#ron spiers fic

[typical-simplelove]

Hidden Words (R. Spiers)

Summary: Ron comes home from the war, wanting quiet and solitude, but when a friend from his childhood saves him when he needs it, a new friendship is formed. What happens when the lines are blurred and demands are made? Can Ron recognize he can have peace and quiet amidst the noise?

Author's Note: This is my Secret Santa fic for @latibvles. Thank you for bearing with me, and I'm sorry this took a moment. Between the end of the semester and the jump right into the family and holiday stuff, I've barely had time to breathe. Nonetheless, here it is, and I hope you like it!

Warnings: implied!female reader; mentions of the war (canon typical); mentions of having/wanting children in the future;

Word Count: 6.9k

Ever since he returned home, his mother continuously tried to step him up on a date. She didn’t understand that he didn’t want that; no part of him was ready to date. For starters, how could he explain the things he’d seen—done—in the war to anyone, especially someone he should be spending the rest of his life with? 

Besides, he doesn’t think it’s worth it to spend all this time working on opening himself up and getting to know someone only for the relationship not to work out. There’s no point in trying to make something work when he knows it won’t.

But his mother wants grandkids, so he can’t say that to her. 

Since he came home from the war, it’s as if the entire world is dead-set on producing the next generation. While Ron sees no flaws in that, he doesn’t want to partake. It’s not that he doesn’t want kids; it’s the process of finding someone to have children with. The time and effort weren’t worth it to him if it could fall apart—either by war or personal faults. 

But his mother wants this for him, and he can never say no to his mother. 

Presently, Ron and his family are on their way to a block party, hosted by a couple of families down the road. He remembers the names—some of the people he grew up with. 

As they get closer, he starts to feel the anxiety building up. Everywhere he goes where people remember him from his childhood, they immediately begin to thank him for his service and want him to tell his stories. While he knows they have good intentions, he’s not always in the mood to talk about his experiences overseas, and sometimes, he would prefer to pretend they never happened. 

As expected, once they arrive at the small corner of the neighborhood where the party is being hosted, he’s surrounded by people who want to hear his stories and tales. There are so many voices, making different requests, that he isn’t able to pipe in and ask to have this conversation another time. 

He looks around for his mother, but she’s nowhere to be found. First, she drags him to this gathering; then, she leaves him alone. He shakes his head, frustrated. 

“Excuse me,” a voice pipes in from being Ron. “I need to borrow him for a moment.” 

Their hand intertwines with Ron and begins to pull him towards one of the houses. The moment is so hurried that he doesn’t have a chance to look at the person who’s dragging him away—his savior. 

He’s so shocked and confused that he doesn’t register to which house they’re heading towards. He doesn’t register the familiar steps of stairs or the familiar room he’s in or the recognizable bed he’s sat on. 

“Hi,” Ron says when he finally recognizes that you’re his savior, and you brought him up to your childhood room. “Long time no see.”

You snort. “Yeah, well, there was this war in Europe; did you know about that?” 

“Vaguely,” he replies, a small smile begging to be released. He can’t remember the last time he smiled. “Thanks for saving me.” 

You nod. “You look horrified, and as much as that amuses me, I figured today wasn’t the day to be bombarded.” 

Living just down the street from each other, your family and his family often interacted. For a while, your lives orbited around each other. There was nowhere you went where Ron didn’t follow closely behind. He was your shadow, just being happy to be around you, soaking in your aura and liveliness. 

He would spend hours of his days with you, and if he wasn’t with you, he was thinking about you or talking about you to anyone who would listen. 

By the time you both reached high school, your friendship wasn’t socially acceptable anymore, so you and Ron drifted. Anyone who knew Ron before high school would say that a part of him died or drifted away when you both stopped being friends. A chunk of his soul, personality, and heart was chiseled out, waiting to be put back when you returned. 

By the time Ron went off to war, you were pretty much strangers to each other. But, even if he didn’t know it, there were still parts of him that longed for you. 

Sitting on your childhood bed, looking at you as you organize all the guests’ belongings that were scattered around your room, small parts of the missing pieces of himself started to be pieced back together. 

“Are you okay?” you ask him, a curious and amused look in your eyes.

He nods. 

Deep down, he knew he wasn’t letting the friendship go again. 

. . .

“I didn’t have the chance to make anything, so I just went to the store,” Ron apologizes as he begins to take out food containers and lays them out on the picnic blanket. 

“You were going to cook? Wait, actually, you know how to cook?” 

He gives you a faint eye roll. “Yes, I’m not entirely helpless, by the way. But also, my mom has been trying to domesticate me in the event I decide to settle down. That’s been her post-war plan for me.” 

You nod, ignoring the small pitter-patter of your heart. What would it be like to live with a domesticated Ron?

Whoa, you’re not sure where those thoughts stem from, but as he opens up the containers and begins to make you a plate of your favorites, you couldn’t help but wonder. He took the initiative in planning this. He was never late, and if he was going to be late, he made sure to communicate it. He was always conscientious about your feelings and what you wanted to do. He was just—

Were your standards that low, or was Ron just genuinely that great? 

“What was it like?”

“What was what like?” Ron inquires in between bites. 

“The war, being overseas.” 

In a matter of seconds, Ron’s entire body tenses up, and you see the muscles in his neck tighten. “I would rather not talk about that.” 

You nod. “What about the people you served with?”

“Don’t,” Ron replies, sharp and pointed. 

“I shouldn’t have asked, sorry.” You wanted to know, but you understood why he wouldn’t want to share this information with you. It wasn’t an easy experience or an easy topic to discuss. But did that give him the right to be that rude and abrasive with you?

“I shouldn’t have responded the way I did, though, and I apologize for that.” 

“It’s okay,” you reply. 

A few minutes of awkward and heavy silence follows. The only sounds are the other families laughing and talking as they take in the nice weather. Now, you feel incredibly bad for bringing it up, but a part of you feels almost rejected. He doesn’t feel comfortable enough around you to open up. 

The only way you know to end this weirdness is to talk about stories from the people around you, so you dive into the stories of people in the neighborhood and work, throwing in little quips and jokes. It takes a minute for Ron’s icy exterior to melt, but soon, he’s laughing along with your jokes and making small comments here and there. 

Despite the way he’s interacting in the conversation, you can’t help but feel that he’s holding back from you, still. It’s almost as if he doesn’t feel at ease with you right now. 

But then he flashes you one of his brightest and rarest smiles and the way his eyes sparkle as he looks at you and the sunlight shrouding him in a glow sets your entire body on fire. He was always known for being guarded, so you shouldn’t be surprised he’s holding back from the difficult conversations with you. But he doesn’t smile like that for anyone, right? So that has to mean something. 

He means something to you. 

Yeah, you’re screwed. 

. . .

All he said was to come to dinner. You didn’t know what to expect, but all he said was to come to dinner, and no, you shouldn’t bring anything, despite your insistence. Just yourself, he said. 

Just yourself. 

Those words echoed in your mind for the days and the hours that passed between him asking you to come and you arriving at his doorstep. 

Just yourself.

Just yourself. 

Just yourself. 

You’re not someone who often reads into things, especially when it comes to things with romantic feelings involved. For the sake of self-preservation, you didn’t let yourself read into things, but with Ron, you couldn’t help yourself. With every interaction you have with him, you so badly want it to be more. 

Does Ron asking you to go to his mom’s house for family dinner mean something, or are you supposed to go only as friends? 

The spiraling and spinning thoughts don’t stop as Ron welcomes you into the house, takes your jacket, and you shrug off your shoes. Did his fingers linger on your shoulders for a brief moment? Did he hug you a little longer than necessary, than normal? Did he give you a small smile, his eyes twinkling with a purpose? Did he treat everyone else this way, or were you special? 

You so badly wanted to be special. 

As the night went on and you were reintroduced to Ron’s family that you remember from when you were growing up, you pretended not to recognize the curious and interesting looks they gave you and Ron. You ignored the way their eyes drifted to where his hand was guiding you on your back or the way his hands rested on your shoulders when he was introducing you to someone. You ignored their pointed looks as he whispered in your ears every now and then or the looks he gave you. 

No one wanted to say it or ask it, fearing the glare Ron would send them. 

As much as you wanted them to ask or say something, you didn’t want to know what he would say. You didn’t want your worst fears to be confirmed. 

“No,” Ron says, interrupting your thoughts as you make your way to the dinner table, finding a seat on one end of the table, not near where Ron was sitting. He rests his hands on your waist and guides you toward the other end of the table where he’s sitting next to his mom. 

“I can sit there.” 

“No.” 

“Ron—” 

“Don’t make me carry you over there. I want to sit next to you.” 

“Okay,” you reply softly, ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart with the meaning of his words. 

As the meal progresses, you’re sitting, chatting with the people around you, and you nearly jump out of your chair when Ron’s arm goes to rest along your shoulders. No way you can’t read into that, right? Ron’s not known for being a touchy person. That’s how it was growing up, but recently, with you, you can’t help but wonder if that reputation no longer exists for him—at least not with you. He was constantly trying to have some part of his body against yours, but was that something you could read into? 

Your thoughts are interrupted when one of Ron’s aunts calls your name from somewhere across from you. “Are you single?”

You nod, taken aback. “Waiting for the right person to come along.” 

“Well, if Ron isn’t going to do anything and give you an honest life, I have a few children and nieces and nephews who can and will.” 

“Um, thank you.” You’re not sure how to respond to Ron’s aunt, but you look toward the man in question, trying to see what his reaction will be. 

He gives you a small, courteous smile, a smile he never uses with you, a smile he only reserves for those he doesn’t want to talk to. He never uses that smile on you, but tonight, he did. “You can do whatever you want with your romantic life. We’re friends, right?”

Oh. 

“Right,” you reply, turning your head away from him and back to your plate. 

There goes that. 

The way you turned away from him made Ron’s heart drop. You’ve never turned away from him like that, so dejected. The normal fire and spirit you have with Ron disappeared. He watched the sparkle in your eyes die right there in from of him. But he doesn’t know where he went wrong. You’re allowed to do whatever you want; he will never try to control you. He was just telling his nosey aunt the truth. You’re friends, and you can date whomever you want—not that any of his cousins were good enough for you. 

The rest of the night continued, but a nagging feeling pulled at his heart as a deep pit opened in his stomach, and he had no idea where it came from. All he knows is that as he watched you help his mother with the dishes, the string on his heart pulled against him, warming his body in places he never knew possible. As he watched you do puzzles with his younger cousins, he couldn’t help the warm fuzzy feeling that he felt to the tips of his fingers. 

When you hugged him goodbye, he knew he never wanted to let you go. He wanted to hold you against his body forever—keeping you safe from the world. 

Ron couldn’t explain the agony in his body as he watched you walk to your car and drive away. 

Maybe he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with you. He wouldn’t mind making his life for you. 

Well, what does that mean? 

. . . 

Ron’s mother was at her reading club for the night, so Ron invited you over for dinner. He promised a “home-cooked meal, don’t give me that face,” and it excited you. Despite your realized feelings for the man, you can’t help but want to spend your time with him. You know that nothing will ever come of your feelings for Ron, but you can’t stay away from your friend. The happiness it brings you is indescribable. 

But you have an exit plan when you feel yourself getting too much in your head (and delusional) around Ron. 

Setting boundaries, you promised yourself. That was the only way you’d be able to spend time around him and not go crazy, breaking your heart. 

As Ron welcomes you into his mother’s home, the smells from the kitchen hit your nose, and you’re instantly warm and fuzzy as if you’ve been wrapped in a warm blanket. Once your coat and shoes are off, Ron takes your hand and guides you toward the kitchen, giving you a soft smile as he watches you walk through his childhood home. 

You’ve been down this hallway, seeing all the pictures of little Ron, many, many times, but there’s something different about it now for Ron. There’s a new meaning and feeling to it for him. 

But he just chalks it up to being happy that it’s finally peacetime. That he can enjoy moments like these without the fear of being bombed or killed. The people and things most important to him are safe. 

“Penne-vodka,” Ron answers when you inquire about what you’re making. 

Your favorite, you think to yourself, trying to hide the toothy smile begging to be released. 

“Your favorite, right?” he asks, a small twinkle in the corner of his eyes. You give him a small nod, and Ron can’t help the triumphant, happy feeling deep in his chest. 

Ron turns back to the stove, stirring the pot, and you take the time to watch him cook. He’s different than high school, and as your eyes roam over his body, you’re appreciative of the changes his body has undertaken since graduating. The very good changes. 

“Have you talked to anyone from our graduating class since being back?” you ask after a few minutes of silence. 

“Not really,” he replies, short and to the point. “It’s not something I’m too keen on.” 

“Why’s that?” you question in between bites of bread.

He shrugs, ending the conversation there. 

Right, that’s Ron’s new thing. If he doesn’t want to talk about something, he’ll shut down. These conversations only happen on his time—which means never. While you understand that some topics may be too difficult for him to talk about, you wish it wasn’t so hard to talk with him. Often, you were the one who was starting the conversation, pretty much begging for Ron to say something. You knew he was engaged in the conversation because he maintained constant eye contact, laughed at your jokes, smiled at the appropriate times, and nodded when needed. But it felt like you were the only one who made an effort to talk. Sure, Ron was a quiet person, but there’s a difference between being a quiet person and letting the conversation be one-sided. 

Besides, it was you. If Ron couldn’t talk to you, then he couldn’t talk to anyone. Or was it that he wouldn’t talk? 

Why did it hurt you that Ron kept his words hidden and tucked away from you? You were supposed to be one of the people he trusted the most, so why couldn’t he untuck those words with you? 

As you help Ron set the table to eat, you recall the time a few weeks back when you went to Ron’s for a family dinner. You remember that he didn’t say anything really to his relatives. While that made you feel slightly better, it didn’t fully appease your feelings. At least you knew that it wasn’t just you that he held back with, but then again, it was you, and there was no change.  

As the meal continues, you put your confusion and doubts to the side. It didn’t matter his lack of talking or conversation because the safety, comfort, and warmth you felt around Ron significantly outweighed the talking issue. Even if you only got friendship out of him, you knew that you couldn’t go the rest of your life without the way he made you feel. 

He made you feel safe and loved (even if platonically), and that by far was one of the most important things to you about finding a partner—romantically or platonically. 

The rest of the night passed in quiet moments and short conversations, but it was never awkward. That’s how Ron was. There was no need to compensate for the lack of conversation because the quiet wasn’t awkward. It was secure and calm. It was the kind of quiet that came from years and years of learning and growing around the person you loved. 

Well, shit, you chose to ignore that. 

When it was about time for you to head home, you began to voice a goodbye, and Ron led you towards the front door where he helped you put on your coat. 

“Wait, hold on,” Ron says as you’re putting on your shoes. “I have something for you.” 

He quickly makes his back to the kitchen and comes back with a tray of food. You already had a large container filled with leftover Penne vodka, so you’re confused about what he was now handing you. 

“I made you mac and cheese,” he tells you softly, the cheeks and the tips of his ears tinged red. “You can either put it all in the oven at once, or heat up chunks separately. I don’t know why I told you that because I’m sure you know how to cook for yourself. Anyway, I’ll help you take it out to your car.” 

You can’t help the silly smile that takes over your face. You try to fight it, but the smile is there if Ron’s reddening face is any indication. You’ve wanted this boy to talk to you, and by the time you finally get him to say more than two sentences to you, he’s a stern, babbling, blushing mess. It was cute.

“Thank you, Ron,” you tell him, the smile heard in your voice. He nods and makes his way to put on his shoes and walk you to your car. 

With the food and leftovers securely placed in your backseat, you and Ron linger at the driver’s side door. You’re leaning against the car as Ron stands close to you, towering over both you and the car. His eyes are searching your face for any indication of what to do next. 

“Thank you for having me and cooking for me,” you finally say. You didn’t want to leave, but it was getting late, and his mother will be home soon. 

“You’re always welcome here,” he tells you, his eyes sincere and honest. You nod. Without thinking, you lean forward and briefly kiss Ron on his cheek, your lips burning when you pull away, but it’s not any comparison to the way his cheek burns around where you kissed him. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the way Ron’s hand stiffens into a fist as he processes what just happened. His breath is shaky and fast as you pull back, and his eyes are in a daze. 

This time, you’re able to hide your smile as Ron’s face turns crimson red. 

“I’ll see you soon,” you tell him, unlocking your car and getting ready to leave. “Good night.” 

Ron stands there in a daze as you drive away, too confused to move. He’s standing there, unsure of what just happened and why his body reacts the way it did. 

When his mother returns home almost twenty minutes later, Ron is still standing there. 

“Is everything okay?” she asks as she walks over to Ron. That seems to mostly pull him out of his daze. 

“She kissed me,” is all he says, and his mother smiles. 

“You’re a lucky guy.”

He nods. “Very lucky.” 

If only he could control his body temperature and heartbeat then maybe he’d be able to figure out what just happened. 

. . . 

“Do you remember Arden from middle school?” you prompt, your heart tugging at the meaning of your words. 

Ron thinks for a moment, his thumb drawing circles around your ankle. You’re sitting on the couch in the living room of his mother’s home. She’s out, so you feel comfortable resting against one of the armrests, your feet in Ron’s lap. You’re reading a book. The minute your legs rested in Ron’s lap, he placed his arms on your ankles, tracing small patterns, leaving trails of fire in his fingertips’ wake. 

“Yes,” Ron voices, his tone neutral. He doesn’t know where this is going, but if it’s going where he thinks it’s going, he’s not going to appreciate it. 

“They asked me out,” you say after a few moments. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Ron asks, terser than you expected. You’re taken aback by his response. 

“Because you’re my friend—one of my best friends—and we tell each other things,” you reply. “Well, at least I tell you things.” 

“What does that mean?” Ron asks, him now taken aback. 

“It means you don’t tell me anything. I know nothing about your life since we finished high school, and what I do know, your parents have told me. It’s not fair for me to be the only one to share things! I don’t exist as a form of entertainment for you.” 

“That’s not fair.” 

You know it’s not entirely fair. 

“I don’t have to share what the war was like for me,” Ron spits back. But that’s not what you’re referencing, and deep down, you know that he knows that, too. 

“It’s not just that,” you reply. “I’m not talking about that. You’re not required to tell me anything about your time in the war, and that’s not what I’m asking for. There’s so much more to your life that you choose not to tell me about. It’s not fair or right that I’m an open book, and you take it all in, not giving anything back in return.” 

“Don’t do that.” 

“You know everything about me, and I know pretty much nothing about you, and I’m tired of that.” A deep sigh leaves your mouth. “You don’t need to tell me everything, but I shouldn’t be disappointed in the lack of open communication between us. It’s as if you don’t trust me.”

“How can you say that? I trust you more than anyone else in this world!” Ron hears the rise in the volume of his voice. He leans back on the couch, trying to stop himself from yelling because you’re right. He doesn’t share much with you. As much as he wants to share with you, he can never get himself to say anything, and it’s not just about the war. He’s holding back; he knows he is. 

“I’m going to leave.” 

“No, please, don’t,” Ron pleads. Despite this, he releases his hold on your ankles. He won’t hold you back despite how badly he wants to. 

“You have no idea how much you mean to me, Ron.” It’s a thinly veiled confession of love, and you know Ron picks up on it, but you know he won’t say anything or give you a response.

“What makes you think I want that?” So, he was going to address it, but it still got you fuming. 

“I don’t! That’s the whole point! You don’t talk to me, so I have no idea what’s going on in your mind! I don’t want to waste my time, but I don’t want to spend my time with anyone else but you!”

You’re staring at him, begging for him to say something, anything. If he told you it was all in your head, you’d believe him. All he needed to say was anything, but you know he won’t. That’s not the kind of person Ron is. He has his walls up; he always has. The war only reinforced them, and while you can’t blame him for keeping things to himself, you can’t help but feel that your worth in his eyes diminished because of his lack of want to share. It’s almost as if you don’t mean as much to him as he means to you. It’s as if you’re more invested than he is in this relationship—platonic or romantic. 

It’s not fair to think those thoughts, but he’s not saying anything to you. He’s not making you feel any better. If he really cared for you in any way, he would say something, right? Ron’s perceptive. He very likely has a clue to what you’re feeling, but you also know he won’t say anything. He stays away from uncomfortable conversations because he isn’t comfortable having them. 

“I’m going to leave, now,” you finally decide. “It’s not fair for me to keep hanging around when I clearly don’t mean that much to you.” 

“You’re wrong,” Ron spills, reaching out to gently grab your hand. You know that he could have held you tighter, but he didn’t. That makes your heart melt, despite the conclusions you’re gathering tonight. He’s giving you the ability to walk away. 

“Tell me why.” You’re looking deep into his eyes, and you want to read into all the looks he’s giving you, but you won’t. Not anymore. 

A few minutes pass where you’re looking at him, silently begging him to say something. 

“I’m leaving now. Please don’t contact me unless you genuinely understand where I’m coming from or why I’m doing this.” With that, you shake your hand out of Ron’s hold, walking away from him, your heart breaking with every step you take. 

As he watches you walk out the door, fuming in anger, confusion, and frustration, Ron can’t help but wonder if he let the best love of his life walk away forever. 

. . . 

A few days pass, and Ron feels a deep aching in his soul. He watches the phone for hours, begging and hoping you’ll call. He knows you won’t call. He knows the cards are in his hands. That doesn’t mean he knows what to do. 

Well, he knows what to do, but he doesn’t know if he’s capable of carrying it out. 

Ron doesn’t know where to start. 

There’s so much of what you said that’s bothering him, but he can’t tell why it’s bothering him. Maybe it’s because of the way your words pierced a hole through his heart, but then again, there are so many other feelings and things that only came out in his heart, mind, stomach, and body whenever you were around. Are those things connected? 

The first thing that made his blood boil and had Ron seeing red was the idea of you going on a date with someone. In theory, the person who asked you out (they who shall not be named) isn’t objectively a bad person, but Ron just doesn’t want you with them. Why would you spend your time with they who shall not be named when you can spend your time with Ron? He doesn’t understand why he’s feeling this angry about you spending your time with someone else. 

It’s a date, Ron tries to reason with himself. I can’t give that to her.

But could he? 

Those thoughts ran through his mind one night at 2 am when Ron couldn’t fall asleep. Could he give you all of your wants and desires romantically? Could he find it in himself to give you a life with more than just friendship? Objectively, Ron knows that out of all the people in the world, you’re the best option to build a life with, and you’re the only person Ron knows he can handle. But that’s not fair to you, to be the last resort (or is it the best resort? Ron hasn’t gotten there, yet.) or someone to “handle.”

The thought of spending the rest of his life with you freaks him, but it also comforts him. Who knew someone could feel both at the same time? Is this what it means to love someone? 

Once he has that singular thought, your other comments spring up in his mind, pushing away any thoughts of love. 

It’s not fair or right that I’m an open book, and you take it all in, not giving anything back in return. 

The war broke Ron. He was already broken, but the war broke him in ways that he never knew he could break. He’s so broken that he couldn’t imagine subjecting you to that. But that’s my decision to make, Ron, he could hear you saying if he voiced those words to you. And imaginary-you is right. It’s intimately clear that you know what you’d be getting when it comes to Ron, and it would be your choice to choose to make a life with him, but he doesn’t want to hurt you. He knows he can prevent that pain if he keeps you at arm’s length. 

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Ron doesn’t want that. He wants you as close to him as molecularly possible. He wants to stay away, but he can’t. That’s the effect you have on him. 

He thinks he has it all figured out, and then he remembers the pain in your eyes as you walked away, and when you said,

It’s not fair for me to keep hanging around when I clearly don’t mean that much to you.

He’s already hurt you. By not having the capacity or the ability to tell you just how much you mean to him, he hurt you. You think you mean nothing to him when the truth is the exact opposite. You are his entire world, the reason his heart keeps beating, and the reason he takes a breath. But it’s gone. 

He’s never going to be able to tell you how much you mean to him. He’s never going to tell you how much he loves you.

That thought scares him but also excites him. He’s always been so afraid to think that of himself, but when it’s connected to you, it’s okay. He loves you and knows he’s not good at loving, but somehow, loving you is much better than anything else. He knows that because it’s you, he’ll find a way to fix his shit and be the best possible person for you. But he knows that you won’t let him go and you won’t let him fall. Loving you is the best thing he can do because he found someone who will hold on with their entire being, and Ron knows that he’ll hold onto you with his entire being. 

Loving you means that he takes those scary steps in opening up and being vulnerable. For so long, it was ingrained in Ron’s mind and survival that he couldn’t be vulnerable. Now, he’s learned that in some instances, it’s important not to be vulnerable, and in other circumstances, it’s okay to be vulnerable and open. Being vulnerable is okay because there’s someone there who will take your vulnerability and build a wall around you to the point that you’re safe and comfortable. 

And Ron knows that person is you. 

You’ll take his fragility, emotions, and vulnerability and make it your own. You’ll protect him and love him, and you won’t hurt him because he chose to be fully himself around you. 

Because that’s what love does. 

Love cures. Love protects. Love endures. But most importantly, love loves. 

Ron loves you. 

He loves you. 

He loves you so wholly that he wants to spill his entire world right at your feet. He wants to lay everything at your feet, but he knows it will take time and patience. He knows that you’re that person who will let him get there, and he knows that he’ll love you for it and make it worth your while to give him the time and the way to be vulnerable. 

For a moment, Ron’s scared that maybe he lost his chance with you, but then he remembers something you said that struck him deep in his heart, not knowing the effect it had: 

I don’t want to waste my time, but I don’t want to spend my time with anyone else but you!

He knows it’s not guaranteed that you’ll let him back in your life, but he knows he has a small chance. He knows he has a small chance to tell you how much he loves you and to show you that he’s worth it. He’s worth taking a risk for because you’re worth taking a risk for. 

You’re worth everything to Ron, and it’s about time he finds the words to tell you. 

Maybe all he needs to start with is three little words.

. . . 

“You’re right,” Ron blurts out, barely letting you open your door. 

“I mean, yeah, but why do you say that?” you say, a small smile on your face despite the conversation you both had a few nights ago.

“That it’s not fair of you to be the only one to share things. I’m not ready to tell you everything, and I don’t know if I ever will be able to tell you some parts of what happened to me, but I want to try. But you’re right, there’s so much more to that than just the war, and it’s not fair of me to have made you feel lesser because I’m not emotionally capable of telling you things or being the person you needed me to be. ”

“Ron—” 

This was everything you wanted him to say to you, but does it change anything?  

He shakes his head. “If I want to be with you and make a life with you, I shouldn’t be a ghost to you. I shouldn’t be someone you know nothing about.” 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re uncomfortable with,” you attempt to reassure. “That wasn’t the point.” And that was the truth. 

Ron nods, and a small smile tugs at his lips. If only he knew the things he could make you do with just that small smile. “I’ve always been afraid of people knowing too much about me, but I guess the part of falling in love is learning to trust the most important person in your life, and I trust you. I trust you. I want to tell you all the words that are building up in my mind because you’re the only person I want to share them with. I have so many words built up in my mind that it feels like my body will explode. I never wanted to try with anyone else, but you make me want to do better and be better. Even if this goodbye, I’m still going to make an effort for all the people that matter in my life.” 

“If it feels like your body is going to explode, maybe you should go to the doctor. That can’t be a good sign.” 

A chuckle of disbelief leaves Ron’s mouth as he shakes his head. 

“What?” you question. No response follows. Ron gently grabs your upper arm and pushes you into your home as he lets himself inside. Gently and with reluctance, he lets go of your arms and shoves off his shoes. 

“I tell you I’m in love with you and I trust you, and the only thing you got from that was maybe I should go to the doctor?” 

“Oh, oops.” 

“Yeah, oops,” Ron mocks, one of the widest smiles you’ve ever seen stripes his face. “I’m falling in love with you, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me, and you never were going to lose me.” 

He shakes his head. “You really know how to make a man’s heart weaken and emasculate him. But I guess I deserve this bit of agony and anguish.”

“I’m not doing anything!” 

“I’m telling you I love you, and you keeping skipping over that part.” 

“Because you keep saying things that warrant my more imminent response!” you defend.

“You’re doing it again,” Ron points, stepping towards you. 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“I’m going to try something,” Ron teases. He’s never teased you before. That was new; it was a new tone to his voice that you wouldn’t mind hearing for the rest of your life. 

“What’s that?” your voice shaky. You can’t tell if he can hear you over the rattling of your heart, but by the twinkling in his eyes, you know that he’s in complete control, hoping to elicit a response from you. 

“I love you.” 

It takes a few seconds for you to register what he’s saying. A few blinks help your visual field clear up. Those three little words wipe the air out of your lungs. The ringing in your ears matches the beat of your heart as you process those three little words. For so long, you’ve been waiting for Ron to utter those three words. You didn’t want to be the first one to say those words. He’s so incredibly guarded that you weren’t sure if you were making up how you felt or how he felt, but now you know. You’ve been waiting so long to hear him finally tell you those three little words, and you have no idea what to do next. 

“Hey,” Ron whispers, gently lifting your chin to match his eyeline, taking you out of your thoughts. “What’s going on in your mind? Did I say the wrong thing?”

“What—what did you say?” Your breath is shaky, words finally leaving your lips. 

“Do you promise that if I say it again, you promise not to silently spiral?”

“No.” 

Ron chuckles. “Fair enough.”

A few seconds pass. You’re looking deep into his eyes. You want to say it to him, but you’re unsure if you dreamed it. But also, the way he said those words, his voice deep and husky did so many things to your body that you needed to hear it again. 

“I love you.” A small, nervous smile tugs at his lips as he looks at you expectantly. It takes you a few seconds to get your bearings straight, but when you do, a wide smile overcomes your face, and instantly, Ron knows you’re on the same page as him. In a matter of milliseconds, Ron pulls you against his chest, nuzzling his face against your neck, taking in deep breaths, laced with your calming scent. He’s whispering small “I love you”s into your neck as your arms find their way around his shoulders, your fingers creeping into his hair. 

Despite wanting to be in his embrace for the rest of your life, you pull back slightly, your nose resting against his. “I love you,’ you whisper, wanting so badly to close the gap between your lips and kiss him. 

“You have no idea how much I love you,” Ron replies, his lips brushing against yours. It doesn’t take much for you both to lean in, closing the gap, resting your lips on each other’s. It’s a soft kiss, hesitant and scary. There are still things that need to be sorted out, but right now, things are alright. Things are okay. The basis and the foundation are there. 

You love each other. Without that, nothing else matters. With that, you and Ron can build and develop things from there. With love, all the hidden words will no longer be tucked away, slowly finding their way to the surface. 

The future is uncertain, and there’s no telling if this will work out. But because you and Ron love each other, everything and anything is possible. With love, the future is endless. 

Fin.

Likes are appreciated; reblogs are better

[noneedtoamputate]

I was getting ready in my bathroom this morning. "I bet Ron Spiers is a beer-in-the-shower kinda guy," I thought.

I don't exactly know if these kinds of thoughts are normal, but I also know that I might have to write a fic featuring Ron having a beer in the shower.

[bleedingcoffee42]

Spiersmore is gonna be my top hottest ship cuz goodamm!these lads r driving me insane.More "unborthered smirk",his tall tanned stature..that mf is sexy af nd he knows it while spiers uughhhhs bro's eyelashes*chef's kisses* nd his pretty pretty face...more can get him all hot,bothered nd irritated aahhhhh.i need fics guys !!!!!plzzz atleast share more headcanon that will give me some relife too

So I've been thinking about the overlap of Malarkey and More. We see them the first time when Speirs walks through and More gives him backtalk about moving out and Malarkey is quick to say 'Do you know who that crazy MF is?' and we go through a D Day reeneactment.

Now this scene can be taken several ways:

A) Ask why the Dog company Lieutenant is passing through this batch of Easy soldiers and assume it's to check on someone. Someone being More. More who gives him shit for a look over the shoulder. In public. There is already something going on between these two. And the interaction shows us how More is, forward and with a little bit of bite, and liking that stern look he gets.

or

B) This is when More decides SpeirMore is his goal. He gives Speirs shit for not being their Lieutenant and trying to order them around and gets that look that sends tingles to all the right places. The lore only enhances this. While the boys say 'Fuck that guy', More is thinking 'I'm going to fuck that guy'.

And on Malarkey who refers to More as "More was a rugged John Wayne type, the son of a saloonkeeper in Casper, Wyoming." and "This time, our resident scrounger, Alton More." More stole that motorcycle they were riding around on from Utah beach, got it on an LST, and then made fake gas tickets to fuel it before riding it around Aldbourne. More. So while on these adventures I can see where we can go from Markley being "I see the devil himself in Speirs" to when they take the Eagles Nest and he's popping champagne to spook the Devil who just walked into a table. And that could be because his friend, who also like steal shit, is banging the guy.

And the competing looters being a couple? Yeah, I go for that.

The photo album is also a pivotal piece. It's used to spark an argument that More clearly enjoys. This comes after he's the only one who watches Speirs pistol whip Craver. More sees something even better about Sparky and goes for it. Needs something to really piss him off, so this is where he just steals from Speirs. It's an invitation to 'come and take it' and also a invite to go all the way to Wyoming after the war to hunt him down. This is when Tab quits, he's done. Done walking in on them, done listening to shit that carries out of the office.

The album ends up being a mess, probably should have open and honest about the things you wanted in the bedroom office instead of stealing haunted merchandise, but it is what it is. More ends up having to hide it in his cot and the seat of a Jeep to keep it from not only Speirs but the French who think they must have it because it has pictures of them surrendering. (Cue Ron mumbling 'Then don't surrender assholes'.) and in a checkmate bitch move, More enlists Winter's help to help him keep the album.

Dick makes him his jeep driver and now is involved in this theft ring/mating dance More has going on.

This is also fic fodder. Does Speirs throw in his lot with More because its now Easy vs the French or is Winters enough to hold that line and he is now challenged by trying to figure out where More is hiding it and how Winters is involved. (Bonus if he goes through Dick's footlocker and wonders why the hell there is a case of Vat in there.)

OR we go post war and hunt that man down in Wyoming. Dealers choice on whether or not that album is cursed.

Oh and the Western AU where More is the Rancher and this mysterious stranger from Boston walks into his town that isn't big enough for the both of them? Yeah, I could go for that too. Even better if he's cavalry and there to buy remounts for his company. Or get mounted, whatever.

[licensed-fan-girl]

Every time you reference Greek mythology in a Ron Spiers fic my heart grows two sizes!

can I maybe request intelligence officer x ron speirs?? this is like my favorite idea rn....love your work! <33

People-Watching vs People Watching

Ron Speirs x reader

A/N: Anon, thank you so much for the compliment, and thank you so much for trusting me to write this idea -- I had a lot of fun with it (mainly because I'm like halfway through with Fierce Valor and got to sprinkle in more Speirs facts hehehe). This doesn't really take place between or during any episode, and the mission referred to later in the story is made up. So if anyone is looking for historical accuracy, this isn't it lol. (The usual disclaimer: this is written for the fictional depiction from the show -- no disrespect to the real life veterans!) And I hope you enjoy, Anon, because intelligence officer x Speirs is SUCH a good concept 🕊️💖

Warnings: war, blood, guns, drinking, the usual HBOWar things

From across the pub, Ron can hear you laugh politely at something one of the other officers has just said. Reason dictates that he could take his drink and cross the room to join the crowd, but he keeps holding himself back. Instead, he takes another sip of his drink.

"Funny, I should have known that you would be a pensive drunk. But part of me hoped that you would be a loud, fun one instead." Across the table from him, Nixon smirks before taking a sip of his own drink.

Ron sits up a little straighter. "I'm not drunk."

"No, I know. I don't expect anyone will ever see the day that Ron Speirs lets down his guard in that way. I just meant that everyone else with a drink in their hand seems happy, but you don't."

There are arguments that Ron could make in response to that. But how to explain to someone as laid-back and extroverted as Lewis Nixon that he, Ron, is more of a reserved introvert who prefers people-watching to people watching? It's just his nature.

Across the pub, the group laughs again. Nixon's eyes flicker between it and Ron. "Oooh. Okay."

"What?"

Nixon leans back in his chair with a smile.

"What?"

"The new intelligence officer," Nixon says. "(Y/N). It's her, isn't it?"

Ron is thankful that, even with the alcohol that's starting to warm him from inside, he's always been good at keeping his emotions off his face, and that he's not prone to blushing. He's able to keep it cool when he asks, "What are you talking about?"

The captain in front of him just laughs. "Oh come on, Speirs. I'm an intelligence officer. It's my job to notice things. Don't deny it," he adds quickly. "Liking someone is nothing to be embarrassed about. Have you spoken to her?"

"No," Ron admits. He's not shy around girls. He's flirted before. But there's a war going on. And you're a fellow officer. There are probably rules against fraternization, and he would rather not find out what the consequence of breaking those rules is. So when Ron says he hasn't spoken to you, it's not because he's afraid to do it, but because he doesn't trust his heart not to betray him and convince him to put something above his duties in the war. Duties which, he reminds himself, he worked very hard for.

Not to mention the gnawing thought at the back of his mind that keeps telling him that he won't even survive the war.

A crease forms between Nixon's eyebrows as he mulls over Ron's short answer. "Well, are you planning to?"

"I would imagine that I'll have to speak to her at some point, as a fellow officer."

"Well, as a fellow intelligence officer, I talk to her all the time." His smile is cheeky. Even though he's inebriated -- but then again, when is he not? -- anyone could see the wheels turning in his mind as he forms a plan. "You want me to find out more about her, see if she likes anyone? You know, like a wingman?"

Ron almost scoffs. Studying at an all boys military school growing up deprived him of certain childhood experiences, but from what he heard his older sisters say about crushes and public school drama, this seems a bit like some silly high school romance idea.

"Gathering intelligence on a fellow intelligence officer," he muses instead. "That doesn't seem too smart, somehow."

Nixon twists his glass in his hand, eyebrows drawn as he looks towards you across the pub. "Don't worry, Ron. I'll figure something out."

Sometimes it's easier not to argue with someone who's drunk. Sometimes it's easier to let them think that they've won, and then be grateful in the morning when it becomes clear that they've forgotten everything from the night before.

"Sure thing." Ron downs the rest of his glass and stands, offering Nixon a nod before he heads off across the pub, straight for the door.

But behind him, a slow smile has started to creep across Nixon's face as he watches his fellow officer go. If Ron thought that he would get out of this with ease, he was sorely mistaken; it doesn't pay to underestimate Lewis Nixon when he sets his mind to something.

--

The muggy English morning clings to you as you make your way to headquarters. If you had to spend the day inside dealing with meetings and briefings, at least it was such an overcast one -- it would be a shame to waste a good day.

Inside, work is already in full swing as people dart about with coffee and paperwork, trying to set things straight before any of the morning's meetings. Sliding between people, you manage to grab a mug and fill it up with coffee.

"Ah, there you are (Y/N)!" As you take your first sip of your drink, the crowd parts and Nixon makes his way over to you, smiling broadly despite the early hour.

You offer him a salute, but he waves it off -- he might be an officer, but most of the time, the formalities don't bother him. It's nice to have someone like him in this new place to show you the ropes.

Nixon tilts his head, motioning for you to follow him. "I was hoping you would be in soon. We just received some very exciting orders, and I thought that you would be perfect for the job, if you're interested."

"Well I guess that depends. During Basic, I had higher ups convince us that scrubbing the latrine was very exciting, but personally, I don't think I would be too interested in doing it ever again."

The dark-haired man laughs as he leads you into a small office. He pushes some files aside to make room for his own coffee cup as he sits down behind the desk. "How would you feel about getting out of this stuffy building and out into the field?"

"Like you?" You ask. Some people preferred working the indoor intelligence jobs, but it had always been obvious from the way you looked longingly towards the door whenever other officers left their meetings that you would much rather be heading out to work intelligence head-on.

Nixon nods, his own smile growing as he watches your face light up. "It just so happens that we need a new intelligence officer for one of the companies. You'd get to be out in the field, and we could coordinate orders and intelligence between our companies. Now I know that it's not scrubbing the latrine, but it sounds pretty exciting to me." He raises his eyebrows. "Are you interested?"

"Of course."

"Wonderful. You'll be assigned to Dog Company, and working with their lieutenant."

Behind you, the door opens and shuts quickly as someone else enters the room, offering Nixon a salute.

"Ah, and here he is now," Nixon announces before you can even turn to see who has just come in. "(Y/N), I would like for you to meet Lieutenant Ronald Speirs -- the man you'll be working with in Dog Company."

--

Service before self, Ron keeps reminding himself whenever he's around you. Although it's getting harder to ignore the feeling that invades his chest whenever he looks at you.

But even with the constant mantra running through the back of his mind, it's become so easy to be around you. At first he hadn't been sure how he would feel about working so closely with an intelligence officer, but now it's hard for him to remember a time when you weren't around. You were never daunted by his demeanor, and something about the way you approached him -- or approached anything, for that matter -- impressed him. It didn't take long for him to learn to let walls down around you. It's refreshing; he feels like he's able to take off a mask that he didn't even know he had been wearing since the war had started.

Service before self, he thinks the first time you make him laugh. Service before self -- when he realizes how adorable you look when you're puzzling over reports, eyebrows furrowed and tapping a pen to a rhythm that only you can hear. Service before self -- when he glances at you during an officer's meeting and sees that you've been looking at him, only to quickly glance away when your eyes meet. Service before self -- the night that neither of you can sleep and he finds himself telling you his fondest memories of traveling to Scotland with his parents. Service before self -- a few days later after a skirmish, when the two of you have finished checking on the men and are checking in with each other, standing close, hearts beating fast; another step closer, your head tilting, and then him asking, "Can I - ?" Service before --

Self. Selfish? Ron wonders as your lips crash together in the long anticipated kiss. No. Not selfish; just a rearranging of priorities: you before him. You before anything and everything.

--

Even men made of legends and rumors can have trouble jumpstarting their day. Especially at three in the morning when he has been woken up by someone knocking on his door, announcing that he is needed for an urgent meeting.

Ron is good about waking up, being alert, being able to function. That doesn't mean that he likes it. He pours himself a cup of coffee as soon as he gets to headquarters, the smell of the morning elixir helping to coax his senses into action as he makes his way back to the office where he hears voices.

"And we're sure it has to be Easy?" He would know your voice anywhere.

"I wouldn't trust anyone else with this," Colonel Sink replies, voice just as action-ready as ever. "But the question is, who?"

"A good shot like Shifty Powers would be ideal," Winters says. Part of Ron is glad to hear that he also sounds a bit tired -- it means that Ron is not the only officer whose normal, mortal instincts are giving him a hard time this morning. When Ron steps into the room, only the other sleepy officer seems to acknowledge his presence.

"But he doesn't speak German," you say. "Who in Easy does? Just Liebgott and Webster?"

Colonel Sink nods. "What do you think of them?"

"If I may," Nixon cuts in. "Liebgott might get too trigger happy."

"So then just Webster?"

"No, Webster and Liebgott would balance each other out, I think."

Everyone's eyes turn to you, waiting for an answer.

"I know them both. I trust them both."

"But?" The colonel asks, sensing something in your voice.

You bite your lip, your eyes darting between the other officers as you think. "I think we would all know who I would prefer to come with me."

"But Speirs doesn't speak German."

At the mention of his name, Speirs' attention snaps from you to the rest of the room. If he had felt a step behind when he entered the room, now he feels like everyone else has taken off running, and he's stuck behind them in the dust.

Your face falls. "I know."

"Well, I think it's settled then." Colonel Sink offers you a fatherly pat on the shoulder before turning to the door, nodding to Speirs as he passes, and then taking his leave.

The lower ranking officers visibly relax the moment he leaves, a collective sigh of relief and disappointment surging through the room.

"I'll go get Liebgott and Webster so they can be fitted and briefed," Nixon offers. His eyes catch Ron's in the doorway and he nods.

You turn, finally seeing him for the first time. In a second, you're out of your seat and bee-lining towards him. A frown tugs at your lips and darkens your eyes. "I wish it were you."

"For what?" Ron asks. "What's going on?"

"You didn't hear?"

He shakes his head, watching your frown grow deeper with every second.

"I've been chosen to infiltrate the German line to gather intelligence."

--

Ron has never seen anyone look at themselves with as much hatred as Liebgott does when he puts on the German uniform and sees himself in the mirror. If Webster didn't already look like he was so uncomfortable that he wants to crawl out of his skin, then Joe's scowl and his muttering would dampen the already somber mood.

Webster swallows. "We look --"

"Like them," Liebgott spits.

"That's the point," Nixon reminds them. "It's got to be convincing. There can be absolutely no suspicion once the three of you cross their line."

The bathroom door swings open and you step out, looking just as uncomfortable as the Easy men. After seeing you in your paratrooper uniform the entire war, seeing you dressed like a German nurse is almost enough to take Ron off-guard -- which means that it will convince the Germans.

You balk at yourself in the mirror. "This feels . . ."

"Disgusting?" Liebgott offers. "Unnatural? Disagreeable? Excruciating?"

Webster lets out a low whistle. "Those are some big words, Lieb."

It's obvious that he's trying to lighten the mood a little, but Liebgott's scowl only deepens. "Not everyone needs a college degree to have a wide vocabulary, Web."

"Let's review one more time," Nixon suggests before the two have the chance to turn their spat ugly.

"We cross the German line," you say. "If anyone asks, we were POWs who escaped and are trying to find our company. We find their headquarters, take the maps of their routes to see where they're going next, and make it back here as quickly and safely as we can."

Nixon nods. "Good." He hands his men some convincing looking documents that will back up their story. He fixes Liebgott with a firm look. "Before you go, Winters wants to talk to you."

Everyone knows that he's going to be getting a warning about what will happen if he gets trigger happy while on the other side of the line, but for is sake, Webster heads out with him to receive a similar warning, even though no one is worried about bookish, thoughtful Webster acting impulsively.

Which leaves you and Ron alone.

"Hey." You nudge his shoulder, something that's not quite a smile pulling at your mouth. "Don't worry about me. I've got this. We've got this."

Ron nods. "I know. I just wish I were the one going with you. I would feel a whole lot better about the whole thing."

"Me too. But the war won't always let us get what we want."

"Don't say that." You're referring to the mission, but it makes him think of his own belief that he won't make it through the war. It's fine for him to think so pessimistically, he reasons, but you shouldn't have to. The war hasn't always allowed him what he wants -- hell, life in general hasn't -- but he's stubborn enough that he's going to at least try to make things go his way. He suddenly knows how Orpheus felt when he determined to bring Eurydice back from the underworld.

You glance at the door that the other men left through, making sure that there isn't anyone watching, and then you take his hand. "I'll see you when I get back."

"I'll be waiting as close to the line for you as I can."

"I know you will."

And then you kiss him, putting self over service one last time.

--

The first thing that Ron hears is the heavy footsteps and the panting of multiple people trying to catch their breath. He automatically raises his rifle, just in case.

The first thing he sees is the blood covering the front of your nurse uniform and staining your hands. Your hands, which are white-knuckling a small stack of folders, but all he can focus on is the blood. Beside you, he only just registers that Webster and Liebgott are okay -- sweaty and blood splattered, but alive and back on the American side of the line.

No one is behind you. At least you weren't pursued.

Ron swings his rifle across his back and is by your side in a second, his hands automatically turning into those of a medic, searching you for a wound. He takes in a breath, ready to call out for Doc Roe, praying he'll be in earshot when you catch his hands, leaving streaks of red behind.

"Ron."

"Where did they get you?" He can't see any sort of entry wound, but he continues to search anyway. "(Y/N), where were you hit?" He doesn't ask his most important question: who do I have to kill?

"Ron." You still his hands. "It's not mine."

He freezes. "What?"

"It's not mine."

Webster is quick to explain, "Someone in their headquarters got suspicious about her uniform. They asked why she was wearing American shoes. We tried to explain that they were given to her when we were POWs, but one of the commanders got angry, saying that she should never have accepted anything from the enemy."

"He started asking too many questions, wouldn't let us leave," you pick up, squeezing Ron's hands so he won't feel how they shake. "We did what we had to do, and we got out with what we could."

"Oh thank God." In his relief, even with Webster and Liebgott right there, he cups your face and kisses you like you've been separated for eternity. You over him. You before the world.

"Oh." He's vaguely aware of Liebgott and Webster sharing a look. "Well this explains quite a lot."

"I'm okay." You rest your forehead against Ron's, both of you breathing heavily. It's quiet, but you huff a small, teasing laugh. "I'd have hoped that you would have more faith in me than that, Ron."

"You know I do," he assures you. "I'm just relieved, is all." And then, for good measure, he kisses you again. This, he thinks, is only appropriate -- it's what Orpheus would have done had Eurydice returned to him.

Who cares if there are people watching?

[sweaterkittensahoy]

My intentionally slow-writing project: Ron and George as soulmates.

Of course the Foy attack is gonna be in it. I'm not an idiot.

The attack begins, and Ron spots George easily. He's up front with Lipton, the both of them keeping pace with Dike. Which is exactly as it should be. 

Until Dike ducks behind a haystack and seems to just…halt. 

"What the fuck?" Nixon mutters. 

"What is he doing?" Winters asks in a tone that reads as 'what the fuck' without him using the language.

Ron watches the snow and the dirt spit up from the ground due to enemy fire. He watches tufts of hay flick off the haystack where Dike is…he's cowering, Ron thinks. It's the only word for it. Even so far away, he can see George and Lipton are both clearly yelling, and Dike is…nothing. He's nothing. He looks like an empty shell of a man even as he gestures and yells in return. 

Ron is vaguely aware of Strayer yelling something at Winters, but all he can see is more hay flying off the haystack and George desperately shoving the radio handset at Dike. He can't feel anything from George right now, but he doesn't need the bond to know that George is angry and terrified. 

He's literally jerked out of his thoughts by Winters grabbing his sleeve and yanking hard. "Spiers!" Winters says, and Ron's entire body and mind snaps into soldier mode at the tone. "Get out there! Relieve Dike! Take that attack on in!"

So, that's what Ron does. He runs to the haystack and relieves Dike, then demands a sit-rep from Lipton. He spares a single glance to George, and for a moment, Ron can feel him again, a desperate relief and overwhelming adoration coiling through him. Ron sends back the same as Lipton explains they need to hook up with I-Company. 

So, that's what Ron does. 

I have no idea when this fic is gonna be done, and I'm not gonna start posting until the whole thing is complete. Trying to just let myself write for the enjoyment, and it's working so far. Getting a daily bit of work done, and it feels very nice.

(Also, this was gonna be Ron/George, but then my Lipton feelings got me, so it's gonna be OT3 by the end)

[howling-harpy]

Outsider POV fic: Spiers coming to easy and realizing that half of the company is queer but trying to hide it from him for fear that he is gonna kill them or something (if he were to low-key come out to put them at ease I would consider naming my firstborn after you) I love you and you work ❤️❤️

Word count: 1495

A/N: Lmao what a prompt! This speaks to my silly side. Thank you for the prompt and reading my stuff. <3

*

On the contrary to popular belief, Ron Speirs had excellent social skills. He wasn’t exactly what you’d call friendly, but he was quick to figure other people out and often used this to his advantage, and this was exactly what worried certain soldiers of Easy when he took command.

Sure, he was competent and they were glad to have him – professionally speaking. But as soon as he took command, he started evaluating his new subordinates with sharp, all-seeing eyes, and the experience was unnerving to say the least. There was no telling what he might do.

Harry just couldn’t make his mind about Speirs. He didn’t dislike him, he didn’t like him, and nothing in between fit either, solely because he couldn’t get a grasp of the man. He wasn’t the rule-abiding kind like Winters, but somehow managed to be less fun, and he was temperamental but not up to a play fight or a rousing conversation. Most often his face was blank, a cold mask that Harry couldn’t read, and sometimes he broke into a grin that somehow didn’t help the matter.

Most importantly, Harry couldn’t decide if the man was to be trusted or not. Harry was the kind who would take a bullet for his friends and take their secrets to the grave, but as much as Speirs was now a part of their group, Harry couldn’t tell if he would follow his lead on that one.

The thing was, Harry wasn’t sure if Nix and Dick knew that he knew. They certainly hadn’t talked about it, but there was a relaxed energy between the three of them, and Harry could sense an unspoken agreement they had all somehow formed. He didn’t make comments or tease them about women, and Nix and Dick sat very close to each other, sometimes with their arms resting on a backrest of a couch or a chair behind the other’s back, and all was well.

When Speirs joined them, Harry had to put a stop to that. He wasn’t sure if his friends were as careful as he felt they should be, and they certainly couldn’t talk about it either, so Harry found himself feigning off many close calls by jamming himself between Nix and Dick and loudly interrupting their word games when they threatened to take a flirtatious tone. Nix and Dick both gave him weird looks about it, but again, unspoken agreement, and Harry was busy staring Speirs down to really pay attention.

I dare you to try and hurt them, Harry said with his stare, but all he got back was one of those blank stares.

The legacy of Bill Guarnere lived on, and even if Martin approved of Speirs as their new commander and respected him as a combat leader, he couldn’t ignore the stories about him killing one of his own. Martin wasn’t so gullible as to believe every piece of gossip that came his way, but this one was just plausible enough to be a reason for concern.

“Take care of Babe for me, will ya?” had been one of the last things Guarnere had said to him before he was evacuated for good. “Keep him out of trouble he can’t handle.”

In Martin’s opinion Bill babied his best buddy way too much, but he had to admit that Speirs was trouble barely anyone could handle, let alone a chipper red-headed Philly boy who talked way too much and wore his heart on his sleeve.

Martin didn’t know what to do about it. His position didn’t hold much influence and he couldn’t exactly keep the sharp gaze of their new C.O. off one of the loudest soldiers of the company, but he could put himself between them. He tried to think what Bill had always done when Babe threatened to take things too far or give himself away with his sputtering and bright blush, but all he came up were things that were way too Guarnere for him. So what Martin was left with was his own stare and herding anyone who might be Babe’s type away from him.

After only a few weeks Martin knew he had failed. Speirs’ eyes followed Babe far too long, and Martin just knew that he had figured him out. All he could do at that point was to cross his arms and meet the captain’s stare head on, trying to communicate that to get to the beloved charge of his friend, anyone would have to go through him first. Speirs just looked back.

After getting divorced Lipton had been strangely composed. Luz had always imagined that being abandoned like that would be an experience that stopped the world on its tracks and shattered a person, or at least hurt them for a long time.

Lipton however had shrugged it off rather easily, but Luz wrote it off as a strange form of combat stress. The man had seemed almost relieved in some way, and then entered something of a workaholic phase. When Lipton recovered from pneumonia, his mother-henning found an entirely new gear as if he was trying to make up for the few weeks he had been down.

Luz was good with people. He loved people, and in his opinion the best thing in the army was that he got to meet all sorts of people he wouldn’t have otherwise ever crossed paths with, and Lipton was certainly one of those he was grateful for. The man had a strange streak to him, Luz had realized when they had become close, something private and hidden that only showed itself briefly in twilight hours, and his divorce had amplified that. Luz didn’t have the energy to judge, doubted he even wanted to, but rather thought it interesting. The army really called all sorts.

But his dear mother hen of a friend didn’t look after himself much, and Speirs was the fox that had sneaked into the henhouse.

What Luz had feared the most was that someone unkind would find out about Lipton, but that had already happened. He could tell it from Speirs’ keen, cold eyes that inspected Lipton, following him around, and Luz was discovering whole new depths of fear. What would happen now? Military police? But there was no proof. Some sort of a vigilante punishment? Would Speirs do that? He might. There was no telling what he could do.

Luz found himself staring at Speirs filled with anxiety. He didn’t know what to do, how he could help his friend or how to even warn him. Luz tried to figure out some sort of a battleplan, but all he could do was frown and stare and frown some more.

One day when Easy was loading the trucks and preparing to get on the road again, Speirs looked back. Luz jumped at the sudden eye contact but held it. Speirs’ eyes were stern and cold, and Luz couldn’t begin to tell what he was thinking.

To his surprise, Speirs seemed to sigh to himself and rolled his eyes. Luz hadn’t recovered from his confusion when Speirs turned away and gestured to someone in the crowd, and Luz found out who when Lipton jogged to him like responding to his beckoning gesture was the best thing he did today.

Speirs patted the pockets of his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, put one between his lips and said something to Lipton that Luz couldn’t hear. Lipton started to go through his own pockets, and after a moment fished out a lighter from the pocket of his trousers, then leaned in to give Speirs light.

The cigarette bounced between Speirs’ lips and forced Lipton to concentrate harder as the flame wouldn’t take. Without realizing it, Lipton leaned in closer, angling his body towards Speirs and bringing his hands closer to his face.

Speirs waited while obviously teasing, then leaned closer himself and suddenly took a hold of Lipton’s hand to steady it. He let the flame kiss the tip of his cigarette far longer than was necessary, his eyes looking at Lipton instead of their hands, and Lipton looked back, a smile rising to his face.

The moment took place right there in broad daylight in the middle of the entire company, and then it ended. Speirs let go of Lipton’s hand, Lipton took a step back, and the men regarded each other from a decent distance again.

Then someone called Lipton, he jolted awake from what had entranced him, and he threw one last look at Speirs before hurrying off. Speirs took a long inhale from his cigarette, truly savoured it, then suddenly looked back at Luz who had stared at the exchange as if hypnotized.

Speirs’ eyes were still cold, but now Luz detected something almost bored in them. Speirs lifted the cigarette to his lips again, quirked a brow and shrugged at Luz as if saying make of that what you will.

Luz did. He sighed in relief.

[finnobhair]

I’ve been rereading your Ron Spiers story and let me just say it is so well written and one of my favourite fics of all time. It’s like coming home after being gone for a long period of time. So I wanted to thank you for all the time you’ve spent on it. Have a great day🥰😘

My goodness - thank you so much for taking the time to tell me this.  I so appreciate it!!!  I’m so happy you like it and it’s treating you well.  Hope you have a great day too :-) <3

[typical-simplelove]

Peace in Chaos (R. Spiers)

Summary: When the jump into Normandy goes wrong, it feels like the end is right there, but then Ron shows up, and maybe things are okay now.

Author's Note: This is for @hbowardaily's short story exchange, and I've had the honor of writing for @hxad-ovxr-hxart. I had a blast writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading this!

Word Count: 982

Warnings: Explicit!female reader; canon typical mentions of war and D-Day (and it going astray); mentions of death

likes are appreciated, but reblogs are better!

In the haze and the exhaustion amidst the morning dew settling across the grass behind the beaches on Normandy, her heart couldn’t stop racing. There was a plan. She was supposed to land behind the beaches, and her unit was supposed to be right there. She’d have Luz’s familiar smile, Bull’s strong but steady presence, the leadership of Winters, and the friendship of so many others, but instead, she was walking around, without any ammo or supplies, alone, in enemy-infested France, away from any markers that she recognized. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. While she was trained in the event that everything went wrong, the training never went this wrong. There was always something there for her to lean on. Now, though, she couldn’t use any of that training to get back to where she was supposed to be. 

As she’s crouching down behind bushes and trees, in the grass, her uniform muddy and wet, she can’t help but wonder if this is where she dies. She doesn’t know if this is the way she’s supposed to be heading, but if she knows anything it’s that for every single second she spends alone out here, there’s a higher chance of her never finding her company or making it home. 

She had so much she wanted to go home to, so many people and opportunities and dreams. Really, though, there was only one person’s face she’d want to look at once more before she died, but at this rate, it wasn’t going to happen. He told her landmarks to look out for in the event she ended up near him, and she knew those as well as she knew her own landmarks and orders, but try as she might, she couldn’t get in the direction of him. 

As the sun slowly started to rise behind her, she only hoped she was still going in the right direction. No one would blame her for getting lost because after all, in war, things are always bound to go wrong. However, no one prepared them for when things went this wrong. At this point, as the smells of the early morning began to fill the air, she couldn’t help the tears that began to form around her eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, and she wasn’t supposed to be alone, fearful that a single bullet could go flying through the sky, striking her, fatally, at any moment. There was supposed to be someone with her; she’d rather have someone she loathed than be wandering and almost frolicking through the French countryside on her own. 

This is where it all ended for her, right? She’d be lost for the rest of her life, and when starvation and dehydration caught up with her, she’d be so far from any other American or Canadian or British or French troops that her dog tags would never make it home, and her family would never have any closure. She’d be labeled Missing in Action, presumed dead, and no one would know her demise. Her body would collapse, leaving her in a free-for-all for any German troops that might come across her. It wasn’t the ending she thought she’d have in this war, but it was the ending she knew was inching closer to her. 

She was supposed to be brave, the bringer of doom towards the Axis powers, but at this moment, she felt like a five-year-old, afraid of the dark. She always thought that she could manage to be alone for extended periods of time, and she’s done it before, but right now, all she wants is someone by her side, anyone. 

She doesn’t know how much more of this she can take. She’s considering giving up. 

However

The minute she decides to sit down and take a rest, she sees a figure walking toward her through the fog, the morning sun illuminating their features. Her senses and instincts creep in. Slowly, she begins to back up, her handgun ready to fire. If she’s going to go down, she’s going to go down fighting. 

As the body moves closer to her, she prepares her voice to yell out the code word. It’s been a while since she’s used her voice; her throat is dry from fear, anxiety, and dehydration, but she knows when the time comes, she’ll be able to use her voice. 

She doesn’t have to use the words, because the figure says them first. 

“Flash.” 

“Thunder,” is her automatic reply, but the relief she feels in her body is immense. Not only is it friendly, but she also recognizes that voice. That smooth voice comforted her in the highest points of her homesickness and pain during training. That voice was the one that was by her side during late-night walks at Curahee, and it was the voice that whispered in her ear at the movies on the rare chance she got a weekend pass. 

Ron. 

As he steps out from the fog and his eyes focus on her, she can’t help the sprint that overtakes her. She rushes over to him and launches herself into his arms. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his arms holding her tight to his body as he allows himself to feel. When he landed on his own, with no one in his company around him, his immediate thoughts went to her. If his landing didn’t go well, then it’s safe to assume hers didn’t either. While he knew she could take care of herself, he still worried for her, but that’s what happens when you love someone. 

For the first time in years, Ron felt safe because he was holding his entire world in his arms, and with his world in his arms, nothing could harm it–nothing could harm her. 

Amidst all the blood, pain, death, fighting, and war, they finally felt at peace in a world lacking peace. 

[typical-simplelove]

Train Ride to Paris (R. Spiers)

Summary: Ron is supposed to be this cold-hearted soldier, but on a train ride through the French countryside, a new side of Ron is introduced.

Author's Note: Ah! This is the first time I'm posting a Band of Brothers fic. I've been writing BoB fic for a while, but I've never felt ready to post it (unlike all my other fandoms). I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know what you thought!

Word Count: 969

Warnings: implied!female reader; canon-typical mentions of war and Axis powers (let me know if I missed anything)

likes are appreciated, but reblogs are better!

It was rare to get the chance to leave the front lines and have a weekend to yourself. Sometimes, it felt like the days muddled on, day after day, not knowing when the next batch of orders was going to come through. 

Ever since the Allied success at Normandy and the following measures to try to get through Nazi lines and into Germany, it’s just been one thing after another. However, one morning at breakfast, a weekend pass was slammed on the desk in front of you–Paris. You had been given the opportunity to spend the weekend’s forty-eight hours away from the constant reminder of the war, in a city full of love and laughter and excitement, recovering from the Axis onslaught. 

With your proper “outing” uniform, you boarded the train to take you to Paris, your nerves shot, wondering what would be awaiting you. All your life you dreamed of going to Paris, but you always thought you’d have a partner with you. It never dawned on you that you would be visiting the city of love by yourself. 

Halfway through the ride, your book half-open on your lap, your eyes and head watching the French countryside pass through the window, you hear a male voice clear their throat from behind you. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

You look up, enchanted by the roughness but also the soft tone this voice holds. A smile overcomes your face when you see who it is. “Captain Spiers.” 

A small smile is on his face as he echoes your name. “May I sit next to you?” 

“Of course,” you answer, moving your bag from the seat next to you on the floor, between your legs. 

Ron’s smile isn’t a smile per se. His lips don’t curl up as most other people smile; they remain still. It’s hard to tell if he’s smiling, but the minute your eyes land on him, you know Ron’s smiling. The smile lines that form around his face illuminate and make his eyes sparkle. As he sits next to you, placing his bag down, too, Ron’s giving you his version of a smile. You know you should be wary and nervous around this man, knowing all the rumors that circulate around him, but you can’t help it. You’re drawn to him–the warmth leaving his body feels like a warm blanket coupled with a fire during a blizzard. 

He’s not what the rumors say he is. You can just sense that he’s so much more than that, and honestly, he might not be any of those things. 

“Heading to Paris for the weekend?” he asks, his eyes still crinkling in his smile. 

“Yes, weekend pass,” you reply, “and you?”

He gives you a curt nod, the sun streaming in through the window illuminating his hair, giving him an almost ethereal aura. Who knew the guy everyone was scared of and could frighten even the strongest soldiers could be so beautiful? 

The conversation goes stagnant, Ron opting to lean his head back against the chair and catch some sleep as you pick up your book again. You try to read, but your thoughts are only on the man sitting next to you. Here was a man shrouded in mystery and danger, but he wasn’t oozing any of that. This man appeared to be full of compassion, kindness, and sincerity. He’s the exact opposite of the reputation he holds. 

Interrupting your thoughts, Ron remarks, “Thanks for letting me sit next to you. I wanted a familiar face during this train ride.”

“I’m familiar?” you say, your eyebrows quirking in confusion, honor, and awe. 

He nods, his smile returning to his face, but this time, the ends of his smile quirk up, and his cheeks turn a light rose color. “I remember seeing you around Curahee, running and training with Easy. By far, you were the best one amongst your company.” 

Snorting, you look at him, eyes wide in laughter, neck growing warm. “I know for a fact that that is certainly not the case.” 

“Well,” Ron begins, clearing his throat before he continues. “In my books and in my honest opinion,” you are the best soldier in this regiment. I might be biased, though.” 

“Biased?” 

“Seeing you around or having you around or thinking of you always warms my body but also procures a pinch–happy pinch–in my heart.”

“Oh,” you whisper, turning your head out the window, not sure how to respond. 

Ron nudges your shoulder. “You can’t imagine what it was like when I saw you on the train earlier. I was walking down the aisle, and I saw you; it took me a while to work up the nerve to ask to sit next to you. Lucky me.”

“I don’t know how to respond, Ron.” 

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know that I care about you a lot. I don’t fully understand the way I feel, but I’m looking forward to figuring it out. There’s, um, there’s nothing you have to do really, but I just, I just wanted you to know.” 

Your body is warm and inflamed. Who knew Ron had these kinds of words? You wanted to go back and tell your friends and defend the man they think he is, but you wanted to keep this to yourself. You want to see where this goes and where your heart can take you.

“Okay,” you reply, a soft smile on your face. Ron reaches his hand into your lap and links his pinky finger with yours and exhales, very deeply that it seems like it’s the first time he’s breathed in months. Now, you’re starting to feel that same warm, happy pinch in your heart that Ron described. Who knows what this weekend in Paris will entail?