#bull randleman x you

[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

[malarkgirlypop]

He's the Boss Part 4 (Bull Randleman x F!Reader)

WELL WELL FUCKING WELL. Jesus christ I have been looking at this part 4 in my wips for ages. Finally got an idea, that then may have spiralled into a whole fucking rabbit hole, but lol here we are! But anyway it's done, woooh, we get a bit of Cowboy Bull thrown in so that's fun! I hope you all enjoy the last instalment of this Bull series. But not to worry, I love Bull and I'm sure I will write another one for him. We need more Bull content goddammit! if this is bad don't tell me lol

Based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, no hate to the people involved.

Tag list: @footprintsinthesxnd, @vikinglover07, @next-autopsy, @panzershrike-pretz, @xxluckystrike, @bucky32557038ww2, @b00ks1ut, @paula-912 (I can't remember of anyone else has asked to be tagged, if you have please remind me, I'm so bad!)

I finally left the room. Bull and I talked for hours laying together on his bed. I looked at the time it was four in the morning, I knew I had to leave before everyone else got up. It wouldn’t be a good look sneaking out the Seargents room in the early hours of the morning, looking freshly fucked. 

“I have to go.” I whispered trying to get out of bed, Bull pulled me back down onto the bed kissing me gently on the lips. I groaned in frustration, he was making it very hard to leave, and he knew it. He watched me intently as I got dressed again, laughing at me as I scoured around for where I had thrown my bra. He was enjoying the show. 

I waved goodbye sneaking out of the room, closing the door quietly behind me. I walked down the hall, the realisation of what just happened hitting me. I couldn’t help but grin, I skipped down to my room. I shut the door behind me, flopping down onto my bed. I glanced at the time, “Ugh I have to be up in 3 hours.” It was a later start on the Saturday but we still had duties to attend even if there was nothing to do here in Austria. We were still waiting for the German army to surrender, but even then we weren’t set on going home after that, they were still fighting over in the Pacific. I fell fast asleep under my covers being so tired from the events prior. 

My alarm blared next to me, I groaned rolling over wrapping my pillow around my head to block out the annoying noise. I sat up smacking the clock off.  A knock rapped on my door, George didn’t wait to be invited in, waltzing into the room and shutting the door behind him. He flopped down onto the bed next to me. 

“We gotta get up, Y/N.” He moaned into the pillow, I peeked my eye open at him, he looked like a bus had hit him. His hair all tousled and dark circles under his eyes. 

“No.” I mumble into the pillow, pulling the covers over my head. He pulled them back down inspecting my face.  

“Why do you look so tired, you barely drunk anything?” He squinted at me. 

“I didn’t get to bed till late. Do we have to get up?” I asked, enjoying the warmth under the blanket. I was so cosy I didn't want to leave my little nest I had made.

He raised his head from the pillow scanning my features, his brows furrowed together in concentration. “What do you mean, you didn’t get to bed till late? We got home at the same time. You and Bull put me to bed. You and Bull. YOU AND BULL!” I flinched away from the man as he pounced on top of me pinning me to the bed. 

“Shhh, George!” I said trying to cover his mouth which hung open. 

“I just didn’t sleep well is all.” I lied, pushing him off of me. I threw the covers back, hastily getting changed into my uniform while George looked at me, I could see from here the cogs turning in his brain. 

“Stop thinking so much, you’ll hurt yourself.” I threw the pillow that had fallen off the bed at his face.    

—--------------

We walked down the hall together, “So nothing happened last night?” George asked for the umpteenth time. 

“George, would you quit it! I told you. After I put you to bed, Bull and I had a drink and then we parted ways.” He looked at me suspiciously, still not believing the story I had told him. 

—--------------

We made it to the mess hall in time for breakfast, standing in line for our food. Luz spoke cheerily with the other men, seemingly forgetting about the terrible hangover he had. I grabbed a few things off the table that had been prepared, popping them on my plate. My eyes constantly flitted to the door waiting for Bull to walk in. Even though I had only seen him a couple hours ago, I desperately wanted to see him again. Send him a little smile or wink as he walks in. A look that we shared that no one else knew but us. 

I sat down at the table with the rest of the Easy men joining George and I. They all chatted as I nibbled, patiently waiting for Bull to arrive. But he never did, his tall frame never coming into view. He had missed breakfast all together.

“Hey little bird!” George snapped his fingers in front of my face, pulling me from my focus on the door. I looked at him, confusion on my face.

“We are leaving, come on!” George said as I looked around the table we were the only ones left there. 

“Why did you call me little bird?” I asked standing, following George with my plate and putting it on the counter to be returned. 

“Cause you were nibbling on one piece of toast all of breakfast like a little bird.” George said over his shoulder as we walked out of the mess hall. I sighed trailing behind. I had wanted to see Bull so bad, but I know he’s a busy man.

We walked through the buildings, I walked behind George sighing loudly and scraping my feet. George walked briskly ahead, only turning around occasionally to check I was still meandering behind him. Another sigh left my mouth but it was quickly stopped as my arm swinging by my side was snatched up swiftly. My eyes widened as I went to scream, but a large hand covered my mouth stopping any noise from leaving my throat. I was dragged behind one of the walls of the houses we were walking through. I struggled tirelessly against the firm hold that had me, with no success. This person who had me was very much stronger and bigger than me.  

“Easy there!” The warm timbre of the voice stilled me. I knew that voice anywhere. His hands set me free as soon as I stopped struggling. I swung around to face Bull. I crossed my arms over my chest trying to appear annoyed, but the grin on my face gave me away. 

“What on earth are you doing, Bull?” I asked him. He grinned down at me. 

“Come with me.” He replied, gently taking my hand in his leading me away. 

“Where?” I queried, but I let him take me. I held onto his hand following behind my question still left unanswered. All he did was smile at me, his face beamed with excitement. 

We walked for a bit, leaving the buildings behind we were staying in. He walked us onto a gravel road in between rolling fields. We walked all the way down the road, hand in hand, enjoying the scenery. We finally came to a stop under a tall tree, its branches so wide and thick it shaded us from the hot sun. 

“Are we here? Is this it?” I asked again. Bull nodded, hopping the wooden fence with ease. 

“Bull! What are you doing?” I asked in a hushed voice even though no one else was around to hear us. We hadn’t seen people since we had left the town. 

“Come on, it's this way.” He held out his hand for me to help me climb over the fence. I stepped from one foot to the other, looking around to see if we would get caught. 

“You trust me don’t you?” He said hand still reaching out for me. I sighed nodding, I did trust him. I climbed over the fence, Bull lifting me off the other side, once I had reached the top, and placing me gently on the ground. We walked into the field, the edges lined with pine trees. It seemed to sprawl for miles, filled with lush green grass and patches of wildflowers and trees here and there. 

I watched as Bull placed his thumb and index finger in his mouth in a ‘o’ shape. I tilted my head curiously, but soon figured out what he was doing, when a loud whistle left his lips. I stared at him as he swung around sending me a wink. I heard the sound of heavy footfalls racing towards us. There in the distance a horse sprinted towards us. It nickered and whinnied as it ran. It arrived stopping right in front of Bull. It pushed its head into him, as he lifted his hand to pat it. 

“Come on over, he’s not scary.” Bull beckoned me over, as I stood wearily to the side. I moved closer, reaching out for the horse to smell me. He snorted softly pushing his head against my hand as I stroked the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t know what his real name is but I call him Randy.” He told me. I couldn’t help the laugh that left my lips. 

“What?” He asked, looking confused.    

“Randy, I love it!” I laughed more, hiding my chuckles behind my hand. 

“Well it’s Sir Randy to you, if you’re going to take that attitude!” He said with a serious tone. I couldn’t help but throw my head back in laughter at his antics.  

“Hello Randy.” I cooed as I patted the horse. I watched Bull raise one eyebrow, not looking impressed. 

“My deepest apologies, Sir Randy.” I bowed deeply to the horse to show my respect for his title. Now it was Bull’s turn to laugh as he watched me. 

“Alright, you ready?” Bull asked, I looked at him puzzled. We hadn't been here more than five minutes and he was ready to leave. 

“Are we going already? I asked, a pout on my lips. I didn’t want to go just yet. Bull smiled walking towards me. His arms wrapped me in a tight hug, as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head. I rested my head on his chest looking up at him. Bull’s head dipped down, his lips finding mine. He kissed me softly, letting the touch linger before pulling away.  

“You’re so cute.” He hummed lowly in my ear, sending butterflies swirling in my stomach. 

“No we aren’t leaving. We’re going for a ride!” Bull beamed down at me, my brows knitted together as I pieced it all together in my head. 

“We’re riding Randy?” I asked. He nodded. My eyes widened. “I haven’t ridden a horse before! Also whose horse is this? Are we allowed?” The questions tumbled from my lips in quick succession. 

“Yes we are riding Randy. It’s fine the owner will never know. And who cares if we are allowed or not, it’s fun.” Bull moved away walking back over to the horse, patting Randy on his back. The horse snorted in response. Bull turned back and looked at me, “Plus I have seen how you ride, you’ll be fine.” He sent me a cheeky wink. My cheeks flushed pink, a giggle leaving my mouth. 

“You’re up first.” Bull said to me as I made my way over. Bull clasped his hands together for me to step into, he boosted me up onto the horse. I sat on Randy’s back, feeling unsteady since there was no saddle for me to sit in. 

“Can you ride bareback?” I asked, looking down at him. Bull grinned, sending me a wink.

“Not like that!” I swatted at him with my hand, but he dodged me easily.   

“Yeah. I used to ride bareback all the time, back at the farm.” He said as he hoisted himself up onto the horse, his large frame sitting in front of me. I wrapped my arms around his waist, leaning my head into his back. 

Bull clicked his tongue nudging Randy in the side. The horse snorted and started walking forward. 

“Where are you going to take me?” I asked from behind him, craning my neck up to see over his shoulder. But his torso being so much longer than mine made the task difficult. I opted to look out at the side view, since I couldn’t see a thing in front of me. 

“Well I saw this nice creek, looked good for a dip.” Bull said in his country drawl. I didn’t have time to react to his comment, before he kicked the horse in the side. 

“Heyah!” He yelled, Randy took off in a sprint. I yelped in surprise, holding on tightly to Bull. Randy cantered through the field leading us to a gate, we passed through it quickly. I was trying to admire the view but it all just blurred past due to the speed at which we were going. I held on for dear life, but felt safe with Bull handling the horse. 

We finally reached the small creek, willow trees swayed in the breeze, their long branches reaching down and touching the water. 

“Oh, Bull, this is stunning.” I said, casting my gaze around at the scenic view. He dismounted the horse easily, landing steady footed on the ground. Before I knew it, I was being plucked off of Randy. Bull’s strong hands taking under my arms and lifting me gently to the ground. He placed me on my feet in front of him. 

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. I leant forward, kissing him gently. But Bull seemed to have other plans, his mouth taking mine hungrily. I moaned into his mouth as he kissed me deeper. His hand finding the buttons of my top, I pulled back laughing, swatting his hands away from me.

“Hey! We can’t do it here! What if we are caught?” I blushed thinking about being caught in that certain predicament with Bull. 

“Oh no ma’am, that wasn’t my intention.” Bull grinned a cheeky smile. 

“And then tell me good sir. What was your intention?” I asked prodding his chest with my finger. Bull grabbed my wrist, pulling me in closer. 

“I was just helping you get undressed. We are going for a dip after all.” He laughed heartily, the noise sending shivers up my spine. 

“Well, last one in is a rotten egg!” I squeal, charging down the grass towards the creek. Flinging my clothes off as I went. Bull wasn’t far behind, shedding his own attire just as quickly. 

“I’ll get you, Y/N!” Bull laughed as he chased behind me. 

“I would like to see you try!” I screamed as he scooped me up in one foul swoop. 

Bull ran into the warm water, with me still in his arms half naked. I snuggled in closer to his chest. Running my hands down his torso. 

“Can we stay like this forever?” I asked, kissing him softly on the lips. 

“Always!” Bull smiled down at me, his sweet eyes creasing at the sides. His lips pressed against mine. “I promise.”         

[multifandomfanfic]

Meeting and Falling in Love with the Easy Company Boys (x f!reader)

A/N: These headcanons are my Secret Santa gift for the wonderful @hxad-ovxr-hxart (for @hbowardaily!'s yearly exchange)! I hope you enjoy them—this is the first thing I’ve ever made for Band of Brothers, despite being such a big fan. I had a lot of fun writing them! (BTW, I haven't watched BOB for a good six months, so I struggled a little with remembering what Talbert was like. I hope I did him justice.)

Characters: Joe Toye, Bull Randleman, Ronald Speirs, Joe Liebgott, Floyd Talbert

Joe Toye

This man is my short king (there is no way he is 5'10")

He may seem tough on the outside, especially toward his friends, but I know he would be the most caring person in the world to you. I mean, he broke out of the hospital in Bastogne to rejoin Easy Company–can you imagine what else he would do?

I figure you two would meet while he was in the hospital in Bastogne or after Market Garden. You would be doing your daily rounds, changing bandages and making beds when you come to him. He immediately thinks you’re the most beautiful girl he has ever seen, and thanks his lucky stars he ended up in your section.

He keeps requesting to see you, whether it’s under the guise of needing more medicine or needing someone to write his letters home for him (God, he thinks your handwriting is so pretty). It gets so tiring that your supervisor automatically sends you whenever he has an issue.

Of course, in an army hospital, there isn’t much Joe can do to try and be romantic, especially with a hundred other men needing your undivided attention. But he makes do with his pure charm and charisma, good looks, and maybe some candies he wrote home for. He makes sure to show you his brass knuckles and his plans to celebrate Joe Toye Day.

“Say, Y/N, when this war is over, how do you say we go out to dinner together? My treat.” Despite being bedridden, Joe’s affability shines through for you. You can’t help but laugh.

“Sure, Sergeant. I’d love to.”

As the war progresses and Joe goes back to active duty, you two exchange dozens and dozens of letters. They persist even as you’re both transferred to the most gruesome areas of the European theatre. He doesn’t sugarcoat it for you, but his stories of his friends and back home manage to light up your days. And he could say the same for the perfume and red lip-sticked kisses you leave on your letters.

He asks you to marry him in one letter (which he tried to keep hidden from the other men, until George found it and spread the news to all of Easy Company), and you immediately write back with a resounding YES!

Suddenly, though, the flow of letters to you goes cold. It isn’t until a few weeks later that his mother writes to you: Joe had lost his leg in Bastogne and was recovering in a hospital in Atlantic City. 

It was difficult getting through the latter months of the war knowing that an entire ocean separated you and Joe, but the letters and love continued. Once the war ended, you knew where you were going, and surprised him by his bedside in late May. 

“This is like déjà vu,” Joe chuckled, looking at you with all the adoration he could muster. The sun was setting over the New Jersey skyline, and the last of the hospital visitors were shuffling out into the night.

“Except you’re not leaving me this time,” you smiled, squeezing this hand, “And I’m not changing your sheets.”

Bull Randleman

BULL BULL BULL BULL (sang to the tune of “Bill Nye the Science Guy”)

I already know Bull is a big softie; I mean, not only does he look like he gives the best hugs on this here Earth, but we already know he is one of the best NCOs in Easy Company.

I think you two would meet prior to D-Day at Aldbourne. You’re a Donut Dolly helping the Red Cross lift the men’s spirits, and boy, do you certainly lift one paratrooper’s spirits. Bull comes back to your Clubmobile on a regular basis, sometimes multiple times a day, even if it is just to chat. 

Due to the Red Cross’ discouragement of Dollies having romantic relationships with servicemen, you can’t reciprocate the kind man’s feelings, despite how much you want to. However, it doesn’t go unnoticed that Bull gets his coffee and donuts for free whenever you’re working the station.

There’s an unmistakable tension in the air before D-Day, which inspires you to break the rules a little and accompany Bull to a local pub. Hours and a dozen endearing Southern phrases later, you are wrapped in his arms, dancing, as Glenn Miller plays on the jukebox. 

“Thank you for this, doll,” Bull said, as you swayed in the middle of the dark pub. Several other Americans were there, trying to drown their fear away. They were aware you were a dolly, forbidden from socializing with Bull in such a way, but they knew the gravity of the situation, and would never say a word.

“Don’t say that, Bull. We’ll see each other again.” 

A few days later, D-Day was in full swing, and the men you had spent the last months with were across the channel. However, you did not have to wait for Bull to come back for you, as you came to him. Within a week of the invasion, you and your clubmobile walked onto the Normandy beaches, footlocker in hand. 

You can not imagine the look of surprise and joy on Bull’s face when your truck joined Easy Company outside of Ste. Mere-Eglise; witnesses say it was the only time his cigar ever fell out of his mouth.

Everyone knew you had a thing for each other, but the rules were the rules, and they were enforceable now. So, you had to exchange letters and glances in private, with conversations and hand-holding reserved for when no one was around.

When VE and VJ Days were finally declared, it was like a load off your shoulders. Your first “official” dates together include swimming and walking in the Austrian mountains, and enjoying the left-behind alcohol and cigars. And let's not forget those hugs!

(A/N: Can you tell I've had a fixation on WWII Clubmobiles recently?)

Ronald Speirs

This man actually scares me, but that’s ok.

Speirs’ infatuation with you definitely comes from a place of respect. You work somewhere on the frontlines, whether it’s as a nurse, photographer, or another paratrooper in an alternate universe. While he may not vocalize it, he really admires your drive and bravery.

You two are acquaintances, having known each other since the early days of the Normandy invasion. You brush shoulders once in a while, but to your disappointment, nothing seems to develop between the two of you. His lingering glances go unnoticed.

He wouldn’t outright approach you. You would begin to notice small things added to your rucksack or station: chocolate, money, pawned jewelry, clothes–an entire set of fine china once appeared on top of your footlocker. You had no idea where it was coming from, and several attempts to find your secret admirer were to no avail. Whoever he was, you thought, he must be the most caring man in the world; who else would go out of their way to give gifts to a woman they barely know?

Someone would notice something, though. All the rumors about Speirs’ cruelty led some men to have a heightened interest in him and his daily happenings. It would be Luz who finally sees him bring a stolen pair of heels into your tent and exit without them–all while you were out doing your job.

“Hey, Lieutenant? You got a moment?” Luz called out to his superior. He walked across the ruined town square to Speirs, who responded with nothing but a blank stare. He had been caught and by no one less than George Luz.

“What do you want, Sergeant?”

“Well, I just wanted to say…” Luz looked around, half-jokingly making sure there were witnesses, “If this leaving stuff in Y/N’s tent is an attempt to ‘woo’ her, you might want to leave a note. Or just talk to her. How else will you know it’s you leaving her gifts and not Major Winters or Lieutenant Dike?”

With that, Speirs immediately goes out to find you. From the outside, he may appear to have all the confidence in the world, but he can not fathom you thinking all the gifts he has left are from the man he replaced. Speirs spots you mailing something back home; he pulls you outside, away from the attendant, and confesses that he has been the one leaving you gifts because of the feelings he’s been harboring. You quickly embrace him, causing Luz to whoop and cheer, which is only stifled by Speirs’ scowling.

From then on, you become the “First Lady” of Dog and Easy Company. You’re untouchable. Most of the men will bend over backward for you to stay on Speirs’ “good side.” You are treated with the utmost respect and courtesy, and privy to all the going-ons of the division. 

Toward the end of the war, Sgt. Grant is shot, and Speirs goes into full-blown protection mode. You accompany him as he locates the German doctor before initiating the manhunt for the soldier who shot Grant. You try to calm him down to the best of your abilities, but its no use. He hardly leaves your side after that night.

At the end of the war, Speirs decides to stay in the military, and despite the ups and downs that come with that, you stay with him. You celebrate with the rest of Easy Company as the men slowly start to return home with Speirs by your side. Not to be cliche, but you do live happily ever after, even if you’re never truly settled in one place.

Joe Liebgott

Call me David Webster, cause I would die for Joe Liebgott. He was my OG.

I think its safe to say that Liebgott is very tru cocky. I wouldn’t call it a superiority complex, perse, but he knows he’s good-looking and suave, and he’s confident enough to put it to good use. He can wine and dine any nurse and WAC he wants in a matter of moments. It’s a foolproof strategy; that is, until he sees you.

It’s Aldbourne, 1944, and he spots you in a pub while playing darts. He is immediately captivated by your looks, as even the drab green of your uniform manages to compliment them. He’s too busy staring at you and completely misses the target on his next throw. It costs him a pack of cigarettes, and you giggling at him, but man was it worth it.

You spend the evening huddled up together in a booth, him trying every one of his usual pick-up lines, and you shrugging them off like they’re nothing. It confuses Joe to no end that the one girl he wants doesn’t fall prey to his anecdotes. In reality, they do work, as you fall more and more in love with him throughout the night; you just want to hear him work for it.

He walks you back to your barracks, dizzy from infatuation (and dancing). You leave him with a peck on his cheek, and it's there he promises you will be the last girl he chases.

Before D-Day, Joe asks for a picture of you to keep during the war. You happily oblige, signing your love on the back of it with a kiss. He keeps it with him until the very end of the war and can not count the number of times he has shown you off someone else. By May, everyone in Easy knows what you look like.

Despite his addiction to Dick Tracy comics, Joe isn’t much of a poet, but this doesn’t keep him from writing to you daily. Sometimes the letters don’t contain more than an “I love you” or ramblings about how terrible his rations tasted or German lessons. Other times, they were more macabre, even though he attempts to sugarcoat things for you. Your favorite letters are when he describes life back home in California and everything he hopes to show you one day.

Obviously, the war was hard for Liebgott, even more than other soldiers. But knowing you are waiting for him and will stick with him helps get him through the hard times. I imagine Liebgott turns into Harry Welsh now that he’s smitten with you. He tells everyone about you, and wherever he goes, he looks for something to ship back to you. 

After the war, the two of you find yourselves a nice house in California. No matter what happens, you are there for each other through thick and thin. The picture you gave Joe in Aldbourne is framed in your living room for years to come.

Floyd Talbert

Unfortunately, I don’t remember Tab that much since it has been so long since my last rewatch. But if I know one thing for certain, I know he’s a cutie pie. (But I’m very sorry if these headcanons don’t match the character well).

You two would definitely meet while Floyd is recovering from being bayonetted by Private Smith in Carentan. You tend to his wounds and listen to him recall the harrowing story of how he received his injury. Its only when Easy Company returns to England and you meet his friends that you learn the injury was a simple mistake. Of course, Floyd is embarrassed, but you find it endearing.

Much like with Toye, you return to Tab’s bedside innumerous times. Since you’re in England, you can relatively safely go out for a “date” once he is healed. You enjoy the best British food the two of you can afford, and when that gets too sickening, you stroll through London like tourists.

He insisted you be there when he returns to Easy and informally receives a Purple Heart. His beams with pride, and in his confident state shows you off to the rest of the men as his fiancee. Well, that isn’t exactly true until a couple days later, when Floyd pops the question hours before departing for the war again. You wouldn’t think of saying anything but yes.

Like the other men, you exchange letters for months. You remain stationed outside of London, and despite wartime rationing, send him anything he needs. Cigarettes? Bought and shipped. Pictures of you? Taken and sent. Some baked goods? Consider it sent. If he could, he would reciprocate the favor, which he tries to do whenever they stop through a somewhat intact town. The tulips he sends you from the Netherlands are permanently placed by your beside, even if they arrive a little dried.

Once the war ends, Tab can not wait to see you and shows up unannounced in your ward. The excitement and love is palpable, and you marry within days. After that, he feels no rush to end the honeymoon phase, and you dawdle getting back to the states to begin life together.

[blurredcolour]

It's Better This Way | Part One

It's Better This Way Masterlist

Carwood Lipton x Enlisted!Female Reader

Finding yourself injured and without shelter in Haguenau, you shift your focus to caring for the unwell Lipton, but as his promised battlefield commission comes through, it becomes impossible to continue pretending that your feelings for him aren't slowly killing you.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Angst, Bull Carries Reader, Minor Reader Injury, Detailed Descriptions of Pain, Language, Weapons, Pining for a Married Man, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. There will be a happy ending to this but unfortunately Lip and the reader are going to have to go through it first. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5048

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The fabric of Randleman’s ODs felt remarkably rough against your left cheek as you pressed your face tightly to the small of his back. Each time the soles of his jump boots met the wet streets of Haguenau, your body jostled against his as he ran with you slung over his shoulder, a series of splashes sounding around you as the entirety of 1st platoon fled from the outpost you had very recently been sheltering in. You wrapped an arm around his middle, trying to limit the violent bouncing of your body as the other bent at the elbow to protect the back of your head in anticipation.

“Sergeant why is your platoon running around outside?” You could hear Captain Winter’s voice and felt Randleman skid to a halt, the others quickly following suit.

The man holding you turned to address him with you still dangling from his shoulder. “Well sir, first she started sniffing like a bloodhound, next thing I know she’s screaming like a banshee to ‘get out’ so out we got, sir.” He replied, obviously winded, guilt swelling in your chest both at the urgency you’d expressed seemingly all for naught and the lengths Randleman had gone to get you of that cellar and into the street.

“What did you find, Corporal?” Captain Speirs’ voice reached your ears as he stepped around Randleman to address your inverted face, and you turned your head to speak to your commanding officer, despite the rushing of blood in your ears.

“Really big sh–” Your response was cut off by the explosion of the now vacated building, your eyes going wide before you were suddenly shielded by a wall of ODs as Randleman, and therefore you also, were ushered into a nearby alley for cover.

Your head was starting to swim, the pressure of hanging upside down becoming almost too much. “Think you could put me down, Sarge?” You wheezed and Randleman leaned forward, setting your feet on the ground with a muttered apology.

The rapid draining of blood back to its normal places had you sway on your feet, and you grabbed for his collar, wincing at the unexpected pain in your palm. You looked at the burn there in confusion as Randleman steadied you by the shoulder.

“Your face is bleeding, Corporal.” Speirs said quietly and you dug your battered handkerchief from your pocket, quickly pressing it to your cheek with a wince at the sparks of pain that erupted there, before grabbing a scoop of snow with your hand, sighing a little at the instant relief it brought to your heated skin.

The filthy state of your ODs, a brand-new set you’d just changed into not two hours ago, brought a frown to your face. Lipton was going to be so disappointed in you. Hearing your name, you looked to Captain Winters quickly, following as he motioned for you to head into the Company CP with him and Captain Speirs. A quick glance over your shoulder revealed the rest of 1st was splitting up, one group heading to where 2nd was positioned and the other to 3rd. Randleman was nowhere to be seen.

“Sit.” Winters gestured at the worn settee, and you sank into the lumpy cushions apprehensively. “What exactly happened in there, Corporal?”

“Well, sir, we were in the basement waiting for dinner when I could smell something burning – and it wasn’t just the cooking. I followed the scent of it to – well I think it was the coal cellar? And opened the small door. Then I could smell cordite, like artillery, which seemed an even worse thing to smell than smoke.” You grimaced and gritted your teeth against the pain that seared through your cheek in response. “So, I crawled in there just to figure out what the hell was going on when I saw a shell, bigger than the ones in Bastogne, just sitting there amongst smoldering wood and coal, a gaping hole in the bricks above it. But I guess opening the door fanned the flames or something because it started to get very hot in there and even though it hadn’t detonated when it hit the side of the building at some point, I figured we needed to get out of there as soon as possible.” You looked up to the two men staring at you with exhausted expressions, a stunned silence settling over the dimly lit room before Speirs cleared his throat.

“How did you get out?”

“Bull yanked me out of there, thankfully. I was not crawling backwards fast enough.” You looked up as the man himself appeared with Roe in tow, the medic quickly coming over to look at first your face and then your hand, working at bandaging your burn to start.

“Well done, the both of you.” Winters chimed in at last before turning to Speirs. “We need to have each platoon conduct a thorough inspection of the buildings to make sure there’s nothing lurking anywhere else.”

“Yes, sir.” Speirs nodded in reply before looking back at you. “We’ll get you some gear as soon as we can, Corporal, and find you a bed too.”

“Thank you, sir.” You replied before they walked out deep in conversation, and you winced as Roe probed at your face. “Thanks for pulling me out, Sarge.” You gave Randleman a lopsided smile.

“Sorry I caught your face…” He muttered guiltily.

“Just adds to my rugged good looks.” You joked bravely, looking to Roe as he sighed.

“We’re gonna have ta pull all these splintahs out.”

You nodded in resignation, trying not to frown in dread of the process. “Whatever you say, Doc.”

“Can ya lean back fo' me?” He shuffled closer to stand between your legs as you tilted your head to rest against the ornate wood frame of the settee, closing your eyes as he leaned in.

Shoving your unbandaged hand into your pocket, you curled your fingers into a fist, tensing in preparation for the oncoming discomfort of Roe rooting around in your flesh for the apparent crop of slivers you’d acquired during your adventure.

“Ya gotta relax you' face fo' me.” He chided gently, holding up his flashlight and a set of tweezers he’d procured from his aid kit.

“Sorry, Doc.” You exhaled, doing your best to relax the muscles of your face and jaw so he could do what he needed to do as quickly as possible, eyes closing again.

The scuff of boots across the warped hardwood floor followed by the soft ‘click’ of the front door signalled Randleman’s departure, so you were surprised by the dipping of the cushion beside you and a gentle tap at your elbow. You opened your eyes to see Lipton sitting there, looking just as unwell as he had when you’d put him to bed an hour-and-a-half ago. You narrowed your eyes, silently communicating that you would be discussing his presence later, but, undeterred, he offered his hand for you to hold as Roe began to pluck fragments of rotten timber from your cheek.

Fighting with the urge to yank back from Roe, and to cry out pathetically, you pulled your hand from your pocket to clutch at Lipton’s tightly, feeling a great deal of comfort as he held tightly in return.

“Can you hold that for me, please, Sergeant?” Roe handed him the flashlight and began working at a particularly large sliver.

Your fingers threaded through Lipton’s to squeeze almost painfully as you did your best to endure silently, the wedding band on his ring finger indenting into your skin as he rubbed his thumb soothingly along the edge of yours.

“You’re doing great.” He wheezed, full of congestion.

Unwilling to surrender without a fight, the shard of wood split through the thin barrier of your skin, drawing a yelp from your throat, much to your embarrassment. Mercifully neither man commented on it. After two smaller slivers were easily plucked free, Roe swiped your skin clean and pressed a piece of gauze to your cheek, wrapping several lengths of bandage around your head across your nose to hold it in place.

“All done, now get some damn rest, tha both of ya. You’ll be no good backin' up tha patrol tonigh’, I’ll tell tha Cap’n.” Roe muttered and hurried out – he always seemed to be in a hurry, something you did not envy him.

Sitting up, you rounded on Lipton immediately. “Bull called me a bloodhound and a banshee all in the span of thirty seconds, why are you out of bed tempting fate?”

“Heard your platoon ran into some trouble.” He grumbled sheepishly before a cough overtook him, body shaking the settee with the effort.

You frowned deeply. “You’re about to run into a whole lot more trouble if you don’t get back to bed, come on.” You stood, tightening your grip on his hand and pulling him after you as you made your way toward the back of the building.

Finding the room he’d settled in earlier, you led him over to the bed, pushing on his shoulders until he sat down, pulling off his untied boots.

“You need to be careful of that hand…” He protested weakly.

You simply ignored him as you lifted the sheet and blanket to tuck him in. “And stay here this time.” You said firmly as you made sure he was propped against the pillows to keep his coughing to a minimum.

“Stubborn woman.” He grimaced up at you, making your lips stretch into a smirk.

“Not very creative when you’re sick, now are you Lip.” You muttered and settled onto the filthy rug on the floor beside his bed, not at all concerned now that you’d coated your once clean ODs in all manner of dirt.

“What are you doing?” He croaked, turning his head to watch you lay on your side with the uninjured half of your face resting on your bicep.

“Making sure you don’t go anywhere, not even when the patrol is on its way across the river in a few hours.” You glared up at him affectionately.

“There’s gotta be a free bunk in the other room, go on–”

“I’m not falling for that again, Lip, you already sent me off to get some dinner and snuck out of bed. There will be no repeats.”

“You’re gonna get all dirty again…”

You snorted sleepily, shaking your head. “Too late, now sleep, will you?”

He huffed in annoyance, sending you one last baleful glance before seeming to settle into the bed. You sighed, letting your eyes drift shut as you curled up tight against the chill in the room – all your gear including your coat, blanket, and scarf were lying at the bottom of a heap of rubble, having not been a priority for you or Randleman as he dashed out of there. Despite all that, you were relatively comfortable in a room with four walls, a floor, and a ceiling. It was peaceful, aside from the odd noise outside and Lipton’s ragged breathing. Sleep had just begun to caress the edges of your consciousness when the warm weight of a blanket draped over your body.

At first it was seductive, trying to pull you under into a deep sleep, but realization dawned in your sluggish brain just where the blanket had come from, and you bolted up from the floor. “Dammit Lip, what are you doing?” You hissed at the man covered only in a sheet, pushing yourself to your feet to drape the blanket over him once more.

“Just get up here then, would you? I won’t sleep with you curled up on the floor like the Little Match Girl.” He replied firmly.

What ensued was a silent battle of wills as the pair of you glared at one another in the near-dark of the room until he broke out into another coughing fit, and you relented out of concern for his health.

“Call me stubborn” you muttered, unlacing your boots and yanking them off to set beside his before crawling over his legs to wedge yourself between his body and the wall.

It was not the first time you had slept next to Lipton – you had spent the majority of Bastogne sharing a foxhole with him. Yet there was something unspeakably intimate about sharing a bed that grated at the already frayed edges of your nerves. Doing your best to keep your back to him, willfully ignoring the persistent ache in your left cheek where it pressed against your arm, you sighed dramatically as he tugged at the blanket until it mostly covered you as well.

“Goodnight Clifford.” You said sternly, bringing out the big guns – the first name he loathed.

“When I’m better…”

“Hurry up and get better, then.” You grinned fondly as you spoke, eyeing the peeling grasscloth wallpaper in front of your nose, the ornate designs harkening back to a different time in the building’s life.

A gravelly chuckle was the only response he could muster before he finally seemed to heed your advice, breaths evening out, deepening, as he allowed his body the rest is so desperately needed.

Loving Clifford Carwood Lipton came as naturally as breathing for you. From the moment you had laid eyes on him back in England nearly six months ago, you had been lost. His kind hazel eyes, his humility, his selflessness, his strong arms, his level head amidst utter chaos – the list of reasons why you loved him was endless. You had certainly not joined the experimental female paratrooper program with the intention of finding romance, nor had it come to you willing either, for your heart belonged to a married man. You’d missed your chance with him by less than a year.

Initially the agony of your plight had been so acute you’d considered applying for a transfer, but the thought of being apart from him had proven even more unbearable. You had realized then that you were well and truly lost. Lost in the middle of a war, doing all manner of things a woman had never been allowed to do before. So, like any pain encountered during training you had taught yourself to live with it. Live with the fact that Lipton would never be yours, that maybe you would never find yourself another. It was just your lot in life to have your love so close yet so far out of reach and so you got on with making the most of the time you could have with him.

After every battle, every scrape with danger, the pair of you gravitated towards one another, your lungs refusing to fully inflate until you laid eyes on him. Confirmed he was alright. He seemed just as caring with the rest of the company, and quite honestly deserved every bit of praise coming his way, for he truly was the only reason Easy had made it out of that nightmare of a forest. A battlefield promotion loomed on his horizon, another divide to open up between you. The separation of a commissioned officer from a corporal like yourself seemed nearly as insurmountable as marriage to another woman. You were fiercely proud of him and yet it felt like the friendship you had forged would also have to come to an end any day now.

Listening to his labored breathing beside you, you could not help but frown as you carefully rolled onto your right side to look up at him. He was so pale, ashen even. Your heart ached with the desire to be able to take his suffering from him; he’d been sick for so long now and simply muscling through it for the sake of everyone else. Never thinking about himself.

The slow rise and fall of his chest caused the faint light that filtered through the boarded-up windows to glint off his gold wedding band where it rested on his hip and you swallowed painfully, forcing your eyes to close. You ought to take your own damn advice and sleep, too. With the pressure off your injured cheek and the warmth of his feverish body shared beneath the blanket, it was not long before slumber took you.

The eruption of gun fire shortly after 0100 signalled the return of the patrol, briefly tugging the pair of you back into consciousness. You wrapped your arm around his in silent admonishment against the thought of going to help, trying to quash any foolish ideas he might have harbored inside that head of his, and he grunted in annoyance but stayed put. The next time your eyelids fluttered open was sometime after dawn. The warm exhales of Lipton’s breath against your neck had your brows furrowing in bewilderment and you slowly pulled back to take stock of the situation.

At some point in the early morning hours, he had rolled off his stack of pillows and nestled his head beneath your chin, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You were by no means an innocent party here either, for your arms had slid around him in kind, hands still laying against his shoulder blades as you cradled him against you protectively. Even your legs were somewhat entangled, though the sheet provided something of a barrier.

Shit. Your heart could not take much more of this.

Nor could the sweet, sick man in your arms. You knew him well enough to understand that if he were to wake in this very moment he would be drowning in guilt and take it all upon himself. That was the last thing he needed right now. Taking a slow breath, you retracted one arm from around him to carefully extract his from your waist. Pausing, you watched his face very carefully to ensure he was still asleep before beginning to roll him back onto the set of pillows, gnawing on your lip in concentration.

His face crinkled in protest as cold air rushed in to fill the growing gap between your bodies, a feeling which you thoroughly empathized with, but again you were doing what was best. You paused once more before disentangling your legs and finally unearthing his other arm from beneath your side, tucking him in securely as though there had been nothing amiss during the night. Exhaling slowly, you climbed over his legs and grabbed your boots, creeping from the room to go find some food as your stomach not-so-subtly reminded you that you had not eaten dinner last night.

Tying up your laces on the settee, you followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen downstairs, procuring hot beverages and food for both yourself and Lipton. You were making your way back upstairs when you nearly ran into Speirs.

“How’s the patient?” He asked, pulling his cigarette from his lips.

“Slept the night, sir, so that’s a start.” You swallowed, hoping no one had taken it upon themselves to look in on him last night.

“Good. Keep an eye on him?” He asked and you nodded quickly.

“Yes sir.”

He nodded vaguely in response before continuing down the stairs, most likely to grab some breakfast for himself. Setting the coffee down on the floor, you cracked the door open, almost jumping as Lipton turned his head to look at you.

“You’re up early.” He rumbled and you grabbed the drinks before carrying it all in.

“Got hungry.” You muttered, sitting on the floor with your legs crossed beneath you beside the head of the bed. “Coffee?” You held up one cup and he took it, sipping it slowly as you dug into whatever hot medley of food was passing for breakfast today.

“Sleep ok?” He asked quietly and you nodded, looking up to him. “You?”

“Real well, thanks to some stubborn lady.” He gave you a lopsided smile and you bit back a laugh, shaking your head.

“Glad to hear it. Eat a bit?” You held up his dish and he picked at a few bites, which you considered progress.

“Am I allowed to get up now?” He asked, a little more color in his cheeks but still clearly exhausted.

“Captain Speirs has ordered me to ‘keep an eye on you,’ so no. Unless you know, nature calls.” You took a slug of coffee, enjoying the way it almost burned down your throat.

“Hmn.” He grunted in annoyance, passing back his dish of food and settling into the blankets. “I’m not being of any use at all in here.” He sighed.

“Getting better is of great use.” You countered sternly. “That’s your only assignment right now.”

“Well, it’s…rather boring…”

“I should be offended, Lip.” You teased, finishing up your food, setting his aside in case he wanted more later. “Want me to see if Vest is done with his book yet?”

He shot you a look, one eyebrow raised, and you patted his arm. “I’ll be right back then.” You grinned and took the dishes down to wash them quickly before finding Vest.

After much cajoling he agreed to lend it to you as long as you promised not to lose his place. You were mostly pleased to find Lipton asleep when you returned with your hard-won reading material and settled onto the floor, back against the wall, to dive into the story. Much of the day passed that way, you reading, Lipton sleeping, though he woke occasionally to eat, drink and relieve himself. By the time Speirs knocked and poked his head in the door mid-afternoon, Lipton was looking remarkably human.

“Think you can join us up front, Lieutenant?” He asked as Lipton sat up quickly, nodding.

“Of course, sir.” He replied and swung his legs from the bed to slide into his jump boots.

Your fingers tightened on the edges of book, halfway read now, and you repeated the page number in your head a few times before snapping it shut as Lipton followed Speirs from the room. So, this was it, then. Walking after them quietly, you looked over as Luz called your name.

“Jesus, you look terrible.” He teased with a wink.

“Oh yeah I think Doc might’ve overdone it with the bandages.” You muttered touching the swathes of them around your head. “Just some slivers in my cheek, I’ll be alright.”

“I got you a present.” He beamed, holding out a helmet and M1 for you to replace those you’d lost in the explosion, and you smiled warmly, taking them gratefully.

“My hero.” You smirked, eyes drawn to the front room as a lot of handshaking was going on.

As if sensing your gaze, Lipton turned towards you and offered a small smile, your heart throbbing as tears began to prickle at the corners of your eyes.

“God you two were made for each other you know that?” Luz muttered under his breath and your head whipped to the side to look at him sharply, a knowing grin on his features.

“Man’s married, Luz, you’re out of your mind.” You croaked, voice betraying you, a rising sense of panic flooding your system.

“Marriage ain’t forever anymore, you know.” He shrugged nonchalantly and you bit back the urge to smack him for wishing something like that on Lipton.

“Where’d they put you last night?” You changed the subject firmly, watching him blink several times before he processed your question.

As soon as he provided directions to 3rd platoon’s outpost you turned swiftly on your heel and clapped the new helmet onto your head, walking out the back door of CP. It was time to get out of there for so many reasons. First and foremost, Lieutenant Lipton was an officer with new duties to attend to and no time to spend with a regular trooper like yourself. Secondly, what had happened in your sleep could not be permitted to occur again – you had grown complacent and careless. Lingering at his side with the feelings that you harbored for him was nothing but a recipe for disaster.

Finally, if the loveable idiot George Luz had so very clearly seen right through you, who was to say who might catch wise next. You’d had your time in the sun, there was no need to be Icarus about it and crash to the earth. A swift excision was necessary and prudent. An opportunity like this was not likely to present itself again.

You nearly got away with it, too. For almost two months you managed to avoid Lipton for the most part, through the return to Mourmelon-le-Grand, where you were fully resupplied and rested, and then Sturzelberg. On the rare occasions where he proved inescapable, you afforded him the respect his new rank deserved, referring to him only as ‘Lieutenant’ or ‘sir.’ Even though you yourself had been promoted to Sergeant, there was still the gap of a commission between you that you used like a shield. You could tell he was frustrated with you by the way his lips would press into a thin line and his breath would leave his nose in a short, sharp exhale.

The bandages came off your face to reveal an angry, raised line across your left cheekbone and many attributed your retreat into yourself to disappointment at the poor placement of a scar on a lady. You honestly could not have cared less, you were quite frankly too busy feeling sorry for yourself; grieving your self-imposed exile from Lipton’s side.

It all came to a head in Buchloe. After a long and horrifying day, you were making your way back from the house Winters had requisitioned to 1st platoon’s quarters for the night, carrying tomorrow’s orders, when Lipton finally cornered you, alone, cutting through the alleyway.

“Sergeant, wait up.” He called out to you, jogging over and you swallowed roughly, taking a deep breath to fortify yourself as you turned to face him.

“Evening, Lieutenant.” You said quietly in greeting once you’d saluted him.

His lips came together followed by his telltale exhale of annoyance. God, you knew him too well, like an extension of your own self.

“Are you doing alright?” He asked quietly, tilting his head. “Even got Winters asking about you…”

Biting the inside of your cheek in self-chastisement, you straightened your spine to stand taller. “I’m fine, Lieutenant, sorry to have troubled everyone.” You offered a smile, hoping it resembled your former ease.

His eyes narrowed as he shook his head once, almost violently. “Would you quit that?” He said with a quiet vehemence you didn’t honestly know he had in him. Apparently, he could still surprise you. “You know my name. Knew how to use it just fine in Holland and Belgium and France.” The last country he named held a tinge of sadness, sending your thoughts hurtling back to the early morning hours when you had awoken to him nestled in your arms.

Clearing your throat, and the image from your mind, with a forceful cough you set your jaw obstinately. “And then everything changed, sir.”

“God you are stubborn, woman. Lord help the man who has the privilege of trying to make you his wife.”

You unconsciously took a step back, his statement colliding with you like a blow as your eyes began to burn. Under any other circumstance the jibe would have made you laugh. Would have you returning it with some equally snarky volley of your own. But for the fact that the only man you would be willing to give such a chance was standing before you, furious with you, and you knew it could never be him.

Tilting your head to the sky you blinked furiously, willing the dampness of unbidden tears to retreat behind your eyelids. Your lips trembled as they spilled down your temples and into your hairline, breath shuddering as you fought to inhale through the painful lump in your throat, the crushing weight of longing and disappointment piled upon your chest. You were vaguely aware of Lipton whispering your name apologetically before he stepped closer to grasp your shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, that was uncalled for, please don’t cry.” He rambled desperately as you roughly dragged the cuff of your ODs across your face, frantically trying to hide the mortifying evidence of your feminine hysterics. Your other hand pressed against his shoulder, trying to push him away, but he barely budged, only spurred on to pull you closer. “Forgive me, please.” He sighed your name against your cheek as he pulled you into him, his helmet nudging yours further back on your head. “I didn’t mean a word of it, you deserve so much happiness and love and he’ll be a great guy, I know it.”

His words, his closeness, only served to intensify the flow of tears as you half pushed at him, half clung to him, a pathetic sob working its way past your lips. How could one man be so lovely and impossible all at the same time. You thought it was a fluke at first, the brush of his lips against your cheek as he continued to utter soothing things while you simultaneously struggled against and leaned into his embrace. But then his lips were pressing against yours and everything stopped.

You stopped thrashing in his arms, tears stopped pouring from your eyes, sobs stopped shuddering through you, time itself seemed to stop. The temptation to bask in the feel of his unbearably soft yet slightly chapped lips against yours burned brighter than the sun, but that rude conscience of yours reared its ugly head once more and you shoved forcefully against his shoulders, able to at last push him back a step.

Lipton paled as horror unfurled across his features. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.” He breathed.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to avoid, Lieutenant.” You muttered bitterly and straightened your helmet, stepping to the side to put some more distance between you even as your heart continued to beat an erratic tattoo against your rib cage.

Realization dawned slowly on his features, a gradual lifting of his eyebrows as his jaw dropped open, eyes widening dramatically. Sweet, sweet Lipton, oblivious to the end it seemed. You sniffed harshly, shaking your head.

“Go home to your wife, sir, it’s better this way.” You continued on your way down the alley, leaving him there in stunned silence as fresh tears blurred your vision.

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Read Part Two

It's Better This Way Masterlist

Tag list: @bcon24 , @ronsparky

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Epiphany

So here is the fic to accompany the BoB x Taylor Swift moodboard for Bull. I actually really enjoyed writing for Bull for the first time. Thank you to @sarah-457 for requesting a fic for Bull Randleman. Thank you @rain-lavender-rain for proofreading.

Y/n watched in defeat as members of Easy Company trickled back into camp; bloodied and bruised, some carrying their wounded comrades, others limping in on their own. Y/n hurried to help them, guiding them to the aid station where Eugene had already begun to patch up several wounded soldiers.

“Sit down over here, kid. Where are you hit?” She asked, rolling up the young man’s trouser leg when he motioned to the wound. It wasn’t bad, a clean hit straight through. She applied some sulfa powder, dressing the wound quickly before moving on to the next casualty. Her eyes continued to scan over the stream of men entering the camp, keeping her eyes peeled for one particular sergeant.

“Hey Hoob,” she called out as Donald Hoobler walked passed her. “Have you seen Bull?”

“No sorry,” he mumbled. “Not since we retreated. He was there during the advance though. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”

Y/n nodded, continuing to wrap a sling around the injured soldier's arm, her mind too preoccupied with the thoughts of Bull.

She wasn’t exactly sure when she and Bull had become friends. He was a private person and hadn’t warmed to her as quickly as the likes of George Luz and Skip Muck had but they soon became firm friends. Bull seemed to have this older brother persona and was always watching her back, even though Y/n didn’t see him as a brother and may or may not have been harbouring the world's largest crush on the sergeant.

As the night drew in, Y/n finally retreated to the foxhole she shared with Eugene, although as usual, Eugene was checking on someone. Y/n often wondered if he ever slept. He would rise early and go to bed late, the second someone was wounded he was by their side and she often wondered how he got there so quickly.

She slumped into the foxhole, cursing the world as she threw her musette bag off her shoulder. She still hadn’t seen Bull and the niggling feeling in her stomach grew to an all consuming ache.

“Hey Y/n, have you seen Bull yet?” Johnny asked, glaring down at her. Johnny always glared, despite the three of them being friends she could rarely recall a time when she witnessed Johnny Martin really smiling.

“No I haven’t seen him and I’m getting really worried,” she spoke softly, trying to hold back the inevitable tears that she’d been holding in all day.

“Some of the guys are going out on a patrol to look for him…”

“I’ll go,” Y/n interrupted, grabbing her musette bag and scrambling to her feet.

“No. No. No. Bull would never forgive me if I let you get injured whilst looking for him. Not a chance Y/L/N. Stay here. I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything.”

She knew Johnny was right but the thought of Bull all alone, trapped and possible injured caused her heart to ache.

The next morning came too soon and with no sign of the patrol or Bull, Y/n couldn’t help the growing suspicion that something had gone terribly wrong.

She was sitting in an empty crate, counting through her medical supplies when she heard the all too familiar shout from Johnny. “BULL!”

Could it be? Was she just hearing things?

Shoving her supplies back into the musette bag she hurried over to the crowd, spying Webster and Hoobler who had gone out on last nights patrol. Then the unmissable figure of Bull Randleman appeared, his great barking laughter filled the air as he embraced Johnny and several other paratroopers.

“Bull?” She called out, stopping in her tracks. The group of paratroopers all turned to face her. Now normally at this point in the movies the girl would go running towards the man, jump into his arms and they share a passionate kiss as music plays around them. This however is real life and neither one moved. Johnny coughed and began to usher the other paratroopers away.

“Little lady,” Bull greeted her with his usual nickname, watching her cautiously as the cogs in Y/n mind seemed to turn into overdrive. Something within her snapped and she felt herself hurtling towards the large man her first raised.

“YOU IDIOT! What the hell were you thinking! You could have died!” She felt her fists hammering against his chest as she shouted, cried, screamed at him in anguish. Bull just stood still, waiting patiently for her to calm down.

“I could have lost you,” she sobbed, burying her face into his ODs. Bull quickly wrapped his large arms around her, pulling her closer to him and muffling her cries.

“Those Kraut bastards couldn’t kill me if they tried and by God did they try. I’ve got too much to live for to do something stupid like dying,” he confessed, cupping her cheek in his warm hand and bringing her face up to look her in the eyes.

“I’m sorry I made you worry. I promise I’ll try not to do it again.” He smiled and his heart swelled as she returned it with a tearful grin.

“You’d better keep that promise, Bull Randleman.”

“Anything for you Little Lady.” He looked passed her to check the others had dispersed before pulling her close again and placed a much needed kiss to her lips. The smell of tobacco was strong as she kissed him and had it been on anyone else she’d have probably pulled away for some fresh air but it made her want to kiss him more. His strong arms wrapped around her, pressing against the small of her back.

“Bull, I…”

“Shhh. For once in your life just don’t worry,” Bull comforted her but she fought against his grip.

“No Bull. I can’t give you my heart, you might break it and I don’t know if I could survive that.” Y/n felt tears welling in her eyes again and wiped her face in the grimy sleeve of her ODs.

Bull looked down at her, his eyes shining with adoration. “Oh Little Lady, I could never break your heart. I promise I’ll look after it.” Bull kissed her again, this time gentiler and slower, savouring every moment of…

“Hey Bull! Y/N! Come on, we're moving out.” Johnny called from somewhere on the road behind them and the pair couldn’t help but giggle like naughty children.

“Come on, let’s get that shoulder looked at Tough Guy.”

“Anything for you, Little Lady.”

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @mayhem24-7forever @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @merriell-allesandro-shelton @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky

[1waveshortofashipwreck]

Should've Been Born Later, Nix - Chapter 1: The Fall

Easy Company x Fem!OCs

Synopsis: What will happen when some of Easy Company's finest soldiers fall through a foxhole and into another time?

Words: 1,314

Find the fic's navigation page here !!

Author's Note: HERE WE GO LADS!! The first chapter of my self-serving BoB time travel fic!! If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know !!

Luz was the last one to arrive on the ground, immediately crashing into Malarkey with a resounding thud… Well, resounding for someone as small as Luz. He was the last to drop onto the pile of Easy Company men - a giant pile of limbs, helmets, and olive drab was groaning in pain, bewildered eyes darting in every direction. One minute they were dropping into a foxhole in Bastogne. The next?

Winters was the first to jump to his feet, helping his men find their footing. Up came Nixon, Liebgott, Roe, Guarnere, and Bull Randleman. Speirs and Toye had gotten themselves up and situated, looking to make sure they had all their gear. Luz was still on the ground, trying to get his bearings, while poor Malarkey was doubled over underneath him. “FUCK, LUZ!” Cried Malarkey, his hands shooting to his ribs as his body folded in pain. “I think you broke something!” Malarkey’s feet rammed themselves into Luz’s back, flinging the soldier off of Malarkey and onto his stomach with an “oof!”

“You say that like I did it on purpose!” Luz cried, wincing from the boots in his back. By the time George finally got his feet beneath him, Roe was already looking at Malarkey’s side, inspecting his injury.

The Cajun grimaced and shook his head. “It might be broke, Malark. We should get you to the aid station,” Roe spoke thoughtfully. "Which way sho-" Before the medic could finish his thought, all the boys realized something. They had no idea where they were.

The boys all looked around and took in their surroundings. “Where the fuck are we?” each soldier thought to himself, attempting to find a single scrap of familiarity in the landscape around them. The higher they looked, the taller the walls on either side of the group grew - not tall enough to be skyscrapers, but tall enough to tell the ten men that they were not in Bastogne anymore. What was once a frigid warzone, one step away from death, now became… warm? Sunny? Well, it seemed sunny at the ends of the alleyway.

“...are we in an alley?” Bull mused to no one in particular. He absentmindedly chewed on his Emotional Support Cigar, using this to contain his anxious thoughts and energy.

"It appears so Bull…" Winters replied. He had intended for the sentence to be more assuring, but the men's leader was just as confused as the rest of them. The captain exchanged a glance with Nixon beside him, the only man he was comfortable sharing his worry with. The two looked at each other, their eyes conveying confusion mixed with anxiety - how could this happen? What exactly happened?

"Captain Nixon, you're an intelligence officer right? Do you know where we are sir?" Guarnere asked as he slung his rifle over his shoulder, still taking in the alley around them. The brick buildings on either side of the men provided shade from the sun shining down on the pavement. The alley appeared to be barren, save for a Hershey bar wrapper beside Luz's feet. Bending down to get a closer look, the radioman saw a piece of text on the wrapper that morphed his confusion into panic - "expires January 2023." Before Nixon could answer Guarnere, Luz's shaky voice spoke up.

"Um, Captain Winters? You might wanna see this sir," Luz said as he handed the wrapper to his CO, his mind going a mile a minute. Dick took the wrapper from George and saw the text, scrunching his face as he read the expiration date.

"Nix, how long does it take chocolate to expire?" Winters asked, looking up at his captain.

"Why the hell do you think I'd know that?" Nixon replied, one eyebrow halfway up his forehead. Only after Lewis posed his question did he see the infamous date on the wrapper. Nixon paused for a second before he spoke up, "well surely it would expire way before 2023…"

Upon hearing the year, every man's eyes became the size of dinner plates. "Excuse me, sir? I think I heard you wrong, sounded like you said 2023," Liebgott questioned, a nervous chuckle following his words. He couldn't have heard Nixon right…right? Winters simply handed the wrapper over to Liebgott, the poor man's stomach dropping down below his feet.

"That's not possible, this isn't possible…" Toye muttered under his breath, trying to shake the idea from his head. While all the men were trying to process what Nixon said, Speirs had already made his way to the end of the alley.

"Captain Winters!" He called out, twisting his body to call out behind where he was standing. Winters nodded to Nixon, a silent request to keep an eye on his men, before making his way down to Speirs. The warm sun at the end of the alley was a welcomed surprise to Dick - it felt like forever since he felt mild, comfortable weather. Bastogne was the literal manifestation of hell frozen over, and the sun kissing Dick's skin was its absolute anathema. "Sir, I don't think this is Bastogne," Speirs' comment shook Winters from his mind, reminding the captain of the problem at hand. The two took in the scene around them. Winters thought he was seeing cars - they had four wheels, and they were driving on the street, but they were far beyond any car anyone in the company has ever seen before. The soldiers seem to have landed in a city of some kind. All the street signs were in English, giving Winters a small amount of relief - wherever they were, they spoke the language. Something different stood out to Speirs, though… the noise. It was not bombs exploding and trees breaking like in Bastogne. It was just as loud, but more…lively? The sounds, whatever they were, seemed to celebrate life rather than take it - honking horns, vehicles driving by, music Speirs had never heard before blaring from their windows - he would never admit to it, but Speirs felt a pang of relief knowing he was not in a war zone.

"I'm inclined to agree with you, Ron," Dick replied before hearing their medic call out.

"Sir! We need to get Malarkey to the ai- uh… I guess a hospital," Eugene called out as he made his way towards Winters and Speirs, supporting Easy's other redhead on his shoulder. Malarkey's face twisted in pain as he held his side with the arm that was not slung over Roe's shoulders. Dick nodded in understanding at his medic and stepped a foot out of the alley, getting a better look at the buildings around him. To his right, Winters spotted the red cross universally associated with medicine displayed prominently on a tall, light-colored building riddled with mirrored windows. Beneath the cross were the words "Emergency Room."

"You think they can help Malarkey?" Speirs asked, hopeful but confused at the words. Seeing Roe holding up Malarkey, the officer quickly made his way to Malarkey's other side, taking his arm over his shoulder to help the soldier.

"It's worth a shot, wait here," Winters replied, heading back to the rest of the men to tell them the plan. "Alright men, there's a place that looks like a hospital a short walk from here. Keep your guard up. Just because it doesn't look like Bastogne, doesn't mean we're in friendly territory," he instructed the six men before him, "Keep Speirs, Malarkey, and Roe in the center, I'll lead the way to the hospital." A chorus of "yes sirs" was heard from Luz, Liebgott, Guarnere, Toye, and Bull, while Nixon nodded in understanding and walked up beside Winters.

"Are you sure about this?" Nixon asked under his breath, ensuring only Winters heard his question.

"Got any better ideas?" Dick replied, cautiously emerging onto the sidewalk. The men left the safe haven of their alley and began the trek to save their friend.

~~~~~

Chapter Two

Thank you so much for reading! Please tell me what you think and be on the lookout for Chapter 2: the Hospital!!

Taglist: @love--persevering , @panzershrike-pretz , @executethyself35 , @stolen94 , @dontirrigateme

[ithinkabouttzu]

which twice songs do you think easy company would listen to?? like i imagine winters would probably chill with “the best thing i ever did” playing in the background. obligatory nixon + “alcohol free”. joe toye won’t admit that he likes “i can’t stop me” because it makes him feel like a badass

YESSSSS I LOVE THIS REQUEST!! Sorry this has took so long to get back to!!

BoB as TWICE SONGS

For one I know that Winters would probably enjoy something soft like The Best Thing I Ever Did while he’s relaxing!! I feel like he might think it’s a bit sad when he hears the translation, but he likes it either way!!

Nix is DEFINITELY Alcohol Free, except he is in fact not alcohol free lol 😭 it’s a nice song that’s really fresh and fun, plus it talks about liquor so it’s perfect for him.

YESSSS I Can’t Stop Me is definitely a guilty pleasure for Joe, like i’m sure he would listen to it when no one is around just so he doesn’t accidentally embarrass himself 🤣 His favorite is the choreography for SURE

some others that I thought to include without context are:

Donut - Carwood Lipton ( I also think he would like a nice relaxing song to listen to in the background while he chills.)

Cry For Me - Joe Liebgott ( it’s mature and passionate, it just gives off his vibe so much)

The Feels - Bill Guarnere (He would know ALL of the lyrics, no questions asked.)

Eye Eye Eyes - George Luz (this song is chaotic and perfect just like him)

What Is Love? - Bull Randleman (just a great song for one of the bests tbh)

Rewind - Eugene Roe (Honestly this is a chill song I think he would listen to while he relaxes.)

Cheer Up - Floyd Talbert (it’s a flirty song that gives off his vibe 100%)

Signal x Yeah remix - Skip Muck ( it’s chaotic but it sounds so good i love it so much)

Fancy - Don Malarkey ( It’s my favorite song of theirs, it’s super fun and refreshing like him!!)

Talk That Talk - Shifty Powers (This song sounds so fresh on the ears it just reminds me of him sm)

Yes or Yes - Babe Heffron (This song is so cunty, just like him)

TT - Frank Perconte (The music video is the funniest and it reminds me of him somehow lmao)

This was wayyy too funny to think about oml 😭😭 thank you for talking about twice and BoB with me!

[liptonsbabe]

A Ribbon for my family

Richard Winters x fem! oc

Inktober : "Grief"

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, war, a little bit of angst.

a/n: well hello! This is a little something that I did for the inktober! (@fayestardust) I'm not an artist but I thought it would be cute to write a few fics for our favorite boys on this month! Hope you like it!

Btw English is not my frst language so tell me if something's wrong

ofc this is based on the hbo series and the actors who portray the characters, no disrespect for the real heroes!

It was past midnight when the sky in Eindhoven was glistened by the bombing. Orange, red, and yellow lights covered the city and the fire could be felt from miles away. You sighed in pain. You were wounded during the attack in Nuenen and in the retreat, fire from one of the explosions hit your arm.

Eugene Roe checked your wounds and tried to heal them as best as he could. He asked you to get some sleep that night and to let him know if you have any complications that he had not anticipated. You promised to do so, but the truth was that there was something worse than your injuries that was bothering you.

The image of Private Miller dying in front of you made your heart ache like never before during the war. He was one of the many replacements that had come into the division, and even though you hadn't known him since Toccoa like all the others, you were able to talk to him a couple of times and laugh along with the other replacements about your stories before you went into the army.

Most of the replacements were practically kids and a sense of protectiveness was ignited in you from the first moment.

You remembered the day when, whilst you talked with David Webster, you overheard Cobb ask Private Miller about the ribbon he proudly wore on his chest and you rolled your eyes when Cobb laughed at the replacement of how nervous he'd gotten.

"it's a Presidential Distinguished Unit Citation" he said, trying to smile through the embarrassment. Webster looked at you, irritated by Cobb's bullshit. You sighed and kept listening "For huh… for what the regiment did in Normandy."

"That's right, for what the regiment did. And as far as I know, you weren't there."

"Hey, hey, ease up, Cobb, hm?" asked Hoobler, drinking a beer beside you "Let the kid alone. It's a Unit citation."

Cobb shrugged his shoulders and went on as if nothing had happened, as if his words hadn't hurt a huge portion of the people there, not just the replacements. Your blood boiled as you watched Private Miller take off the ribbon from his chest and leave it on the table before getting up and walking out of the room.

You'd never felt so annoyed with Cobb before, not even some of the times he made sharp comments about you back in Toccoa, or when he downplayed your position as an officer just because you were a woman in a man's world.

Your fists tensed and Webster had to put a hand over you to stop you from doing something, but he couldn't stop you. You got up from your seat and walked over to where Miller had been earlier. Cobb looked at you, lifting his chest, as if the lieutenant's insignia you wore on your shirt collar meant nothing.

"So, for what the regiment did in Normandy, huh" you said, holding his gaze. He nodded

"That's right."

"I guess you of all people here know what happened that day, don't you? The jump" Cobb had his beer in his hand and you took it from him to take a big sip without looking away. By that time, the eyes of the entire pub were on you "Tell me, how was it?"

He cleared his throat but said nothing. You smiled and looked at the replacements who, confused, looked at Cobb waiting for an answer. You turned your head and looked at Bull. He just approached, annoyed at Cobb's harsh words. Randleman winked and took a long drag on his cigarette .

"Bull, do you remember seeing Private Cobb meeting up with the others after we landed?"

"No, lieutenant."

"And when the Kraut 88s got blown up?"

"I don't think so, Lieutenant."

"But surely he was at Carentan, wasn't he?

"No, ma'am."

"Well, then it seems to me that you didn't fight in fucking Normandy either," you told him putting the beer down on the table. Then you grabbed him by the tie and pulled him towards you until your noses touched. His back was tense and you could hear the muttering of the guys in the bar.

"I… i got hit in the plane before i got a chance to jump."

"That's fine. A lot of people here had the same thing happen to them and didn't get to fight alongside the others, but that doesn't make them any less deserving of the recognition of being here, risking their fucking lives in a godamn war. Being a Toccoa man doesn't give you the right to feel superior to the replacements who, like you, don't even know what it's like to be in real combat. Otherwise, you can give me your ribbon right now" You let go of his tie and extended your hand in front of him waiting for him to do so, however, it didn't happen and in return, he just looked away. You rolled your eyes and grabbed Private Miller's ribbon from the table. The replacements looked at you and you smiled "Keep enjoying the evening, yeah? You deserve it just like everyone else."

You left the room and looked around the bar for Private Miller until you found him walking towards the door. You followed him and before he could leave, you grabbed him by the arm.

"Private Miller, I think you left this."

"Lieutenant, thank you but uh…that's not mine."

"Sure it is" you said and put the ribbon on his uniform. You placed the little rectangle where it should be and gave it a couple of taps with your finger "You are part of us now and you should wear this on your uniform as everyone else."

"Even though I didn't fight to get them properly?"

"All of us here have fought for a greater good. In this company there is no 'me' or 'you' there is only 'us.' And this ribbon was achieved on behalf of all of those who believe in that unity, including you, kid. Don't listen to Cobb, he's just... Different"

Miller smiled. His cheeks reddened.

"Thank you, lieutenant."

"I want to see that ribbon where it belongs, you hear me?" You pointed at him and he laughed

"As you command, ma'am."

"You'd better, private, because if you don't, I'll give you latrine duty!"

Miller stood at attention and saluted. You laughed

"Yes ma'am!"

A tear fell on Private Miller's dog tags which were stained with blood. You had grabbed them from his neck before Lipton had pulled you to retreat that night. As you watched Eindhoven being bombed, you put the dog tags in your uniform pocket and silently promised him that you would send the ribbon intact to his family.

"A penny for your toughts?" You heard Dick Winters' voice, slowly approaching until he was at your back, watching the lights in the sky. You sighed as you tried to wipe away your tears "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, everyone is dig in for the night and you're the only one still awake."

"I couldn't sleep even if I tried."

Suddenly you felt his hands on your waist embracing you in a hug that warmed your heart, his chin rested on the top of your head and he pulled you tighter against his body

"Surely they won't be waving so many Orange flags at us tomorrow"

"No, they won't"

"I don't like retreating"

"First time for everything, I guess"

"Nixon told me the same thing. It doesn't lift my spirits much."

"This is hell, Dick," you said and turned to him. Dick noticed the tears in your eyes "I knew the war would be… difficult, exhausting, but I never thought over anything like this"

"We lost a lot of men today" he whispered cupping your cheeks "It's been… hard for all of us but we have to keep moving. We have to go on, for those who are no longer here, with us."

You nodded and let him wipe away your tears. He rubbed your arms lovingly and gave you a half smile wanting to lift your spirits.

Then, you thought you could spend the rest of the night doing something better, something useful.

"Who'll write to the soldier's families who died today?"

"I was going to, but…"

"Can I do it?"

"Do you want to?"

"Yes. I…I think I could do with spending the night writing letters. I don't want to watch this anymore."

"Okay, then do it" His strong arms wrapped around you and he buried his nose in your hair. You couldn't see him, but you were sure he had closed his eyes as he sighed slowly. You clung to him and felt his dog tags against your face. You thought to yourself that perhaps, at some point in the war, you'll have to send a letter to his family along with his dog tags or that he'll have to do the same for you. You squeezed him tighter against your body and asked your god to get you out of that place alive "Just a moment. Stay here with me"

"i'll always be here for you"

[bullrandlemanswife]

The View Between Villages - Lewis Nixon x Fem!Cartographer! Reader- Part One.

This is my first BoB fanfic so please be kind 🙏😭 I used my grandpas division and infantry for her OG division so it might seem random but it’s the group I know most about

WARNINGS!!: mentions of Alcohol,implied addiction,period accurate sexism,war (obv)

This was written based of the HBO series with no disrespect intended for the actual men of the 101st Airborne and their heroic actions during WW2

I wasn’t supposed to be here.I knew that. I’d done everything to make myself like the others,wear men’s clothing,cut my hair short,the whole nine yards. But that didn’t matter. Lewis had seen how Sobel treated me. He didn’t like it one bit,He had a sister who had the same stubborn drive as me,he knew I wouldn’t buckle or fold but he still didn’t want me being treated that way. He saw me as a first bloom in the spring,the light and bubbly,yet stubborn cartographer that General Patton passed on from the 9th Armored Division.

The rest of easy company and I sit in a pub. I sit near Bull Randleman,just peeping into conversations and watching others play darts. I stare down into my sweet tea,I’ll probably have to go back to the barracks and continue working on maps. Operation Market Garden was a night away and it’s best to get a headstart on making the outline of the town,Patton will probably want a full map by the end of the week.

Private Cobb stands nearby,he always liked to pick on newer folks,or me,because I’m a woman. Cobb begins to chastise a new replacement,a sweet young boy named James Miller,something about a president citation for Normandy and how James wasn’t there. “Cobb leave the kid alone.” I say. Cobb whips around with a smirk on his face. “He’s done nothin to you,he’s a new kid,leave him alone” I say again,Cobb snorts a bit “What division you get transferred from?” He asks,almost antagonistically. “9th armored. 52nd Armored infantry.” I say. Cobb starts to laugh “How long did you stay in that company? Couple days?” I stiffen slightly and nod “Patton wanted me rushed to the front lines.” I say,looking back up. “So you don’t deserve that medal either!” He says,pointing to the presidential citation. I stand up,he’s a shorter man,I’m easily a head taller. I stare down at him “I smelt the same smell of death you did. I saw the rotting,bloated corpses of our men. Don’t tell me what I do and do not deserve.” I say before storming off back to the barracks.

I’m technically considered an officer so I get my own private barracks,situated between Winters and Nixon. I walk into my tent,stripping down out of my uniform and into some comfier clothes,I’m sitting at my desk for not even 5 minutes when Nixon walks in,reaching into my foot locker and taking out a bottle of Vat 69. I put down my charcoal and eraser than I just stare at him “Really? Dicks footlocker wasn’t enough space?” I gripe as he refills his flask “how are you even getting those?” Nixon shrugs,I know that face,means he’s not telling. I decide to let it go “Don’t drink tonight.” I say bluntly. Nixon looks at me like I just sprouted a tail “What?” He says,very confused. “I wanna talk. Like actually talk. I wanna know you,not inebriated Lew.” I admit softly “Because wether you like it or not I care about you. Dick cares about you. As much of a hardass that he is,Speirs cares too.” I say. Nixon stares down at his flask and scoots it away. “I’ll…try…” he says. I can’t help the small smile that splits my face “Thank you Lew.”

The rest of the night is spent sharing stories and cracking heinous jokes,we also spent the entire night playing footsies under the table. There’s a tension between us and we both know it’s there we just refuse to acknowledge it. Eventually I get tired enough to lay my head on the desk,Lew runs his hands through my shortly cropped hair and lays his head next to mine. We both fall asleep,next to eachother.

[marycorleone]

What am I for you? - Bull Randleman x F!OC

Face Claim: Morena Baccarin as Alice “Faith” Anderson.

Olivia Stewart is a property of @roadtogracelandx45

1948

Alice finally was going to attend to Easy reunion. Last year she avoided going there because of him: Bull Randleman.

“Bull Randleman was one of the best soldiers I ever had.” Major Winters once said. In fact, he was, but what only the Easy Company knew was that he also was the one who broke Alice’s heart.

Alice “Faith” Anderson was a girl who had served with the Easy as a paratrooper. She fell in love with Bull, as soon as he met him. But Bull had not the same intentions. Her parents guided Alice to just dedicate to the war, but how no one can manage the heart…

But now it had stayed in the past. And she was strongly decided no more avoiding meetings.

She put on her gold earrings, took a last look in the mirror and left her parents’ house.

“Alice!”

“Mom!”

“Oh, you put the earrings that your dad gave you as a gift!”

Her mother gave a hug on her and Alice said that couldn’t cry, to avoid spoiling her makeup. Her father gave her those earrings to her after she returned from the war, but now he was dead. It hurts. As soon as she arrived there, Alice saw Olivia, her old friend.

“Alice! Our Faith!”

“Liv!”

They hugged each other and some guys came to talk to the brunette, because she had not attended last year. Further down the hall, Alice spotted Bull, and kept avoiding him.

“Fuck him!” She thought.

“Hey, Faith! How are you doin’?” Lieb approached her.

“Lieb! I missed you! I am great!”

After talking with the guys, Alice and Liv kept talking.

“Come on!” A hoarse voice said, close to her ear. It was Bull. “We need to talk.”

“No! It is not happening!” She replied. “Take your hands off me!”

Olivia was a little drunk, and she was laughing at Bull.

“We are going outside now, Alice!”

“Fuck you! I am here and I am not going anywhere with you!”

“Alice Anderson, I need to talk to you!”

Fuck him. Fuck the damn Bull. His authority was to inherit…

Alice took a last look at Liv and came out with him. Outside he looked into her eyes.

“Alice, I acted like an idiot…”

“I know. But now it doesn’t matter.”

“Alice, please. I’m serious.”

“I am serious too. Can I return to the party?”

Bull was desperate.

@livvy-lov3 @msmercury84

[roadtogracelandx45]

10 Days| 1| Band of Brothers x Masters of the Air crossover

*So I went back and forth about posting this but I figured since I liked it so much that I may as well post it. I know its not likely that this happened but for the sake of fan fiction, it will work out. *

Summary: Most of the men of first and second platoons of Easy Company heads to the Stewart household at the head of the family, Franklin’s urging. And for the first time since August they were from the constraints of having Sobel around watching their every move and they were able to fully be themselves and explore those building feelings that weren’t able to explore under his watchful gaze. 

@marycorleone

One: 10 Glorious Days. 

East Company.

January 1943

10 days. 10 glorious days without Hebert Sobel and Amber Scott sounded like an absolute dream and to be able to go home and celebrate Christmas late and Marla's sweet 16. 

Made it all seem so much better. This was the first time since June that Bobby and Edward would be home since June and the first time that Olivia would have seen any family since July.  

The whole thought made being stuck on a hot sticky rickety bus with a handful of the smelly men from 1st and 2nd platoon and Dog company worth it. 

"Look at that smile.' Bull Randleman teased as he reached forward and poked a fat finger in the dimple that appeared on Olivia's cheek when she smiled brightly, like she was then. 

"What? I can't help it." She returned, pushing his hand away from her face. 

 "10 Sobel and Amber free days? It's a dream."

 "Not to mention," Bobby commented from his seat across the aisle from his sister and Liebgott, "Our grandparents are throwing a party for Marla. And that means that Olivia gets to get all prettied up." 

"Your point?" She shrugged, "After wearing uniforms for 6 months straight, I would even wear a damn corset again. If it meant being free of this."  

Bobby pulled a face, he went to Atlanta with Olivia and their aunts for the premiere of Gone With The Wind and Cissy insisted that the girls wear the corset and Bobby had to cut her out of hers at the end of the night. 

"I personally," Liebgott started turning his head to talk directly into her ear, "Can't wait for you to wear dresses again. Easier access for me.' 

Olivia flushed and slapped his shoulder, since they had started sleeping together, he was more open to teasing her and finding ways to get her into his bed or him into his bed.

There was just one rule, don't flaunt it around the boys. They didn't need any fights breaking out, again. The one fight between Joe and Bill was enough.  And honestly, Olivia didn't want to deal, there was only so much that she could handle and she was nearing her limit of bullshit and they all knew it. 

They had all hoped that the 10 days away from Amber and Sobel and the extra stresses that she had piled on with being the first Lieutenant would help reset her.

"Did Amber go with Sobel back to Chicago?" Lily asked peering around Pat Christenson to look at Olivia who shrugged her shoulders again. When it came to Amber and Sobel, she tried in vain to not know anything about them  

"They went to Brooklyn.' Lewis's voice carried from the front of the bus where he was sitting with Dick, Edward, and Ronald Speirs; they had been listening to their conversation mostly for amusement. They all became more animated and alive, the further away from Sobel they got. 

"Why do you know that sir?" Mike Ranney asked surprised, no one ever cared enough about Sobel or Amber to know these things. 

"I have my ways." 

"And this is exactly the reason why most of the girls are scared of you Lew." Edward Stewart groaned. 

"There is only one girl that matters and that is your sister.' Lewis returned, there was only one person that knew what he knew about Amber and her family and her relationship with Sobel and that was Dick and he was keeping his mouth shut. 

Especially since it was tied to Olivia's safety.  The oldest Stewart sibling dropped his chin down to his chest and groaned, his sister's personal relationships were so complicated and he hated that he knew anything about it.

Her fake marriage to Lewis, he knew about and backed up because he was there when the fight happened and Lewis claimed that they were married. 

But her relationship with Bill, Dick Winters, Joe Liebgott, and Floyd Talbert, he didn't need to know about. As far as he knew and wanted to claim that his sister was innocent and only slept in the same bed with Lewis to upkeep the charade.

The rumor mills had been running rampant that Olivia and Dick had hooked up when she had left Liebgott behind in town after a fight and spent the rest of the 48-hour pass in her shared barracks with Dick. It had gotten to the point where both Olivia and Dick had been brought into Sink's office and questioned about it. He had even pulled aside afterward and asked her about it. She had been so embarrassed that he asked her about it that she shut down on him completely. 

He shook his head to rid himself of his thoughts and looked out of the window in time to see the generational Stewart family home come into view and his 3-year-old son standing on the front porch holding onto Marla's hand, their youngest brother Steven was standing next to him, his big brown eyes dancing in excitement much like Olivia's had been since they got up that morning and boarded the bus, their nephews and lone niece surrounding them. 

"Bobby, Liv, look out of the window.' He called back, causing Bobby to get out of his seat and cross the aisle into the seat that Olivia and Liebgott shared.

"The only kiddo that I don't see is Katie." Bobby commented.

 "She is probably sick again." Olivia frowned, their youngest sister Katie had been sick on and off her entire life and none of the doctors or specialists that they took her to couldn't figure it out.

"She will be fine." Bill threw out, he had seen the worry from all of the Stewarts when they had to take her to the hospital when she was just shy of a year old.  He had even taken turns sitting with the girl himself after school some days to give Andie a well-deserved break. "All she needs is a visit from her older siblings." 

Joe's hand found Olivia's and squeezed it, she had told him and Talbert one night about her youngest sister's health issues and how they had been told to prepare for her to pass before her time. 

The bus driver threw open the door and Edward was off the bus and scooping up his son who was squealing in excitement. The rest of the boys stayed in their seats letting Olivia and Bobby exit the bus to go up to their siblings and the littles to greet them first. Two older gentlemen, one in uniform and the other not along with an older lady stepped onto the porch to greet them. 

Liebgott's eyes were glued to Olivia who took her youngest brother Steven from Marla and pressed kisses on his face leaving behind red lipstick stains behind causing the little boy to complain and wipe his cheeks off. 

The pull he had felt towards Olivia tugged again, this time stronger. They all knew that Olivia was going to be a good mom with how she acted with them when they were hurting but seeing her with a kid just made it more true. 

The night before, she and the nurses were in the barracks with them and she had snuck into his bunk and curled into him, making him want to make the dream of her being his wife true. At first, the thought scared him, he didn't want to get married right away or have a baby and it wasn't because of the war, it was because of his mother and how she left him and his five younger siblings alone. He didn't want to do that to happen again or to be the one who left. It wouldn't be fair to his partner or the children. 

"Joe.' Her soft voice shook him out of his thoughts, he was the only one left on the bus, "Come on, Nana and Papa want to meet you." She held her hand out to him, which he took instead of letting her lead him off of the bus, he pulled her into him and pressed a needy kiss to her mouth. 

She whined and pressed against him.

"Stay with me tonight." He muttered against her mouth. 

"My room. You will be with Tab and Chuck.' How she knew that he didn't know but he was okay with sneaking into her room to be with her.

"Alone?" He nudged his nose against hers not ready to get off of the bus and put on a show that they were nothing more than friends. "Mhm, perks of being a Stewart."

"Olivia Franklin! If you don't get off of that bus right now young lady."  The older woman ordered, causing her to laugh and pull away from him.

"Coming Nana.' She returned pulling him off of the bus behind her. Ellen Stewart was standing alone on the porch, a slender hand on her hip, the rest of the group had already moved into the house, and she had wanted to meet the man that her granddaughter was writing home about. 

See if he was worthy like she had hours before when John Egan showed up with her step-granddaughter Isabelle. All they wanted was for them to be happy and if they were happy with men in uniform then they weren't going to stand in the way.

"Nana, this is Joe Liebgott." Olivia started hiding their clasped hands behind her back, "Joe this is my nana, Ellen."

"It's nice to meet you ma'am. Livia has told us a lot about you." He took the older woman's hand in his and was surprised when she tightened the grasp and stepped in closer to him, her blue eyes much like his Olivia's studied him closely, "She has told us a lot about you too. All of you boys in fact." Ellen said before releasing his hand. 

A wild fleeting moment, he was worried that Olivia told her grandmother about their romps in the shower and in the alleyways. The two normal places for them to hook up. If they had the chance tonight to be together it would be their first night in a bed and he was planning on taking full advantage of it. 

"All good things I hope." He started as Olivia squeezed his hand and stepped in closer to him. An instance that never happened before. 

Not even with Lewis. Sure, Lewis gave her confidence and loved her but just by looking at the two, Liebgott was head over heels for Olivia and she was head over heels for him. 

She could tell that they were ready to admit to each other and he wasn't ready to settle but the moment it happened was the moment that everything was going to fall into place for them.  

"All very good things." She returned as a little voice called for Olivia causing her to smile and step away from him. 

"Come 'ere Katie girl." She squatted down and held her arms out to the little girl who rushed into them. Dark blue eyes peeked over her sister's shoulder to Joe who offered her a smile and wink.

 "Who's that?" Katie asked, fisting her hand in the dark green material of her sister's uniform.

"I am Joe." He started going over to the older Stewart girl's side and squatting down next to her, 

"I am friends with Livvy and Bobby." 

"Like Lew and Billy?"

"Exactly." His mouth quirked at the corners hearing how easily the little girl called Bill, the wild one of the bunch, Billy.  

"He is cute sissy." She tore her eyes away from Joe to look at her sister.

 "Yes, he is."

 "You gonna marry him?"

 "Katie." Olivia groaned, causing her to laugh, every time Olivia brought a boy home who wasn't Bill, she asked her the same thing.

 "We will see Katie." Joe started after clearing his throat, surprised that she asked that. 

"Don't lie like Bucky."

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

"Oh, Izzy is here with a couple of the boys for the 100th bombers" Ellen explained, skipping over the language, she had figured that both Izzy and Olivia learned it from being in uniform and around young men who didn't have to follow social norms.  

"Izzy is here?" Izzy was Andie's oldest daughter who had gone to England 4 years before with her father and they had only ever exchanged letters since and the lack of return letters made sense. 

The worry that Olivia had held at bay came back tenfold and sensing it Joe put his hand on her lower back rubbing it. 

"Yes, it's a long story Liv. She got hurt at the airbase and while she was recovering she came here, she has been here for about 6 months." 

"How did she get hurt? How did she get involved with the 100th then?" 

"That you will have to ask her. She is mum about it." She returned, "We set her up in Maureen's old room.' 

Maureen was Franklin's younger sister who was killed in 1864 along with his twin sister Lydia, their mother, and youngest brother, and her room was attached to Olivia's by a bathroom. 

 "Go on up and talk to her, I will show Joe to his room."  She nodded her head before turning and pressing a kiss to Joe's cheek. Katie pulled away from her sister to stay with her grandmother and Joe. 

"I will come find you when I am done."  She muttered, pressing a kiss against his cheek and slipping into the house to find her sister. “Do me a favor Joe.” Ellen started as Katie took his hand and to lead him into the house. “Just don’t hurt her. She has already been hurt enough by Bill.”  

The words I promise felt heavy on his tongue for the reason that he hadn’t been able to let go of Mary and fully be with Olivia like she had asked him to do nor had he been honest about his previous relationships. He had made up a story that at the time sounded good but now that he had gotten to know Olivia, he had realized that the story was a stupid one and he shouldn’t have blurted it out. And Ellen seemed to know what was going through his head, instead of forcing him to say anything, she just patted his shoulder and turned to go into the house. 

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x ofc

Chapter 18: The Purple Heart Club

Summary: “What’s goin’ on here?” Sergeant Randleman questions, suddenly appearing at Zenie’s shoulder. No one answers. Zenie glares at Cobb, daring him to say anything. Bull catches the look and nods. A/N: A late update, but life has been strange lately. Hopefully I'll get back into the swing of things soon Warnings: Language, mentions of war, blood Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @lieutenant-speirs @mrs-murder-daddy @lady-cheeky

Holland, 1944

“Look at ‘em. Walking around like a pack of lost puppies,” Roy Cobb snickers as Babe and Zenie pass by where he’s sitting. He elbows the replacement next to him. “Don’t think they know how to function without Guarnere around.”

Zenie halts, whirling around to face him. “Shut the fuck up, Cobb!”

The replacement next to him blinks, surprised. Babe nudges Zenie’s arm, urging her forward. Cobb himself looks taken aback, but only for a second. He laughs, gesturing at Zenie like she’s just proved his point.

“Careful, Driver. You’re not as tough as you think without your guard dog.”

Before he spoke, Zenie had been looking forward to heading back to her foxhole and eating the apples that she and Babe spent the morning collecting. Now though, she takes one out of her helmet and lobs it firmly at Cobb’s head.

It hits him in the chin, sending his head tilting back. Everyone around them gasps as they stare between Cobb, who’s rubbing his chin, and Zenie, who’s already got another apple in her hand.

“Holy shit, Tommy!” Babe grabs her helmet and tugs it out of her hands. The apple she has tightly gripped in her fingers, though, is another matter. There’s nothing he can do to take it from her short of prying her fingers off it one by one. Which shouldn’t be a problem, because a voice behind them startles her into dropping it before he has to.

“What’s goin’ on here?” Sergeant Randleman questions, suddenly appearing at Zenie’s shoulder. No one answers. Zenie glares at Cobb, daring him to say anything. Bull catches the look and nods. He taps Zenie on the shoulder and jerks his head toward the tree-line.

“Driver, a word.”

At least the good sergeant has the decency to lead her out of earshot and out of sight of the others. That way no one can hear the reprimand or see her face burn with shame.

“You threw an apple at Cobb’s head?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Why?”

Zenie considers the question. Why did she throw an apple at Cobb’s head? He was making fun of her, Babe, and Bill. She and Bill took plenty of flack from Sobel back in Toccoa, and all they did was clench their fists and mutter under their breath. Now, though . . . Being made fun of by someone else in the company is different, somehow. And maybe the fact that they’ve eaten nothing but apples for weeks and have been sitting in pools of water almost all day every day has set her a little on edge. If she can’t rush out and fight the Germans, all her pent-up frustration has to be directed at somebody.

“I don’t know, Sarge.” She shrugs. “I just got pissed off. It won’t happen again, though.”

“Damn right.” Bull nods. “You can go now, Driver.”

Well, it certainly could have been worse. At least he let her off easy.

“Oh, and Driver?”

“Sarge?”

Bull can’t disguise the smile that tugs at the edge of his lips. “Next time, pull your arm back further. That way you get enough force and hit ‘im square in the face instead of the chin.”

Zenie doesn’t bother to hide her own relieved smile. She salutes him. “Will do.”

Sergeant Randleman may have let her off easy, but she has a feeling that everyone else who saw her outburst won’t be so forgiving. Instead of rejoining them, she makes her way back to her foxhole. Forget her helmet – Babe can return it to her whenever he comes back. As for the apples, they’re in an orchard. Apples are the only thing they’ve eaten for weeks. They’re everywhere; she can find more.

Movement catches her gaze from the corner of her eye. Someone is sitting, alone, in the foxhole she’s just passed. She stops in her tracks.

“Siyo,” she greets.

Shifty looks up, surprised as she steps closer. He returns her greeting. “Siyo.”

It’s quiet. Most everyone has gone to stretch their legs, gather apples, or see if Luz is back with the mail. They’re probably not supposed to be wandering around like this. However, they’ve been stuck in these foxholes in this orchard for so long that time and rules don’t feel like they matter all that much anymore.

Zenie uses her lips to point down at the space beside him. “Mind if I join you?”

His eyes widen. He nods, and Zenie hops down into the carved Earth, feeling her boots sink with a squishing sound as she hits the mud. When she settles in beside him, she doesn’t bother to separate herself from him like she would when sharing a foxhole with anyone else. Their knees bump together and she allows them to stay that way.

“From home?” She nods towards the letter in Shifty’s hands.

He nods again. Something about him is off. He’s somber today.

“Yeah,” he says. “From my daddy. One of my brothers was adrift in the ocean for a few days.” He rushes on when he sees the concern on Zenie’s face. “He’s fine now. Just scared us, is all.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Shifty agrees. “Scary stuff.”

Neither of them speaks again for a moment. Both of them have come close to losing a brother. What is there to say to someone about that?

“I’m glad he’s okay,” Zenie finally says.

She takes a breath. This is the first time that they’ve been alone. If she doesn’t get to talk to him now, then when?

“So I wanted to ask – oof!” Her helmet hits her square in the chest, startling the air out of her.

“Dang, Tommy. You were supposed to catch that with your hands,” Popeye teases. He drops down beside her in the foxhole, squishing her between himself and Shifty. He takes her helmet from her lap and plops it onto her head with a smile. “Babe told me to return that to you if I saw you.”

“Where’d my apples go?”

“Confiscated,” Popeye replies. “Distributed among the men who know how to eat their food instead of using it for target practice.”

Shifty chuckles. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You missed it! Tommy pegged Cobb in the face with an apple!”

“What?! Why?”

The foxhole falls silent as they wait for her answer. She knows why she did it. It all feels a bit too personal to share now, though, even with her friends. She smirks, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“He was being an asshole.”

Popeye’s shoulder jostles hers as he laughs. “That’s good enough reason for me. Say, listen though, Tommy. Don’t go doin’ it again, though. Don’t want you gettin’ transferred to another company or somethin’ on account of that temper.”

She wouldn’t dare do something to get herself taken out of Easy Company. Popeye probably knows that. All the men probably feel the same way. Still, she nudges his shoulder affectionately as she agrees.

“I’ll do my best.”

The smudged tally marks on the damp envelope feel like the perfect depiction of their soggy Holland days. Everyone talks and thinks and waits for something to happen. Sometimes Zenie only knows that a new day has started because of Babe meticulously drying off his one remaining sock and then transferring it to his other foot. Sobel may have trained them for physical exertion and emotional abuse, but he did not prepare them for sitting around and waiting.

Then one day, they aren’t waiting anymore. They wished for something to happen, and it did, all at once.

Huddled in a ditch, watching the Germans skulking about while Captain Winters assigns them their targets in whispers, Zenie once again finds herself grateful for Sobel’s night marches – but, as always, thankful that it’s Winters leading them into combat.

“Fourth on the right,” Winters whispers to her. She aims her rifle and holds her breath while they all wait for the signal.

Something about the barrage of gunfire into the night reminds her of thunderstorms back home. The earth trembles mightily as they unload their weapons, sending the Germans scattering from the unexpected shock of the attack. Even when they fall back, there’s little reprieve. After the stagnation back in the orchard, Zenie finds that, personally, she doesn’t mind.

They’re charging after Winters in a sea of red fog that obscures them and ushers them in all at once, like an portend carrying in warriors from on high. Appropriate, considering the sea of SS that they run into – shocked to see the Americans and determined to fight until the last.

This is what Sobel and Sink trained them for, Zenie realizes as she simultaneously fires her rifle and runs and prays that the bullets will miss her.

“Ah, Jesus Christ!” Beside her, Webster falls to the ground, hit. His leg spits blood. “They got me!”

Right beside her. She’s had close calls before. Everyone has. In every battle, she’s watched familiar faces crumple to the ground. Never this close to her, though. (Physically, anyway – she could always argue that Bill getting shot and falling off that motorcycle was closer to her, despite the fact that she wasn’t even around to witness it.)

She pushes that thought aside. If she dwells on it, lets it distract her, then the next shot might not hit right beside her. When the fighting ends, she’s never felt so grateful for her good luck. Certain other people must be thinking about it, too.

“You okay?” Eugene’s thick accent announces his presence as he approaches her from behind. Good old Gene, always checking on her.

“I made it out all right. How about yourself?”

Gene waves a dismissive hand. “I’m fine. Just thinkin’ about you after all that runnin’, is all.” He pauses, gives her a once over. “You’ve made it out okay so far.”

“Yeah!” Luz agrees, making her jump as he slings an arm around her shoulder, drawing her in close. “Looks like we’ll never join the Purple Heart club, huh, Tommy Boy?”

Zenie grins, pushing all thoughts and carefully crafted plans about how to avoid joining the “club” from her expression. “If we’re lucky.”

Luz only laughs. “Well, we’ve made it this far.”

[malarkgirlypop]

Masterlist

Requests for one-shots are OPEN! ❤️

About me:

My name is Kate I go by she/her pronouns, I’m 23, just happy to be here really this fandom is so supportive! Have a look around, and don’t be scared to message me!

My OC's

Lemonade (Eugene Sledge x Fem!OC):

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

MEDIC! (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC) COMPLETED: Moodboard 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38 TW

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Epilogue

The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie: (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC AU)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

BoB x Reader

Ronald Speirs:

Green-eyed Monster

Edward Tipper:

Warriors part 1

Warriors part 2

Joseph Liebgott:

Goody part 1

Goody part 2

Goody part 3

Bull Randleman:

He's the Boss Part 1

He's the Boss Part 2

He's the Boss Part 3

He's the Boss Part 4

David Webster:

This is for you

Eugene Roe:

Come Away With Me

Lena Riggi:

Lie with me?

Skip Muck:

I just want to feel ok again

EDITS:

Edit masterlist

[hellitwasyoufirstsergeant]

Kinktober - Bull Randleman + size kink

A/N: I’m really pleased with how this one turned out!

Warnings: smut, obviously. Fingering and p in v sex

You knew it was big. Between having surreptitiously eyed his bulge on numerous occasions, and getting to palm him through his pants as he kissed the living daylights out of you, you’d pretty much figured out that Bull had a big dick.

Still, nothing prepared you for when he finally slipped off his pants and underwear and you saw him in all his glory. It was huge. By far the biggest cock you’d ever seen. His tip glistened with precum and he looked oh so painfully hard.

“Jesus.”

“Nope, just me, doll,” Bull chuckled and came back to the bed to hover over you, helping you rid yourself of your own underwear. The scent of Bull’s cigar smoke still lingered in the air, but the erotic smell of your arosal also drifted to your nose as your underwear reached your ankles.

“No way that’ll fit inside me.” You really, really, really wanted Bull to fuck you like his life depended on it. But you were just a bit concerned that he might break you in the process.

Bull picked up on the genuineness of your worry and used one of his thumbs to stroke your cheek. His tenderness took you by surprise, as it always seemed to. “You know we don’t gotta do this, right, doll?” His eyes searched yours for an answer he couldn’t hear as you considered his words.

“I want to, I really do.” You offered a small smile.

“Tell me if you need to stop.” The gentle giant kissed your nose as his hand traced its way up your inner thighs. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you whispered, unable to stifle a moan as Bull’s hand found your pussy. He coated his pointer finger in the slick around your entrance and nudged it inside. He slowly sank it all the way in, before beginning to gently move his finger in and out.

His eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze only making you wetter. Clearly it was doing the same for him because you could feel the hardness of his dick against your thigh.

“More. Please.” He obeyed and added a second finger, crooking them inside you in a come hither motion to stimulate your g-spot. Your wetness made lewd sounds against his fingers that only served to push you even quicker towards your orgasm. Bull began to thumb your clit, causing you to hastily throw a hand over your mouth in a desperate attempt not to disturb the sleeping soldiers in the next room.

“Are you close, doll?” He leaned down to whisper in your ear. You nodded.

“Cum for me,” his command, plus the feeling of his full weight pressed on top of you as he kissed around your ear was all you needed to fall over the edge into a toe curling, mind numbing orgasm. Bull could feel you clenching his fingers as your pussy spasmed around him, your orgasm spreading through your body and making the outside world disappear.

“Think you can take me now ‘ve loosened you up a little, hmm?” Bull swiped his thumb over your lips as his hand cradled your jaw. You nodded, too lost in a lustful haze to be able to speak coherently.

“Try to stay quiet for me. Can you do that?” Bull waits for you to nod in response to his question before he finally pushes his tip into you. You gasp as he slowly pushes more of himself into your walls. He began to sweat with the sheer amount of self control he had to deploy in order not to piston himself fully into you - with the way your pussy was gripping his cock, he knew he wouldn’t last long.

“Shit, don’t go squeezin’ me so much, sweetheart,” Bull grit his teeth as he pressed his face into your neck.

“Can’t help it,” you mumbled as you hooked your legs higher over his hips to give him easier access. “It’s so big.” At that, Bull let out a very unmanly whine.

“You ready for more?” He felt you nod and pressed more of himself into you, as slowly as he could to allow you to adjust to his size. “Alright?” He asked once he was about three quarters of the way in. You nod, open mouthed. Sure, it hurt a little, but you’d never felt anything like it and the pain seemed only to heighten the pleasure.

“Want it all,” your words were already almost slurred from the pleasure, and he hadn’t even begun to thrust yet. You could see hesitation in his face, but you couldn’t resist using your foot to push on his ass and press the rest of himself inside you.

The both of you let out a simultaneous groan and, after giving you a minute to adjust, Bull began to piston himself in and out of you. His thrusts began measured but grew increasingly frenzied as your tight walls squeezed him more and more the closer you got to your climax.

It felt so good to be so full of him, a heady pleasure that rendered you incapable of anything apart from biting his shoulder to muffle your garbled moans. In turn, Bull’s head was buried in the crease of your neck, his moans vibrating against your skin. You were glad you hadn’t given into your fears as Bull’s cock continued to make you feel so deliciously stretched out, and he fucked you stupid.

Please help a writer out and reblog if you enjoyed my work! 💗

[urlocalfrogmammy]

is it ever gonna change?—bull randleman

inspired by

ANON: could you do #7 on your prompt list for bull randleman pretty please? thanks!!! (prompt #7– “well don’t chicken out now”)

when your morals are compromised during the interrogation of the replacement who shot chuck, bull has to find a way to comfort you

i got rlly carried away. warnings : bit of gore. word count 1.1k

they'd found the guy who'd shot chuck. he was a replacement from I company. you passed george luz and floyd talbert on your way to the room he was being kept in, determined to see the man who'd shot your sergeant. "hey! y/n!" george stood up from the table he was playing cards with. tab looked uncomfortable, running his hands through his hair. "hi george." you made a move to enter the room that was rowdy from whatever was going on in there, but luz blocked your path. "y/n, you'll get upset."

"i wanna—"

"y/n." he said your name sternly, something you weren't used to when it came to george luz. tucking your hair behind your ear, you told george to let you in. his eyes pleaded with you, but you ignored them.

you walked into the glass-doored room and gasped shakily. "y/n. nice of you to join us." alton more smirked at you as you stared at the replacement. he had blood trickling from his head, and his nose and mouth. he was almost gargling on it. you'd been in war, a veteran of d-day, holland, bastogne and now germany. the sight of that the men were doing still sickened you.

"what the fuck are you all doing?"

"well, don't chicken out now! you only just got here."

"i'm putting a stop to this!" you stepped in front of the replacement. "this is inhumane! haven't you had enough bloodshed!"

"he shot grant." christenson piped up. alton stepped over to you, looming down. you stared back at him through his hard gaze. "i'm not excusing what he's done. but i won't let you beat him to death."

"more." a southern drawl warned alton from the corner of the room. alton more knew better than to push bull's patience, especially when it came to you. he complied, stepping away from you. "i think you should leave, y/n." bull continued.

"i won't—"

"that was an order, corporal." seething at your boyfriend's use of rank to undermine you, you stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind you.

"floyd, you have to stop this."

"let's just play cards, alright." george puffed on his cigarette and offered it to you. you took it with shaking hands. a loud thud was heard and speirs thundered into the room.

"where is he?"

"how's grant?"

"where is he?"

"is he okay?"

"where is he!?" you all looked over to the door. speirs took the hint, and just as you had done, he strutted into the room. however, his reaction was the polar opposite to yours. you began to walk to the door, shrugging off tab's hands, and leaning on the door frame. "replacement. I company." bull noticed your entrance, and tugged you towards him. in an act of unusually public affection for bull, he tangled your hair in his hands and pulled your head into his chest. "don't look." he murmured.

"where's the weapon?"

"what weapon?"

there was a loud whack, and you jumped at the sound of it. bull slowly ran his hands through your hair. you attempted to look over at what had happened as speirs hissed: “when you speak to an officer, you say sir!” bull didn’t let you, he pushed your head back into his chest and rumbled, “i said don’t look, y/n.” the man was choking on his own blood and you could hear it bubble in his throat.

there was an unmistakable click. the safety on a pistol. you felt yourself clench up, and bull felt it too, slowly moving you both away from the situation and rubbing small circles into your scalp. there was a 30 second window of palpable tension, and then it passed. you felt bull exhale in relief, and speirs demand the MPs take care of the replacement. bull still wouldn’t let you see, he turned you around and marched you to your room.

your hands were trembling as you attempted to light up a smoke. bull wrapped his around yours and steadied the lighter, before guiding it to his cigar. "it's not right."

"y/n, it's better not to get involved like that.”

“why not?”

“because it’s gonna get you into more shit than it’s worth, darlin.” you inhaled, feeling the smoke in your lungs inducing a sense of fake calm. you felt for bull’s hand, and he engulfed your hand in his, rubbing circles into it. “you know i don’t like it when you use your rank against me.”

“i’m sorry.” he puffed on his cigar. “was just trying to look out for you.” you bit your lip softly and looked up at him. “can we cuddle?” you asked, stumping out your cigarette.

bull stubbed his cigar, opened his arms and swallowed you in them as you attempted to sniffle up your tears. he pulled you down onto the bed and rubbed your back softly as you cried, rumbling words of reassurance to you. he smelled like tobacco and woodsmoke and musk, the aroma was comforting to you now. you nuzzled your nose into his neck, and bull placed kisses to your forehead. “i love you, y/n.”

“i love you too, bull.”

“is this how it’s gonna be now?” you mumbled, lying on your back and staring at the ceiling. bull stared at you, trying to decipher the glaze in your eyes. “how do you mean darlin?”

“is this what the war has turned us into? bloodthirsty thugs?” you were fumbling with your jacket sleeves, and bull carefully prised your hands off them. “c’mon, take this off.” he sat up, and sat you up, and you reluctantly complied, throwing it onto the floor and pulling your boots off, adding them to the pile. “when i get home—” bull heard the break in your voice, but you steadied it, “people are gonna ask why i’ve changed, and why i don’t look the same.” you paused thoughtfully. “why i think differently now.” bull felt his heart wrench as you turned to look at him, face rosy from crying, and he wondered how someone with a soul as beautiful as you could question what people would think of them. “all i know,” he grasped your hand, “is that things aren’t ever gonna be the same as before. but they’ll get better. just you wait and see, huh?”

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 1

(Ch. 2)

Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: With WWII raging across the European Theatre, OSS agent Alix "Pyro" Martinelli and paratrooper Joe Liebgott are forced to navigate their star-crossed romance at the worst possible time. With the knowledge that one or both of them could end up dead before the war's end, will their secret love survive the horrors that await them or break under the pressure? Simultaneously, as he prepares to send her into enemy territory, first-time case officer/handler Lewis Nixon struggles to shoulder the ever-present fear that the agent he's come to see as his little sister may not make it back alive.

A/N: Here it is!! Y'all know the drill lol, everything BoB is strictly based on the miniseries & my own headcanons, not the real-life ppl. Also pls be nice to me, this is the first thing I've written since like 2018-2019. It'll get better hopefully lol. (And yes, I'm making y'all wait for that coveted first interaction between Lieb x Alix lol bc I'm evil) 💖

Contemporary: June 3rd, 1944. Aldbourne, England.

The most important ally in a spy's life is their case officer, also known as their handler, and for some reason, Alix’s seemed determined to get her killed before she ever set foot in a war zone. 

"It wasn't a suggestion, Martinelli, it was an order. You’ve been sparring with your dominant hand all day. Switch hands." 

Alix barely had time to fumble her weapon from her belt before Lieutenant Nixon came at her face with a knife. 

"Shit!" 

She ducked as it sailed over her head but managed to pop back up just in time to block an incoming punch with her right forearm.

"Christ," Alix griped, swiping at Nixon with the knife in her left hand, grazing his arm with the flat of the blade. "A little warning would've been nice, y'know!"

"Oh I'm sorry," the intelligence officer remarked snidely, stepping out of her reach to avoid another slash. "Did you think the Krauts would send you a personal invitation?" 

 The younger agent didn’t answer, instead aiming a kick straight at Nixon's stomach. She was shorter than him by a good 6 inches even in boots but her legs were still just long enough to reach him.

The kick was hard enough to connect but gentle enough not to hurt too much, more of a tap than a true kick.

“Weak form,” Nixon called out, although his slight stumble backwards betrayed him.

She knew he was deliberately trying to piss her off so she’d make more mistakes.

He always said “Anger makes you stupid, stupid gets you killed.”

Nixon recovered quickly from the kick, dodging her attempt at a stab and returning one of his own, easily tapping her arm with the dull side of the blade.

“Too slow.”

Yeah? She cocked a perfectly manicured eyebrow. We’ll see about that.

On a whim, Alix faked a punch to Nixon’s left. It was a gamble but it worked. He fell for her ruse just like she’d hoped and as his focus shifted to blocking his left side, she was able to disarm him with a swift kick to the right, knocking the knife out of his hand and into the grass somewhere.

She put her hands on her hips and grinned, panting. That was the quickest disarm she'd done all day and she'd managed it using her non-dominant hand and after hours of non-stop physical training, no less.

Not bad for one of Director Donovan’s “glorious amateurs”, she mused.

Watching her superior fishing around in the pasture for his lost weapon was kind of cathartic, Alix thought to herself with a stifled laugh. Perhaps it was just schadenfreude but it felt nice to see him be the one to struggle for once.

Ever since the first day he’d been assigned as her handler two years ago, Lieutenant Nixon had made it his personal business to make her life a living hell.

She had tried to be cordial to him but he wanted nothing to do with her, even going so far as to only refer to her as “Agent” or “Martinelli”. He had run her ragged during OSS training, ruthlessly drilling her on everything from close-combat and weapon-handling to enduring an interrogation every day for a full three weeks.

Nothing was ever good enough for him; he could always find something to criticize. He expected her to commit written information to memory practically the second she received it and he wasn’t shy about quizzing her at random on everything from poisons to arteries to conversational French.

She thought he might loosen up after her graduation from the OSS program, once he’d seen that she had transformed from a society girl into a capable agent who didn’t need her supervisor breathing down her neck, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

He still saw her as the youngest and smallest trainee that needed constant supervision and strict discipline for even the most minor of infractions. 

Getting transferred to England for further training with their Special Operations Executive had been a welcome change of pace. Her handler had gone back to Toccoa, Georgia with the Airborne and she finally felt like she could breathe again.

Life with the SOE wasn’t nearly as stressful because it was a well-established organization and her superior officers there were much more laidback. She felt secure in her training and confident in her skills. But her relaxation was short-lived because after a year, the Airborne had transferred too and with them came her Draconian handler and a host of new trials to complete. Joy.

Despite Alix’s lifelong fear of heights, even completing her jump-training wasn’t as difficult as earning Lewis Nixon’s approval, and that was really saying something.

For whatever reason, the intelligence officer seemed determined to break her but the young OSS agent was even more determined to succeed.

No matter how hard he pushed her, she always pushed right back. The sight of an intimidating-looking officer glaring down at a petite woman 9 years younger and half a foot shorter than him like she was the Devil Incarnate after a particular bout of sass often provided endless entertainment for troopers passing by the training ground and Alix herself would've found it hilarious if she wasn't on the receiving end of said glare.

Digging her red-painted nails into her palms with frustration, Alix marched over to her handler and cleared her throat expectantly. 

The Lieutenant looked up from his field notebook and cocked a bushy eyebrow. 

“Did you want something, Agent?”

Alix’s dark eyes narrowed. Nixon’s air of deliberate nonchalance was really pushing her buttons and he knew it. The more heated she got, the colder he would get, but she could feel her temper bubbling just under the surface anyway.

“I have a name, you know,” she snapped. “It’s Alix.”

“I don’t care. You’re an assignment, not my friend. Now, what do you want?”

Alright, that’s it.

“Well number one, for you to stop treating me like a fucking child!”

“Then stop acting like one,” was the dismissive reply.

“Excuse me?!”

“You heard me. You’re getting complacent. You’re going to be in extremely close-quarters with highly-skilled German officers, alone. If you make even the slightest mistake, if you're off by even a second, they’re going to eat you alive.”

“I’m a Sparrow,” she shot back. “A trained assassin. I’d like to see them try.” 

“You’re also what, 5’4” and a hundred-something pounds soaking wet? Some threat! If they disarm you, it's game over." 

Alix seethed, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring daggers at her superior.

“I graduated top of my class. You’ve seen me fight! You know I’m as effective with a weapon as I am without one!” 

“With your right hand, maybe, but what if it’s restrained and you have to use your left?" 

“You worry too much.” 

“You don’t worry enough. You’re not strong enough to be effective against highly-trained soldiers without a weapon. Here, throw a punch with your left, I’ll show you what I mean.” 

Alix’s dark eyes narrowed and she gave a sarcastic smile.

“It would be my pleasure, sir.” 

She swung a long left-hook. Her knuckles had just grazed his jaw when he grabbed her wrist.

Using her own body’s momentum against her, he stepped in, hooking his arm under her armpit and easily flipping her over his shoulder onto the ground with a hard thud. 

“Fuck!” Alix coughed out, the breath forcibly knocked from her lungs due to the sudden impact. Laying on her back, she was winded and her muscles were burning but her mind was racing. She was down but not out.

Catching her breath, she shifted into a crouching position. Now she was seeing red.

Nixon meanwhile, was resting on his laurels. 

“See,” he announced from above with a smug, almost irritatingly paternal air. “What did I tell you? You’re not as effective unarmed. You need to train mo-”

THUMP!

Swinging her leg out in one fluid motion, Alix had caught his ankle, using a Tiger-Tail leg sweep to swipe her handler’s legs out from under him, bringing him crashing down next to her with a string of muttered curses.

“Doesn’t look like you’re that effective unarmed either, sir,” she said with a sarcastically-bright smile. “Maybe you should train more.”

The Lieutenant opened his mouth defensively, about to respond, but he was cut off by the sound of tires on the grass behind them.

Glancing up at the noise, Alix felt relief wash over her at the sight of Sergeant Bull Randleman and Lieutenant Winters crossing the field toward them in a Jeep. If anybody could temper Lewis Nixon’s attitude, it was those two. 

The dark-haired lieutenant got off the ground, dusting off his uniform. Turning to Alix, he offered her a hand but she gave him a scathing look that clearly said “I don’t want your damn help” so he retracted it with a shrug. 

Suit yourself. 

Inwardly groaning at her sore muscles, Alix gritted her teeth and silently dragged herself to her feet. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her struggle.

As long as I'm still breathing, she thought. I'm fucking fine.

As the two officers approached, both she and Nixon saluted them.

“That was a damn near perfect takedown you just did,” Bull exclaimed with brotherly pride, chomping on the end of his trademark cigar as he and Winters approached. “And some disarm too! We saw when we was passin’ by earlier! You're some kinda killer now, huh, Pyro?”

“After two years of training, I sure hope so!” she chirped, grinning at the nickname. The memory of its origin always made her laugh.

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A year earlier: January 1944. Aldbourne, England.

On her first day training for her cover as a combat nurse with Easy, she’d gotten into an explosive argument with some guy named Cobb over a particularly sexist series of comments he’d made while cornering her outside, after one of Welsh’s riveting lectures on map-reading.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here anyway?” he’d asked, looking her up and down with a wolfish smirk. “War's no place for a woman like you, sweetheart.”

“I'm doing my part, same as you," she’d answered coolly. “And just for the record, ‘a woman’s place’ is wherever the hell she wants to be.”

With a bright, "Fuck you" smile, she had just pushed past him to be on her way when she distinctly heard him grumble “Jeez, learn to take a compliment, bitch.”

The shouting match that followed quickly escalated into a physical brawl the moment the phrase “all bust, no brains” came out of his mouth. The fight only ended minutes later when a still-cursing Alix was physically dragged off of a barely-conscious Cobb by Bull, who didn’t want the new girl committing murder on her first day.

“Well ain’t you a little firecracker!” Bull had remarked, shaking his head in amusement. 

And thus, the nickname Pyro was born.

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Contemporary: June 3rd, 1944. Aldbourne, England.

“So what are your thoughts, Nix?” Winters inquired. “You’re her handler, after all. Is she ready?”

 There was a short silence and Alix held her breath.

What if he lied and told Dick she was terrible? What if he got her kicked off the mission and the whole Sparrow program never got off the ground because of it? What if- 

“It wasn’t a bad session—” Nixon started after a minute of thought and Alix exhaled.

Thank God. 

 “—But her disarm could’ve been faster. Her shooting is fine with her right hand but she can’t make a left-handed headshot worth a damn, let alone in the time frame she needs to.”

“Well,” Bull drawled matter-of-factly. “considerin’ it’s her left hand she’s workin’ with and ‘s far as we know, she ain’t left-handed, I reckon just bein’ able to hit the target is somethin’. She's somethin' to see shootin' with her right though! Kill-shots every time."

Winters nodded in silent agreement, making some small notations on the clipboard he was carrying before looking over at Nixon, green eyes meeting black.

“Mind if I have a word with you, Lew? In private?” he asked, gesturing for them to take a short walk back to the Jeep and the dark-haired man shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. 

“Sure thing, Dick.” 

He gave a curt nod to Alix and a strained smile to Bull before the two men started off. 

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“Now, far be it from me to tell you how to run things,” Winters began tentatively once they had arrived at the car. “But don’t you think you’re being just a bit too harsh on her?” 

He leaned against the Jeep, giving his friend a scrutinizing look. 

“I mean, did you really expect her to be able to make a head-shot with her non-dominant hand? Can you even make that kind of shot with your left hand, Nix, let alone in under 5 seconds?”

"No but I’m also not the one who’s going to be locked in a room every other night, up close and personal, with members of the SS, the Gestapo, or God knows who else,” Nixon countered, beginning to pace. “She needs to be prepared, goddamn it.” 

Dick frowned as he watched his best friend. He’d never seen Lew this anxious before. He opened his mouth to respond but before he could get the words out, his friend cut him off.

“There’s no room for mistakes, Dick,” Nixon insisted, his voice rising. “She’s good, really good, but she has to be the best or she's going to get herself killed out there!" 

“She is the best or she wouldn’t have been recruited in the first place,” Winters replied evenly.

“We all know that Soviet Swallows aren't recruited at random and neither are American Sparrows. She was chosen because she can handle it.”

Nixon shook his head. 

“What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” the redhead said bracingly.

“She’s been training non-stop for two years, in everything from poison usage to intelligence-gathering, seduction to pickpocketing. Hell Nix, you just flipped her onto the ground and she still managed to take you out too in a matter of seconds! She’s a crack-shot and speaks how many foreign languages now?” 

“Three,” the dark-haired man conceded. “Italian, French, and Spanish. Four if you count a working knowledge of Russian.” 

“Exactly. And on top of it, she has the smartest man I know as her handler. Even if I didn’t have faith in her, which I do, I have faith in you and your abilities and so does Bill Donovan or he wouldn’t have personally assigned you to such a new program.” 

Nixon rubbed the back of his neck worriedly, his mouth set in a hard line.

A part of him knew that Dick was right— all of the relentless pressure he’d put on her had paid off because Alix really was one of the best to come out of the OSS but still, that nagging fear just wouldn't leave him alone.

He had a bad feeling about all this. 

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2 Years Earlier: June 1942. Washington DC, USA.

He thought back to his first briefing on agent handling with the OSS two years earlier. He had been among a group of about eight officers called to OSS headquarters for a personal conference with the director, Bill Donovan himself. 

Once all of the handshaking and small-talk had died down, everyone spread out and took their seats, an expectant hush falling over the small crowd.

“Gentlemen,” Donovan began, his gravelly voice piercing the thick air. “There are whispers in the intelligence community that the Russians are developing a new program.” 

Nixon shifted uncomfortably in his chair, struggling to concentrate. It was stiflingly hot in his uniform and the air conditioner in the office had stopped working, much to everyone’s chagrin.

He could feel the sweat dripping down his back and he grimaced.

This better be good.

“We have received Intel from our sources in Russia that strongly confirms the use of so-called ‘Soviet Swallows’-” 

“Like the bird, sir?” the officer across from Nixon piped up and Donovan let out an exasperated sigh.

“Yes, like the bird, son. "

Nixon might've laughed if the situation hadn't been so serious.

"These Russian Swallows are part of a new program utilizing female spies who are highly trained and tasked with infiltrating and incapacitating the enemy. They combine the deadliness and discipline of a soldier with the glamour and grace of a movie star."

There were some oohs and aahs from the officers around him but Nixon remained silent.

If they were as highly trained as Donovan was suggesting-- and knowing the Russians, he had no doubt they were-- these Swallows, whoever they were, would be extremely dangerous and effective agents in the field.

"Now," Donovan continued. "Our objective is to get ahead of them. The president has tasked us here at the OSS with creating a similar program, known as the Sparrow Program, and we need capable officers like yourselves to lead it. If all goes well, these young ladies I am assigning you today will be the very future of American espionage.” 

The men in the room all began to exchange curious glances.

The meeting itself had been scheduled for some time but all of the information about it had been considered Classified, so nobody had known how significant the project actually was. The nervousness and excitement in the room was palpable.

“The files that I am handing out to you now, gentlemen, are our first class of agents. Each of them have been carefully selected from the top schools and families across the country. They are the best and brightest that the United States has to offer. You have all been assigned one agent and as her handler, you will be personally responsible for her from today onward. You will be training her, managing her operations, arranging drops and meetings with Resistance contacts, processing the Intel she brings so it can be passed up the ladder, and you will be her lifeline if anything, God forbid, goes wrong.”

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence before he added brightly, “But no pressure."

Nixon made a bitter noise in the back of his throat and sipped the cup of black coffee he’d gotten from the lobby.

Oh yeah, he thought cynically. No pressure at all.

"Now when I read off your name, raise your hand and my assistant will present you with the file of your first operative, who you will be sending behind enemy lines at a time and date to be specified. I will be personally available to answer any questions, should you have them. First up...Atkins!"

Nixon stared straight ahead, past the officer sitting across from him, out the window, to the treeline as he waited for his name to be called.

Great, the lieutenant mused bitterly. I get to be responsible for someone else's life now too. Because I'm doing so well managing my own.

Once the folders had all been handed out, the director began to circle the room, periodically answering questions as they were asked.

Lieutenant Nixon let the file sit closed on the table for a minute, just staring at it, as he mentally prepared himself to look into the face of the person he would be sending into enemy territory.

Steeling himself, he reached for the folder and opened it, glancing inside before immediately slamming it shut. 

The girl looked so young in her photo, barely 21, and for a split-second, in her glossy black curls and dark eyes, he saw his baby sister, Blanche smiling back at him. He suddenly felt ill. 

"Ah, you got Miss Martinelli," Donovan said, suddenly appearing over his shoulder as if sensing his doubts. "Alix is a charming girl. Quite a rebellious streak no doubt, but one of our most promising recruits. A swan among sparrows, if you will. Educated at St. Mary’s-- one of the finest finishing schools in the country, I might add-- and top of her class in our training facility as well. Her father, Emilio, is a good friend of mine. He's in oil, as I'm sure you know."

Nixon gave a half-smile, hoping he looked convincing and interested. He had no idea who Emilio Martinelli was nor did he care.

Rubbing elbows with other rich people was his mother's department, not his.

Casting one more glance at the folder, he took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to rid himself of the violent wave of nausea that hit him relentlessly.

From the moment he saw the photo, it had dawned on him just how easily the girl in the folder could have been his sister and now it wouldn’t leave his mind. She was just like Blanche in almost every way. This was somebody's little sister, no doubt.

And how could he send his little sister to die? He couldn’t.

Donovan had just turned to move on to the next officer when at the last minute, Nixon caught him by the sleeve.

“Sir,” he begged, his voice low. "Not her. Anyone but her. Please.”

The director’s brow furrowed.

“Son, I'm afraid everything's already been arranged. There's no backing out now."

The younger man quailed.

What was he supposed to do? Keep pleading? Tell the director he couldn’t take on the recruit because he couldn’t look her in the face without seeing his baby sister?

That was exactly what he did. 

To his relief, Donovan didn't laugh. Instead, he put a bracing hand on the lieutenant's shoulder. 

“You say she reminds you of your sister back home, right Lieutenant?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Then prepare her like you’d prepare your sister. Protect her. Keep her alive.”

“Yes sir.”

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Contemporary: June 3rd, 1944. Aldbourne, England.

Winters cleared his throat awkwardly, breaking the silence between them as he wracked his brain for how best to broach the delicate subject on his mind. 

"Lew…uh…"

"Spit it out, Dick," Nixon intoned from beside him without even looking up. 

Winters did his best to oblige.

 

"Is this..um..Is there some sort of a romance thing going on with you and her or something? You just seem really torn up but I thought she had a thing going with.." 

Nixon jerked his head back with a flabbergasted look like he'd just been told Winters was moonlighting as a circus clown.

"What?! Oh God no, Dick, she's like my kid sister! Christ, she's a child!" 

"She's twenty-three, isn’t she?" 

"Yes, exactly! She's a child!" 

Winters laughed and shook his head in amusement.

"You act like being in our thirties makes us ancient. But good, I’m glad we got that cleared up then because I was going to say, if that's your problem, I can't help you. I’m not very good with that sort of thing."

A teasing smile played at the corner of Nixon’s lips. 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. Say, do me a favor, Dick?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“If you ever have any more wildly off-base speculations about my love life, keep ‘em to yourself. In all the years I've known you, I don't think you've been right one time."

They both laughed but the auburn-haired officer sobered quickly.

"In all seriousness, Nix, lighten up a little on Martinelli, okay? She’ll be fine. Letting her have a little fun once in a while won’t hurt, especially since we're due out any day now.”

The intelligence officer cocked an eyebrow slyly. 

“Since when are you lecturing me on 'lightening up' and 'having fun'?" he asked, black eyes glittering with barely-contained mirth.

"Who are you and what have you done with my friend Dick?”

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