#buck Compton x reader

[mellow-human]

accurate

Bob headcannon, taking care of them when theyr injured or sick

Hi Nonny!! This is a super fun idea and so I hope you enjoy :) reminder that my requests are open and I don’t mind spam, so feel free to keep sending stuff in! Cut for length, more under the cut:

Dick Winters:

-he’s very inconvenienced by the shrapnel that ends up in his foot….so don’t coddle him haha. -But with gentle care and a warning to stay off of his foot will have his respect and gratitude. -If he’s sick, he tends to try to do things still. He doesn’t like to rest if no one else gets to either. That being said, you may need to put your foot down. -He really does appreciate your care and help…he just likes to do things on his own. -Take a nap with him, it will work wonders, I promise.

Lewis Nixon:

-It’s when his helmet gets hit with a bullet….and whenever he’s blackout drunk. -Just wants to move on from the bullet thing and will sassily answer your concussion questions. -He’s a clingy sick person and a clingy drunk, so you have your work cut out for you no matter what. -Honestly wants to be coddled when he’s drunk or sick. -Treat him as you would a small child and you should be all set lol.

Ronald Speirs:

-This man thinks that he doesn’t need anyone and that he doesn’t need help. Right up until he gets shot in the ass going across a river and needs medical attention. -He’s very nonchalant about the entire thing and is not about to let you know how much it actually hurts. -Secretly really appreciates being doted on when he’s sick though and will let you know through his actions. -Is also willing to be verbally grateful and express gratitude for everything that you do for him

-Expect him to be on the lookout for if you're ever sick bc he wants to return the favor.

Buck Compton:

-Yet another man who got shot in the ass and is NOT having a great time....that being said, he's a blushing mess and doesn't want you to work on him at all

-He'll have to swallow his pride and be humble about you taking care of the wound and helping him

-Distract him with all sorts of conversational topics and he should be fine

-Is better behaved when he's sick and also just wants to cuddle with you

-A little emotional when he's sick as well, so be on the lookout for that

Carwood Lipton:

-Resists the fact that he needs medical attention after getting hit with shrapnel and nearly losing a certain appendage

-Is a stubborn mule about not needing help up until he trips and nearly falls on his face

-Will be extremely quiet and take medical orders though

-And when he's sick with pneumonia? Same thing, except now he's really cold and wants to cuddle with you

-Treat him like an adult when he's sick, but also be a little more caring than normal—brushing through his hair and rubbing his back will go a long ways

Joe Liebgott:

-Literally doesn't think he needs any help??? But he's got several injuries and gets annoyed fairly often

-Will feel bad if he snaps at you while you're trying to help him

-At that point, he'll shut up and begrudgingly let you take care of him. Expect a kiss at the end for your efforts

-Also a clingy sick person, but way more flirtatious than normal—he wants you in his bed asap with as many innuendos as possible

-Pray for patience babe, you're gonna need it

Donald Malarkey:

-Honestly, the easiest patient in the world? He shuts right up (unless he has questions about what you're doing/medical practices), takes orders, and obeys them.

-He's a gem of a patient if he gets injured and super calm throughout the entire thing

-Malarkey is very kind and sweet afterwards and expresses how much he appreciates you and your kindness

-Also a great patient if he's sick. He'd prefer it if you kept your distance from him though since he doesn't want you to get sick

-I promise he'll appreciate the extra blanket and some soothing tea though.

Eugene Roe:

-Literally the epitome of a hypocrite?? Because he thinks he doesn't need to slow down and get help for himself?? (Smh honestly)

-Please just force this man to stay off of his feet and rest so he can recover from his wounds

-If you express your worry about him in near tears, I guarantee he'll listen to you immediately

-Also a really great patient if he's sick—that is, if you can get him to sit down and stop working.

-Bribe him with some old family recipes for soup or cold remedies and he'll be the best patient ever. He also wants you to teach him how to make those things haha.

Bill Guarnere:

-Also gets really annoyed anytime he's injured?? But never acts annoyed when he's with you. He knows that you're just trying to do your job.

-And considering the fact that he ditches the aid stations and hospitals frequently, he pays close attention to your instructions when it comes to injuries

-Respects the hell out of you for your work—and this only grows after Bastogne and saving his life

-He's a grumpy sick person who acts like a cat who doesn't want to be petted

-Good luck babe, you're gonna need it for when he's sick

Joe Toye:

-Thinks he can power through the injury or sickness for a while....and almost succeeds.

-He's not afraid to ask questions about what he can do to make the situation better and he does his best to listen to your advice

-His mood will improve if you kiss it better, I promise

-And if he's ever sick? The man literally just wants a cuddle and some words of reassurance and he'll be good as new

-He's a great patient unless he lets the injury get bad and doesn't come talk to you about it sooner

George Luz:

-Literally makes jokes through whatever injury or sickness he's dealing with

-SMH, sir please take this seriously—that being said, you may need to kindly tell him to shut up so that you can do your job

-Also respects the hell out of you for the work that you do and listens really well when it comes to injury care.

-Is honestly a little kid when he gets sick??? He just wants to lay in bed, be told stories, and have a great time

-Tell him the story of your love story (your version of course), and he'll be content as a kitten to lay there and rest and just listen to you

[speirslore]

band of brothers: types of kisses hc

(a/n: sorry this is so long… i tried to include a lot of easy company... but if your fav isn't here, please just send an ask and i'll add them!)

send an ask if you would like to be on my taglist! :) (taglist: @ronsparky)

[dick winters]

cautious kisses

dick does not like pda only because he's extremely private and wants your relationship to be for the two of you only... no matter how nosy nix is

but there still are occasional kisses to your cheek when he’s more relaxed in front of other officers

he's tender and careful too; dick is always cupping your face, a thumb brushing across your cheek or brushing hair away from your face

dick is always very gentle and a little unsure at times

especially at the beginning of your relationship, he feels incredibly inexperienced, or at the very least, out of practice

he’s very okay with you taking the lead when kissing because he doesn't want to do anything wrong

dick is tentative and private but very into it... it's a good thing he has an insane amount self discipline because otherwise he would be kissing you 24/7

[lewis nixon]

speaking of self discipline… lew does have it but he also chooses to ignore it most of the time, if he wants to kiss you then he's going to kiss you

so many morning kisses

honestly just anytime in bed because lew plays fast and loose with 'morning' and sleep cycles

absolutely never wants to get up, has to be coaxed with a lot of kisses and cuddling, it is a huge ordeal

he always kisses with some degree of mess, a little uncontrolled, perhaps a little desperate

a lot of sudden kisses too like you think you're safe and then boom he’s all of the sudden in the room, pulling you towards him

will take advantage of any opportunity no matter how small... does he have any shame? (no, not really)

lew does shockingly get a little shy sometimes about pda though

“i don’t want to rub it in their faces…" he'll insist, "y'know... what they don’t have”

sureeee... the blush on his cheeks says otherwise though

[carwood lipton]

carwood's speciality is definitely comforting kisses

lip is always paying attention to you and what you need and how you feel and that extends to physical affection

always wants you to feel okay, better than okay, great

and if a kiss can make you feel better then he’s more than willing to oblige

affection between the two of you is every casual and common, always kissing, holding hands, some sort of physical touch

constantly smiling in between kisses

he’s just that happy and loves you so much

but the comforting kisses & affection goes both ways

kissing the stress and worry away from his face and tracing his scar with your thumb before kissing it gently, your noses almost touching after you pull away to catch your breath, the two of you wearing twin smiles

and whenever you say goodbye or reunite, you both try not to make a scene, but it's always a little bit of a scene tbh... like having to be without carwood's kisses for a week is basically criminal

all the other men think it's extremely cute though, don't worry

[ron speirs]

stolen kisses (haha)

even his kisses are stolen!

he will always come out of nowhere and will always find time for a smooch

every time you think surely ron isn't in this area, he's supposed to be somewhere else, he's not in this building... you are proven wrong

is incredibly good at carving out time to see you... and finding private places for the two of you

like he's definitely scoped a few places out before he goes to find you

one time you were in his office kissing and someone knocked on the door and he huffs and pouts because he has to break away from you, even if it's only for a second- he's not happy about it

ron barks out, “not now," before returning to you will a warm, soft smile

heavy on kisses instead of words

ron is very physical...whenever you finally pull away from a kiss... you can always see things/emotions in his eyes that you know he's not ready to say yet and finds difficult to articulate

[don malarkey]

soooo many shy kisses

okay yes, don is kind of unhinged (stealing a motorcycle, drinking methanol, etc) but not with relationships... like flirting?? kissing??

he's still incredibly enthusiastic about your relationship... very much so

but he gets really shy around you, especially with kissing

turns beet red so easily, like you love kissing him and pulling away to see him blushing all the way up to the tips of his ears <3

it's just so fun and he's having a great time... and don cannot hide his emotions or what he’s thinking so whatever he's thinking always comes out when you're kissing

"god, you're beautiful. you should bring this dress to paris when we go next weekend. oh- y'know what, skip still owes me that $40 i lent him. i really need that for next week's pass so-"

"don," you interrupt gently, brushing a hand across his jaw

he'll blush and smile sheepishly, "right, i'm shutting up, back to kissing..."

he's shy yet so excited and wants to do everything right, willing to learn and wants to learn, and just wants his inner emotions and love for you translate with physical affection

and it definitely does! don is extremely endearing and you love him for it

[joe toye]

joe's kisses are always very intense

his eye contact, his touch, his raspy voice… everything is intense in the best way possible

his hands already feel like fire, so warm against your own skin

he loves just laying next to you in bed, just observing you and taking it all in

his passion definitely goes along with the intensity

he's also extremely private about affection with you, just because it means so much to him

tends to get vulnerable and emotional very easily

and really likes pillow talk and just listening to your voice, your stories, and your perspective

he likes your reassurance too, your love, he's never felt anything like this before

so whenever he can manage to have free time alone with you, he's always savoring it

joe could kiss you for hours, he truly loves taking it all in, going slow, and savoring the time you have together

[george luz]

late night kisses are a staple for the two of you

george gets so excited being with you he doesn't want to sleep

the biggest sleepover vibes

like you both very seriously decide to go to bed but then george says something funny or does his dike impression and then you both start laughing and talking again

and kissing again, sometimes the impressions are so good you have to reward him

you guys have a lot of late nights because of this

also do kisses for warmth and sharing body heat count?

huddling in a foxhole together, in the thick of it together, like yes they don't have much food, supplies, or ammo but george is not going to let them take kisses away from him too

oh my god, laughing in between kisses

sometimes he really can’t take himself that seriously

george is like don and gets very excited

he just feels so lucky to have you and has to kiss you accordingly

kissing you and just being with you can make him a little emotional… a happy little high

cigarettes have nothing on you and your kisses!

[babe heffron]

babe is kind of like a baby deer, he's a little clumsy and sometimes unsure but he's definitely got the spirit

he is confident but he does tend to second guess himself when it comes to you, he just doesn't want to mess anything up.

like what if he uses too much tongue or he headbutts you on accident... he's just overthinking it

and sometimes you just have to grab his arm and pull him toward you and kiss him yourself

when you're alone, babe lovesss laying on your chest letting you run your fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead... but don't tell anyone

jk he doesn't care if anyone knows (and they absolutely do know)

and the guys can't even tease him that hard about it, that's much everyone loves babe... they're just happy for him tbh

babe definitely gets a little needy sometimes like where’s his daily kiss allotment :(

and he can get clingy... will 100% wrap his arms around, you pressing kisses to your neck and shoulder just because he hasn't seen you that much today

[eugene roe]

tired kisses are a doc roe staple

poor eugene, he's exhausted and jaded... a lot of the time… and the rest of the company gives the two of you space as often as they can because they know how much your presence helps him

tired kisses as in he is putting in effort but his lips don't move as fast or as needy

he's more languid and calm, and it's very enticing

forehead kisses too omg

he lovesss when you kiss his forehead; pull him against your body, your chest, your arms and he feels safe and secure

he likes kissing the top of your head too, his nose in the crown of your hair while murmuring something in french

you catch various words in french that after spending so much time with gene you can understand now

like mon ange, mon amour, ma moitié (my better half? sobbing)

your presence is so grounding for him and makes him feel more normal, like he's not constantly surrounded by death and pain

you make him feel like he doesn't have to be constantly on edge, like he can take his helmet off and not be on alert, like he hasn't totally lost himself in his job... your kisses are so grounding for him

[buck compton]

a lot of reassuring kisses

like sometimes he just has to kiss the worry off of your face

and vice versa, towards the end of the war it's not even just kisses but your presence and touch alone become extremely reassuring for him

but also... buck can be so cocky sometimes, he loves showing you off

you secretly (not so secretly) love it... like sorry it's hot

like once when the two of you were at a pub in england... he's gambling, he's drinking, he's smoking, and ofc he's kissing you!

what else is he supposed to do when he wins at darts or cards... come on

the guys hype him up and just hide their jealousy because you and buck very often seem like relationship goals

he's always touching you, like usually has a firm grip around your waist

always laughing together, everything you do together automatically seems so intimate

like in a room with the other guys... they do feel like they're intruding

just because you and buck are in the corner laughing and talking together, the love and intimacy feels like it takes over the entire room

it's just so passionate and obvious he's head over heels and that definitely comes across in his kisses

[joe liebgott]

joe's kisses strike me as tender but demanding and needy at the same time

he's a taker.... but also a giver so it evens out

some very, very eager kisses

like pushing you up against a wall, hand sliding up your thigh and mouth working down your neck...

joe is a great multitasker!

accidentally bites your lip once, it wasn't that hard or anything but he went bright red and was apologizing profusely, but also was like, "did you like it though..."

(you did but...)

bottom line is joe's just a tiny bit feral around you at all times honestly

you never know when he’s going to pull you into his lap and kiss you and you both loveeee when you sit on his lap

the men are very used to it by now

he also likes living on the edge, like who cares if the patrol's supposed to be back any minute now and could walk in at any time?

messy kisses like his mouth is just everywhere basically, he wastes absolutely no time

he is so noisy: whines, groans, moans, laughs, you get everything with joe

also loves when you tug and pull on his hair while kissing, he specifically requests it

but joe can also get incredibly soft and sweet and tender but that's strictly for your eyes only... he has a reputation to uphold ofc

he totally blows you kisses whenever one of you leaves the room... it starts ironically but now he really does enjoy doing it

[david webster]

oh david is just so romantic

like definitely over the top romantic... it's so serious to him

he's read enough (a lot) romance novels and craves that book and movie worthy relationship and love

his life IS a victorian romance novel and he will act accordingly

everyone else thinks it's incredibly cheesy but you think it’s really cute

it means so much passion whenever he's talking about you, talking to you, kissing you, etc

he's always trying to think of the right words to say and you’re like “david, just kiss me please”

ofc he obliges and he is very good at it

his touch is just always so tender, you can feel the passion and love through his kisses

he's a little hesitant sometimes, starts off slow but it's extremely easy to get him worked up and make him lose some of that self control that he works so hard to maintain and portray

[floyd talbert]

confident kisses

yeah... yeah, what more is there to say

floyd just has a way (from a lot of practice) with his mouth

he's also very attentive and is always surveying how you're reacting and feeling, always wants to make you feel good and lovesss watching your reactions

he loves when you make noises of surprise or pleasure, he always ends up grinning into your kiss, he just thinks it's sooo cute

however i do think the more serious your relationship gets and the more feelings that are attached, the more likely he gets nervous... just a little bit

but that's more with relationship things

the kissing he has down pat for sure

takes the lead, cups your cheek, always knows what to do with his hands and the perfect the angle to tilt his head

will sometimes stop super close to your lips and just grin, teasing kisses

floyd loves having all of your attention to himself, when you loop your arms around his neck, when your lips are on his face, when you're talking quietly only for him to hear, when you're the only one that actually calls him floyd, ugh he just melts

[shifty powers]

shifty is the absolute king of gentle kisses

like so so shy

especially at the beginning of your relationship, you definitely have to kiss him first and initiate everything

he's so scared of reading the moment wrong and messing everything up

which you always reassure him that he won't

he has literally the entire company hyping him up, they've been waiting for y'all to get together for basically years now

but once he's more comfortable, he's always wrapping his arms around you, smiling, and kissing you freely

he struggles to articulate all love and emotions he's feeling but you still love listening to him talk about it

he just blurts out "i love you so much" one day after kissing, when you're laying in bed in austria

and he immediately looks terrified, not that he regrets what he said because he most certainly means it, but he doesn't know what you're going to say

but it's only a few seconds before you grin and throw your arms around him, "i love you too," you mutter before kissing him, a little more intense, and with a little more fervor than your usual kisses

[bill guarnere]

his nick name of wild bill definitely applies to his kissing style

absolutely wild

sometimes borderline unhinged

especially if he's been drinking or partying

but also... if it's the two of you alone, having a mellow morning or night, bill does get soft

the other guys aren't even surprised by that, they know he has a soft and gentle side to him, they can see it whenever you're with him

bill is sporting a basically permanent smile while watching you

trying to burn the visual of you into his brain so he can keep it forever

his kisses are encapsulating and very distracting

he hates seeing you upset or stressed and he uses kisses and physical affection to help

loves holding you and being the big spoon

and you love it too

it's soooo comforting

and it's never easy to not be constantly reminded that you're in the middle of a war, about to jump into france, etc, but with him, his firm arms around you, it's a little easier to forget

[chuck grant]

chuck strikes me as very confident, kind of like tab

he just wants to appreciate you!

and shower you with love

he will never run out of ways and words to compliment you

he's been admiring you from afar for sooo long, now that your in his arms it feels incredibly surreal

his kisses are always firm and secure

and chuck really likes when you take the lead and take what you want from him

being away from you always stirs something extremely confident and desperate in him

really enjoys holding your hand

always having physical contact with you, that's a necessity

ooo... he loves having a hand on your thigh

especially if he can sneak it under the table during dinner or a meeting

just his hand sliding up and down, gripping and then releasing, and then looking at his innocent yet knowing smile...

that definitely leads to some intense kisses, your hands running through his hair, hand cupping his jawline, you leading the show

he lovesss getting a reaction from you

[hottpinkpenguin]

Easy Company HC's: Letters Home

A/n: I'm really rolling with these BofB headcanons! hope you enjoy :)

Characters included: Dick Winters, Lewis Nixon, Ronald Speirs, Carwood Lipton, Buck Compton, David Webster, Joe Liebgott

Dick Winters

Writes frequent, short letters

Meticulously dates his letters and includes a blurb about the weather. January 12th, 1945. It’s snowing outside, dark and cold. 

Starts each letter with My dear y/n 

Always asks how you are, even though he’s the one fighting a damn war

Follows up on every little question or story you include in your letters. How was the bake sale? Did you ever hear how Louise Graham’s brother is doing after taking that shrapnel to the shoulder? Hope you were able to get someone out to look at the washing machine.

Ends his letters with classic but sentimental sign-offs, like Affectionately yours and All my love

Makes sure not to include anything in his letters that would worry you. Doesn’t necessarily lie or fake being happy, but just gently side steps that. 

Although every once in a while you get a longer letter where Dick’s handwriting is a little messier. You know it’s from writing fast, you can almost feel the pressure behind the penmarks. He opens up more in those letters, talks about losing too many good men and sometimes will say things that just absolutely break your heart, like sometimes I wonder how all of this is really going to end for the men who are over here fighting. 

Even in these letters, Dick never says “I” or “Me”, always writes about the men and the boys. You know - and so does he - that he’s including himself in those boys.

His next letter he always makes sure to reassure you. And it’s genuine, you can tell. He’ll say something like I have to put some of these heavier thoughts somewhere, and there’s nowhere I trust more than with you. 

When he comes home, you find a stack of letters you wrote to him tied up in a neat bundle and stashed in an inside pocket of his Ike jacket that he sewed in especially for that purpose. You could tell by the flimsy, near-ripped creases and dirty paper that he’d read each one about a hundred times over. Buried in the middle of the stack was the picture you’d given him before he’d left for training. On the back, he’d written simply your name, the date the photo was taken, and a short instruction: in event of my death, please send all personal effects to with your home address. It made you sob but you never told him you found it.

GIF by mads-weasley

Lewis Nixon

Rarely writes. Actually drives you crazy with worry most of the time.

When he finally does, you can tell that he’s initially annoyed at having to put his thoughts down on paper. Letters start off with short, sarcastic sentences like nothing new here. Still fighting the war, in case you hadn’t heard. Enjoying German hospitality. 

But as the letters go on he relaxes into it and stops being so grouchy. 

Because he’s always grumpy at having to write (you should probably thank Dick for cajoling Lew into actually sitting down to write to you), he usually doesn’t write any sort of introduction or sweet address, just dives right into it.

His letters usually don’t say much, he just kind of rambles about how much he hates being away from you and how he can’t wait for the whole damn thing to be over. 

Sometimes he’ll write something so incredibly romantic it takes your breath away, like I’d fight a whole division of Panzers myself if I could just get one more sniff of your perfume. 

Those are the letters you save and reread to yourself over and over again when you’re waiting weeks for the next one.

Always signs off with something kind of sassy but also sweet?, like You know I love you or Keep our bed warm for me. 

Sometimes you feel like you can smell whiskey on the paper, which both worries you but also reminds you of Lew

When he finally gets home and you ask him about what he did with your letters, he kind of looks at you like you’ve gone crazy and says I read them of course, what else was I supposed to do with them? 

This hurts your feelings at first which of course he doesn’t understand, but after a few weeks you start to realize that he actually did read them and not only that he memorized their contents. Like he refers to your mother as “the Wicked Witch of Wichita” (something you called here after you wrote him a long rambling letter about how angry she made you at your sister’s bridal shower) and buys you a bouquet of daffodils because you wrote him a letter with a daffodil doodle in the margins of the page talking about the spring gardens. 

You realize that Lew shows his love in the little details, and it makes you appreciate him all the more.

GIF by beautifulguycollector

Ronald Speirs

Ron’s letters read like military bulletins. 

Doing well despite the cold. 1st sgt sick with pneumonia. Think of you often.

Writes predictably once per week. Never misses a letter. Ever. 

You always write him long, lengthy, romantic letters. Sometimes even a little raunchy, if you’ve had some wine. After one particularly *ahem* suggestive letter, you feel ridiculous and say so the next time you write.

In typical Ron fashion, you get a short, to-the-point reply, but it still puts a smile on your face and a blush on your cheeks: Loved your letter. Keep writing. 

Towards the end of the war, Ron starts a countdown to when he expects to be coming home. Two months now, maybe less. Home for the Fourth of July. 

Also signs off with R.S. Which makes you laugh, as if you could forget who was writing to you.

Whenever your girlfriends find a letter from Ron (you keep them all in a shoebox in your closet), they tease you and ask how you can possibly be in love with someone so stiff and formal. To which you can only chuckle to yourself, because you know it’s just that they don’t understand that Ron doesn’t tell you he loves you, he shows you. Writing a letter every single week. Updating you on everything going on, even short updates, because he wants you to know how he’s doing. That’s Ronald Speirs’ love language.

Maybe three weeks before Ron comes home, you start getting boxes of (stolen?) German silver at your door. At first it freaks you out and makes you feel slimy for having lavish riches from an enemy country, so you don’t unpack the boxes and you just stack them up in the back bedroom. When Ron gets home and sees the boxes unopened and shut away, he immediately asks you what’s wrong. You stammer out an explanation and without blinking an eye, Ron loads them into his truck and takes them to the dump. 

(Later you convince him that a better use of those would be to donate them to the local orphanage, so off he goes in his truck to get the boxes back out of the dump and bring them to shelter.)

One night when you’re lying awake, head on Ron’s chest, talking idly about things that don’t matter, he interrupts you to ask Can you guess which letter I kept? 

You instantly blush, thinking of that risque letter you wrote him when you were halfway through your second bottle of white wine. He shakes his head and pulls a letter out of his nightstand and hands it to you. You don’t recognize it immediately, although you do see that it’s too short to be one of the naughtier correspondences. 

It’s too dark to read, so you ask him which letter. He says it’s the one you wrote to me for my birthday. 

You don’t remember that one and you tell him as much, so you ask him why he kept that one instead of some of the others. He looks down at you with a serious look in his eyes, a little surprised that you can’t figure it out. Then he tells you: it’s the first time you wrote that you loved me. 

The next day, you sneak a peek at the letter and realize he’s right. You signed it, I love you Ron. 

From then on, you make sure to tell him that every night before he falls asleep.

Carwood Lipton

Formal, sweet letters. This man is a king of romancing by words.

Writes as often as he can, but you know that Lip needs peace and quiet for an entire evening to get one of those letters done (he probably definitely writes a draft or two before he gets it right). And let’s face it, Easy Company doesn’t have the luxury of many quiet evenings. 

Always, always, always starts his letters off with Dear (future) Mrs. Lipton, which you honestly think is hopelessly corny but it’s way too adorable to tell him so. And besides, you secretly love it.

He always reminisces about home in his letters. Tells you how much he misses the smell of your baking, the squeak of the front porch swing that you two would sit on and watch the sunset. 

He worries a lot about you and his family. He always asks you to look in on his mother if it’s not too much trouble. 

Lip doesn’t talk much about the war, in fact he hardly acknowledges it at all. And he never uses the term ‘war’ or ‘battle’. Instead, he says things like The boys over here are still committed to doing the job or Easy presses on.  

Lip’s letters get a little shorter and less soft after Bastogne. He starts including the names of the casualties in his company in the P.S. Even though you don’t know these men except by name - and some of them, not even that - you feel honored that he trusts you with their memories. 

Lip has saved your letters and all the pictures you sent to him - he loves pictures, and asks for an updated one of you almost every month - tucked in his foot locker and safely between the pages of his Bible so they don’t get creased or dirty. 

You also find that he’s kept stacks of letters from some of his men that died in the field. When you ask him what he plans to do with the letters, he gets a heartbreaking, far-off look in his eyes and says I reckon I’ll try to get them back to their families. 

You take on the burden of doing that, and you write to some of the families introducing yourself and introducing Lip and offering to forward them the letters.

All the replies you get back mention that their soldier talked about how good a leader and friend Lip was. Their replies bring tears to your eyes. For some reason, you don’t show the letters to Lip, although you do tell him about them. He never asks to read the letters, he just kisses you on your forehead and tells you that he’s never loved you more. 

Even after he’s home, he’ll still write you a letter from time to time, usually at Christmastime or for your birthday in the summer. His letters are always talking about his favorite memories with you, and there’s always a paragraph at the end where he talks about how in love with you he is. It’s borderline poetry and it makes you cry every single time.

GIF by balladofthe101st

Buck Compton

Basically just writes a list of questions for you to answer in every letter.

Wants to know everything about what’s going on at home. Especially sports teams.

Doesn’t write frequently, so sometimes it’s hard to feel like there’s a conversation happening. 

But he always includes sweet little notes about how much he’s thinking of you and how he’s counting down the days until he can hold you again, so you’re not complaining. 

Not the most poetic writer. Always says what he thinks and feels though. Completely honest and open. 

Does not tell you anything about the war. Basically ignores the entire thing. 

Sometimes you think about asking him about that, but you figure that he’s not talking about it for a reason, so you follow suit.

Calls you baby in his letters. 

Doesn’t actually say ‘I love you’ in his letters, although says everything else. Miss you baby. Dream about you all the time. When I get home, I’m putting a ring on your finger. 

One time he writes that he woke up last night out of a dream and swore I could taste you and it makes your toes curl.

You save that letter, tuck it in your underwear drawer. 

Signs his letters very simply: Buck. Sometimes he’ll put something in like until next time or I’ll write soon. But usually nothing super romantic or sentimental.

Doesn’t save your letters, but that really doesn’t bother you too much because all you wrote in them was basically just rambling details that Buck requested about your boring day-to-day. 

Buck’s always better in person than in writing - he’s a quality time and physical touch kind of guy - but you know that your letters were his only lifeline to normal during the war, and you’re just happy to have him back at all. 

He does surprise you one night when it’s really quiet in the house and you’re sitting on the couch together, each reading a book. He suddenly turns to you and says You know baby girl, your letters saved my sanity over there. It’s the most he’s really ever said about the war, but it’s enough, and you kiss him so he knows that you get it.  

GIF by balladofthe101st

David Webster

Unsurprisingly, Web is probably the best letter writer in all of Easy Company. 

He helps a lot of the other guys write letters home, especially if they’re trying to say something important. Web just has a knack for words unlike any other. 

He writes a lot of letters home, not just to you, but to the rest of his family, his siblings, some of his friends, and definitely his professors. 

So because you’re close with Web’s family, you do get to read a lot of his writing. 

His letters to you are different though. They’re darker and a little less polished. Sometimes, they frighten you a little bit. Web talks about things you’re not you really understand - like how pointless death is, how empty it makes him feel to see his friends get KIA, how he carries around guilt about surviving this long like an anchor. 

Refers to you exclusively in his letters by your first name, his writing is always serious and somber and drenched with heavy emotions, so pet names just really don’t fit the vibe.

He quotes poetry and literature quite a bit when he writes. It all feels a bit Gothic, but you’ve always known that Web has found clarity in the world through books, so you don’t begrudge him a little poetic license.

Signs his letters Yours in perpetuity, David K. Webster. 

Asks you to send books. Sometimes he asks for something specific, but other times he’s happy to get whatever you pick out for him. Your tastes are different from his; you prefer to choose shorter, gentle pieces about life in the British countryside or Western adventure novels. Web would prefer Wadsworth or Hemingway, but he figures it’s probably in his best interests to read things that don’t tackle dark themes. You always tuck a letter for him into the first few pages. 

He doesn’t save your letters, per se, although he does save every single book you send to him. When he gets home, he puts them all up on the bookshelf in his office. Even though they’re beat up and stained and not at all fitting with the rest of his collection, they’re front and center. 

Sometimes he takes a stab at sketching in his letters. He’s not bad, either. You try to encourage him to take lessons when he gets home, which he never does. He secretly loves how much you love his drawings though.

GIF by yourspeirs

Joe Liebgott

KING OF DIRTY LETTERS

You definitely like to re-read his letters… again and again…

Not every letter is a dirty one. But most are. Or at least have a dirty section in them. 

You don’t know how this man makes you feel wanted from halfway around the world, but somehow he does. Lord knows you love a lot about your Joey, but you didn’t realize how good he was with words until you found yourself practically stalking the mailman, hoping for another delivery from Joe.

Uses a lot of pet names in his letters. Baby girl, Doll, Princess are some of his favorites. Literally never calls you by your name.

Always signs off with Your Joey. 

Even when Joe is clearly in a dark place, his letters are saturated with how much he needs you and how he can’t stop thinking about all the ways he’s going to have you when he gets home. 

When your mother finds one of Joey’s letters to you, she throws an absolute shit fit and freaks out that you’re sleeping with someone before you’re married. It takes a long time for you to convince her that you haven’t slept with Joey yet, you’re just… really into dirty talking.

She kinda chills after that but still looks at you suspiciously every time you get a letter from him.

She never tells your dad though, which makes you think maybe she’s more supportive of your relationship with him than you realized.

After working up the courage, you write Joe a letter that is so sinful you actually doubt whether you should send it in the mail, it just feels so wrong.

When I say this man goes crazy for that letter, it is an understatement. He is out of his mind and immediately writes you a reply telling you so. Basically begs you for more.

Even though your letters back and forth with Joe are pretty raunchy, there’s also a sweetness to them. He’s always sure to mention that This ain’t just all talk, Doll. When you’re Mrs. Liebgott, you’re gonna see exactly what I’ve been writing about. Which you know is still pretty dirty, but hey, he’s basically proposing to you, right?

You are not the least bit surprised to know that he kept your naughtiest letters when he finally gets home.

But, Joseph Liebgott is a man of his word, and even though he is clearly dying to and you’re practically begging him to, he doesn’t make good on all those dirty promises until after you’re wearing his ring.

Much to your delight, you find that he is just as good with actions as he is with words.

[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"

[lovelyd0gg]

9th Winning HC!

You guys chose Buck Compton for this one! So enjoy<3!

Buck's reaction to you getting HANGRY (hungry and angry)

Warnings: Nervous boy<3, mild yelling.

𝙱𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚘𝚗.

•You were hungry almost all the time, and it wasn't because you weren't eating much, but that's just how you were!

•And Buck knew that, sometimes he'd catch you raiding the kitchen cupboards or fridge in need of food, LITERALLY ANYTHING!

•He sometimes wondered if you even disliked one singular food item, but it seemed to him that you enjoyed or liked everything.

•Well one day, you come home from work and you're very hungry, and angry! Hangry! Hungry: you're always hungry. Angry: your client or work was just stressful.

•So Buck saw you raiding the cupboard and fridge, again. And to his surprise, you found almost nothing!

•You both were planning on going to the shops today later but you felt so weak and lazy, you were walking around so much!

•You sat down on the couch next to Buck. And immediately had a minor silent tantrum.

•You slammed your hand on the pillow, or you kicked both your legs up for no reason.

•And in Buck's mind: CAUTION! if she does this, don't move or breathe!

•So he tried holding his breath. It didn't work. You figured it out and you started for some reason put the blame on him that there was no food.

•He almost forgot how you acted when you were angry or irritated, you were scary..

•So he RUSHED to the shop and came back five minutes later and gave you food.

•When you took a bite, you immediately calmed down and smiled at him.

•After a little while, you apologized to him for your behavior and that you will try not to do it again.

•He nodded and smiled at you, he seemed to understand, but on the other hand... You were SCARY..😨

•Next time, he'll but food in advance.

[bellewintersroe]

Hi! Love your writing, can I request a bob ship?

Im 5 ft 6, auburn hair that gets darker in winter and lighter in the summer, brownish green eyes, athletic build. I’m very stubborn, strong willed, athletic and loyal to a fault.

I’m an introvert, I love the gym, I love books, I have a knack for finding information about almost anything. Sleeping is one of my favourite things to do, I anger very slowly, I’m good at defusing situations. I really enjoy nights at the bar with my close friends.

I am currently on the path of studying cyber and criminology with hopes of working for the government.

Hey, thank you for your request! <3

I ship you with… Eugene Roe!

Okay so I feel like as you’re both introverts it could potentially be a little awkward at first? Like you deffo start out as just friends/ part of E company maybe together?

You sound super inquisitive so I feel like you might be asking him about being a medic and how much he knows about it all- and he’ll start to smile and laugh about how many questions you have for him.

genuinely loves your attention to detail and finding out new information, he finds himself excited for you to come see him when he’s training or at work (obvs not in the war) so he can show you hands on.

I think once you’d got into that routine so often he’d get a sense that you both kinda like one another, he found you gorgeous, and heard other men complimenting you, so he thought why the hell not.

He’s smooooooth, I know he’s fairly quiet compared to people like Liebgott and Guarnere, but he genuinely has a way with his words- that accent tops it off omg.

i loveeeee the concept of you and Gene being super close all throughout the war, checking up on each other, giving each other food and blankets- but not actually becoming a real couple / more than friends when you’re in Austria.

He’s so deeply in love at this point, and loves how peaceful it makes him feel with you being around. He’s fascinated by your hair as well and sometimes finds himself staring when you wrap your fingers around it, or tuck it behind his ear.

Would just admit his feelings, cos fuck it, here you were on the edge of being separated and/ or shipped to Japan to fight some more, he couldn’t bare making the most of the peace he has now.

sooooooooo romantic oh my- imagine it all sunny around the lakes of Europe and you two confiding in each other finally just the way you wanted.

Gene would definitely love napping with you, he hates how loud the world has become so being in bed with you is his safe space.

big spoon and little spoon. Takes a while to admit he enjoys being a little spoon, you just kinda do it to him one day and he goes along with it- especially after a particularly hard day.

I think Gene would be more introverted than you, I think he’d prefer to stay in rather than go out, he loved a good balance, but loves picking you up at the end of night and making sure you get home safe.

might have to carry you to bed, I can picture this. Literally gets the giggles over drunk you. He’s so head over heels, he admired the duck out of you.

checks out your ass at first discreetly but not so after becoming comfortable with you. The first time you picture him doing it is wayyyy back in France when Easy gets a pass. You’d turn around and his eyes would flicker up and his cheeks would blush furiously- he’d feel so bad after and probably goes home to pray to the Virgin Mary or something idk.

But you’re so calm and would never get angry over this because you’re probably madly in love with him at this point too, it just gives you another reason to openly admire him.

He loves this about you, how calm you are and he’s genuinely never seen you upset / angry? He’s a very patient guy and you sound the same so I feel like arguments would be very rare?

If they happened would be out of pure frustration or wanting the best for each others sake. Like I said they’d be very rare but there’s a sadness that lingers around your argument rather than anger.

sooooo gentle with you, with his touch, his words, genuinely the perfect man omg. (Maybe not so gentle in the bedroom he’s dirty, trust me).

religious boy but still super accepting and chilled out with everything, probs gets a bit confused over contraception, the female anatomy as a whole.

like I know everybody says Gene would be so good if you’re on your period, and he seriously would, but he’s still a 40’s man that’s learnt about battle wounds.

‘cramps? Wdym cramps, what kinda cramps?’ ‘how much blood?!‘. ‘A headache AND cramps?’ Literally shitting, crying throwing up- thinks you’re internally bleeding.

probs thinks a biological female only has two holes lmao he can be dopey. You’d deffo educate him on this.

would admire just how smart and driven you are, your strong willed attitude is very very attractive to Gene- and super important, especially when he’s going through the hard times in Bastogne.

scared of how strong his feelings are and how dependent he could be on you.

probs dreams about you a shit tonne and believes you’re an Angel sent to him or some cute shit. But I kinda mean that in a literal way, it scares him at first until he realises oh wait no I’m just in love with her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I ship you platonically with… Buck Compton!

This is a random pairing, I know, and you probably start out as just friendly people.

but Buck in his later life worked for the California court, and I know that’s quite different to working in the government, but he’d genuinely be inspired by things you tell him and find out.

he’s shocked that you’re out at war and he’s found something so in common with you.

probably would exchange books, it’s sorta cute and innocent at first, but after Bastogne I think Buck genuinely needs his friends around him and you could possibly sit and talk to him about all the new information you’ve found out/ what you want to do when you’re home.

Even if he’s not in the right mindset and you think he’s not listen he’s so grateful to you and Malarkey for being at his bedside, reading letters from home, talking to him.

respects you soooo much, very very grateful all throughout his life for you.

[beachszn]

band of brothers • behind the scenes pt. 2

[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

[she-wolf09231982]

Chapter 8- Adapt and Overcome

Summary: After the German bomb run on Bastogne, the locals and American soldiers there that were left, helped piece back together what they could of the town. Medical personnel that had survived still tended to the wounded however they could with whatever supplies they had left. Easy Company remains in the Ardennes Forest preparing for an inevitable assault on German forces in the town of Foy. However, morale is low due to cold weather, constant shelling, zero relief, and numerous casualties to include a few of your closest friends as Easy pushes forward into Haguenau.

A/N: Mature audience, Joe LiebgottxFem!Medic, post D-Day, She/Her Pronouns, Y/F/N, Y/L/N, Cursing/Swearing, Derogatory Slurs, Mentions of death, Confrontation, Military Terminology, Medical Terminology, 1940’s slang, Inappropriate Nicknames, Band of Brothers References, Mentions of Weaponry, Yiddish/German/Italian to English Translation, Descriptive Wounds/Injuries, Blood/Gore, PTSD, Smoking, Banter, Pining, Consensual Physical Contact/PDA, FOREVER FLUFF

German is identified with (g)

Yiddish is identified with (y)

Italian is identified with (i)

Made the best discovery writing this piece: "Liebling" means "darling" in German!! That absolutely made my day and now is my new favorite pet name/term of endearment from Liebgott.

Beginning 1x7 The Breaking Point then transitions into 1x8 The Last Patrol

*These stories may not fall entirely in accordance with the TV series timeline. I do not know the real soldiers the actors portray in this series, so please understand I show no disrespect. Some or most of historical events and character interactions in my fanfics are fabricated purely for the sake of the enjoyment of fiction*

~~~~~~~

January 5th, 1945

German artillery fired onto Easy Company from the town as Easy soldiers scattered to the nearest foxholes to take cover.

“INCOMING! TAKE COVER!” Lipton shouts to the men as he runs to the nearest foxhole.

Blasts coming from all directions causing trees to fall and dirt to fly made it difficult for the men to navigate safe passages to their holes. You had been separated from Joe before the attack started. You lay flat behind a pile of fallen trees for cover while you shield your face from the debris. You were too afraid to move, fearing you’d just get hit.

After what seemed like hours, the ambush came to a halt, and you suddenly heard a familiar call from the distance.

“MEDIC!”

You sprang from the ground and started running towards the cry for help then you ran into LT Buck Compton.

“Buck! Are you ok!?” you ask as you look him over frantically.

He had a distant look in his eyes.

“Sir? SIR??” you take him by the shoulders and shake him.

Buck finally looked at you, “...yeah.” he whispered.

“Did you see anyone else that was hurt? I heard someone call for a medic.”

His eyes began to gloss over. You tilted your head while you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Buck? Who needs help? Please, tell me!” you urge him.

He pointed to a path through the trees and uttered names that almost had you fainting at his feet.

“Bill...and Joe.” 

You wasted no time dashing through the tree line where he had pointed to. The path lined by the woods seemed never ending. All you heard was the drumming of your heartbeat in your ears while your feet became heavier and heavier impeding your ability to get to Joe as fast as possible. Images of his lifeless body flashed before your eyes, causing tears to stream down, stinging your cheeks from the cold air.

You finally reach the clearing, stopping to assess the carnage of blood in front of you. You see Doc Roe already kneeling over a soldier lying on his back whose face you couldn’t see from where you had been standing. To the left you see Guarnere leaning against a pine, his right leg hanging on only by tendons and ligaments.

Two men rushed in with a litter. 

“Bill, you go first.” 

“Whatever you say, Doc.” Bill replied. 

“Over here. Take this man.” Gene ordered pointing at Guarnere.

Guarnere was hoisted onto the stretcher, and carried off, not before a snappy exit comment,

“Hey, Joe, I told ya I'd beat ya back to the States.”

Tunnel vision sets in as the world starts to cave in on you. You fall to your knees as you attempt to pace your breathing so you won’t pass out.

Malarkey appeared from the path behind you.

“Y/F/N! Hey, you ok??” he asked concerned as he hooked you under the arm to help you up.

His voice was distant and muffled.

“I-I-” you stuttered, but words completely fail you when you see the right leg of the soldier that Doc was helping...more so the right leg that was completely missing. You gasp slapping your hand over your mouth in a desperate attempt to stop the scream of terror from escaping. You look at Malarkey with dread painted all over your face.

“It’s...Joe!?” you managed to say between panting as you start to hyperventilate.

Don looked over and understood what you were reacting to.

“Y/F/N, that’s Toye. Joe Toye.” he clarified slowly and deliberately so you could understand.

You stare back at him, progressively absorbing what he just said.

“Toye…” you echoed back.

Don nodded. You look back at Doc and Joe Toye, finally coming back down from your shock. 

As Malarkey pulled you up, Doc turned around noticing you were there.

“Hey, Y/F/N, come over here and hold this so I can wrap it up.”

You swiftly go to help Eugene, seeing Toye’s pale face as you get closer.

“Hang in there, Toye.” you say in your best reassuring tone.

~~~~~~~

That night, Corporal Penkala and Sgt. Skip Muck's foxhole took a direct hit, killing them instantly, a moment witnessed by George Luz. A dud shell also landed next to Luz and Lipton's foxhole, fortunately sparing their lives.

The eventful day the Germans provided had you and Eugene running around like crazy, following the cries of ‘medic’ in every direction. Both of you were running on steam, and you had yet to see Joe Liebgott at all since this attack began.

When the bombardment finally calmed down, it was too dark to venture out to find him. You decided the safest bet was to stay put. You would’ve heard by now if Joe had been transferred to the aid station. Or at least you hoped.

The following day, the move on the town of Foy commenced, thankfully with LT Speirs in command. As Easy company rushed the field towards the town, a sniper effectively picks off the men as they approach. The sniper is eventually taken down by a mortar and the men quickly enter Foy. With the village filled with attacking Germans, Speirs makes a suicidal run through the German front line to make contact with I Company. However, the most fascinating thing about what Speirs did wasn't that he successfully connected with I Company, but that he ran back the same way he'd gone unscathed.

~~~~~~~

After taking the town of Rachamps a few weeks later, Easy takes a much-needed rest in the solace of a local convent. The Sisters have taken the liberty of bringing in their choir to sing for soldiers. Of the 145 men that entered Bastogne, only 63 remained. After you have tended to the wounds of the soldiers that were hurt during the assault, you wander amongst the men to find your Joe.

You find Lipton and Speirs conversating in one of the aisles.

“Hey, Y/L/N, good to see ya. You doin’ ok?” Lipton asks.

You nod, “Yes sir. You?” 

“I’m just fine.” he responded softly.

You look at LT Speirs, “Sir?”

“I’m fine, Corporal.” he stated.

“You haven't seen Liebgott by chance, have you?” You ask, trying not to sound too distressed.

Lipton looked over the crowd of scattered soldiers.

“Yeah, he’s right over there. By the altar.” 

You look where he had pointed and see Joe sitting on the floor against the stone wall by himself where dozens of lit candles stood on iron stands around him. You B line to him, picking up the pace to get to him as fast as you could. As you get within ear shot you call out to him.

“Joe!” you manage to gasp.

Joe quickly looked up upon hearing your voice. His face lit up when he saw you, hastily standing up to meet you halfway. When you reached him, he enveloped you, lifting you up from the ground as he pressed you against his body.

You bury your face into the crook of his neck as happy tears began to cascade from your bloodshot eyes. Joe’s chest heaving from joy was electrifying, leaving you a melting mess in his arms while he lowered to your feet.

“I thought they got you.” you whispered through your sobs.

Joe scoffed, “Those Krauts ain’t gettin’ me.” 

He pulled away to look at your face. He used his gloved thumb to wipe your tears.

“I’m right here, Gams.” 

You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a desperate kiss. His arms snake around your waist, angling his head to intensify the lock he had on your lips. You unconsciously slack your jaw, allowing his tongue to slowly run along your lower lip. Although you both were lost in this magical moment, you suddenly became aware that you were ‘necking’ in a church and thought it best to behave before you both lost complete control.

You gently pull back as Joe’s disappointment clearly appeared across his face.

“We shouldn’t have done that here.” you admit.

Joe smiled at your properness. 

“If God didn’t want it to happen in His house, He wouldn’t have let it.” Joe justified.

You raise an eyebrow and smirk at him.

“It’s inappropriate.” you countered.

“So, you’re saying if it had been right outside the church, it would’ve been fine?” he countered. 

You giggle, “Perhaps.”

Joe laughed, “Well how about we find a place to rest, and we can just cuddle up?” he compromised.

“Yes.” you agree as he pulled you by the hand to where he was sitting.

The church had provided blankets to the men, which Joe had spread out on the floor picnic style. He sat against the wall, then offered his hand for you to hold as you lowered yourself down next to him. He folded his coat, placing it on his lap for you to lay your head on. You nuzzle into him, resting the side of your face onto the coat while he combed his finger softly through your mess of hair. 

Before you drift off to sleep, over the choir singing in the background, you hear a low gravelly whisper:

“Ikh hab dir lib (y)(I love you).”

~~~~~~~

February 9th, 1945

The plan had been to relieve Easy Company and head to Mourmelon. The following morning, orders changed after Hitler launched a counteroffensive in Alsace, and you were all to help hold the line in the town of Haguenau.

As Easy began loading up on trucks for Haguenau, PVT David Webster is dropped off by a depot Jeep,

"Thanks for the lift." Webster tells the driver.

As he greeted his battered comrades, he received no welcoming glance from any of them. The air of disdain grew thick as he passed each truck. He had been sent to an aid station long before Bastogne, and their collective resentment stemmed from his long stay in the hospital and his making no effort to return quickly and rejoin the company.

You're seated next to Joe in the bed of a deuce truck, huddled into him trying to keep warm as Webster walked up.

"Hey guys, some lieutenant told me to report to 2nd." he stated gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder behind him.

He looked at one of the soldiers across from you and Liebgott.

"You're name's Jackson, right?

"That's right." Jackson replied dryly.

"Who's leading the platoon?" Webster queried.

"Sgt Malarkey is." Jackson responded.

"What? No officers?" Webster questioned.

"I guess you didn't hear." Liebgott began, "They're making Malarkey lieutenant. He's on the fast track now."

"Really? That's great." Webster noted.

"Yeah, ain't it?" Joe replied sarcastically.

"Hey, Jackson, help me up, will ya?" Webster said trhowing his gear bag up onto the bed of the truck as he hoisted himself up.

Webster sat on the bench next to Jackson, then noticed you half passed out on Joe's shoulder. He observed the medic brassard on your left arm.

"New medic?" he asked, motioning with his head towards you.

Joe looked down at you, shifting your face onto his chest as he wrapped his left arm around you to hold you steady when the truck picked up speed.

"No. She's been here since the beginning." he stated, shooting a cold glance at Webster.

"So, you came from the hospital?" Jackson asked Webster.

"Yeah."

"Must've liked that hospital, cuz, uh, we left Holland four months ago." Joe sneered.

Webster felt the bitterness, “Well I wasn’t there the whole time. There was rehabilitation, then the replacement depot-“

“-Well I’m sure you tried to bust out and help us in Bastogne.” Joe interjected.

“Well, I don’t know how I would’ve done that.” Webster defended.

“That’s funny, because Popeye found a way. So did Alley, right? Back in Holland,” Joe illustrated to Babe who was sitting on your left, “And Guarnere--”

“Yeah, where is Guarnere? He still your platoon sergeant?” Webster asked obliviously.

“No. He got hit.” Jackson answered bitterly.

The trucks arrived at Haguenau then came to a hard stop. The men started to unload from the rear. Joe gently nudged you.

“Zeit zu gehen, Liebling (g)(Time to go, darling).” Joe whispered to you.

“She speaks German, too?” Webster probed.

You strain your eyes to look at him.

“Who’s this?” you ask Joe.

“Webster.” Joe answered plainly.

“Hm, don’t you look all bright eyed and bushy tailed.” You say through a yawn.

Joe scoffed, “Yeah, had a four month furrlow, now he’s ready for war.” Joe joked.

Joe jumped from the bed of the truck, then offered his hand to you to help you down which you accepted.

“Spread out. Hold along this line ‘til I figure out where we’re going.” Malarkey called out.

“Sarge? Sarge-“ Webster approached Malarkey.

An incoming shell soared over and hit a nearby building before Malarkey could respond. An unexpecting frightened Webster dove to the ground while LT Speirs spectated in the background like a child watching a fireworks display.

“What’s the matter there, Webster? A little nervous in the service?” Malarkey teased.

~~~~~~~

Later in one of the abandoned houses of the town, Captain Speirs and LT Lipton were setting the place up as Command Post. Lipton had been fighting off pneumonia since you left Rachamps and was looking rather rough. You and Eugene had been hounding him since to take it easy, but he has chosen to keep pushing through for the men.

“Sir, pneumonia has killed people with rest. You keep pushin’ yourself like this you’re gonna die.” You lecture him, “Luz, go grab the man a blanket, will ya?”

You call out to George as you guide him back down onto the couch.

“I’ll be alright, Y/L/N.” Lipton assurred.

“Sgt Lipton? Feeling all right?” Webster’s voice carried through the room.

You look up, slightly annoyed, “Look at him. He’s got pneumonia, does he look all right?” you hiss.

“Sorry to hear that.” Webster replied.

“What are you sorry about?” Luz said as he threw a wool blanket over Lipton, “He’s alive, he’s got a couch, a goddamn blanket. He’s snug as a bug.”

“Well, if the man would stay off his feet and keep warm...maybe eat something, he may actually recover.” You state firmly.

Lipton sighed, “I promise I will try harder to take it easy, Y/F/N.”

You hum is disbelief as you try to start a fire in the fireplace to heat some soup for him.

"You fuckin' Italians think you can solve everything with food." Luz said outloud.

You glare over your shoulder at him.

"Non vengo pagata abbastanza per essere tua madre (i)(I don't get paid enough to be your mother)." you mumble under your breath.

Luz's face twisted with confusion, "Huh?"

"Nothin'." you reply curtly.

“Have a seat Webster, I’ll help you get situated.” Lipton said pointing to the chair nearest to him.

Webster observed you by the fireplace.

“So, you Liebgott’s girl?” Webster inquired.

You start the fire and hang a tin cup with water and broth above it before you respond.

“What if I am?”

He stared back in shock.

“Just wonderin’.”

“You got a lot to say, don’tchya? A little advice, David Webster, quit asking these guys so many questions about who went where. Don’t make them relive all their losses so soon. Got it?” you say with spitfire behind your voice.

Webster’s jaw fell open while his eyes widened.

“Um, yeah. Got it.” He uttered.

You give him one last look over and leave the room.

Upon your return, a replacement officer arrived while Captain Speirs moved about the room shuffling through some papers he had snatched from Lipton’s hands.

“Listen, for chrissake, will ya go back in the back and sack out? There’s beds back there with fresh sheets.” Speirs ordered Lipton before he could say anything.

“THANK YOU, SIR.” You project across the room to the Captain, “I guess it takes a direct order from the CO to get you to do what me and Doc been askin' you to do for days.” You assert with exasperation.

Lipton shot you a frustrated expression, “I will, sir, I was just tryin’ to make myself useful, sir.”

~~~~~~~

Another abandoned building was designated as barracks for the companies occupying the town. Floors that were able to bare weight, had bunks lining the walls in each room. You had a single bed to yourself that was conveniently arranged where the headboard of your bed met Liebgott’s bottom bunk. You lay on Joe’s bed briefly to rest your eyes.

The new officer, LT Jones, entered the room to let Malarkey know that at 0100, a mission was to commence across the river to obtain POW’s for interrogation. After Jones took Malarkey aside to go over a few details, Liebgott took Webster to the bunks to get the information out of him.

“Hey, Web. Come here, I wanna talk to you for a second.”

“Why??” Webster asked alarmed.

“You want some coffee?”

“No.” Webster replied quickly, paranoid by Joe’s sudden act of kindness.

Joe looked at Jackson, “Fifteen.”

“Fifteen what?” Jackson asked.

“Looeys since D-Day,” Joe replied, “This kid out of high school yet?”

Joe asked looking at LT Jones talking to Malarkey by the window.

“West Point.” Webster replied.

“Isn’t that where Ike went?” Jackson asked.

“He actually graduated with his son.” Webster clarified.

“Shit. So, uh, what do you know about this patrol thing?” Joe interrogated Webster.

You sat up from Joe’s bunk.

“Patrol?” you asked, somewhat panicked.

“Uh, nothing.” Webster lied.

“Oh, come on, I know you know something.” Ramirez pushed.

“I don’t!” Webster insisted.

Joe spit at the floor, “Bullshit. You were there, right? At the CP. This is a prisoner snatch, right? Come on, Webster. Spill it.” Joe pressured.

You shifted onto the side of the mattress to hear better.

“Capt Speirs is to pick fifteen men. LT Jones wants to be one of them.”

“I say let the kid go. He could use the experience.” Joe said with a cynical smile.

“Probably could find fourteen replacements to help him out.” Ramirez added.

“Who’s going?” You chime in, asking Webster, “I assume they need a translator and a medic.”

“I don’t know who.” he replied.

You roll your eyes at him.

“Why are you holding out on me? I know you know-” Joe accused Webster, “Who?”

Webster hesitated, “Well, if I tell you, you can’t let anyone know I let you know.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, Web. Who is it?” Joe urged.

Webster paused, “Heffron-“

“Oh, shit.” Babe huffed.

“-McClung, and Ramirez.” He ended.

“He want any other guys from any other platoon?” Joe asked.

“No. I don’t know. Not that I know of. That’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

~~~~~~~

“2nd Platoon, on me!” Malarkey called right outside the shower tents that were set up for the soldiers to finally have a proper hot shower.

The men form up around him.

“All right, I’m leading this patrol. CO wants Grant, Liebgott, Wynn, Jackson, Shifty from 3rd platoon, and Webster.” He relayed.

“They don’t want anyone from first?” Cobb asked.

“No.”

“Is there anyone they don’t want from 2nd Platoon? Jesus Christ-” Joe expressed sarcastically rolling his eyes, “It’s always 2nd Platoon. I swear to God, if we were down to three guys, they’d still want us for it.”

Joe trudged off towards the showers.

You run after Malarkey, “Malark, they didn’t say anything about bringing a medic?”

“Those were the only names they gave me, Y/L/N.” he replied wryly.

“Maybe you can suggest I come with-“

“Y/F/N, those are the names. I’m sure there’s a reason they’re not sending you or Doc.” he barked.

You coward back slightly, trying not to push the subject any further.

He softened his demeanor realizing he was overreacting some, “I know you wanna be there, but we can’t afford to lose more people, let alone medics. Especially good ones. Get it?” he explained as warmly as he could muster.

“Ya, sarge, I understand.” You reply with a weak smile.

He gave you an encouraging nod and walked to the shower tent. You realized you were about to be surround by dozens of naked men and should probably head back to the bunks before you see too much.

~~~~~~~

Back at CP, Luz was unpacking what looked to be dozens of chocolate bars and candies sent from the Post Exchange from Stateside. His Easy Company brothers progressively encircling him like vultures trying to convince him to share as he counted them to record for inventory.

“Goddamn it, Johnny, you’re breaking my heart, I’m telling ya!” Luz started.

“Come on, George, just give me, I don’t know, 10, 15 bars.” Martin begged.

Luz slammed down a small pack of gum on the surface of the table, “Here, Juicy Fruit! Happy?”

Another soldier walked in behind Cobb and Martin, “Just got report of movement. 1st Sergeant Lipton wants you to lay a few bazooka rounds into a house across the river.”

“You’d think we’d get just one Hershey bar-“ Martin complained disregarding the soldier’s report.

“Come on, Luz, you’re 1st platoon at heart.” Cobb pushed.

“Jesus, Cobb, there’s not enough-“ Luz explained.

Liebgott entered the room with you right behind him. Webster and LT Jones entered not too long after you.

“Whoa, Hershey bars!!” Joe exclaimed.

“Where!?” you ask trying to look over Joe’s shoulder on your tiptoes.

Luz rolled his eyes, “Jesus Christ!”

“Wait your turn Liebgott, Y/L/N.” Cobb commanded.

“Yeah, yeah, who they for?” Liebgott dismissed.

“Not you! Not even for Y/F/N!” Luz established sternly.

You furrow your eyebrows at him, “I am offended, George! Have I not taken care of you when you needed it?”

“Yeah, and so has Doc but I don’t see him in here asking for handouts.” He replied.

“Oh, come on, George, one bar for me and Y/F/N, we’ll share one.” Joe pushed.

“No! There’s not enough to go around!” Luz claimed.

“Hey, big mouth, give the kid a Hershey bar.” A familiar voice projected across the room.

Everyone looked up and saw Frank Perconte back from the aid station after receiving a bullet by the Germans in his left buttocks.

The guys laughed collectively.

“You gotta be shittin’ me!” Luz said with a wide smile.

“Look who it is!” Joe added.

“What’s up guys? I like what you did with the place, George.” Perconte jested.

“Yeah, yeah, I did good. How you feelin’?”

“As long as you keep your hands off my ass, I’ll be fine.”

Luz chuckled, “Here have a Hershey.”

He tossed a candy bar across the room to Frank.

“He gets a fuckin’ Hershey bar?” Joe protested.

“Well, he got shot in the ass!” Luz retorted.

Martin walked over to Perconte, “Did I tell you to stick your big ass out in the wind?”

“No! But I expect a little sympathy from you, right?” Frank repsonded.

“Yeah, should I rub it for ya?” Martin teased trying to spank his left butt cheek.

Perconte quickly shuffled to the side, “Get the fuck outta here!”

“Can you believe this guy? I try to get him out of the fuckin’ war, he comes straight back!” Martin stated.

“Yeah, well, that’s not what I heard. I heard the Krauts are finished.” Frank said.

“Yeah, well, just to make sure, we gotta row across the fucking river tonight, grab a few, and ask them in person.” Joe explained.

Frank’s disappointment surfaced across his face.

“Ya kidding me?”

Joe shook his head, “Wish I was. Welcome back, Frank.”

~~~~~~~

At 1700 back at CP later that day, a briefing was to be held by Capt Winters about the upcoming patrol for that night. The soldiers listed on the roster to go sat around a long dining room oak table with LT Jones standing awkwardly off to the side.

With Capt Speirs’ and Lipton’s permission, you also attended the briefing, standing across the room where you had a clear view of Joe sitting at the head of the table. You could see the guys secretly whispering their opinions to eachother about LT Jones leading the mission instead of Malarkey.

“No way. Not on his first day.” Grant stated.

Joe rubbed his bottom lip thoughtfully, “Well, do you see any other officer here?”

Webster, standing behind Joe’s chair, crossed his arms, then looked at Lt Jones sympatheticlly, knowing the frustrations of being doubted for being “the new guy.” Another handful of Easy soldiers entered the room.

“Who’s in charge of this bullshit?” one of them asked. He looked over his shoulder at LT Jones. “No he ain’t.” he determined outwardly.

“Well, if he ain’t, it’s you, Chuck. Or Shifty, or Mo.” Babe asserted.

“Well, that would be better.” Joe appended.

You feel your stomach twist into knots at his words. And as if he felt your anxiousness, he shifted his attention to you, meeting your gaze across the room. He gave you his signature infectious Liebgott grin, and you couldn't help but smile back.

“Ten-hut!” Jones called out to bring the room to attention as Captain Winters walked into the room.

“At ease.” Winters instructed the men.

Winters explained that they were to cross the river in four rubber boats with LT Jones, the ranking officer will go along as an observer. Sergeant Martin was to lead the patrol in Malarkey’s place. He assured the guys that the battalion will be covering their withdrawal with the POW’s, and were to utilize the whistles provided to signal to them to blast the outpost after they’ve safely returned to the boats.

“Remember, it’s about prisoners,” Winters reiterated firmly, “-Don’t pop the first thing that moves.”

Winters flashed a brief glance at Liebgott before continuing.

“Clear?”

The men mutually responded, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Picked your assault team?” he asked Martin.

“McClung, Liebgott, Sisk, Cobb, Garcia, and Webster, as translator. The rest of you guys, a base of fire with Sergeant Grant. You speak German, right, Webster?”  Martin bellowed at Webster across the table.

“Yeah, a little bit.” Webster replied meekly.

Not before wishing his men good luck, Winters made his exit.

“A little German?” Joe began, “-his German’s as good as mine. And Y/F/N’s.”

Joe motioned with his head towards you. You look at the floor somewhat flattered, but also frustrated that two soldiers who speak German would be going on this mission when they really only needed one. This thought had you pushing down angry tears.

Coincidently, Webster had the same thoughts.

As you file outside with the guys out of CP, you immediately head back to the barracks so Joe wouldn't see you upset before he left. Webster approached Capt Winters, Capt Speirs, Martin, and LT Jones.

“Sir?”

“Yes?” Winters acknowledged.

“Liebgott and I, we both speak German. You said fifteen men, there’s sixteen of us, including two translators.” Webster elluded.

“Well, fine,” Speirs began, “Hey, Liebgott. You wanna sit this one out?”

Joe’s obvious elation displayed on his face, “Yes, sir,” he looked at Web, “Thanks, buddy!”

~~~~~~~

I’m dedicating this chapter to my lovelies @wordsaresimple-imnot @mrs-greenside @skiesofrosie @yourspeirs for sharing and fueling my everlasting enthusiasm of BoB

❤️🪖♠️🦅

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Midnights

Pairings: Eugene Roe x f!reader Summary: Eugene and Y/n have been in love with each other since Toccoa. The pair final admit their feelings for each other and things get a little heated. Warnings: smut, sexual images, 18+, minors dni Disclaimer: any writing of Band of Brothers characters is strictly based of their fictional representation within the show and is meant as no disrespect to the real hero’s.

The beer was cool against Eugene’s lips as he raised the bottle, taking a long swig of the golden liquid. He watched the scene unfolding in front of him, as George Luz tried hopelessly to flirt with the poor barmaid who wasn’t the slightest bit interested. He’d been at it for the best part of an hour but he still hadn’t given up hope. Eugene and Babe Heffron gave up trying to help him, wanting to preserve what little dignity George still had left as the barmaid landed another wounding blow to his ego and resigned to a game of darts with Buck Compton and Joe Toye.

“The winner gets two packs of smokes?” Joe asked, twirling the dart delicately between his fingers, a smirk on his face.

“You’re on,” Babe replied, dragging Eugene with him who followed reluctantly, downing the rest of his beer before taking the darts from his friend and lining himself up with the board. “Go on Gene, show 'em what ya got.” Babe cheered, clapping his hands enthusiastically and causing a red tint to spread across Eugene’s cheeks. He threw the first two darts with ease, not letting the noise of the bar or the jeering from his comrades distract him. Before he threw the third dart, the door swung open letting in the cool evening breeze and sending a shiver down Eugene’s spine, a pleasant relief from the sticky sweat beneath his class A uniform. His dark eyes moved to the door where they met those of a certain female medic who was smiling jovially and waving at a group of his fellow Easy Company men. Eugene gulped, averting his eyes back to the darts board when he felt a hand appear on his shoulder. “Do I notice a blush on those cheeks, Eugene?” Buck whispered into his ear, causing Gene to duck away from him.

“No…got nothin’ to blush about…just warm in here,” Eugene tugged at the collar of his uniform, emphasising how warm he was.

“Sure thing, Doc,” Buck smirked at him as Eugene took his last turn before handing the darts off to Joe.

“Buck’s right you know,” Babe chimed in, following Eugene as he retreated to the bar. “You’ve just gotta talk to her, she’s a nice gal and if the way she’s been looking over here all night I reckon she feels the same way.”

Eugene leant forward, coughing frantically on the sip of beer he’d just taken.

“Christ Gene, don’t die on me,” Babe laughed, slapping the medics back playfully. Eugene gave Babe a stern glare causing the young paratrooper to put his hands up in mock surrender. “Just think about it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the evening drew on, Eugene found his senses dwindling from the alcohol he’d consumed. He’d somehow been drawn into a drinking game with Chuck and Floyd and could feel his brain begin to falter as he fumbled his way through the bar to a seat in the corner. Eugene's mind was swaying aimlessly when a familiar figure sat down beside him, equally wobbly from their alcohol intoxication.

“Hey Genie,” she blushed, running her hand through his dark locks causing him to freeze. “How’re you doing?” She mumbled, slumping down beside him.

“I… ’m okay… good…you?” Eugene gulped, glancing at Y/n as she grinned.

“I’m good but I’m even better now I’m here with you,” she grabbed ahold of his hands. “Do you want to get some air, it’s a little stuffy in here.” She bit her lip and batted her lashes. Eugene gulped again.

“Yeah, course…I’d…love to.”

Y/n grabbed hold of his hand, leading him between the crowds of paratroopers to the door, a few whistles and shouts of ‘go get her Gene’ followed them.

The cool air brushed Eugene’s face, bringing some relief from the stifling heat of the bar. Taking a deep breath and watching as the air left his lungs in a small puff into the night, he began to feel some relief.

“Eugene, I need to tell you something. I’ve wanted to tell you for a while and now that we’re going back into combat I need to tell you before it’s too late and I don’t get the chance,” Y/n rambled, reeling off the sentences in one breath without turning to face him. Eugene moved slowly, fearful of frightening the panicked woman who stood before him. They were facing each other but Y/n wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Y/n?” He squeezed her hands lightly causing her to look up, his eyes pleading with her.

“You don’t feel the same do you?” She asked, her bottom lip began to quiver and her eyes watery. The image broke Eugene’s heart and he quickly stepped forward pulling the young woman into his chest. Her shoulders shook a little and he rushed to comfort her. “Shhh mon amour, please don’tcha think that,” Eugene begged, pressing his lips firmly to her hairline in a desperate attempt to bring her some comfort.

“I have loved ya since I laid eyes on you, ain’t ya the most beautiful, strong and brave woman I ever seen,” this time it was Eugene’s turn to ramble. “I was just too afraid in case ya didn’t feel the same.”

Y/n looked up a little shell shocked from his confession. She’d never heard the Cajun man speak so plainly or so much that she wasn’t sure how to reply, instead she grabbed hold of his collar, pushing her lips to his. Eugene let out a small yelp of protest before he too cercumed to the kiss, winding his arms around her waist and holding her firmly against him.

When they pulled apart Y/n was smiling widely, “Do you maybe want to walk me to my billet?” She bit her lip, watching as the cogs of Eugene’s mind turned frantically.

“Y…yes,” he finally stuttered, taking hold of her arm and they began the short journey to the house where Y/n was staying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We shouldn't be doin’ this,” Eugene groaned as she began placing hot, open-mouth kisses along his jugular, nipping at the sensitive flesh. “Y/n.” His hands gripped ahold of her hips, stopping any movement and causing Y/n to look up, her eyebrows furrowed as she watched him worriedly. Had she overstepped the line? Did he not want her? It had been pretty clear how he was feeling when he’d carried her up the stairs, stripping her of her clothes as they went. Y/n swiftly climbed off his lap, stepping away from him and straightening the nonexistent creases in her uniform shirt. “I'm sorry… Gene, I'm so sorry… I didn’t,” she began digressing, unable to meet his eyes as her lips ran wild, words tumbling from them at an embarrassingly rapid rate.

Eugene stood quickly, stepping over towards her and grasping hold of her hands, bringing them up to his lips and silencing her ramblings.

“It ain’t that at all, ma chérie, of course, I want ya. I've wanted ya for so long but I needa make sure ya want this too. I need to know how far ya wanna go with this because honestly,” he paused, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck awkwardly. “I don’t think I'll be able to stop myself once we’ve started. God, I'm weak.” Eugene slumped back down on the bed, running his hand over his face with a low groan, “It’s just that I’ve never felt this way before and I know it's wrong and we shouldn’t but I…” Gene was silenced by Y/n’s lips pressing firmly to his, her hand winding around his neck and into his hair as his hands came to rest upon her hips.

“I want this, Gene,” she breathed, her breath fanning over the sensitive skin of his neck. “I want you.”

It was as if a switch flicked in Eugene’s mind because the next thing Y/n knew she was pinned beneath him, his strong arms resting on either side of her head, his mouth sucking deep bruises on her abdomen and his hands trailing down her sides, stroking her hips lovingly.

“Gene,” she gasped as he grazed his teeth along the skin of her lower abdomen. “God, yes Gene. Yes!” Eugene’s hands worked quickly, slipping her underwear down her legs and discarding them across the room, placing small kisses on her thighs.

Eugene couldn’t believe his luck when he looked up at Y/n, the woman he’d been in love with since Toccoa was here, beneath him, letting him make love to her. The smell of her hair, the soft moans that left her perfect mouth, and her salty, sweaty skin beneath his lips drove him wild. His lips worked quickly, lapping and kissing between her thighs until she was a moaning mess, hands fisted into the bedsheets, back arching off the bed.

“Eugene, please,” Y/n all but cried, fisting her hands into his dark locks, tugging him upwards to kiss him. Eugene’s lips curled up into a smirk, his dark eyes shining. “Please Gene, I need you.” She begged, pulling him flush against her body and fiddling at the buckle of his trousers desperately.

“Someone’s needy, ain’t ya Darlin’,” Gene asked, smoothing down the loose hairs from around her face. Y/n managed to slip her hand down into his underwear, fingers grazing against his hard cock, pulling it free from his trousers. Eugene let out a shaky breath, his hands stabilising himself against the headboard.

“God preserve me,” he muttered through gritted teeth as Y/n ran her thumb over his red tip. Y/n smiled up at him, running her other hand softly over his cheek.

“I love you, Eugene.”

“I love to too, Ma Chérie.” He sealed his lips to hers, stealing the air from her lungs. Gene’s hands shook with anticipation as he dragged the head of his cock up and down your sex agonisingly slow. Eugene let out a choked sound as he sunk into her, both of them reeling at the feeling of fullness. Y/n’s hands gripping tightly to his shoulders, leaving deep red marks on his pale flesh.

“You’re so tight,” he grunted, pulling back slightly before rocking himself forward. Y/n groaned, squeezing her pelvic muscles as Eugene bit back a pained whimper escaping from his plump lips.

Y/n chuckled slightly and did it again, his grip tightening on her hips and he sent her a warning glare. Eugene’s thrust became more desperate, needier. His hands moved to pin hers above her head, chests impossibly close.

The room was quickly filled with soft moans and needy whines as he brought her to the edge. Y/n’s eyes were closed, too consumed by the pleasure building in her stomach, the knot tightening deep in her abdomen.

“Look at me ma Chérie, I want to see ya. I need ya to look at me.” Eugene pleaded, his voice strained as he too fought his orgasm. As Y/n opened her eyes the band snapped and she was sent spiraling into her ecstasy, hips bucking upwards uncontrollably. Eugene soon followed, cumming with a loud cry as he buried his head into her neck, loud breaths muffled by her flesh.

The couple lay there for a few minutes, both too exhausted to move or speak, too wrapped up in their moment of satisfaction.

“Eugene,” Y/n spoke slowly, carding her fingers through his locks. Eugene let out a small hum in response, tilting his head to look at her. “Thank you.”

“What for, Darlin’?” He asked, propping himself up above her.

“For this. For making me feel this way… for loving me,” she admitted sheepishly. Eugene's normally shy features burst with love, his smile growing wider than ever. “It weren’t difficult ma Chérie. It was real easy to love you and I found it impossible to stop myself from loving ya.” He admitted, a red hue growing across his cheeks causing Y/n to smile too.

“Well, I’m very glad you didn’t stop yourself. I love you.” She caressed his cheek, leaning their foreheads together lovingly. “As do I, ma Chérie.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @maggiescarborough @mayhem24-7forever @ssprayberrythings @xoxabs88xox @luckyladycreator2 @elenavampire21 @callmemana @t-nd-rfoot @desert-fern @cherrycola27 @jstarr86 @starkleila @alexxavicry @roostette @floralfloyd @soulmates8 @mayhemmanaged @shanimallina87 @shadowsintheknight @bcon24 @yeahcurrahhe-e @iceman-kazansky @softly-writes

[cinnamonmalarkey]

YOU'RE MINE (Bill Guarnere x Afab reader)

Tw: alcohol, toxic relationship, cursing, fingering, female body parts depicted. Use of Y/N. Semi public sexual acts.

Based on actors portrayal of the characters and not meant to disrespect the real like heroes!

“Do you really think that will work?” You narrowed your eyes at the paratrooper sitting to your left. Bill Guarnere just chuckled at the rim of the glass meeting the fullness of his bottom lip. His dark eyes danced as he glanced around the table full of his brethren. He took a long chug of his beer before finishing with a refreshing “ah”. You were amused by the Italian man at your side. Taking your own beer to your lips with a laugh. Bill leaned down to your ear.

“No, I don’t think I need to get you drunk to want me.” His fingers brushing loose a strand of hair behind your ear. You choked a bit on your beer, leaving Joe Toye and Bill to bust out laughing. You swat at Bill whose hand was still by your ear.

“You're right, because even then I wouldn’t want you.” You smirk playfully watching the mock pain on his face.

“Now that hurts, sweetheart!” Bill’s hand covered over his unformed chest, where his heart would be.

“So cruel y/n.” Toye laughed, shaking his head, enjoying the night of freedom Easy Company was enjoying.

Joe and Bill went on to continue their conversation leaving you to glance around at the rest of the men you have become accustomed to. You eyes catching George Luz and Buck Compton playing darts. You thought about making your way over to the men. Uncrossing your legs so you could stand, you felt a heavy weight on your thigh. Startled, your eyes glance under the table to see Bill’s hand sitting protectively on your covered thigh. Meeting his eyes briefly before he continued his conversation. A squeeze from his hand sent jolts through your body. Your cheeks flushing a bit but you knew you could just blame it on the alcohol. Your hand softly grabbing his and trying to pull it off of your thigh. Bill allowed you the small victory but quickly placed his hand higher up your thigh. You huffed, slightly annoyed and yet slightly heated. It must be the alcohol, you determined, feeling your thighs flexing under his touch. You only had half a beer, and yet you couldn't explain why suddenly you felt so flushed at a seemingly innocent touch.

“If you think I’m letting you out of my sight, you’re nuts.” Bill muttered to you once there was a pause in conversation. You gawked at him, wondering if you were hearing him right.

“Funny, Guarnere. I’m just going to watch the darts game.” You gestured to the men across the small pub. Bill clicked his tongue as his eyes watched his fellow soldiers enjoying a game.

“I’m serious doll, you see all these men. They’ve had their eyes on you since you walked in.” Bill’s eyes stared into yours. It knocked the wind of you, suddenly seeing his eyes burrowing into yours.

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts before retorting. “So? No one asked you to play babysitter. I can take care of myself.” Your nose scrunched in defense. Bill sighed exasperated at your recoil. His thumb softly stroking the fabric of your skirt.

“I’m not playing y/n, and I sure as hell ain’t your babysitter.” Bill grunted with a scolding edge to his voice. “You either sit tight or we will leave.” Bill added, his free hand reaching for his beer glass. His mind already made up as he down the remaining liquid. You watched carefully, struggling to figure out why he was being so possessive tonight. Of course Bill was always a little bit protective of you but this was completely over the top. You should be annoyed and angry, and deep down a part of you was… Yet your body reacts the opposite of that.

Before you could gather your thoughts enough to answer his ultimatum, Bill slammed down his now empty glass mug on the table.

“Wha? Gonorrhea you leaving already?!” Toye eyed him as he stood. Bill didn’t bother meeting Toye’s questioning gaze. Grabbing his hat and placing it over his nicely styled dark hair.

“Yeah, got to make sure Y/n get back safe. Catch you later Joe.” Bill mumbled poorly, hiding the annoyance in his tone. You stood, a reaction since Bill hand was no longer hindering your movements. Toye glanced at you and you shrugged, following after Bill as headed to the door of the pub. Holding the door open you walked through, mumbling thanks to which he grunted in response. A silence falling over you and him walking back to where you billeted for the night.

“What’s with you tonight?” You asked suddenly, sick of the silence. The cold air cools your once overheating body. Bill didn’t bother to look at you, but you could see his mind was fighting to say something.

“Whats with me, she asks!” He scoffs to himself, but you hear it. Your eyes narrow about to respond when he continues. “You, when will you realize that you’re mine?” Bill says, stopping his stride to look deeply into your eyes. His gaze holds you captive, a lump in your throat as his words swim around in your half buzzed mind.

“You’re drunk.” You spit out, your voice showing that you, yourself don’t believe what you are saying.

“C’mon y/n! You know it takes more than two beers to get me drunk.” Bill laughs, but it doesn’t reach his serious, dark eyes. You knew he was right, Bill was as good as sober. Boldly, he closes the gap between you. His hand reached out to cup your cheek. You shudder at the warmth of his palm on your cool cheek. “You belong with me, y/n. Why do you keep fighting it?” Bill words coming out breathless. Your heart flutters at his words, your stomach flops against itself at his declaration.

“Bill, I-” You are almost relieved when his lips press to yours, silencing whatever sentence you were trying to string together. It’s true you and Bill always had this connection, but you never really acted on it. With war and always being with the rest of Easy Company you never let yourself think about it. The hand on your cheek glided into your hair. Adding pressure to the soft kiss. Before your mind can catch up Bill pulled back. His eyes searching yours, relieved you weren’t slapping him or running away. A fear he had played in his head many times when he thought about finally kissing you.

“Y/n-” It was your turn to cut him off, fisting his uniform jacket lapel you pull his lips back to yours. This kiss is more heated, more desperate. A soft grunt leaving his throat as his hands gripped your waist. Walking you back till your back met with the brick wall of the building. The sudden cold biting into your back, but was overtaken by the heat from Bill’s body pressed against yours. A whimper leaving your lips only to be swallowed by Bill’s.

“Bill!” You gasped feeling his rough calloused fingers trail your thigh under your skirt. Your cheeks flush as the cold night air could be felt on your legs. A dark chuckle left his mouth, his fore and middle finger pressing against the silk of your panties. Hips pushed back against his touch.

“You like that baby?” His words were deep and knowing. Slipping past the silk that separated your damp pussy and his thick fingers. You bit your lip, and closed your eyes. Your body is screaming for him to do something. “I asked you a question.” Bill raised a brow, pulling his head back only slightly to take in the view of you all but begging for his touch. He cupped your front, tracing your slit teasingly.

“Bill… Please.” You begged, angling your hips and hoping for relief. You didn’t have to see the smirk on his face, you could hear it as he complied. Fingers dipping into your wet sex. Your head fell back at the stretch, not remembering the last time you felt so good.

“That’s my girl.” He praised, his thumb rubbing rough circles into your clit. “Look at you taking my fingers so well.” Bill continued pumping his fingers into you, lips trailing kisses down your neck.

“Shit, Bill” You moaned, feeling the tightening in your stomach as you clench around his fingers. Humming in approval, masking his own moans at the feeling of you losing yourself to him.

“Give it to me, baby.” Bill demanded, his teeth capturing your ear lobe. His fingers work even faster as you grip his shoulders to keep yourself up right. With a loud cry you came over his fingers, pleasure coursing through your body. “I got a fucking puddle in the palm of my hand, care to explain sweetheart?” Bill teased pulling out his hand from your underwear. He didn’t hesitate to lick his hand clean.

“Shut up.” You blushed, your body once again heating at the sight. Bill winked at you, before grabbing your hand.

“Let’s get you home.” Bill smiled at you and continued walking down the road.

“But… What about you?” You asked unsure if you should ask, since you were still wondering if the last ten minutes were even real. Bill lit a cigarette with a smile. Inhaling sharply.

“I already told’ya, you’re mine. I’ll claim what is mine another time.” Bill exhaled with a wink.

[luminouslywriting]

Falling asleep on the Bob guys

Nonny, this is such a darling request! Sorry it's taken me so long to get to it :) I hope you really enjoy and are having a great day! Reminder that my requests are open and I love the spam!

Cut for length, paragraph format below:

Dick Winters:

Dick Winters is the type of man to be caught off guard in the softest of ways. He's not expecting you to fall asleep on him and he's still trying to talk over plans when he realizes that you're totally and completely out. It's at this point that he gets this really soft expression on his face and just decides to treasure the moment since you never know what will happen. He stays awake and keeps a wary eye out for any sort of danger that might befall the two of you. And he might murmur a few sweet nothings to you while you're asleep since there's no harm and foul for that.

Lewis Nixon:

Honestly, he's rambling and rambling and is waiting for you to reply to anything that he's said and mid-ramble, he looks down to find you asleep. Kinda makes this amused expression on his face and then presses a short and sweet kiss to your forehead. He's perfectly content as a kitten, curling up and falling asleep next to you. Especially if you're the one who fell asleep first—he's not about to move you or wake you up haha.

Ronald Speirs:

Realizes you're falling asleep very quickly and just goes kinda quiet. He doesn't have the heart to move you or wake you up so he can move, so he just sits there with your head on his shoulder and finally has a minute to just be calm and relax in peace. It's honestly a cathartic experience for him and he gets to reflect on your relationship, which endears the situation even more to him.

Buck Compton:

Gets this really goofy smile on his face at the fact that you're asleep on his shoulder. He absolutely adores seeing you this peaceful and will press a kiss to the crown of your head and snuggle in real close to you. He's the type to probably fall asleep with you, even more cuddled up and practically spooning at that point.

Carwood Lipton:

A softie who softly tells you a story until you are solidly asleep on his shoulder. And then he's slightly blushy and shy about the entire thing, but he's not about to move—he's no idiot. So he just wraps an arm around you and murmurs a soft goodnight. He'll treasure this memory for the rest of his life and wants to wake up next to you every single day henceforth.

Joe Liebgott:

Literally the sassiest mf—the minute that you fall asleep, he's out here glaring at anyone who walks by a little bit too loudly or is talking too much. He'll shush and tell someone to get the hell away from the situation bc no one is about to interrupt your beauty sleep. Not on his watch. He's also slightly smug and definitely thinking about sex in the future and how your married life would be.

Donald Malarkey:

10/10 a great person to fall asleep on. He's a solid choice, if only for the fact that he's ultra respectful and kind about things. He'll sit there patiently and untangle your hair while you're asleep and just relax. It's honestly just as calming getting to be around you while you're asleep and it becomes a tradition between the two of you.

Eugene Roe:

You cannot convince me that he isn't the best choice here. He gets super soft and almost emotional about the fact that you trust him enough to fall asleep near him and on him. He'll murmur lullabies in a half-whisper in French and stroke your hair and rub your back soothingly until you're totally asleep. He absolutely loves you and that'll be the last thing you hear before you're totally out for the count.

Bill Guarnere:

Doesn't realize you've fallen asleep until he turns to hear your reply or comments from a story he's been telling and then realizes that you're totally out. He gets this kinda goofy grin and just snuggles up real close to you. He's very honored that you feel safe enough to fall asleep in his presence—and he's not about to lose that trust for literally anything. You mean the world to him.

Joe Toye:

Slightly panicked?! Which doesn't really make sense, but you're literally asleep and he's just not about to let anyone interrupt that. He'll glare and make menacing motions to anyone who's too loud and he just wants to cuddle up next to you without anyone giving him shit. Not that anyone would—but you know, he's got some worries. Either way, he's real gentle about the entire thing.

George Luz:

Probably happens in a foxhole amidst some jokes and laughs to keep spirits up. And when you don't respond, he gets a little worried and then glances over to find out that you're just asleep on his shoulder. Gets this shit-eating grin on his face and he's definitely gonna tease you about it later (but not in front of anyone else). He's secretly very pleased that you fell asleep on him since he's got a big crush on you anyway haha.

[speirslore]

when you get hurt hcs [officers + roe]

a/n: requested <3 usually in my writing the reader is implied to be a part of easy company in a vague way bc i know ppl have different preferences but some of these include getting shot (not graphic or anything) so ig that implies they're on the front lines

lmk if you would like to be on my taglist! @ronsparky @bcon24 @blueberry-ovaries @1waveshortofashipwreck

[dick winters]

you hit your head prettyyyy hard, and you're out of it, probably definitely concussed

it happens right in front of dick and he tries really hard to keep calm

he wants to be strong and level-headed for you

shows more obvious affection then any of the men have ever seen from him; pets your hair, holds your hand, is always by your side

he immediately gets you a medic and transported to an aid station and doesn’t want to leave you

but when dick's back with easy, he gets uncharacteristically easily angry and frustrated...

he gets quiet and withdrawn and a little snappy with zelensky and nix... and they both immediately know why

whenever he can go see you, he's there.. he even gets behind on all his paperwork (but nix offers to help)

which dick is hesitant to accept for many reasons, he feels guilty, like he's not focusing on his duties but lew is always good at keeping the reports concise lol

very fragile with you, he isn't underestimating you but he just absolutely does not want to push you or hurt you

is a stickler for the rules, follows absolutely everything the doctor says

he has to wake you up every few hours and you keep insisting it’s unnecessary and dick is absolutely not having it

you try to get up and move around and all dick has to hear is the sheets moving and he just gives you that stare, a little bit like a disappointed mom, and you're right back laying down

he’s way more clingy than usual, wants to be by your side, subtly holding your hand

in that moment it definitely hits him how much he loves and cares about you... he hasn't really had time or space to process those feelings until now <3

[lewis nixon]

it does not look good at first

it's really scary for everyone there, you loose a lot of blood and lose consciousness

lew is not there when you're first shot in the leg and everyone is very glad that he didn't have to see it

but when he finds out... oh he is not keeping cool, is not pretending even a little bit to be okay

starts lashing out and snaps at the driver who's taking him to the hospital to drive faster, mad that they didn't tell him sooner, mad that you were injured, mad at the war, furious at absolutely everything

lew has to be monitored by dick not to go full self destruction mode and get incredibly drunk

he hates just sitting with the constant uncomfortable feeling and reminder that you're hurting

he will not leave your side at first when you’re sleeping a lot, on a lot of medicine, and out of it

one nurse does approach him when he's the only vistor in the hospital left, "sir, the visiting hours-"

he just looks up, obviously devastated, voice cracking, "i'm can't leave. you can drag me out but i'm not going, thanks."

they back off after that

does go through a phase where he hates going once you're more conscious because he kills him to see you like that and face this feels irrational guilt he feels for not being there

because he definitely has the tendency to avoid his problems and things that hurt him

but it hurts you too and you don't fully understand

you look up at dick and harry, slightly delirious from the morphine, tearing up, "does he not want to see me anymore?"

after that they do drag lew to see you and you just straight up tell him feeling guilty is pointless and not fair to himself (or you)

and then it's right back to not leaving your side and always trying to make you laugh or smile

[ron speirs]

okay so i love the angel of the company x speirs trope

by now he's the co of easy and your relationship is a widely known secret...

he assigns you and the group of other men to a patrol... it wasn't an overly risky or bad order, a standard order from sink

but you guys make contact and you're shot in the arm

it just absolutely wrecks him

the guys feel like he's just going to go across enemy lines and find the soldier that shot you himself

the rest of the guys are furious too because everyone just absolutely loves you

for a short time, he's mad at the other soldiers on the patrol and you have to reminder him they didn't do anything wrong

but ron is really just irrationally mad at himself for not being there, for not being psychic, he's just angry he somehow didn't stop this

ron is not controlling and not possessive and he knows you can hold your own but he feels responsible for taking care of you and making sure you're safe

even if he can't quite articulate all of those feelings yet

he doesn't understand all the emotions he feels and doesn't even have time to try to understand them

he listens so attentively to the doctors, he can recite everything they've said word for word

like with chuck, he demands the absolute best from the doctors

this incident shows his more compassionate side and the guys start to see how much he really cares about you... bc they're protective of you too!

you have to comfort him and his voice breaks

and he feels weak and he feels bad that you're comforting him and not the other way around

"i'm messing everything up, doing everything wrong," he says more to himself but you frown, eyebrows furrowed and everything

"you're so hard on yourself, ron. when it's not your fault, it was routine, you didn't shoot me. then i'd be really pissed." you smile and he smiles weakly... but he's on edge for a longgg time after this

[carwood lipton]

unfortunately you and lip just cannot catch a break

your leg gets injured while he has pneumonia

it's not a major injury but a bullet ricocheted off of a wall and slightly grazed you and you need a few days of staying off of it

lip really tries to be comforting

and wants to be there for you and he is!

but it's very hard for him, he just wants you to be okay so badly, even when he himself isn't okay

trying to lecture you about staying off of your leg and asking others for help but breaking out into a coughing fit and then you're trying to help him sit up and to go get some hot water for him

and then he's back to telling you to stop and starts hoarsely calling for luz

it's a MESS

but carwood is a natural caretaker and has been one for most of his life

it makes him hover sooo badly especially because since he's sick too he doesn't have a lot of work to keep him busy

but you're not complaining honestly, it's nice to have more private time and something of a break, even if you're both miserable

you get the special privilege of an actual private back bed room with a mattress and blankets

kind of a bonding experience

you just laugh because what the fuck

it's kind of romantic, first time in a longgg time in an actual bed together

you just go back and forth talking about your future and the life you want after the war

"i don't like this wallpaper," you murmur into his chest

he laughs and that turns into coughing again and you're just rubbing his back trying not to bend your leg... domestic bliss <3

[buck compton]

buck... does not take it well

he takes it extremely hard

like his reaction to joe and bill...

you have pneumonia and the peniciln you need isn't available in bastogne

and it's even worse that he finds out you're sick only a few hours after that and that you've been sick and struggling for the past few days

maybe his reaction would've been different earlier on in the war

but now, it just feels like a destructive domino effect that's sparing no one

it's obvious after all of his friends injuries and your pneumonia that he couldn't stay on the front line... his red bleary eyes and slightly trembling hands said enough

when he gets taken off the line, you're both in an aid station together for a few hours before you're both transferred to different hospital

so his presence is silent reassurance

you want so badly to comfort him but you're so sick and he doesn't want you to, he feels so guilty leaving you

but you hoarsely tell him he needs a break and to process what happened

you're feeling slightly better this day so that makes it a little better... but not that much

both of you have been through hell

but there is a light in the tunnel... or at least you feel that way

buck isn't on the front lines anymore and you both have a chance at a life together post-war

he does not want to leave you, it has to take a lot of malarkey's coaxing him and promising to update buck

[eugene roe]

gene can't decide if having medical knowledge makes it better or worse

and if being the medic and being the one to have their hands covered in the your blood, was better than leaving it in the hands of someone else

he decides it's awful... definitely worse

the very few hours he slept, it was just dreaming of your terrified face

and he wakes with a jolt and is completely miserable

and life just goes on...

a lot of pacing and murmuring

gene closes in on himself when he's upset and stressed, so he becomes even quieter than normal

and the other guys are worried like ??? do we need to intervene and lip just stops them, "leave him alone, he'll be okay."

prays for you a lot, gripping his rosary so tightly and the photo that he has of the two of you when you were still in england

when you both felt some semblance of normalcy

he can't abandon the company to stay with you full time at the aid station to his incredible frustration and disappointment

it's just hard for him to go on like everything's fine, it shatters whatever illusion he has of fairness and hope and safety

whenever someone else gets injured or they need supplies, he'll take any excuse to ride back to the aid station to see you

and if anyone else goes, they always see you and give gene an update

winters definitely notices and tries to give him opportunities to see you

likes watching you rest and sleep (because you definitely needed it, even before you got injured) in the sweetest, non-creepy way

gene loves to just sit with you, see you with his own eyes, and know for certain that you're okay

[hottpinkpenguin]

Easy Company HCs: Coming Home To You After the War

A/n: ahhhh my first time writing for a new fandom always makes me nervous. I'm rewatching BoB for probably the 5th or 6th time and just felt compelled to start writing for some of these incredible characters. please note all writings are based solely on the BoB TV characters and not the actual veterans. Let me know if you want any other BoB HC's or oneshots!

*Please refer to each character for warnings*

Dick Winters Warnings: angsty Major Winters, vague references to PTSD/war trauma

Dick is standing outside on the deck of the ship before the sun is up on the day they’re due into port. He can’t stop looking towards the horizon, waiting for the shoreline to swim into view.

He’s melancholy, thoughtful. Reflects on all he’s seen in the war. He feels different than how he was when he left almost 3 years ago. He thinks about all the men he left behind in Normandy, in Foy, in Bastogne, in Holland, in Hagenau, in Germany. And he looks around at the men whose bodies are coming home, but who lost pieces of themselves in foxholes, in the bombed out streets of Europe, on the beaches. 

He also finds himself wondering what it’s been like for you. He hasn’t thought about that much, hasn’t let himself think on it too hard. He feels ashamed that he never asked much in his letters about how you were. He knows it was to protect himself. If he’d asked, and if you’d been honest and told him about the rationing, the fear, how many of your friends were losing their brothers, husbands, and lovers overseas, the suicides of the men who couldn’t go… well, Dick knew he’d have been distracted. And distracted leaders got men killed. So Dick had sealed off his thoughts on that account. He knew it was the right choice. But now, he doubted. 

So as the ship pulls into port, he’s sad in a broken way. Like the war has finally caught up with him. And he’s terrified, suddenly. How is he going to see you like this? What are you going to see in him when you finally do? More importantly, what are you not going to see? 

He lets all of his men debark before him. Partially because that’s what a good officer does, but partially to try and collect himself. 

You know what to expect. You know Dick Winters isn’t going to really stop fighting the war until he sees every last man in Easy Company off that ship and safely home. So you wait. You’ve waited this long, after all. You can wait another thirty minutes.

When you finally see him in the thinning crowd, you call out his name and break into a beaming smile. He’s here, he’s home. He’s safe. 

As soon as he sees you, the ice in his veins thaws. The sun is warm on his skin, he’s surrounded by clean sea air far from the burnt out husk of Europe, and you’re there. You’re smiling at him. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen something so singularly beautiful.

He strives over to you, taking his cap off as he approaches. His stomach is flipping like a schoolboy and he couldn’t keep the smile from his face if he had an entire firing squad of Krauts in front of him. 

You run the last few dozen paces into his arms. He catches you easily, spinning you around with a long, languid sigh of contentment. Your laughter is like a peeling bell in his ear. 

Richard, how dare you make me wait? you tease him. 

He can’t find any words except to smile at you, looking into your eyes, memorizing your smile, reacquainting himself with the dusting of freckles across your nose, the scent of your shampoo, basking in the feeling of you in his arms. He smiles, then laughs. Your hands frame his face and suddenly he’s kissing you. 

Dick Winters’ mind goes blissfully blank. The harsh edges of all his worries, his responsibilities, the burden of leading a company of men and ordering some of them to their deaths. It’s all soft now. There’s just you. You and that piece of land he’s been dreaming about.

Lewis Nixon Warnings: alcohol abuse, war-time violence, detailed reference to parental suicide

Lewis Nixon came back from the front with an exorbitant amount of contraband, shadows in the back of his eyes, and a terrible drinking habit. You had no idea what to do with any of it.

Two months after his return and you found yourself staring out across a sea of boxes piled haphazardly in the foyer of the summer home Lew had bought you for your six-month wedding anniversary. Your home had never been more crowded, and yet you’d never felt so lonely. 

You wiped the damp tea towel you’d soaked in the kitchen sink against the back of your neck in a vain attempt to keep the heat at bay. 

Lew! you called up to him, although you knew he wouldn’t answer. A brief glance at the clock - 2:15 pm - told you as much. Since coming back, Lew hadn’t woken up before 3:00 pm and you’d yet to share a goodnight kiss with him because he was liable to stay out until sunrise. Doing what, you’d rather not know. 

With a weighty sigh, you decided you might as well pick a box and get started. Otherwise, this ridiculous maze of illegally shipped stolen goods would just go to rot in your foyer. And with your in-laws due in next month to visit your shell of a husband, you’d better try to clean up the mess. 

You chose the box closest to you. It came up to your waist. As you ripped into it, you realized it was incredibly heavy, and you heard the unmistakable tinkling of glass on glass. You sliced the tape open with the boxcutter, marveling at how sharply the instrument cut into the flesh of the tape and cardboard. One of the first few nights after arriving back home, Lew had managed to stay at home and get drunk rather than do so out on the town. Somewhere between bottle three and four of the Chateau Rhone that you’d served at the reception, Lew had started to talk. Once he’d started, he hadn’t seemed willing to stop, as if he had one chance to pour out all the misery and regret and terror he’d accumulated in Europe. You remembered that at one point - one of his more lucid memories, when the slur in his words was light enough for you to understand him - he’d told you that he had seen a whole platoon of men shredded to ribbons by a Kraut tank. He’d recounted in excruciating detail how one of their fingers had landed on him, the blood and sinew drying on his uniform like an adhesive, and he hadn’t noticed it until the next day. You’d never seen anything quite so distasteful or violent in your life, but you imagined that it might be something like watching someone get sliced apart the way your boxcutter glided through tape.

With a shiver, you sheathed the blade and set the boxcutter aside to rip into the contents of the box. Tipping the heavy box sideways a bit, you spooned out the top layer of packing peanuts to reveal a familiar sight. Four corked bottles of wine sat at the top of the box. You stopped, staring down at the wine in the box in disbelief. This was the precious contraband that Lewis had spent thousands on to smuggle out of Europe? Fucking wine?

Your temper flamed to life with a vengeance. You pushed the heavy box over, letting loose a scream of frustration as you did. One of the bottles shattered as the box tipped over, a puddle of red wine staining the white marble floor. Once again, your mind flashed back to the war. Not to Lew’s memories, but your own. To the black-and-white films you’d seen in the theaters, to the newspaper clippings, to the reports that had come out of Germany about the death camps and the killing fields and the brutality of the war, to the letters your brother had written to you before his death at St. Vith. You thought of all the men you’d known who hadn’t come home - your brother Johnny, your childhood neighbor Tim Viens, your cousins Luis and Giovanni, the florist’s son from your hometown, your girl friend Jill’s fiance… 

Your head was spinning and your blood was boiling as you summited the stairs to the darkened upstairs two at a time. When you flung open the door to Lew’s study where he’d taken to sleeping, you were seeing black at the edges of your vision.

Lewis fucking Nixon, you better wake the fuck up or so help me God I will strangle you in your sleep!

The words flew off your tongue faster than you knew what to do with. You’d never had a foul mouth, and you’d certainly never threatened your husband before. Despite his obvious hangover, he snapped to wakefulness faster than you’d expected him to. He regarded you with a wary, tired expression, and you wondered for a half second if he was going to ask you to make good on your threat. 

Saints above woman, what is it? he demanded, reaching around the graveyard of beer and wine bottles strewn about the floor next to him. You noticed a particularly foul smell in the room at the same time you noticed the stain of vomit caked on one of the pillows he’d propped under his head. 

The sight of your husband fumbling around for another drink at 2:30 in the afternoon with vomit caked on his cheek did something to you. You weren’t sure if the sight broke you or if it snapped you into form. Whatever it did, it took the wind out of the hateful words that had been boiling in your gut. You snapped your mouth shut as you became acutely aware that you had nothing left to say to him. You’d said it all already. You’d cried, threatened, screamed, pleaded, reasoned, demanded, and done just about everything you could think of in your power to bring Lewis Nixon back to something resembling sense. You weren’t without feeling - you knew that he wasn’t the only man who hadn’t fully come back from the front. Memories of your father’s glassy, empty-looking eyes flicked in your mind like a silent movie. Your father never really left the trenches, your mother used to say by way of explanation and apology. Some men just can’t come home after a war like that. 

The last memory you have of your father was the sight of him leaned back in his chair, his head bent away from his neck at an unnatural angle, with a ghoulish bloodstain on his chest from the hole his pistol had left where he’d fired it under his chin and up into his skull. You’d found him like that when you were just six years old. At almost twenty six now, you were resolved never to see someone you love waste away like that again. Yet here you were, watching someone who’d once been your brash, fun-loving, hot-headed husband fade away like a ghost.

As Lew braced for what he felt sure was going to be a proper dressing down, you felt yourself deflate like a punctured balloon. Something final and irrevocable had happened in those few moments since you’d come running up the stairs, and you knew deep in your bones that there was no going back. 

I’m leaving. 

It was all you could say. Lewis looked over at you through slitted eyes, stifling down an acidic belch as he tried to figure out your angle. Usually your arguments started with much more heat than this, but he wasn’t sober enough to hear the goodbye in your tone. 

After a few agonizing moments, he grunted at you by way of dismissal. Get me some Vat 69, while you’re out. Vat 69 was the only thing that Lewis Nixon had asked from you since he’d gotten back to the States. 

You didn’t have the heart to answer him, so you just turned on your heel, letting the boxcutter that you hadn’t even realized you’d been gripping like a vice slide out of your hand and land with a thump on the carpet. 

You descended the stairs with a strange buzzing in your head. You wondered if you should pack something, although you realized that all you really wanted to was to get as far away from the time bomb that was Lewis Nixon as fast as you possibly could. You called your mother from the kitchen phone. She didn’t need to hear you say the words to know what had happened. Come on home honey,  she said gently. I’ll make your favorite key lime pie. The kind and simple gesture brought tears to your eyes.

After a few minutes to gather the essentials - your wallet, your pearls, your father’s WWI medals - you thought of one more phone call to make. A parting kindness, you thought, as you sifted through the Rolodex you kept next to the phone until you found the card you wanted. 

The phone rang twice before a voice you knew well picked up. 

Hello? Dick, it’s me, it’s y/n Nixon. Listen, you better come get Lew. He’s… he’s not well. And I’m leaving. 

You didn’t wait for a reply before you clicked the receiver. If there was any saving of Lewis Nixon now, it wouldn’t be by you. 

With one final glance at the house and the sad trove of memories it contained, you closed the door on your past and left, hoping that both you and Lew would find some corner of peace to spend the rest of your days. 

Ronald Speirs Warnings: smut, sweet baby boy Speirs

Ron doesn’t even tell you that he’s coming home. You know it’ll be soon, and you’re waiting for a letter. None come. Years of waiting, years of him faithfully writing, years of dreaming and praying for this day. Now? Radio silence. 

So when this man shows up at your door, his duty bag in one hand and his hat in the other, the first thing you can do is scream at him. 

Ronald fucking Speirs! You didn’t fucking write me, I thought you were dead or lost or just done with me! Why didn’t you tell me! You fucking bastard, you utter fucking bastard! 

You’re hitting him and screaming and tears are everywhere. Ron just smiles. You’re precisely how he remembers you. Better even. 

He wraps you up in a hug, so tight that you can’t move. You’re still struggling, wiggling and sobbing into his shirt, trying to beat your fists against him. 

When you feel him kiss the top of your head, it all just melts. Your knees buckle and instead of beating on him you’re clinging to him. Realization hits you in waves. Ron is home. Those are Ron’s arms around you. Ron’s voice murmuring into your ear. Ron’s breath on your forehead. 

When you finally look up to him - eyes bloodshot, nose running, mascara streaking, cheeks tear stained and red - Ron smiles down at you. My beautiful girl, he says softly before catching your lips in a kiss. Everything breaks loose in that kiss. You practically want to crawl into his mouth. It’s all need: lips devouring each other, hands grabbing and nails dragging, tongues invading each other. Ron moans and you’re done, you’re a mess. 

He knows. He pushes you across the doorway, his hat and duty bag long forgotten on the porch, lifts you up and carries you to the nearest couch, undressing on the way. He rips your blouse, knocks over one of your side tables when he kicks off his shoe, and almost drops you to let you rip off his belt. 

Ron’s home to you when he slams inside of you. Your thoughts disintegrate as the two of you collide together, alternating between frenzied ferocious fucking and softer sweeter sensuality as lust, love, longing and whatever lives between those things rips open the walls you’d both built up around your hearts. 

But Ron isn’t home until after, long after, hours even. The house is trashed, clothes and pillows and furniture disheveled and everywhere. You’re both in bed, exhausted from countless rounds of tangling, with dawn threatening. You’re asleep, and Ron’s watching you dream. There’s a small crease between your eyebrows, and you’re muttering. You look troubled; and he wonders if he should wake you. He can’t stand the sight of you in anything resembling pain. But then, suddenly, you roll towards him, your head settling on his chest and one of your legs slung over his. 

Your face relaxes. You nuzzle into him. You sigh, a gentle smile on your lips. The crease is gone, your face smooth and peaceful. 

He marvels. His head tips back against the headboard, looking down at you in awe as a distinct wave of content washes over and through him.

Ronald Speirs is finally home.

Carwood Lipton Warnings: just Lip and his perpetual angel-status <3

Lip is standing with the throng of men on the deck, watching as they pull into port. The crowd below is cheering and waving American flags, popping off champagne, and the women are waving handkerchiefs. There’s a band somewhere playing patriotic songs and jaunty marches. Home has never looked so good.

‘Ey, Lip, I think I see your girl

It’s Malarkey who spies her - why and how he picked her out so easily, Lip didn't rightfully know nor want to know. But Malarkey was right, there she was.

White ribbons in her hair, white dress on, white handkerchief waving. She’s craning over the other sweethearts and mothers and fathers, eyes combing the deck of the ship. Her expression - impatient longing - snaps Lip in two. How the hell did he ever leave that girl halfway across the world?

Carwood?! Carwood Lipton?! 

He can’t hear her, but he sees her lips moving and he knows that she’s calling out his name. He doubts that any of the deck goers are having luck finding their men that way. The ship is alive with soldiers and airmen buzzing with excitement, calling out to the shore and cheering. The dock is no less vibrant, so the entire place is drowning in the sounds of joy.

Lip stares at her, unwilling to lose sight of her ever again. He vaguely registers the ship jolting to a halt at its berth, the enormous horn announcing the official arrival and, for all the men on board, the uproarious end to the war from Hell. Lip exchanges hugs, slaps on the back, firm handshakes with the men of Easy. It’s strange to have so many painful goodbyes at the same time as a long-awaited hello, but Lip knows he’ll see these men again. He can’t imagine life without them, just like he can’t imagine living without her.

The crowd of soldiers and airmen begins to move, a mass of jumbled emotions with a healthy sprinkling of joy. He watches as the first few men off the ship are swept up into the awaiting crowd as they step off the planks. He can still see her, a beacon of white. An angel, he realizes. 

He shuffles forward with the rest of the disembarking ranks. The process is painfully slow, and he’s not close enough to call out to her yet. He tries to catch her eye with a few waves, but he can only imagine how many waving hands and beaming faces she can see at once. She’s almost passed him on the dock, and Lip feels himself losing patience with the slowness of the men around him. He contemplates yelling at the men to keep it moving or don’t stand at the end of the ramp, but he doesn’t. He can’t bear to ruin a moment of this, for anyone. 

Suddenly, she sees him. Her hands fly to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. That handkerchief blots at her face. She’s gone quiet; just staring at him, waiting. He waves at her, swallowing down the tears threatening in his eyes. She waves back, unsure whether to laugh or cry, so she ends up doing both. Once again, Lip wonders how he’d ever left her. He realizes he’ll never be able to again. He’s stuck to her like glue now, it can’t be helped. And he’s got his eye on a ring. He’ll buy it tomorrow, he decides. Maybe even today, if he can find a jeweler. No more wasted time.  

The wait is agonizing. Every few minutes, she waves at him again, as if afraid that he’ll disappear like a ghost. He can’t stop smiling at her. He doesn’t notice, but the Easy men all softly agree that they’ve never seen this Lip before. A smile reserved all for her.

He steps off the ramp and she’s there, pushed through the crowd. He envelopes her in his arms as she peppers his face and neck with kisses. Soggy ones, from the tears. His or hers, anybody’s guess. She keeps repeating his name like a prayer and a plea. He holds her as she comes undone in his arms, body-wracking sobs and her head buried in his neck. He tells her it’s alright, I’m home and it makes her squeal with delight. Then they’re both laughing. He carries her a bit, not trusting her legs quite yet, and honestly unsure if he trusts himself to walk without her weight in his arms holding him to Earth. She babbles, he listens, she asks something, he talks. It’s easy - so easy - and Carwood Lipton feels himself stepping back into himself after so many years of being Lip and First Sergeant. 

Her hand in his, they walk the streets of this strange town that neither of them are from, but yet somehow always find themselves feeling right at home. He has to squeeze her hand every once in a while to remind himself that she’s real, and he’s really here, and the war is behind him. All day and late into the evening, Lipton and his girl stroll together, two friends, two lovers, one very happy ending. 

Buck Compton Warnings: cursing, references to alcohol abuse

No one’s there at the train depot when Buck gets home. His mother is tied up taking care of his baby sister and her new baby, sick with colic, and his dad is too frail to make the forty-minute trip by car to the station. And you’re done with him, as of Christmas time. 

Some homecoming.

He wanders through the town’s sleepy Main Street, killing time before his brother-in-law’s shift ends at the munitions factory and he can pick Buck up. It’s a hot day, sweat runs down his back. It reminds him of Toccoa. He chuckles darkly, grateful that he’s not running up Currahee with Sobel’s sour puss hot on his heels. He’s grateful for a moment, but then he wonders if maybe those were the best days of his life, and he just didn’t know it. So far, the end of the war hasn’t brought much happiness his way. Maybe the best is behind him already. 

He stops for a root beer float at the local soda counter. He brought you here for the first date. He still remembered that your lips tasted like strawberry milkshake later when he’d parked his truck in front of an empty cornfield and kissed you until he was dizzy. He knows he’ll never be able to order a strawberry milkshake again.  

A couple of the old men sitting in the window side booths nod at him, one even pays for his tab. Buck thanks them but makes no move to engage in conversation. He’s not gloomy, exactly. Just lonely. He thinks about Joe Toye and Bill Guarnere, about the marrow-deep cold of Bastogne, and about just how far away he feels from the taste of strawberry on your tongue. Despite the scorching summer heat, he suppresses a shiver. 

Buck’s sitting on a bench in front of the depot when his brother-in-law pulls up. 

Hey Buck! Welcome home, buddy.

Thanks, Dickie.

His sister’s husband has a noticeable limp, one of his legs visibly wasted and bent at an unnatural angle from the knee down. Bike accident when he was six, kept him out of the war. From his sisters letters, Buck knows that Dickie’s been hitting the bottle hard after he got 4F’ed and told under no uncertain terms that he won’t fight for Uncle Sam. Buck can see the strain in Dickie’s smile, the dark bags under his eyes and the faint stain of gray at his temples. Buck feels about three decades older than when he left home, but Dickie looks it. 

The ride home is quiet. Buck asks after his sister, Dickie asks after the war. Neither of them really listen to the answers. 

When Dickie cuts the engine off in front of Buck’s parents’ place, the porch light is on and there’s a lamp in the front room window, shining merrily. Buck sighs deeply. He’d expected to come home to you, a little apartment somewhere. He’d planned on picking up his life from there, but instead he’s here, looking at a place he calls home without feeling at home. He thinks he might prefer a cot in Toccoa, or a hot cot on a transport ship, or maybe even a foxhole. 

Aight Buck, you take it easy. I’ll see you ‘round. Make sure you stop in and see Kitty soon, she’s dying to see ya.

Sure, Dickie. Thanks for the lift. 

The sun is setting fast behind the mountains. Cicadas are beginning to strum and the fireflies dance in the fields gone farrow behind the house. Buck climbs up the front steps, his duty bag slung over one shoulder. 

Buck?

He freezes where he is, hand outstretched towards the doorknob. It can’t be… can it?

He hears the creak of the swing from the darkened corner of the porch as you stand up. 

Welcome home, Buck.

It is you. Buck is still frozen, his upper lip beginning to tremble. He wished it were darker, wished the damn light was off so you wouldn’t have to see him like this. He feels the boards vibrate as you step towards him, hesitating at his side.

I’m sorry, Buck. I… I made a mistake…

A tear slips out. He swipes at it angrily. What the hell is he crying for? he wonders. 

It’s just that Louise told me she read in a magazine that it’s harder for the men sometimes if they’re worried about someone back home and in your letters you were just always asking about me and how I was and what I was doing and I just knew that you were going through it, Buck, you know, I read the news and I knew you were right on the front lines and I started thinking about you being out there and distracted and what would happen if you lost your focus at the wrong time and you got shot or you got hit by a grenade or a sniper and I thought about losing you, Buck, and I just couldn’t, I couldn’t lose you, and I started to think maybe I needed to make it easier on you and I wrote you that awful letter and it was terrible Buck it was so bad and I hated writing it and I hated sending it but I convinced myself I had to and-

Buck silenced you by pressing his lips to yours mid-sentence. Whatever other explanations and apologies you had died in your mouth with a soft whimper, and suddenly your hands were traveling up his arms and tickling the base of his neck and you were sighing like you hadn’t really exhaled in months. Buck swallowed it up, kissing you deeply and gently. He didn’t know how to say that he didn’t care about all that, that all he wanted was you with him. The rest would work itself out. Buck knew from the war that if you surrounded yourself with good people, then you could get through anything. 

He laughed when he tasted the strawberry milkshake on your lips. Smiling against your mouth, he broke the kiss and held you in his arms, his hands at the small of your back. 

Why are you laughing you ask incredulously. Did you hear what I said? aren’t you mad? You hadn’t expected this reaction. In fact, you’d prepared yourself for Buck to be so furious that he wouldn’t even speak with you. It was less than half of what you felt you deserved. 

Buck just shook his head, smiling to himself at a private joke. You wondered if he was laughing at how easily you fell for that kiss before he told you to take a hike and disappeared from your life forever. 

Mad? He sounds incredulous, like that’s the most ridiculous question anyone’s ever asked him. 

Yeah, Buck. I mean… I know I broke your heart.

He doesn’t deny it, just nods simply and looks deep into your eyes.

Don’t leave me again, darlin’, and I’ll consider it even.

You can’t reply because his lips are on yours again. All you can do is smile as you kiss your apology into Buck’s mouth until the sunset has faded and his dad calls out to the two of you to come inside already!

Bull Randleman Warnings: angst (you have been warned!!)

Something strange happened to Bull in the convent at Foy. He hadn’t expected it. But suddenly, there you were. Sitting in the back of his mind like an itch he just couldn’t scratch. His third grade crush from Ms. Wheeler’s class. And his eighth grade crush. And his prom date. 

Bull grew up in a small town, and it had only gotten smaller to him since he’d left. Sometimes in quieter moments he’d wondered if he’d ever be able to go back home. He’d seen a lot of the world - granted, most of it with the threat of German artillery at his back - but still. His hometown felt so far away and so small that he couldn’t imagine fitting the size of his memories back there. 

And yet, sitting there in the dim candlelight of that convent, listening to those angelic voices, that tiny podunk town was all he could think of. Why couldn’t he remember the name of that street, the one with the post office on it? And what was the name of those neighbors with the herd of basset hounds? He couldn’t recall what kind of flowers his Ma planted in front of the house, facing due east. Bull realized that he was forgetting home, and it opened a gaping wound in his heart.

One thing he did remember clearly was you. He hadn’t seen you in a long time, maybe not for months before he’d signed up for the 101st. You’d been working at the florist right off 1st Street the last he’d heard. Why he hadn’t looked in on you after high school, he couldn’t say. He’d been sweet on you back then, puppy love head-over-heels type stuff. You were his first kiss, his first date, his first of just about everything. Including his first love.

Somewhere along the way, Bull had gotten the hare-brained idea that he’d outgrown you. He’d stopped calling, stopped asking you out to the movies or to the diner. He remembered how he’d seen you out one night, his arm slung over some other girl that his buddy had set him up with. He remembered the way you’d stared with your lip shaking, your eyes welling with tears, before you’d practically run off into the Sears department store. Bull knew damn well you couldn’t afford anything in Sears; all of the money you’d ever made working as an English tutor and a nanny went to taking care of your eleven foster siblings. He knew you ran in there just to get away from him. At the time, he’d laughed about it. He’d told himself you’d be fine, you’d grow up eventually and get over it. He told himself that’s exactly what he’d done - grown up - but now he realized quite the opposite. He’d been intimidated by how much he’d liked you, how much he’d thought about you and worried after you and how scared he’d been when he’d realized that he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed you anymore. You with your hand-me-down dresses and your sweet, shy smile and your head always in the clouds of a romance novel. His buddies had commented on it, and suddenly Bull had felt jealous, insecure even. He’d hated it, and he’d run from it. 

But that night in Foy, you were the only place his mind could land. You were all he thought of. And he’d promised himself that if he somehow managed to walk out of hell at the end of the war, that he’d ask you out again. Who knew what you were up to now. He thought he remembered his Ma make an off-hand comment that you’d started working at the hospital in the next town over, but he couldn’t be sure. But Bull knew you’d be back in that small town, probably just as sweet as ever. And if you gave him another chance, he’d never let you go again.

Three days after stepping foot back in the States, and Bill was standing outside your house in his Army dress uniform, a bouquet of orange lilies in his hands. He wondered if you’d remember that he’d gotten you those same flowers for your prom corsage. They’d stood out against the baby pink of your dress that you’d borrowed from your cousin. Every time Bull saw a sunset or a flower bed, he thought of you. In fact, there wasn’t much that Bull saw these days that didn’t make him think of you.

He knocked three times sharply on the door. Your house looked just the same as ever: the front porch sagged in the middle, the curtains drawn and stained, the paint peeling. There was a ruckus inside, and what sounded to be about a dozen kids all screamed out “DOOR!” 

A severe woman with dark gray hair slicked back into a tight bun answered. Her mouth was a thin, straight gash and her eyes narrowed in something between distaste and disbelief. She glanced down at the flowers in Bull’s hands and at the sharp, crisply ironed lines of his uniform.

Mother Beatrice, Bull said with a slight bow. Not sure if you remember me, ma’am, but I-

I remember you. Randelman, right? You here for the girl? 

Your foster mother looked older but her manner was as cold and loveless as ever. She never used names for the children she took in - just called them by various impersonal monikers. For some reason, yours had always been “the girl”. Bull wasn’t the only one who’d overlooked you.  

He nodded, thinking that if Easy had Mother Beatrice in their ranks then Germany might have fallen about a year earlier. He’d have to be sure to tell you that. He was certain you would laugh.

I wondered if anyone would come Mother Beatrice commented as she shut the door behind her, muffling the sounds of screeching children. She walked down the front porch steps and turned towards the back of the old farmhouse without a backwards glance. Bull followed, his brow furrowing slightly at her cryptic comment. He figured you might have had a few pen pals on the front, some girls would do that sort of thing, write to strangers to try and keep their spirits up. He’d heard that some of the men had made a point to look in on their pen pals when they’d gotten back home. Maybe that’s what she meant.

She’s back here? Bull asked, taking in the sight of the rundown farmhouse-turned-orphanage and its weedy lawn. As long as he’d known you, he’d never known you to linger here. Too loud, no privacy you’d always told him. Bull usually found you in the library or a park bench. Somewhere quiet. 

Mother Beatrice nodded, shooting him a strangely exasperated look. Course she is, where else would she go? The girl doesn’t have any other home.

Bull chewed his lip thoughtfully. He supposed that was true. Maybe things had changed. 

Mother Beatrice led him around the backside of the dingy farmhouse, past a rundown chicken coop with a few mangy looking birds pecking at the dirt. There was a dilapidated stable off in the distance with one bony mare grazing on the tall grass and an overgrown vegetable garden. The tree line off in the distance looked ominously dark, like a line of guards sent to make sure the misery of this place didn’t spread.

Mother Beatrice stopped short, and Bull almost walked into her. There she is.

Bull looked around but didn’t see you. In addition to the forlorn horse, the garden and the coop, he noted a greenhouse missing more windows than it had and a towering oak tree reaching up for the sky as if running away from the unfortunate place it’d been planted. But no sign of you anywhere

Mother Beatrice looked at him intently for a moment, making Bull squirm in his boots, before sharply turning on her heel to leave. She called back to him at the base of the tree and vanished around the side of the house. 

Alone at last, Bull looked at the shadowy trunk but didn’t see anything. Must be around the backside, he reasoned. He started walking towards the tree, but a strange quiet settled over him. Suddenly, his collar felt too tight and his chest felt hollow. Something wasn’t right.

As he approached the tree, he began to make out what Mother Beatrice was referring to. He could hardly believe his eyes, and with each step forward he felt his feet grow heavier as if his boots were filled with lead. About ten paces from the trunk, he stopped, unable to go any closer. His shoulders sagged and he felt the bouquet slip out of his hands.

There you were, your name staring back at him from the headstone. 

Y/n Y/l/n October 11, 1924-January 9, 1945 Army Nurse Corps May she rest in the peace of the Lord

Bull wasn’t sure how long he stared at the stone. At your name. At the words Army Nurse Corps. Bull hadn’t known you were a nurse. He hadn’t remembered your birthday. He realized he’d been misspelling your last name this whole time.

Bull stood and stared until the light was almost gone from the sky. The sound of Mother Beatrice ringing a bell and calling out dinner! from the front porch jarred him out of his reverie. He hastily wiped the tears that had long ago dried on his face, feeling out of place and like an unwelcome intruder. 

He left without saying goodbye. He did manage to tilt the bouquet against your headstone, and run his fingers over the cold edges of your name cut into the marble. He didn’t feel entitled to much else. 

It wasn’t until he was home that night, deeper into a bottle of whiskey than a grieving man ought to be, when he realized something.

January 9th, 1945. The day you’d died. It was the same day he’d sat in that convent outside Foy, listening to that angelic choir, reminiscing about you and imagining a future that would never come to be.

***********************************************************************

Still working on... Joseph Liebgott Doc Roe Maybe David Webster too? *let me know if you have any other requests

[mads-weasley]

Epiphany Pt. 3: Haunted

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: hey guys!! i had originally planned for operation market garden to be one chapter, but there were just too many things that i wanted to add, so it will be split up into at least two! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Summary: Things aren't as cut and dry as they seem when Easy jumps into Holland for Operation Market Garden, and (y/n) faces a heartbreaking reality.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: slightly graphic mistreatment of women (eindhoven scene)

SEPTEMBER 13, 1944: ALDBOURNE, ENGLAND

The pub was alive, bustling with half-drunken paratroopers when (y/n) arrived with Skip, Alex, and Don. They were missing their fifth member who they spotted across the bar playing darts with Buck. 

“How much money do ya’ think he’s lost?” Skip asked, snickering as they made their way through the crowd to an empty table. 

(Y/n) grimaced. “As long as he’s not asking me for a loan again, I don’t care. He still owes me $20.”

“Ehh, you’re probably not gonna get that back, (y/n/n), Penkala laughed, throwing an arm over her shoulder. “You should know George well enough by now.”

“Well, the first twenty bucks he gets is mine tonight, boys.”

Finding a booth in the corner, Don, Skip, and (y/n) plopped down while Alex went to get them drinks. They looked around the room and observed some of Bull’s new squad replacements sitting nearby. 

“They don’t look older than twelve,” Skip scoffed, shaking his head.

Don smacked the side of his head, rolling his eyes. “Skip, you don’t look much older than twelve, alright, so ease up.” 

“You’re telling me you don’t even feel a litt-”

“No,” (y/n) interrupted. “I don’t. They’re here the same reason we are.”

Before Skip could argue back, Alex returned with their drinks, and the first thing (y/n) did was gulp hers. To her dismay, Alex had started to ramble about the replacements to Skip, and the pair picked up right where she’d cut him off. With a sigh, she got up and walked over to George, Buck, Toye, and a replacement, who were crowded around the dartboard. They all watched Buck as he lined up a shot.

“Here we go. One shot. Here we go,” he muttered to himself.

When she slid into the space beside George, he smirked with a wink, nodding toward Buck, as if to say, ‘Look at this.’

“Lieutenant,” he began. “You gonna shoot lefty all night?”

Toye and the red-headed replacement’s faces fell, and (y/n) took a sip of her drink to hide her smirk. 

Joe looked between George and Buck in disbelief. “Hey, come on,” He groaned.

“Just curious,” George continued, “‘Cause he’s right-handed.” 

A sly smile grew on Buck’s face as he switched sides and lined up his shot. “George. What would I do without George Luz?”

The group watched as the dart left Buck’s hand and hit the bullseye dead on.

“Boop!”

Collective groans came from Joe and the replacement at George’s antics as he turned to the men. “Goodness, gracious!”

“Two packs, gentlemen,” Compton announced, holding out his hand.

“I know you’ve got them. Pay up.”

Joe looked at (y/n) who was still smirking into her drink. “You gonna let them screw us like that, (y/n)?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t see anything, Joe.”

Rolling his eyes, Toye grumbled as he placed a pack of cigarettes in Buck’s outstretched hand before walking off. The replacement approached (y/n) with a nervous smile, and she had to agree with Skip that he did look twelve, even if he towered over her. 

“Heffron,” he introduced, holding out his hand. “Babe Heffron. Nice to meet you. The guys have told me nothing but great things.”

She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Babe. You’re in Bull’s squad, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Raising her eyebrows, (y/n) snorted. “Ma’am makes me sound like an old woman. Call me (y/n).”

“Yes, ma’a-, I mean, (y/n),” he corrected, his face turning crimson.

Seeing the flash of a familiar silver flask near the door, (y/n) nodded at Babe. “It was nice meeting you, Heffron. You’re in good hands with Bull.”

She found him sitting at a table with Harry Welsh, who looked more tipsy than usual. “(Y/n). Speak of the devil. We wer-”

Nix’s eyes widened, and he kicked Harry discreetly under the table. “You meet the new replacements?” He asked as if Welsh hadn’t spoken.

Raising an eyebrow, she sat in the empty seat beside Lew. “What was that, Lieutenant?”

“Uhh, we were gonna ask you about the replacements,” he replied slowly, glancing at Nix for confirmation.

Though she didn’t understand Harry’s odd behavior, she didn’t push it. “They seem nice. I’ve just met Heffron after George and Buck conned him playing darts.”

Lew took a swig of his flask, throwing an arm on the back of (y/n)’s chair, his fingertips lightly brushing her shoulder. “Bull will take care of them,” he began. “He’s a good sergeant.”

(Y/n) nodded, unsure of her voice at his subtle touch. One touch and she was down for the count. Thinking back to D-Day and the way he held her, heat spread through her. She looked down at the drink in her hand and realized she needed a refill.

“I’ll be right back. I’m gonna get another drink,” she announced, getting up from her seat.

Lew got up, too, grabbing his signature flask. “I’ll come with. Harry, don’t cause too much trouble while we’re gone, alright?”

He rolled his eyes, shooing them away with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah. Go on. I’ll survive.”

The duo made their way for the crowd before leaning against the bar. 

“I thought you only drink VAT-69,” she questioned, motioning to the barkeep for two beers.

Nix faced her, his eyes scanning her face. “My supply is running low, so I’ve gotta cut back until I can get some more.”

The bartender returned with two beers and she gratefully took them, returning to their table with Nix in tow. As soon as they sat down, he placed his arm around her chair once again, and she took a big sip of her drink, knowing she would need it to make it through the night. 

“So, how’s the officer’s life treating you two?” She asked, trying to hide the blush that crept up her neck.

Harry took a deep breath. “Well…”

An hour and a few drinks later, (y/n) was throwing her head back in laughter at something Harry said. Nix just chuckled beside her, knowing she was drunk due to the fact Harry’s comment wasn’t funny at all.

Her head felt as if was stuffed with cotton, and the world was tilted slightly off its axis, but regardless, she was chatting away with the two Lieutenants.

“Ya’know,” she giggled, waving her hands around emphatically. “Kitty’s a lucky gal ‘ta have ya, Har. Outta all-”

Her hand caught a glass and sent it flying, beer spilling across the table. 

“Oh no.”

Lew stood up and gently grasped her elbow, helping her to her feet. “Come on, doll. You’ve had enough.”

“Lewis,” she whined. “I’m not drunk.”

His chuckled. “Really?”

“Uh, ‘yeh.”

“Okay,” he smirked, pointing behind her. “Try to walk to Luz.”

(Y/n) nodded and wobbly took one, two, three steps before tilting to her right, arms flailing. Luckily, Lew was ready and caught her by her waist effortlessly.

“I guess I am drunk,” she murmured into his shoulder. 

Her attempt gained the attention of her squadmates who still sat at the same table from hours earlier. Don and George walked over, faces painted with concern.

“She alright?” Luz asked with a grimace.

“Yeah. She’s just a lightweight,” Nixon smirked, glancing down at the woman in his arms. “I’m gonna take her home.”

Lifting her head off his shoulder, she looked up at him. “Already there,” she whispered to herself.

To her dismay, Don had heard it, and the man’s eyes became saucers as he realized what she meant. Everything clicked in his head.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “I’ll get someone to check on her in the morning.”

With a curt nod, Nix led her out of the pub and was hit with a wave of sharp, chilly air that had her huddling closer to him. He had a secure hand around her waist, keeping her upright as they walked down the cobblestone streets of Aldbourne. 

“You alright down there?” He asked, squeezing her hip gently.

(Y/n) basked in his warmth. “I like it when you hold me.”

The man got choked up on his saliva and coughed a few times at her confession.

“Well,” he began slowly, staring down at her, the moonlight illuminating her face. “I like to hold you.”

“Why?”

A smile formed on his lips. “You can ask me when you’re sober, but I doubt you’ll remember any of this, sweetheart.”

She nodded once against his shoulder as they turned onto her street. Aldbourne was a quiet town, especially on a Sunday night. It was easy for one to find themselves getting lost in their thoughts. The soft glow from windows reflecting off the pavement felt like home, even if they were thousands of miles away from theirs.

In different circumstances, Lew could envision him and (y/n) on their way home from a night dancing or movie picture, giggling as young couples do, oblivious to the horrors of the world. But that wasn’t reality. They’d seen the horrors firsthand, and he envied the people who lived and loved in times of peace.

A soft voice broke him from his thoughts. “Thanks.”

Looking up and realizing they’d arrived at her billet, he reluctantly let go of her. He felt the loss of her warmth and reached out to take her hand. “Drink some water, alright? I can’t have you being grumpy tomorrow because you’re hungover.”

She smiled blearily, squeezing his hand. “Thanks for ev’rythin, Lew.”

In a moment of weakness, he sighed and tugged her closer. As Lew’s strong arms wrapped gently around (y/n)’s frame, he felt her heart beating through her chest, as if it were trying to send him a message. The scent of her hair, a delicate mix of her shampoo, and the evening breeze intoxicated his senses. All he could think about was the woman in his arms. Standing there in the warm embrace of a quiet, moonlit night, it was as if the war wasn’t raging around the world. But just as quickly as it had begun, the hug came to an end. They pulled away, eyes meeting for a fleeting moment as if searching for answers in each other’s gaze.

“G’nigh,” she giggled, walking towards her door with unsteady steps.

“Night, sweetheart,”

Once the door had closed and he heard the familiar click of the lock, he backed up onto the street shaking his head with a bashful smile.

“I’m in trouble,” he chuckled, making his way back to the bar.

September 14, 1944: ALDBOURNE, ENGLAND

(Y/n) awoke with a groan, hearing dull raps from the front door beneath her. Each knock was like a drum banging inside her skull as she made her way down the stairs. The family she was staying with was on a weekend vacation, and she was thankful their children wouldn’t see her so hungover.

(Y/n) opened the door, squinting at the bright sunlight. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” a kind voice replied. Lip. 

Her eyes widened. “Sorry, Car, I didn’t realize it was you.”

“It’s alright,” he began softly. “You weren’t at the pub last night, so I wanted to let you know we’re moving out again.”

Already?.

“Okay. Thanks, Lip,” (y/n) nodded, eyes sinking to the floor as she closed the door.

Great.

September 17, 1944: Operation Market Garden

As Easy Company sat in ditches along the road to Eindhoven, an eerie silence hung in the air. Sure, Allied intelligence suspected the Krauts in the country were mostly old men and kids, but the paratroopers were on their toes, ready for whatever would come next.

(Y/n) was sandwiched between George and Skip, who were grumbling back and forth about a failed darts game the night before. 

“Will you two shut up, please?” She laughed softly. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

George smirked, adjusting his helmet. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

A squadron of Allied aircraft roared overhead, and soon after, they approached the town. A window opened, and (y/n) motioned for everyone to get down as she crouched beside a fence. The person pulled out a long orange banner and tied it around the window.

“Okay, hold your fire,” Bull appeared behind them, cigar hanging from his lips.

Staring at the town above her M-1 sight, a deep pang of worry shot through her stomach. Something didn’t feel right.

The paratroopers couldn’t believe their eyes as the people of Eindhoven celebrated their liberation from the German occupation. Bright orange flags flew from every window, and (y/n) found herself smiling at the pure joy that oozed from the town. 

(Y/n) and George had gotten separated from the rest of their squad in the crowd as they dodged kisses from the locals. Well, (y/n) dodged their kisses. After a few girls tried to land a smooch on her lips, she removed her helmet, showing she was a woman. Soon the town's men caught on and were trying to do the same. 

She tried to push through the crowd as quickly as possible staving off any attempts from them. Looking behind her, she groaned at the empty spot where George had been. “George,” she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Luz! Come on!”

A few seconds later, he appeared to her right, fresh red lipstick smeared across his lips that were quirked into a wide grin.

“Gosh, (y/n). Can’t a guy have some fun?” He joked, wiping his mouth with his hand.

Turning around, she rolled her eyes and made her way through an opening in the crowd only to be pulled to the side by her arm. “Hey!”

A familiar Philly accent filled her ears. “Come get in this picture, (y/n)!”

Babe pulled her through the crowd, and George followed, kissing as many girls as he could along the way. 

“There they are!” Chuck yelled, throwing his arm around a blonde.

George and Babe stood behind a few kids wearing orange hats and waving flags, all smiling from ear to ear. A wide smile grew on (y/n)’s face as she knelt beside the kids, placing her helmet on the little girl's head beside her. The helmet tipped down, covering the girl’s face except for her crooked, snaggle-toothed smile. (Y/n) quickly fixed it for her, and to her surprise, the little girl threw herself in the woman’s arms. Fighting off tears, she sniffled and hugged the girl back before pointing to the camera.

“Smile, everybody!” (Y/n) announced.

The picture was taken with a click, and (y/n)’s eyes wandered to the left of the cameraman.

She froze, her face falling. Time slowed as she watched the scene unfold before her. A local woman with long, flowing chestnut hair and a confident stride approached Lew. (Y/n) squinted to get a better look, her heart pounding. She watched in disbelief as the stranger reached up and placed a hand on Lew’s cheek, drawing him closer. The world around (y/n) seemed to blur as the stranger’s lips met Lew’s, and they kissed, and he didn't pull away.

Time seemed to stand still for (y/n). She couldn’t comprehend what she was witnessing. Her mind raced with questions. 

Why was Lew kissing her? 

Her hands clenched into fists, and tears welled up in her eyes. (Y/n) felt like a statue, unable to move or speak as the painful scene played out before her. She knew she had no right to be jealous, but not so deep down, she wished it were her instead. Her heart ached, and her stomach churned with anger, jealousy, and sadness.

George tapped her shoulder, his brows furrowed. “(Y/l/n)? You alright?”

Following her line of sight, he found what she was fixated on and softly sighed.

“He’s an idiot, (y/n/n). Come on,” he murmured, hoisting her up by her arm.

She stood and blinked away angry tears that filled her vision. She knew she had no right to be jealous, but not so deep down, she wished it were her.

A small voice below her broke her train of thought. “Dank,” the little girl nodded, holding out (y/n)’s helmet. She forced a smile and took it from the girl. 

George tugged her arm softly, pulling her in the opposite direction of Nix. She blindly followed in a haze, her mind muddied with hurtful thoughts. Townsfolk grabbed at her jacket as she and George made their way to the main town square where 2nd platoon was meeting. 

She was snapped out of her mind by the sound of screams. Her head moved on a swivel trying to find the sound’s source. Spotting a circle of citizens up ahead, she pushed past George quickly, squeezing her way through a few men to see inside the circle.

Before her, half-naked women were on their knees, crying as their hair was roughly shaved, leaving them with blood streaking down their necks and faces. Two Dutch resistance fighters bumped past (y/n) with another petrified woman in their arms. They threw her down and began to rip the clothes off her body. (Y/n)’s eyes narrowed as a burning sensation filled her chest. 

“Hey!” She cried, shoving one of them away from the woman. “That’s enough!”

The man recovered swiftly, but (y/n) didn’t give up. Unable to bend her to his will, he resorted to dirty tactics, shoving her forcefully and causing her to stumble and fall to the hard cobblestone street with a thud. 

“Stomme meid,” he spat.

Stupid girl. 

Her unclasped helmet skidded a few feet away as her head came in contact with the road. The impact knocked the wind out of her, leaving her momentarily gasping for breath. 

For a few seconds, everyone’s eyes were on the (y/n), then all hell let loose. Easy’s men were trying to get to her with enraged shouts but were unable to get through the crowd. With great effort, (y/n) pushed herself up off the ground, her face flushed but her spirit unbroken. She looked the man squarely in the eyes, refusing to show fear despite the pain in her chest. 

The man leered down at her with a smirk as he switched to heavily accentuated English. “Maybe we should teach you a less-”

(Y/n) lost all self-control as her arm reeled back ready to swing, but someone grabbed it tightly and tried to pull her away from the man. Seeing a flash of dark hair, she knew it was him, and her fury only grew. (Y/n) resisted, her heart pounding with adrenaline.

“No, Nix!” She protested, her voice filling with fiery determination. She wriggled free from his grasp for a moment, her eyes still locked onto the resistance fighters. “Let go of me! They can’t do this! We can’t let them do this!”

He stepped in front of (y/n), blocking her view of the confrontation, and looked deeply into her eyes. “(Y/n), I know, all right? I wish we could, but we can’t do anything about it.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, she tried to push past him only to hear a tone he had never used with her before.

“Stop! That’s an order, (y/l/n),” he gritted, his heart squeezing in his chest at the words.

(Y/n) stared at the Officer in disbelief. 

How dare he not help these poor women?

Tears filled her eyes for the second time that day as she took one more look at the poor woman on the ground. “I’m sorry,” she whispered before shoving her way back through the crowd.

Lew’s eyes followed her until she disappeared into the mob. Sighing, he ran a hand down his face.

What a difference a few days can bring.

One of the men behind him spoke. “She’s a lively one, no?”

“Shut it,” Nix snapped, scooping (y/n)’s discarded helmet off the street.

When he found Dick, Harry, and Buck, he handed the helmet to her platoon leader. “It’s (y/n)’s.”

Buck took it with a nod as the four officers watched the British Armored Division come rumbling down the street. 

It was going to be a long operation.

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[lostloveletters]

I love your blog! Can’t wait to see what you post next🩵

Thank you so much, you're incredibly kind🖤 I'm hoping to have chapter 9 of Bruised Fruit finished soon, and I've also been working on my Sonny x OC fic which I'll probably post sometime next month? But some other fics I'm (tentatively) gonna post within the next few weeks are

a Michael Corleone x Reader fic, I think either the Soulmate AU or the reader working at Genco as part of its "legitimate" front and doesn't know about the mob stuff

I do wanna write a follow-up to You Can't Start a Fire Without a Spark

I also have some ideas for Eugene Roe, Buck Compton, and Joe Toye fics! It's just a matter of managing my time to finish them. The Toye one will probably be posted first because I'm farthest along with it

🦇 Battie