tuned the radio for the latest orders.
“Major Beckings, report current status. Repeat report current status.”
Your fake name still felt jarring listening to, despite being in the special military forces for a few months now. You had enlisted under a false identity, as a male. They hadn’t doubted you after you had demonstrated your excellent capability to snipe.
Why had you signed up for the military, anyway?
“Beckings, reporting in. Current status: enemy base entrance. No appearance of him yet.”
You clicked the radio off and quietly inserted the golden bullets into your rifle. There was no turning back. In exchange for your service, your family would receive monetary compensation. Enough to pay for your mother’s medical bills.
“In the name of love,” you whispered. It was a reminder to yourself, every time you pulled the trigger.
You could hear the sound of an engine below the tower you were hiding in. You stealthily peered out to see an army truck pull up to the entrance. It was your target.
You readied your weapon and carefully aimed, waiting for the head to exit the automobile. The other soldiers remained at their positions, blind to what you were about to do.
A little girl bounced off the car, her frilly dress tossing up and down as she did. A girl. Her braids swung around energetically and you could almost hear the child giggling. Your breath hitched in your throat. Your actual target followed afterwards, an old man with thinning hair dressed in a suit and being escorted by another soldier. Your hand trembled slightly. Was that his grandchild? And why did he bring such a helpless girl to such a place?
Slowly, you lowered your gun, the blood rushing to your ears. You failed your mission, you reprimanded yourself. You should have shot.
A definite click of a gun sounded from behind you. You closed your eyes, letting your weapon fall slack by your side and held your hands up.
“You could have killed them.” A gruff voice said in heavily accented English. A dull crack followed and you knew that was your radio without turning around. You could just picture the malicious enemy circling you with his newly-polished boots, toying with your life and holding it in his palm.
Your rifle was still by your side. If you were fast enough you could shoot yourself before being dragged and tortured for interrogation.
“I’m not going to kill you.”
Those words hardly provided comfort. “Are you going to torture information out of me?” you asked sharply, hoping your faked masculine voice didn’t fail you.
“What is your name, sir?” he asked, ignoring your question.
“Major Beckings.”
“Which side are you on?”
You blinked in confusion. He was an enemy soldier, wasn’t he? “I’m on the opposite side of you obviously, (your country).”
“You can face me, Mr. Beckings.”
You turned around slowly, hands still up, not sure what to expect. A rather tall and lean man stood in front of you, dressed in military attire but with no affiliation with either side. His blond hair was slicked back behind his cap, a serious expression shaping his jawline. His gun was no longer pointed at the back of your head, to your relief.
“I’m a part of the rebel resistance against both sides. And we’re short on trained specialists,” His icy eyes locked keenly with yours.
“You want me to join the resistance,” you said bluntly. “How are you going to trust me?”
He looked like there was an obvious answer. “You could have killed the girl and her father. But you still have a sense of human decency.”
With that, he took your weapon and started to descend the tower, looking back at you expectantly. You passed by your destroyed radio, the speakers still buzzing slightly. You had no choice but to follow him.
He crept through the narrow passages that led to the bottom of the tower, away from the burning sun. You eyed his back. It was completely open for someone to attack. If you could somehow get a hold of your weapon again…
Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed that he had stopped moving. You bumped into him slightly, and he eyed you critically.
“The guards outside seem to be changing positions. It’s best for us to wait it out. Do you want to know why your general gave you instructions to kill the man?”
“Orders are orders. We don’t question them,” you whispered, watching as the guards lined up before a superior.
“Those two are from your country, Beckings. They’re hostages. But if they were seemingly killed by the enemy at their base your military would have the power to launch an all-out assault on the base, with full support of the people and the president.”
You sat there dumbly, in stunned silence. The man turned around to glance at you.
“I think you’re lying,” you muttered. “I know what propaganda is.”
He seemed to be slightly amused by your response. “What is the truth then?”
You stared hard into his scuffed boots.
“You’re new, aren’t you?”
You could only nod. Your mouth felt dry and your head pounded, probably from squatting in the sun for so long.
He suddenly nudged you. “They’re leaving. Let’s move.”
The two of you creep out of the building, and snuck away from the base, towards an empty jeep. He slung his supplies into the back and hopped into the driver’s seat, starting the ignition. You struggled to climb in, and the man either didn’t notice or refused to notice. Finally, you threw yourself inside next to him, breathless.
“I don’t remember the security around these bases being this shitty,” you commented.
“This is one of their jeeps. The rebels just hijacked it,” he answered stiffly, shifting gears. You lurched forward as the jeep swung around and accelerated away, the wind and sand whipping at your face.
You watched as the desolate desert flew past you. “What is your name, by the way? You never told me yours. Now that I’m now working under you, I need to address you by something.”
He kept his eyes trained on the road.
“Ludwig. Ludwig Beilschmidt.”
The sun beat fiercely at the back of your neck. Your eyes strained to see through the blinding light. You gripped your gun tighter, sweat cascading down your back. The oblivious soldiers walking about the base were starting to get on your nerves.
Sniping was a pain in the ass. Especially if you were in the heat of the war.
Your radio buzzed occasionally from your safe spot. You got up from your squatted position, stretching out your muscles, and tuned the radio for the latest orders.
“Major Beckings, report current status. Repeat report current status.”
Your fake name still felt jarring listening to, despite being in the special military forces for a few months now. You had enlisted under a false identity, as a male. They hadn’t doubted you after you had demonstrated your excellent capability to snipe.
Why had you signed up for the military, anyway?
“Beckings, reporting in. Current status: enemy base entrance. No appearance of him yet.”
You clicked the radio off and quietly inserted the golden bullets into your rifle. There was no turning back. In exchange for your service, your family would receive monetary compensation. Enough to pay for your mother’s medical bills.
“In the name of love,” you whispered. It was a reminder to yourself, every time you pulled the trigger.
You could hear the sound of an engine below the tower you were hiding in. You stealthily peered out to see an army truck pull up to the entrance. It was your target.
You readied your weapon and carefully aimed, waiting for the head to exit the automobile. The other soldiers remained at their positions, blind to what you were about to do.
A little girl bounced off the car, her frilly dress tossing up and down as she did. A girl. Her braids swung around energetically and you could almost hear the child giggling. Your breath hitched in your throat. Your actual target followed afterwards, an old man with thinning hair dressed in a suit and being escorted by another soldier. Your hand trembled slightly. Was that his grandchild? And why did he bring such a helpless girl to such a place?
Slowly, you lowered your gun, the blood rushing to your ears. You failed your mission, you reprimanded yourself. You should have shot.
A definite click of a gun sounded from behind you. You closed your eyes, letting your weapon fall slack by your side and held your hands up.
“You could have killed them.” A gruff voice said in heavily accented English. A dull crack followed and you knew that was your radio without turning around. You could just picture the malicious enemy circling you with his newly-polished boots, toying with your life and holding it in his palm.
Your rifle was still by your side. If you were fast enough you could shoot yourself before being dragged and tortured for interrogation.
“I’m not going to kill you.”
Those words hardly provided comfort. “Are you going to torture information out of me?” you asked sharply, hoping your faked masculine voice didn’t fail you.
“What is your name, sir?” he asked, ignoring your question.
“Major Beckings.”
“Which side are you on?”
You blinked in confusion. He was an enemy soldier, wasn’t he? “I’m on the opposite side of you obviously, (your country).”
“You can face me, Mr. Beckings.”
You turned around slowly, hands still up, not sure what to expect. A rather tall and lean man stood in front of you, dressed in military attire but with no affiliation with either side. His blond hair was slicked back behind his cap, a serious expression shaping his jawline. His gun was no longer pointed at the back of your head, to your relief.
“I’m a part of the rebel resistance against both sides. And we’re short on trained specialists,” His icy eyes locked keenly with yours.
“You want me to join the resistance,” you said bluntly. “How are you going to trust me?”
He looked like there was an obvious answer. “You could have killed the girl and her father. But you still have a sense of human decency.”
With that, he took your weapon and started to descend the tower, looking back at you expectantly. You passed by your destroyed radio, the speakers still buzzing slightly. You had no choice but to follow him.
He crept through the narrow passages that led to the bottom of the tower, away from the burning sun. You eyed his back. It was completely open for someone to attack. If you could somehow get a hold of your weapon again…
Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed that he had stopped moving. You bumped into him slightly, and he eyed you critically.
“The guards outside seem to be changing positions. It’s best for us to wait it out. Do you want to know why your general gave you instructions to kill the man?”
“Orders are orders. We don’t question them,” you whispered, watching as the guards lined up before a superior.
“Those two are from your country, Beckings. They’re hostages. But if they were seemingly killed by the enemy at their base your military would have the power to launch an all-out assault on the base, with full support of the people and the president.”
You sat there dumbly, in stunned silence. The man turned around to glance at you.
“I think you’re lying,” you muttered. “I know what propaganda is.”
He seemed to be slightly amused by your response. “What is the truth then?”
You stared hard into his scuffed boots.
“You’re new, aren’t you?”
You could only nod. Your mouth felt dry and your head pounded, probably from squatting in the sun for so long.
He suddenly nudged you. “They’re leaving. Let’s move.”
The two of you creep out of the building, and snuck away from the base, towards an empty jeep. He slung his supplies into the back and hopped into the driver’s seat, starting the ignition. You struggled to climb in, and the man either didn’t notice or refused to notice. Finally, you threw yourself inside next to him, breathless.
“I don’t remember the security around these bases being this shitty,” you commented.
“This is one of their jeeps. The rebels just hijacked it,” he answered stiffly, shifting gears. You lurched forward as the jeep swung around and accelerated away, the wind and sand whipping at your face.
You watched as the desolate desert flew past you. “What is your name, by the way? You never told me yours. Now that I’m now working under you, I need to address you by something.”
He kept his eyes trained on the road.
“Ludwig. Ludwig Beilschmidt.”
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Another fanfic with Ludwig and war >_> I don't know why but he's the perfect character for this situation HAHA
This is going to be the long series like I promised, please enjoy!
PART TWO: fav.me/day68l6
xoxo
unknown-chan
This is going to be the long series like I promised, please enjoy!
PART TWO: fav.me/day68l6
xoxo
unknown-chan
© 2017 - 2024 the-unknown-world
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I love this story~!!!! i read it till the end!!!...the story was filled with hope and more happiness to come...you as an author... i commend greatly for this story 
thank you for this story~!
thank you for this story~!