#David Websters fanfic

[samwinchesterslostshoe]

This story is based on the tv show Band of Brothers, and the fictional portrayal of the actors playing the characters in the show.

Part 2

Hagenau - France.

Late February.

Kenyon.

Everything was so familiar. The soft thudding of their jump boots, the rattling of mess kits hanging from their belts, and the endless stream of cigarette smoke. He was back home again. After almost four months of endless hospitals, rehab centers, and having to endure the people off rear echelon he was back with his outfit. At least, what was left of it.

Even though the muddy roads were filled with marching platoons and truckloads crammed with soldiers, very few bore the white spade on the side of their helmet. And those who did did not seem to want him here anymore. Having finally caught up with easy company suddenly made very clear just how much loss and suffering his friends had to endure. Hoobler, Toye, Guarnere, Buck, Penkala, Skip Muck. A never-ending list of names. With every name, every missing face in the crowd, a part of him died to.

The jeep drove at an excruciatingly slow pace, getting caught every few meters in the muddy brown remains of snow. The silence among them deafening. He held his head down, trying to focus on something other than the cross looks the others were shooting him.

For two years they had trained together, he had been there at D-Day and fought in Holland. But because he had missed Bastogne all trust and sympathy towards him had seemed to be lost. He wondered if he would ever earn their trust again.

“We’re here,” Liebgott hissed as he ushered him to jump of the trucks tailgate.

The town of Hagenau, with its bombed-out roofs and shattered windows was anything but empty. Everywhere he looked supply officers were running around, carrying truckloads of ammo, K-rations, and medical supplies out of the Jeeps and into the buildings. Redd Cross girls and medics were setting up aid stations, and remaining civilians pleaded to the soldiers for something to spare. The last time he had been with his outfit was back in the muddy fields of occupied Holland. Oh how he wished he was back at that farmhouse, eating pancakes with the lovely girl he had met there.

“Report to lieutenant Speirs,” they told him. Great, another lieutenant leading the company, whatever happened to Winters?

Ronald “Sparky” Spiers was a former D company lieutenant. Webster saw him as a harsh but fair man. Spiers knew what had to be done and he appreciated the man for it. He found the lieutenant in a shelled CP building at the edge of town, farthest away from the river that separated them from the Germans, talking to lieutenant Lipton. Busy arguing with each other, they seemed to have failed to notice that he had come into the room. For what felt like hours he stood there, watching people come in and out of the CP. He watched Spiers give orders and boss people around, not exactly a man you would want to piss off.

“Lieutenant Lipton, Sir. The medicine you asked for,” a soft familiar voice said.

Marie.

The cold bit her face and her fingers where slowly starting to go numb. With the 506th moving into Hageneau she had been on her feet all day, carrying boxes filled to the brim with supplies from one place to the other. Walking at a fast pace and dodging incoming troopers on her way, she quickly made her way to the CP Building. The sooner she would be into the building and out of the cold the better. Besides, she was starting to worry about Lip. His pneumonia had gotten a lot worse in the past two days and medicine was scarce. And the truth was they just couldn’t afford to lose another lieutenant.

In the four months she had been stationed with the 506th she had gotten to know some of the men quite well, to some she had even grown quite close. From handing out coffee and doughnuts to pulling out still scorching shrapnel from their torn flesh. It might have taken some time, but slowly she had started to earn their trust and respect, from most of them at least. The battle on The Island, the wounded soldier, it all seemed like a lifetime ago.

Quickly making her way into the CP building, nearly getting knocked over by a soldier carrying parts of a machine gun, she made her way up the narrow stairs.

She found the lieutenant lying on an old dirty couch in the middle of what used to be the living room, deep in conversation with lieutenant Spiers. The air in the room was stuffy and thick and the constant stream of people coming in and out the building made it hard to focus on the task at hand.

She scraped her throat with a loud mhm: “Lieutenant Lipton, Sir. The medicine you asked for.” Both lieutenants quickly turned their heads towards her. With Lip stuck under a gigantic pile of blankets, Spiers made his way over to her. “Here let me get those for you,” he said, taking over the heavy crate and bringing it back over to the couch.

“Anything else I might be able to help you with lieutenant?” she asked them, eagerly to get going again. “No thank you Marie that will be all,” Spiers told her while Lip put up an approving thumps-up from behind him. She turned around in her step, almost bumping in again into the soldier leaned up against doorframe. “S’cuse me,” she muttered, trying to make her way down the stairs. A strong hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her to a halt. ‘Christ what now!’ she thought. When turning her head to look at the person who had the audacity to grab her so abruptly, she was met by a pair of oddly familiar blue eyes.

Kenyon.

Christ, it really was her. The same dirty blonde curls, the pale skin, and tired green eyes. Had he heard the lieutenant right? Did he really hear him call her Marie? In the span of a few seconds he watched her expression change from angry, to happy, to confused and back to angry again. He wondered if she even recognized him still, with his face now clean shaven, his hair cut short and clean OD’s he must have looked like a completely different man.

“David?” she whispered.

He couldn’t stop the wide smile from appearing on his face. Even after all this time, after all this shit, she recognized him. A million questions seared trough his mind, why was she here, what happened to the farm, her family? But time and privacy were something incredibly scarce during times of war. He could already hear the lieutenant calling out his name from the other room.

“You’re alive, he muttered. “I never thought I would see you again”

“War has a strange habit of bringing people together I guess,” she said.

Again, he could hear his name be yelled from somewhere behind him.

“I have to go,” he whispered.

“I will be at the aid station near the edge of town, visit me there,” she responded coldly.

He watched her turn around and sprint down the stairs, just as fast as she had appeared back into his life she was gone again. As she stood at the base of the stairs she quickly turned around, bearing a slight grin she said: “Oh, and try not to get hurt again!”

He couldn’t quite focus on what Spiers was telling him, his mind racing with excitement and confusion. “The nurse who came in just a minute ago,” he said boldly. “How long has she been with the company?” The lieutenants eyebrows furrowed. “Who, Marie? I don’t know, somewhere around the time we moved into Bastogne I think. You would have to ask her.”

That was all the information he got out of the ever so stoic man as he watched him turn his attention back to Lip, who was coughing so violently he could have sworn he saw a bit of blood pooling on the corner of his mouth.

-

The building 2nd platoon was given was in way worse condition then the CP building he had just come from. Lieb was still shooting him dirty looks, even after he had told them about the dreadful mission across the river that awaited them tonight, and the lucky few that were chosen to cross it. The uneasy banter between the man about who was, and who wasn’t going on the patrol tonight was abruptly cut of by the freight train whistling off a shell falling nearby. As soon as he heard the high-pitched tone, he made sure to drop his mussete bag and follow the rest down the stairs into the basement. Clanking into each other, almost jumping down the staircase, he hid under an old wooden table until the explosions seemed to have calmed down. He, along with the rest of the platoon were coated in a thick layer of dust that had fallen from the basements rackety old ceiling. No one seemed to be thinking about their argument anymore, he certainly didn’t. What a stupid and wasteful way to spend your time, arguing with each other over things you couldn’t change anyway. Who knows, the building could have had taken a direct hit, and the last thing on his mind would have been about how badly he wanted to punch Liebgott in the face.

A heartfelt laugh erose among them, ‘what a bunch of lucky bastards we were,’ he thought.

Their amusement, however, was cut short by the hearth wrenching call for medic.

When the word “Medic!” was yelled, something in you just knew that there was the very real possibility that one of your friends had died. In this case, that possibility had just come true.

Having quickly made his way up the stairs and into the streets, he was faced with a small crowd gathered around a still smoking hole in the pavement left from where a shell had hit just moment before. The rest of 2nd platoon had followed his lead and now stood behind him, whispering to each other as to who may have been hit. The crowd around the body made way for a medic passing through. Marie. Like an angel in hell, she stood out amongst the men, a white apron bearing the red cross tied around her waist and the nurses cap pinned loosely in her hair.

She kneeled near the casualty, the casualty being Bill Kiehn. Even though he hadn’t known Bill very well, a lump appeared in his throat when he saw the sack of spuds sprawled around his torn-up body. Not more then thirty minutes ago he had run into the man proudly carrying the same sack out of one of the homes.

In war, sometimes men die in the fever pitch or a firefight or by artillery when they’re huddled together in a foxhole. Bill Kiehn, a Toccoa man, was killed because he was carrying a sack of potatoes from one building into another. In the wrong place at the wrong time.

Marie’s hands lay cradled around Bills face. There was nothing she could do, and he knew that it killed her. He was dead long before the call for a medic was yelled. “Did you know him well?” one of the men asked him “No. Not really,” he answered coldly. The rest of the men slowly dispersed back into the safety of the buildings. Leaving her alone next to the lifeless body seemed like the wrong thing to do, so he made his way forward and quietly kneeled down beside her. The whites of her eyes had tuned bloodshot, and water begun to collect at the bottom of her eyelids.

“Did you know him?” he dared to ask her. Her head jolted up at the sound of his voice, quickly turning her head to wipe her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve, smearing a small trail of blood on the side of her cheek. “I met him only once, he came into the aid station a few weeks back. Pinged by a machine gun,” she answered in a quivering voice. “Not that it matters anyway. It just isn’t fair. The war is almost over, and he died carrying a sack of potatoes. Why do I deserve to live, and he doesn’t?” A thick tear made its way down her cheek, falling onto the torn-up body below. It was sickening. He wanted to stand up and bee line towards the nearest GI truck, and drive of as for as he could. He wished there was something he could say or do that would calm her, tell her it’s all okay. But he knew she was completely right. What did they do to deserve to live that Bill didn’t?

“Come on let’s get you out of here alright.”

Marie.

A gloved hand wrapped itself around her shoulder, pulling her off the blood-stained cobble stone. The wall of tears turned her vision into a blurry haze, making it near impossible to make out the expression on David’s face. Maybe it was for the best, she didn’t want to look at David and she didn’t want David to look at her. She wanted to be strong, professional, like that evening four months ago they had first met back at the farm. She felt sick and embarrassed, if she could she would have pulled herself out of his grip and make a run for it. But all she was able to do was stand there and let her tears silently fall while David gently let her back to the aid station. By the time they made it to the building not a word was spoken between them.

-

Things had finally seemed to have calmed down at the nurse’s post. All their equipment had been carried into the building and found its place between the antique furniture of the houses previous owners. Here and there a few red cross girls were tidying up some makeshift beds and killing time by smoking and chatting about nonsensical things. When she first signed up, soon after her first encounter with David, she had found it quite hard to find her place alongside them. Although her English was decent, communicating and relating to the other girls had felt like she was back in high school all over again. E company’s medic, a pale skinny Cajun kid named Eugene Roe had helped her find her place between them by teaching her various medical procedures new to her, and sometimes, when they had a little time off, teacher her some American costumes and slang. And she appreciated him immensely for it. He even made her forget about David for a bit. She wished he was the one that had found Bill Kiehns body.

David set her down on and old leather chair in the corner of the dimly lit room, stuffed in between stacked wooden crates. It didn’t offer mush concealment but would at least give them little privacy to talk without being interrupted for questions she didn’t feel like answering right now.

“So, how have you been?” he asked her. A little snicker escaped her lips, Christ for what a stupid question that was. She was glad to see he hadn’t changed one bit.

With a loud thud, he sat himself down opposite off her on a little wooden stool that creaked dangerously under the weight of his harness. Using a small white handkerchief, she dabbed down her tears, making her vision more clearly, allowing her to take a good look at him. His ODs were clean and sterile. His brown curls neatly cut, and his face was clean shaven. Just how long had he been in that hospital?

“How, how even did you...?” he stuttered.

It was understandable, the chances of them meeting each other again where near impossible, and yet here they were.

She was afraid if she told him everything that had happened since they parted ways, her voice might break again.

“When the 101st left Holland, me along with a few others of the resistance signed up as volunteers. There wasn’t anything left there for me anymore.” She said, turning her head to face him. His face bore a genuinely look of sympathy.

“How is your leg?” she asked him, wanting to steer away from the subject in fear of breaking down in front of him again.

“Doing alright,” he answered. “There were a few months of hospitals, some rehab centers, and an excruciatingly long time running around at rear echelon. But it feels good to be back again.” He paused for a long time. “You know I didn’t think I would ever get to see you again, especially not here, in a place like this.” He stroked his thumb along his chin, a nervous habit she noticed he had seemed to pick up. It felt like they were total strangers again.

“You know I thought of you, while I was in that hospital. Even wrote you a letter,” he huffed.

He had thought of her while she tried everything she could do to forget him, it killed her. She didn’t tell him that of course. The way her mind worked, it was easier to shut someone out, forget about them all together and pretend they never existed, to stop herself from being hurt. But he may not understand, so instead she responded, “I thought about you too.”

“I still have the letter you know,” he responded awkwardly while combing his fingers trough his rough curls. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Would you like me to read it?” she asked him.

“Maybe someday, when the time is right that is.” His face turned red as a beet, she figured hers was probably the same color.

The sound of the front door slamming open followed by the tramping of jump boots made her jump in her seat, she figured this was probably their time to go.

-

3 hours till patrol time. Trying to stay calm and distract her mind by doing mundane, repetitive tasks. The tension among her and the other nurses hang sickly in the air.

2 hours till patrol time. The knot that formed deep inside of her pulled tighter and tighter.

1 hour until the patrol. the wait was unbearable, she wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, those who would die would die, those who would bleed would have their blood soaked all over her apron, and those who where lucky enough to tell the tale would get to go home to their families.

20 minutes. “We don’t expect any casualties,” they were told. She knew it was bullshit. Somebody would be killed tonight; she just didn’t know who yet.

A high whistle pierced its way through her body. There was about five second of complete silence, everyone in the building held their breath. Then, all hell broke loose. The deafening bangs and pops of antitank guns, mortars, and 75s drowned out every other noise and sound. White, red, and orange flashes lit up the night sky, making it look like daytime again. Spilling its light across the streets, painting across the faces of her friends. No one talked, no one moved around, all they did was sit tight, and wait for the inevitable to happen. In a strange way it almost seemed quite beautiful. ‘It sure is mesmerizing to look at,’ she tough to herself, unaware of the smile that had crept across her face of the thought of them giving the Germans hell. The air dark with a thick black smoke and the smell of gun powder filled the room. Eugene slit up next to her spot by the window, pulling her sleeve and yelling something in her ear. Not having heard a single word, she just smiled and nodded approvingly, turning her attention back out the window and into the night sky.

The string of events that unfolded after happened so fast it was hard to recall what was real, and what was a mere figure of her imagination running wildly, blinded by chaos and confusion. One moment she was stood near the windowsill, the next, she was bulling pulled out into the streets by Roe. His grip painfully tight on her arm, he had tugged and yelled one word at her over and over again over the ear davening chaos of their artillery fire. “Wounded! Wounded!”

The slippery stones beneath her shook dangerously, what building still stood tall seemed like they would tip over or cave in at any given second, burring them both between the rubble.

Gene ran a few meters ahead over her, caring a linen stretcher under his arm and a med-bag slung over his shoulder. She cursed loudly as the heel of her shoe got stuck in-between the jagged stones, coming down with a loud smack onto the road. Making her bag go flying, spilling clean white bandages onto the muddy road.

The sound of the fall made Gene look back while simultaneously turning around in his step to make his way back to her. Before he got the change to reach her however, she had pulled herself up, stumbling to catch up while quickly snatching her supply bag of the road, all while frantically yelling and waving at Gene to go ahead without here.

‘Dear God,’ she thought ‘Why did the aid station have to be positioned all the way at the edge of town.’ The cold night air got caught up in her throat, making her gasp for air and her head go spinning. She stood still, catching her breath while she watched Gene slip off into the basement of a large two-story brick house. Two men stood in its yard, soaking wet and shivering badly. They waved and pointed at her to get into the basement. As she listened to their orders and made her way down the narrow stairway. She made a small mental note to go take a look at those two later.

It took an excruciatingly long time for her eyes had adjusted to the dark and gloomy basement. But when they finally did, she was met by nothing but sheer chaos.

Part 3 will be up soon!

[reallylilyreally]

For @citedkisses and @thehatchette and @akane171 and @neykalou who wanted the Webgott follow up to pulling heartbreak out of hats... I've been thinking about this for a YEAR and finally, thanks to you, I actually got words on paper about it.

The phone rings in the farmhouse, and Lewis is the only one there to answer it, because it’s the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the week, and Dick is making his monthly pilgrimage to Lancaster, and Bunny is out doing something incomprehensible with a tractor, leaving Lewis with the ledgers and the dinner prep.

He picks up the phone, the way he usually does, cheerful detached business voice.

“Winters Feed and Farm Supplies,” he says into the receiver, looking at the daily calendar next to the phone desk. It’s one page out of date, he turns it over - 10th September 1961.

“Captain Nixon?” says the voice at the end of the line, perfectly familiar and completely shocking.

Jesus Christ. 

“Liebgott?” Lewis manages, feeling a little like he might choke on the syllables. “Fucking hell, where have you been?”

Where have you been, for the last fifteen years, we looked for you, Webster looked for you, why didn’t you call, why are you calling?

Liebgott, unsurprisingly, ignores the question. “I need help, sir, and I’m flat out of options.”

And you called me? Lewis thinks, incredulous, before realising that actually, Liebgott had called Dick, or Bunny, which makes a lot more sense.

“What can I do for you, Joe?” he asks, all easy geniality because he can’t work out how to react otherwise.

“I need you to wire me some money,” Joe says into the phone, tense. “Probably a lot. And I need you to send Talbert out to California on the next flight you can. To Santa Barbara.”

“What the fuck, Liebgott? What the hell’s going on?”

There’s a desperate noise at the end of the line. “David took a boat out this morning,” he says, “And didn’t come back.”

It feels like everything is lining up wrong in his head, the words don’t make any sense. “David Webster?” he asks, voice sounding strange to his ears. “He found you? When?”

“1946,” Liebgott says. Holy fuck. “And now he’s gone, and I have to get him back, and I don’t have anyone else to call for help. Sir.”

[ithinkabouttzu]

Hilo! Can you do the easy boys with an extra ticklish reader?????

Easy co. dating an extra ticklish s/o!

a/n: Hi! Thank you so much for your request! I hope you enjoy lovely! 💗

genre: romance; fluff

warnings: sorry guys i used the word tickle like a 100 times in this, there’s a little suggestion!

description: The men of easy co. reacting to you (their s/o) being extra ticklish!

Taglist: @executethyself35 @linhkhanhcps @1waveshortofashipwreck @grumpy-liebgott @barbeygirl @samwinchesterslostshoe @ronsenthal @sweetxvanixlla @mstiemountainhop (If you want to be on this list, let me know!! :))

BoB masterlist

Dick Winters: He thinks it’s adorable. The first time he tickled you he probably wouldn’t even have meant to do it on purpose, like maybe his finger brushed beside your arm and you immediately started to laugh hysterically. He would think something was wrong with you until you told him lmao. He’ll keep it in mind though next time you try to tickle him.

Lewis Nixon: “Oh come on! You can’t run away now!” He’d figure out how ticklish you were when he decided it would be nice to give you a sweet kiss on your neck. Then he would completely take advantage of the fact that you are extremely ticklish there and start kissing the same spot over and over again.

Carwood Lipton: He would discover all of this when he was trying to be a gentleman to you and give you a nice foot massage after a long day on your feet. The moment he puts his hands on the back of your sole you would be in a giggling fit. He would sit there and look confused, waiting for some sort of joke. Once you told him, he would find it cute and laugh it off with you.

Joe Toye: When you tell him that you get ticklish very easily, he isn’t quite sure what to think of it at first. When he wraps his arms around your waist and sees you break into immediate laughter, he gets it then, and he finds it to be the cutest thing ever. He’ll tickle you over and over again just to hear that pretty laugh of yours.

Joe Liebgott: “Oh come on honey, you’re really that ticklish, huh? I guess I’ll have to keep that in mind for later then.” He honestly doesn’t believe you when you tell him how ticklish you were at first, but like nix, he’d try to be smooth and kiss your neck, and have you in a giggling fit in return. “Oh doll, it can’t be too bad, i’m just tryin’ to give ya’ some lovin’ that’s all.”

Bill Guarnere: I feel like this fucker here is going to make it into somethins sexual when it’s really not lmao. Like once he knows that you’re super ticklish, he's going to purposefully tickle you until you're begging for him to stop, and once you’re doing that he’s already in the mood to do something else iykyk. Better to just not tell him at all LOLL.

George Luz: When you tell him you can be extra ticklish at times he is taking that to his advantage 100%. If you guys are in the middle of some play fight and he knows you’re winning, he's gonna start tickling you, same for anything else you could be beating him at. Whenever he just wants to hear your laugh his immediate thought is to tickle you and it makes him feel SO happy

Eugene Roe: Now he wants to get into a million tickle battles with you. The sweetest thing about it is if he was hugging you or touching somewhere where you were ticklish he would ask if you were okay and if he needed to move his hand to make you comfortable. ( because he knows how frustrating that must get at times and he’d hate to accidentally hurt you.)

Bull Randleman: He doesn’t have much of a reaction when you tell him other than thinking that it’s a cute niche trait of yours. I think he wouldn’t really tickle you unless he was having a horrible day and just really needed to hear you laugh. Kinda like Bull, he'd be wary of touching one of your tickle spots and accidentally irritate that spot since you’re sensitive there.

Floyd Talbert: He’s similar to luz when you tell him that, he’s going to take it to his advantage and use it against you anytime he needs the upper hand (in a very playful way of course.) He’s also kinda like Bill too in the same way that he likes hearing you beg lol. Whenever you’re feeling sad, be ready to be tickled by him until you feel better haha.

Skip Muck: Oh gosh, once you tell him that you’re very ticklish he’s now going to tickle you every time you get some exciting news, need some cheering up, want some physical touch from him, literally anything possible, he just needs a reason to tickle you. He loves making sure your and his relationship is very lightweight and happy, and that's the best way to do it.

Don Malarkey: Honestly tickling you is his way of flirting with you before you guys ever got into an established romantic relationship. Once you guys are in that relationship he’ll still do it in a flirty way loll. He also really finds it as a form of intimacy, it's his way of being close to you, and seeing you smile always feels nice too.

Babe Heffron: “No way! Me too!” This is completely fanon but I have this idea in my head that he would also be extremely ticklish too. Like you and him would be trying to cuddle and both end up fighting for y’all’s lives because you guys are accidentally tickling each other. It’s also his biggest weapon against you so beware lol.

Shifty Powers: He would be the perfect partner for a very ticklish person because he knows when it's appropriate and not appropriate to do it. He knows that being tickled after a while can hurt, so if and when he is tickling you he won’t do it for too long. As long as you are laughing and having a good time then he’s good with it.

Frank Perconte: He’s the type of guy that likes to sneak up on you and tickle that spot on your neck when you’re focusing on something. He loves fucking with you like that. He knows that tickling you is your biggest weakness so he will use it against you anytime he needs the upper hand (Like floyd lmao.)

Ronald Speirs: You would tell him that you’re ticklish, but the horrible thing is, this man couldn’t be able to tickle someone correctly even if his life depended on it. The thing is, whenever he tries to tickle you he ends up digging his fingertips into you which just makes you hurt in the end. He gets an A for effort though.

Johnny Martin: He probably won’t tickle you a whole lot, mostly because he’s not always the most playful, but if you had started tickling him first he would definitely be there to finish it and win at the unspoken tickle war lol. He would be the guy to swear he’s just not ticklish but once you get to that one spot on his side, it’s game over for him.

Skinny Sisk: He’s just like Luz, he’s going to take full advantage of the fact that you’re super ticklish, he loves loves LOVES being playful with you so tickling is always a go-to for him. He also does it when he just really wants to be close to you but doesn’t know how to express that to you. His favorite spot to tickle you is gotta be that spot under your armpit.

Chuck Grant: He thinks it’s super adorable that you get so ticklish so easily. The only thing is, like Speirs, he isn’t very good at tickling at all LOL. He does this one thing that is so cute and it's called, “Hand tickling” which is just caressing your hand in a very fast way lmao. Not a very good tickler but he gets an A+ for creativity and effort.

David Webster: He doesn’t like tickling you a whole lot for a number of reasons, one because too much of it can stimulate seizures, brain aneurysm, and eventually death. (He’s just a tad bit dramatic lol.) And if he does tickle you it’s probably because you started it first. I could definitely see him doing it a lot by accident though.

Buck Compton: He’s like Skip in this scenario. Now just because you told him that you get ticklish very easily, he is going to go out of his way to try and tickle you almost 24/7. Like almost every other night before you and him go to bed, he’s giving himself some corny ass name like “The Tickle Monster” lmao.

Thank you for your cute request!! If you enjoyed, please make sure to like or reblog!! I love you all! <333

[inglourious-imagines]

Band of Brothers Masterlist

George Luz:

Jokes on You

Forever Yours

We're Never Coming Back

Flirt and Blush

Lonely Lips

Aldbourne

Ronald Spiers:

Oh Captain, My Captain

Overprotective Captain

The Captain's Knife

Cuddly Mornings

Have Me

Together in Hell

Joe Liebgott:

Arrogant Lover

Legend

Hate Me, Love Me

Germans Brought Us Together

Lewis Nixon:

Poker Game

Beers, Tomatoes and Suspenders

Broken Hearts Lie All Around Me

A Bet Worth More Than 50 Bucks

The Only One

"I'm Out!"

Blame it on the Alcohol

Secret

Engaged - Part One, Part Two, Part Three (completed)

Get Drunk with Me

The Meaning of Vat69

"At Least Look at Me."

Carwood Lipton:

Sweet Lovin'

Soldier's Rescue

I Wish I Could Have Saved You - Part One, Part Two (completed)

How Are Those Nuts, Sarge?

Eugene Roe:

Forever

French Spy

Like I'm Gonna Lose You

Smile at Me

David Webster:

Sick With Love

Donald Malarkey:

Coming Back to You

Thank You For Your Loving

Cross

The Moment that Mattered

Floyd "Tab" Talbert:

Birthday

Edward "Babe" Heffron:

Light in Hell

Darrel "Shifty" Powers:

Golden Eyes and a Smile Made for War

Richard "Dick" Winters:

War Hero

Joe Toye:

Yes, Sir.

Denver "Bull" Randleman:

Market Garden

Warren "Skip" Muck:

Sandwiches

[joenotexotic99]

Hello Doll! New fan here! You're so precious! 🥰 we NEED pt 2 of BoB "Sleeping with them for the first time", my request: Speirs, Toye, Eugene, Webster, Buck. AND pls wrote more Lovetropes! I've read it so many times, that I can quote from memory! xoxo

A/n this might be dirtier than pt1. Will do a pt 2 of love tropes ofc. Lmk if you have some people in mind for that

<3

-this is a work of fiction based on the actors portrayal only. Every ounce of respect to the real heros-

Warning: NSFW, plain sinful smut. Lots of language. Minors dni

Masterlist

Ronald Speirs

- this man will change your whole perspective of sex afterwards. You've both been pinning each other for a while and decide to go on a date. Yet the whole time you both have been practically removing each other's clothes with your eyes. Lingering touches, flirty behavior. Lets just say that you didn't quite make it through all the courses before Speirs asked for the check. You make it back to his place before he immediately kisses you. You start removing clothes while grabbing and feeling any skin you can both get your hands on. He turns you around to unzip your dress, taking it off your figure. He spun you back around to pick you up and set you down on the kitchen counter. You remove his belt and tug at his pants and boxers until the both of you are head to toe naked. He gives you a looks off 'are you sure' you nod yes before he lifts you legs up and fucks you. Praise after praise, surface after surface. It's a wild ride.

"Fuck you feel so good you know that princess?"

Joe toye

-he's sweet and spontaneous. It's a similar experience to George luz where it happens after a few dates. It starts slow, careful almost. But eventually you melt under him. He kisses you harder, Backs you to a wall. You remove each other's shirts. His hands unclips your bra. He makes hickies after hickies up and down your neck. He picks you up and brings you to the bedroom. Kisses down to your skirt to take that off as well. This man would love to praise you. And his voice!? He will mutter the most downright bad into your ears. He could make you come from just that alone. I feel like he's big on moaning you know. Your make him feel so good he's going to let you know that. Will do anything you ask him to do. You want him to touch you. He's instantly rubbing your clit, you want him to suck you Titts, he'll do that too. Fuck you harder and faster. He'll break the mattress. Will make you finish at least twice. Once on his cock. Then he'll clean you up with his tongue. But he is sooo sweet with the after care.

"God I wish you could see yourself right now doll. Getting fucked properly"

Eugene roe

-he's honestly a little nervous. He doesn't want to hurt you. It starts back at your place. Some wine after a good home cooked dinner. The alcohol helps with confidence. It's slow and passionate. He would be completely fine with kissing you for hours on end. But you've had one too many dirty dreams about this man so it's now or never. Eugene will be so great with foreplay. Makes you feel worshiped like no man has ever made you feel before. Always checking to make sure you're ok. When it gets time to really dance if you know what I mean he's super scared that something is going to go wrong. This poor man. You are so worked up from his touch that you have to tell him to just shut up and fuck you. It's like a switch goes off in his head. And the only thing he can suddenly think of is you. He fucks you until the only thing you can think of, only thing you can scream is his name. He robs you of every last breath in your lungs. It's dirty, passionate, sweaty and oh so good. Best God damn orgasm of your life. When you both finish and clean up. He definitely raps you up in his arms.

"Thank you"

"For what?"

"Giving me the best dick of my life"

David Webster

-HERE ME OUT! One bed trope. But it's not at a hotel or anything. You head to his place, have dinner, watch a movie, whatever. Oh no it's dark and raining. How about you stay the night? Oh crap this is a one bed apartment. You get the point. He offers you the bed and he'll sleep on the couch but you say that's silly and to just share the bed. Webster already had a huge crush on you so his ears turn a bright red, but how can he turn down the offer to share a bed with you? You get ready and both go to bed. It's awkward at first until he breaks the silence with one of those deep questions and you start talking for hours. One thing leads to another and he's on top of you. He kisses you until you lose your mind. You run your hands up his bare chest until you reach the stubble on his face. You slowly remove each article of clothing on the both of you. The air is thick and warm. Can you imagine how feral this man will go if you praise him. This man just wants some love ok? He asks you how sure you are about this, not wanting to cross any boundaries. You agree enthusiastically. You tug at his hair. Run your hands down his back. He kisses your neck, holds your waist. He's so gentle with aftercare too. From here on out you stay the night more often.

"Just like that web don't stop, so good, you're so good"

"Fuck sweetheart you're gunna make me come"

Buck Compton

-I know this is sorta cliché but fire sex. It's around the holidays. It's cold, snowing and dark outside. Inside it's warm, cozy and comfortable. You are still in puppy love faze. It's sweet. You are both on the couch blanket on top. Fire crackling. Buck reading you a book. You have thought about it a lot, sex. Yet you've never really got there. Steamy makeout sessions. Been there and done that. But it hasn't made it farther than that. But gooood you want it to. Your hands wander over him. Getting more and more close south each time. You rub his thigh, testing the waters. You can tell he notices by how his adams apple moves. You slowly undo his belt as he continues to read the book. He lets you pull his jeans down and slowly remove him from his boxers. You move your hand tauntingly slow. Not moving any faster in hopes of riling him up. He puts the book down and pulls you up to his lips. He removes your shirt and bra. Flips you over to remove your pants and underwear. He's sweet and confident in each move he makes. He kisses up and down your inner thigh until he finally makes it to the center. He gives you a taste of your own medicine. Slowly keeping you on edge with his tongue until you beg him to fuck you. And he does just that. It's better than you could have ever imagined.

"For fucks sake buck if you don't get up here and dick me down"

[rosie-rites]

Joe and David have broken up a ridiculous amount of times. Why does this time have to be permanent? What is permanence, if not the absence of light and love and surprise? (Or, David transfers to a college across the country. Joe is still in love with him. From beginning to end.)

i WILL write this one i pinky prmise

[lostloveletters]

A Long, Lonely Time (David Webster x Reader)

Summary: You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone, but when Webster returns to Easy Company, you find it difficult to reckon with the very real possibility of losing him again, maybe even for good.

Note: Gender neutral reader, and no descriptors are used. The draft script of episode 3 provides more background on Webster transferring into Easy Company, which isn’t explained in the show for some reason (a shame because they cut out some pretty great scenes), but I included a handful of the details here. This is based on the fictional portrayals in the HBO miniseries and not the real individuals. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Hurt/angst with comfort. Mentions of Eugene Jackson’s death. Playing with the timeline of episode 8 a little bit. Probably some other historical inaccuracies. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Two days. David Webster had only been back for two days, and you kissed him.

Your crush on him had hibernated in his absence, frozen in a forest with the rest of you. It thawed as soon as you saw him for the first time in months.

The other members of Easy weren’t so quick to warm up to him again. No matter, it just gave you more time to spend with him. You appreciated how from the moment the two of you first bonded over your shared love of literature, he was genuinely interested in your thoughts and opinions, assuaging your fears that you’d be a lackluster companion to the Ivy Leaguer.

He could’ve taken the easy route as others with a privileged background like his had done and allowed his social status to get himself a cushy position. However, he, like Caption Nixon, inexplicably chose the rest of you. Unlike Nixon and yet just as inexplicable, he rejected any promotions. Odd, yet admirable, like when he’d approached Winters in Aldbourne after D-Day, requesting to transfer from Fox to Easy to put his skills as an assistant machine gunner to better use.

None of that mattered to your comrades anymore, but as a medic, you appreciated that he took recovering from being wounded seriously. You told him such, and he smiled, confessing that he had used his stint in the hospital for one selfish indulgence. Later, when the two of you were alone; he pulled a brown paper package from his pack, privately presenting you with a gift he got his hands on for you. Ripping back the wrapping, you beamed when you saw the cover of a brand new ASE copy of The Postman Always Rings Twice.

Your worn copy of Jane Eyre had been waterlogged from the snow and rendered illegible. New books were low priority in the Bois Jacques, so you were left without reading material for longer than you would’ve liked.

The book was the first time in what felt like years you’d received a gift. You had almost forgotten how nice it was, especially something so thoughtful. So you kissed him, impulsively, passionately, threading your fingers through his hair to pull him closer, your other hand gripping the book tightly. 

He kissed you back with a tenderness that had long since become foreign to you and felt almost too overwhelming as a result. His lips were soft and warm compared to yours, chapped from weeks of unrelenting cold, but he was undeterred. His hands held your waist, his fingers gently pressing against the skin that’d been exposed as your untucked shirt had ridden up. You shuddered against him, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin–either the cold air, or his touch. Probably both.

Hearing the clamoring of nearby voices, you reluctantly broke the kiss.

“I don’t have anything to give you,” you lamented breathlessly.

His blue eyes seemed to sparkle when he smiled. “I think we’re even.”

“You know,” you began, turning the book over to glance at the synopsis, “all I ever heard when this came out was that it was dirty. Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Books aren’t dirty. It’s embarrassing that Boston even bans them the way they do.”

“Have you read it?”

“I haven’t, but that’s not the point. They’d ban Shakespeare if he were publishing today.”

“I don’t disagree with you,” you said, suppressing an amused smile, “but I only asked because I thought we could read it together, if you don’t mind the company.”

His expression softened. “I’d love that.”

Smiling, you leaned in for another kiss when the door opened, and the two of you jumped away from each other like the other was on fire.

You relaxed when you saw Roe standing in the doorway. He gave you an almost exasperated look, but that was all. For the moment.

“Webster,” Gene said, giving him a nod of acknowledgement before shifting his attention to you. “Will you sort through those supplies Luz got earlier? I gotta check on Lipton.”

“Sure,” you said with a nod. “Thanks again, Web–David, the book’s great.”

He smiled. “Of course.”

You followed Gene out of the room, walking side-by-side down the hallway until you were a decent distance from Webster and out of earshot from anyone who might otherwise eavesdrop. When your best friend stopped in his tracks, you mirrored him, flattering a bit beneath the weight of his disapproving glare.

“Are you crazy?” Gene scolded.

“He gave me a book. It’s not–don’t look at me like that.”

“However wounded he gets, it’s gonna be a lot worse for you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t know. This ain’t the time or place.”

“There might not be another time or place,” you argued.

He sighed, either conceding to your argument or not finding it worth wasting any more breath over. For how long you’d known him, he could be impossibly difficult to read. “Just be careful, alright?”

Gene brought you to the recently delivered boxes of medical supplies, desperately needed weeks ago. Better late than never. You rifled through bandages and morphine, hands shaking a bit as you tried not to think about who might have still been there if it’d come in sooner. But Webster came back, even though you’d long been convinced you’d never see him again. At least if the worst happened, you wouldn’t have to wonder if your feelings for him were reciprocated.

The worst. You weren’t sure what, out of everything you’d seen the past few months, could have been considered the worst. Slow deaths, blown off limbs, or men whose bodies and psyche were trapped in that place between life and death. But you couldn’t let yourself spiral, not when so many people were relying on you. Hope seemed increasingly hard to find, and if indulging in whatever you had with David gave you the slightest bit more, you’d take it.

As if materializing from your thoughts of him, he walked into the room, silent concern etched in his face.

“There’s a patrol tonight,” he said. “We’re going across the river to bring back prisoners.”

“Who all’s going?” You figured if he was breaking the news to you, he’d be included. A sinking feeling dropped in your stomach when he answered, nevertheless.

“Most of 2nd platoon, except Liebgott and Malarkey.”

“It’s always 2nd platoon,” you muttered. “So you’re going as translator, then?”

He nodded. “The Krauts won’t expect us, at least that’s what they say.”

“I’m still gonna worry,” you said softly. “Just got you back.”

“Comes with the territory, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does.”

“I’ll find you as soon as we’re done,” he promised.

“Can I give you a kiss for good luck?”

“I’ll never say no to that.”

You pressed your lips to his, craving the tenderness he’d given you earlier like it was missing from your veins. You hadn’t realized how much you needed it, soft words and tender touches that made you finally feel something other than numb and tired. Desire that would long remain unfulfilled had settled deep inside of you, and you desperately wished you and David were somewhere, anywhere else. 

Holding onto him just as tightly as you were trying to keep your restraint, you went as far as he led you, open-mouthed kisses burning into your skin until a moan escaped your lips, nearly giving the two of you away.

“You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” he said, giving you a quick kiss that felt achingly insufficient for what you wanted from him.

“Wait ‘til you get me in bed,” you joked.

He laughed, caressing your cheek. “I mean it. I’ve never known anyone like you.”

“Shame we had to meet this way, huh? But then we probably would’ve gone the rest of our lives not knowing each other at all.”

“That’d be a real tragedy.”

“You’re telling me.”

Far too soon for your liking, though you weren’t sure how much time had passed in all honesty, he made his leave as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder and darkness began to fall. 

You tried to keep your mind off of the patrol, assure yourself that you were worrying for nothing. Sitting on an empty couch, you finally got a better look at the book he presented you with, not having a chance to before. He’d written on the blank cover page, filled the whole thing and then some.

Beneath your name, carefully written in pencil, an inscription, detailing the longing he felt from your absence, his heart growing fonder of you with each passing day but struggling to assuage the loneliness and doubt that began to coil around it. The sound of your voice, your laughter, so vivid in his dreams that he’d wake up looking for you. He’d taken your friendship for granted, he claimed, but though the two of you met during less than ideal circumstances, getting shot was worth meeting you. Your vision began to blur with tears by the time you reached the end of his confession, ‘I missed you before we ever met, and now that we have, I miss you even more.’

You slammed the book shut, choking out a sob. It wasn’t fair. You’d just gotten him back, and in the blink of an eye you could lose him again, possibly for good. In that moment you understood better than ever why medics were supposed to keep their emotional distance, but the pain in your chest, the salty tears that stung your eyes were all worth it for the brief comfort you had found with him. You’d been so lonely otherwise, constantly surrounded by people but still feeling something missing until he returned.

Your name sounded muffled to the ringing in your ears, until Gene sat next to you, putting his arm around your shoulder. 

“Don’t get too stuck in your head. Won’t be able to help no one like that,” Gene said, holding you in the hug. “Don’t think about it.”

“How can I not? It’s all around us–I can’t–”

“Yes, you can. You wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I don’t feel like it sometimes. I feel like I’m just–”

“Just one person and it’s never gonna be enough.”

Something had happened in Bastogne, the last time he went back to the town. He never spoke of it, even when you offered to be an unjudging ear to spill his thoughts to, but you could tell it affected him deeply, even still. Knowing he was speaking from experience was an almost painful comfort.

“Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll be up,” he said.

“You sure?”

He nodded. 

When he left, you set the book aside, silently promising yourself that you wouldn’t read it without Webster. If he didn’t return, it’d stay with you, unread until you met your own demise. An unnecessarily dramatic gesture to only yourself, you hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

The following hours found you in and out of sleep, almost unable to discern your erratic dreams with troubling reality. Footsteps and voices muddled together into unintelligible ramblings that you couldn’t help interpret as the worst in your near fugue state. Your worry was laced with frustration at letting the situation cause you so much distress. You were a medic, after all. You were supposed to be prepared for this.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel a momentary wave of relief crash over you when Webster walked into the room.

“Thank god,” you whispered, throwing your arms around him and kissing his cheek. 

His embrace was stiff, awkward, and the far away expression on his face gave you pause.

“David, what happened?”

“Jackson’s dead. It was his own grenade. He didn’t wait long enough. It just…”

“Oh my god.”

“He didn’t die right away.”

“Why didn’t someone get me? Maybe I could’ve–”

“By the time Sergeant Martin got Doc Roe it was already too late. There was nothing Doc could do—nothing you could’ve done,” he said quietly, before adding, “I’m glad you didn’t see it.”

“I’ve seen worse by now.”

“Why add onto it?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. That I didn’t write to you, that I didn’t tell you sooner how I felt about you, but it’s no use dwelling on all of that now,” he said. “It can’t change anything, and no matter how sorry we are, it won’t bring Jackson back, or anyone else, for that matter.”

It was settling in, that same bitterness that’d made its home in the bones of your comrades. A taste in your mouth that could be mistaken for blood by anyone else, but you knew it all too well. Your heart ached at seeing it finally get to Webster, too.

“Do you wanna just sit for a while?” you asked.

He nodded. The two of you settled onto the couch, his head in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair, gently tracing the soft lines that ran across his forehead, betraying that despite his closed eyes, his mind was still racing. 

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted to spend the rest of the night with you,” he mumbled after a while, his eyes fluttering open.

“David, it’s alright,” you said, your thumb brushing back and forth across his cheekbone, trying to pull his mind out of the depths you knew too well. “I’m glad just to do this. I’m kind of crazy about you.”

“Kind of?”

“Yeah, just a little bit.”

“What would I have to do to make you a fully-fledged lunatic?”

“Horrible, indecent things that would get me sent home in shame.”

He laughed. “But crazy about me?”

“Absolutely wild.”

He took your hand from his face, kissing your palm before holding it in his. 

You weren’t sure when you’d fallen asleep, but you awoke the next morning with an unforgiving crick in your neck, and the thought of the recently delivered aspirin tempted you for a split second before you realized you’d woken up by yourself.

He probably slipped out at some point, returning to his bunk so neither of you would get into any trouble. It didn’t stop you from asking around for him until you finally caught him alone.

“Hey, where’d you run off to?” you asked.

“Sink wants another patrol,” Webster told you, watching cautiously as your hands balled into fists at your side.

You fought back tears of frustration. “Then I wanna go too. I’ll make sure nothing like what happened last night happens again. Where’s Captain Winters? I’ll–”

“Winters is going to tell him a phony story about how we went back but couldn’t get any more prisoners.”

You paused, your brain taking a moment to process the information before you let out a weak laugh in disbelief, the tears that’d welled up in your eyes rolling down your cheeks regardless. Maybe you were delirious. Or sleep deprived. And your neck still hurt. “That man is a fucking saint.”

Webster smiled, putting his arm around you and pressing a kiss to your temple. “He is. Especially since that leaves me free the rest of the night.”

“You know, this handsome guy just gave me a brand new copy of The Postman Always Rings Twice.”

“Sounds like he has good taste.”

You smiled. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

[terresdebrume]

Fandom: Band of Brothers (2001) Rating: Teen & Up Pairing: Webgott Warnings: Some swearing, some non-graphic injuries, mentions of inappropriate use of bookbinding supplies. (...Also mostlikely some medically improbable stuff implied but eh, it's fantasy so x)) Note: This was written as part of @hbowardaily's summer exchange for @ltcolonelspeirs ! Thanks for the prompt, I had fun with this AU, and I hope it'll make you smile :D Summary: Joe has a simple job: go in, kill the beast that's been bothering the neighborhood, go out. It's easier said than done when he's got incorrect intel and a Webster to deal with.

A pale afternoon sun paints the mountainside almost silver. Thick silence covers the landscape like a blanket, only occasionally broken by the muffled crack of a pile of snow falling off a branch. Slashed in the mountainside, a cavern stands, still and silent. Creatures of the wood have learned better than to go there. Its walls glint in the sunlight, covered in a thin sheen of ice. A mighty roar bounces up from the depth of the tunnel and shakes the ground.

Inside, slipping on ice and barely catching himself up on scrapped hands, Joe Liebgott runs, his armor clanging with every step. Blood runs down his nose, frost refuses to melt from his hair, and as he makes a final turn towards the exit, he starts heartily questioning all the choices that brought him here.

“Left!” Webster shouts.

Joe, unceremoniously seized by the pauldron, swears and nearly slips to the ground. He spots Webster’s objective seconds before the wizard makes it inside, and barely has time to shove his body into the shallow crack in the wall before the shielding spell goes up, and two pairs of claws narrowly miss tearing Joe’s backside to ribbons.

“Well, this is just peachy!” Webster groans in the most passive-aggressive tone Joe has ever heard.

They’re squished together front to front, Webster’s arms awkwardly reaching around the bulk of Joe’s plate armor to maintain his spell, and if they don’t pay real close attention to where their faces are, one of them is gonna end up planting one on the other. Joe grunts and turns around, ignoring Webster’s grunt of pain when the tip of his crossbow catches him in the chin.

“If that thing shoots me—”

“Oh, fucking relax,” Joe protest, pushing back as best as he can until Webster makes a choking noise and the shield flickers. “It’s not loaded.”

“Well maybe if it had been we wouldn’t be in this position,” Webster bites back immediately.

Considering their position is close enough that Joe’s chainmail is the only thing preventing Joe’s backside to get very acquainted with Webster’s dick, being blamed for it feels downright insulting. Not that Joe is any happier than Webster about the three young dragons slobbering and clawing at their refuge in a complete frenzy, but he’s hardly the one who slipped on a patch of dark ice and alerted the beast to their presence, a fact he doesn’t hesitate to throw back in Webster’s face.

“Whatever,” Webster says, already straining with effort, “are you going to share the next part of the plan now?”

One of the dragons jumps at them, its open jaw giving them a very close, very repelling look at its glistening fangs and the dull blue of its magical breath. Joe considers the blast of frigid air only just contained beyond Webster’s spell. Considers the uncomfortable pressure of Webster’s arms around him, of his chin above his head. Just this once, he decides he can sacrifice a little bit of dignity.

“I uh—oh fuck—I don’t have one just yet.”

Webster’s indignant shout goes beautifully far in the high notes. Three hours ago, Joe would have seized the occasion to tease him with unmistakable glee… but three hours ago, Webster’s shield wasn’t all that stood between them and extremely likely death.

“What kind of idiot goes into a dragon cave unprepared?”

In his peripheral, Joe thinks he sees Webster turn to look at him. The shield wavers and thins, and a claw penetrates just deep enough to carve a deep gouge in Joe’s breastplate. He pushes himself as far away from it as possible, and despairs when it forces him to expose his throat.

“I was prepared!” He yells as Webster grunts and reasserts control of his spell, “For two of them, not three!”

“Why on earth would you not prep—ah shit!”

The shield in front of them shakes so hard shards of ice land in Joe’s hair and on his shoulders. Hissing, he pushes back and up against Webster, just in time to avoid the tip of a claw as it wedges itself under the shield.

“Right,” he finds the breath to tell Webster, “Like you knew about the third one!”

Said third one is now scratching angrily at the bottom of Webster’s shield, taking out chunks of ice the size of Joe’s fist. Joe swears up a storm and finds the first foothold he can, pushing himself up and away from the ground without caring when Webster decides to groan about it.

“I,” he says, retracting one hand from the shield to send a sharp zap into the claw at their feet, “offered to do the research. You refused!”

“Not all knowledge comes from books,” Joe snaps, mostly so he doesn’t do something stupid like worry about the way Webster’s words keep coming out more and more strained.

“Evidently,” Webster pants, “it doesn’t come from men name sketchy Ricky either!”

Any retort Joe could have had to that is lost in the heavy thud of a dragon bodily throwing itself at the shield, its shoulder stopped mere inches from Joe’s face. Fuck. Fuck, this isn’t good. The shield moved with it and—Joe grunts when another dragon throws itself at the shield and drives the breath from his lungs.

They’re still small, for ice dragons. Two, maybe three years, judging by the size. But hell, dragons that age are already the size of a goddamn horse, with razor sharp teeth and claws to match. And the breath. The fucking breath is the fucking worst. That thing can freeze people in three seconds flat, and Joe has less than zero desire to see if he’s lucky enough to resist it. So, when the one who seems to be the leader of the group stops trying to claw its way into the shield and starts pacing in front of them, of course Joe swears. He’s not a fucking moron. Well. Not that way, at least.

“You need to drop the shield,” he tells Webster, whispering in the abrupt silence.

“I what?” Webster whispers back, “Have you gone completely mental? It’s the only thing defense we have against them!”

“Yeah, and how long are you going to be able to keep it up?” Joe challenges. “It’s better if we’re prepared for when that happens—you drop it, you do your fancy purple shit—”

“My fancy purple shit is for visible destinations!” Webster protests, the volume of his voice rising enough to catch the attention of the dragons. “We could end up impaled on a tree branch!”

“Or we could be—what’s the range on that? A thousand feet?”

“Five hundred feet,” Webster says, his tone falling from indignance into something like resignation. “We won’t be far enough into the trees to bank on that cover. And at the speed they fly, we’ll only have a few seconds to do anything against them.”

“Well then we’ll have to make them count,” Joe spits, exasperated. “It’s better than staying there and waiting for our death!”

“They warned me you were crazy,” Webster mutters, clearly not meant for Joe’s ears. ‘Didn’t think they’d be that right.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be as fucking annoying as they say either,” Joe says as the more adventurous of the dragonlings gets to its feet again, slowly stalking to their meagre hiding place. “Are you gonna do it or not?”

“Fine!” Webster spits.

Outside, the dragon crouches like a cat about to pounce, and Joe can’t help his attempt to retreat further into the crevice, even though all it gets him is Webster’s elbow digging into the crook of his neck. He can feel the wizard’s ragged breathing against his ear, the way one of his legs wraps around Joe’s waist, the strain of maintaining the shield in his arms. Outside, the dragon pounces, teeth and claws forward, and Joe swears loudly. The shield vanishes—he drops down, Webster on his back, and swears up a storm as a pool of purple light rises to meet them.

He doesn’t realize his shoulder got clipped until he’s landing stomach first on a pine branch and his left arm refuses to come up and catch him. He falls for several more feet, branches battering at his head and his injury, and lands in a snowbank with a dull thud. Breathless, he barely manages to turn his head to the side, bruised cheekbone against the snow while he tries to catch his breath and tries to take stock of his body. Nothing broken, he thinks, or if there is he hasn’t felt it yet. The warmth of his blood going down his arm is a little too steady for comfort, and he can’t quite seem to catch his breath, but nothing vital feels wrong. It’s honestly better than he expected.

In the distance, the dragons roar.

“Fuck,” mutters Web, emerging from wherever the fuck he was with his fingers already forming a spell, “get up!”

With a grunt, Joe manages to get to his hands and knees, flinching when a burst of lighting tears through the sky and leaves him half blind on his feet, the dragons’ answering roars filled with fury. He finds them easily: the pale shape of their white scales painted orange by the sunset, their mouths a trio of rapidly growing blue pinpricks. They’re flying so fast it’s hard to keep track of them, but when Web casts his lightning spell again they shriek and dip visibly before getting back on track.

“One more,” Web warns.

Joe grunts and braces against the pain in his shoulder, readying his crossbow with clumsy fingers. He’s looking at the ground, head away from Webster’s third lightning bolt, and that’s the only reason he’s not too blind to notice the dragons putting on a burst of speed as they get nearer.

“They’re not gonna be happy,” he warns as he looses a bolt at the nearest one.

It goes wide, but the dragon still roars in response, properly furious. Joe follows Web towards the tree line, hoping to get toa spot where flying will at least get harder for the creatures, but he hasn’t taken three steps before a mighty roar almost bursts his eardrums and he’s flung through the air by a blast of frigid air.

“Shit,” Joe swears against the chattering of his teeth, pulling himself to his feet as fast as he can, “shit, Web, you alive?”

Soft footsteps rush behind him, then a pounce, and by the time he turns back to see the dragon that jumped him, it’s being blasted out of the air by a long jet of bright flames. Joe ducks away from the beast and raises his sword just in time to deflect the jaws of another. Diving under its legs, he stabs at its stomach as hard as he can and is rewarded with a pained shriek and a wide swipe of the dragon’s back claws. More fire—heat on Joe’s belly, slick and too fast. He makes himself roll, blue breath shooting overhead at someone to the right. He rights himself, ducks a tail—screams when a mouth takes hold of his injured shoulder.

With a hit of his pommel, Joe dislodges the dragon, then turns with miraculous speed and stabs it in the eye. He’s got no idea where Web is, isn’t sure when he saw fire for the last time. Two of the dragons are still up, and one of them narrowly misses him with its jaw, Joe’s sword tumbling from his grasp. He swears again, scrambling in the snow to find it—fire overhead, and another pained shriek, and then there is weight on his back, driving him down into the snow. Allow snarl fills his ears, cool slobber tumbling on his cheek, and the dragon snuffles. Its snout is larger than a horse’s, its teeth the length of Joe’s hand. It sniffs at his hair, at his back, licks his head once, twice, takes his skull between its canines—

Fire rushes overhead again, and Joe passes out.

He opens his eyes to something white, with orange lights dancing on it. He recoils and hisses in pain, the entire left side of his body burning like fire while his brain tries to batter its way out of his skull. Joe hisses and swears, and when he looks at the white stuff again, he realizes with great relief that it is snow, and not the shiny slick scales of an ice dragon. On the opposite side of the snow, there is the crackling of a fire and the smell of burning pine wood, and when Joe looks up, he sees nothing but tree branches.

“How the hell did we survive,” he grunts at nothing in particular, biting down on a smirk as Web yelps in surprise.

“Not like that,” he grumbles, voice trying for prim and landing on the wrong side of a pout. Then, louder, he says: “I got lucky with that last fire spell. How’s your head?”

“Hurts,” Joe says.

It’s throbbing like it got whacked real good, which if his memory is correct is kind of the nicest option there. His mouth is dry, his sinuses annoyingly clogged, but at least there’s no sign of nausea, and his vision isn’t blurry. Small fucking mercies. He’s less of a fan of lying on the ground with what feels like very little insulation between him and the bedroll he was bundled in but, well. Beggars, choosers, all that hubbub.

“How did you stitch me up?” He asks.

His voice comes out hoarse, way weaker than he’s used to. Web is at his side in a second, pressing a tin goblet full of what turns out to be melted snow against his lips. It’s so cold it makes Joe cough, and then they spend a few minutes waiting for him to recover from that before they do anything else. When his lungs calms down, Joe finds himself leaning against Web’s chest, head resting on his shoulder. It is, he’s man enough to admit, not the worst place he's ever been in.

“So?” he asks, nudging Web’s jaw with his forehead.

“With my bookbinding supplies,” Web admits, leaning his face away from Joe’s. “Those stitches are never coming out.”

“Eh, we’ve got a what—three days trek down to the city? I got time to surprise you.”

“I’ll let you bleed out,” Web warns, and Joe snorts.

It hurts—not as much as the coughing did, but enough that Joe really doesn’t want to renew the experience right now. He looks around instead of teasing Web again. There’s a tall wall of icy snow to his left, too smooth to be natural. The ground under him feels dry, and a wide patch of dry pine needle extends slowly enough to the right that they’re not at risk of the air growing too cold in their ditch and killing them. Next to them, the fire burns cracks and dances joyfully, keeping the dark and its host of dangers at bay.

“No signs of the mother?” Joe asks.

“None,” Web confirms. “I’d have collected the teeth if you hadn’t gone ahead and fainted.

“Shut up,” Joe says, shoving an elbow backwards into Web’s side. “I’m wounded.”

Web huffs, and Joe bites down on a grin as he lets himself be maneuvered back into a horizontal position while Web handles dinner. Does it without magic, too, the showy bastard. How he managed to salvage any of their camping equipment, Joe has no idea, but seeing as Web is apparently the reason they have a bedroll and a pot handy in addition to the fire, Joe’s not going to complain.

He listens to Web puttering around with half an ear, smirking to himself when the wizard hisses and swears and mutters shit like ‘why do we even need to cook this’ because of course he’s a prissy guy who’d rather keep his hands off the stew. Fucking wizards. All the fucking same, really—except, well.

“Regret skipping survival classes yet?” Joe taunts.

Web tosses a chunk of wilted tuber at his head. Joe snorts. Honestly, the guy ain’t half bad for a prickly rich little shit. He’s not boring, at least, which is better than any other wizard Joe’s ever met. No fucking wonder Joe’s heard half a dozen of them complain about him already. Between the attitude and the speed at which Web rose through the ranks, there’s bound to be jealousy. In fact, Joe’s pretty sure some of them would’ve found it real convenient if Web had died today.

“I’m gonna kill Ricky,” he says, the thought coming to him out of nowhere.

The bastard’s faulty intel is what got them in this situation, after all. It’s a shame, really: over ten years of pest control in the region, and Joe’d never had any reason to doubt the guy, despite his name. Some of the fancy sellsword type, now, they’ve got to be more careful. Hunting people means some of them get smart enough to spread false info. But Joe’s an exterminator. He hunts shit like rabid werewolves and cursed bears and the occasional dragon, and he’s fucking good at it, but it ain’t the kind of job anyone needs to mess up with.

And Ricky. Well, shit, Ricky’s good, is the thing. Closes up shop at the slightest whiff of militia, and with the manners of a miffed badger, but reliable. Now, for sure, this could be the one time he didn’t do his due diligence and checked his shit but, well. Nobody stays in the information brokering business as long as Ricky has by being stupid about what they share. Might have gotten greedy about it though. Say, if someone paid enough. Or made it costly enough to be too sincere.

But then…

“Son of a fucking bitch!” Joe exclaims, and reaches for a pebble to toss at Web.

He can’t turn his head to watch it fly, but the wet plop and Web’s annoyed noise that follow tell Joe exactly where his projectile landed.

“You’re still eating that,” Web warns.

If Joe’s left side didn’t ache from the movement, he’d be tossing another fucking pebble at the idiot.

“Shut the fuck up! You’re the reason we’re in this mess!”

“Well I’m not the one who got to that Ricky of yours, am I?” Web protests, the stick he’s been using to stir their stew clattering against the pot.

Joe ignores the ache in his side and turns to look at him. He’s red faced, more than what the heat from his fire warrant. His shoulders are tense, his hands buried in the glossy black curls of his hair, and Joe sighs. Web is, what, in his early twenties, something like that? And he’d mentioned, on their first job together six months ago, that it was his first assignment. Joe sighs.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he says, trying not to sound too harsh.

Web turns to him immediately, scowling hard enough to make Joe glad looks can’t actually kill. It doesn’t prevent him from smirking though. Annoyed, as it happens, doesn’t look half bad on Web, and Joe’s never been one to deprive himself of a nice view.

“What? You’re barely out of school and people already wanna kill you. I’d take it as compliment.”

“I take it as a problem that needs solving,” Web mutters, and Joe snorts.

“You’re a fucking killjoy, kid.”

“Why don’t we trade place then?” Web retorts, stirring the pot one last time before taking it off the fire. “You can be the one high placed people want dead, and I’ll be making the jokes.”

“Not with that stick up your ass you won’t,” Joe parries easily. “And how do you know the ones who did that rank high? Could be some random page for all you know.”

Web’s answering glare makes Joe laugh, but he’s not wrong. There’s a reason most people who go into their line of work join a Guild of some kind. They pay for funerals, provide material, weapons, counsel and information… and if you make an enemy, they’re usually decent at providing some protection. They’re a good deterrent to clients who think they can pay you with some steel between the ribs.

And wizards, well. Their training costs a pretty penny, which their families usually have to pay, until they can get some nice posting with influent families or make a name for themselves as combat mages. Attacking someone like Joe, who took care to stay fairly low on the influence ladder, wouldn’t be the smartest thing anyone would do. Attacking someone like Webster, who has rich parents, a rich Guild, and a rapidly growing reputation? Whoever did it is either very stupid, or very sure of themselves—and if anything, wizards tend to be too smart for their own good.

“You’re a dick,” Web mutters as he divides the stew between the pot and a bowl Joe hadn’t noticed before.

He doesn’t actually sound too miffed, in Joe’s opinion. In fact, Joe would go so far as to say something in his face loosened, and certainly not thanks to his own efforts. Usually he’d call it out, just to be a shit, but well. Web did just save his bacon, and he’s coming over with food to boot. Joe picks a different angle:

“You gonna hug me again, sweetheart?”

“If you’re good,” Web retorts settling the bowl next to him before he hauls Joe to a sitting position again.

Didn’t even protest against the nickname. This guy is too easy, really. He’s also kinda shit at being another guy’s backrest, but Joe supposes he can live with that. They eat in silence. Joe’s mostly focused on finishing his food before he gets too tired to hold a spoon and Web has to feed him like a baby, but the rest of his brain isn’t exactly done poking at their situation—or rather, his place in Web’s situation.

‘Cause, see, the thing is: he could have died today, too. If things had gone the way Web’s enemies wanted them too, Joe’s frozen ass would be nothing more than a snack waiting to be nibbled on, his parents and six siblings completely in the dark about it until it occurred to them to actually ask for news about Joe’s everyday life. Not an image Joe finds himself happy with. So, after they’re done with their watery and undersalted stew— ‘cause Web can’t cook for shit—and they get horizontal in the bedroll, and Web asks what his plans are for the foreseeable future, Joe shrugs.

“Go back to the city alive. Rest up a bit. Have a nice little chat with Ricky.” He yawns. “The works. You?”

“Roughly the same,” Web says, readjusting his position for the third time in a row. “Though I imagine I’ll probably rest in a nicer inn than yours.”

“You wizards and your taste for luxury,” Joe snorts. Web’s answering chuckles into a yawn halfway through. Joe bites down on a grin. “Bet you can’t sleep unless the sheets are silk and the bed’s at least one square yard.”

“Mmmh,” Web hums. “Why don’t you join me and find out?”

And, what do you know? Joe thinks he might.

[malarkgirlypop]

This is for you! (Webster x F!Reader)

Well hello and welcome. This is a random fic I did based on a post about shooting hoops. Confused? So am I ahahahahah. Enjoy this one shot, and let me know what you think!

Based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters.

Tag list: @next-autopsy @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike @bucky32557038ww2 (if you want to be added just let me know xx)

The young woman fought sleep as she bounced on the back of the truck next to her comrades. It had been a long journey from Noville to Haguenau. The chill of the wind whipped at her face as she tucked her nose into her scarf to keep her warm.

A cherry voice pulled her from her drowsy state. Looking to the back of the truck where a man stood. She recognised him, David Webster. They had met briefly in Holland when she had come as a replacement. They only spoke a couple of times before he was injured and sent back to hospital. That was only four months ago but it had felt like a lifetime.

He looked clean and healthy. A sparkle of life still in his eyes. She couldn’t say the same for herself or the other soldier’s who had been in Bastogne not long before. They had all lost the shine in their eyes, replaced with dull far away looks.

Webster made his way into the back of the truck, making conversation with the young private

Jackson who he sat beside. Joe, who she sat close to, joined the conversation with passive remarks.

“We left Holland four months ago.” Lieb commented. Unlike the other men they had known, when Webster was carted off they never saw him again. The other soldiers including the young girl made an effort to return as soon as possible to their friends to join the fight again. Knowing that they were so low on everything, including soldiers themselves.

Webster looked shocked by Joe’s harsh remarks. Before carelessly bringing up names of the men who they had lost. Webster pissed her off. While they were off fighting in the coldest, most awful woods, which took so many of her friends' lives. He was back in a comfy bed with hot meals and a shower, being tended to by nurses.

He was just as bad as the replacements. Maybe even worse.

“Hey Y/N good to see you!” Webster tried to engage in small talk with the woman who huffed and walked away, not giving him the satisfaction of a reply.

Joe chuckled, walking behind the pair as she marched away. He bumped into Webster giving him a smirk as he ran after the girl.

“He looked like he was going to cry.” Joe told the room who laughed as he explained how Webster had crashed and burned trying to talk to Y/N.

“God he’s so annoying.” She laughed, shaking her head.

“Who’s so annoying?” Webster asked as he made his way into the room. Everyone went quiet, waiting for someone to answer Webster’s question.

“Ahhh, you know Hitler.” She laughed awkwardly at her random remark, naming the first bad person that sprung to mind. The other men chuckled into their hands.

“Oh yeah, no, he’s the most annoying.” Webster clearly missed the blatant lie she had told. She bit her lip trying to suppress cringing outwardly at the man. He grinned at her for approval. To which she smiled tightly back.

Y/N was thoroughly entertained, as she watched Joe and Ramirez interrogate the man for who was going to be on patrol.

“Come on Web, we know you know!” Joe pushed him for an answer.

“If I tell you, you can’t let on that you know.” Webster replied in an anxious tone.

“Secrets safe Web.” Joe lied straight to his face.

Webster spilled his guts.

“Babe, McClung, Ramirez and you.” He said, turning his gaze to the lady, leaning against the bed. She sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face, as Joe gave her a sympathetic pat on the back.

It wasn’t long till sergeant Malarkey was telling them the information they had already manipulated out of the blue eyed man.

“We know.” Earl said to Don who had started stating the names of the people wanted.

“Yeah, we just fucking heard.” Babe added as well, gesturing to the man he had heard it from. Y/N watched Web squirm as the men ratted on him so quickly. He was figuring out they had no loyalties to their fellow comrade.

Webster felt he was back at the bottom of the food chain again, somehow lying even lower on the pyramid than the replacements he had turned up with. The men seemingly didn’t appreciate his absence, but he had been injured and instructed to rest and rehabilitate. Apparently he hadn’t caught onto the memo of breaking out of the hospital as soon as he could to join the men again. This feeling of isolation he wasn’t fond of. He understood if he wanted to be respected again by the men he had fought alongside not too long ago, he would have to grovell.

He waited in line for the showers, feeling uneasy. He had just showered recently compared to the grimey faces of the soldiers who shuffled forward in line. Stepping out of the line, a guilt hung on his shoulders. Webster made his way over to the female soldier who hung around the men as they waited for a shower. He noted her hair was damp and she looked cleaner than the last time, she had showered.

Before he could reach her, Malarkey called them in. He informed them that more men from the platoon were needed, calling out Grant, Lieb, Jackson, Wynn and himself. The men were pissed as Don wandered away not looking very pleased himself.

Webster’s stomach clenched, after being away for so long he forgot the nerves that came with the patrols. The unease that settled in his bones, an unwelcome but familiar feeling.

Y/N glanced over to the new-not-so-new soldier, the look of restlessness in his bright eyes. She remembered that feeling. When she had started she always felt like she was going to throw up just before an ambush or mission. But now all she felt was tired, exhausted, ready for this all to be over. Of course the dred of missions still churned her insides but it was something that never truly left. As if she was constantly waiting, watching, listening, for something she couldn’t quite see, but knew was there. Something hiding around the corner that could jump out at any second and snatch her away.

They met for the briefing at CP. No one was pleased seeing that the only officer in the room with them appeared to be a young baby-faced man, who arrived just that day. Never been into combat or led an attack. They were doomed if he was to lead it. They needed someone with experience, not some bright-eyed bushy tail Lt. just looking to get his boots dirty. They all shared their annoyance and concern with each other.

“No way. Not on his first day.” Grant said in disbelief, trying to convince himself more than the others that this wasn’t the officer leading this thing.

Turned out he was indeed leading, Martin would be there to shadow and help the man. Which seemed to somewhat please the worried soldiers. The patrol would be at 0100 hours, it would be a snatch and grab and they were after German POW’s. It was a stealth mission, nothing rattles, nothing shines. They had been told the plan of attack before Winters dismissed them and left.

Seeing that Lieb and Grant were speaking so brazenly about Webster in ear-shot of him. They spoke loudly proclaiming that he seems to worm his way out of everything. Webster knew that this was his opportunity to win back their trust. He approached the officers who had gathered together outside of CP where they had come from.

“Sir, sir. Liebgott and I, we both speak German.” Webster addressed Winters.

“Yeah?” Speirs replied, butting into the conversation, waiting for Web to continue.

“You said 15 men. There’s 16 of us, including two translators.” He shared his idea with his officers.

Well, fine. Hey, Liebgott, you want to sit this one out?” Speirs asked the passing Lieb who was with Y/N and Grant. Lieb grinned happily, agreeing to not go on the patrol. Sending Webster his thanks and a wink. Webster smiled to himself, happy with the outcome of his plan. Now he just had to win over everybody else.

They ate quietly in the basement, no one in a very chatty mood. Y/N ate her meal in the corner, not thinking just chewing. Webster saw the lady by herself, not thinking maybe she wanted it to be that way, slid down beside her with his own dinner.

“Hey Y/N.” He smiled at her. She gave her tight lipped polite smile, focussing back on her meal. Hoping that her silence would deter the man from continuing to sit with her.

“Are you nervous for tonight?” He asked, spooning food into his mouth, waiting for her reply.

“I just want to get it over and done with.” The lie slipped easily from her lips. For some reason she hadn’t thought about the cold river they had to cross to get to and from the patrol. The thought of falling into the icy water sent shivers up her spine. She wasn’t one for bodies of water. As a girl she had slipped into a river, being carried under by the current. It was a miracle someone was able to pull her from the depths. After that she steered clear of all water.

“How about you?” She found herself asking, she presumed it was just to fill the awkward silence that lingered between them.

“I am. But I trust everyone will get it done.” He seemed more optimistic than everyone else. A smile tugged at her lips. Admiring the faith he held in the men. She admired them too but secretly. She didn’t need to tell them, their heads big enough as it was.

“What’s your role?” He asked as they ate.

“Sharpshooter.” She covered her full mouth to speak. He nodded, smiling to himself. She didn’t think she had seen someone smile so much, she had forgotten the feeling. It was rare now for Y/N to smile, she had grown accustomed to wearing a blank mask, hiding all of her emotions.

“You must be a great shot.” He grinned at her as he nudged her in the side with his elbow. A smile formed on the girl’s lips, her hand instinctively going to cover her mouth to hide it. Webster’s hand shot out stopping her motions.

“Don’t hide it.” He beamed, pulling her hand down. The gesture made her blush. She cleared her throat, shaking the odd giddy feeling that fluttered in her heart.

They chatted together while they ate. Webster had some interesting stories, it was a bonus he had such good storytelling abilities. He gestured wildly, eyes lighting up as he explained. It had enraptured Y/N, who watched intently. Becoming so immersed in his stories she could see them, reach out her hand and touch them. It had taken her mind off of the upcoming events, until they were pulled away to prepare.

Darkness fell quickly, but the moon sat high in the sky shining down, illuminating the world around them. So much for the cover of night. They snuck onto the bank, only having the essentials with them. Y/N tried not to think of the river they were going to have to cross, a sick feeling stuck in her stomach. She blew out a shaky breath trying to keep her composure.

They moved quickly, hopping into the boats. They squished into the small rubber dinghy. Y/N kept her eyes trained on the shore line, not wanting to stare into the murky water below. It was a quick trip, to her relief their boat had made it in one piece. She couldn’t say the same for the last boat that tipped before they had even properly left the shore.

They crawled quietly up the bank as they made their way to the house that was their target. Moving swiftly through the dark town, they paused just before the house. Y/N followed orders flanking up the side to guard the men while they moved into the house. Her eyes scanned the houses that were shrouded in the dark, her gun at the ready. She didn’t let the commotion of the snatch break her concentration.

She ducked down further into the bushes as machine gun rounds fired beside her. Standing from her position she shot back.

“Y/L/N fall back! We’re moving out!” Martin called her from her spot. She ran up the rear of the group keeping her head low. Everyone fell back as more gunfire pelted around them. Mortar shells hitting the ground with tremendous force boomed around them, as they all B-lined for the boats. Lt. Jones finally blowing the whistle for their men on the other side to hold suppressing fire. So that the team could return back safely.

Y/N leaped into the boat helping the other men in as well. Grabbing Webster’s hand to pull him in.

“Move, move! Let’s go.” She yelled seeing that the boat was full. The men pulled the line, moving them back across the water. Y/N eyes trained on the shore, almost there.

The rope they were pulling caught on Y/N’s jacket, being perched in the rear of the boat it dragged her back. Her hands shot out trying to grasp anything to keep her inside the boat. A scream left her lips as she toppled into the freezing river.

The water so cold she couldn’t help but gasp, drawing water into her lungs. It burned as it rushed down her throat. Clawing at the water to reach the surface. Desperate to clear her lungs from the burning liquid. Her heavy uniform dragged her down further.

Hands plunged down gripping her by her collar, hauling her to the surface. She choked and spluttered on the air. Coughing wretchedly, her lungs yearning for oxygen. She was pulled back into the boat. A familiar face looking worriedly down at her. Webster had pulled her from the water.

“I got you! You’re ok!” He yelled over all the noise, as she still gasped for air. They finally made it to the shore. Y/N still struggling to breath and shivering so hard her bones were clacking. Webster carried her into the house. Placing her on the ground. Y/N turned over on her hands and knees, she was coughing so hard she felt like she could puke.

“Get out of these clothes.” He told her, over all the chaos that was happening around them. Y/N nodded.

“Webster, I need you here.” Martin yelled at the man, as he tried to shout at the German POW’s. Webster didn’t move immediately, still hovering by Y/N.

“Go, go. I’m fine.” She waved him away, pulling off her sodden clothes. Babe seeing what had happened had brought over fresh clothes and Skinny had given her his blanket that he had been using.

After getting into the new uniform, Y/N turned to find Jackson lying on the table, screaming in pain. All she could do was watch. Gene rushed in, moving the boy onto the stretcher. They hadn’t even made it out the door, when another shell hit. Causing everyone to duck for cover. She watched as Jackson choked on his blood and then falling limp onto the stretcher. Gene shook his head, his stare heavy. Jackson had passed. That night Y/N held the men she loved close, as they mourned the loss of their friend.

They had made their way back to base. Sitting in silence. Y/N mind wandered to the bright blue eyes that had peered down at her with such concern. She hadn’t had the chance yet to thank Webster for saving her.

At that moment Webster and Jones walked back into the room, after having dropped off the POW’s. They all were forlorn as they had been told there was to be another patrol tonight. The thought shook Y/N to the core. She didn’t know if she could, she was sure if she was to ride across the river again she would be overcome with panic. She would be a state that couldn’t function, let alone perform a patrol.

She stood from her position. Approaching Webster who lent on the rails of the bunk.

“Can I talk to you?” She asked hesitantly. He nodded following her out of the room. “I just wanted to thank you for saving me last night.” She smiled, a genuine smile.

“Y/N of course I saved you, you would do the same for me.” Webster seemed shocked, he didn’t expect thanks for pulling her from the water.

“I guess I would, but still I wanted to show my appreciation.” She lent forward, placing a kiss to his cheek. Webster gawked at the girl who rushed away quickly, his cheeks flamed pink as he placed his hand to where her lips had been moments ago.

Thankfully for Y/N the patrol had been botched. Winters, not wanting anymore loss of life, told the men they would have a good sleep tonight. That in the morning they would report they made it over but without being able to successfully capture any prisoners. Everyone was ecstatic, Y/N was so relieved she turned and hugged the closest person to her, squeezing them tightly in her arms. The person wrapped their arms around her back, heart beating wildly as he held her back. After pulling away the pair looked like strawberries, with their faces flaming red.

After they had finally moved off the line, Webster and Y/N had become fast friends. As time passed they weren’t easily separated. They were often teased, mostly by Lieb, at how they were so in love. The pair brushed it off. “I just like him as a friend.” Y/N groaned as Lieb taunted her once more with the song he thought he was so clever in singing.

“Webster and Y/N, sitting in a tree, k i s s i n g, first come love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in the baby carriage.” Lieb sang with his smug looking face. Y/N swatted at him, missing terribly due to how drunk she was. They had found their way into the eagle's nest, Hitler’s personal holiday home. The Germans had finally surrendered and Hilter himself was dead. Good riddance, Y/N thought as she tipped more wine into her mouth, puckering at the taste. She had never been a drinker but the news of the war finally being over caused for celebration.

Lieb stood smiling, swaying slightly on his feet, “To you my good friend!” He raised his bottle in the air, as Y/N did the same with a cheer. They clinked the bottles together, tipping their heads back to gulp the alcohol.

“I’m so fucking drunk.” Y/N giggled, the room spun around her. Putting her bottle down on the ground, she stood. “I need to find someone?” It was a question, did she? She wasn’t sure, she had an urge to find someone, but she couldn’t remember who. She wandered away leaving Lieb sprawled on the couch. She wandered around, looking for someone, or no maybe something.

Big french doors caught her attention, the view that lay just behind it was spectacular. The big blue lake that glistened in the warm sun, the rolling mountains either side covered in lush forests. She swung the door open, stepping out on the balcony. She tilted her head back drinking in the rays of sun that danced on her skin.

“Enjoying yourself?” She heard to her right, her eyes flew open landing on the owner of the voice. Webster sat in a chair book in his lap. A wide grin pulled onto her face, “I was looking for you!” She cheered, rushing forward. But in her drunk state her brain was moving slower than her body. Her foot catching on the leg of the chair that sat opposite Webster. She flew forward, landing in the man’s lap. She roared with laughter as she held onto him.

“Always saving me huh?” She grinned, booping the man on his nose. He chuckled, looking at the very clearly drunk girl on his lap.

“Didn’t you know I was a knight in shining armor?” She threw her head back laughing at his joke. She focussed back onto the man’s face in front of her. Her eyes scanned over his features. His bright blue eyes gazed back at her, making her heart flutter. She couldn’t help herself, reaching out ever so gently tracing his face with her fingertips. He stilled, as she softly touched his face. Webster wondered if Y/N could hear his heart drumming in his chest.

“Webster.” She whispered, their faces inches apart. “I think I like you.” She confessed suddenly. The drunk haze that held her vanished. She had never felt more sober.

“I like you too, Y/N.” He said sweetly, but he didn’t quite get the meaning behind her words.

“No, Webster, I like you.” She repeated herself, putting more emphasis on the words. He nodded looking lost. She laughed, shaking her head. She pressed her lips to his. He was startled at first, eyes wide, looking down at Y/N as she kissed his lips. It had finally clicked in his brain. Oh she likes me! He moved his lips against hers. Cupping her face in his hands, he deepened the kiss. She clung to him, pulling herself nearer to the man. She opened her mouth as their tongues met, dancing together. Y/N pulled back grinning at the man.

“Does that make sense?” She asked teasingly, Webster still slightly baffled, nodded his head. They kissed again, tenderly moving together.

Y/N never had felt more content, lying in Webster's arms as he read to her. They lay on the chair in the sun, his arm draped lazily around her side, his fingers tracing shapes over her hip as he read. She closed her eyes, head against his chest, she could hear his voice from deep in his chest and the steady thrum of his heart.

—-----------------------

“Batter up!” Buck motioned for Webster to step up to the plate. Y/N and Webster had been secretly-not-so-secretly dating after their kiss on the balcony. Everyone was happy for them, apart from the threats from the men, “If you hurt her, I’ll feed you to the fishes!” Lieb had marched up to him in an intimidating manner, prodding him in the chest with his finger. They all had been very supportive of the pair. They were teased constantly about it but they laughed together.

Webster approached the plate, readying his bat above his head, getting into the correct stance. He looked over to where Y/N sat in the grass waiting for her turn next to bat. He gave her a sly wink, “This is for you.” He called as the other men shook their heads at his cringey gesture. Y/N stifled her laugh behind her hand giving him a thumbs up.

“Come on PeeWee let’s get Webster.” Buck called, the men cheering in response. The pitcher threw the ball, it arched nicely as Webster eyed it up. He swung but didn’t make contact with the baseball, Buck catching it behind him.

“STRIKE ONE!” Buck yelled. Y/N facepalmed as the other men roared with laughter. Readying himself again.

“This one's for you!” He pointed the bat in Y/N’s direction. She laughed, throwing her head back. The other men gave playful boo’s. Another great pitch and Webster swung again, ensuring he had his eye on the ball.

“Swing and a miss!” Buck yelled, catching the ball again. Webster stood dumbstruck, how had he missed that. Everyone howled with laughter, including himself, as he scratched his head nervously.

“Next one you’re out. Web!” Buck warned him. He gave a nervous chuckle. He really had to pay attention. Y/N watched hoping her wouldn’t dedicate the hit for her, it seemed to be putting the poor man off.

“Ok, this time, this one is for you!” He said less confident than when he had started. She clapped, cheering, “You got this one Web!” Trying to hide her embarrassment for him.

She hid behind her hands, peeking through her fingers as he got ready. Placing the bat behind him, crouching down slightly. The ball was thrown by the pitcher, it soared through the sky, the group collectively holding their breath. Surely he would hit it! Dejected sighs came from the group.

“STRIKE THREE, you’re out.” Webster looked upset, dropping the bat and shuffling away from the plate. Y/N ran up giving him a hug and a kiss. “Aww next time Web.” She teased the man she loved.

It was her turn to bat, Webster watched her get prepared, swinging the bat behind her head. The ball was pitched, she swung. A crack echoed as the ball was hit away by Y/N. It soared over the heads of all the men, all the way to the back of the field they played on.

“GO Y/N GO!” Webster cheered, she dropped the bat. Sprinting from base to base, stopping hesitantly on the second base. The ball was being thrown back home in quick succession.

“Take it all the way, Y/N!” Webster cheered like a proud dad would. She ran as fast as she could, Lieb close behind her, reaching out to touch her with the ball. She dived onto the home base. Lieb followed her down, as they landed in a heap of limbs. They look up at Buck waiting for the answer.

“SAFE!” He called. Y/N squealed in delight, blowing a raspberry at Lieb, who just laughed. She sprung to her feet, and jumped into the arms of Webster. “That one was for you!” She said as she pressed her lips to his.

[hanniewinnix]

My kids and grandkids will never know how Joe and David made significant changes in my viewpoint of love. They will never know how Joe resented David because he sneaked in Old Spice in the European war theater, how it frustrated Joe that while his snarky, mean behavior is always about David and his viciously gorgeous blue eyes, he actually does want to listen to him talk about school and how he was a student at fucking Harvard before joining the paratroopers. They won't see me stare into nothing, thinking about how Joe would dream about David in the cold, winter hell in Bastogne. They will never know the terrified pants during Toccoa, the thrill of being caught during Aldbourne, the stare at the airstrip, the waves of pleasure and relief back in England after d-day, the burning jealousy when Joe looked at how Tab spinned David in Eindhoven and carding his fingers through his inky black hair, and when Joe just silently patched up David the night of the patrol. Oh no, they'll be clueless when Easy thought David died when a German squad intercepted an army jeep, taking him prisoner until David was rescued in Haguenau and Joe never leaving his side when he realized it was David that he's been carrying to safety. They won't hear about my sobs when Joe is gonna keep calling David 'Web' because David's name stirs his guts and his pulses scream with repressed affection, because come on, it's fucking DAVID. The kids will never know that Joe worked, dragged his forlorn mental health, and built his war-torn life from pieces just to propose to David with a table because he can't give David a room to write yet. And then, they'll never know why David didn't invite Joe on his wedding, and why Joe didn't notify David of a promise before he went to war, and how they both didn't realize what they lost.

[captaincherrie]

So I wanna get into writing again, and I have some fics planned BUT I would very much like to ask for some requests, meaning give me a concept and I’ll write something short n’ sweet (or not) so I can get back into the game!!

I write everything (read angst (my fav), smut or plain old cuteness) so send me a request 🫶🏼

Opening this for Band of Brothers:

writing for all characters (to feed my own delusions)!

[softguarnere]

It Will Have Been Worth It

David Webster x reader

Soulmate!au in which the first words you ever hear your soulmate say appear on your skin when you turn thirteen

A/N: Out of everything I've ever written for this fandom, this fic has been one that has given me the most trouble. According to my notes, I started it on October 31st of last year 😬 None of my ideas for it felt right when I had them on paper, and I eventually just left it sitting in my drafts. Randomly got inspiration for it a few days ago, and now it's done! Better late than never, I guess A very special thank you to @brassknucklespeirs (welcome back babe, I missed you!!!!) and @liebgotts-lovergirl who both chatted with me about this fic last fall when I started it, and who both helped me with ideas all those months ago 💕 As usual, this is written for the fictional depictions from the tv show - no disrespect to the real life veterans! Warnings: alcohol, mentions of war, the author using every impressive high school vocab word she could possibly remember

Just because David has a large vocabulary doesn't mean that he's in total command of it at all times. Throwing around words that make other people furrow their brows as they try to ascertain what he means brings him some sense of satisfaction, but he also has a habit of flashing his arsenal of expressions when he's particularly nervous, hoping to throw off whoever has made him feel as if he's lost his footing. And when he's had a few drinks? Forget about it – all the words he once had at his disposal are suddenly either strung together to form nonsensical sentences or are nowhere to be found.

Is he pretentious? Perhaps, although he would argue that there's much more to the story. An elementary school teacher taking a liking to a poem he wrote when he was eight and exclaiming, "David, I think that you could be a great writer some day!" may have started him down that path, but he ultimately blames the words that appeared on his skin when he was thirteen.

He used to love looking at his parents’ soulmate tattoos. "What a lovely name" on his mother's wrist and "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet" on his father's. It always seemed so romantic to him, the thought that those had been the first words that his parents ever heard each other say, and that they got to flaunt those beautiful lines that they had given each other.

"If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it" appeared on the inside of his forearm on his thirteenth birthday. A beautiful line, really.

It's haunted him ever since. 

"Make sure that you give your soulmate a tattoo that's just as pretty." His father had winked at him and slid him a piece of birthday cake – strawberry with vanilla buttercream frosting, he still remembers – unaware of the panic he had just set off in David's chest. Because that was the first time he had realized that, yes, he was responsible for giving his soulmate a poetic tattoo. His own is a beautiful turn of phrase. Whoever his soulmate is, they deserve a line that looks just as pretty on their own skin. It’s a duty that he comes to take very seriously.

Every person he meets, Webster makes sure to compose an amiable greeting for them, just in case. He’ll quote Shakespeare if he finds they’re particularly attractive, invoking his parents’ first meeting, since you never know. So what if some people push hard sighs through their nose whenever he opens his mouth to speak? He’s a student of literature; producing striking sentences is half of his job.

And, he reminds himself, one day he’ll find his soulmate, and he won’t have to worry about creating turns of phrase that are unequaled and unforgettable – except for his novels, of course. But whatever words he provides for his soulmate’s mark, he’s determined to make them as dazzling as the bright light thrown from a suncatcher on the clearest summer day.

. . .

It’s at seventeen that he learns that not everyone finds their soulmate. The library is quiet, save for the sounds coming from the diligent scratching of pencils, the turning of pages, and the soft breathing of focused students. He turns a page in his own book and is confronted with the staggering statistic that only twenty percent of people are recorded to find theirs.

“That’s less than one fourth of the population!” He exclaims to himself without meaning to, disrupting the tranquility of the study space and garnering several peeved looks for his outburst. A seemingly unnecessary one to everyone else, but justified in his own mind.

Twenty percent! He’s still aghast as he gathers his own books and escorts himself from the library. The cool breeze blowing through the late afternoon can’t even distract him from the train of thought that has now run off the rails, chugging along through his mind with no sign of stopping.

Because now, come to think of it, people get married all the time, soulmate tattoos or not. And there’s no law or anything stating that you have to marry your soulmate once you meet them; they’re simply the person who would be the best suited for you. You could go about your lives as nothing more than just friends – or worse, nothing at all, even if you did find each other.

To say that the conclusions reached that afternoon astound him would be an understatement of epic proportions. He’s never quite the same after that. But it doesn’t stop his extraordinary expressions.

. . .

War breaks out. He leaves college for the experience. He volunteers for the paratroopers because, even though they’re new, they’re the best. If he wants to write about war – or write anything good, really – he’ll have to get his hands dirty with experience so that the sentences that stain his pages can be clean, clear, concise, and indelible to his readers. Honestly, it’s not until he hears one of the other men in his company point out that the new migrations and travel opportunities given to them by the conflict may well improve their chances of finding their soulmates that he realizes that statistic he once read will soon be incorrect.

For a brief and terrifying moment, Webster – as he is now called amongst his fellow soldiers – thinks that maybe Joe Liebgott is his soulmate, and that he’s responsible for giving him a really awful line. Webster had made an offhanded comment about the quality of the eggs one morning at breakfast, and the Californian had given him such a perplexed look that Webster’s panic led him to believe that the cab driver must have “What do they season their eggs with around here? Sawdust?” somewhere on his person, and that the reason he remained so quiet around him was due to not wanting Webster to hear him speak so that they would never know if they were actually soulmates. Luckily those fears had been laid to rest when Webster caught a glimpse of the words “Cabbie, if you drive any faster, I think the car will start flying” on his leg during a run up Currahee. It turned out that he simply didn’t agree with Webster’s observations on the quality of the eggs. Still, Webster remembers to be more careful with his words.

When he can be, actually. Which is not when he’s been drinking.

The British pub is loud with the sounds of servicemen singing and laughing well into the night. The general consensus that they’re finally going to be thrust into combat soon has filled many men with a renewed zest for life, and from the sounds and sights all around, people are relishing the nights like these while they can. And who can blame them?

“What did they even teach you at Harvard?” Hoobler wants to know as Webster downs a shot. “I mean, as a literature major, and all.”

“Is it just reading?” Skinny Sisk questions. “’Cause if so, then anyone with a library card can probably get a degree.”

Webster purses his lips, his glass returning to the table with a harsh slam that announces the displeasure that he’s trying to keep out of his voice. “Ha ha ha. Very funny.”

“I was being serious,” Hoobler clarifies. “You know, just out of curiosity, and all.”

“How do you even use a literature degree?” The conversation has caught the attention of Joe Toye and George Luz at the next table, and they turn to join Webster, Hoobler, and Sisk, suddenly very interested in the academic intricacies of studying literature.

“Well, I’m studying literature because I want to be a writer,” Webster admits.

“And write about what?”

Webster makes a vague gesture, trying to encapsulate their environment, the lives they’ve lived since enlisting, the world itself – everything. “War,” he says instead, an understatement.

“Hey!” Luz says brightly. “You could review books. There’s an idea.”

Toye cocks an eyebrow. “Is there money in that?”

“You could review Hitler’s book,” Luz continues. “Really tear it apart on it’s word choices, and all that.”

“Hitler can read? Who knew!” Skinny asks, making everyone laugh.

“What do you think he even would read? In all his spare time, I mean, when he’s not invading countries and forcing men like us out of our homes to come and stop him.”

All eyes immediately turn to Webster, expectantly awaiting an answer. The literature student freezes with a bottle of beer halfway to his lips.

“What?” He asks.

“It was a question, Professor,” Toye says. “You gonna answer it?”

“You were serious?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

Despite himself, Webster can feel his eyebrows shoot up, betraying his surprise. “How would I know?”

“Well, in your expert opinion,” Luz suggests.

Skinny nudges Hoobler. “He just doesn’t want to admit that he doesn’t know.”

Heat rushes to Webster’s face, and it’s not entirely from the warm glow of the alcohol. If it weren’t for the dim lighting of the pub, the tips of his ears would probably be glowing a bright pink with his ignominy.

“They didn’t teach me that at Harvard,” he says.

Hoobler smirks. “Uh huh. Sure.”

“Awe, come on!” Webster exclaims. “I’m just trying to fight a war. I am not prepared to make speculations about Hitler’s literary preferences!”

“Excuse me,” a new, much sweeter voice cuts in. At once, all the men’s defenses are down as they turn to see two prepossessing women standing at the edge of their group. They look familiar, somehow, and if it weren’t for the dim lighting and the alcohol, Webster would swear that he’s seen them in passing before. “Hi, I’m Evelyn, and this is my friend (Y/N).”

The second woman, seemingly a little shyer, offers them a small wave and a smile as her friend takes the lead. Perhaps it’s the darkness playing tricks on Webster’s eyes, but he could swear that she’s looking at him, and that she suddenly looks a little fidgety as the introduction goes on.

“We’re with the Red Cross,” Evelyn continues, her words providing explanation as to her familiarity. Then, implausibly, she fixes her gaze directly on Webster. “(Y/N) here has been watching you for a while, so I decided it was high time that we came over and introduced ourselves.” She leaves the obvious unspoken – because war is an uncertain thing and it’s better to die with no regrets than to always wonder what could have been.

Me?! The other paratrooper’s eyes flick between (Y/N) and Webster as he stands, his friends struck with the same sense of wonder. With Skinny or Tab, this sort of scene is not infrequent, but nothing of the sort has happened to Webster – if he’s being completely honest, not even in college.

He clears his throat. So focused on willing his hands not to feel sweaty through sheer force of will, Webster extends his for a shake, not even bothering to watch his words.

“Hello. I’m David Webster,” he says, noticing how soft your hand is in his. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You beam at him. “If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it.”

He freezes. Behind him, he can feel his friends tense up as well. “Oh my God,” he whispers, for it’s all he can do. The words that he’s been waiting his entire life to hear have just come out of your mouth – and he’s just recited what must be the blandest line in the history of soulmate tattoos!

Webster rolls up his shirt sleeve and reveals his tattoo, the beautiful line staring up at him in confirmation. Air vacates his lungs, leaving him breathless as his heart pounds in his chest.

You begin to roll up your own sleeve, and Webster winces at the anticipation of seeing his introduction on your arm. But when the ink on your arm is exposed, you glance up at him, something like a smirk playing at your lips.

“Oh my God,” Webster says again, wanting to kick himself, and for a completely different reason this time.

“It was the first thing that I ever heard you say,” you tell him.

Evelyn gasps, then slaps a hand over her mouth, though it does no good to contain the giggles that still pour out. The other Easy Company men crowd around, trying to catch a glimpse of your arm.

There in the pub, in front of everyone, the first words that you, Webster’s soulmate, ever heard come out of his mouth stain your arm, making several people laugh: I’m just trying to fight a war. I am not prepared to make speculations about Hitler’s literary preferences!

At least now he doesn’t have to waste the rest of his life being so cautious with his words.

[reallylilyreally]

The Man on the Mountain

A little something I wrote last year (here on AO3) about that Webgott scene in Points... Working doc title was "Skinny was there too, morons".

If you look at it closely, this isn't actually just Leibgott's story, or Webster's. No one seems to realise that.

Once upon a time, three men drove a truck up a hill to kill a bad man.

Joseph Liebgott is there because Captain Speirs wants to give him something nice to do. David Webster is there because Leibgott is a codependent sadomasochist. Skinny doesn't really know why he's there. Probably because Shifty is home free and Hoobler is dead.

It's been a while, and the loss of the boys in Bastogne still doesn't feel real, mostly because he wasn't there when it happened. Somewhere, way deep down, he thinks Hoob and Muck and Penkala are all just off the line, riding out the war in a hospital somewhere with Joe and Bill.

He doesn't look at it too closely, because he knows better. Just like he knows better than to look too closely at why he's here, because deep down he knows Shifty isn't home free at all. Speirs gave Joe carte blanche, and Leibgott tapped Skinny because he knows he'll fall in line. Unlike David. It's ridiculous that Web's even here. Who do they think they're kidding?

The drive up the mountain is beautiful, all hills and fields, just like every other bit of Austria he's been in so far, and it would have been a very enjoyable experience if it hadn't been from the incessant bickering from the passengers. Joe, all biting caged fury and the latent rage that's been simmering hopeless, reckless, dangerous since Lansberg, the fragility to him that's had Speirs keeping him close, on a tight leash, safe, quiet. Until now. Joe vs David, who is watchful and careful and utterly incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Joe's got his orders and is happy to follow them. Webster, with all the reticence of a man who was not at Foy, regards orders from Speirs to be inherently worth questioning, and wants to know if Winters knows.

Skinny is fully aware that Major Winters has no idea about any of this, that Speirs got this intelligence off someone who isn't Captain Nixon, and has given it to Joe because he thinks it will help.

It becomes very obvious very quickly that this isn't going to help. Joe kicks the door to the chalet down and storms in like he's clearing buildings, like he's assaulting a position, even though he's got nothing on his six but Skinny and Web. Skinny covers him, can't not cover him, but Webster is radiating discontent and reticence. He's ethically opposed to killing Nazis while they eat breakfast, apparently, and no amount of "Speirs said so" is enough to override it. The Nazi is unarmed, and so Skinny leaves Joe to it. He's not any help. Joe doesn't want help.

Webster is sulking outside, smoking a cigarette, and Skinny is suddenly fucking sick of the pair of them. They're this close to the end, this far through an unmitigated pile of utter fucking shit and the pair of them are acting like one told the other he's not invited to the party. It's exhausting, and Skinny was tired enough already.

There's a shot, just after Skinny starts his valiant attempt at bringing Web in line, and the Nazi runs out of the house bleeding but obviously not dead. Joe's behind him, Web standing there fucking useless with his mouth open like he's never seen combat. Joe is basically foaming at the mouth as he shouts at Webster. Webster won't shoot the man.  Joe can't shoot the man. Skinny just wants to go home.

He shoots the Nazi right between the shoulderblades, a perfect shot. As good as Shifty, if Shifty was here. Better than Hoobler, if he hadn't killed himself.

They get back in the truck and dead down the mountain, the two of them so caught in their rage they don't even speak to him. Speirs asks Joe how it went and Joe says "it got done" and Skinny wonders to himself how he could have killed a man in cold blood, in front of two witnesses, and have absolutely no one seem to notice that he'd even been there.

[ithinkabouttzu]

HI IT’S KAY!! ok here’s my request

a fellow soldier is shot in the chest, the men rip their clothes off like usual to attend to the wound, not thinking twice about it, and then… BAM! TITS! how do the men of easy company react?

Easy co. finding out you’re a girl!

A/n: Thank you for requesting Kay! You’re the best ;)) @saintmalosunsets

genre: comedy/romance? (i’m not even sure what this is tbh)

warnings: innuendos, mentions of blood and war. (fem! reader, but anyone can read!)

Description: The men finding out that their comrade was secretly a girl after opening their shirt to tend to a wound (mulan style)

taglist: @executethyself35 @linhkhanhcps @1waveshortofashipwreck @grumpy-liebgott @barbeygirl @samwinchesterslostshoe @ronsenthal @sweetxvanixlla @mstiemountainhop (If you want to be on this list, let me know!! :))

BoB masterlist

Dick Winters: To put it wisely, he’s worried, very worried. He’s of course not going to show you or any of the other men that, but he is. I think he probably would've had suspicions before, either that or he flat out knew you were a girl but didn’t say anything for your safety and protection. When he hears of some of the men uncovering your secret he’s there at the scene immediately, his first instinct is to protect you and ask questions later. “Everyone get away from her! Are you alright, miss?” He might develop just a teeny tiny crush that only nix knows about too lol.

Lewis Nixon: I mean guys, he’s an intelligence officer, so of course he’s also gonna have some suspicion like Dick, but he won’t pry on the subject, if you are a girl, who cares? As long as you’re putting in the effort, he really doesn’t give a shit. When you’re hurt and they rip open your shirt all he can say is, “Damn” It’s obvious that he isn’t surprised by the fact that you’re a girl but by the fact that they’re there lmao. He’ll treat you the same afterwards and will probs try and matchmake you and Dick.

Carwood Lipton: He would be blushing so bad, he immediately takes off his jacket and gives it to you so that you have some proper clothing. “You’re a girl?” He is surprised at the fact that he didn't catch it sooner tbh. As soon as he knows you’re okay, all he wants to do is protect you away from the other guys and make sure you are taken care of. “If any of the guys bother you, let me know, okay?” I think he’d be the sweetest about the whole situation, He’d be the type to get you tampons if you were too shy to ask Roe.

Joe Toye: He can’t help but stare, only for like a few seconds though before Roe tells him to cut it out, once he’s brought back out of his trance I think he would make sure you are okay, doing whatever the Doc tells him to do until he knows you will be fine. Afterwards, he tries not to be too different around you. He can’t help but scold himself when he swears around you because he doesn’t wanna make you uncomfortable. He’s like your little body guard that follows you around (That is also secretly in love with you haha.) making sure none of the guys are trying anything stupid.

Joe Liebgott: He hates to be like some weirdo, and he doesn’t mean to stare, he just does accidentally. Absolute bliss would be the proper word to describe his face when your shirt rips open. He quickly beat himself up about it afterwards and makes sure to stay focused on your health and see if you are okay or not. While you’re gone at the aid station he would be a worried mess, his exact words would be, “Pretty girls like her need to be protected at all times”, He stress smokes until you are back, when you are back he’s apologizing to you about staring earlier. (Also like the others, he’s madly in love with you lmao)

Bill Guarnere: Surprisingly, I don’t think he would look as much as the other guys would, his first priority is your safety, and until you are for sure going to be okay, he’s not going to be thinking of anything else. His reaction is a bit late though, like he doesn’t fully realize that you’re a girl, and what he saw earlier was NOT pecks, until you are gone with Roe. He will swear to keep your secret safe with him, your friendship would have either two scenarios: one would be him flirting with you 24/7 until you give him at least one shot. Two would be him taking you in as his little sis and protecting you at all costs. (He would protect you for both tho for sure)

George Luz: He’s like Lieb in this situation (Like a lot of the other guys lmao) he’s in a trance, only a second before he makes himself snap out of it. He’s so surprised though, like, he genuinely had no idea?? It’s such a shock that he has to take a second and process all the information lol. After you come back from being hurt, be ready to be asked a million questions by the one and only George Luz, he’s gotta know how you did it, acting like a boy for so long. From then on, he will be at your beckon call whenever you need him.

Bull Randleman: Before even thinking about it, this gentleman is taking off his shirt and wrapping it around you so that you don’t feel uncomfortable while Roe is wrapping your wounds. He would be shocked but also not really? He always just assumed you were more of a feminine guy and had no problem with it, but after you get hurt then it starts to make a bit more sense of you being a girl. When you get back from the hospital, he's joining Toye as another one of your body guards, absolutely no one is bothering you anytime soon.

Eugene Roe: He’s shocked, very very shocked, but he continues to do his job and make sure you are okay first before anything else. If anyone tried to bother you during your recovery all he would say is “Leave the her alone.” (cue the infamous death stare) Like some of the others, he’s got your back 24/7. You need tampons? he’s got them. You need any kind of feminine products? He’ll get them for you. On a weekend back from Paris, He’d probably gift you a bracelet or something sweet like that. (He also likes you but keeps it strictly professional until the war is over.)

Floyd Talbert: When he opens your shirt and sees everything, no joke this man almost passes out, he doesn't mean to disrespect you at all, and feels kinda like he did for ripping your shirt without any questions, he’s also very overwhelmed at the moment, he’ll have to take a step back and let Roe take over so he can take a sip of water (The mans thirsty alright?) Whenever you come back he’d honestly get shy around you at first (Which is very unlike him lol) but it's easy to say he catches feelings for you after what happened.

Skip Muck: He does NOT believe it's real at all. “Did Malark tell you to prank me? This is gotta be the best one yet!” He’s sure you’re messing with him until he sees that you’re actually hurt and in pain, then he starts freaking out. Once he knows you were okay though he would probably ask you a bunch of questions like luz, he’d also be apologizing for all the times he’s said some inappropriate shit in front of you lmao. He’s left 10 bucks less than before your secret (Yes him and the mortar boys betted on it) “I told you she was a girl!”

Don Malarkey: When your shirt pops open, his eyes pop so far out of his head, like it is so obvious that he likes what he sees. When he sees you are in actual pain though he quits the bullshit and offers you some support, (completely feels bad about looking earlier) he would be the sweetest, all of a sudden he’d start stuttering because he’s so nervous? “Yo-you’re gonna be okay, alright sweetie?” Once you’re away at the hospital he starts feeling horrible for all of the times he’s done or said some embarrassing stuff lol. He apologizes when you return with the guys, (Whilst also being super in love with you like the rest of the fellows)

Babe Heffron: “Oh geez” Like Floyd, he’d feel like passing out. This would be a COMPLETE shock to him, like he is genuinely so surprised he doesn't even know what to say. He makes sure you are okay before saying anything though, he doesn’t wanna make you uncomfortable but he doesn't want to act like it never happened. When you come back from the hospital he’s definitely gonna say some sweet but corny shit like, “You’ll always be like a little brother to me, no matter what you are.” This guy is your wingman when you need one for sure.

Shifty Powers: Like Lip, he’s looking away from your body to give you that privacy, he’s surprised, but he wouldn't wanna show you that and make you uncomfortable. It is obvious that he is blushing badly though. He would take off his shirt to wrap it around your body for the extra privacy (When Roe got you all fixed up.) Once you come back from the aid station he is the guy you go to whenever you need someone to talk to, he’s not a girl, but he’s so understanding and sweet, probably the one who’s chill about it the most.

Frank Perconte: “What the fuck?!” Like a lot of the other guys (unfortunately) he’s going to be absolutely freaking the fuck out. He hates to stare but your wound is right there, on your chest. Should he help you and touch it? Try to work around it as best as he can? He’s conflicted until Roe tells him to go and find another medic. When he does he’s kind of being a flabby mouth about the whole thing (not in a bad way but still.) When he knows you’re alright then he can finally relax, his next plan when you come back from the hospital is to swoon you until you are annoyed with him lmao.

Ronald Speirs: He isn’t surprised, and even if he was he surely doesn't show it. Most likely he probably knew and didn’t want to say anything, mostly because there is WAYY more important stuff going on at the moment in his opinion. Once you get back and are okay his eyes are gonna be on you 24/7. His constant questions are, “Where is y/n? Is she okay? Safe? Anyone?” He’s got like at least 4 guys protecting you and making sure you are okay at all times. If you got hurt again there would be hell to pay for the other men lmaooo.

Johnny Martin: “What the hell?” He is kinda pissed at himself for not noticing before. Once he realizes that you are a girl he sees how genuinely beautiful you are. When you get back from the hospital, He’s going to be the guy who is constantly getting on to the other men when they say something mean or inappropriate around you. “Any of this little fuckers bother you, I’ll hit ‘em up side the head.” Like Bill, he’s going to be your designated older brother (Not by choice, by chance ofc.)

Skinny Sisk: He’s absolutely tongue tied, he can’t say anything, and if he tried he would be a jumbling mess because you are the most beautiful thing he’s seen this entire fucking war. “Wow, thank God for you, honey.” When you get back to full health, this man is definitely going to be giving you all of the sweet talk, so much that it almost gets annoying. When you guys get to Austria he would loot so much shit for you it’s unreal lmaoo.

Chuck Grant: For him it’s love at first sight, (let's be honest this man is THIRSTY for you babes.) He’s kind of mad a little bit too ngl,(not mad at it you ofc) mostly because war is such a nasty and bad place and he would never want you to be apart or around something like it. It’s a bad environment and he wants to take you somewhere nice where you don’t have to be around a whole lot of annoying men. (His words not mine.) He’s pretty much the sweetest guy who will ALWAYs protect you!

David Webster: Bro is actually freaking out. Like having a full blown panic attack. I feel like he would have to take a step back and think about it before saying anything to you. (he probably won’t be able to help you after you’re hurt because he’s so shocked afterwards) he also feels kinda betrayed by all of it? Like he doesn’t get why you would keep the secret from him for so long. Once you and him both came back from your injuries I think he'd be all good tho and just glad to have you back.

Buck Compton: He is so shocked, like shocking in a good way but also a bad way? “I knew she was too pretty to be a boy” He’s tough like Toye, ready at your beckon call to beat up anybody who even THINKS of messing with you. Once you come back from your injury he would make sure to keep you extra close when the bullets start flying. He’s like a cool older friend that’s always there, for the most part. (also like the other guys is a big simp for you too)

THANKS AGAIN KAY!! LOVE YOU!!! If anyone else enjoyed this, please make sure to like or reblog! 💗

[joenotexotic99]

Hey friend, I’m a new fan of band of brothers and have been reading many of works and I’m greatly enjoying them❤️ and was wondering if you could write headcanons of doc roe and speirs finding out there gf has surgical scars on her chest/stomach? I had a heart operation when I was a baby that left 2 scars. One horizontal acoss my stomach and one vertical on my chest and stomach. I would so appreciate it:) ofc take your time and feel free to add any other characters if you’d like. I hope you have a nice day:)

A/n you are beautiful anon <3 thank you for the request. Sorry for being inactive. Writing is sorta a side thing and I stopped because things got hectic and I never got back onto the wagon. Thanks for the patience

Warnings: medical talk and scars n'stuff, fluff, possibly poor writing, blood (nothing crazy,) language

<3

Masterlist

Eugene roe

-He honestly has seen so many scars in his life that he didn't really think much when you showed him. But he understands that you are not by any means just another trooper, you are far more than that. As you explained their origin, Eugene sat patiently and listened to you. Nothing but adoration and care in his eyes. You weren't scared that he would judge; you knew roe, it's just you don't openly share you have them. Roe placed his hand on your head and kissed you before bringing you into his arms

“You're the most beautiful person I have ever seen, thank you for sharing”

Ronald Speirs

-It was an accident when he saw. You were changing and he walked in. This was early in the relationship and you weren't quite ready to share. As you were quick to frantically hide the scars, speirs simply watched you. You apologized and rambled on about how you got them and how he was never supposed to see them like this and if he wants to leave that's ok. You kept rambling nervously. Ron walked over to kiss you so you could stop.

“Don't ever hide your scars from me again, they're nothing to be ashamed of”

“So you're not going to leave me?”

“I'd be a fool to leave you”

Richard Winters

-You were a medic. It was in Carentan. You had gotten a tear in your uniform, luckily you had a spare. You and Winters had been dating since Camp Mackall, yet time was not something you had to see each other naked. You were in the jury-rigged med bay changing. As you lifted your shirt, Winters, oh so perfectly timed, walked in. His eyes immediately caught a view of your scars. At first, his facial expression was surprise, then confusion, then worry. But before you could let this man's thoughts get the best of him, you explained their origin. Winters stepped closer and took you into his embrace, you could hear his steady heartbeat.

"These scars... why didn't you tell me?"

"They've been there since I was a baby. I didn't want you to worry.”

“You don't have to hide anything from me, I'm here till the end”

Babe Heffron

-German artillery rained down onto the Ardennes Forest. Chaos was everywhere as people ran for shelter and trees collapsed. A part of a tree happened to impale you, it wasn't severe but it needed to be tended to. When things quieted down you seeked out Roe. You found him with Babe. You and Babe Heffron had grown close over the past few months, sharing fleeting moments of warmth and connection. Both of them saw you then the blood. Roe went to his kit, Babe had a slight panic attack. You told Babe that it looked worse than it was. Eugene confirmed it after he told you to remove your shirt. That's when babe saw the scars. His eyes widened with concern and curiosity. Before he could voice his worries, you offered an explanation. Babe accepted it and when Eugene left after patching you up Babe went to your side.

“you know, you fucking awesome with those.”

“So I'm not a freak?”

"Sweetheart, you are the most drop dead gorgeous person I have ever seen”

David Webster

-It was Holland, during a rare quiet night. You and Webster have grown closer and closer ever since Toccoa.You both took a walk near the edge of the village, the conversation turned personal. The air was crisp, and you felt comfortable enough to share more of yourself with him. You lifted your shirt to show him. Like with roe you were nervous but you knew him and trusted him. His eyes widened in surprise, and he reached out gently, his fingers tracing the lines with curiosity.

"Where did these come from? Are you okay?"

"I've had them since I was a baby. Surgery.”

"You're incredible, you know that?"

[danopdf]

The Cutting Edge [Joe Liebgott/David Webster] - chapter 1

chapter 1 - lace up!

pairing: joseph liebgott x david webster, [hockey player x figure skater au]

The Cutting Edge (1992 film) Rewrite

word count: 3149

summary: Stuck-up figure skater David Webster has his gold medal stolen from him in the '88 Olympics due to a horrible skating partner. Looking for redemption and a new skate partner who can keep up with his attitude and drive. Enter the man David had a horrible run-in with at the previous competition ex-Olympic hockey player Joseph Liebgott and David's new skate partner. The duo reluctantly teams up to compete at the 1992 Olympics, and win the gold they were both denied. But can Joe deal with David's attitude? and can David break through Joes' icy exterior, to get the best program out of both of them?

warnings: swearing, lots of swearing, some injury (non-graphic), sad liebgott, implications of sex

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a/n: welcome welcome! This is my first ever character/character fic ever, and I am cross-posting on my ao3 @/danopdf!

This is basically a re-write of the 1992 film 'The Cutting Edge' with some more scenes I'm adding and, mayhaps some smut later on. I hope you enjoy, feedback is always appreciated <3

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Calgary - 1988

The first sound Joe heard wasn’t his alarm.

It was the sound of the wrinkled hotel sheets shifting as the figure next to him rolled over, a heavy arm swinging over his waist.

The second sound Joe heard was the gravelly voice behind him croaking out, “Good morning.” in the heavy German accent he remembered from last night. Joe ignored the voice and shifted to reach for his watch resting on the nightstand next to him. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he flipped the watch, expecting the time to be just a few minutes before the alarm he set last night.

“It’s 1 o’clock.” His eyes widened, “JESUS CHRIST IT’S 1 O’CLOCK, I’VE GOT A GAME!” Joe lept from the bed throwing the covers off of himself and onto the shaggy-haired blonde next to him. Bending down to grab his pants, and socks scattered around his hotel room, he yelled out, “WHAT HAPPENED TO THE ALARM? I TOLD YOU TO SET THE ALARM, I’M SUPPOSED TO BE ON THE ICE!”. Quickly as he could Joe tossed on his clothes, belt clattering as he grabbed his hockey jersey from the lounge chair, and rushed off to the small bathroom to brush his teeth.

“Nein alarm. You said "Nein alarm!” the figure from beneath the sheets, sat up blankets falling off his chest. Joe stuck his head out of the bathroom door, toothbrush hanging from the side of his mouth.

“Yes, nine alarm!!”

“Is it a mistake?”

“No, no mistake-” he said harshly, running from the bathroom, “badge, hat-” Joe ran around the room grabbing items from his mental list, “no mistake, I’m just about four hours late for the goddamn Olympics here Conrad!”

“Conrad?” Joe quickly finger-combed his hair before tossing on his jersey and backward ‘Team USA’ hat.

“I don’t believe this” Joe shoved his battered sneakers on barely tying them.

“Conrad?!” The young man screeched out from the bed,

“Christoph?” Joe threw out, gathering his pads and skate pants, and tossing them into his hockey bag.

“CHRISTOPH?” an even more appalled yell came from the blonde. Joe grabbed his sticks from next to the door, pausing to hike his bag over his shoulder.

“Christian?” He genuinely wondered.

The man scoffed, folding his arms, “Callan!”

“Callan! Right! Listen,” Joe reached for the door, yanking it open, “I’ll see you later, thanks for the great night!” Shooting the curly blonde a wide smile, he rushed out the door, barely escaping the wrath of the hotel pillow thrown at him.

– – – – – – – – – – – –

David was gliding across the rink. Hearing nothing but the sound of skates against the ice and the duo's song over the loudspeakers flooding the arena.

Feeling the hands of his partner fall around his hips, and move towards his outstretched arm.

Clasping his partner's hands in his own, David let himself be swung back and over his partner's shoulders, suspended above the ice, David locked his arms and splayed his legs out straight to the sides, keeping his eyes locked ahead as his partner began to spin them across the ice.

After the spins, David could feel his partner's arms begin to quiver. He bent his elbows, the queue to slowly lower him into the next set of moves. As he was being lowered David’s partner, Michael fumbled him. His left leg getting caught behind Michael's shoulder, David let out a grunt as he unceremoniously stumbled down onto the ice.

“This is the Olympics David, 30 million people just called their families in from the kitchen to watch the replay!” David’s coach Rick yelled from his place on the sideline. “What do you think this is David? Junior Pairs ‘82?” He slammed his hands on the boards.

“No,” David skated his way closer to Rick leaving Michael stranded in the middle of the rink surrounded by the other pairs getting their final practices in, “as I recall in ‘82 you were still humiliating me in private!”

“Maybe that’s because you were still listening,” Rick growled out.

“Well if I’m going deaf, it’s because I’ve had you SCREAMING in my ear for the last 9 years!” David yelled, anger bubbling up in his stomach, “He’s not giving me anything to work with!” He gestured to Michael standing behind him, his hands on his waist, head pointed up, eyes rolling at David’s theatrics.

“Rick, this is impossible! I can’t work with him!” Michael yelled.

Rick leaned over the side of the half wall separating the ice from the judges' table and press area, “David. I wanna see your ass, in the goddamn air!!” he hollered pointing high towards the rafters, the sounds of the contestants and the scattered observers in the audience gasping filled the silence following his outburst.

David skated right up to Rick's red, angry face.

“Well, until Hercules here learns how to lock. His. Grip. This will have to do.” David smirked, pushing off his right foot he began to skate away, getting a few paces away before flipping up the back edge of his long performance shirt, showing off his ass in his tight leotards. The sounds of the other contestants and audience members now laughing, filled the arena, followed by the dozens of quick clicks and flashes going off from the press cameras that filled one corner of the blocked-off viewing area.

David skated right across the ice, holding the back of his uniform up the whole way, until he stepped off the ice and right onto the rubber walkway towards the changeroom.

“David!”

Oh good. David thought, turning towards the commanding voice of his father.

“This needs to stop. You need to go right back out there and apologize to Rick,” His father got right up close to David, long brown coat and overly expensive scarf swinging with each powerful step towards him, “he has put in too much work. He’s the one that got us here.” His father pointed a finger directly in David's sweaty face.

“Oh yeah, how kind of him to let us tag along.” David sighed sarcastically, bending one leg behind him to put his skate guard on, before doing the same with his other.

“David Kenyon Webster. You will go back out there, and you will apologize and you will get. To. Work.” His father seethed.

David sighed, damp curls falling in front of his eyes, “I wouldn’t bet on it Dad.” wiping his forehead, and beginning to walk off, plastic skate guards clicking against the floor.

“David! Where are you going?”

Without looking over his shoulder David yelled back, “I’ll be in my cell!”

– – – – – – – – – – – –

Joe was booking it down the sidewalks of the Olympic Village as fast as he possibly could, rushing right past the crowded entrance to the Olympic arena, towards the underground parking and athlete’s entrance.

Badge jumping off his chest, Joe ran right past the guard booth at the bottom of the parking ramp.

“Hey, son! What’s your name!” The man asked, stepping out of the booth, clipboard in hand.

“Liebgott! USA men's hockey!” He hollered, not stopping his sprint,

“Hell son, they’re just about to start!”

Joe practically ran into the doors with the words ‘ATHLETE’S ENTRANCE. OLYMPIANS AND COACHES ONLY’ plastered on the front. Ripping the door open, and rushing down the twisting hallways towards his team's changeroom.

Bursting through the red arena doors Joe finally entered the hallway lined with banners in the colours of the Olympic rings, the US national anthem sounding over the speakers in the rink loud enough for him to hear over the sound of his rapid heartbeat and his skates clacking together over his shoulder.

Quickly running around a corner, Joe came to a complete halt. Running directly into someone, their skates falling off their shoulder and onto the ground below them. It was a miracle Joe managed to stay standing.

Half walking, half checking over the man he had run into, Joe grabbed the skates off the ground, “Does this hallway go up to the ice?”

Handing the skates over to the shocked man still sitting on the ground, he took note of the Team USA Olympic jacket he had on, as well as the thick pin-decorated sweatband he had pushing the curls up and away from his face.

“Wh- what?” The man stuttered out.

“Does this go up to the ice!” Joe asked again.

“‘Does this go up to the ice?’ Is that all you have to say? Wh-what were you raised in, a barn?” The man on the floor swung his arms out.

Joe looked at him shocked at the utter audacity the young man on the floor had. Did he not hear what the fuck I just asked? What an asshole.

“Yeah, that’s the way to the ice asshole.”

“Yeah, thanks. And listen, Sweetheart,” Joe leaned right down into the fallen man's face, “Where I come from, we stand for the national anthem.” Clapping him harshly on the shoulder Joe gave the man one last glare before running down the hall towards the ice. Leaving David to push himself off the ground with a scoff, walking down the hall Joe had just come from, and pushing his way out the doors into the bright afternoon. Beginning to make his way back to the main hotel, the last bars of the national anthem fading with the loud ‘bang!’ of the doors behind him.

– – – – – – – – – – – –

It’s just him and the puck out on that ice.

Everything else just fades away once his skates are laced and his gloves are on, the sound of the crowd fading into his heartbeat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’re just now joining us from the men's cross-country skiing, you are currently watching the men's hockey teams USA vs Germany, where Germany is currently leading by one point in the final period.”

Skating forwards Joe reached his stick out in front of him, sneaking the puck out from the opposing hockey player's grip. Quickly cradling it in his stick he turned hard on his left foot, before taking off down the ice.

“Folks, are you seeing this? We’re in the final moments of the game here and Team USA all-star Joe Liebgott has stolen the puck from the German powerhouse Gerd Truntschka and has taken off down the ice!”

Left, right. Left, right. Stick movement, don’t forget to keep the puck moving.

There was nobody but the goalie between him and the net. Nobody between him and getting to that next round, between him and getting to that gold medal game. All he has to do is swing back and-

“Ladies and Gentleman he shoots, and he scores! Right at the buzzer and the crowd is going wild!”

Joe let out a cheer, skating around the back of the net, stuck in the air, the sound of the crowd invading his hearing. Joe could see his teammates skating towards him, arms spread wide, waiting to lift him in the-

CRACK

Joe felt himself come to a sudden stop. Not in the same way as earlier when he ran into the cute skater in their dumb sweatband with the skate and shark pin on it.

No, this one was like being checked into the boards by a ton of bricks.

And then another.

And then his helmet came off.

And then another.

And then he hit the ice.

And finally another. This time the sharp blade of the skate cut his cheek, warm blood falling down the side of his face, past the curve of his ringing ear, and onto the ice beneath him.

– – – – – – – – – – – –

Well we haven’t face-planted, and we’re keeping time. Great, this is going great.

Were the only thoughts going through David’s head as he was trying to keep pace with the erratic music pumping through the speakers of the arena.

David and Michael were gliding across the ice, perfectly in time with each other, letting the rhythm flow through them and guiding their bodies through the motions they had gone through dozens of times.

“Team USA duo David Webster and Michael Brown have been flying through this competition, and are currently looking to score that gold medal, and seem to be the team to beat at today’s competition.”

They took the final turn before getting to the straightaway where their big finishing move would be coming up.

David looked towards Michael as he slid up behind him,

Don’t you dare fucking drop me. David glared at him, to which Michael rolled his eyes, and shifted their hands to lock together. David let himself be swung back and over his partner's shoulders, suspended above the ice, David locked his arms and flared his legs out straight to the sides, keeping his eyes locked ahead as his partner began to spin them across the ice.

One spin. Two spins. Thre-.

On the third spin down the ice Michael's arms shook and began to give out. David wavered, clasping Michael's hands even tighter in his own, trying to lock his arms and steady them both, they could take a hit on the ‘technical points’ section, but falling is something they couldn’t come back from.

On the final spin is when Michael's arms finally give and David goes tumbling down, legs swinging over Michael's shoulder and leading David ass over tea kettle to fall on the ice.

The first thing that hit the ice was David’s shoulder with a loud smack.

The second thing to hit the ice was David's head, wacking against the cold surface of the area, his vision going black for a quick moment on impact.

David raised his head, seeing Michael skate to a stop a few feet from David, completely unharmed and glaring at him.

David’s vision was swimming with flashes of white, turning his head to the sideline, he brought his hand up to cover his eyes from the flashes of the press section’s cameras. The sound of the shutters overwhelmed his ears.

His head swam as he looked for a hand up, eyes landing on the figure of Rick standing by the judges’ table, arms crossed in front of him, shaking his head at David, the vein in his neck bulging with anger.

Well fuck. There goes that dream.

– – – – – – – – – – – –

Beeeep. Beeeeeep. Beee- click.

“Joe? Honey, is that you?” The comforting accent of his mother flooded the payphone receiver.

“Yeah Ma, it’s me.” He sighed, resting his arm across the top of the payphone box, just off the main lobby of the Village hotel.

“Oh thank God you’re alright honey- Everybody it’s Joe! He says he’s alright!” His mother pulled away from the phone, yelling further into the house where, Joe assumed, every person in the neighborhood was crowded around the TV watching the game. A chorus of cheers and yells of his name came dully through the receiver. “Joey, let me tell you, when we saw you score that goal we were all so proud of you, but then those mean players from that other team came and put you right up against those boards and my heart just about dropped out of my toes, and when you were just laying there on the ice,” His mother cut herself off, sniffling Joe could hear her put the phone to her chest and take a breath.

“Ma, I’m alright. I promise I’m okay.” He comforted through the phone, “And hey listen, I was thinking. Um,” he shuffled in place fiddling with the edge of his team jacket, “I was thinking of coming home for a while. Ya know come visit everybody, maybe pick up some extra work at the cab company again.”

There was silence for a moment on the other end of the phone.

“What happened Joseph?” Joseph. God, his mother only called him that when she wanted answers, and he wouldn’t budge.

“Ma I saw the doctor after the game and, and it’s not good.” Joe felt tears begin to well up in his eyes. “He said when I got hit, I um I got my head knocked pretty bad and I- I lost 18 degrees of my referral vision in my right eye.” His mother gasped, as Joe took a heaving breath, turning in on himself even tighter, back facing the crowd going in and out of the hotel, “he- he said I’m not gonna be able to play hockey again. I asked about surgery and he said they can’t do it, my vision is too far gone, Ma I can’t play hockey for a professional team ever again.” Joe began to cry.

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry. God that’s horrible” His mother cooed, “You know you’re always welcome here but…” she trailed off.

“Jesus Ma. I- I just found out I’m out of a job, can’t see for shit outta one eye and you’re telling me I can’t come home?” Joe yelled out from behind bleary eyes, “Ma I just- I just don’t know what to do.” Joe wiped at his eyes, and swiped at his cheeks, trying to clear the tears streaming down his face.

“Joseph, you know that you are always welcome in this house. It doesn’t matter how old you are. But what I’m saying is, you should take your time, come home for a few days, and be sad but don’t let this take over your whole life. I know that you loved hockey more than anything in the whole world, but maybe this is a sign that you need to take a step back and try something new! Get away from the hustle and bustle of the Olympian life in ‘Frisco, maybe call George and his partner in Philly, they’re always asking you to come visit, and have been offering you that job at the bar for months now! Maybe now is the time to figure out who you are outside of hockey Joey.” His mother finished, taking a deep breath into the phone.

“Yeah.” Joe sighed, “Yeah maybe you’re right Ma. I’ll give George and Toye a call, and see if that job’s still up for grabs.” Joe took a steadying breath, and straightened himself, pinching the phone between his shoulder and cheek, using one hand to pull his hat off and the other to comb his fingers through his hair.

“That’s it, honey. Now go grab your stuff and hop on over to that airport, I’ll be waiting at the gate for ya’.” She smiled warmly through the phone, Joe could hear it in her voice.

“Alright, Ma. I’ll see you soon.” They said their goodbyes and Joe hung up the phone the quarter he pushed in making a clunking noise as it finally fell through, a wave of relief washing over him.

Joe turned and began to stalk back to the elevator, not even sparing a glance at the brunet in the sweatband standing at the front desk, ice pack held to the side of his head, trying to get the attention of the concierge.

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please lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list! <3