Werner Mölders/Erich Hartmann — because Vati and Bubi are perfect for each other :3

consideratemesserschmitt:

An expert hand, mapping a purposeful route, leaves Hartmann’s face (polka dot scarf stuffed between his teeth, it’s a kindness so that Mölders won’t have to tell him to hush over and over, patient but firm) and the traces of tears around his eyes sprung from staring so wide and unblinking and intent with a fierce resolve to be a good boy, for his chest, stroking and pinching, twisting until his nipples are stiff for licking, for a wet, hot tongue that nearly distracts him from the two hands that have reached his hips and are holding him there, the feel of their fingers so knowing, raising the ghosts of old bruises deep beneath his skin.

Mölders touch inspects the landing sites of more recent bruise too, the dents and dark patches from some knock about or another, his face serious and the kisses he presses there almost chaste before his tongue runs out again, pleased reward for a proud verdict like the way he rifles his hand through Hartmann’s hair and smiles down at him and calls him something rather miraculous.

His tongue pushes against the knot of fabric in his mouth, impossible to stopper up the muffled groan of Vati as heat drives up him, lifts his hips from the bed and lays him open.

Goebbels writing love poetry

alfred-rosenberg:

It’s satisfying for Goebbels, writing love poetry, forming his thoughts and feelings into words, transforming his love into something palpable, late at night where the only sounds are the scratches of his pen and the crickets from outside his open window where the moon shines through.

It’s satisfying, writing down words he knows he’ll never say, words about his beloved, when it feels like the rest of the world is asleep.

But when he’s finished, the satisfaction never lasts long; rereading his words, he thinks about the futility of it all, the clumsy way the words strive to deliver his feelings; “Such rubbish,” he murmurs to himself, and crumples up the paper without second thought.