#ronald speirs 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

[antigonenikk]

What it would actually be like to date various HBOWAR men (modern au):

by me and @guarnerepdf

Speirs:

-is a cokehead finance bro

-you wake up in the middle of the night to him watching you sleep with no explanation given, just an eery smile

-is gaslighting you for purposes unknown (moving your furniture one inch to the left etc)

-buys you the fucking tackiest expensive jewelry and designer clothes as random gifts but half of it is fake

-you justify staying because he takes you to NOBU but you’re afraid to google him

-malarkey keeps telling you he's a serial killer but he has such beautiful hair

-lipton keeps handing you domestic violence brochures when he thinks no one is looking. you throw them away because you want that fucking ugly gucci belt! and the staring is sort of charming after a while

-possibly has a secret child that he is hiding from you. you're not sure.

-the first time you have sex he chokes you without asking and is confused when you get mad at him over it.

-does coke while eating dry fruit loops cereal in the morning. somehow looks hot while doing it.

Liebgott and Webster:

-challengers level toxic throuple, these two come as a pair!

-liebgott is xanned out so badly on the regular that he does not remember the last time he washed his hands.

-lieb met bill and toye in rehab and now all his friends are undergrads even though he's going on thirty.

-lieb won't kiss you in the morning "goddamn it woman, brush your teeth" but will kiss webster no problem!

-lieb likes webster more, but web likes you more because you don't call him slurs and you let him rant to you about sharks.

-you and web unionize at some point to get liebgott back into rehab. when he's gone you realize your relationship is 200 million times healthier but also extremely boring. you take him back the minute he releases himself AMA.

-lieb cannot figure out how to work tiktok, meanwhile webster has 100k subscribers on youtube and does grwm story time videos.

-you once had to be driven home by babe from the gas station after lieb kicked you out of the car. the fight was because he didn't believe you when you said you were allergic to gluten. babe lets you play cinnamon girl by lana del rey on the way home.

-lieb keeps trying to weaponize therapy language against you, 'baby you're fucking gaslighting me!' webster just makes it worse when he tries to explain what the terms actually mean.

Bill:

-you start dating Bill after he steals you away from Babe. Babe was nice, but you got the ick immediately after realizing he's not the leader of the friend group.

-bill sends you disgusting dick pics with extremely poor lighting. you can see his bottle of lotion in the background.

-you think it's sweet that he brings flowers when you go out until you realize they're stolen from the neighbor's flowerbed.

-you have an extremely lavish jersey shore wedding that culminates in a horrible fight when he shoves cake in your face ruining your 400 dollar makeup (that you paid for) and your 2000 dollar dress (that you paid for). during your vows babe has to hold himself back from saying something when the priest asks if there are any objections.

-DIRTY fingernails! does not wash his hands. gives you a UTI but doesn't understand that it's his fault.

-Doesn't cheat but is always on the brink of it.

-Follows multiple swimsuit models on Insta, claims it's okay because 'sweetheart, listen, it's all on the screen!'

-Is so cheap he refuses to pay for extra sugar for your coffee, 'you've had it bitter before, babe.' you are ready to murder him. takes you to chili's and acts like it's a michelin star restaurant.

Talbert:

-cheats on you immediately. within the first week.

-sends you anonymous texts to get STD tested, too scared to actually go to the clinic but is certain he's dying of syphilis.

-cries to lip for an hour when you leave him for speirs.

Gale Cleven:

-'sweetheart. are you really gonna wear that out to dinner? it's a bit...well... risque.'

-accuses you of being an alchoholic every time you drink, but Bucky has done four Jeagerbombs tonight and isn't getting any lectures. Also. Why is Bucky with you two on your date night?

-is straight but keeps stringing Bucky along because he reminds him of his father and for narcissism reasons.

-marge messages you on facebook to warn you about him, and also to sell you on her new MLM scheme.

-bucky keeps giving you mean little grins as he hangs off your man....you are very close to murdering him.

-you finally leave him after he calls you daddy in bed. not mommy. but daddy.

Bucky:

-gives you chlamidya three weeks into dating. gaslights you into thinking you got it from sitting on a public toilet seat.

-drives drunk while you're in the passenger seat, goes above 90 and almost kills the both of you.

-is in love with gale and you both know it but refuses to talk about it.

-laughs when you start crying over your new STD diagnosis.

-is the worst boyfriend in the entire world. do not date this man!

Leckie:

-cheats on you with vera, but has a jealous meltdown everytime you talk to hoosier at house parties. you were literally just asking the man for a lighter.

-hoosier is stirring shit up for shits and giggles. he keeps liking your thirst trap insta photos, commenting 'photo cred'

-cries when you confront him about cheating. writes a poem to you about how badly hurt he was by the whole situation. says he only did it because that's how he was raised! no one taught him how to love properly!!

-exploits his family trauma at any given opportunity, shameless about it

-writes you sweet yet cringy love poems

-chuckler keeps trying to warn you but is so awkward about it that you just end up super confused

-blows up the minute you try and critique his writing

-tells you you're acting 'just like you're mother!' during arguments

-eventually you break up because you cheat on him with hoosier and he cheats on you again with vera

Hoosier:

-completely emotionally unavailable

-laughs at you in the middle of a fight, then when you storm out he stares at the wall for four hours straight. no blinking. no moving.

-goes to chuckler thinking he's dying because he has a 'weird feeling in his stomach.' the feeling is literally just a crush.

-catches leckie flirting with you. doesn't cause a scene but DOES immediately cheat on you as a retaliatory action. has no idea why you're mad about it.

-determined to hurt you before you hurt him.

-somehow makes you think you're in the wrong due to the sheer FORCE of his conviction that it was okay for him to cheat on you.

-you two break up but get back together after having a baby. the baby is possibly not hoosier's but he's a genuinely good father. (the baby very obviously has leckie's face. no one is fooled.)

-during your wedding ceremony leckie has to be thrown out after making the worst best man speech of all time.

-parent teacher conferences are a nightmare because your child is biting the other kids and is failing all her classes. hoosier blames you for not helping her with her homework. you all go out to souplantation afterwards and he keeps dropping barbs about you being a dumbass.

-the two of you stay married for 40 beautiful years before dying of old age. within those 40 years you separate and get back together a total of 5 times. leckie somehow outlives you both.

Luz:

-is sweet and lovely and handsome and makes you laugh a lot but

-you're banned from six movie theatres, three bars, the pier, disneyland, and a froyo shop

-you don't even LIKE froyo but the fact that you can't fucking go there anymore is driving you up the wall

-you got kicked out of disneyland because he got into a fistfight with donald duck

-his mother HATES you. she is the ultimate boy mom. they are constantly talking about you in Portuguese behind your back. she wears white to your wedding.

-cannot go grocery shopping because he's stopped every five feet by some old acquaintance. you have no idea how he knows any of these people!

Eugene:

-you're his beard but he doesn't know it

-is the ideal gay boyfriend/husband

-buys you flowers and takes you out on beautiful dates. cringes when you try to kiss him

-everything would be PERFECT except snafu keeps creating dummy accounts to harass you, drives by your house at all hours of the night, and you're pretty sure he's planning to SWAT you.

-eugene has no idea why you hate snafu? he's such a sweet guy!

Babe:

-you're a bit embarrassed to tell your friends you're dating him....he's sweet but just so dorky

-almost puked on you after taking a dab at bill's house. you had to comfort him for ten minutes

-long suffering angel who you cheat on because you know he's just too good for you.... better to hurt him before he leaves you first!

-is popular on tiktok somehow. you have no idea how this happened but it did

[awaterfalls]

Speirs and Lieb are definitely Louis 🤪

[mads-weasley]

Summary: After (y/n) signs up for the WAC's Athena Program, she joins the war with Easy Company, unaware of how much her life will change over the next few years.

Enchanted

Out of the Woods

Haunted

Evermore

Breathe

Daylight

Paris

You Are In Love

Lover

State of Grace

Labyrinth

You’re On Your Own, Kid

Forever Winter

Soon You'll Get Better

Right Where You Left Me

Castles Crumbling

Innocent - currently on break!!

epiphany playlist

message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list!!

[maximoff-pan]

Follow up to my last post:

Okey so I’m definitely thinking of writing some band of brothers fics… Who would you guys like to see me write for first?

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Ronald Speirs x Valerie Harmon - Medieval AU

Honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago Idealism sits in prison, chivalry died on it's sword Innocence died screaming Honey, ask me, I should know I slithered here from Eden, just to sit outside your door

Tagging the Ron x Val enjoyers @xxluckystrike @dcyllom @mads-weasley @yentroucnagol @b00ks1ut @linhkhanhcps

[mccall-muffin]

Panic // Ron Speirs x Reader

Summary: The war is almost over, and with your company you just occupied the Eagle's Nest in Berchtesgaden. But as the war comes to a close, PTSD is starting to show its face. Luckily a handsome Captain is there to save you.

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Drinking, Slight a panic attack

A/N: This one is for the lovely @brassknucklespeirs! I hope you like it! Requests like this, makes it interesting to write, tbh! Take care of yourself and stay put!

May 4, 1945 - Eagles Nest, Berchtesgaden, Germany

Cautious and on guard, you walk through the corridors of the Eagle's Nest. You know that Hitler is dead and probably no one else is here, but you can never be too careful. Malarkey, Chuck, Popeye, More, and Ron are looking around downstairs, but you've decided to look at the upper floors. The ostentatious hallway is impressive; you have to admit.

With your gun raised, you open the door to your left. A vast room appears behind it. When you've made sure no one is here, you lower your gun before going to the window. The view up here is simply breathtaking. When you suddenly hear footsteps, you pull out your gun again and point it at the door. As Ron comes through it, you breathe a sigh of relief, and he raises his hands defensively. "Here you are," he then says, and you lower your gun. Without another word, you turn back around and look out the window.

Ron takes a few steps closer to you. "What are you doing here?" he asks, standing next to you. "It's incredible, isn't it?" you ask, ignoring his question. "How can such a cruel man have possessed such a beautiful thing," Ron says nothing but stands silently beside you. "You could almost forget the terror," you whisper, letting your gaze wander over the mountains.

"Come on. We found something you'll like," Ron says, and you follow him out of the room. Downstairs, you quickly notice what he meant. The boys have already grabbed a few bottles of champagne and are chatting happily. "Here, lieutenant," Malarkey then says, holding out a bottle to you as well. "Hitler's personal champagne stash?" you ask, looking amused at Ron, who also toasts you with a bottle.

It doesn't take long for the others to make their way up. You sit on a lounger with Harry, Nix, and Ron and celebrate. As the three men talk boisterously to each other, you how something slowly squeezes your chest, and you almost can't breathe. You stand up and walk through the stone passage. "Where are you going?" Harry calls after you. "I'll be right back."

When you are alone, you let your eyes wander over the mountains, and sadness and slight panic overcomes you. You look at the bottle in your hand and notice your breathing quicken. 'That goddamn alcohol,' you think, putting the bottle away before rubbing your face.

Again and again, images flash before your eyes. Images of soldiers dying, be it your own or the enemy's. The panic inside you grows wider and wider. More and more faces appear before you. Faces of those you have killed. They will probably haunt you all your life. Then you see Julian before you again, lying bleeding in the snow, his hand outstretched for you to save him, but there was nothing you could do. You had to leave him behind. Then Jackson, lying on the table, begging Doc not to let him die, but there was nothing you could do for him either. They were so young.

You put your hand on the stone pillar to keep your footing. Meehan, Dukeman, Muck, Penkala, Hoobs. They will all never come home again.

"Y/N?"

The sound of your name snaps you out of your thoughts. You look up, and standing in front of you is Ron, who has a thoughtful crease on his forehead as he eyes you. He walks up to you and then stops in front of you. His eyes are slightly glazed over, and you can tell immediately that he is also slightly drunk. Carefully, he raises his hand before stroking your cheek with his thumb. You didn't even notice that tears were running down your cheeks in your panic attack.

Ron's gaze is still on you, and you look into his blue eyes. "I don't like it when you cry," he says to your surprise. "I didn't mean to cry," you speak with a sigh. "It's just... This place tempts you to think." You turn away from him slightly and look off into the distance again. "You're right about that," is all he says, and you look back at him. His gaze is still on you.

"What were you thinking about?" "The ones we lost. The ones who will never get home... Sometimes it just... pops up," you say softly. Then you hang your head. "It's not fair." You feel Ron's finger under your chin as he forces you to look at him. Tears burn in your eyes again.

"You're the strongest woman I know; you know that?" Surprised, you look at him. "You stood your ground in a world of men. You survived D-Day, Carentan, Market Garden, Bastogne and Haguenau. You've witnessed the horror of war firsthand. You led the men and fought with them, and you're still standing here." Ron never ceases to amaze you. It's probably the alcohol because you've rarely heard him speak so much at once.

He puts a hand on your cheek again. "You're strong. Don't doubt it because of a few tears. When this is all over, we don't know what will happen. We will have time and think about what we have experienced. We'll have time to mourn those we've lost."

Ron's finger gently strokes your lower lip. "But more importantly, we'll have time to cherish the people we care about."

You're speechless. It's like you're seeing Ronald Speirs for the first time. The first time you really seen him. You swallow, and your heart begins to beat faster. Suddenly, Ron's lips are on yours. You feel the fine stubble of his beard brush against your skin and put your arms around his neck to pull him closer. Ron kisses you passionately before lifting you up and setting you on the stone ledge. His hands run over your sides, and you run your fingers through his hair.

For a moment, Ron stands between your legs, and you kiss. As you pull away from each other, you gently push him off of you. You bite your lip and can't suppress a smile that creeps onto your face. Ron eyes you and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. "I uh..." you begin, "I didn't know..." "You weren't supposed to," he says, and you look at him, slightly confused. "I was going to tell you, but not until it was all over. We can't afford to get distracted. We have a job to do," he then says. "And why now?" you ask. "I'm being honest with you, Y/N. I think the war is almost over. It's a matter of time before the Germans surrender." He lowers his eyes. "Seeing you like this. Struggling with yourself... It made me realize there are more important things in life. You are more important, and I wanted you to know how I feel about you, Y/N."

You let Ron's words run through your mind. Then you start to smile before standing up and putting your hands around his neck again. "Let's hope I don't get in trouble with my CO if I ever get distracted now," you grin. "I think I can have a word with him about that," Ron says, then smiles. Something that very rarely happens. "You should smile more; you know that?" The corners of Ron's mouth go up a little more. Then his lips are back on yours.

"We should get back," you whisper against his lips as you break away again. Ron nods, pressing one last kiss to your lips before stepping back from you completely. "You're right."

Together, you walk back to the other officers. Harry immediately holds out a new bottle of champagne to you before you sit down on one of the couches. "Where have you two been?" asks Harry slurring his words, and you have to laugh out loud. He's definitely had enough already. "Oh, just checking on something," you say quickly, looking to Ron, who winks at you and then puts the bottle on. Harry looks back and forth between the two of you, then grins knowingly to himself.

A while and a few bottles of champagne later, we're still joking hilariously on the couches. You're sitting next to Ron; by chance, your leg touches his, and in between, his hand brushes yours. However, since you are already drunk, the others don't notice. When Dick, together with Lip, approaches you, you look up. Harry immediately stands up and walks towards him. "Hey, Adolf. Love your Eagle's Nest. I hope you don't mind, we, we made ourselves at home. Love what you've done with the place, Dick." He grabs a bottle and holds it out to Dick, which makes you laugh. You all know he doesn't drink. "Hey, have a drink. Come on. Just so we can say we saw you do it."

Dick, however, lifts his note and looks at us in turn. "Listen up. From Corps, just came in, effective immediately. All troops stand fast on present positions," he says, and Harry stands up straight. "Standing fast," says Nix, his hands clasped behind his head. "What does that mean?" now asks Ron. You exchange a quick glance with him before your attention is drawn back to Dick. "Wanna hear it? Ready for it?" Dick then asks, and Harry starts to laugh, which in turn makes Dick laugh, which makes us laugh. "Listen up. German army's surrendered." Now we are all gobsmacked. "No shit?" you ask, and Dick nods with a smile before taking Nixon.

You get up from the couch and hug Ron. "Finally. I think you were right. The war is as good as over," you say to him, and he pushes you away from him. Once again, a smile appears on his face. "Come on, lovebirds! Get on with it," Harry then says, putting a hand on each of your shoulders and squeezing you together. "This calls for a celebration," he slurs, then turns back to Lip. Uncertainly, you look at Ron, but he shakes his head in amusement. Then he looks at you again and presses a kiss on your cheek. "Later," he whispers, and you nod.

You celebrate with the others, too, and then you let your gaze roam over your friends. Ron made something important clear to you earlier.

No matter how bad it is and how much it hurts - you have to spend time with the people who matter most to you.

[clairifys]

Band of Brothers Masterlist!

Ronald Speirs:

Bastogne - Being in Bastogne was a tiring and hard time for Easy Company. Luckily for (Y/n), a certain hazel-eyed man makes things a little better for her

Dick Winters:

My love for you - In which a (h/c) haired woman has to do surgery on Easy Company's captain and they end up falling deeper in love for each other

Joseph Liebgott:

Prolonged love - Sometimes the best things in life take a long time, and sometimes life throws you for a loop. It sure threw (Y/n) for a loop when grabbing German POWs in Hagenau turns into her having to babysit a young Dutch girl

Eugene Roe

David Webster

Edward ‘Babe’ Heffron

Joe Toye

Darrell ‘Shifty’ Powers

Donald Malarkey

will add more if recommended and if i’ll be able to correctly write for them!

[softguarnere]

would eat up anything with spears x a combat medic/nurse reader :)

Learn to be Lonely

Ron Speirs x reader

A/N: The way that I went feral upon seeing this request in my inbox. I immediately knew I had to commandeer it to add to my soft!Speirs agenda. Thank you for the request, Anon, and I hope you enjoy this! 💕

Warnings: sickness, mentions of war, the author probably confusing "lie" and "lay" (it is what it is; we're just going with it at this point)

Amidst all the chaos, it's the little pockets of peace like this that make you feel, just for a moment, like things could be almost normal again. Despite the fact that some of the Haguenau buildings that Easy has been quartered in have missing walls, are covered with a thin tissue of dust, and that the world perpetually looks as dull as an oncoming rain cloud, waking up before the men and sitting up at the kitchen table sipping on warm coffee provides a moment of what's as close to relaxation as you can get under the circumstances.

Eugene always arrives shortly after you sit down with your coffee. Neither of you talk much, but you're grateful for the company -- your thoughts become a little too loud if no one else is around, but something about your fellow medic provides a sense of comfort. Even when you do talk -- even when it has to be about the war you're both trying to forget for a moment, and the men, and how they're doing -- it's pleasant.

But this morning, something seems to be on Doc Roe's mind.

There's no denying that you're both observant; it just comes through in different ways. Whereas Eugene is quiet and enjoys people-watching, picking up on the men's little ticks and mannerisms, you're more outgoing, getting to know them and their thoughts and feelings on a personal level. It's what makes you work so well as a team -- you're able to compare notes and spot problems with them almost immediately. Which means that you can also spot problems with each other.

Eugene sits across the grimy kitchen table from you and takes a sip of the bitter coffee you brewed. His brow is furrowed, which wouldn't necessarily be unusual, but he keeps frowning into his coffee cup. Several times he opens his mouth slightly and draws a breath, like he's getting ready to say something, but then he stops himself and takes a sip of the coffee instead.

"Something wrong?" You finally ask.

His slender frame jerks as he looks up at you. He blinks. "Oh. No." He pauses. "I'm not sure."

You sip your coffee, waiting for him to continue.

His voice is quiet, like he's afraid someone might overhear him, and he looks almost puzzled when he admits, "I think that something might be wrong with Captain Speirs."

"Speirs? That's the last thing we need. First Lipton, now him . . ."

"Well, I'm not sure." Eugene frowns down at his coffee again. He shakes his head. "He's hard to read."

"That's an understatement."

"I noticed it last night, when most of the men were downstairs, joking around and playing cards. He stayed towards the edges of the room, and then I saw him slip out early and head upstairs. I assume he went to bed."

That in itself wouldn't be so unusual; Captain Speirs is a private person, and when Easy Company isn't in active combat, he's often more of a presence than a part of the group.

"I don't know," Eugene says again before you can point this out. "Something about him just seemed . . . different. Off, even."

"Maybe he was just tired," you suggest, even though you're not able to think of a single time during the whole war that you've seen the legend of a man anything other than alert.

"Yeah." Eugene agrees. "Maybe."

Voices approach the kitchen, and a second later, some of the men start shuffling in, roused and fortified by the smell of coffee -- however bad it may be.

"You checked on Lip yet?" You ask your fellow medic. And then your morning continues just like any other one.

--

Something is not right, you think to yourself as you watch Skinny and Liebgott march off in defeat, looking frustrated. It's the fifth time since that morning that someone has asked you if there's any chance that you know where Captain Speirs is. And, you have to wonder as you make your way towards the bedroom in the quiet corner of the house most of the company is quartered in, maybe no one has thought to do the obvious thing and check his room.

You pause just outside the door, unsure. You don't know Speirs particularly well. He's the Captain, yes, but he's more distant than other officers. Would he even want someone to check on him? Where others might see it as a gesture of concern and goodwill, someone like Speirs might see it as overstepping, you reason as snatches of rumors play in your memory.

No. You make up your mind -- you're a medic and it's your job to watch out for the health and wellbeing of these men. If he sees it as overstepping, then it's his problem. Your raise your fist and knock on the door before you can talk yourself out of it.

It's quiet, and slow, but from the other side of the door, you can just make out the sounds of movement. A moment later the door handle squeaks and a pair of dark, sunken eyes peers at you from the door's crack.

The door opens wider to reveal Captain Speirs, but not as you've ever known him. Whereas your Captain stands tall, alert, and ready to move at a moment notice, this man moves slowly, and keeps blinking, like he can't get his eyes to focus. Not to mention the shakiness in his hands as he opens the door.

"(Y/N)?" His voice sounds hoarse.

It takes you a minute to find your voice. "Captain Speirs, Sir. Are you okay?"

He blinks rapidly for a moment and then leans against the doorway. Even in the low lighting of the hall, his face glistens in a sheen of sweat. "(Y/N), I think . . . I think that something is wrong." He squints at you. "Aren't you cold?"

"No, Sir. Are you? You're sweating."

"Am I?" He sounds shocked, but his brow only furrows slightly.

"Captain, everyone has been looking for you all morning."

The Speirs that you know never would have been in a situation like this, you have to remind yourself, but if he had, he would have jumped into action the minute he realized something was wrong. But this Speirs doesn't seem fazed. Yes, you affirm, something is wrong.

Speirs shuts his eyes and draws in a deep breath -- or at least, as deep a breath as he can manage. You step forward and prod him with gentle hands, back into his room, back into bed. He doesn't protest.

"Sir, have you eaten anything today?" You ask as you cover him with a blanket. "Have you had anything to drink?"

He shakes his head. You had assumed as much. You're already planning a course of action for how to deal with this. Making sure that the Captain doesn't get dehydrated from isolating himself all morning is just another step in that plan.

"I'm sick, aren't I?" He asks when he sees you rummage through your medic kit for something to give him. Something in his voice is different than you've ever heard it. He doesn't sound defeated, exactly, but he sounds tired and . . . sad?

"I'm afraid so. You might have picked up Lipton's pneumonia. We'll have to figure out what this is so we can fight it."

Strong hands scrub themselves over his face as he sighs. "Hate bein' sick," he mutters.

You reach out and pat his shoulder -- without even thinking about it, just like you would for any of the other men -- as you assure him, "We're going to fix that."

--

What would you do without George Luz? you have to wonder. You've seen other men in Easy practically beg him for the chocolate bars and cigarettes being shipped in, only to be refused. But the second that you asked for an extra food ration and had only sent him a beaming smile when he asked why you needed it, he tossed one to you with a wink, and even gave you first dibs on some of the medicine that had arrived that morning. Being friends with the radioman in charge of supplies has it's perks.

Even though it takes a minute for him to pack some medical supplies into a box and asks you to take some to Doc Roe, you don't think much of it -- someone as private as Speirs probably isn't very keen to have you rushing back to play doctor in a space as personal as his room.

You're in such a good mood after seeing the shocked looks on the rest of the company's faces when Luz gives into you that you smile all the way to Lipton's room, where you know Eugene will be. You trade off some of the medicine Luz sent you with with a quiet "I found the Captain" before you head back.

You knock lightly on the door of Speirs' room before entering with the food ration and medicine, despite the fact that you know he's inside, and that he should be lying on the bed.

Should be.

He's sitting on the side of the bed, feet flat on the floor, hand on his knees and head bowed, looking fatigued.

"Captain?" You question.

"I thought --" he stops, swallows thickly. "-- I was going to look for someone."

"For who? Me?"

He nods. "I just . . . nevermind."

Well okay then. If it weren't for the fact that you were so worried about him, seeing him act so unlike himself might be a bit funny. Who would have thought that Ron Speirs, of all people, would be a person who would get loopy when sick? You would have imagined him to be someone who muscled through it.

Gently, you help him lie back down. You make sure he eats and you give him some medicine. You even give him gentle reassurances that he'll be better soon, just like the good medic that you are. But something stops you from leaving him and moving on to see if anyone else in the company needs looking after.

"Will you be okay, Sir?" You ask.

He shrugs. "Do I just stay here? And sleep through this?"

"That would probably be the most conducive to your recovery. No paperwork and overworking yourself like Sergeant Lipton."

You wouldn't be surprised if he protested, insisting that there are things to be done and that he's going to do them. Instead, he frowns.

"I'm quarantined in here by myself." Something about the way that he says it tugs at your heart strings. You're trying to decide if the sickness is causing him to act unlike himself or reveal something about who he really is when he says, "I hate being alone."

"Really?" There's no time to stop the surprise from slipping out. If he notices, he doesn't care. He only nods. "But everyone thinks that you prefer it."

Silence starts to settle over you like the dust that perpetually covers so much of the house's interior, but you decide to break it before you even really figure out why. "I could stay with you, Sir. If you would like."

He blinks up at you. "You would? You're not afraid of me like the others?"

He might as well have punched you in the gut, what with the way the sentiment lands. You're just as guilty as everyone else, thinking of Speirs as some sort of demigod who prefers solitude to human companionship.

But suddenly he's not that person anymore. He's not Speirs the Killer. He's not Speirs the Legend. He's Speirs the man. He's a man. And he's sick. And he's lonely.

And he seems like he really wants you to stay with him.

You perch on the edge of the bed and run your hand through his sweaty hair under the guise of checking his temperature. "Why would I be afraid of you?"

A hum of contentment escapes him as your fingers card his dark locks. His eyes flutter shut, but just before they can, he sighs, "Well, I'm glad you're not." And then he falls asleep before you can ask what he means by that.

It would be easy to leave. He's asleep and he wouldn't notice. There are other things you could be doing. But you said you would stay, and you have no intention of turning yourself into a liar.

Part of you wonders if he'll feel better when he wakes up, become embarrassed by what he admitted, and send you away. Something that you can't quite name stirs within you as you watch him sleep, and you find that you don't want that to happen.

However you two might feel about what has just happened is something you can deal with later. For now, you're content to just watch the legend -- no, the man -- look uncharacteristically peaceful while he sleeps.

[latibvles]

SAD, BEAUTIFUL, TRAGIC.

beautiful, tragic // what fear had wrought.

to cross the field, to take the town.

masterlist | gallery | taglist

TAGLIST: @liebgotts-lovergirl , @softguarnere , @brassknucklespeirs , @mads-weasley , @monalisastwin , @eugene-emt-roe

SUMMARY: It's time to take the town of Foy itself — but Daisy has little confidence in their present "leader."

WARNINGS: None specific

It’s frigid, the morning that they’re to attack Foy. Snow falls from the sky in fat flakes, the men waiting patiently by the edges of the forest. There’s a gray overcast, a delicate quiet accompanied only by the gentle clicks of men cleaning their rifles and machine guns. Foy would almost be picturesque, with all the empty, snow-laden houses, like something out of a postcard, with ‘Greetings from Belgium!’ slapped on top in some tacky souvenir font.

Except those houses aren’t empty and there’s likely mortar tripods behind the hay bales, which paints a far more sinister picture for that postcard.

So far, she and Lipton have exchanged bewildered looks for the better part of an hour — he’d be leading second platoon, who’s numbers took the worst of it. Everytime her gaze falls back on Dike, sitting right next to Winters, she can’t help but feel uneasy.

She’d checked her medkit three times while waiting, as if something would change and nervously, almost foolishly, eyeing Dog Company over in reserve. As if staring would make him appear.

The pragmatic part of her knows it’s better if she doesn’t see him — it’ll be easier to do her job that way. The silly part of her hopes to see him, just in case she’s blown up by artillery this time around. One last chance to look at him before the end.

She isn’t with Joe, or even the other medics. Rather, she received a direct order from Dike to remain with him during the assault. It was the only order he’d ever given her, and she almost wanted to tell him to go fuck himself with his own rifle. Apparently, neither Gene nor Ralph received such specific instructions — so she can assume she’s the only victim to this.

She didn’t say anything out of line despite the desperate urge to, biting the inside of her cheek.

She looks at Dog Company several feet away one last time, looks to Gene, who for the first time since the night of the Church bombing, gives her a smile. Daisy tries to return it, even if it feels forced on her face.

“You ready?” Lipton asks her.

“Could ask you the same thing, First Sergeant.” She refutes, putting out the cigarette she’d been nursing in the snow. They didn’t taste terrible and at the very least it was something to keep her hands occupied.

“Maybe. But I asked you first.” Daisy lets out a sharp exhale, shakes her head with a sort of fondness for the man beside her. There’s a million things she could say, but instead she looks down at his leg, back up to his face, and gives him a swift nod.

“Don’t get hit in the nuts again and it’ll be smooth sailing.” In spite of what they’re about to do, he laughs and agrees with a quiet ‘yes ma’am’ that makes her crack, just a little bit.

And the assault starts out okay at first.

Men running from the trees towards the town, orders being shouted out. She hears Lipton not too far off encouraging the men to keep moving forward. There’s a few stray rifle shots, nothing more than that. It’s the first time she’s ever actually heard Dike make a decision — if ‘keep it tight’ can count as such. She keeps her head down, the pepper of machine gunfire loud in her ears as she sticks by Dike and Luz, wordless as he calls out to the men. A man goes down a little bit away from her and she’s about to go for him, to drag him behind cover when—

“Clarke! You stay right by me!” Dike shouts above the din. She looks at him, incredulous, and Luz looks equally as shocked.

“Sir?!” Is all she can muster, not quite sure if she heard him correctly.

“Your orders are to stay right here and—” looking around, she watches as confusion immediately overtakes his face. “Wait a minute, where’s Foley?!” Looking at her, and then Luz, as if either of them had an answer. “Where the hell’s first platoon?!” He whips his head around erratically, as mortars and artillery go off and there really isn’t any sign of the Lieutenant anywhere. She flinches, watching as another man goes down, clutching his thigh.

Dike yells for them to hold — Daisy breaks into a sprint back towards the man who’d fallen, ignoring Dike’s shouts. There’s a boom and dirt peppers her face, but she doesn’t care as she grabs him by the webbing and pulls him behind a haystack, shedding her helmet and fishing through her bag.

“It’s the artery! It’s the artery!” He wails, panic in his eyes. Daisy says nothing of it, simply shaking her head as she lifts his leg.

But the anger she feels upon watching Dike clamber behind the haystack with Luz in tow — that’s enough to make her tremble the slightest bit. He barks out orders on the radio, she assumes to first platoon, and then sets his gaze on her. She just glares back for a moment, ties the bandage tight, props the man up on the back of the haystack as more men come to duck behind it, awaiting further orders. He continues to cry out for the men to fall back, his voice cracking and distressed.

Daisy presses her back against the haystack, listening to the yelling grow louder — Luz and Lip and Foley being the loudest. Captain Winters on the phone? She can barely make out anything being said, but she knows Dike’s orders are filled with uncertainty, and Lip looks angry and—

“Christ, it’s not your fucking artery. You’d be dead if it was!” she hisses out to the man on her left, as Foley dashes off and another man tries to go after him. She watches as he falls. No yelp of pain, no squirming — just blood spilling out from his head as Lipton gives the order for suppressing fire.

There are wails for a medic — she can’t see Gene anywhere — and it’s not like any of them can move, so she can’t get up and run again. Not unless she wants to get shot. She makes the mistake of looking to her right, to Dike only a few feet away.

He’s completely frozen, shaking like a leaf and blinking rapidly, white-knuckling his webbing. Dike’s never looked more pale. Lipton’s never looked angrier.

“Sir, we are sitting ducks here! We have to keep moving!” He spits out — Dike doesn’t even reply. We’re fucked, Daisy concludes, her own breath picking up, flinching at every mortar blast. She swallows hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, looking at Lipton, who’s looking at Dike and reverting his attention to the town ahead of them. Seconds feel like hours, sitting there, helpless, ears ringing and her own hands beginning to tremble.

There’s a mortar blast ahead of them, and a soldier bursts through the dirt. Daisy doesn’t believe it. Not until he looks at her and the expression cracks just enough for her to see the shock on Ron’s face. She says nothing, staring back at him and jerking her head sharply to the right, to Dike, and he snaps back into it, grabbing Dike by his collar for a moment.

“I’m taking over. First Sergeant Lipton!”

“Here!”

“What have we got?” Daisy watches the men go back and forth — Lipton filling him in and Ron immediately spouting off with new direction and action. Dike’s still stiff as a board. Ron looks at her, looks at Dike, mimics the sharp jerk of his head that she once gave him, gesturing to the rear. “And come back, Clarke. The rest of you, follow me.”

It’s a mission in and of itself, she all but slaps the helmet on his head unceremoniously, yanks the strap, pulling him up by his jacket collar and tugging him along, up and back towards the rear as he stumbles along, shaking like a leaf, rifle gripped in his hands and helmet lopsided. She takes him to the rear and heads back immediately.

Things go… a little smoother, after that. She’s running around to the cries for a medic as the men push forward. And there’s one point, where she thinks she sees Ron running across the town and her heart leaps into her throat. She forces herself to focus. Keep going. Heart pounding in her ears, fingers aching, skidding from one patch of cover to the next and pulling wounded men from the line of fire. She looks for him, selfishly so, in the in-betweens when she’s running to the next wounded man. Prepared to completely change directions if he so much as shouts.

Daisy doesn’t see him again until Foy is taken, and the men are singing a song while correspondents get the whole thing on camera.

She’s just finished helping load a man onto a stretcher to evacuate, when he comes up behind her.

“Lieutenant Clarke,” Daisy turns around, looks up at him. His features are steely and unreadable, but he’s holding out his hand to her. She takes it, pulling herself up. She doesn’t let go and neither does he. Daisy’s fingers curl tighter around his hand instinctively. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” Neither did I. Daisy looks down for a moment, pressing her lips into a line before looking back up at him.

“If it’s any consolation, I was going to look for you this time. I just… couldn’t find you,” She mutters quietly. Ron squeezes her hand in return, tommy gun tucked under one arm, both of their faces covered in dirt and snow. Daisy looks up at him. “They’re taking good care of me. Winters. Easy.”

She wishes they weren’t wearing gloves, so she could feel the roughness of his palm again. And she wishes there weren’t eyes everywhere so she could lace their fingers or bump their noses, much too sluggish for anything beyond that right now. She watches as Ron’s eyes fall to her temple, the wound she sustained becoming a new scar near her hairline, opens his mouth and then—

Bang!

“Sniper!”

Ron snatches her and yanks her behind a building, arm immediately wrapping around her to pull her into him. Her ear’s pressed against him. She can feel him trembling, their hearts erratically thumping. She squeezes her eyes shut, finds herself gripping onto his jacket. The silence is heavy, Daisy only hears their own breaths, but she doesn’t want to open her eyes.

Bang!

And then, the distant sound of clapping and cheering. His grip on her loosens and she dares to open her eyes — but she’s still trembling and doesn’t let go of his jacket, simply tilting her head up to look at him. His heart is still hammering against his chest, just like her own, and Ron takes a deep breath in as his fingers graze her temple, his frown evident. Lips parted, chest rising and falling in time with her own, she’s never felt more awake.

“Disobeyed Dike’s direct orders. Might’ve caused you a little trouble.” She offers. He shakes his head, his fingers graze her cheek and she leans into the touch.

“It’s not trouble.” He refutes. “And I didn’t think he gave orders.” She should say something about that — how he ought to not say such nice things to her, or make her smile with his remarks at the end of all this. Maybe even explain why she’s here, good and proper like he deserves — but she can’t find the words for it.

“Missed you.” She tries instead, in breathy whisper. I missed you that night when they sent us into Bastogne. Those nights in the Church. Every night in those foxholes. Hell, I miss you right now, and you’re right in front of me.

“I’m here now.” Ron offers candidly, not pulling away from her. Here to stay? That’s what she wants to ask but she knows she might not like the answer if she gets it, so she doesn’t ask that. She doesn't say anything. 

She just curls her fingers tighter around him, yanks him forward abruptly, and kisses him, letting her eyes flutter shut again.

And it’s a little selfish, a little foolish, not at all a proper kiss but maybe it’s the hammering of her heart and the adrenaline in her veins that lets her give into her impulses, just this once. Their noses bump unceremoniously. She feels his entire body stiffen for a moment. His scruff rough against her chin, his body rigid but warm in a way she’s been yearning for since… It didn't matter how long. She stays like that for a moment, lips pressed to his before pulling away. Daisy loosens her grip, her face flushing as sense creeps back in. Ron’s lips are parted, his eyes a little wide.

“I- I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t apologize,” It’s quick, he shakes his head with certainty. “Just… let me…” He reaches out to grab her wrist and she thinks he’s about to pull her into his arms again when there’s another sharp cry for a medic and her head snaps to it immediately. His grip loosens. A beat after, someone’s shouting his own name. Duty calls.

He lets her go and Daisy scurries off in a hurry, face undeniably flushed, but no longer from the cold.

[brassknucklespeirs]

I love you wips. I am so ready to binge read all of it. And I love what you've done and it's so good to re-read. You said that you had some wips that were in development. How developed are they now? Can you share them, if possible? Sorry if I'm overstepping.

I’M SORRY I’VE BEEN SO ABSENT, I STARTED REPLYING TO THIS AGES AGO AND NEVER GOT ROUND TO ACTUALLY RESPONDING!!!

Never overstepping when you’re talking to me bro, I’m an open book and I am most willing to share the things I have in the works!! The only developed one as of right now is ‘Trust Me I Know’ the Ron Speirs one I’ve got going on and I recon I should share a bit of it aye cause i think you deserve it after the amount of time i’ve made you wait...i hope you like it!!

“You crossed a line private, several even.” She disregarded his words, proceeding with her own threats. “And I expect he isn’t going to be forgiving at all. Especially because you broke the golden rule.” The woman tilted her head in a taunting manner as she stared directly into his eyes. “Do you want to know which rule that is private?” She asked him, straightening her back to stand tall before him, the light behind her creating a shadow over her face. He didn’t answer, only stared up her, a confused look held in his eyes, one which he didn’t let cover his features. Y/N’s face pinched into a sour look of disgust, throwing her fist towards the man once more causing his head to snap to the side as her knuckles met his nose before his chin was grasped harshly within her fingers, pulling his face back towards her. “You will answer me when I am speaking to you private.” She spat. “Now I will ask you again; do you want to know which rule that is?” Her fingers tightened against his jaw, surely leaving white imprints on his skin, his gaze meeting hers with weakened defiance.

“What rule sergeant?” He managed to get out through exasperated pants.

The woman went to move her lips to speak when the echo of a door being slammed open bounced around the room, every head present whirling towards the entrance way. Her gaze didn’t stray for long before she looked back at him, an amused smirk on her lips as she watched the confusion finally spread to his face while his eyes flicked from her to the door and back again. A muffled yell was heard as she let her tongue trace along her top teeth like a predator preparing to devour its next meal, the condescending action seen as she held her mouth partially open. She leant down to him once more as the yell sounded again, her lips touching the curve of his ear.

“No one fucks with his girl.” Is all she said before she stepped back, the door flying open as she did, yet her eyes didn’t leave the bloodied face of the man until the new presence made himself known beside her. The smell of his cologne mixed with sweat and ammunition washed over her immediately, spreading a newfound scene of comfort and security within her as she inhaled through her nose. She felt his eyes on her yet she didn’t turn her cold leer from the private until she felt his body press closer to her, a hand laying carefully on her hip. Her head whipped to him instantly, the ice melting from her gaze in seconds as her eyes clashed with the ocean blue ones she often let herself drown in. His face was hardened and tight, cut from the same marble hers had been only moments ago, yet his eyes were soft as they ran over her, stopping short on the blood that decorated her knuckles before flickering back to look into her soul, his brows pulled together in silent recognition. His hand left her side, and the woman suddenly felt the ice return to her veins as he turned to glance at the private before looking to Bull.

“This him?” His voice sounded, settling over the woman like a blanket of warmth, even with the bitterness that echoes from behind his teeth. The sergeant nodded, his face holding a similar resentment as he glanced down at the pitiful man.

“That’s him. Replacement, I company.” Is all he was able to mutter before Ron took a threatening step towards him, purposefully cutting off the man’s view of his woman in an act of protection. The captain held himself with an air of dominance that everyone around him could see, yet as one inspected him closely, his muscles encased a tension that could only be described as concealed rage; a rage that sprouted from the seed that this pathetic private had planted by trying to hurt her. No sound could be heard within the room aside from the panted breaths coming from his mouth as he peered up at the daunting figure of the man above him, the unease in the room settling like a blanket of snow over a field in the winter season, heavy and cold as it smothered the life out of everything.

“Where’s the weapon?” Speirs asked, his voice sharp and pointed as if he wielded a knife rather than words. The soldier looked up at him with widened eyes as he choked on the blood that trickled down his throat from the broken nose Y/N had given him before letting out a brave taunt of a reply. The captain’s lip twitched before he brought his pistol down and slammed it against the man’s cheek, a splatter of crimson sprouting from his mouth as his head whipped to the side once again.

The woman moved her gaze to her bloodied hands from where it had been trailing over the back of Ron’s head as she took a step back, her anger diminishing as it sucked the energy out of her, leaving her with nothing but grief and anguish. Liebgott noticed the way she almost backed into him as her mind drifted quickly from the situation before them, causing him to reach out and grab her around the waist. She stumbled into him, her glossy eyes flickering to him for a moment to give him a silent ‘thank you’ as she leant her weight on him before glancing back at Ron as he spat his next words.

“When you talk to an officer you say sir.” The sentence exerted only some of the rage kept within the man yet as he cocked his pistol and held it to the private’s head, he was ready to express it all. The room watched on with hesitation, but none of the men stepped forward to stop it, some even going as far to turn their heads away from the scene before them. Y/N looked on, gaze flickering between the man she loved and the man she despised, and for a moment she too hesitated, but the feeling of pain hung over her like a black storm cloud and she didn’t believe she would be able to take any more, even if it was from someone she couldn’t care less about. The woman stepped forward out of Liebgott’s grasp, her hands raising to rest on Ron’s shoulder causing him to glance down at her out of the corner of his eye. He watched as her other hand came to rest on the hand that held the pistol, before his gaze moved back to her, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. He almost wanted to ask why she wouldn’t want him to pull the trigger after everything the private had done, but as his eyes stared into hers he noticed the way they held a gloss of pain, one that was threatening to spill at any moment.

The man let a deep breath escape through his nose as he lowered his sidearm before glancing away from Y/N to look back at the private. Ron took note of the way he watched her with squinted eyes, yet fear spread through them as he turned his gaze to the officer who had threatened his life just moments ago as the man sneered down at him.

“I should shoot your sorry ass for even looking at her. You’re lucky she’s merciful, or I would put a bullet between your eyes for trying to hurt her.” Ron hissed as he leaned over to wipe his hand clean of the private’s blood onto his own uniform. The man goes to pull away only to stop, halting his movements to flash one last sneer at the replacement. “Nobody hurts Y/N. Nobody.” 

[antigonenikk]

an ode to the color red

fandom: masters of the air, band of brothers

pairing: marjorie spencer/ronald speirs, marjorie spencer/gale cleven, gale cleven/john ‘bucky’ egan

warnings: crossover, grooming, child abuse, murder, cheating, daddy issues, smut, period typical homophobia, major character death

summary: “There is love in me the likes of which you've never seen. There is rage in me the likes of which should never escape. If I am not satisfied in the one, I will indulge the other.” -Mary Shelley

"“Call me Daddy.”

Again. He freezes. Eyes wide with desire.

“Say it. Say it.”

She’s going to scream in his face until her skin is just as red as her brain. She is going to destroy him. She wants it like this. Bucky is Gale’s Daddy. And Marge is Bucky’s. And Marge’s is Ron. Like one chain link fence, unending with the weight of its betrayal."

1945

She discovers them by accident. The wedding is still three weeks away. They’ve decided on a blue and white theme. Which…. Marge doesn’t like the color blue but Gale does. And her Father does. And so it’s okay. Really.

In actuality, Marge doesn’t want a big wedding. She wants to elope, like Mary Shelley did with Percy, and go on a tour of the Continent, and write poetry while her husband tries to drown himself on the Mediterranean Coast. But with the war that dream has become an impossibility.

And really, who is Marge kidding. It was always an impossibility. Sometimes she wishes the librarians never gave her such free reign as a child. Then she wouldn’t have been so influenced by the Romantics, Joyce and Shelley and Byron. Maybe then Casper, Wyoming and its barren hills and her high school sweetheart would fill her with love. The type of love she’s supposed to feel for the things that have been so good to her. Because they have. Or. She thought they had.

She met Gale when they were ten years old. Her Father had taken the belt to her hard the night before, and had dragged her along to the race track, where she sat uncomfortably on her hands, her knees crossed ladylike, trying not to wince. Beside her a little boy sat down. Three years older, maybe. He was skinny and underfed and wearing the ugliest suspenders. But he offered to play marbles with her on the grass, and sat with her for hours until their fathers came to get them, roaring drunk and laughing together. No one had ever spent so much time looking after her. After that it was a done deal. She was his creature. Handed over like a piece of worn silverware. There was no Marge. No Gale. Just MargeandGale. If you wanted one, you asked for the other.

At first it was nice. And she liked it when Gale decided on what she should wear, and what she should think, and what she should eat. It was very easy as a little girl to let someone else take the lead. And Gale loved to take the lead. Gale wanted certain things out of her. He did not want her to read her gothic stories. He thought they were morbid. He did not want her to drink, or talk with “loose girls” from school, or climb trees in Old Mr. Jenkin’s farms for apples. He wanted her to be a good person, with firm morals, who never slipped, and was always modest. He kissed her. And he would touch her, as they grew older and she grew into her prettiness. But never anything under the blouse. It was frustrating. She didn’t know what she wanted. She didn’t know how to put it into words. Only that it was wild and it was the color red and it flew from the ancient Oak trees and would not leave her at peace.

Marge wanted to lose her virginity against a gravestone. A feeling that only intensified when her Mother died. Just like Mary Shelley. She wanted to be Mary, have everything she had. Her horrors and small griefs and immense talent. She wanted to lose her virginity on her mother’s gravestone, just like Mary did with Percy. But she was no Mary. She was mediocre. A bad writer. A worse piano player. A passable seamstress. And Gale was no Percy. He had no romantic ambitions, or love of history. He wanted an easy life. And so it was fine. She would finally, in three weeks, after years of waiting and waiting and crying and wringing her hands, she would finally have him inside of her. It would be worth it. She would prove to herself once and for all that she loved him. Him, and not… Well. The point was moot. She wasn’t at Georgia State anymore. The war was over. She was back in her little cage, and she had made peace with what she had to give up, what she wanted to give up. She stopped thinking about it. Stop thinking about it, Marge. The voice that reprimanded her sounded like Gale’s. It always did. Ever since she was ten years old.

But then she found them. They were in the barn, Gale’s barn, the one that had gone empty since his Father’s passing. She found them there, doing unnatural things to each other. Bucky, who she had thought was so handsome and charming when he breezed into town three days ago, was on his knees. His head to Gale’s… she didn’t even know you could do that. No one had told her you could do that. And Gale, with his head tilted back, was letting out little groans. She felt sick. It wasn’t right. She had given up so much. Had given eleven years to this man. She had given up her childhood home. She had taken care of the house while doing her homework after school, staying up all night to make sure her grades were good enough for him. She had sat in those pews for hours every Sunday. Hot and sour with resentment. She watched as he came down his Best Friend’s throat. She didn’t feel like crying. Really. Instead, inside her head, she started to feel a bit funny. Like she wanted to laugh. It was almost like she was Jane Eyre, really. And her evil Mr. Rochester had revealed his hidden secret at last. And then Gale whispered the word “Daddy,” and Marge had to run on silent feet back to the main house, stifling her laughter.

To think she had ever respected this man. Ever took his word for law. The type of man who called another man Daddy…

That night she lay in bed and contemplated her options. Back when Gale shipped off for flight school, when she was Seventeen, he had allowed her to apply for colleges. She had chosen Georgia State. It was in the south, like where Faulkner lived. But it was also in a big city. So she could run around, pretending to be Sonia from Crime and Punishment, doing her hair up in a bun, looking through book stores and writing poetry and drinking whiskey. And she could make friends. Real girlfriends.

______________

1942

Atlanta was hot. And humid. And the girls in her class were nice, but distant. Except of course for Birdie. Birdie wasn’t her real name. They had been assigned roommates at the beginning of term. And Marge had never been so glad of anything in her entire life. Birdie was a Fine Arts major, who desperately wanted to be a painter like Kathe Kollwitz. She had horrific black and white lithographs hung up all over their room, and Marge adored them. The hulking faces, the wide eyed starving children, the grieving mothers. They were incredible. Birdie’s really name, which they never mentioned after first introductions, was Dove. Her eight year old brother had been allowed to name her. A decision the family realized in retrospect was a grave mistake. But she had come out with white blonde hair and blue eyes and looked nothing like her Mother, so she had been handed off to a frightened eight year old boy to do with as he saw fit.

Their pasts, it felt like, were interlocked. Both of them growing up under the thumb of an older man. Except Dove’s brother was only ever half there. His presence was more an absence than anything else. Just like Marge’s parents. She was allowed to run free, reading and painting and lighting off fireworks. But like Marge her brother never let her have any real fun. No boys, no drinking, no dancing unless he was there to supervise. The two of them had pooled together their courage and decided they would make a break for it on their first weekend there, under the close watchful eye of the boarding house’s owner.

Their first stop was to a jazz club. The kind of thing that they would never be allowed to do back home. Best to rip the band-aid of rebellion off fast and with violence. They walked in, and it was like the whole world fell away. It was smoky, and loud. Marge had been to a dinner club once, the night before Gale shipped out. But that was nothing like this. The place was filled to the brim with soldiers of all sorts. Laughing and screaming and making fools of themselves. The two of them stood there for a moment, grabbing at each other, desperately nervous about looking silly. And then Marge felt a tap on her shoulder. And the rest was history.

______________

1945

In between the silverware which she hid under her floorboards, Marge kept his letters. They were all there. Some of them, torn and ashen from when she had half burned them after Gale’s return from the Stalag. She had thought. She had thought Gale was as good as dead. That was her excuse. The type of excuse even she didn’t put much faith in. She never thought he would get out. And then he did. And the silverware, and the looted Nazi flag, and the letters, and the slip with his phone number all went under the floorboards. She pulled out each letter, and set them in front of her in a circle. Ronnie would never call another man Daddy. That she was sure of. And there was no way he would give a damn about fucking her against her Mother’s headstone. God knows when she had brought the idea up to him, after her Mother had first died, he had gotten a hungry look in his eye. The sort of look that made her forget all about the nasty little tricks he liked to play on her. Or the way he got cold and mean and distant when she wanted to talk about her feelings. Or the way he would stare at her without blinking, like a hunter closing in on some sort of helpless prey. Well. Let him. She thought. He kept saying he wanted to steal her away. Kept raising the ante with more and more lavish gifts as he worked his way through Europe, leaving a trail of corpses behind him. Let him prove that he wasn’t all talk after all.

In the dead of the night she dialed his number. It rang once, twice, three times. He picked up.

“Speirs.”

“Ronnie…”

She felt like Catherine maybe, calling Heathcliffe home. Or like Jane Eyre still, returning to Rochester, finding the castle all in ruins. Only she was going to be the one to finish the job of burning it down.

He told her, as she put on the waterworks, that he would be there in two days. They would fix things. Together. Of course she couldn’t marry an invert. Of course she couldn’t be expected to carry the burdens of his sins. Marge didn’t care much about sin. Not in the way she should. Not even a sin like inversion. But the words were soothing excuses. The type that she could force herself this time to believe. She was very good at that. Forcing a belief down her throat until it tasted like the truth. Really, she just wanted Gale dead and fucking gone. It didn’t matter what it took to get there. For a second, she hesitated. Then she calmed her breathing, and listening to the rustling of the trees, and realized there was no other way out but through.

______________

1942

It’s New Year's Eve, and Marge’s Mother is dead. It’s New Year's Eve, and Birdie’s boyfriend is about to ship off. So she’s moping in her room, drawing sketches of dead dogs and crying about the fact that he doesn’t love her enough to marry her. She knows she could tell her friend about the death. And Birdie would drop everything. And they would hold each other and smoke bad reefer and fall asleep in each other’s arms. But she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want it to be real. To say it out loud…Marge is restless.

Ron is leaving soon. And their little game is coming to a close. Him. Taking her dancing when he’s on liberty at every bar in town, spinning her in his arms until she’s dizzy. Him. Listening as she rambles on about Keats and Byron and how romantic double-suicide must feel, nodding along. Agreeing with her completely. They are of the same mind somehow. Everything she feels about the world, he feels twice as strongly. She tells him she thinks the painting Birdie showed her of St. Thomas poking Jesus’ holy wound is the most beautiful thing in the world. He agrees, and leans forward, and goes on a diatribe about the erotic connotations of penetration, talking about some analyst named Freud. And wouldn’t Marge want to read him? The offer of it. Knowledge freely given is a high unlike anything she has ever experienced.

She opens the book he lends her that night and starts laughing. Two years past due from a library in the Northeast. What a little thief. She tells him that if she got married, she would follow her husband to Siberia, just like Sonia did. Even if he killed an old lady in cold blood? He asked. Especially then. Killing doesn’t bother her. It should. But if it’s done for the right reasons….Killing doesn’t seem to bother him either. The same red that flows in her from the those old Oak trees rests inside of him, bubbling up and over through his ears and eyes. Wrapping them both in string, tied about the middle, unable to escape.

That night, with two Sazeracs between them, he tells her about Carthage, and about Alcibiades, who rode into battle holding only a golden shield with the image of Eros, God of desire, on it. She can’t stand it. Grief and desire fight each other inside her stomach, each one intensifying the other. You’re sick. Gale’s voice says to her. She imagines Ron to block the thought out, naked and broad muscled, holding up a gold shield, bloody and broken by arrows, and squirms in her seat. When she opens her eyes he’s staring at her again, odd and still, like a snake waiting to bite. He lights her cigarette as she tries not to cry. And he talks about what it means to have a true warrior’s spirit. And she begins to understand what it’s like to be understood. Birdie, for all that she loves her, is too sweet to withstand the idea of killing. Relentless violence frightens her in a way it does not frighten Marge.

The game is up though. She knows this as she half listens to him, the smoke making him look hazy. And the late night conversations and the absinthe and the music and the laughter. It’s all gone up in flames. She owes so much to Gale. Her whole life, really. She can’t abandon him now. But, she figures. Ron is going away. And he’s so sure he’s going to die. It won’t hurt to keep writing to him.

Right?

__________

1945

Marge has a plan. Before Ronnie arrives, she wants to have her own fun. She wants to prove to him that he’s nothing. Gale, that is. She realized, last night, after hanging up the phone, that she had loved him. For the gentle curve of his face. For his air of desperation. For the odd sense she always got from him that he was meant to die young and beautiful, leaving her a pretty widow with a big house and haunted memories of her first love. Stupid little girl ideas.

But he had betrayed her. Had betrayed her sacrifice. The destruction she undertook of any sort of real personality she held inside of herself in honor of him, of the sacrifices he took to raise her and put a roof over her head. And so, she was going to prove that even his Daddy could be stolen from him, just in the same way he had stolen her from her own Father. The way she had been given over, like a piece of day old garbage. Again. Gale’s voice. Always in her ear. Red kept growing. It never stopped. Sometimes, she thought. Sometimes killing could be right.

She catches Bucky alone that morning, sitting on the patio, white shirt stretched over his muscled chest. She won’t let him fuck her. But she’s willing to do just about anything else.

She slides up to him, pouring him a lemonade. Putting on her best smile.

“Here you go.”

He looks up to her, smiling with what she now realizes is a smug superiority, mingled with hazy lust. He thinks he’s won. She wants to claw his little blue eyes out.

He takes the drink from her, and swigs it down.

“Thank you kindly, sweetheart.”

“No problem, Daddy.”

He whips his face back up to her. She can see the shock there clear as day. Sad, and lonely, and hunted. He cracks a grin. It’s fake. She’s good at telling a fake grin.

“What?” He croaks out.

She slides into his lap, as easy as pie.

“What?” She parrots back.

He seems confused. Poor baby. She puts her arms around his neck, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“I don’t think it’s very fair. Do you? That you’re Gale’s Daddy, but not mine.”

She can feel him growing hard underneath her. He reaches up, looking torn, like he might push her to the floor. Like he might rip her clothes off right there and fuck her in the open like an animal.

“Marge. I…”

“I don’t mind. I don’t mind, really.”

She kisses his neck. And imagines he is another dark haired, broad chested man.

“I don’t mind it, but I don’t want to be left out. You understand?”

He groans, grinding himself into her. She straddles him, slipping his hand inside her the front of her dress, until she can feel his large palm cupping the entirety of her breast.

“Do you feel it? My heart?”

He grabs her then, like a dog longing for its master. He grinds up into her, fabric on fabric. It’s the most she’s ever done with a man. And she doesn’t like it. Instead she sinks to her knees, opening the fly of his pants, placing her mouth on him like she saw him do to Gale.

He grabs ahold of her hair, tugging too tight, and fucks into her mouth.

“Jesus…fuck…fucking whore–”

She grabs his balls then, just a touch too hard, hard enough to make him freeze with pain. If she kept squeezing. What then? If she never stopped? But the rage leaves her, or rather, it grows cold. She pulls off of him. Him, her willing captive.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Nothing.”

She knows what he thinks about her. Luckily for him it doesn’t matter. She sucks him down again, her jaw aching with pressure. He places his hands back in her hair, hesitant this time. She goes at it for what feels like an hour, until he starts panting hard, choking out,

“I’m gonna–”

She pulls off, and grabs him by the base. She wants something out of him first.

“Please. Marge, please. Sweetheart. I’ll do anything.”

“Call me Daddy.”

Again. He freezes. Eyes wide with desire.

“Say it. Say it.”

She’s going to scream in his face until her skin is just as red as her brain. She is going to destroy him. She wants it like this. Bucky is Gale’s Daddy. And Marge is Bucky’s. And Marge’s is Ron. Like one chain link fence, unending with the weight of its betrayal. Just like in a novel. Some novel… she can’t think straight. She needs to hear it from him or she’ll die.

“Daddy. Daddy, fuck.”

She puts her mouth back on him, and he’s coming hard, his body curling over her head, face scrunched up in agony.

She gets up when he’s done, holding the bitter tang in her mouth, and spits it into his glass of lemonade. He watches her like he’s seen a ghost as she straightens her clothes, fixes her lipstick in the sliding glass door, and heads back inside. Ten hours until Ronnie arrives. She has to run to the hardware store.

______________

1944

My Percy, I’m so sorry. I can’t do it anymore. Gale has been captured by Germans. I can’t stand the thought, even in my head, of being so disloyal to him when he’s this close to death. It was never going to last. Don’t wait for me. I feel lost and alone. The dorm rooms are so empty. I’m afraid sometimes. That I’m a bad person. For the thoughts I have. Something inside of me is broken. Some cog doesn’t turn correctly. The hands of the watch have all stopped moving and I’m stuck in a world I don’t understand, which does not understand me. Please forget about me. Your Mary

______________

1945

He drives up to the house around two in the morning. Marge is in her room, sleeping next to Gale, the same way she has since she was fifteen and her Father and Mother decided it would be best if she moved up to the Cleven’s. After all, his parents had just died, and he was eighteen now, and they would be married soon anyways. She remembers the last time she went to the Casper library was the day before she moved in officially.

She can sense that he’s on the property. She gets up, slowly, and on tip toes walks down the stairs to the front door. He’s waiting there for her. His eyes shadowed in the dark night. Marge has done her part already. She put the sleeping pills in their drinks, crushed and hidden under the tang of gingerale and whiskey. Now they’re both in separate rooms, dead to the world.

“Where is he?”

She takes his hard hand in hers, and leads him back up the stairs. The night is dark and gloomy. She imagines that instead of the boring plains of Casper that it’s the moors of the Scottish Highlands that stretch for three acres in each direction. This kind of house, well, there’s no one here to hear you scream in this kind of house. She knows. She’s done enough screaming in this house to last a lifetime. And no one, until now, had ever come.

He approaches their bed, unmade, and leans over Gale’s sleeping face. She realizes that Ron is seeing him for the first time. She had made sure, before, to never wear any sort of locket with his picture in it. She can’t tell what Ronnie is thinking, but she watches with rapture as he reaches his hands out and drops a pillow over Gale’s face. She had thought…maybe a gun, or…well. This way was better. Less interesting. But better. Easier to explain.

She can tell when Gale wakes up. He starts thrashing. Slowly at first, then like a fish out of water begging for air. The only word banging around her head is “Daddy.” Daddy Daddy Daddy DADDY. As if he hadn’t been her Daddy for years and years. Even when she betrayed him, going out on little dates with Ron, writing him love letters. Even then it was all Gale in the end. Ruler of her heart and her brain. Taking up room he had carved out for himself inside of her. In the end it was always supposed to be the two of them. GaleandMarge. Now. Now she was just going to be Marge. Marge alone. With Ron two steps ahead, cold and hard edged and filled with anger. She feels afraid of the future.

Out of the corner of her eye there’s movement. Quick as anything, Bucky bounds into the room, stumbling over himself, vertigo drawing on the drugs to make him as clumsy as a newborn deer. Marge screams. This wasn’t part of the plan. Ron doesn’t panic. Not even when Bucky reaches out and grabs her by the throat, tossing her into the wardrobe. She lands hard, and is reminded of her own Father, his hulking size, his tempestuous anger. She understands for a brief moment what Gale sees in him.

Then the noise like a firecracker. Bang. And Bucky drops. She looks up from the red. Up and up and up. Ron stands there, pistol in hand, like a God of death. She loves him. She needs him. She is deathly afraid. He turns, returns to the bed, and checks Gale’s pulse. He places the gun in Gale’s hand, wiping it off with a handkerchief. She clings to his back, pressing desperate little kisses along the back of his neck, clinging like a sea urchin.

He holds her close, turning her around, mouth pressing to hers, squeezing her so tight she can’t breath. He doesn’t check the bleeding she can feel at the back of her head from when she knocked into the dresser. That’s okay though.

“You’re not leaving me again. Not again. It’s finished.”

She nods. Where else would she go now?

He takes her hand and leads her down the stairs and into the car and out onto the rough paved roads.

“Where?”

She knows what he means before he even finishes asking.

“Take a left.”

It takes them twenty minutes to get there. The anticipation is killing her. He parks the car, and giddy like a school girl she drags him along, pulling her nightgown over her head. Laughing. This is what freedom feels like. Like fresh air from the pitch black night on your naked breasts.

They reach the gravestone and he’s on her immediately. His hands wander, up and down, grasping her breasts and her naked thighs, wanting to touch every at once, wanting to consume her.

“Daddy…”

She whispers it to him, and something seems to snap. He tosses her down onto the dirt, the back of her head hitting the gravestone. She starts to bleed even more. Red everywhere. She feels behind her and touches the engraved letters of her Mother’s name. Red in the air. He stays clothed, but shucks his wool coat, his tie, places himself above her, knees in the wet dirt, biting at her neck until she cries out in pain. He touches her, but not gently.

“It’s finished. You understand? You’re not getting away from me again. Not even another war. Not even another continent is going to stop me from getting to you.”

The words should scare her, but they don’t. She’s used to being owned. At least Ron is good at it. He keeps his stolen things close to the chest, treating them like a magpie. He guards his nest. He would sooner kill her before he let her touch another man. And he lets her do what she wants. All of that. It makes her love him more than she can stand. Her mind might belong to Gale. It might always belong to him. But her body, her heart, her soul. Those she can give away as she chooses.

He slides into her, and it hurts unlike anything she’s ever felt before. She grabs at the stone behind her, bending her back to get away. But she can’t. The pain and pleasure are mixing. She can feel herself bleeding down into the Earth. She’s finally gotten what she wanted. Finally. A sigh of relief escapes her, fluttering her eyes closed. All around her, inside of her, is him. Warm and dark. From him to her, from the Oak trees that surround them like a canopy. Red flows out of her into the night. She screams out a long, loud laugh. He smiles into her neck, biting even harder. She wants to live the rest of her life just like this.

[awaterfalls]

Hey guys! I hope you are all doing well.. I just wanna say that I'll be taking time off from here bc adult life is driving me insane and I have to think about a lot of things. Thank you so much for all the love.. I'll never forget you guys. Hope I'll see you guys soon. Take care of yourself ok? I'll be back soon, I just need time to sort things out. I love you guys. See ya! ✨💕

[lieutenant-speirs]

Just Hold Him (Lipton x Speirs)

Title: Just Hold Him (Part 1 of 2) - (Part 2 here) Ship: Lipton x Speirs Summary: When snow reminds Lipton of what he's lost, what he's witnessed... Grief pierced him through the heart with an icicle shard. Themes: Grief, Hurt-Comfort Author Note: Since when has there been a character limit on tumblr? I gotta post this in two parts now. What the sobel crap is this!?

Since being back from the war, Lipton kept himself busy. Helping his Mom out with the Boarding House, getting his own apartment closer to the college that he had been accepted into to finish his education, school work… and when he had free time, he always found something to do. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. If he stopped…he started thinking…and he just couldn’t sit around and mope. Had to keep himself busy and distracted. Perhaps the Sergeant – or Lieutenant, rather – in him, also made him feel like he should be doing something useful. People tend to bring the war home…and Lipton certainly did that. Perhaps not in the means of trauma and PTSD… but things that were drilled into him either during Bootcamp, Training, being a soldier in general... Things such as how he makes the bed…and it gets done every morning. No excuses. How he folds his socks. Even waking up 10 minutes before 6am. Granted he didn’t have to haul his ass out of bed, but he still wakes up like his body clock is still in Toccoa. These wintry months were slightly different… Ron was on leave for a few weeks, therefore he was home. Which meant those early mornings weren’t spent alone, in bed. It was almost humorous the first morning… Lipton was excited to wake up and be the first to look over at Ron, sleeping. Only for his hazel eyes to meet another set of hazel eyes. “Oh. Hi.” Speirs couldn’t help the little sleepy laugh that crept out at Lipton’s disappointed response. Lipton’s eyes quickly danced over Ron’s softly laughing features, drinking in that beautiful sight. If it’s one thing he loves about Ron…it’s when he smiles. “You sound disappointed to see me, Carwood.” “No..Not at all.” Lipton turned the rest of his body around so he was fully facing Ron. He pressed his semi-hardened erection against Ron, causing the brunette’s brows to shoot up, smile turning into a small smirk, hazel eyes softening into a mixed gaze of lustful mischievousness and just general love for Lipton. “Definitely not at all.” Lipton muttered as his neck craned up to press a kiss on the corner of Ron’s lips, only for Ron to catch his lips and pull him into a deeper kiss…. This is what Lipton should be thinking about when he stopped moving, stopped finding ways to distract himself… But no… He had just finished putting a few products away that he was using to fix some squeaking hinges, when he walked out into the open living area and just stared out the window. The bright light of…white… caught his attention. And he found himself staring at the snow-fall. It’s been, what? Almost two years? But the snow has a tendency to pull him right back. The snow will never match the coldness of what they felt in Bastogne, but the same white residue can bring back a flood of memories. The sound of shells going off, shells dropping and exploding the trees, grounds, foxholes… The sound of Luz’s voice in his ear screaming to be heard that Muck and Penkala got hit. Ron had just turned the corner to make a start on dinner when he stopped and watched the man he loves just stare off. Something Lipton doesn’t do. Immediately, the odd behavior was something Ron picked up on. He followed Lipton’s gaze and could only see nothing but snow and – snow. Ron was smart. Observant. Particularly with Lipton. “Carwood?” He gently called out, not making any movement to avoid startling the man. But he got no response. Dark hazel eyes looked around quickly for an answer on how to deal with this situation… this was more Lipton’s department than it was Rons… but Lipton was the one needing the softer approach… “Carwood…?” Speirs started again…this time carefully stepping closer. A mistake, perhaps, in keeping his footfalls on the quieter side as he cautiously walked up to the man who was staring off. The haunted look of war physically evident over his features.

[blurredcolour]

In The Bleak Mid-Winter

[One-shot]

Ronald Speirs x Nurse!Female Reader

No good deed goes unpunished, but your reassignment brings with it an unexpected reward.

Warnings: Language, Weapons, Canon Typical Violence, Smoking, Treatment of Wounds, Medical Procedures, Hospital Settings, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex - m/f receiving, fingering, cum eating] - 18+ ONLY

Author’s Note: This was written entirely on my phone as my laptop is in for emergency repairs - I hated the experience, and apologize if there are any formatting issues or a surplus of typos. Also, I made some distinct narrative choices in writing this but I won’t burden you with them up front. They’re in the post-script if you’re interested! This is a work of fiction based off the actors’ portrayal in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life persons mentioned within.

Word Count: 6171

————————————-

December 29, 1944 - Bastogne

“Fifty surgeries in two days with only three deaths. It is nothing short of a miracle. I’m halfway through a report recommending you all for a medal....and then I come to find out you landed in the middle of an encircled town on an unpiloted glider, through all manner of artillery fire, with a goddamn woman?! A woman!”

Your bleary eyes focused on the lit end of the cigarette pinched between the index and middle finger of your right hand, the icy caress of the north wind howling between the tent and the garage outside the Bastogne barracks one of the only things keeping you awake. Weary from nearly forty-eight hours of surgery, it would have been difficult to stay awake under normal circumstances, but the mortification you felt as General McAuliffe screamed at Major Dorward behind thin walls of canvas was certainly helping keep you on your aching feet in the ankle deep snow.

Bundled tightly in your great coat, collar turned up against the wind, face buried into the olive drab scarf around your neck, helmet protecting your head, the only bit of exposed skin was that hand you were straining to focus on. The other was deep inside your pocket, balled into a fist. You were vaguely aware of various people darting through the barracks yard behind you, making their way to and fro, loading vehicles, delivering men to the now-central clearing station since the bombing of the cathedral the day before your arrival. Covered as you were, you were barely indistinguishable from an ordinary soldier, yet the General had managed to find out your secret nonetheless.

“I have every faith that she can handle herself out here sir, there was no more qualified surgical assistant to accompany us.”

“But she is not a surgical assistant, Major, is she?! She’s just a nurse! A nurse whose life you endangered by sneaking her aboard that glider! I ought to have you court martialed!!!”

The General did have a point, hidden though it was within the avalanche of vitriol he was sending the Major’s way. You were in fact no more than a surgical nurse - assistants were enlisted men. But during your third or fourth surgery with the Major, right after D-Day, a brand new surgical assistant had been assigned to the operating room and not five minutes in had fainted to the floor.

With the patient in a life threatening position you had stepped forward to fill in the gap and ensure no impact to care or outcome. It had been the start of a very effective working relationship as the 12th Evacuation Hospital made its way across France behind the advancing American army.

Thus when Major Dorward had volunteered for this assignment, and asked if you would consider joining him, your only hesitation was born of the concern for the hell you two might catch. The hell he was in the very midst of catching right now.

You hissed at the sudden pain as the lit end of the cigarette met your flesh and quickly flicked it into the snow, not having taken one puff. When General Nuts himself had stormed into the tent, eyes blazing, the Major had sent you outside in the early dawn light with the lit cigarette and his rifle for protection. It had rather felt like you were your own firing squad, though the Major was most certainly the one under fire at the moment.

The creak of boots in the nearby snow, much closer than all those that had passed by before, made you jump slightly. You turned quickly to see an exhausted soldier, eyes bleached a pale grey in the now-brilliant morning sunshine. He looked cold, and exhausted, as all the men you’d run into here did. His face was handsome, though, lashes luxuriously long for a man carrying a Thompson submachine gun. He held out a pack of cigarettes to you, offering you a new one to replace that which you’d mistakenly allowed to burn out and you shook your head before extracting your face from its position nestled deep within your scarf.

“I don’t actually smoke, please don’t waste any of your cigarettes on me, soldier.” You smiled weakly, watching as his eyes widened a fraction before the General’s voice somehow rose even further in volume to respond to something the Major had said.

“I don’t give two shits if she can transplant heads, the risks involved were unacceptable, Major, and believe me you have not heard the last of this! Your surgical record over the last two days has been impressive, but this was utterly reckless!”

The soldier’s eyes flicked to the tent then back to you as everything surely came together in his mind and you looked down at the outline of yourcombat boots buried in the snow, wondering if it was too much to ask for the ground to open up beneath you and swallow you whole. You heard the tent flap flutter and tensed in anticipation of the General’s departure, but instead a gunshot rang out from across the clearing beyond the barracks, the snow scattering at your feet.

Strong arms yanked around your waist and pulled you back behind the shelter of the tent and the pair of you quickly lay flat in the snow, unmoving, barely breathing. The harassment from the enemy had been almost constant from the moment the glider had entered occupied air space and that, combined with any and all abilities you might possess being questioned by the General simply because of your gender, had you feeling rather enraged.

Pulling Major Dorward’s rifle from your shoulder, you crawled on your elbows to cautiously peer around the corner of the tent across the meadow and into the tree line beyond. Nothing moved. Years spent stalking deer at your father’s side had taught you patience, and how to aim the rifle in your hands. It seemed the former would not be required as a soldier came blithely walking out of the garage-turned-operating theatre completely unaware that there was a sniper.

The soldier at your side gestured at him violently - you could feel the movement of his body where his hip was still pressed against your leg, but it went unnoticed. Another shot rang out.

“Holy shit!” The man wailed as he darted back inside, a shower of brick dust audibly hitting the snow somewhere to your rear. The sniper was clearly lacking in talent, but you were focused on the movement in the coniferous tree to your two o’clock.

Exhaling slowly you squeezed the trigger and there was a hoarse shout followed by the sound of a body tumbling through cracking branches and ending in a sickening thud.

“Trying to kill my goddamn patients.” You muttered bitterly under your breath and carefully sat up, looking back to the soldier as he exhaled slowly.

He was eyeing you, expression intense and inscrutable, but your gaze was drawn to the gap at the collar of his ODs where you could see fresh blood oozing from a poorly bandaged wound at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, staining his wool shirt just below below his silver 1st Lieutenant’s insignia.

“You’re bleeding, Lieutenant.” You said quickly, pushing on his hip to encourage him to roll over so you might kneel at his side for a better look, pleased when he immediately complied.

You laid the rifle in the snow next to him and pulled the bandages away, frowning deeply to see lingering splinters of wood in the wound. As you carefully probed at them he hissed and you tensed, quickly apologizing.

“It’s nothing, ma’am, I’m fine.”

The tent flap opening and closing followed by heavy footfalls in the snow signalled the arrival of General McAuliffe on the scene.

“Everything alright, Lieutenant?” He asked quickly and the man below you nodded quickly.

“Just some shrapnel from a tree burst, sir.”

You looked up to the General slowly, watching his eyes land on the rifle at the Lieutenant’s side before glancing across the clearing.

“Good. Well done with the sniper, son.”

The Lieutenant shifted uncomfortably but you nodded quickly, helping him sit up. “An impressive shot, sir.” You added.

The General’s eyes fell on you, still full of that heated rage, but apparently he’d run out of words to say on the subject of your unwanted presence for he simply turned and made his way back towards the barracks.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Lieutenant.” You turned back to him, the coppery tang of blood on the air focusing you like nothing else seemed to be able to.

Working your way to your feet, you picked up the abandoned rifle before leading him into the tent. Major Dorward looked up from some papers on his desk, opening his mouth but closing it quickly as you were followed by the Lieutenant.

“Tree burst shrapnel, sir.” You announced in your easy working shorthand.

“Damn Nazis have weaponized the forest. Have a seat, soldier.” He stood and offered his chair, walking over to the stash of supplies to fetch a field kit and bandages for you as you set the rifle on the cot in the corner, putting your helmet down beside it. “Ah my apologies, trooper.” He amended.

You turned back to see the distinct jump boots with bloused trousers now that the Lieutenant was seated and smiled. “I apologize as well, Lieutenant. I missed that outside.”

You worked his ODs and wool shirt open to began carefully cleaning his wound, leaving him in his undershirt in the chill of the tent.

“Doesn’t seem you miss much, Nurse.” He looked up to you as he spoke softly and you swallowed thickly as you noted his eyes were actually hazel, with flecks of gold around his pupils.

Mercifully Major Dorward broke out into rich laughter and shook his head. “That she doesn’t.” He commiserated affectionately from his newfound seat on the cot.

“Let me guess,” you murmured to the man seated before you as you gently worked out the last few splinters of wood that had escaped initial treatment, “you also told them this was nothing at the aid station because there were men there whom you considered hurt worse than you.” You glanced to his face as his lips twitched a little. “This could have become a real problem, Lieutenant, I’m glad you came over to offer me a cigarette.”

Turning back, you called the Major over to double check your work.

“Wound is clean and ready for bandaging.” He nodded after looking it over. “When you’re done I suggest you try and sleep. We’re driving out as soon as the truck is ready and the ride out will be about as relaxing as the flight in.”

“Understood, thank you Major.” You nodded as he stepped out of the tent to light a cigarette. You carefully lay some gauze over the crook of the Lieutenant’s shoulder before wrapping some bandages around his neck and under his armpit to hold it in place. “This should heal nicely in a week or so if you can do your best to keep it dry for me…” you trailed off as your fingers found the hole in his ODs.

Casting about the tent, your eyes landed on a tattered blanket in the corner and you began fashioning a patch, whip stitching it into place over the gash in the fabric. “That ought to do it.”

“Thank you, Nurse.” He murmured, looking up at you before he stood slowly, buttoning up his shirt and ODs with practiced efficiency.

“Take care of yourself, trooper.” You nodded, watching him step out, hoping against hope that he would be alright out there.

General McAuliffe proved to be a man of his word, which in retrospect was of no surprise to you whatsoever. The hellish ride out of Bastogne in the back of a truck on the only opened road, with the sounds of battle still raging on either side, took you to Orval where you received orders to report to the 60th Field Hospital there while the men from the 12th would return to the Evacuation Hospital you’d been stationed with since before June 1944. You had been informed your personal effects would arrive at a ‘later date.’

Nuts, indeed.

You worked in Orval for nearly a week, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, wearing the same clothing day-in, day-out, until the 60th was relieved and pulled back to Mourmelon-le-Grand. As promised, your belongings were waiting for you there, in the iron grip of a dour-faced Chief Nurse MacDonald who was only too happy to put a ‘reckless, insubordinate’ Nurse like you in her place at the 123rd Station Hospital.

What followed was a grueling month of scrubbing and refitting the near derelict buildings abandoned by the Airborne when they were abruptly called to the Ardennes. By the time the place was worthy of being called a hospital, you had managed to become at least friendly with your new colleagues, though they remained suspicious after your filthy and unceremonious arrival.

By mid-February, a tent city began to spring up around the base, heralding the impending arrival of troops from the front. And with them came all manner of cold weather maladies - pneumonia, trench foot, frostbite. Working on the general ward now, you could only eye the surgical nurses with envy, knowing your skills were going to waste emptying bedpans and changing bandages and that you had no one to blame but yourself.

Stubborn in all things, however, you worked without complaint, often being rewarded with more work or the worst assignments because your superiors knew you would complete any task with efficient silence. It was precisely this combination that saw you assigned to the night shift, a small mercy in that the vengeful Chief Nurse would never deign to work such hours, allowing you to develop a new working relationship with Captain Munro, MD.

“Nurse might I borrow you a moment?” He interrupted you as you stepped away from the bedside of a postoperative patient and you quickly nodded, following him off the ward and down the hall to his office. “I’m up to my eyeballs in trench foot but there’s an officer in here, seems he lacerated his hand helping one of his men climb out a transport - quite stubborn. Whether or not it needs sutures I am confident you can determine…” he exhaled, clearly exhausted from working a double shift as he came to a stop outside the door. “Is it alright if I leave this one in your capable hands? You’ll find everything you need in the cabinet.” He looked at you pleadingly, eyes underscored by dark bags of fatigue as he held out the chart and you nodded quickly.

“Certainly sir, please don’t worry about a thing.” You smiled softly at the relieved slump of his shoulders before he nodded firmly in thanks, dashing off down the hall to no doubt deal with another man’s beleaguered feet.

You glanced over the chart of Captain Ronald Speirs quickly before knocking on the door, giving the man some warning, before you stepped inside. You tilted your head to see the Captain with his back turned to you, halfway back into the worn jacket of his ODs, appearing quite prepared to leave.

“Just a moment please, Captain Speirs, I would like to take a look at your hand, sir.” You said softly, eyes widening as the man turned around swiftly, arms still slightly akimbo, to reveal the very same Lieutenant whom you’d bandaged that morning in Bastogne. Who’d saved your life, and watched you take out a sniper with barely a comment.

His eyes were fatigued, his hair grown long. He clearly hadn’t seen a razor in quite some time and yet you were struggling to recall a moment when you’d found a man so attractive in your entire life. You suddenly felt acutely self conscious in your white and brown seer sucker hospital dress with brown cotton stockings and cardigan to match, nursing cap pinned in your hair.

“It’s nothing ma’am, I’m fine.” He repeated himself word for word and you bit the inside of your cheek, having a hard time deciphering if he was joking or just built that obstinately. You did not miss, however, the slight rasp in the back of his throat.

“Good, let’s keep it that way, shall we Captain?”

You gestured for him to sit in the chair he’d surely recently vacated and carefully took the one across the corner of the desk from him, holding out your hand expectantly. As he set the back of his left hand in yours, you frowned at the laceration along the side of his palm. Captain Munro had been right, it really was borderline in need of suturing.

Laying his hand on the desk gently you stepped over to the cabinet to collect the necessary supplies, deciding to play it safe. You could suture quickly enough - the man clearly needed to get some rest and you did not want to keep him from it. While swiping his palm clean with an iodine wipe you glanced at him as he cleared his throat.

“I didn’t think you were assigned here.” He commented quietly.

You shook your head ruefully as you unpacked a tube of pre-threaded sutures with a curved needle. “I wasn’t until very recently. I used to be assigned to the 12th Evacuation Hospital but after my…behavior it was deemed necessary to reassign me.”

“I said nothing, I swear.” He replied quickly, brow furrowing and you could not help the smile that pulled at your lips.

“I believe you, Captain. Heaven knows where I’d be if you had.” Gently positioning his hand on the desk top, you smoothly rotated the curved needle through first one edge of his cut and then the other, looping the length of it around your forceps twice before pulling the end through to create a square knot.

You repeated two more casts before snipping the ends of the suture, looking to him sharply as he let out a rattling cough. “How long have you had that cough, Captain?”

“Few days…” he replied evasively and you hummed disapprovingly.

“If it doesn’t go away in a couple of days, you should come back and see me.” You spoke as you began the next stitch.

“And if it does get better?” He asked quietly, watching your careful work.

“I’ll be here all the same.” You replied, pressing your lips together as you fought another smile at the thrill that unfurled in your stomach.

“Whom should I ask for?” His voice came out particularly gravelly and he cleared his throat forcefully.

It was your turn to look startled as you suddenly came to realize you had yet to introduce yourself. You quickly shared your name before shaking your head in shame. “You must think me some wild animal, Captain, please forgive me.” You muttered and tied off the fourth and final stitch.

He nodded at you, eyes taking on a glossy quality that had you growing more concerned by the moment. You set down your tools and raised a hand to brush the backs of your fingers against his forehead, heart clenching as his eyes fluttered closed. Those infernal eyelashes dusting against his cheeks. His skin felt a normal temperature but another ragged cough wracked his frame and you clenched your jaw.

“I’d like to listen to your lungs, Captain.” You muttered and stepped over to the cabinet once more to grab the stethoscope you’d seen there.

He blinked up at you as he began to undo his wool shirt. “It’s Ron.” He corrected you and another smile escaped you before you managed to smother it, hands cupping the bell of the stethoscope to warm it.

“Thank you, Ron.” You said softly, inserting the tips into your ears before stepping closer to press the stethoscope against his upper left chest. “Deep breath in for me?”

You listened carefully to each quadrant of his lungs, pleased there was no crackling or anything else abnormal. Satisfied it was most likely just a cold, you looped the stethoscope around your neck as you stepped back.

“Everything seems alright, promise me you’ll get some rest and keep warm?” You asked gently, doing your best not to allow your eyes to linger on the way his undershirt clung to his lithe frame. You did take a selfish moment to appreciate how well his wound from Bastogne had healed, however.

“Promise.” He nodded, doing up his shirt more slowly this time, courtesy of the stitches in his palm. “Remind me when I get to see you again?”

You bit your lip slightly and took a breath. “If the cough doesn’t improve, a couple of days. To get your stitches out, a couple of weeks. Please keep them clean and dry until tomorrow night at least.”

“Got it.” He nodded and straightened his OD jacket, pulling on a worn scarf from the back of the chair before standing slowly.

“But for now straight to bed.” You opened the door, watching over him feeling wildly and inexplicably overprotective.

“Thank you.” He looked to you drowsily and you nodded, seeing him out then turning back to clean up and complete his chart before rushing back to your actual duties that night.

One week passed, and then another. There was no visit from Captain Speirs. You did your utmost to convince yourself it was for the best, that it meant he was healthy. That he’d had his stitches removed by a nurse on the day shift at his convenience. Word came that his entire Division would receive a Presidential Unit Citation and Ike himself would be coming to visit to deliver it on Roosevelt’s behalf.

You were promptly informed by Chief Nurse MacDonald that your presence during the ceremony was not welcome, but if you wanted to observe the Divisional dress rehearsal a few days before, on your own time of course, she would not stop you.

Breaking out your dress uniform for the first time in months, you obstinately got ready just after the end of your shift that morning and strode your way over to the parade ground with a few of the girls on the evening shift who were certainly better rested than you. More than a few off duty nurses from the five other hospitals in Mourmelon had found their way onto the grounds to take a peek at the men in their finery and you could only imagine that number would be many times higher on the fifteenth when Ike himself was there.

The weather was thankfully cooperative as you huddled together near a collection of trees watching the men of the 101st file past. The contrast between their neatly pressed uniforms with mirror shined boots and the battered but not beaten men you’d encountered in Bastogne was truly striking. Each and every one of them truly deserved the honor that was about to be bestowed upon them.

Once everyone was satisfied that the ceremony would proceed without a hitch, the men were dismissed and you turned to head back to your tent to catch what sleep you could before your shift that night. Smothering a yawn behind your hand, the group of women you were walking with all came to a halt when a familiar voice called ‘Nurse!’ All of you almost seemed to turn back as one.

If six pairs of inquisitive female eyes intimidated Captain Speirs he did not let it show. He quickly clarified with your name, the other nurses filing away murmuring amongst themselves disappointedly.

“Good morning, Captain.” You nodded to him as he came to stand in front of you, sliding his helmet from his head to tuck it under his arm.

“Good morning.” He replied, eyes skimming over your uniform curiously.

You noted he’d found the time to visit a barber, his hair neatly trimmed and styled, though you rather missed the tousled waves he’d first arrived with.

“You are sounding well, Captain. I’m glad to hear it.” You smiled softly. “Did your hand mend nicely?”

He lifted it for your inspection and you looked to him startled to see the stitches still in place.

“Captain, these sutures were ready to be removed days ago.” You chided him softly as you cradled his hand in yours.

“I was told you were unavailable.” He replied quietly and you looked to his face quizzically before it dawned on you that he must have returned to the hospital during another shift and simply left when he learned you weren’t there.

“My apologies, I work nights. Any nurse can take care of these, they must itch something fierce.” You frowned.

“What time does your shift begin tonight?” He asked, seemingly happy to leave his hand at your mercy for as long as you chose to hold it.

“2100.” You replied, noting the disappointment that pinched at the bridge of his nose. “But I could meet you there at 2015 if it means getting this taken care of.”

He nodded firmly. “2015, then. Thank you.” He eyed you a moment as you tried in vain to fight back another yawn. “What time does your shift end?”

“0900. I should get back to get some rest. Just wanted to sneak a peek at the big show. You boys will do great when Ike’s in town.” You nodded warmly.

“You won’t be here?” He tilted his head curiously and you let out a scoff of self deprecation.

“Reckless, insubordinate nurses like me aren’t to be seen by the Supreme Allied Commander.”

A furrow appeared between his brows, the muscle of his jaw ticking slightly before he exhaled. “I wish they would stop punishing you for your bravery.”

Your eyebrows shot up beneath the brim of your service cap. You had been trying your damnedest to not let it bother you, especially after hearing the men of the 12th Hospital you’d gone in with had all received the Silver Cross. To hear him speak in your defense was quite honestly overwhelming.

After a careful glance around the nearly empty parade ground confirmed the remaining individuals were otherwise occupied, you leaned in to quickly press your lips to his freshly shaved cheek, thumb swiping away any trace of your lipstick.

“Thank you, Ron.” You swallowed tightly as the heat of his gaze was as palpable as a caress on the skin of your face. “I will see you later to remove your stitches.” Squeezing his hand gently you released it to hang at his side.

His silent nod was the only response you received before you turned to make your way back to your tent for some much needed rest, though your mind would have much rather focused on the way the sunlight lit his eyes than to let you sleep.

Arriving at the hospital that night at 2000 you tracked down Captain Munro and secured his permission to borrow his office once more in the name of treating the stubborn Captain Speirs. Setting out suture scissors and tweezers on a tray upon the desk, you hurried out front to meet the Captain lest he was misinformed about your availability again.

“Good Evening.” He nodded as you stepped outside, hugging your cardigan close against the chill of the night.

“Evening, Captain, please follow me.” You smiled and led him through the maze of hallways before holding open the door to the prepared office.

He assumed the same seat as before and, closing the door behind you, you sat opposite, looking over his palm as he set it in your waiting hand.

“You’ve done a very good job keeping it clean for me, Captain, thank you.” You smiled and picked up the curved scissors, the edge that pressed against the skin not at all sharp. “I’ll cut the stitches first and then pull them out with the tweezers, alright?”

He nodded, watching you closely as you snipped your way through the silk strands very carefully.

“They call me ‘killer’ you know…” he spoke apropos of nothing and you slowly raised your eyes, feeling as though you were joining an internal conversation well in progress.

Rumors spread through camp faster than that bone rattling cough he’d arrived with - you’d heard your fair share of things about him. Particularly after your tent mates had learned that he’d spoken to you earlier that day on the parade ground.

“Sure he’s pretty and all but after the things he did to those Nazi prisoners…” Betty from Indiana had insisted with a dramatic shudder.

“And his own Sergeant!” Philomena of New York had chimed in with an emphatic nod.

All of it struck you as hollow and vapid, coming from two wide-eyed girls fresh from Stateside who’d only ever known war stationed in hospitals with roofs and walls. Never been fired on, never had an enemy soldier try and take the life of a patient right out from under them.

“Well, Ron,” you replied thoughtfully as you set the scissors onto the waiting tray, “they could easily say the same thing about me. It just so happens I had a very honorable man at my side when my anger got the best of me.”

His eyes seized yours, pinning you to the spot with your hand hovering just above the set of tweezers as you forgot how to breathe. His lips tentatively began to form words several times before he abandoned his attempts to speak and lunged forward to close the space between you, his lips slotting against yours in reply instead.

Inhaling sharply through your nose in surprise, you found yourself quickly leaning into his kiss, fingers threading into his shorter hair as you tilted your head to press your lips more firmly to his. Sliding his arms around your shoulders, he pulled you close, tongue delving into your mouth greedily. A soft whimper escaped your throat only to be swallowed by his devouring mouth as he tasted you thoroughly.

Appearing discontent with the separation between your bodies, his hands shifted to grip your hips, guiding you onto his lap before his fingers began to pluck at the buttons of your cardigan. Rucking up the skirt of your dress and slip beneath, you settled over his hips, shuddering as the hard bulge of his length nestled tightly against your core.

“We don’t have a lot of time” you panted against his lips as his hands brushed aside your open cardigan to tug at the tie of your wrap dress, revealing your cream coloured slip beneath.

“Understood.” He murmured as he pulled back to drink you in, eyes taking on that glossy quality from back in February that’d had you so convinced he was febrile.

“Ron…” you urged gently, your own hands sliding between your bodies to work at the fastenings of his dress trousers.

Lost in some sort of trance he leaned forward to press his lips against the hollow of your throat before he secured the ball chain of your ID tags between his teeth and pulled them out from beneath the v-neck of your slip. Brushing his lips against the flat metal stamped with your name and serial number, preceded by the letter N, your heart lurched beneath your ribs fondly as it forgot its normal rhythm for a few beats.

The feel of his fingertips undoing the fastenings of your stockings from your garter straps refocused you and you quickly worked his fly open, sliding his trousers and boxers down as he did the same with your underwear, depositing them onto the floor.

Shifting higher onto your knees, you pressed your face against his temple as he took his cock into his hand, pressing into your entrance slowly. You whimpered breathily against his hair before dropping your head to the crook of his shoulder to try your best to keep your volume down. Rocking your hips against his with a smothered moan you clenched your thighs to begin working up and down along his length.

Heavy breaths fell from his parted lips, brushing against the skin of your neck, goose flesh erupting in the wake of each exhale. His fingers curled into the flesh of your hips as he helped drive your hips against his.

“Ahn, Ron!” You keened against his jacket, lifting your head to kiss him hungrily.

He rocked his hips up into yours each time your pelvis met his before letting out a frustrated grunt against your lips. “On the desk.” He rasped pleadingly and you nodded quickly, sliding from his lap to shuffle backwards, pushing the tray of instruments further behind you before perching on the edge.

Surging to his feet, he nestled between your legs, tongue sliding along yours as he thrust into your aching warmth once more. You cried out hungrily down his throat as your nails dug into the sleeves of his uniform jacket, clinging to him as he set a deliciously dizzying pace that had your toes curling in your shoes.

A ragged moan rumbled through his chest as his cock twitched within your wet heat and he quickly pulled back, chest heaving. Pushing from the desk, you fell to your knees, ignoring the slight sting as they impacted the floor, to wrap your lips around the leaking tip of his length.

He hissed through clenched teeth, hand coming to rest against the back of your head as you hollowed your cheeks tightly around him. Encircling him in your grasp, you eagerly stared up at his face as you stroked his cock, clenching your thighs together as the corded muscle of his neck flexed with the effort to remain silent as his salty release filled your mouth.

Laving him clean with your tongue, you sat back on your heels, swallowing every last drop as he watched on in stunned silence. Fingers sliding up your thighs to retrieve the first of your garter straps, you shivered a little as you remained highly sensitive, having been so close yourself, but also very much aware of the lack of time. You rose to your feet, about to begin fastening your stockings when his hands were on your waist, guiding you to sit on top of the desk once again.

“You didn’t…” He exhaled through flared nostrils and shook his head sharply. “Unacceptable.” Was all the warning he afforded you before he crouched down to seal his lips around your throbbing clit, two fingers plunging into your trembling warmth.

“Holy…” you barely managed to cover your mouth with your palm, hips bucking violently toward him.

He hummed against you approvingly as you lay back onto the worn wooden surface, writhing as fingers picked up the thread of your pleasure, winding it tighter and tighter as his mouth felt like it was sucking your very soul from you. Every muscle in your body became taught with exquisite tension until, at last, like the blowing of a fuse your release detonated behind your clenched eyelids.

Relaxing into the desk top with languid ease, you ran your fingers through his hair in tender appreciation. “Really…have no time now…” you murmured breathlessly and he pressed his damp lips to your inner thigh before pulling you up to a seated position and began to help you re-dress.

Any time his lips were vaguely within the vincinty of yours, you unhelpfully insisted on kissing him softly, significantly hindering progress, but eventually the pair of you were mostly presentable. He cupped your cheek with his left hand and your eyes shot wide at the rasp of sutures against your skin.

“Ron!” You gasped, grabbing his wrist and groping behind you for the tweezers before setting about carefully trying to remove them.

It was his turn to be a nuisance as he nuzzled his face into the soft skin of your neck, sighing gently, making you giggle under your breath as his eyelashes tickled your flesh.

“You are a wild animal.” His voice held a dreamlike quality, lips brushing against your throat as he spoke.

You honestly would have swatted him if his tone weren’t so reverent, doing your best to focus on removing the last two sutures.

“A lioness - fierce and strong and brave and gorgeous.” He rambled before brushing a line of feather-light kisses up towards your jaw.

It made your heart ache with the longing to linger with this verbose version of him that had somehow been unleashed, but according to the clock above the door, you had to be on duty in two minutes.

“Ronald Speirs, you sweet talker.” You whispered weakly, setting down the tweezers, your task finally managed. “I hope you sleep well.”

“You know I will, thanks to you.” His eyes met yours warmly before he cupped your cheeks, pulling you in for one last searing kiss. “May I…write to you?” He asked, incongruously hesitant after all that had transpired.

Sliding your arms around his neck, you kissed his forehead. “You’d better. This lioness has claws.” You smirked in a playfully threatening manner, earning a broad grin in response.

————————————-

Band of Brothers Masterlist

Tag list: @bcon24 , @ronsparky

Post-script: Firstly, I agonized for several hours about whether or not to have Ron be married in this. Ultimately, after reading that Ronald Speirs asked his first wife not be mentioned in any way in the miniseries I decided to do the same here. Secondly, while I used a fake name for the Major who flew into Bastogne by glider, this is all based on real events that took place! I decided to use fictional characters here to justify the radical actions I had them take in bringing the reader, but you the story of Major Soutter and the men of the 12th Evacuation Hospital is really quite something!

[danopdf]

Ronald Speirs x Medic!Reader Headcanons

Notes: Welcome to my Ron X reader headcanons! It goes through everything from Toccoa - post war! Word Count: 13,768

this is based off the fictional character(s) portrayed by the actor(s) in the show band of brothers, with no disrespect toward the real life veterans.

Warnings: Usual Band of Brothers and war stuff, swearing, once you get to the smut part there's too many things to give warnings for (it's not nasty just super smutty and a lil' kinky) Enjoy :D <3

============

TOCCOA / NORMANDY

For the first bit you're at Toccoa you think that he HATES you because he’s constantly glaring at you the whole time from afar

It gets to a point where you start getting really nervous whenever you catch him staring, so none of the guys ever leave you completely alone just so they know you’re safe, and because, “we don’t know the guy, he could be crazy.” “Donny, we signed up to jump out of planes, we’re all crazy.”

He leaves anonymous gifts for you on your cot

Nothing fancy, just something like an extra pair of socks when you get to England, or one day after you’re being teased by Don, Muck, and Penkalla and they accidentally rip the binding of your book there’s a fresh brand new copy packaged neatly on your pillow

All of the boys of course go ‘OOOOOOOOoooOOOOOoo” every time something appears just to tease you

all through the second leg of training in England, he’s still staring at you but now it’s not just from across the training area, it’s also from across the pub, and the meeting rooms, and the mess hall

“If he keeps looking at me I’m gonna start yelling at him-”

“Maybe don’t do that while he’s at the range.”

everybody notices to the point of constantly teasing you about it

“y/n you may wanna ask Doc to check your back out from all of the knives Speirs is glaring into it-“

“MUCK-!”

You notice the stares are starting to happen less and less as it gets closer to D-Day

You honestly get kinda lonely without him hovering constantly, to the point where the rest of the guys start to notice you looking around for him

“Looking ‘round for your guardian angel y/n?”

“Toye I swear to god!”

The day that you were supposed to drop into Normandy comes and gets cancelled, and you’re too anxious to sleep and decide to slip out and go for a walk to clear your head

You’re wandering around the empty streets taking it all in because for all you know, this may be your last night on Earth and goddamn it if you can’t get hammered you’re gonna take a nice fucking walk

You’re 20 minutes into your walk along a few of the random streets and just enjoying a final night of calm, when you see a figure across the street from you smoking

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust and notice who it is (it’s Ron obv), and once you do you just pause because for the first time, you’re looking at him before he’s looking at you

When he looks up from lighting his cigarette his eyes go wide and he takes a small step back because you’re looking at him, ‘oh god why are they looking at me like that-’

You just give him a small smile and raise your hand in a wave

He just stares back at you until you turn and walk away, still smiling but just thinking ‘Oh god why did I wave at him? You looked like an idiot in front of Speirs nice going-’

D-Day arrives and you’re sitting with the rest of Easy getting your final mail call before you jump and you’re just pacing waiting and mildly freaking out

By this point, you’ve gotten so much comfort from being able to look around and find Ron to ground you that before you drop your head is on a constant swivel trying to find his eyes in the crowds of soldiers

You finally find them and when he looks at you he can see just how scared you actually are, (as much as you try to hide it)

Ron decided to make his way over to you because ‘they’re scared, I should go comfort them- that’s what you do when you like someone right?’

He walks right up to the small group you’re standing next to and they go completely silent as he does, but he just walks right past them up to you and you’re terrified because he’s never been this close to you before you’ve only seen him from across a room

You both just stand there staring at each other for a moment before Ron says “I’ll see you down there. Good luck.”

You’re just standing there trying to process just how close he is to you finally, and are trying to take in all his features and the sound of his voice because, ‘If I'm going to die the final thing I want to see is a good looking man.’

One of the boys has to cough really loudly to get you to snap back to reality

“Oh-! Yes- Yes Sir, good luck to you too…I hope to see you down there…under different circumstances than I usually see people…” You try and joke, half gesturing to the white medic band across your right bicep

You’re laughing a little awkwardly because ‘God he is good looking up close’ and he’s not laughing because of course he’s not, but he does have the absolute smallest quirk of the corner of his mouth, indicating that he heard your joke at all

One of the boys from the group just leans to another and goes “God that was bad, he’s gonna shoot them the second we get down there-”

You’re all loading up into the planes, and you stop on the last ring of the ladder to take a final look at allied Europe and you catch Speirs getting into his plane across the tarmac

He turns his head and for the second time he makes eye contact with you, rather than the other way around. He just nods and climbs in, hoping that he sees you down there, alive.

Once D-Day hits and rumors start about him killing that group of POWs everyone is like ‘fuck that’ and stays clear of him even more than usual

You hear the rumours and get a little anxious about seeing him again because you don’t really know anything about him, just that he’s handsome and a bit of a badass

For a while you only see him out of the corner of your eye, while you’re either waiting with Easy or while rushing by him trying to stop a soldier from bleeding out on a stretcher

Then the day comes when you have your second conversation and you start to realise that he’s just another man trying to get through this, and that maybe he’s not so bad

it happens when Tab gets stabbed and (as one of the medics for Easy) Joe Liebgott calls for you to come help Tab

your second real “conversation” is you turning to Speirs and demanding his compress bandages to stop the bleeding from his 3 wounds

he’s not used to being given orders, he’s a CO for God's sake, but when you do it he listens like they’re coming straight from the president himself

he’s always just admired from afar (except for your single previous conversation at the airfield), but he’s listening to you like ‘yes ma’am/sir whatever you say’ he is WHIPPED

you grab his hand and press it onto one of the wounds to compress it and his mind just stops for a second, because your hand is so warm and soft and the way you’re talking to Tab telling him that he’s “gonna be okay, don’t you worry Tab, I gotcha’” makes him feel something new

you leave with Tab to take him to the med station behind the line and Ron feels his heart tug at the sight of you walking away from him, (even if it is to help someone)

you come back from the aid station that you brought Tab to about 2 days later, and in those two days Ron is constantly hovering around Easy, whenever he gets a chance to see if you’re back yet

Easy is just like side eyeing him every time he comes over thinking ‘oh god he’s gonna kill us, he’s stalking his prey’

but once you get back and he sees that you’re okay, (just covered in a little more blood from helping at the aid station) he can breathe again and goes back to Dog Company like nothing happened

After a few days of being behind the lines you start to receive a few gifts

Definitely not as many as before you dropped but one every week or so

One day you get handed a letter from a runner and it has nothing it but a simple watch with a leather strap, no note or anything, but it’s convenient because your watch got broken during your last trench raid and have been in need of a new one

he has to suppress a smile each time he catches you checking the watch

Speirs gets a pretty nasty cut on his hand during a raid and instead of being concerned he’s decided it’s his chance to have another conversation with you, so instead of going to his own company's medics he makes a beeline straight for you.

you’re standing with a group of Easy men and he just comes walking right up to you being all like “y/n.” “o-oh! yes Sir- " "need your help.” and then he just wanders away knowing you’ll follow him

the boys you’re standing with just give you a look like you’re a dead man walking. George legit says “it’s been an honour serving with you” like you’re about to die (and honestly you’re so nervous you may just as well)

walks into the makeshift aid station where Gene is working on the shrapnel in Winters leg and Ron just leans against a table and hold his hand out to you, the blood is steadily flowing out of the cut and your eyes go wide and you start to freak out because “Sir this is a serious cut you should have gone to someone sooner! Where's your company medic? They could have helped you faster than coming to me!”

he just stands there staring at you with this blank expression but his eyes are so soft when he looks at you fussing over his cut.

(Gene and Winters are off to the side just giving each other a look, ever the observant ones)

you tell him his hand needs stitches but only a few. He's not been listening to you for the past 20 minutes while you stop the bleeding and disinfect his cut, he’s just staring at you and the way you look in the dirty window light.

he only snaps back when the stitching needle first threads through his skin and he takes a sharp breath in because he’s so caught off guard

your head snaps up to him when he hisses and you look so sad that you’ve hurt him

“Sorry Sir, I didn’t mean t’ hurt you, but we gotta get this closed up.”

your hand that is holding his steady moves slightly so you can run your thumb along his palm to sooth him

his whole arm is tingling when you touch him so gently, completely forgetting about you stitching his gash up until you pull your hand back like “alright Sir, you’re good to go. be sure to keep it clean, and in about a week your company medic can take those out for you.”

Just grunts and nods a thanks to you as he walks out the door.

Gene laughs a little and you turn to him all “what? what's it?” “nothin’…” “what do you mean ‘nothing’!” “just funny is all…you’re good to go Sir.” Gene just drops the conversation after that and leaves you spiralling as to what he meant by ‘nothin’’

when you make your way back to the group you were hanging out with, Malarkey just starts yelling “they’re alive!!! you made it, you stayed into the jaws of death and lived to tell the tale!!!”

You all laugh and the guys continue to tease you and you’re just standing there sputtering out excuses and blushing. Ron is just watching from afar through a cloud of smoke and his mouth tilts up just the slightest

You don’t have many conversations with him, but you both try and subtly go out of you ways to be near each other

Even the men start to notice that whenever Speirs has a moment of freetime he’s lingering around Easy or the aid station

You tend to walk around together a lot, (he’s always waiting outside the aid station for you after a long shift), it’s either you both walking in silence or you talking while he smokes

Rarely does he ever talk on your walks and it’s even rarer that it’s about his life outside of the war

The one or two times he slips up and tell you something about himself you feel so warm and hold that so close to your heart that you start a small list of facts about him in your notebook

Nothing huge just small things like, “like peonies”, “got a really bad haircut when he was 10 that he still hasn’t emotionally recovered from”

Ron wants to know everything about you and loves to hear you talk

He also starts a list of facts about you (that you both compare much later in the war)

(After a long while of knowing each other the lists have certain things crossed off like, “favourite colour is green the blue of the lake in his hometown”, and “their favourite song is ‘everybody loves my baby’ ‘sweethearts holiday”)

one day a book you were just talking to Webster about appears at the top of your pack, and sure it’s a little beaten and battered but you like it nonetheless, and all the guys start losing their minds because “WE’RE IN A WAR ZONE AND HE'S FINDING TIME TO GO BOOK SHOPPING FOR YOU???”

At this point you realise that you actually start to like-like him

You spend so much time together that the boys start poking fun at you and the officers start making some subtle remarks at Speirs (looking at you nix and Harry)

Everyone gets taken off the line and has a break pass in Aldbourne and it’s there that Speirs decided that now is the time to make some sort of move on you

Ron is picking you up from a long shift at the aid station with Gene and you look practically dead on your feet as you walk out, your hair is a mess, there’s blood on your clothes and under your nails and you’re pretty sure there may be vomit on your boots but to him you look like an angel with the light from the aid station coming from behind you giving you a halo

You walk up to him and give him a tired smile, already used to the routine of him walking you back to where you’re being billeted in, when he just blurts out

“Will you go dancing with me?"

You freeze, staring into his eyes (which are full of fear, although you’d never tell anyone that) and break out into a huge grin

“yeah…yeah I’d love to go dancing with you.”

Ron lets out the biggest sigh of relief you’ve ever heard and you gently slip your hand into his as he starts to walk

You just have the biggest grin on your face as he drops you off at your door and says “so, I’ll pick you up tomorrow night?”, “I’ll be waiting.”

This man is at your door 10 minutes early just pacing trying to work up the nerve to knock on your door, and you’re just watching him pace giggling to yourself because this man will jump out of a plane and kill Germans and show no fear, but he gets scared picking someone up for a dance

He finally knocks 2 minutes before he said he would be there and you rush to the door, pulling it open and freezing

Because good god he is in his dress uniform, clean shaven, hair neatly done and he is beautiful

You both stand there looking each other up and down for a few moments, taking the other in, since you’ve never seen each other cleaned up in your dress uniforms before

“Hi-” “You look-”

He takes (steals) one of the jeeps from the base to take you out to a small dance hall that’s just far enough out of the way that none of the regular enlisted men can get to it without a vehicle (perks of being a scary officer), so it’s you, a very small handful of other officers and the locals

This boy can DANCE

I fully believe that he would dance with his sisters and mother and grandmother when he was younger (in the way that you force your youngers to play games with you when you’re kids)

He’s also strong (HIS ARMS IN HIS DRESS UNIFORM ARE MMMMM-) so he can swing and spin you around like nobody’ business

This boy is smiling and laughing like there’s not a single thing wrong in the world, because when you’re in his arms that’s how everything feels

You both drink quite a bit and get rather giggly

You spend that last half of your night tucked together at the back of the hall in a booth, nursing lukewarm beers with your legs thrown over his and just whispering and giggling with each other

He is running his fingers up and down your leg!!!! He’s not doing it as any form of proposition, he’s doing it because he genuinely loves to just touch you and finds so much comfort in it

You’re both just talking and telling each other about yourselves and what your lives are like/what you want them to be after the war is over, (“If I knew all it took to get to know you was a few drinks, I would have stolen Nix’ secret stash.”)

You’re just constantly leaning closer and closer to each other throughout the night, to the point that your lips are basically brushing every time you speak

At the end of the night he drops you off at your house (he spins and waltzes you up to your door. Yes he’s tipsy.), and you lean in and give him a kiss, just a quick peck before rushing out a “Good night, I had a wonderful time!” and running through the door

You peek out the window to see him leave but he’s just standing there for a second, in a slightly tipsy daze because, you just kissed him, and he’s pretty sure his heart stopped

The next morning you wake up with a mild hangover and memories of an incredible night

You somehow manage to pull yourself out of bed, strip off the last of your dress uniform from last night and get yourself down to the mess hall in your OD’s

The second you have your food and walk over to Easy the boys lose their minds and are cheering and giving you pats on the back

You’re so confused because “what’s all this for? The war end while I was asleep?”

“Heard you had a little date last night with a certain officer-?”

Your head snaps over to Gene because he was the only other one at the aid station when Ron asked you out

“GENE-!” who looks smug as fuck as you start throwing wadded up napkins at him

Ron is watching from the officers table, smirking at how flushed you become from all the teasing

Nixon just leans over and goes, “You chose a good one Sparky. Those boys might be scared of you, but if you break their heart, they’ll break your fucking neck.”

I don’t think that you put a label on what you are, at least not for a long while since you’re both so scared of losing the other and in war nothing is guaranteed

You both just know that if you need someone to talk to or just are in need of some comfort you go to each other

 You start to seek each other out unconsciously, eyes immediately searching for each other in every room and in every group after every mission

If someone is looking for one of you they know to look for the other because you’re never far behind each other

There’s a joke going around within Easy that you can’t ‘sleep without your teddy bear’ because you can’t sleep very well without Speirs

Sleeping cuddled up with Speirs in a pile of hay, leaves you better rested than sleeping alone on a real bed

You never tell each other you love one another until you go on leave in Paris, up until then you just say, “Come back to me.” “I will. Promise."

And the second you get back from anywhere you make a b-line for each other and say, “You came back to me.” “I promised, didn’t I?”

(You tell him that you love him first though. He doesn’t even hesitate to say it back.)

I don’t think that y’all kiss a lot just because Speirs is a very reserved person with a reputation to keep up

He does love to drag you behind buildings, away from prying eyes to kiss you or make out with you (he LOVES to make out with you against a wall where you can both just keep pushing against each other- we’ll get to this later, this man makes me have many thoughts)

You and Ron are sitting at the back of the room, just holding hands and playing with each others fingers, half watching the movie when some officer comes bursting through the doors turning on all the lights, shutting off the movie and yelling about moving back out

Ron and you look at each other because, “I didn’t buy a scarf in Paris."

BASTOGNE

At first you two are excited because you can have secret foxhole rendezvous, within a week you’re both like, ‘I am freezing and emotionally distraught, do not touch me’

The only person who bring you any comfort when you can’t be near Ron is Gene, but nobody wants to lose both their medics in one blast so you’re either in a foxhole by yourself or a little bit off the front and sitting with Joe Liebgott and/or George Luz

Everytime Ron comes by the foxhole the guys are still scared of him so they tend to stay silent while the two of you talk or they just completely dip and leave the two of you alone

(they realise how little time the two of you get to spend together now that you’re both: a) on the front line again, and b)meant to be on full alert to watch for any stragglers trying to force their way through)

The guys are still weary that you’re with Ron (in what sorta way you’re together the guys still aren’t 100% sure still), but I think that seeing the way he treats you in Bastogne changes that

He’s constantly making rounds, and “mysteriously” ending up at your foxhole

(he blames it on how sparse the line is but everybody knows that’s a lie because that man knows where everything is at all times)

You both don’t talk a lot during Bastogne, finding more comfort in physical closeness and sharing what little warmth you both have with each other

You’re both freezing but somehow Ron never seems to shiver, like he can just will his body not to, whereas you’re just shaking like a leaf as he hold you

On Christmas you’re huddled in your foxhole with Joe and George, and Winters comes crunching through the snow towards you

Being the nicest man ever he just crouches down and tell you

“Go.”

“‘Scuse me Sir?”

“Go spend Christmas with Sparky.”

You’re out of the foxhole the second he says ‘Christmas’ with a quick “Thank you Sir-really thank you!” over your shoulder as you’re moving as fast as your frozen legs can carry you

Plopping into his foxhole with your blanket and he’s startled for a second before smiling at you and in just the absolute softest voice

“Hey sweetheart, Merry Christmas.” with the sweetest smile that warms you from the inside out

He got (stole) a gift for you. It’s a non-army-issued scarf that’s your favourite colour.

You gave him a photo of the two of you that you’ve been secretly holding onto since you got them developed 

It’s a photo of the two of you getting ready to have the actual photo of the two of you in your dress uniforms taken, but it's just him looking down at you as you fix his tie

He won’t admit it but he tears up a little when he sees it, because you’ve been getting the shit bombed out of you every day, you’re freezing to death, you don’t have enough of anything and everybody is so tired, but this photo is so domestic and sweet, and it reminds him of when you were anywhere but here and he just loves you so much he can’t fucking stand it

New years eve comes around and you’re in your shared foxhole with Liebgott and about 2 minutes before midnight Ron comes to do “his rounds” and “make sure everybody’s dug in properly”

(at this point everybody knows that if Ron is seen around Easy he’ll say it’s to check on everybody, but they all know he just wants to see you and make sure you’re okay)

He kneels down next to you and Joe nudges you awake

You startle upright and when you realise nobody is hurt you look and see Ron next to where you were sleeping

“Ron!” you’re so sleepy but so excited to see him for the first time since Christmas day, that his heart just about bursts

Just just motions you to follow him which you happily do, he’s a few paces ahead of you and you job a little to catch up to him and slip your freezing fingers into his fingerless glove covered ones

He leads you a little ways away from the other foxholes and behind a few trees (not so far that you couldn’t reach one if you started getting bombed again but here they won’t hear whatever you both say)

“What’s up Ronnie?”

He just holds a finger up for you to wait, after about 20 seconds of silence he whispers

“3…2…1” and gently cradles your face and kisses you so sweetly that you can’t help but sigh into it

It honestly turns into a light makeout before you pull back from him

“Wha-...what was that for? Not that I’m complaining but-”

“Happy new year sweetheart.”

You just beam at him because you may not have remembered but he did (specifically so that he could have an excuse to celebrate and make out with you)

“Happy new year honey.”

The day to take Foy comes finally and you’re sent out onto the field with the boys

You and Gene are not too far away from each other just incase the other needs any assistance

Ron is having the words day of his life, because he’s just stood up on that hill watching the battle take place, and he can’t do anything to help you

You’re hiding behind that building with Lipton when you hear someone calling for a medic on the other side of the street

Ron just got the order to take over and he’s about to start running when he sees you go down

you stuck your head around the corner to get a better look at who was yelling and you get *ping!*’d by a bullet, right off the side of your helmet, throwing you back onto the snow

Ron takes of running through the field because ‘oh god they’ve been hit’ and he needs to get this situation under control because god knows Dike isn’t going to

he takes over for Dike and starts giving out orders before running to “talk to carwood” (check if you’re alive)

he sees you sitting up against the brick wall partially covered by Randleman’s arm comforting the best he can in this situation you as you shake -because, sure you may have been through various war zones in the past year and a bit, but everybody knows that you don’t kill medics- and he can finally breathe a sigh of relief as he realises you’re not hurt just extremely shaken at the close call

When Carwood tells him they need to link up with I company he doesn’t hesitate to start running again, you lean forward trying to grab at his jacket yelling for him to come back

he ignores you, knowing that if he looked back at your terrified face he wouldn’t be able to move forward

Carwood leans over to tell you that he’s made it to I company, but you’re just sitting there shaking because “oh god he’s gonna die, he’s gonna fucking die- Lip why would you tell him that? You know how he is!”

When Lip peaks his head back around the building he sees Ron running back to you and decided against telling you because he knows that’ll just make you worse

the second Ron makes it back to you, you're pounding against his chest with closed fists and yelling at him through tears that he’s “-an asshole! what the fuck were you thinking?! what if you got hit- i can’t fucking stand you!”

Ron isn’t hurt because he knew that was going to terrify you but he had to do it

He’s not even paying attention to you tbh, he’s talking to Lip because he needs to get you safe first, reunions are for after the battle is done

Once the battle is officially over you’re all sitting about, most of the men sitting on the tank in the centre of town, singing and being filmed by the camera men.

you’re standing partially off to the side next to George, practically ignoring Ron -who is lingering nearby talking to Winters- giving you glances every few seconds

He knows you have every right to be frustrated and angry with him because he put his life at risk multiple times without thinking of the consequences other than he ‘needs to end this gotta make sure you’re safe’, but that doesn’t mean that it hurts any less

suddenly a shot rings out from the attic of one of the destroyed houses and a bullet whizzes right by you, everybody scatters, George grabs you and pull you behind the building with Shifty

you’re completely frozen in George’s grip, terrified that you almost got shot again

And “Jesus Christ, don’t they know you’re not supposed to shoot medics, they’ve got a fucking armband for a reason” from George behind you who has an iron grip on your arms

waiting a few moments after Shifty took the shot people nervously start walking back onto the street, but Ron makes a beeline for where George is still gripping onto you (explaining that he “can’t lose another friend he just can’t”)

Ron just grabs you and pulls you into him, you tuck your head right between his shoulder and jaw, your cold nose against his neck causing him to shiver

he just holds you and you hold him

cut to: night in the church and you’re finally warm and able to shed some layers since you’re no longer freezing to death

Ron walks up to you, no jacket on just his sweater with the army-issued suspenders hanging around his waist (‘he looks like such husband material- now is not the time you’re supposed to be mad at him!!!’)

“Can I speak to you…in private…” he leads you through the church to one of the back rooms and closes the door so you can speak freely

You both just stand there staring at each other, both being too stubborn to apologise first

You’re just staring at him in the candlelight for a moment, taking in the way the light flickers off his features and his eyes and you just burst into tears, bringing your hands up to over your face

Ron is so startled it takes a moment for his brain to reboot and realise ‘holy shit they’re crying’ and scoop you into his arms

He rubs the back of your head and you just weep into his chest, crying out run-on sentences like “I’m sorry i was hitting you I was so mad at you- why the fuck would you do that-” as he tries to comfort you between your sobs, “I’m sorry-” “What if you had gotten hit, I couldn’t have gotten to you, I would have just had to watch-” “I’m so sorry” “I don’t hate you I promise, I’m sorry I was so mad-”

Ron just stands there rubbing over your head and back, rocking you in his arms as he lets you cry about everything that’s happened

Once you settle down a little bit so now you’re just hiccupping and the last few tears falling down your cheeks Ron just whispers into the crown of your head “I thought I lost you…”

You pull back a little and tilt your head up to look at him “...what do you mean? Just because you scared the shit outta me doesn’t mean I’m gonna leav-”

“No when you- I saw you get hi-” He closes his eyes to try and calm himself, just imagining what had happened to you and what he thought happened to you brings him to tears, “I saw you fall and lay there and I thought I just watched the love of my life die in front of me-”

“Ron-Ron please look at me…” He has to will his eyes open, ‘I’m here, I’m okay I promise. A little scared, a little dinged up, but I’m safe, and you’re safe- and we’re okay.” you both just lean back into each other and hold each other for a few minutes, both trying to calm yourselves and reassuring each other that you’re okay

Gentle “I thought I lost you” kisses !!!!!!

About an hour after, you and Speirs disappear you come back out to the main room, the choir is still singing and a few of the boys look over, ready to poke fun at you and lighten the mood, but the second they see your face they back out because, you may not let on but you’re just as affected by everything as everyone else is, and you watching the man you’re in love with risk his life was finally your breaking point

You fall asleep in that church cuddled up on one of the pews towards one of the side windows, Ron sitting sideways on the pew with his legs laid out, you’re laying cuddled into him with your back against his chest and holding his arms wrapped around you

You both just whispering to each other how much you love one another between sleepy kisses as you fall asleep

HAGENEAU

Hageneau isn’t much better emotionally, everybody is still cold and miserable, and people keep dying even though you’re covered by houses and roofs

The only saving grace is the single warm shower with no soap, the clean uniform and the uncomfortable squeaky mattresses

Speaking of the showers, the officers get their own shower area away from the other men, that are broken into small cubicles for a bit more privacy

Ron sneaks you into the officers shower so you can have some time for just yourself, instead though you ask Ron to stay with you

He's hesitant because you never get any time to just be alone, constantly surrounded by other soldiers or on occasion being shuttled to the aid station as an extra set of hands

But he takes one look at you, covered in blood and dirt, barely able to keep your eyes open, cold and so so upset, and he folds like a lawn chair, nodding and following you to one of the stalls

When you shower together this time nothing about it is sexual, it’s the complete opposite of your time in Paris, nobody is laughing and making soapy mohawks or having really good shower sex. You’re just standing near each other, sometimes not even touching, just enjoying the warm water and the feeling of weeks of dirt and blood running down the drain

You both stand there a few times, looking at each other and the others body, taking in all the changes that your body has gone through since before Bastogne

You spend some time just running your hands over the others' new scars, some are fresher and some have faded with time. There’s a few scars that were fresh when you were on leave and when you both run your fingers over them for a moment you can imagine you’re back there safe and haven’t yet gone through the hell-on-earth that is that forest

Then the ground rattles with artillery and you decide that’s enough time wishing you were somewhere else.

Ron claims a room in the least destroyed house he can find and is like “I found a room for us :)” and something about the way he says “us” makes you feel warmer than the sun and it lifts your mood so much for such a little thing

The night of the prisoner snatch is stressful and you’re not even going across the river

You’re sat on the edge of the allies bank right where the boats will land, just incase anybody is hurt

You spend the entire time after they launched crouched against the cold dirt hoping that your friends make it out okay

Of course nothing goes right and it’s practically a fist fight as the boat sails across the water

You’re right there the second they land and jump into action

The boys carry Eugene Jackson towards the basement where the rest of the men had been waiting, struggling as he writhed and cried from the pain, limbs flying out every which way, and eventually smacking you right in the face

Your eyes water as Eugene's fist collides with your cheek, sending you stumbling back into the wall

There’s yelling and chaos and you holler for someone to “go grab Doc Roe!”

By the time Gene gets to you your fresh uniform has blood smeared on it from trying to cradle Eugene's face to keep him still and your hands are wet with the red liquid

Gene gestures for you to move and allow him to take over which you do willingly, now turning to Babe to try and distract him from the horrible screaming and crying Eugene is letting out

Ron is sitting up on the bed in the he had commandeered for you both when you come shuffling into the room blood soaking your hands and smeared on your fresh uniform

He doesn’t look up from the files he was given, just greeting you with a, “Hey sweetheart, how’d it go?”

You don’t respond, just walking silently into the bathroom attached to the room turning on the tap and scrubbing the blood off your hands

“Baby?”

You’re just scrubbing, and scrubbing and scrubbing and it just ‘won’t come off’ and ‘jesus christ why won’t it come off?’

You’re not even scrubbing anymore you’re just scratching at your hands, your wrists, your arms, and you just want it off “off, off, get it off”

And suddenly rough hands gently grab your wrists and there's a voice speaking to you and telling you that, “it’s okay, we’ll get it off, we’ll get it off…take a deep breath and we’ll get it off”

You’re not even crying you’ve just gone numb and have a thousand yard stare over Ron’ shoulder as he gently washes your hands in his own, he’s watching the red water turn to pink and finally to clear

Ron takes his time, making sure to clean every finger and under every nail until your hands are the cleanest they’ve been since before Bastogne

Ron turns off the tap and just looks at you with the saddest eyes, you don’t even realise he’s finished until he asks you “are you okay?” he knows the answer but knows that’s the only way to get you to tell him what happened

“Eugene died…” his eyes go wide, “Jackson- Eugene Jackson…” his face goes slightly more lax, realising that your fellow medic hadn’t been killed “he was twenty-three…he kept crying he was in so much pain, his face- he was-”

Ron is watching you concerned and gets scared as you just stop talking, like someone suddenly turned off a radio

“You don’t have to talk y/n…can I- can I touch you?” He’s never seen you this small before, you’re like a wounded animal, your eyes are dead and looking straight through him

Not even looking at him you just nod silently. Ron nods back and scoops you into his arms, carrying you back into the main room, gently placing you on the bed

You’re both silent as he unlaces and takes off your boots, and then your dirty jacket and (he asks of course), your pants and shirt too

he’s already making a plan to get you a new uniform before you wake up

he grabs his sweater he was wearing that night in the church and pulls it over you, it covers you well enough since it’s a size too big

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed and Ron gets up for a moment and walks over to his pack and takes out a small bottle and a rag, he tips just a few drops of the liquid onto it and comes back to you, so softly just brushing it over your hands to get rid of the smell of copper blood

Once he’s done you raise your hands to your nose and it just smells like Ron

It takes you a moment because you haven’t smelled it since Paris but it’s the cologne he bought while you were both there, and it just takes you back to the time you spent together, when everything was okay and it felt like you weren’t two soldiers on leave but just two people in love spending time together

you realise that he wiped just enough of the cologne on your hands that you can’t smell the copper anymore and you can just smell him

you just lay down and curl up on the bed as Speirs gets his outer layers and boots off before climbing in behind you and pulling into him, your back to his chest

he just holds you the whole night, letting you cry, or mumble about how “none of this is fair”, and he talks about what you’re going to do together after all this is over, talking to you sleep

“I’ll get you a house with a big old porch that wraps around the entire house. We can drink tea and watch the sun go down.”

(had to throw in a Notebook quote for emotional damage)

GERMANY

When news comes that you’ll be moving in to occupy Germany you can’t tell whether to be excited or terrified because taking Germany means the end of the war, but it also means a final stand on the Germans part

Now that Ron is Easy’ CO that means that you can travel in the same vehicle

So you’re both sitting in the backbed of a truck with some other Easy men when you see something bright flash over your hand

You hold up your hand and see it flash again

Looking over your shoulder you see from behind the thick layer of trees, the sun is shining for the first time in nearly 2 months

You shoot up from your seat, turning to look out the side of the uncovered truck and Ron shoots out to grab your waist to stop you from tumbling over

“Woah-! What are you doing- What is it?”

“The sun!”

He looks up at you like you’re crazy

“The sun is out! And it’s warm!”

You guys break through the trees and the sun just lights you up, and for the time in months the sun is out, and its yellow and it’s warming you from the outside in

Ron is just holding you by the waist and looking up at you like you’re crazy but suddenly the yellow light from the sun is shining on your face, and the wind is blowing through your hair and you are beaming looking at the sun shining overhead

You get so excited at the warmth you’re finally getting and start to stip off your scarf, fingerless gloves, hat and thicker jacket

Joe playfully wolf whistles and the sound of it snaps Ron out of the trance you had unknowingly put him in with a, “Shut it Liebgott!”

Compared to the last town you stayed in Landsberg seems like a dream

Warm homes, real beds, actual fresh food and warm weather

But then you find the camp

And everything seems just hopeless

You all had known the Germans were bad, there’s a reason you’re fighting a war against them

But none of you had really realised just how bad it really was

As you walk through the open gates people are gently grasping at your jacket, your hair, your hands

Looking for some sort of comfort and thanking you

You try and comfort them back, saying words of relief in the broken German Joe had been teaching you back in the foxhole in Bastogne

As a medic you and Gene are asked to stay behind to give any attention to anyone you possibly can

Ron has to go back to the battalion HQ to give his report of what they found, and leaving you here, watching you take care of the people who have been through such horrible acts as they close the gates behind him, Nixon, Winters and Welsch, locking you in there is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do

You don’t come home until late that night, reeking of death and alcohol

You and Ron don’t say anything to each other, you just sit on a couch in the house the officers were sharing, and you pull out the random bottle Lewis gave you and just pass it back and forth in silence the whole night, knowing that you had to get up and go back there again in the morning

Leaving the people in the camp behind was one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do, forming a relationship of trust with the people in there and suddenly having to up and leave them after a week because of some higher-ups orders was one of the most frustrating experiences you’ve ever had

But when Ron told you you’re leaving to Berchtesgaden it felt like the beginning of the end

The drive up through the mountains is one of the most beautiful views you’ve ever seen

“It’s beautiful here. We should come back again one day.”

“You mean like when we’re not getting shot at?”

“Of course I mean when we’re not getting shot at Ron.”

Walking through the small town of completely abandoned high ranking Nazi homes was so eerie and had everyone on guard, until the entire place was swept and cleared the men started drinking like the war was over

(which at this point is basically was)

Ron is looting like it’s his job. He comes back to the room in the house the officers taken over with armfulls of expensive items everytime he comes back from somewhere

You spend most of your time hanging out with the other men of Easy, exploring the area, swimming and looting as well

You and Ron spend one night together where you’re just laying in the large bed in the officers house, with all the windows open and are just talking about what’s going to happen next

“War in Europe’s is over…do you have enough points to go home?”

“No…even if I did you’re not going to the Pacific without me Sparky.”

It’s a difficult conversation to have because you’ve both just barely made it through the war in Europe together and now you’re going to be shipped off to the Pacific where everything is 10x worse, which means it’s 10x more likely that one of you isn’t making it out of there alive

Ron is in his dress uniform watching you play baseball with everyone, just taking in the moment

The second that Dick says that the war is over your eyes snap to each other and you run and jump into his arms

He lifts you up and gives you the biggest kiss, (which has the boys cheering even louder)

You both get HAMMERED that night with everyone (except for Dick who is present but is not drinking lol)

There’s a chugging competition between everyone, (Lewis is a man who sips his drinks so he does not do well, I think that Bill wins, then Joe Toye and Ron is maybe 3d)

By the time 2 am rolls around everyone is blissfully drunk, and you and Ron have migrated out to the balcony and are just slow dancing together silently

since the war has been officially declared over you spend the rest of your time in Germany relaxing, swimming and just having fun and being kids with everyone basically, until you’re given a way to get back to the states

POST WAR

You go back to your families for about 2 months before you realise that you can’t live without each other and yall buy a house

it’s a fixer upper in a nice neighbourhood and it becomes your own project

you buy a camera to document the process of you renovating the house until it becomes your dream home

it takes about 8 months for it to be finished, and after Ron claims the garden as his fixer upper project and he makes it beautiful

I don’t Ron actually proposes I think he just looks up at you one day, the sun shining through the living room window, the radio playing quietly and you just look so ethereal and content, it reminds him of when he asked you to go dancing with him that he just can't help but say

“Will you marry me?”

You’re already smiling before you even look at him, taking your time to put your bookmark in before looking at him with a smile to rival the sun and just say

“Yes. I think I will.”

You guys are married within a year of him asking

I think you would have a small wedding, right in that perfect time where spring turns to summer and it’s not too hot but everything in Ron’s beautiful garden is blooming

You have the ceremony outside of a historical home under a huge willow tree

It’s just you both, your immediate families and Easy, everyone is dressed in their dress uniforms and I think Ron would be too (unless you asked him to wear a proper suit in which case he absolutely would)

Lipton is Ron’s best man, with Lewis being a part of his groomsmen

Dick walks you down the aisle (he is crying the whole way) and hands you off to Ron

The reception is in the backyard of the home, there's a beautiful ceremony setup (i'm legit picturing Bilbo baggins 111th birthday party energy)

The list of people had to be approved before the wedding because everybody wanted to make a speech

The list goes: You and Ron, one of each of your parents, Dick, Eugene, Lewis, Malarkey

You and Ron have a perfect first dance and the second it’s over you’re being spun around the floor by every soldier in Easy, all saying things like “you never danced with us at any of the pubs so we’re making up for lost time!”

He love to garden after the war

The officers come over about every 2 months to catch up and have dinner, and every single time one of them gets roped into hearing about how “I asked for white hydrangeas and do you know what Glenda at the store gave me? Pink hyacinth! Can you believe her? Everybody knows that you can’t put pink hyacinth next to pink peonies, they’d clash!”

“Dick, I’d go save your husband over there before he buries mine in his precious garden.”

I don’t think you have/adopt kids right away, instead you adopt a dog from a shelter that you treat like your kid

I do think Ron would like to be a dad one day though

post war i think he either just had a calm day job like down at a shop or something or he becomes a teacher (elementary school maybe like grade 6? and all the kids love him)

i don’t think he talks a lot about the war once its over, only the happy parts at least

how he sleeps head cannons:

he likes cuddling you in any way possible but he prefers either your back to his front or his head on your chest with his body half sprawled on top of yours

DEATH GRIP ON YOU, you have to pry his arms off you if you need to get up in the night

but he does get nightmares a lot, not ones where he’s kicking and screaming, but he starts to shift and mumble

you usually wake him up by just holding him and quietly talking to him to wake him

he wakes with a start and a jolt and his breathing is rapid and uneven and it takes him a few minutes to remember he’s home and he’s safe

you both just lay there and he silently cries for a few minutes and you comfort him

i think after a night like that he’s up for the rest of the night, he just putters around or sits up and thinks, he always tells you to go back to bed though

you always stay up with him, saying that “I was awake anyways, couldn’t sleep.” through big yawns laying against his side on the couch or big window seat

there was one night a few months after the war ended and everything was still a little too fresh, and Ron is mumbling and shifting

you wake up because he starts to throw his arms around

you lean over to try and wake him up because he’s getting louder and starting to kick his legs

Then his arms start to flail

you ‘re getting scared because he just won’t wake up so you grab him by his shoulders and shake him, begging for him to open his eyes

His eyes shoot open as he’s frantic and lost and you realise that he's not here with you

His hands come up and he grabs your arms so tight you’re pretty sure they’ll bruise and he shoves you off of him, you go tumbling off the bed onto the floor, smacking your head

You lay there dazed for a moment dazed, your head aching

Ron has pushed himself up against the headboard, trying to calm his breathing and come back down from whatever memory he had been trapped in

You both just sit/lie still for a minute, the only sound being your heavy breathing, until Ron whispers

“Y/n?”

And god he just sounds so small, and broken and scared

You haven’t heard him this scared since Bastogne when he thought you died, and it scares you just how defeated he sounds

You push yourself off the floor and crawl on the bed, flicking on the small bedside lamp and illuminating the room just enough that you can see just how messy he looks

His eyes are wet and his hair is a mess, his chest is heaving with shuddering breaths

You don’t touch him, just reach your hand out and place it between you two, giving him the option to take it or not

“Yeah Ron, I’m here…don’t worry, I’m here, you’re safe in our home.”

He gently reaches out and tangles your fingers together, slowly shifting closer to you, seeking some comfort but not wanting to touch you, his body still on high alert from his dream

“Wh-what were you doing on the floor? Did- did I-”

“Ron no-”

“Oh god- I’m so sorry I- I didn’t mean to- you know I would never-” He starts to cry. No not cry, he starts to heave and sob, appalled that he could hurt you in any way

He pushes himself back from you and curls up against the headboard

You crawl right up next to him and wrap him in your arms, running a hand through his hair and up and down his back as you whisper to him

“I know Ron- I know baby. You would never hurt me. You didn’t know, you weren’t here with me, you were somewhere else.”

It never happens again this badly, but there are still nights where the one of you has to hold the other when they wake up scared, confused and just lost

The first Easy Company reunion comes around and when you show up everybody is like “Who is this man and what have you done with Captain Speirs?” because this man is giving you regular kisses and ones on the cheek, he’s holding your hand and has his palm on the small of your back, you’re holding hands and basically just being a normal couple, but the boys cannot function because “Where is our scary Captain Speirs, and what did you do with him??”

Is that a SMILE???? The boys have no idea how you’ve done this but you have somehow caused their rough and tumble CO to become so soft and loving they can barely look at the two of you

At one point everyone is dancing and he pulls you out onto the floor and I fully believe that Malarkey passes out because he’s so shocked

this boy can DANCE i’m telling you. he love to slow dance with you

He is pulling out all the moves because he's finally around his friends in a space where they’re not getting shot at constantly and he can finally let go and be himself

The boys are all whooping and hollering because you both look so carefree and in love and they’re so happy for you

when you finally have time to relax you both spend a lot of time reading with your legs thrown over his lap and his hand is just gently rubbing your calf and ankle, it’s a great reminder that you’re both here together and everything is calm and safe now

Only after the war does he actually loosen up in public, and oh boy you better be ready because the second he starts showing how much he loves you in public he refuses to stop

I’m talking: hand holding every second you’re outside because “I don’t want you to get lost…and your hands are soft”, kisses for everything whether it’s kisses as payment for getting something off a shelf for you or kisses just because you look so good that he just can’t help himself

shows you off at every chance he gets: he goes down to the shop (he’s befriended every old lady who works the register) and when he’s at checkout the lady goes “and who’ve you got with you today Ronald?” and he’s so excited and is all like, “this is y/n, my partner!”

This man reads poetry!!!! And he loves to recite it to you while you’re both cooking, or laying in bed late at night while you play with his fingers, and he loves to read it to you while you’re sitting in your backyard with his head in your lap and your fingers combing through his hair gently 

looks at you with his warm gaze so full of love, almost always when you turn to look at him and see him just watching you with his warm brown eyes and you just get so shy and flustered you have to look away (he loves when you get like that he thinks it’s so fucking cute)

EXTRAS

flirts with you all the time!!! (even after you’re married. he just loves to make you swoon)

one may think that Ron would get in to fights when someone disrespects you but you alway tell him “they’re not worth it Ron don’t bother honey.”

but YOU on the other hand, if someone says something about Ron you jump their ass

that actually happened back when everyone was at some small pub one night and you’re walking back to the table with all the boys at it and some guy tries to harass you so Ron steps in with one of those ‘You better back the fuck off my partner’ looks and you start back to your seat when the guy pipes up about Ron and you just swing around and DECK him. All that time training came in handy as you started to beat his ass. All the boys are cheering you on (Bill will say that he’s never been prouder of you, and both Joes and Tab were cheering like they had money on you)

it takes Ron, Winters and a tipsy Nixon to pull you off the poor guy before you kill him

Ron pulls you out of the bar to cool of but you just keep your hands locked and keep walking until you get back to your room and have some fantastic rage induced sex (not mad at each other, just riled up and showing one another how much you love and care for each other)

has a really deep morning voice

and the best bed head, like he makes it look so good and like such boyfriend/husband materal

loves to stare at you when you get happy/excited, it makes him happy!

the second he realises that he can loot he anonymously leaves you gifts that he thinks you’d enjoy

it starts off simple with items like candies and treats

then it becomes more thoughtful like a nice chain or a simple ring band that won’t get in the way of your work as a medic

he absolutely loves seeing you wear or read the gifts he’s left for you, it’s like he’s there protecting you and claiming you as his but from afar, when you play with the ring on your finger when your nervous out bored during briefings it makes him so happy

is a surprisingly good singer?? doesn’t do it very often and NEVER around people (epically the men) but when it’s just you two with a moment alone he loves to sing to you while swaying gently with one hand on your waist and one holding yours

Loves to sing ‘I’ll be seeing you’ by Billie Holiday

everytime he comes back from looting a house he goes “give me your hand.” and pulls out a handful of different sizes, cuts and colours of rings, gently placing each one on your finger, noting each time you say that you like an aspect of it

“I like the cut of the stone in this one, I'm just not sure of the colour though.”

Ron: *quickly grabs his notebook and scribbles something down in it before pocketing the ring*

LOVES when you play with his dog tags (especially when you are laying together post-sex), and loves the way your dog tags look when you’re bouncing on him, and they’re jingling and catching the light perfectly

i think his love languages are;

giving: gift giving and acts of service, quality time

receiving: quality time, words of affirmation and physical touch

speaking of physical touch:

he is NOT big on PDA, he prefers to keep any intimate moments like kissing just between the two of you (or occasionally quick pecks around the other officers, that causes you to blush so much he has to give you a second one. Even Dick jokes at him, “Jesus Sparky, please keep it in your pants-” “Dick I swear to God-!”)

but when you are in public is more like a gentle hand on the small of your back, brushing hair out of his face and letting your fingers linger there for a little longer than necessary, linking your pinkies together when you’re standing close enough

he also LOVES when you grab the back of his jacket/shirt or his belt loop to not get lost in a crowd, it makes him feel like you trust him

when y’all are in PRIVATE he LOVES making out

slow and gentle, just you and him, rubbing your hands along his stubble, pulling back for a moment to giggle and tell him how ticklish it is, (he promises to shave it, you tell him your like to feel it somewhere else before he does)

loves making out with you ANYWHERE but especially his office, like pushing you up onto his desk where his body fits perfectly between your legs, he can trap you between his arms and hold your hands down onto the wooden desk, loves the sense of privacy it gives you both

more than once you’ve been interrupted and you’ve had to fake bringing him some papers he needed

“Speirs- Sergeant L/N! Sorry for interrupting, I didn’t realise you had a… guest.”

“It’s alright Sir, they were just dropping off some paperwork.” Winters is SO EMBARRASSED, but not nearly as much as you are when Nixon points out

“You might wanna fix your hair before you go anywhere else Sergeant.” with a shit eating grin on his face.

your face goes red before you look at Ron guilty, he just smirks back at you causing you to blush an even deeper shade of red.

carries around pictures of you in his OD jacket pocket!!!!! they’re in a tin so they don’t get ruined, he loves to just flip through them and stare when you are a part from each other

there’s a few photos of the two of you when you finally had weekend passes and you went to Paris. There's one of you and him both in your uniforms standing together, his arms wrapped around you as you're mid laugh and he’s looking down at you with eyes like you hung the moon.

You’ve got one really good one you put on your bedside table when you get back, it’s Ron in regular clothes smiling directly into the camera blowing smoke out of his mouth, it’s very domestic and handsome. The first time he sees it he’s all “oh come on you wanna keep that one? It’s so bad-" "I think you look beautiful and handsome, like a leading man.” He sees how you stare at that photo and decides ‘maybe it’s not so bad after all’

Another is of you both in regular civilian clothes, it’s a strip of photo booth pictures, that get progressively more steamy. The first one is just you two looking at each other, you’re sitting on his lap and cradling his face. the second one is you both kissing, it’s sweet (and later he puts that one in his wallet when you get home). Third photo is, you both, still kissing but now your hands are gripping his shirt and his hands are all in your hair (that way that Tab runs his hands through that girl's hair in Holland, you know the gif). the final one in the strip is of him staining at you with loving eyes, having just pulled back from a kiss- hands still in your hair- but you’re staring directly into the camera with this look on your face that he loves seeing, you’re rapidly unbuttoning your shirt

nsfw:

in that tin of photos there are more than a few risqué and sexual ones. You rented a camera to take photos while in Paris and when you finally get the developed images sent to you at the front you and Ron open them and the first photo is of you just sitting against the headboard of the hotel room bed, hugging a pillow against your naked body with the sheets bunched up around your feet, your hair is a controlled beautiful mess and you’re staring directly into the camera with half lidded eyes, (obviously just having settled down enough the push yourself upright). Ron’s breath hitches and he grabs it, immediately placing it in the tin with other photos of you both.

photos of you both mid sex

you have one that you took while riding him, he’s laying down with his head thrown back and his mouth partially open and his eyes are closed and he just looks wrecked. you pocket that one just as quickly as he pocketed yours.

he has one of you doing it in front of a mirror, he’s behind you taking the photos and your head is thrown back and your back is arched. the photo is slightly blurred because of the movement while he was taking it but he love it

the first time you had sex together was when you were back in civilization for a US Open show and we’re billeted on the same block.

he is so gentle that first time and whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he slides into you.

“oh fuuuuuck, god-“ he hisses through his teeth to keep himself quiet

says that he’s quiet in bed but occasionally after a long day (or if he’s drunk) will groan and moan, taking deep breaths so loud like a virgin trying not to cum to quickly

Aims to please!!!!!! love going down on you especially when he either needs to let go for a while (lets you ride his face), or if he gets jealous and wants to make sure you know that he’s the only one who can make you feel like that.

if you have a vagina he pushes your legs up by the backs of your thighs so you’re completely exposed and fucking goes at it, not stopping until you either; start crying, cum so many times you lose count, squirt or safe-word him. will push your hands away when

you try to grab his hair to either push him away or bring him closer.

if you have a penis he loves sitting you down on a chair or the edge of a bed and holding you down by your thighs so you can’t buck up into his mouth. gets you there then holds tight at your base so you cant cum/pulls back at the last second to ruin it. will dig his short nails into your thighs when you won’t stop moving.

pull his hair please

would never say it but loves when you call him by his rank

you accidentally said it one time when you were on leave and you didn’t come out of the room all day. you had a reservation for dinner at 5 and when that time rolled around you were letting in the bed shaking, coming down from the best orgasm of your life. you tried to get up and have a shower but ended up going twice more around the room and twice in the shower, every time finishing with a cry of “Lieutenant Speirs!”, they got him to just go harder. you showed up for your 5pm reservation at 8:30, still shaking slightly. Ron was a smug s.o.b through all of dinner.

fucked👏🏻you👏🏻on👏🏻his👏🏻desk👏🏻 

had his hand covering your mouth to keep you from screaming so loud everyone could hear you

at one point someone comes and knocks on his door, he slows but doesn’t stop rocking into you as he speaks to them through the door, his hand covering your mouth and you stare at him with wide eyes, as he’s speaking to the poor person on the other side of the door he kisses and nips and sucks at your neck, basically he’s torturing you and expects you to make zero noise

you let out a single squeak and he freezes, glaring at you, you start shaking your head trying to apologize but his hand is still over your mouth

“i’ll come back later sir…”

the SECOND that poor guy is gone Ron tightens his hand on your mouth and goes crazy, rubbing you with his one hand, while moving in and out and fucking whispering into your ear practically degrading you for making so much noise while he’s fucking you and someone is on the other side of the door (this man makes me have many thoughts)

he loves to look up at you while going down on you, the same as earlier, he’s looking up at you like you hung the moon and the stars and you can barely look at him because the look in his eyes is just too much for your brain to process through all the stimulation

when he’s jealous or you’re both being rougher he loves to make you look him in his eyes, staring at him as he makes you feel so good and his eyes flutter closed because he’s getting just as much if not more pleasure from this than you are

will finger you under any table, does not matter who is sitting with you

(possibly more than) once Ron has been fingering you under the table and Lewis and Dick know exactly what’s going on and one of them has to fake feeling sick because they know if they don’t leave now yall are gonna end up fucking on the table and they don’t want to see that

once you two are married he LOVES and i means LOVES to finger you and lick your cum off of his ring finger with the wedding band still on it, it’s so possessive and makes him so turned on

you’re the only person who can top him

loves when you take control, especially when you ride him and pull his hair, grab him by the face to make him look at you and are overall rough with him (also loved when you make him cum before you and you just sit with him twitching inside you while he comes down until he can go again because i “I didn’t finish, what did i say was going to happen if you came before I got to?”

lazy, beautiful morning sex in with a warm breeze coming through the windows

defo has fucked you in the back garden; both on the grass (you were bent over on the ground gardening and he just couldn’t help himself because “you know how i feel when you wear those bottoms-“), and him sitting on the wicker seating set with the comfortable cushions you have in the back with you lazily riding him, not really thrusting and jumping as much as just lazily rolling your hips together

loves clothed sex; both of you being clothed (hiumping each other over pants or him pulling your dress/skirt up to push against your underwear), or only one of you being clothed (he loves the way it looks when he’s jumping against your covered ass and you love the way the front of his pants look when you get them wet by rocking against him)

not necessarily risky when it comes to sex but has a bit of a kink for almost getting caught, (would never want you two to get actually caught since he’s “the only one allowed to see you like this”)

you guys have fucked in ever room in your house, just to run through a couple places:

living room: couch, every chair, floor (rug)

kitchen: kitchen table, counter (both over and on top of it), dining room table

bedroom: bed, chair, over the and on top of the dresser, against the door, against ye window (faces the backyard) 

bathrooms: bathtub, shower, lid closed (ya nasty) sitting on the toilet, against the door, tiled floor and the bath mat

office: desk (over it, on top of it, on the edge of it, eating you out/sucking him off leaning against the table/sitting on the edge of the chair), sitting on his lap in the chair, against the bookshelf, window nook, the arm chair

garage: in the car, on the hood of the car, against the door during parties, against the wall (the concrete causing you to arch your back from the cold rough texture)

closets (upstairs ones while guests are over and asking “where tf are our hosts?”

okay that’s my short list of places lmaooo

idc what parts you have Ron has a breeding kink

you guys love to cockwarm while reading it while one of you is doing work

likes to kiss you while you’re having sex but when you’re in control prefers when you bite and nip at him

has a slight choking kink

within the first 2 times you guys have sex he knows a) exactly what to do to get you going and b) where the most sensitive parts of your body are and WILL use that against you every chance he gets

this man whines when he gets too sensitive, is really calm and comfortable, or when you’re topping him and calling him nicknames

has a choking kink (on either of you)

he’s very vocal with grunts and either praise or degrading you, also moans the first time he’s in you, every time 

calls you: baby, sweetheart, perfect, (when more aggressive): cocksleeveve, slut, good boy/girl

will call you his personal medic/nurse/doctor

you call him: baby, lovey, good/perfect boy, daddy occasionally, captain speirs (which will get him to go to a whole other level)

you two have done some sexy medic/patient role play before both during the war and after (mayhaps a little morphine was involved, which was very hard to explain to Gene why you were down a bottle suddenly)

overstimulate each other

loves to watch you touch yourself, the way your body moves is like crack to him

you do this both when you’re trying to torture him (he’s tired to the headboard or a chair) or as a mutual masturbation thing

he is the perfect size, rides that sweet line between “ouch that’s too big” and “a slight stretch” where you tend to need a second when he sinks in for the first time but the stretch is always welcome

you both love when you give him head and when you pull back you’re connected to him with spit and cum

yall definitely had secret foxhole rendezvous (this is where his ‘hand over your mouth to keep you quiet’ kink came from)

after your first time together (on the wonderful Paris leave), you look over at him with watery eyes and just say “i love you so much.” he doesn’t hesitate with a “i love you more than anything.”

that instigates the softest second round of just sweet, loving kisses and quiet “i love you”’s  in between and when you finish

keeps asking you to wear your PT clothes (post war) because he can’t help but watch hot your body and muscles move under the tight shirt and short shorts

after weeks of him asking you surprise him by coming back from a light run in those clothes and he knows that it’s on

after some hot ass sex you ask him if he’ll wear his “your back and muscles look great in that shirt and your ass looks incredible in those shorts.”

within the week he pulls the same scenario of going out for a light run in that outfit and you jump his fucking bones

he likes it why you try to cover your moans and whines by biting your lip or with your hand or in a pillow but you just can’t help it and become so loud

you both like when the other gets watery eyes and starts getting all soft and sensitive and their eyes get wide and submissive

like to talk to you during sex, “you’re doing so good for me-“ “fuck you’re feel good baby-“, “you krio doing that i won’t last long-“, “you look so good when you ride me baby, oh fu—“

when he gets really close after a few rounds and is overstimulated and is almost crying (consensually) he pants and gasps and finishes with a cry and maybe a sob but he feels so good-

loves when you feel too much and you just sort of space out for a second or go silent because your brain just short circuits

maybe you squirt once and tried to do it for a whole night after that

once did it so much that he made you dehydrated (can that even happen? idk, but now it can.)

y’all have aftercare DOWN

you know exactly what the other needs after there are dom/sub roles in play or after just regular (incredible as usual) sex

cleaning each other in the shower or bath gentle, kissing so softly of sometimes just being near each other but not touching because you’re both so sensitive

tea and snacks in bed cuddled up after (or any food and hydration really)

if one of you is particularly tired after, the other reads to them while running their hair through their hair until the person on their lap/shoulder/chest fall asleep

aggressive angry sex (you’re never scared the other is going to hurt each other because you know that you’re never angry at each other (just something/someone else) and that you just need to get all of the aggression and energy out and maybe feel more in control of the world for a bit

talks you through it

“that feel good sweetheart? tell me how good it feels.”

“what’s wrong baby, you gonna cum for me again?”

“oh you just feel so good you can’t even think anymore! so drunk on my cock aren’t you sweetheart!” 

yell tease each other like it’s your job

that could mean verbally teasing each other or edging each other, or giving the other the gentlest touches and brushes, just barely touching the other for them to get anything other than a shiver of pleasure

slow dancing that just turned to grinding

This man makes me have thoughts I should not have, so I will stop here <3