#hbo war x reader
Text
Meine Liebe
Dick Winters x Translator!Reader
Masterlist
Request: @flowers-and-fichte Hey! Thanks for the Chuckler headcanons! They're so cute! I've got another request :) it's BoB-related this time. Winters with a reader who is fluent in German and teaches him to speak it. And then one day he surprises her by speaking it (wedding proposal, just starts talking in it out of nowhere, whatever) to her and it's so freaking cute. Thanks! Take your time :)
A/N: i loved this concept!! thanks for the request! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: none!
When (y/n) first signed up to be an intelligence translator for the Airborne, she had no idea what was in store for her. Jumping out of planes was expected, but what she couldn’t have expected was a red-headed man named Dick Winters. Nix introduced them in Aldbourne when she joined the company, and something about the Pennsylvanian struck her differently than the other men she’d met. Most eyed her warily, but the man she met that day flashed her a kind smile and a firm handshake, sending an unexpected warmth through her.
“So you’re our new interpreter,” he stated, his polite eyes never leaving hers as he shook her hand.
(Y/n) nodded, her lips quirking into a grin. “Yes, sir. (Y/n) (y/l/n).
“Dick Winters,” he replied, releasing her hand after a few moments. “Welcome to Easy. Please let me know if you need anything.”
Before she could respond, Nix called out to her. “We’ve gotta get to battalion, come on.”
With a final nod to Winters, she saluted and turned on her heel, walking over to Lew who was sitting in the driver's seat of a jeep. “So, you met Dick,” he announced, shifting the jeep into drive. “Whatcha think?”
(Y/n) scoffed lightly as she gazed at the rows and rows of tents that lined the airfield. “I only spoke like two sentences to him, Lew.”
Luckily, Lew and (y/n) grew up in neighboring towns in New Jersey and knew each other through mutual friends. Everyone knew the Nixons for their nitration plant that was in Edison, but (y/n) knew the Nixon boy as the teenager who took her best friend to the prom and got so drunk that he threw up on her beautiful blue dress. Betty still hadn’t gotten over it by the time (y/n) left for basic.
“No sparks flying yet?” he grinned, elbowing her shoulder playfully as he drove. “Give it time. I know it will.”
“What is wrong with you, Lewis?” she asked, her voice tinged with frustration. “I just met the guy! And we’re going off to war for Pete's sake, not some low-crawling pub where men are lined up to dance with me.”
Her job was to decode and translate intercepted German communications, as well as translate in the field and interrogate prisoners if need be. There were times when being the daughter of Austrian immigrants was awful, but other times, it came in handy. Without her parents teaching her their language, she wouldn’t be in her position in the Army.
As the months passed in Aldbourne, (y/n) was swamped with intercepted communications, paperwork, and various intelligence reports. She rarely did anything other than work in her office, growing tiresome of the monotonous click-clack of the typewriter. What little time she did have outside the office was spent either visiting the Blue Boar with the other officers or quietly reading in the fields of wildflowers near her billet.
The sun set perfectly on the lilies and colorful harebells, orchids, and cornflowers that were scattered among the grass. Any chance she got, she’d go lay out a blanket and get lost in the pages of “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn,” escaping the war as the words came to life in her mind. Time seemed to blur as the months stretched on in Aldbourne.
With the follies of the Italian campaign, the Allies knew they had to try a different approach. Nixon and (y/n) had talked about the possible landing locations and tactics, but no plan was in motion quite yet. This did not stop them from preparing for the possibility. Easy’s training got increasingly realistic the further they got into 1944. By early February, Dick, Harry, and the other platoon leaders were brought in on the intelligence officers’ speculations. A few weeks later, (y/n) was working in her office when she heard a knock on the door.
“Come in,” she called, not looking up from her typewriter as she finished a translation.
The door creaked open, and in walked Dick who was wringing his hat between his hands, almost as if he was nervous. “Hi, (y/n). Sorry to disturb you.”
Hearing his voice, (y/n) looked up from the paper, a small smile forming as she took in his timid expression. “Hi, Dick. You’re not disturbing me,” she said, pointing to the large stack of papers on the corner of her desk. “These aren’t going anywhere.”
Dick clasped his hands behind his back and walked closer to the desk. “I wanted to ask you a favor.”
(Y/n) nodded, gesturing for him to sit in the extra chair beside her desk.
Dick sat down and continued. “Would you be able to teach me some basic German? I know that you are fluent in it, so-”
“Of course!” She interrupted, excitement lighting up her features. “I’d love to!”
Dick seemed surprised as he sheepishly smiled at her from across the desk. “It would be useful to know some phrases when we finally get into combat.”
“I think it’s a great idea.”
From that cold February day on, the pair met every Saturday night in (y/n)’s billet. Her host family, the Bennets, insisted on making a big family dinner every time (as large as they could with rationing), treating Dick as one of their own. (Y/n) watched from across the dining room table as he spoke to Mr. Bennet with a polite smile. The golden light from the setting sun filtered through the open blinds, highlighting the soft brown freckles that adorned his face. (Y/n) couldn’t help but admire his handsome features, a thought that she’d kept hidden mainly to keep Nix off her trail about the supposed ‘sparks’ that were supposed to fly between them at some point.
“I was worried about you Yanks, but if they’re all like you lot, I think we’re in good shape,” Mr. Bennet laughed, scooping a forkful of roast into his mouth.
Dick chuckled breathily, his eyes flitting to the (y/h/c) across from him, catching her staring red-handed. “Thank you, sir,” he replied, his face warming under her gaze.
After the dinner table was cleared, they continued their weekly tradition, sitting across from each other once again. “These are pretty basic, but they’re important,” she began, her eyes locking with his. Repeat after me. ‘Guten Abend.’”
Dick listened carefully, his eyes drifting down to her lips before echoing her pronunciation. “Guten Abend.”
“Very good,” (y/n) praised, her smile growing. “Now how about ‘Bitte’ which means ‘please,’ and ‘Danke,’ which means ‘thank you.’
“Next, let’s learn ‘Wie geht es Ihnen?” (y/n) said, her voice taking on a reassuring tone. “It means ‘How are you?’
As they repeated the words together, her beloved language created a unique connection between them that she never thought possible. It felt good to speak the language in situations other than wartime intelligence. As she taught Dick, she fell in love with her family’s native tongue all over again, but that love wasn’t the only thing blossoming in the cozy dining room.
Under the shade of a sturdy tree in the Bennet’s backyard, the late afternoon sun cast a glow over the yard. (Y/n) and Dick sat side by side, leaning against the trunk as they took a short break from their lesson.
(Y/n’s eyes began to droop, fatigue creeping in like a silent intruder. The lines of exhaustion were etched beneath her eyes, and Dick couldn’t help but notice her weariness.
“Are you alright?” he asked gently, leaning closer to her, his brow furrowed in concern.
She sat up straighter, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yeah, I’m just tired,” she admitted, her voice a soft murmur.
Dick turned to her with eyes filled with worry. “Up late doing translations?”
(Y/n) nodded, her shoulders sliming slightly. “Yes,” she sighed, leaning her head back against the hard tree bark. “We’re getting more and more communications every day. It’s hard to keep up.”
Seeing her struggle, Dick scooted closer to her and paused before gesturing to his lap. “Here,” he suggested, his tone gentle. “It’s more comfortable than a tree,”
A small, tired smile crossed (y/n)’s face as she responded with a weary, “Yes, sir,” She laid her head on his lap, peering up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.
Dick felt a warm, protective swell of emotion as she nestled into his lap. Her presence, despite her exhaustion, brought a sense of peace and contentment he hadn’t realized he was missing. He could always show up at her door and have dinner like there wasn’t a war going on. Their routine had developed into what he looked forward to the most as the week went on. Any conversations they managed to have during their daily regimens and workload were filled with smiles and talks of the upcoming weekend, Saturday’s dinner menu, and other little things that reminded him of home.
A soft pink tinge rose from Dick’s neck to his cheeks as he brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Better?” he inquired, his voice a soothing, gentle rumble.
(Y/n) let out a contented sigh, her eyes fluttering closed as she whispered, “Yes, thank you, Dick. I needed this.”
He watched over her with a mix of concern and affection, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on her shoulder. “You’ll work yourself to death in that office, (y/n).”
She squinted one eye open, her gaze focused on him. “I know,” she replied quietly, her voice tinged with desperation, “I can’t rest knowing my family is still stuck there, Dick.”
The lieutenant’s eyes saddened, his heart aching at the raw pain in her voice. He moved his hand from her shoulder to rub her hair back gently. “In Austria?”
(Y/n) nodded, her voice hushed and heavy with emotion. “Yeah,” she murmured, blinking to combat the tears that were filling her eyes. “My grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins…they all stayed. They’re still there, and we haven’t heard from them in almost a year.”
“So you’re doing this for them.”
“For them and all the other innocent people whose lives have been torn apart by Hitler,” she confessed, her voice wavering.
A tear trickled down the side of her cheek, and she felt a warm hand wipe it away gently. “I’m sure they wouldn’t want you to run yourself into the ground, sweetheart,” Dick murmured softly, the term of endearment slipping out before he could stop it. “When we finally do see action, you won’t be a hundred percent if you’re constantly running on fumes.”
She let out a shuddering breath, her emotions overwhelming her. (Y/n) sat up, shifting to bury her face into Dick’s shoulder, finding comfort in his embrace. His arms encircled her, pulling her into his side as he rubbed his hand soothingly along her back.
“Please take care of yourself. If not for them, do it for me. Please,” he whispered into her hair.
As the evening sun bathed them in a warm light, (y/n) pulled back from their embrace, her tear-filled eyes glistening with gratitude and adoration. She gazed into Dick’s calming, emerald-green eyes, vulnerability seeping from her. His eyes mirrored her intensity, and a soft, affectionate smile played on his lips. With her heart pounding in her chest, (y/n) brought her hand up to his cheek, her fingers tracing the contours of his skin with a gentle, trembling touch.
Their eyes met, and in that silent exchange, a powerful connection was forged. Slowly and with a sense of natural ease, she pulled him closer, guiding him toward her. Dick, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected tenderness of her actions, felt the soft, deliberate pressure of (y/n)’s lips against his. Their lips met, and their connection deepened as their mouths moved together, a tender and affectionate expression of their feelings. Their kiss was a gentle exchange of affection, an unspoken testament to the emotions that had quietly grown between them.
As (y/n) and Dick pulled back from their tender kiss, their actions spoke volumes in the quiet of that moment. Their lips slowly parted, the sensation of their kiss still lingering in the air like a sweet, unspoken promise. They looked into each other’s eyes, their gazes locked in a lingering connection that was filled with understanding. (Y/n) inched back slightly, her touch soft and tender as her fingers gently brushed over the freckles on Dick’s cheek as she withdrew from their intimate embrace.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice a gentle murmur, sniffling slightly as she rested her forehead against his. Dick’s heart raced, and he could feel her warm breath on his face.
“They’ll be proud of you. I’m sure of it.”
MAY 7, 1944: BERCHTESGADEN, AUSTRIA
(Y/n) reclined on a wooden, sun-soaked deck chair, gazing out at the breathtaking landscape of the Bavarian Alps that stretched before her. The mountains stood tall and majestic, their peaks kissing the cloudless sky. She felt a sense of awe at the natural wonder surrounding her.
Harry sat at the end of her chair, and Ron and Nix were sitting on the one beside them, all three drunk as a skunk. Their voices filled the air with drunken excitement, and their ramblings brought a wide smile to (y/n)’s face.
Nix groaned in good-humored frustration, raising his fingers in a futile attempt to count off the main leaders of the Nazi party. “Hitler, Hitler…no.”
Rolling his eyes, Ron chimed in, his voice louder as they spoke over each other, creating a chaotic atmosphere. “Hitler, Himmler, Goering-”
“And Goebbels,” Harry finished, his grin infectious as he completed the list.
(Y/n) couldn’t help but laugh heartily, tears gathering in her eyes as she watched her friends stumble through their banter. The joy of the moment, the beauty of the scenery, and the relief from no constant action and danger all combined to create a warmth in her heart that was impossible to contain.
“I’m so glad I get to see this,” she wheezed between fits of laughter, her hand clutching her stomach as another wave of cackles escaped her.
The sound of footsteps made her turn, and she saw Dick approaching with Lip. She smiled at him, her heart beating slightly faster when he returned a wink.
“Hey, Adolf! Love your Eagle’s Nest,” Harry yelled, standing up wobbly and grabbing Dick’s shoulders. “I hope you don’t mind. We made ourselves at home. Love what you’ve done with the place here.”
(Y/n) chortled again, earning an amused look from Dick, who found the whole situation hilarious. But he had more important news to share.
Welsh grabbed a bottle of champagne and held it out for the major. “Hey, have a drink. Come on. Just so we can say we saw you do it,” he implored, staring for a moment as Dick didn’t respond.
Smirking, (y/n) rose from her chair and gracefully pushed the bottle back toward Harry as she moved to stand between him and Dick. “You drink it, Welshy.”
Welsh retracted his hand, standing there for a moment like a pouting child, while Dick, who had patiently waited, pulled out a sheet of paper. He cleared his throat and started to speak, his gaze warm as he looked down at (y/n) beside him. “Listen up. From Corps, it just came in. Effective immediately, all troops standing fast on present positions.”
Nix rested his hands behind his head as he lay on the chair with a smirk. “Standing fast.”
Ron, his usually sharp eyes now glazed over from the alcohol, looked up and asked. “What does that mean?”
(Y/n) ran a hand down her face with a giggle. Her laughter was infectious, and the group chuckled, with Dick’s laughter being the loudest. His smile was the widest she’d seen in months, and the sight stirred something within her.
“Do you want to hear it?” he asked the group as he wrapped an arm around (y/n)’s shoulder.
Harry nodded, grunting in reply, and Dick repeated the sound, raising an eyebrow at the man. “Are you ready for it? Listen up, the German Army surrendered.”
The news sent a sudden hush through the group, and the jovial atmosphere vanished, replaced by a solemn and reverent feeling that settled inside each of them. (Y/n) looked up at Dick, her eyes widened in disbelief.
“Really?” she whispered, her voice filled with hope.
Dick nodded and squeezed her shoulder softly. “Yeah, sweetheart. They did.”
In that instant, she couldn’t contain her joy. She flung her arms around his shoulders, squealing happily, and he snaked his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly. The weight of the past years seemed to lift, replaced by a hope of peace in Europe for people like her family who were caught in the crossfire of war. As they pulled back from their hug, the sheer happiness of the moment made (y/n)’s eyes glisten with tears. Around them, the other officers were clapping each other on the back and expressing their own gratitude that victory in Europe had been achieved.
With a soft smile, Dick placed a hand on her lower back and led her to a farther part of the balcony, giving them privacy from prying eyes. He could see the curiosity in her eyes and as they found a quiet corner, he spoke in a hushed tone. “I got word today, (y/n). About your family.”
Her eyes widened in anticipation, and her heart raced. “My family? Where are they? She asked, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and fear.
Dick placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, offering her the support she needed to hear the news. “They’re alive, (y/n). They’re living in Salzburg.”
The emotion she’d swallowed down came flying back, and tears welled up in her eyes again as her voice trembled with relief. “Salzburg? Oh, thank God,” she croaked.
(Y/n) couldn’t hold back her emotions any longer, and the tears streamed down her face as she wrapped her arms around Dick, hugging him tightly once again. It was a cry of pure relief, a release of tension that had gripped her heart for so long.
Dick held her close, his own emotions stirred by the moment. He could feel her relief, his arms wrapped around her as he gently stroked her back. The news also meant that they were one step closer to going home. One step closer to spending the rest of their lives together.
In the midst of the moment, (y/n) looked up at Dick, a radiant smile breaking through her tears. Her soft voice was barely more than a whisper as she spoke. “I love you, Dick.”
Their eyes locked in a tender, unspoken understanding as Dick leaned down to cup her cheek, his thumb gently brushing away a tear. “I love you, too, (y/n).”
The mountains of Berchtesgaden stood as silent witnesses to what was about to transpire. It was the perfect setting for a moment they would cherish forever. As they stood there, Dick took (y/n)’s hand in his, his gaze unwavering as he looked deep into her eyes. With a smile, he began to speak…but it wasn’t English.
“Meine Liebe, du weißt, ich bin nicht der Beste im Umgang mit Worten, aber ich liebe dich mehr als das Leben selbst. Ohne dich hätte ich das nicht überstanden und ich möchte nie wieder ohne dich sein,” he began, his heart pounding in his ribcage.
My love, you know I'm not the best with words, but I love you more than I love life itself. I wouldn't have gotten through this without you, and I don’t want to be without you ever again.
(Y/n) looked at him, her eyes widening in surprise and joy. She blinked in disbelief, her heart skipping a beat.
“Willst du meine Frau werden?” Dick continued.
Will you marry me?
A gasp escaped (y/n)’s lips as tears continued to trickle down her cheeks. She couldn’t believe what was happening, and her heart swelled. Dick got down on one knee, his eyes filled with a softer determination than the one she saw in his eyes on the battlefield. He reached into his OD pocket and pulled out a small, elegant ring.
In a voice filled with emotion, he asked, “Möchtest du mein leben mit mir teilen?”
Will you share your life with me?
Tears streamed down (y/n)’s face as she nodded vigorously, unable to speak through her overwhelming joy. She held out her hand, and Dick slid the ring over her finger. It fit perfectly, just as they did in each other's lives.
With a smile that held all the love in the world, he whispered, “Ich liebe dich.”
I love you.
With the golden rays of the setting sun casting a warm, enchanting glow on the balcony, Dick stood up from one knee and pulled (y/n) into a gentle, affectionate embrace. The light from the setting sun illuminated their features, turning their silhouettes into a work of art against the breathtaking backdrop. Their kiss was tender and sweet, filled with the promise of a future together.
Their actions were delicate and filled with longing. Dick’s arms enveloped (y/n) as he kissed her, his fingers brushing softly against her cheek, and (y/n) responded with more fervor, deepening the kiss. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers clutching his uniform as if grounding herself in the reality of the moment. The hand on her cheek threaded into her hair and pulled her impossibly closer.
With huge smiles on their faces, (y/n) and Dick pulled back from their kiss. The moment was perfect. However, their intimate moment was suddenly interrupted by a chorus of whistles and cheers coming from the adjacent balcony. Ron, Harry, Lip, and Nix watched on as the couple got engaged. They exchanged glances and held hands as they made their way toward the cheering men.
Nix hugged Dick and slapped him on the back, his expression a mix of humor and satisfaction. “Now if I remember correctly, some wise guy called this the first time you two met…oh wait, that was me.”
Dick’s brows furrowed in confusion, and he turned to his fiance for clarification. “What?”
Rolling her eyes playfully, (y/n) leaned into his side, patting his chest lightly. “Back in Aldbourne, Lew just thought that, and I quote, ‘sparks would fly’ between the two of us.
“Well, I’m so glad they did,” Harry laughed, holding up a wad of cash in front of him. “I’m a rich man now.”
The major blinked at Harry, his amusement evident. “How am I not surprised you bet on us?”
“You think that’s all we bet on?” Ron slurred, sprawled out on a chair with his eyes closed. “We also bet on when-”
Thankfully, Lip stepped in to stop the Captain, who appeared to be thoroughly drunk. “Alright. Let’s get you to bed, sir.”
(Y/n) grinned, admiring Dick’s features above her. “Where did you learn all of that?” she asked. “Because I’ve never taught you anything that complex.”
“A man never tells his secrets,” he replied, kissing her temple lovingly.
“It was Liebgott, wasn’t it,” she chuckled, raising an eyebrow at him. “Cause only Joe knows that much German other than me.”
“Well,” Dick began, “There’s a lot more where that came from.”
“Oh really, Major Winters. Care to enlighten me?”
He sighed, “Nope. I’ve been practicing that for months. It’s all I’ve got.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’ve got the best teacher by your side for the rest of your life, huh?”
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Epiphany Pt. 4: Evermore
Lewis Nixon x Reader
Masterlist
Series Masterlist
A/N: thanks for patiently waiting for this chapter!! it's filled with angst, so be prepared! also, i took a little bit of creative license and added a little something to the end of the chapter, so let's pretend that easy moved to some form of housing after Arnhem...haha.😅😅 this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!
Summary: As the operation in Holland crumbles, (y/n) and the rest of Easy are forced to retreat from Arnhem, and a stray bullet makes (y/n) reconsider her anger toward Nixon.
Word Count: 4.4k
Warnings: mentions of blood/injury, major angst
SEPTEMBER 1944, HOLLAND: OPERATION MARKET GARDEN
Operation Market Garden had begun with high hopes and lofty ambitions, but now, it was undeniable: it had crumpled into a resounding failure. From the moment Lieutenant Brewer was shot, a sense of impending doom had settled like a lead weight in (y/n)'s stomach.
If she was being honest with herself, she couldn’t get a good feeling about it after Eindhoven and what she'd seen there. The mission was already teetering on the brink of disaster, and now as Easy retreated through the war-torn streets of Arnhem, that gut-wrenching feeling had transformed into a harsh and unforgiving reality.
In the fray, (y/n) found herself separated from the rest of her squad when the Tigers opened fire. She took shelter behind a blown-out corner, her heart pounding in her chest as she pressed her face against the cool stone. Her eyes scanned the buildings before her for krauts, and when she deemed it safe, she signaled for two fellow soldiers to follow her lead.
Bullets zipped through the air dangerously close as they sprinted for their lives, crouching and weaving to evade the deadly rain of fire. (Y/n) pushed through some sheets on a clothesline, her focus on the path ahead, but then the man beside her fell with a heavy thud. Before she could even turn back to help him, a powerful force yanked her behind a nearby building.
“There ya are! We’s was worried about ya!”
A strong Philadelphian accent filled her ears, and she leaned against the brick wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She peered around the corner and closed her eyes with a sigh, seeing the frozen stare of the fallen soldier, along with the blood streaming from his forehead. Guarnere’s firm hand on her shoulder pulled her back behind cover.
“What’re ya thinkin’? Tryin’ to get yourself freakin’ killed?” he yelled, voice tinged with exasperation as he fired rounds around the corner. “We’ve gotta fall back! Luz!”
Luz? George was there?
(Y/n)’s head snapped to her right, and there he stood with a radio to his ear, frantically relaying critical information to CP.
“We have infantry everywhere!” he cried, covering his other ear with his hand. “Repeat, armor has cut the road! We are covered in infantry!”
Bill took cover behind the building and pushed (y/n) and Grant forward roughly. “Fall back! Fall back!”
George, however, remained against the wall as he continued to repeat his urgent message. ”It’s a hold down! We are falling back! Over!”
(Y/n) knew they couldn’t wait any longer, so before Bill could, she grabbed George’s arm, her voice urgent as she pulled him with her. “George! Let’s go!”
As they sprinted away from the building, a deafening explosion rocked the air, and a mortar struck the house behind them. Stone and metal fragments hurtled through the air around them. The sheer force of the blast sent (y/n) tumbling to the ground, her body crashing in a heap.
George was quick to react, grabbing (y/n) and pulling up as she scrambled to her feet. Their hearts raced in the aftermath of the explosion, and together they pressed forward, following other paratroopers out of the town. Bill and Chuck ran ahead of them, weaving in and out of the streets. The rest of them followed closely, their boots pounding against the uneven cobblestone roads. But their frantic sprint came to an abrupt halt when they stumbled upon Skip and Don forcefully kicking down the door to what appeared to be a chicken coup.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Bill shouted, alarmed by his friend’s actions.
The boys grabbed the door. “Help us!”
Following them into a ditch, (y/n)’s eyes widened seeing Buck bleeding on the ground.
“What happened?” She asked, kneeling beside him as the others hoisted him onto the door from the chicken coup.
Buck winced in pain but managed to speak. “It’s Easy Company tradition, (y/l/n). I just drew the-,” he winced again, his voice strained, “-short straw.”
She patted him gently on the shoulder as Skip, Don, and Bill began to drag the door behind them, struggling with Buck’s weight. He was a college football player, after all.
As they finally reached the waiting trucks, the exhaustion had taken its toll on the three. They were on the verge of collapse, their bodies pushed to the limits by the harrowing events of the day. Thankfully, a few paratroopers had already descended from the trucks and rushed to help. With a collective effort, they carefully loaded the injured lieutenant onto the transport. Lip appeared, ushering more troops toward the waiting trucks.
(Y/n), Bill, and Lip stood behind Bull. “One bullet, four holes,” Bill quipped with a wry grin, gesturing to Buck’s wounded butt with his thumb.
Carwood patted Buck’s boot with a relieved smile. “Yeah. It’s almost a miracle.”
The sergeants nodded at her before walking away. As she prepared to blimp onto the truck, a familiar voice calling her name brought her to a halt.
“(Y/n)!”
She turned to follow the voice back to its source, her expression hardening when she recognized Lewis Nixon. The memories of their encounter in Eindhoven flooded back, and her anger surged anew as he approached.
“What?” She spat, crossing her arms defensively.
Lew sighed, concern evident as he looked her over. “You alright? I heard it wa-”
“Why do you care?” She interrupted him sharply, her tone dripping with resentment.
He was taken aback by her coldness. “Because I care about you," he stated, his words slow and deliberate, though he knew that his feelings for her extended beyond mere friendship. "We're friends."
“Whatever, Nixon,” she muttered dismissively, climbing into the truck and plopping beside Malarkey with an exasperated huff.
Lew watched her for a moment, his jaw clenched, as he processed the rift that had grown between them.
So that’s how things were going to be.
With a shake of his head, he turned away and went searching for Dick, determined to find a way to mend the damaged bond between himself and (y/n).
Don observed Nixon walking away with a puzzled expression on his face. (Y/n)’s cold demeanor toward the intelligence officer was a stark contrast to the adoration Don had witnessed in the pub just a few days prior.
He nudged her gently, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What happened?” he inquired, voice filling with concern.
“With Nix?” She confirmed, and he nodded.
“Well,” she began, clearing her throat. “I was trying to stop one of the Dutch Resistance men from hurting a woman in Eindhoven, and he stopped me.”
Don raised an eyebrow. “And that’s all?” He pressed, sensing there was more to the story.
She bit her cheek, her eyes avoiding his. “Yep. That’s it.”
The sergeant didn’t quite buy her explanation, but he also didn’t want to push her too hard, “Alright,” he conceded. “Have you thought about it from his perspective?”
(Y/n) scoffed bitterly. “What other perspective, Malark? What do-”
He held up a hand, interrupting her. “The one of the guy who didn’t want to see you get hurt.”
Her expression shifted as his words sank in. She hadn’t considered that angle. In the moment, she had already been angry at him for what he did with the Dutch girl and allowed that rage to fuel her actions.
“Yeah, you’re right,” she admitted, her tone softer. “The guy was getting pretty aggressive with me.”
Don nodded, starting to understand the complexities of the situation. “See, he cares about you, (y/n/n). We all see it. And we know you care about him, too.”
Her eyes widened in surprise at his words. “Don, please don-”
But he cut her off gently, a reassuring smile on his face. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me and the boys.”
A relieved sigh escaped her lips, and she offered him a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
As they drove away to safety, (y/n) shifted her gaze downward and noticed a bloodstain against her already dirty hands. Her heart raced as she peered down at her boots, where a few crimson droplets clung to the dark leather. Confusion and concern gnawed at her, and her eyes drifted over to Buck, whose pants were completely soaked with the red substance. (Y/n) couldn’t shake the unease that washed over her.
She was fine. Right? She must have brushed against Buck.
(Y/n) wiped her bloody palms on her pants with a grimace. On top of dirt, sweat, and grime, she now had streaks of blood marring her uniform.
“Buck, next time you get shot, try not to bleed so much, alright? It got all over my boots,” she quipped, her tone lighthearted despite the weariness that weighed her down. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the truck’s canopy, finding a moment of respite.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll try,” Buck replied, his voice tinged with pain.
Exhausted and overwhelmed by the events of the day, she allowed the rumbling of the truck’s engine to lull her into a fitful sleep.
A gentle hand on (y/n)’s shoulder roused her from her much-needed rest. Her eyes fluttered open in the darkness and she tried to focus, but a sharp pang of pain surged through her head. With a soft groan, she brought a hand up to her temples, massaging them in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort.
As she continued to rub them, she realized that she was feeling much more than just a headache. The world around her seemed to spin slightly, and a wave of dizziness washed over her.
With a deep breath, she pushed through the dizziness and sat up, steadying herself against the side of the truck. Don’s hand shot out to steady her.
“You okay?” He asked, his voice filled with concern.
(Y/n) nodded slowly, worried any sudden movements would tip her over. “Yeah. Just got up too fast.”
Don gave a reassuring nod. “Alright,” he replied before letting go and exiting the truck.
The other men were already getting out of the vehicle, and (y/n) knew she couldn’t stay any longer. Despite the lingering disorientation and the discomfort of her headache, she summoned her strength and climbed out of the transport, her legs feeling a bit wobbly as she joined her fellow paratroopers on the ground. The world around her gradually steadied, and she then focused on finding George in the dark landscape.
As (y/n) wandered from group to group, looking for the radioman, her attention was suddenly diverted by a hushed conversation nearby. She overheard the whispered words that made her heart stop.
“I heard Captain Nixon got hit today.”
Her breath caught in her throat, and before she could think, her voice escaped her lips involuntarily. “What?”
The men in the group turned toward her, recognizing the (y/h/c) immediately. It was More, Smokey, and Shifty who shared the information.
“Yeah, while we were retreating. Took one to the helmet,” Smokey replied.
Tears welled up in her eyes as worry and dread washed over her. “I-is he alive?”
Shift sensed her destress, rolling his eyes at Smokey. “Come on, Smoke. Stop torturing her.”
The man couldn’t help but grin. “Alright,” he conceded. “He’s okay, it was a stray that just grazed him.”
A deep sigh of relief escaped her, and the dizziness she had felt earlier hit her again. The overwhelming emotion of the moment left her feeling weak, but the important thing was that Lew was alive.
“He’s okay. He’s alive,” she repeated to herself, the words providing a soothing balm to her anxiety. She had to see him, had to make things right.
Turning to Shifty, she asked with urgency, not even looking at the others. “You seen him?”
The Virginian nodded in response. “He was up on top of the dike with Winters earlier.”
(Y/n) thanked the man and quickly made her way in the direction of the dike. However, with each step she took, it felt like the next one became harder and heavier. The adrenaline that had carried her this far was starting to wear off, and the physical toll of the failed mission was catching up to her.
By the time she made it up the steep hill to the top of the dike, she was panting heavily, chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. The world around her swam in a haze, and she clung to the rough surface of the dike, using it to support her trembling body as she tried to regain her composure.
Although she felt like falling over, she knew she had to find Nix, and nothing was going to stop her from making things right between them. With every ounce of willpower she could muster, she steadied herself and pressed forward.
A few minutes later, (y/n) finally found Lew leaning against the side of a jeep, his gaze fixed on the distant town of Eindhoven, which was illuminated by the fiery hues of its ongoing bombardment. The night sky blazed with shades of bright orange and red, casein an eerie and unsettling glow over the landscape.
A quiet knock broke the solemn silence from behind Lew. He turned to see (y/n) leaning against the driver’s side door, concern etched across her weary face.
“Hey,” she began softly. “Are you okay?”
Lew raised a hand to his sore temple, his gaze lingering on her battered form. “Yeah,” he replied in a hushed tone, his eyes silently tracing the evidence of the battle. “Just a minor concussion.”
(Y/n) slid away from the doorframe, her steps sluggish as she made her way over and sat up on the hood, with much difficulty. The dim light cast delicate shadows across her face, revealing her ashen complexion, the dried mud and blood staining her ODs, and the thin layer of sweat glistening on her forehead. She looked much worse than when he saw her a few hours earlier.
Lew’s brow creased with growing concern. “Are you alright? You’re not looking too good, (y/n/n).”
Her response was laced with a touch of sarcasm. “Why, thank you,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. “You sure know how to flatter women, Nixon. Did you use that charm on the Dutch girl in Eindhoven?”
The air between them grew heavy, filled with unspoken emotions, and Lew found himself captivated by (y/n)’s tired, yet expressive eyes. He couldn’t quite decipher whether her gaze held anger or sadness, but he still felt a pang of guilt.
He hung his head, his voice filled with remorse. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” She scoffed bitterly. “I can’t tell you who or who not to kiss.”
Lew sighed heavily, pushing away from his hood. ��I know that. But I am sorry,” he murmured, voice dropping to a rasp. “I’m sorry about those women, too. You know I cou-”
“Couldn’t do anything. Yeah, I know that now,” she interrupted, her voice heavy with regret.
She lazily ran a hand across her forehead, her eyelids drooping as if weighed down by invisible burdens. Nausea slithered its way up her throat, and she could taste the sour bitterness at the back of her tongue. It wasn’t even that hot, yet the oppressive air clung to her like a second skin. (Y/n) struggled back to the ground, the world swaying slightly around her.
“It’s like an oven out here,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.
He glanced at her, concern etched across his face. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His instincts pricked with worry.
“I’m just tired,” she whispered.
Her eyelids drooped further, fatigue tugging at her like an anchor. Slowly, she began to peel off her OD jacket, as if shedding a heavy burden. Nix approached her, his touch gentle as he grasped her elbow.
“How about I take you to Doc and get you checked out, all right?” He suggested, voice laced with concern.
“No, I’m fine,” she insisted, shaking her head and shrugging off his concern, determined to downplay her discomfort. Her jacket dropped to the dirt, revealing the sweat-soaked undershirt clinging to her skin. “I’m okay, Lew.”
Nix’s worry deepened with every passing moment. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong. “Please,” he pleaded softly, his hand gently guiding her toward other men, resting on her hip. She finally relented and began walking beside him, though her steps seemed unsteady.
As they reached the path down the dike, Lew reluctantly removed his hand. But his relief was short-lived when he saw his hand, now stained dark red.
They both stared at the shocking sight, a heavy silence hanging between them. Time seemed to stand still until the realization crashed over them like a tidal wave. A searing pain erupted in her side, a fiery agony that threatened to consume her. (Y/n)’s vision blurred, and the landscape spun as the pain coursed through her, her breathing quickening in frantic desperation.
(Y/n)’s knees gave out, and she crumpled to the ground, her body limp in Nix’s arms.
“Medic!!” Lew’s voice trembled with raw emotion as he shouted for help. “Medic!”
He carefully lowered them gently to the ground and laid her on her back. As he lifted her blood-soaked shirt, his heart sank at the sight that met his eyes. Even in the dark, he could see the pool of blood oozing from a gunshot wound just above her hip.
She’d been shot, and the pain had finally caught up with her.
Lew wasted no time and pressed his hands firmly against the wound, wincing as she cried out in agony. “Medic!! Someone get a medic!!”
In a frantic blur, Dick came running from the distance, his eyes widening at the harrowing scene before him. “What happened?”
“She was shot! Go get Doc!” Nix barked, urgency coursing through his veins.
Dick vanished as quickly as he had appeared, leaving Lew to look down at (y/n)’s pain-stricken face, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“You’re gonna be okay, you hear me?” Nix’s voice quivered, but he fought to keep it steady. “You’re gonna be fine, sweetheart.”
Roe skidded next to her and shoved Lew aside as he began to assess and treat (y/n). Her trembling hand shot out, desperately grabbing onto Nix’s.
“Lew,” she croaked through her tears, her voice filled with fear. “I’m scared.”
He cupped her cheek gently, his touch tender. “I know,” he whispered, his eyes locked on hers. “I’m here.”
Gene grunted, swiftly tearing open a packet of sulfa, his experienced hands moving with precision. “Keep her awake, sir. She’s lost a lot of blood,” he instructed, urgency lacing his words.
With a determined nod, Lew turned his full attention back to (y/n), his heart heavy with worry. Gene’s voice faded into the background as he yelled instructions to the men around him, but Lew scarcely registered any of it. His world had narrowed to (y/n), and the only thing that mattered was ensuring her (y/e/c) eyes remained open and aware at all times.
The weight of responsibility pressed down on him, but he couldn’t afford to falter. He whispered soothing words to her, his voice a lifeline amid chaos, doing everything in his power to keep her conscious, hoping that she would pull through.
As Gene worked to stabilize her, Lew’s heartache and fear threatened to overwhelm him. He refused to entertain the idea of losing her, and couldn’t bear to contemplate a world without her in it. To him, life would lose all its meaning, its vibrancy, if she slipped away. The thought of her absence cast a shadow over his soul that he couldn’t bear to confront.
(Y/n)’s pain-ridden expression gradually softened, and a sense of relief washed over her as a syrette of morphine was swiftly plunged into her shoulder. The drug’s effects began to take hold, easing the searing agony that gripped her, and she slipped into a welcomed state of relaxation.
“Let’s go!” Gene announced, his voice firm after tying (y/n)’s bandage tightly around her waist. “We’ve gotta get her to the aid station.”
With practiced teamwork, they carefully rolled her onto a stretcher, cradling her injured form, and swiftly moved her to a waiting jeep, its engine humming. Throughout the process, Lew never let go of her hand.
As the effects of the morphine started to blur her senses, (y/n)’s voice took on a hazy and panicked tone. Her words spilled out in a rush, filled with desperation. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was being immature and-”
Before she could finish her sentence, a gentle hand reached out to cup her cheek. “No,” he said earnestly, his voice filled with regret. “It doesn’t matter now. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me, sweetheart, and I am.”
Her (y/e/c) eyes met his, and she whispered, “It doesn’t matter. Just tell me you’ll miss me.”
Nix nodded, tears glistening in his eyes. “I’ll miss you every day.”
Her playful spirit shone through even in such dire circumstances. “Don’t let Dick drive you nuts. That’s my job.”
Dick, appearing at Lew’s side, spoke softly. “They’ve got to go, Nix,” he said, patting his friend’s shoulder with understanding.
Lew leaned over and tenderly brushed a strand of hair from (y/n)’s forehead and planted a soft kiss there. “I’ll see you when you get back, alright?”
She managed a serene smile and squeezed his hand one last time as he reluctantly released his grip and stepped back.
“Get better,” Dick said, his tone brotherly, as he affectionately patted her cheek.
“Yes, sir,” she smirked lazily. “Take care of him. You know how he can get.”
Dick chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Yes, I do.”
With a rumble of the engine, Eugene hopped into the jeep beside (y/n), taking a moment to make sure she was as comfortable as possible. He called out to the driver, his voice filled with determination.
“We’re good!”
Lew stared blankly at the disappearing jeep, its wheels kicking up dust as it carried (y/n) away to the aid station. His heart felt heavy, his thoughts a tangled mess as he watched her vanish from his sight. He couldn’t tear his gaze away and his eyes locked on the trail of dust.
3 DAYS LATER
Once Easy was finally moved into a nearby town, Lew numbly settled into his shared room with Dick. He looked down at his ODs, which were still covered with her blood, along with his blood-stained hands, a grim reminder of what had just transpired.
He marched over to Dick’s footlocker and slung it open with a bang, then began rummaging through it in search of his precious VAT-69. His trembling hands found a bottle, and he wasted no time in grabbing a glass and pouring a shot of whiskey. The fiery burn that followed was a sharp contrast to the numbness that enveloped him.
“Nix,” Dick sighed softly, concern etching lines onto his face. “Now that we’ve got supplies, let’s get you cleaned up, all right?”
Lew raised his glass, took a sip, and then stared out the window. “I’m good,” he replied, shaking his head with a hollow, bitter smile. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“She wouldn’t want you to start drinking,” Dick urged gently, trying to reason with his friend.
Nix’s voice grew thick with emotion as he spoke, his guilt and anguish laid bare. “Well, she’s not here anymore, is she? And what if she doesn’t make it? What if I spent my last few days with her in a fight?” The weight of his self-blame hung heavily in the air, his eyes unfocused.
“Have you told her?” Dick asked, his tone filled with sympathy as he saw the torment in his friend’s eyes.
Lew took another sip of whiskey, his gaze distant. “Of course not.”
“Dick,” Nix began, his voice cracking with emotion as he turned to face his friend. “What if I never get to?”
Dick’s expression softened, and he laid a reassuring hand on Lew’s shoulder. “You will. Doc came back last night. He said she’ll be okay, just off the line for a couple of weeks.”
Relief washed over him, and he let out a quiet, heartfelt sigh. “Thank God,” he whispered, setting down his glass and running his trembling hands down his face.
“Dick, I-”
“I know,” he said softly. “She’ll be back before you know it. Until then, you should write to her, keeping her updated with the company.”
Lew nodded, his heart heavy but thankful she would be okay. “Yeah.”
“I’ll go get you some new ODs,” Dick offered, his voice filled with concern as he left the room quietly, giving the man a moment of solitude.
Nix, feeling the weight of the day’s events bearing down on him, walked into the bathroom and leaned heavily over the sink. His hands gripped the cold porcelain as he stared at his reflection in the dimly lit room. He looked terrible. His face was smeared with blood and dirt, and his eyes appeared hollow, haunted by what had happened.
His mind kept replaying the tape of that fateful moment, but all it did was pause at the very moment he thought all was lost. The fear in her eyes, etched into his memory like a scar, refused to fade.
Tears welled up in his brown eyes, blurring his reflection as he tried to shake off the haunting images. Lew shook his head, his hands trembling as he turned on the faucet and began to wash away the stains of war. The clear water slowly turned pink as it dripped off his stained hands, and he scrubbed relentlessly, desperately trying to wash away not just the physical traces of blood but also the guilt and helplessness that clung to him.
As he continued to scrub his hands, the room remained silent, save for the sound of water running down the drain. Each drop that fell was a reminder of the mark this day had left on him
Finally, he turned off the faucet and dried his hands, his reflection now free of the gruesome stains. Nix took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom, ready to put pen to paper and write her the first of many letters.
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Could you use prompt 52. “Don’t look at me like that.” And a foxhole kiss for Bill Hoosier Smith of the Pacific?
Sky Full Of Stars // Bill "Hoosier" Smith Imagine
AN: Long time since writing. I have definitely missed it. I might be a bit rusty but I hope ya'll enjoy. And I used to have a taglist, but I honestly lost track. So just comment if I should make a post for people to comment on, making a new taglist!
Word Count: 1,711
Y/N sat in the foxhole, staring up at the stars that remained in the sky above. Her mind was mostly blank at that moment. It was a rough day for all of the Marines. A lot of loss, a lot of hunger, and a lot of lost morale. It was war after all. But, Y/N couldn’t help but just stare at the sky and think of nothing. She would rather think of nothing than think about how much she was truly hating life at this moment. Hating how hungry she was. Hating how tired she was. Hating how sweaty, unclean, and hating the stretch that her nearly rotten uniform stunk of after days to months of wearing it with no opportunity to shower. So nothing was peaceful at the moment. The silence, well more like the absent sound of gunfire, bombs, or screaming, was peaceful.
The thought of nothing was quickly interrupted but a thud of boots hitting the dirt of the female’s foxhole. Blinking, snapping out of her quiet glance, her head snapped over to the sound of the thud. Quickly reaching and grabbing her rifle just out of spite.
“Hey! Easy now, L/N. It’s just me,” rang the voice. Once Y/N heard the voice, and her eyes adjusted to the Marine’s face whilst in the dark, the female Marine relaxed. It was just Mr. Bill Hoosier Smith, a close friend of hers within the company. The breath she held was now exhaled as she slowly released her tightened grip on her firearm. “See, that’s more like it,” the male spoke as he gently sat down across from her. Letting out a heavy sigh as his knees popped whilst he sat. Y/N just sat quietly in response, kind of just staring at Bill.
Bill eyed her closely. Well as well as he could in the near pitch black night. Y/N’s silence was something new that came over the female Marine. A once bubbly woman, who always had quick responses for every snarky remark, question, or sarcastic statement ever said to her. Always willing to share a cigarette with her group of friends and always willing to speak up or talk into late hours of the night. Now it was quiet, and closed off. He didn’t blame her, but was still a little surprised at the sudden change in character. Of course he, and a few others had questioned Y/N before. But was met with it being shrugged off her shoulders and no true answers. But Bill, being the man he was, wasn’t taking no for an answer this time.
“Alright, I’m sick of this,” Bill started, after about five minutes of complete silence. While he was waiting for his female counterpart to say something. Anything at all. But nothing to his wishes. Y/N just looked at him, her face not changing at all. A blank, closed off stare. It was like Bill was looking at a stranger.
“Sick of what?” She debuted. Not a change in face still. No raising eyebrows. Not even a hint of attitude. Just a straight, monotone voice. That grinded Bill’s gears. Her eyebrows knitted together. He wasn’t mad at her. Not at all. He could think of a billion reasons of why she was starting to act the way she was. For christ sakes they were in the middle of World War II! But that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried. And Bill Hoosier never showed himself worrying.
“Seriously? Y/N, you have single handedly sectioned yourself away from our friends and I. And you haven’t even noticed. Or maybe you have,” Bill paused in his words. Hoping Y/N would say something. But she didn’t. Her eyes shifted. They became glossy for a moment he swore he saw. But she quickly blinked and turned her head away for a moment before turning her head back over to Hoosier. This time her eyes showed more frustration, more emotion. But yet, nothing left her mouth. No explanation, not even any questions. And that grinded Bill’s gears even more. “Don’t look at me like that!” he whisper-shouted. Careful not to alert any other Marines resting in other foxholes.
Y/N’s eyes now definitely softened to the tone change. Her eyes become glossy once more. Now Bill was now frustrated, and highly confused. And that’s when Y/N’s eyes began to pour out tears. And a few stifled sobs left her lips.
To be truthful, Y/N had been slowly pulling herself away from everyone. Partially she herself noticed her actions, though partially she didn’t. More so, didn’t recognize how hard she actually was doing it. And now, all her emotions were coming up to the surface. Everything she had tried so hard to push down and away, was spilling over like a boiling pot.
“I'm sorry,” was all that spilled out of her lips. Bill sat shocked as he watched the female’s tears quietly slide down her mud caked cheeks. Getting onto his knees and shuffling to her side of the foxhole, he placed a caring and comforting hand to her shoulder. Y/N leaned into his touch. “I just-” she started and then she stopped. Trying to contain her heavy emotions and get her thoughts in order before she tried to speak.
In her world, in her mind, she believed if she had closed herself off from anyone, it would protect her own well being. Y/N had seen so much loss in her service on the Japanese islands, so many men dying in such horrific ways. Watching friends be shot, blown up, or both. Seeing so much death, destruction, and sadness. She couldn't bear the sight, or even the idea, of her closest friends falling victim to this war. Especially Bill Hoosier Smith. Who she thought more than just a close friend, a fondness of feelings had grown whilst their time spent together. Foxholes shared, ducking for cover with each other, and one night in Australia that the pair shared that stayed between them and only them. Never to be spoken about, but the thought remained in both their minds ever since. But, Y/N thought that if she just separated herself from the group, especially from Bill; that if anything was to happen to any one of them, it wouldn’t cloud her mind. That it wouldn’t take over her wellbeing so bad that she couldn’t bear to see the end of war. That plan seemed great in the beginning. Until she realized that the isolation made her feel a billion times worse. It made her feel alone and scared. But she thought she was already far too far into her plan already to back out of it now.
“Look, you know I’m not one for all that emotional shit,” Bill paused. Turning his head to the side momentarily to try to process his words properly. Not only was he not good with anything with emotions; he also wasn’t the best with women either. “Just talk to me about it, or don’t- well do whatever you want to do. But stop kicking us, especially me, to the side. We miss you damn it,” Bill took another pause. Y/N finally looked up at him, stifling her quiet cries for just a moment. Taking a deep breath and locking eyes with the female Marine. “I fucking miss you, god damn it.”
It didn’t take Y/N a second thought before she grasped the sides of her dear friend’s face and planted her lips onto his. Bill’s eyes widened, but he quickly grabbed the side of her face as well. Gently squeezing it, as her messy hair stuck between his hands.
Pulling away quickly Y/N looked at him, a few more tears rolling down her face. “I haven’t stopped missing you since that night we were in Australia,” she finally spilled. Her breathing became a bit more labored, and Bill just sat there staring at her. Still in a slight feeling of shock. “We brushed it off like it was nothing! And ever since then, and ever since things really started getting bad here. With all this death and dying happening all around us,” Y/N stopped to take a breath. Wiping a few stray tears that leaked from her eyes. “The thought of you had been clouding my judgment, making me make mistakes on the field. Which isn’t your fault, but I thought if I had just distanced myself and not thought of anything to do with you; my mind would clear up,” Glancing down at her hands and sucking in her bottom lip. “But it didn’t. I just couldn’t stop thinking about how much I missed you. And it was distracting me even more,” Placing her face in her hands and shaking her head. “God this is so embarrassing,” she muttered through her hands.
Bill was now a little shocked by the confession. Of course, he felt the same way. He was just some idiot Marine that didn’t know how to express his feelings in the slightest way. He thought if he just didn’t talk about it, the nagging thought would just go away. But clearly, that didn’t work for either of them. So now here they were, both sitting in silence. Bill just sat trying to figure out what he should say next.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Bill started, Y/N peaked up through her hands. Scratching the back of his head for a moment, with a soft sigh. “All I’ve thought about for the past few months has been how bad I wished we were back in Australia,” taking another deep breath. Pausing just for a second longer. “And I wished it was just you and me back home in Indiana. Out of all this mess,” he stated. Scooting himself to sit besides her. Resting his elbows on his knees and staring up at the black sky full of stars.
Y/N sat up and rested her head on his shoulder. “We can do that. After all this,” she whispered. Now also looking up at the stars. Bill looked back down at the woman and a small smile formed on his lips.
“Alright then, Corporal L/N. You got yourself a deal.”
#band of brothers#hbo war#hbo#hbo series#band of brothers imagine#the pacific#the pacific imagine#imagines#imagine#bill hoosier smith#bill hoosier smith imagines#x reader#hbo war x reader
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“Days Between”
Jinny {OC} x Eugene Sledge
Author’s note: uh yeah this wasn’t supposed to turn into a story but here we are…..I’m so normal about the childhood best friends to lovers trope with Eugene. I had this song on repeat the entire time I was writing
Tagging: @rosies-riveters (pls lemme know if you don’t wanna be tagged that’s totally fine LOL)
Content warnings: none
Word count: 1,580
“You’ll write when you have the time?” Jinny asked, turning her head to the side to peer at Eugene. He was propped up on his elbows and twirling a strand of golden grass between his fingers, the sunlight shining against his face giving him an almost ethereal quality.
Feeling her eyes on him, Eugene met her gaze and offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “ ‘Course I will. It’ll be like I never left.”
But of course that wasn’t true and they both knew it. Besides Sid Philips, Jinny was Eugene Sledge’s closest friend and he was her’s. The absence would be felt strongly and bitterly. It was bad enough that Sidney had already gone and the trio had been cut down to two, but now Eugene was going to leave too and Jinny wasn’t sure what her life looked like without him.
The grass around them gave them the illusion of shelter from the reality that in just a few days he would be gone for bootcamp and then to war. The fields and woods were their safe place; their childhood playground and teenage hideaways when the responsibilities of everyday life got to be too much. If one of them wasn’t at home it was likely that they could be found here.
“I’ll miss you.” Eugene spoke to the sky, but the words were meant for her.
Jinny looked up too, catching sight of a flock of birds taking off. There was so much she wanted to say to him: that she didn’t want him to leave, that she loved him more than a friend should love another and that she had for so long but the words were stuck in her throat and sat there choking her. It would be selfish for her to tell him those things, she chided herself. Telling him not to go when she knew how long he had dreamed of fighting was selfish. And telling him she loved him and risking ruining a friendship before he went to war? So instead she put all of the meaning and desires that made them up and put them into another phrase:
“I’ll miss you too.”
—
He was a liar.
Jinny knew the thought were harsh, unfair, and frankly untrue as soon as they flashed in her mind. She quickly banished it, sending up a “I’m sorry” to the heavens, and retrieved the box of bandages from the top shelf of the supply closet she was currently standing in.
Eugene had written, just like he said he would and as often as he could, and with each letter was the confirmation that he was alive. A sweet balm of relief however temporary. The real reason for the stinging pain in her chest was that no amount of letters would truly make up for him not being home. Because she did miss him and she felt it so acutely every moment. She had carefully folded each letter and tucked them into her nightstand to read again and again when her mind refused to stop worrying. And after she had read and reread them, she penned her own letters to him.
Recounting the mundane aspects of her life had seemed pointless and almost ridiculous when s he first put pen to paper. But the more she wrote and as her life shifted with her job at the hospital and rehabilitation center, the easier it came in sharing everything with Eugene. She hoped the stories about her visits to his parent’s home for dinner, her talks with soldiers during rounds, her ramblings about Sidney’s latest schemes now that he was home, her thoughts about everything and anything might lend the same sense of comfort his letters brought to her.
Even now as she set to work organizing the boxes meant to be shipped overseas she began drafting a letter to him, one that she knew she would never send.
“Dear Eugene,
I love you. I can’t wait to take our walks together again and talk. I don’t even care about what we say. I just miss hearing your voice. When you’re home, I’ll tell you that in person, as much as you can bear to hear me say it. Just come home safe, that’s all I want more than anything now or ever.
Yours always,
Jinny.”
—
The grass tickled her calves as it moved in the breeze that was sending the trees into a frenzy. It wasn’t as warm as it had been earlier in the day and Jinny was thankful for the reprieve from the constant sweating under its rays. Her eyes closed and arms crossed against her chest she let her mind drift away from the day just like she had when she was younger. Even though Sidney’s return wasn’t enough to erase the ever present stain of Eugene’s absence, having him home was a blessing and made walking their childhood route less bitter. Jinny had missed his constant talking and easy to come by smiles and she found some solace in busying herself with asking details about his upcoming wedding.
But today she was making the walk by herself since Sidney was busy and just for a few moments with her eyes closed she could almost feel the peace that had been gone since the war began. How much she had changed shocked her when she truly sat down to think about it. She had been so concerned about others and focused on their wellbeing that her own growth and maturity had come as a surprise. She was tougher now in so many ways but a heaviness came with it and sat on her shoulders even as she left work behind for the day. There was still much of herself that she was figuring out. Yet in moments like this, in the silence and the familiarity and in the missing of her friend, she knew that there were still pieces of her old self there that hadn’t changed.
“Hey, Jinny.”
The air left her lungs like she'd suffered a kick to the chest, mind not quite comprehending who that voice belonged to and how he was there and how it had most definitely come from behind her. She turned slowly as if he was Eurydice and she was Orpheus and looking back would send Eugene’s soul back to the underworld.
Because it was Eugene and he was standing right there with his arms at his sides looking so smart in his uniform. She stared, soaking in all of him, searching for signs of how much he changed in the time he had been away. He was skinnier and he looked tired, and there was that bone deep exhaustion that she saw in the face of every soldier she met at the hospital. But she could still see the laugh lines around his eyes and the sun touching his ginger hair making it glow, and she knew that this was her friend even with all that he brought back with him.
And then she was moving and throwing her arms around him and pulling him into her body. There was the possibility that she was hugging him too tightly but she couldn’t quite bring herself to care as all the fears dissipated with him against her. He was solid and warm and his arms were around her waist now holding just as tightly as she was to him. She could feel cheek against her head and his breathing on her ear, and she wondered if he could feel her tears falling on him.
“Sorry I didn’t write the last few weeks. I was going to write you one last letter, but I figured I could say it all to you once we were face to face.”
Eugene’s voice was muffled but she could still hear him. There was a half hearted laugh against his shoulder and finally, after another few moments of holding onto each other, Jinny allowed herself to step back. Her hands were still clasping his arms as if he would vanish without her there to anchor. He was smiling now and so was she, reaching up to touch his cheek. “I guess I can let it slide this time.”
His hand covered hers to hold it there. It was calloused and strong, so different from the hands she remembered before. She was surprised to see him looking at her with the same curiosity and searching that mirrored her own. He was trying to see the parts of her that had changed and fill in all the pieces of what her letters did not tell him about what he had missed of her life. Eugene swallowed hard and shook his head, still smiling.
“I love you Jinny Collins.”
There were seldom moments in her life that she remembered being too stunned to say something. But standing here with Eugene in her arms Jinny found her mind reeling with his declaration. How many times had Jinny thought those same words? Even before he had left, she had dreamt of saying them to him. How many times had she thrown away a draft of a letter that had those three words written carefully at the end? She had loved him for so long. And he loved her? She cupped his cheek in her hand and stared up at him with teary eyes and uttered the phrase that she wished she had said the last day they were together in the field of grass:
“I love you too.”
#oc: virginia ‘jinny’ collins#jinny x eugene#the pacific#the pacific oc#hbo war#hbo war x reader#my writings#my writing#🏷️ my writings#🏷️ my ocs
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hello world!
You don't know me. I don't know you. But after a very long hiatus of not writing anything at all after going at it like crazy as a teenager - I am back.
Or at least I intend to be!
Anyway, I'm back writing x readers, and this is where post the ones that get to see the light of day. I would appreciate a follow, but more so I would appreciate requests/prompts to help me get this show on the road!
I'll mostly be writing 18+ content, realistically, so do not shy away from that kind of stuff in my inbox.
I'll to fics/drabbles/ships/etc.. not picky, just here to have fun! Fandoms bellow!
House of the Dragon
Game of Thrones
Any of Tolkien's works
Vikings
Band of Brothers & the Pacific (not Masters of the Air yet - getting to it)
Stranger Things
The Marvel Cinematic Universe
I'm a sideblog, following back from @interhellar!
#hotd x reader#house of the dragon x reader#stranger things x reader#mcu x reader#band of brothers x reader#the pacific x reader#hbo war x reader#game of thrones x reader#lord of the rings x reader#the hobbit x reader#vikings x reader
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Birdie
John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader
Summary: A rare night out in London has Bucky coming to terms with his feelings for you.
Word Count: 2.9k
Tags: mechanic!reader, songbird!reader, female!reader, she/her pronouns used, drinking culture, cursing, mutual pining, moderate bouts of denial, insecurities, women supporting women because it's what we deserve, let's pretend that The Old Therebefore is an ancient Appalachian folk song in this universe, maybe she's a Mary Sue idgaf, I just wanted to write something happy so LET ME LIVE, WWII era, there's no Y/N but reader has the nickname "Birdie"
A/N: Yeah, I'm obsessed with Masters of the Air. I had to write something for my mans before the creative procrastination literally killed me. Please leave a like, comment, or even a reblog if you're so inclined :)
You can read my OC version of this story on AO3!
Songs Mentioned in This Fic:
Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by The Andrews Sisters
G.I. Jive by Johnny Mercer
The Ole Therebefore (Accapella) by Rachel Zegler
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, don't copy my writing without explicit permission. That includes you, you AI sonuvabitch.
Your heels clicked on the cobblestone streets, turning into the pub you’d heard so much about. You were out celebrating a very rare weekend off. The Brass had somehow allowed you and twenty other mechanics from base two days leave, so you took advantage of the opportunity and headed straight to London.
Your two best girlfriends from base were with you. Teresa was one of the toughest nurses you’d ever come across. She could give you a wide grin, crinkles around her hazel eyes, and reset a broken bone without breaking a sweat. It helps that she was already working towards becoming a nurse back in New Mexico, the war just sped along that process. You had bonded over your love of books, giving each other recommendations almost weekly.
You’d met Irene on the boat to England. She puked on your shoes almost thirty minutes exactly after leaving the port in New York. You gave a small grin, offering her a handkerchief and a piece of ginger candy and the rest was history. Finding out that she was a fellow mechanic was the icing on the cake. Coming in at a whopping five foot two, the spritely blonde could easily be found in a crowd with her loud Appalachian accent.
It seemed almost like fate for the three of you to have found each other. Being some of the few women on base naturally made you close, but you were closer with Irene and Teresa than any of the others. That’s not to say that you weren’t friends with any of the men, because you were. Friendly.
All three of you were dressed to the nines, in contradiction to your everyday work wear. You all got ready together in your hotel room, giggling while you applied makeup here, spritzed some perfume there. You all felt confident and were ready to have a good time. You spotted some familiar faces and made your way over towards them, your friends linked arm-in-arm with you. Lemmons was the first to greet you.
Of the fifty men on the ground crew, Sgt. Ken Lemmons was the most welcoming of them all. From the get-go, he didn’t care if you were a man or woman. He just wanted to know that you were capable. You were sure he had to go through some hazing because of his age, which probably changed his perspective on gatekeeping the job. This made earning and maintaining respect a lot easier for the women on your crew. We all came over with the same goal, it was better for all if we just helped each other out.
“Hey Birdie! Nice to see you out and about.”
Ah, the famed nickname. You tend to hum and sing under your breath when elbow-deep in a project. It helps you pass the time and clear your mind. Of course, the rest of the ground crew quickly caught on to this habit of yours, which quickly earned you the nickname “Birdie”. You, of course, never sing solo in public, so this confuses anyone who’s not around you while you’re working. But the name stuck, so here you are. Birdie.
Chairs are quickly cleared for you and your friends, which you all graciously take. You go up to buy some drinks, knowing what your friends like, and quickly return with your drinks of choice. Conversation flows, laughs are shared, and a few drinking games are played over the next hours. Teresa soon speaks up on a topic you’d been hoping to avoid.
“Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”
You shrug and look into your drink, “Dunno. Why does it matter?”
Irene, the ever supportive best friend that she is, backs up Teresa. “What do you mean ‘why’? This is your chance to finally make a move!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You quickly deny, taking another sip.
An unladylike snort leaves Irene, “My ass! You and Major Egan have been making googly eyes at each other when you think the other’s not looking for months. I’m saying it’s time for you to perk your tits up, buck on over and ride that—!” You slam your drink on the table, pressing your hand over Irene’s mouth, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment.
“Are you insane?” You whisper harshly, looking around to make sure no one overheard you. You seem to be in the clear, which makes you calm down a bit. Irene pushes off your hand, takes a swig of her drink, and consults the person who started this whole conversation.
“Am I wrong?” You look to Teresa, who cringes slightly in agreement.
You gape at the pair of them. Normally, you were the median between the two girls who had vastly differing opinions. But this is what made them come to a consensus? Unbelievable.
“Look, I’m not saying that I don’t want to.” You start, which makes your friends nod encouragingly at you. “It’s just that… Is he really as interested as you think he is?”
They both groan and slump against each other, like they’d just run a marathon. Teresa sits up, scooching your chair in closer so that the three of you were in a private triangle, cut off from the rest of the group.
“Let’s look at the facts here, okay?” Teresa starts to tick off a finger with each point she and Irene make. But you seem to always have a rebuttal at the ready.
“He brings you coffee every morning.”
“I thought he does that for everyone.”
“He constantly fixes his hair when you’re around.”
“He takes care of his appearance!”
“He walks you to the mess hall every day for dinner.”
“We just happen to be going the same way. And we happen to have the same dinner schedule.”
“He read The Hobbit when you said how much you loved it.”
“He’s an adventurous guy, it’s an adventurous book, what’s not to like about it?”
“You two literally will walk and talk outside alone for hours.”
“A man can’t have a stimulating conversation with a woman?”
“He laughs at all your dumb jokes.”
“Hey! They’re not all dumb. Like, the one with the goose and the—”
“Point proven. Anyways! He has your picture in the inside pocket of his jacket.”
That one stops you in your tracks. You brain tries to justify this meaning but comes up blank.
“He…” You struggle with an excuse. “He…” Your best friends give victorious smirks in your direction.
“He… likes the extra padding in his jacket?” You stutter over what is possibly the most pathetic, sorry excuse you could have ever come up with.
“When are you gonna admit to yourself that he likes you? Like, actually truly likes you?”
You gave a sad sigh, letting the insecurity you were feeling deep down come to the surface. “I just… He’s just so…” You had stomped down your feelings for so long that it was becoming hard to articulate what exactly you’re feeling.
“He just seems so unreal. Like, of everyone he could have chosen, why me? I mean, I know I’m great. But you’ve seen the other girls on base. They’re all so beautiful, smart, classy… and none of them are covered in engine oil ninety percent of the time.” You looked down at your hands, specks of grease and oil peeking out from beneath your nail beds. It seems like it would never completely wash out, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You hadn’t even painted your nails for this weekend, knowing it would be money wasted come Monday morning when you’re back on the clock.
Teresa and Irene share a look that you don’t see, then come forward and grab each of your hands.
“The words you just used to describe those girls. All of that is you, Birdie. That and more. You being a mechanic doesn’t make you any less of a woman, and to hell with anyone else who thinks otherwise.” You nodded in agreement, Irene’s words of encouragement slowly washing away your anxieties.
Teresa spoke up next, “You deserve someone who will rearrange the stars and the whole night sky for you. And I’m more than willing to bet that Major Egan is up for the job.”
“Besides, none of that 'unreal' stuff. At the end of the day, John Egan is nothing more than a man. If he can’t look past his nose and his d—" You gave a squeak to cover up the vulgar word Irene was about to blurt in public. She rolled her eyes fondly and continued.
“If he can’t see what you’re worth and make the effort to treat you a hundred times better than that? That’s on him. Not you. You know what you deserve, and you deserve everything you want. Absolutely everything.”
You sniffed, happy tears coming to your eyes. You brought your best friends in for a hug, thanking them profusely.
“Don’t sweat it,” Teresa grins into your shoulder “every girl needs to be pulled out of her well sometime.”
You pull back from the hug, grabbing your glass and tipping your head back, finishing the rest of your drink. “Even if he’s not gonna be here, let’s have a ball!” Your girlfriends cheer as the three of you go to the bar for refills.
One drink turns into two, which turns into a few more, and suddenly you’re buzzed. Your group are having a rambunctious time, Irene dancing by the local piano player. Once Irene looks over to you, she stops and whispers in the player’s ear. He nods, then starts a new tune. Irene starts up her voice, walking over to you and Teresa, encouraging you to join her.
The alcohol has loosened you up enough that you don’t feel the nausea you usually associate with being perceived, so you join in the harmonies you and your friends have practiced in your bunks at night.
He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way
He had a boogie style that no one else could play
He was the top man at his craft
But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft
Soon the whole pub was jumping and dancing along to the tune as you brought a new vibe to the pub. It was like a spark that started an entirely new night and everyone was eager to go on forever.
One song turns into an entire set, which ends with a full rendition of G.I. Jive, which had everyone singing along. It was a magical moment; made you feel like you were a part of something important.
Irene sidles up to you, giving you a hug. She says in your ear,
“I think it’s time to slow it down a bit. How about you sing that song I taught you.”
She means an old Appalachian folk song that’s been in her family for generations. You had heard her sing it one night and immediately loved the dark, but strong nature of the lyrics. It was an honor to learn it from her.
“I don’t know, it’s your family’s song and…”
“And I can’t think of anyone better to sing it to these soldiers.” You gave each other a look, her slight eyebrow raise gave you the courage to nod in acceptance. She smiled, hugging you again, her voice yelled out to the crowd.
“Birdie’s gonna sing solo!”
The announcement is met with raucous applause, Irene and Teresa shoving you towards a dodgy looking table. Crank offers a hand up, which you take gratefully. As you find your bearings on the tabletop, you quickly spin around and find all eyes on you.
The crackling energy in the air seemed to simmer, the fast-beating hearts of the pubgoers recognizing a moment to acknowledge you. Nausea starts to make an appearance, but a deep breath quells the sensation within you for the time being.
You take another deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
You close your eyes, open your mouth, and sing.
Meanwhile….
Majors Gale Cleven and John Egan walk down the familiar street, one eager to catch up with his fellow countrymen’s alcohol intake, the other just happy to spend time with his friends. They were arriving later to the festivities due to being caught up in filling out reports. By far the worst part of having a higher rank was the paperwork.
“It’s pretty quiet.” Buck acknowledges. “They’re usually rowdier by this point.”
Bucky sniffs, shrugging off the concern. “Ah, it’s probably nothing.”
As the two men approach the pub, they find that a crowd has formed. Soldiers, civilians, RAF, USAAF, old, young— people had obviously stopped to watch whatever was going on. It was dead silent, save for a voice singing. Was there a radio show on or something?
A familiar face peeks out at them from the crowd, DeMarco quickly waving them over.
Bucky is quick to question, “Hey, what’s going on?” but is immediately shushed by nearby crowd members. Buck cringes in apology, despite not being the one to disturb the peace. His best friend, ever unshaken by the opinion of strangers, carries on.
DeMarco leans in, whispering, “Your girl’s taking us all to church.”
“My girl..?” Bucky’s nose scrunches in confusion. He makes space through the crowd and quickly makes sense of DeMarco’s words. It was you.
I’ll catch you up
When I’ve emptied my cup
When I’ve worn out my friends
When I’ve burned out both ends
Standing on a tabletop, watchful eyes sat all around you like baby ducks flocking to their mama. You were captivating everyone with each note and word that flows from your mouth. Damn, you've got a set of pipes— a voice that belongs on the radio, in concert halls, on Hollywood records. He had no idea.
His little Birdie.
“Wow.” Buck mutters in awe from behind him, and Bucky couldn’t be more in agreement.
When I’m pure like a dove
When I’ve learned how to love
He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were closed. Like she needed to concentrate on each and every breath she took, every single movement her body made, before letting them out in an angelic melody.
As if by divine intervention, her eyes pop open and lock on his as she belts “how to love”
It could’ve been an eternity, for all he knows, the amount of time that they spent locked in each other’s gaze. The world pauses around them, everything frozen. Her eyes were already the kind to knock a man clean off his feet with a single gaze, but he thinks- for a brief moment- that his heart completely stops beating.
John Clarence Egan would swear every day from then on, until his dying breath, that the course of his life was altered in that very moment. He knew how it would continue from then on, and how it would end. How he wanted it to end.
Then the world starts back up and carries on.
Right here in the old therebefore
When nothing is left anymore
Her final hums are joined by a short blonde woman who stands nearby, another face he recognizes from base.
The applause that picks up after the end of the song is near deafening. The star of the hour gives a shy smile, a quick curtsy and is given a hand to step down from the table.
Everyone soon starts mingling, the normal chatter of the bar returning. But Bucky is stuck in his spot, dumbfounded. In all the conversations you’d had together, somehow this never came up. He should’ve put two and two together, as he recalls overhearing your hums one morning as he made his daily coffee delivery to you. But you had been caught off guard, so much so that you tripped off the ladder you stood on and fell. Luckily, his quick reflexes kicked in to catch you before any serious injuries occurred.
Remembering the sensation of his hands on your waist and thighs, face just inches from yours, sent his brain into a tailspin. That’s not even considering just how damn cute you were when, after a beat, you turned away from him and playfully mourned the cups of coffee that were splattered all over the hardstand.
“John. John?” A hand waving in front of his face knocks him out of his reverie. He blinks once, twice. Then looks to his best friend.
His voice comes out uncharacteristically weak in response, to which he then clears his throat and corrects. “Yes—yeah?” He pops the collar of his sheepskin jacket to try and hide the rampant red of his ears that signals the heat radiating from them.
Buck just shakes his head and gives him a knowing smile. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Egan. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“See what day?” Bucky starts to consciously return to his body, leaning on the bar.
“The day when a girl finally knocks you on your ass. I knew you had a thing for her, but that?” He points to his face and motions to indicate where they had just been standing. “That’s something else. That’s something real.”
Bucky gives another shrug in response, to which Buck throws back an unconvinced frown. He turns his head to gaze over the pub patrons and is distracted by you once again. Any denial he was about to spout immediately dies in his mouth when you lock eyes with him again and give him a dazzling smile. The world starts to fade away again.
His heart pumps faster in his chest at the sight. Damnit. He sighs, telling his best friend the truth he’s been privately wrestling with for a while now, all the while keeping his eyes locked on yours.
“I know, Buck. I know.”
Bucky smiles back at you and is elated when your face lights up. You give him a wave.
“She kinda snuck up on me.”
#masters of the air#mota#john egan x reader#john egan x oc#john bucky egan#john bucky egan x reader#bucky egan x reader#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#john egan x female reader#bucky fanfic#bucky egan fanfiction#mota spoilers#ken lemmons#gale cleven#buck and bucky#buck x bucky#john egan#bucky egan#crank cruikshank#charles cruikshank#curt biddick#buck cleven#gale buck cleven#harry crosby#bubbles payne#hbo war#hbo war fanfic#hbo war fandom#hbo war oc
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Dear John || Pt.1
Masters of the Air Fanfiction
Requested: ☑️ My sweet Bri begged for a love-letter-centric Egan fic and with her wonderfully infectious ideas this was produced, the first part of many.
Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters, he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways, tucked up in luxury in Beverly Hills with carts of tedious fanmail burned in her back yard each day, his letter will get lost in the mix. It’s harmless. That thought -and the booze- may loosen his pen a little too much but it’s alright, it’s not like she’ll read it. Right? Right.
It was specified in the request to use or create some of those old WWII dirty acronyms, so in here you have Bucky making up his own for his starlet crush (acorn). I’m ripping off a few ladies here, Lana Turner, Betty Grable, Hedy Lamarr to name a few -the moodbaord is for general aesthetics, I try to keep my fem!readers and oc’s as ambiguous physically as possible. (Besides the fact Johnny Egan finds you mouthwatering, which -be honest with yourself here sweet thing!!- he would.
Rating: 18+ this is the letter writing, vintage form of sexting. i kid you not, this man swings wildly from sweet as pie to downright filthy and vintage slang for anatomical parts is used freely. This would make a better shameful diary entry than a letter but he’s a rogue and he’s in a war, cut him some slack.
Fun game: how many times can Major Egan manage to mention Buck in a horny fan letter to his crush?
Dear A.C.O.R.N.
It is highly unlikely that you remember me, but, all the same, we have met. Now, hear me out, I’m sure fellas say that to you all the time but my point still stands and to match them I’ll do you one better, seeing as how I am not buttering you up for something in return -I have met you, yes, but I have also sung to you.
There. Said it.
Not that you’d recall that either, but then again maybe you would, but either way it doesn’t matter as the entire reason I am writing to you is because it is entirely unlikely you will ever open this god-awful endeavor made of pen and ink.
I am quite drunk, you see.
A necessary medicine. And they do make good whiskey here, one of the few joys they haven’t rationed yet. It’s got me wondering what’s your poison of choice. Something fruity? Or are you an olive sucker? Like that salt on the rim? Or maybe you go for somethin’ silky and warm goin’ down your throat? Which-ever it is, I bet you’d be a surprise, sweet ACORN, I just know it. You were a surprise at the canteen. Back in Jersey? Before shipping out? I know you were on a whole tour and kisses were goin’ for dollars but still, you were a surprise.
A lovely one, really. And that’s the point of this letter. To tell you that you're lovely and while I’m not the pen-pal sort, I’ve written home 80 letters tonight to families whose boys I was supposed to bring home. It got me thinking: Bucky, why the hell don’t you write nice letters? Whyd you only write ‘em now that you gotta? And it occurred to me then that the one silver lining in this whole Air Exec job is the desk, the lamp and the office.
I could write anybody from here. I could write you.
And you wouldn't read it so I could write anything. And it could be a nice letter. ‘Cause I don’t know anybody of yours to tell you anythin’ sad about them and you don’t know me except that I’m alive and drunk. Which is better than those poor eighty two bastards. Which reminds me, I’ve still got two more but maybe Buck will take those, he took seventeen off to his bunk to write from there. Buck doesn't have a desk because he’s not as important as me and he has all the luck.
You’ve met Buck, too, Acorn. He was the appalled pretty one with the straw colored hair pulling me off you after we had our duet. He objects to your nickname, see, even though you didn’t seem to mind. You were lovely, A.C.O.R.N. And I’d not wanna ruin this letter by telling you what it means, not now that I’m actually writing to you and determined to be nice but Buck knows and while he agrees with me as much as any man in the nation that you’ve got the most robust rack on the silver screen -he has objections, you see. So it wasn’t the song or the canoodling he didn’t like, and I still say, he broke up a little love affair that night. Bastard. So I’m writing to you now because as the acronym suggests, I’ve got a goal in my mind in regards to you. I tell myself -Bucky, there’s reasons to make it back.
Reasons, Bucky, reasons. Like Acorn and her halo of gorgeous hair that smelled like coconuts and the way she thought my new lyrics were pretty clever. That’s what you said, acorn, you said they were pretty clever. Now I may have been a little drunk then, too, but I think you might’ve been tipsy, that coke smelled too strong to be straight. I still have the straw you gave me, it’s bent to hell but I’ve taken it up each mission. I’m not counting on it for luck so much as a reminder of the aforementioned reasons. To come back. Your lipstick has mostly worn off but I figure it’s still the same.
You had your precious lips around it. That’s what matters.
And that’s the sorta sentence that makes Buck think I shouldn’t write letters.
But what he can’t accuse me of is being dishonest or vague. I’m being straight with you. You deserve that much, you were lovely and very straight shootin’ yourself, dear little girl. I could pinch your cheeks right now, you’re so sweet. And don’t think me a coward for sayin’ all this under assumption that you won’t read it. I hope you don’t since it’s not worth your time and if you do I wish I’d written less about me and more about you but I need you to know if we were face to face I’d say the same:
You were lovely, you ARE lovely!!!! and I think all your work for us boys is swell and you’ve got the bestest set of knockers any of us have ever seen and I’m stayin’ alive in hopes to see ‘em again some day and while the girls here are swell and sweet they aren’t zippy like you. At least not the ones who’ve put out so far. And if I had you face to face, I’d find a way to make you laugh again and I’d tell you to your face you’re lovely and if I’d been David Nivin in Love Trap with you, I’d have stayed in that little kitchen with you and ate all your burnt flapjacks and watched you in your apron and made babies with you till we were old.
Anyway. It needed saying. And maybe I’ll say it to your face given the chance again. I was working my way up to a proposition for burgers and milkshakes when Buck ruined it. But maybe you’ll tour? Here!! Over here. In England or maybe in Europe once we kick the Nazis bastards out.
Now that’s motivation. That’s a reason! -clear out a nice little swath of land through fortress europe so Miss Lana Tierney can sing in the city of lights surrounded by nothin’ but wine and good food and a buncha boys who love and appreciate her.
Because we do, ma’am. We do.
And make no mistake, I do this to keep the country safe and try to bring as many boys home as I can but every second I also think - it’s where you are too, and so I must continue keeping it safe.
If you, by some godawful chance, do read this letter, please don’t feel pressed to respond or pull out a restraining order. Think of it this way, it’d just be one more “Dear John” letter and the system is clogged as it is. You just deserve a nice letter and my wrist is past sore, one more doesn't matter. And being unable to deliver nice, I’ve written this.
~ I am ever your respectful (and hammered) admirer, Maj. John Egan
P.S. if you do happen to read this I’m sorry. Buck told me not to do this but I just had to Acorn. You’re just too swell and I really have got to get myself to a theater before long, I miss your Angel face.
Masterlist
Thank you for reading! This was entirely out of my usual comfort zone but I’ve had fun writing it and I’m trying to tune my ear to pick up his voice, that’s been stretching. This series will have many letters in it but there will also be fic, so fear not. I’ve got some plans already figured out for this series but I do love a suggestion or ten so have at the inbox with what you’d like to see play out.
Hope you enjoyed, if you’d like to be tagged in future MOTA fics, drop a note below.
#masters of the air#callum turner#john egan#Major John Egan#Bucky Egan x reader#callum turner x reader#masters of the air fanfiction#mota fanfic#hbo war fanfic#Bucky Egan#mine#archive
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hey girly! Idk if your requests are open but we neeeeeed something for bucky from mota. maybe something like enemies to lovers with a war nurse? thxxxx
A Second Chance
Thank you so much for your request anon. I’m so sorry it took so long. I feel that I may not have the skill set to write John Egan as well as other writers but I’m hoping that I can do him justice. Also two posts this weekend because why not.
John Egan was insufferable. Y/n had decided that from the moment she’d first met him, with his cocky smile, his stupid moustache, his bright eyes and… no he was just insufferable. She’d never met a man so full of himself that he gave his best friend the same nickname, and yet Gale Cleven seemed like the sweetest man on earth.
“You’re staring again,” Rosie chuckled, looking up from his battered book ‘Of Mice and Men’ with a cheeky smile.
“Yes with utter disgust, I mean look at him,” Y/n pointed, watching as Rosie glanced over at the Major who was currently leaning against the bar, flirting with the poor barmaid who seemed besotted with him. “He’d flirt with anything that moved.” 
“Including you apparently,” Rosie chuckled, “Just admit that you aren’t a tiny bit jealous. I just want to hear you admit it.”
Y/n glared daggers at the pilot who was using his book to shield his smiling face. She lurched forward trying to smack him but he shoved the book at her.
“No, no, not the moustache again,” he shielded his hand over his mouth, eyes wide as he glared at her. She may have accidentally pulled his moustache once when they were arguing about the same Major and Rosie’s moustache had taken the hit.
“You know that was an accident.”
“Yes, but it’s never grown the same since,” he protested, stroking his facial hair thoughtfully. “You’re always moaning about Major Egan's moustache, I thought mine was a goner.”
Y/n sighed dramatically, slouching in her chair. She wondered if she should tell Rosie the real reason why she held such a grudge towards John Egan. That, however, would involve her confessing that she was madly in love with John.
Rosie’s eyes remained trained on his book and Y/n fought the urge to interrupt him again. Instead, she remained silent, thinking back to that night in June when the air in London had been close and hot, sticking to the sweat on her skin, the pale evening light casting shadows over the hotel room, the white sheets soft and comfortable, his embrace loving, his words kind and… all completely false.
Y/n hadn’t believed in love at first sight but seeing John Egan in his uniform, smirking at her across the crowded pub, something inside her had changed. He’d been effortlessly charming and she was eating out of his palm before the night was through.
John Egan had promised to visit her, promised he’d write, but several months passed and no letters came Y/n gave up, putting John behind her. That was until she had to report to Thorpe Abbott RAF base and ran into a particular Major.
John, however, seemed oblivious to their previous encounter, barely sending her a smile as he strolled passed with several other pilots by his side. From that day forward Y/n held a grudge against John Egan.
“Here we go…” Rosie mumbled under his breath, but before Y/n could ask what he meant a low hum came from behind her.
“Evening Rosie, Y/n,” John nodded to both of them, Gale Cleven by his side doing the same.
“Majors,” Rosie greeted them, placing his book down on the table.
“Major Cleven,” Y/n greeted Gale, her eyes avoiding the other Major. Gale glanced quizzically between the pair, before looking to Rosie for answers, but he only shrugged.
“Have I done something to offend you, Darling?” John smirked at her, leaning across the table, his moustache twitching at the corners. He had the same cocky air about him that he always wore but the added nickname just added fuel to the fire that was already burning.
Y/n snorted, “Do not think your presence has such an effect on me, Major. I’m afraid not every woman falls at your feet.”
Gale let a low whistle slip from his lips, but John just grinned, “Alright, I see someone’s a little jealous, didn’t realise I had an admirer.”
Y/n stood swiftly from her chair, rounding the table and jabbing her finger into John’s chest, “I am not jealous and why would I be? Why would I lower my standards to such an arrogant, self-centered man.” She removed her finger from his chest, turning on her heels and exiting the pub as fast as her legs would allow her.
Gale looked between Rosie and John, “Will someone please explain what just happened?”
Rosie shrugged, picking up his book and fumbling through the pages until he found his spot. John chuckled, “I think I may have offended her in some way, though I know not how.”
“You really think you offended her, huh?” Gale replied sarcastically, avoiding his friend's light shove with an amused laugh.
John truly did wonder what he’d done so wrong to offend her. He’d only known her a few months when she turned up on base dressed in her dress blues declaring she was newly assigned to Thorpe Abbott infirmary. He greeted her with a smile and she glared at him in response. From that day forward it had been an all-out war between the two of them.
Y/n had just finished tidying up the examination room when there was a light tap at the door, she called out ‘enter’, her back still turned to whoever it was.
“This is quite a nice place you’ve got here, Darling,” John declared, leaning against the doorframe, smiling devilishly.
Y/n sighed, instantly on the defensive, “What do you want, Major,” she emphasised his rank disdainfully, rolling her eyes as she continued to pack up the crate of dressings.
John hummed behind her, moving around the room until he was in front of her once more, “So…” he paused, craning his neck to try and catch her eye. “How are you finding life on base?”
That’s it, John, a nice simple question. She can’t get too offended by that, right?
Y/n all but tutted, shaking her head, “Life would be just fine, except a certain Major keeps ruining my day.” She shoved passed him, carrying the crate out of the room and down the corridor, her heels clicking against the tiled floor followed by a larger heavier footfall.
“Hey Darling, wait up. I hadn’t finished talking to you,” John protested, moving swiftly in front of her and stopping her movements.
“What?” She snapped this time, her patience wearing thin and the long list of jobs she had still playing on her mind.
John sighed, rubbing his hand down his face, “I just want to know what I did. I’ve barely said two words to you since you got here and somehow I’ve offended you. Whatever I’ve done I’m sorry, okay?” He didn’t mean to sound so exasperated but he wasn’t sure what more he could say.
Y/n watched him, her face faltering ever so slightly before the stoic expression returned. “The fact that you don’t remember makes all of this worse. I didn’t realise our night was so awful you pushed it from your mind. So much for ‘I’ll keep in touch’,” she spat, pushing the crate into him and moving on passed without a backward glance. She’d said her piece, he could do with that what he will.
John sat on the wing of Mugwump, his legs swinging in mid-air as he took a long swig from his hit flask. His mind still reeling from the afternoon's events as the guilt ate away at him.
He’d fished the letter out from his belongings, tracing over the return address. He should have realised her name was familiar, but then again he should have written her back.
John was still trying to piece together how he hadn’t realised it was her, but with the amount they’d both consumed he was surprised Y/n even remembered him. That still didn’t help clear his conscience.
“Bucky, you up there,” Gale called, glancing around the plane until he noticed the pair of legs hanging from the wing. “What are you doing?”
“I messed up Gale,” John mumbled, taking another drink. He was always impressed by how much whiskey his hot flask could hold and he was starting to feel a nice warm sensation as it flowed around his body.
“What have you done?” Gale asked, hoisting himself up the ladder and onto the wing beside John. He offered Gale his hit flask but the other pilot shook his head, waiting for his friend’s explanation.
“Do you remember that night I had in London a few months ago? When I said I met this amazing woman and we had a wonderful night together, she wanted me to write to her and she wrote me a letter and I never replied,” John rambled, his tongue becoming looser as the alcohol flowed. “Well, that’s Y/n, the nurse on base. It’s the same woman, Gale.”
Gale nodded, processing his friend's confession, “Well at least now we know why she’s so angry at you all the time, you were a total ass.”
John rolled his eyes glaring at Gale, “Thanks Buck, that’s really helpful.” Groaning, John pushed himself up, balancing precariously on Mugwump’s wing. “I’ve gotta make it up to her, Buck. Women like grand gestures, don't they?”
Buck shuffled further away from the edge of the wing before standing, grasping his friend's hands, “I don’t think she wants a grand gesture, Bucky. I think she just wants you to apologise.”
Passing back and forth down the infirmary corridor, John found himself fighting the urge to make a run for it. He could easily head down the corridor and back out onto the hardstand before anyone noticed he was there in the first place.
Movement from within the infirmary caught his eye. He watched curiously as Y/n moved along the beds, sitting down beside a wounded airman, his head clad in bandages, covering the burns he’d sustained on the last mission. She was speaking quietly to him, too quietly for John to hear, but he saw the young man instantly relax in her presence. She was a good nurse and John had taken her kindness for granted. He had to make things right.
He wrapped his knuckles against the door, waiting for the mumbled reply, before pushing it open. Y/n was smoothing down some fresh bedding, tucking the sheets tightly into the bed.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he interrupted, watching as her movements still and her whole body stiffened. He hated that he had this effect on her.
“What can I do for you, Major?” Her voice was plain, emotionless and her eyes seemed hollow, as though she stared right through him.
John felt his palms sweating as he spoke, “I need to talk to you, to apologise for my behaviour.” Y/n seemed uninterested in what he had to say, continuing with the task at hand, but John wasn’t about to give up on her again.
“My behaviour has been unacceptable and I know that I can probably never make it up to you but I want to try. I was not in my best form the night that we met, I was drunk and uncaring and I’m sorry I never wrote back. I intended to but I just never did, and I have no excuse, I’m just sorry I never did. You’re a great girl and any man would be lucky to have you write to them, I only wish that I hadn’t messed things up.”
John had never outed his heart out before, he’d never even revealed this kind of vulnerability to Gale, so he was a little shocked. Had he said too much? Would she hate him even more now?
Y/n had stopped her movements, still bent over the bed, her hand clutching the sheet. John watched her shoulders sag, and a long, drawn-out sigh slipped from her lips.
“It’s okay, John,” she murmured, defeat evident in her appearance. “I knew the kind of man you were when we met, I was just excited that a man such as yourself wanted to give someone like me any kind of attention.
She stood up, a few tears trickling down her cheeks, “You know the worst thing was I really did think you’d write back. That’s what hurt the most. Then when I got my orders to move to Thorpe Abbott I thought maybe we had a chance, but you didn’t even recognise me and I knew I never stood a chance.”
The pair stood in silence, the clock on the wall ticking louder than ever as time passed. John spoke up first, unable to stand the tension any longer.
“I’m so sorry, Y/n, for all of it. I understand now why you hate me so much, and I wouldn’t blame you. Is there any way I can make it up to you? Any way at all?”
Y/n’s forehead creased as she thought, her nose wrinkling as it had the same night they’d met when he’d asked her about her family. He could see it now, all the small details that he’d appreciated when he met her, if only he’d taken the time to study her when she came to base he’d have known.
Y/n shook her head, “What’s done is done. Let’s just move on and forget about it all.” She turned away, returning to the bed she’d been making, but John grabbed her arm.
“I don’t want to forget it, any of it. That night with you was one of the best nights of my life. I was free from judgment when I was with you. You never once called me Major or treated me like I was better than you, you treated me like a normal person,” John admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “And I’d really like another shot if you’d let me.”
“Alright,” Y/n replied, “But if you break my heart again, Major then I won’t be so forgiving.”
John chuckled, saluting her, “Anything you say, Ma’am.”
Y/n rolled her eyes turning back to her job, but John spun her back around to face him, “I have some leave coming up to go to London. What do you say to come with me?”
Y/n smiled softly, “I’d love to, but I don’t know whether I can get the leave.”
“All sorted, it’s already been approved.”
Y/n raised an eyebrow, “Well that’s pretty cocky of you, Major. What were you planning on doing if I said no?”
John grinned, “I would have just asked Buck to come with me, although he’s not nearly as beautiful and I don’t think I’d want to share a bed with him, he snores you know.”
Y/n laughed, moving her arms so they rested behind his neck, fumbling with the soft hair at the base of his neck. “Alright Major, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
John grinned, cupping her cheek softly in his palm, he pressed his lips down to her, his moustache tickling her lips but that was the least of her concerns. His hands moved to her hips, resting firmly and pulling her closer. He smiled into the kiss, it felt so right, bringing back all the memories from London all those months ago. He wished he’d written her back now, he could have been kissing her all this time, but at least he could make up for lost time now and he intended to.
Tags: @georgieluz @docroesmorphine @major-mads @violetdaze25 @bcofl0ve @precious-little-scoundrel @blurredcolour @artlover8992 @b00ks1ut @xxluckystrike @hockeyboysarehot @groovin2beats @kmc1989 @ginabaker1666 @hesbuckcompton-baby @blueberry-ovaries
#masters of the air#john egan#john egan x reader#masters of the air fic#hbo war#gale cleven#rosie rosenthal#John Egan x y/n
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Born To Be Yours
[One-shot | Sequel to We'll Meet Again]
Eugene Roe x Nurse!Female Reader
Despite the end of the war in Europe, violence still finds its way to the men of Easy company. Thankfully, Eugene knows just where to find you to get them help.
Warnings: Language, Weapons, Canon Typical Violence, Smoking, Treatment of Wounds, Medical Procedures, Hospital Settings, Questionably Written Cajun Accent, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [Kissing, Necking, Dry Humping] - 18+ ONLY
Author’s Note: Slight warning - the events of this fic are centered around the shooting of Sergeant Charles E Grant. The title of this fic is based off the song 'Yours' by Vera Lynn. For your reference, the Cajun pronunciation of cher, Eugene's term of endearment for the reader, is 'sha.' Just to help you really imagine it in your head. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.
Word Count: 3887
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This kind of thing wasn’t supposed to be happening. Not here in Austria after the surrender of the German army. Not today, the anniversary of D-Day. And yet here Eugene sat, balanced over a stretcher bearing a motionless Grant, holding an IV of blood above his head as Speirs sped down the road toward Saalfelden where the 47th Field Hospital was set up on the edge of town. Talbert rode in the front seat, frequently glancing back at them over his shoulder.
It was a miracle Grant was still breathing after receiving the headwound, continued to breathe through the frantic bandaging and loading onto Speirs’ jeep.
“Where’s the nearest surgeon?” The Captain had barked and Gene had answered easily, known it immediately, because the nearest surgeon was with you.
After parting ways in Titz, following that very eventful Easter Sunday, your hospital had stayed precisely where it was intended to be – twenty-five kilometers behind the line as they advanced across Germany. You had surprised Eugene by sending your next letter not by post, but in the pocket of an ambulance driver who had been all too happy to receive a pack of smokes from you for his trouble. Your ingenuity had opened his eyes, and he’d sent his own reply back two days later, postage paid with chocolate from his rations.
Being able to write one another without the censors having a say, to share every detail of your daily lives without fear of the letter going missing – as long as you each chose a trustworthy deliveryman of course – was a relief after all the delays in communication the pair of you had previously endured. Eugene was admittedly disheartened when he learned that your station in Austria would be in Saalfelden with the majority of the 101st Airborne while Easy and the rest of 2nd Battalion found themselves a further seventeen kilometers down the road in Zell Am See.
There remained a remarkable number of things for him to do, and the lack of ambulance traffic, while a blessing, severely impeded your correspondence once more. In short, Eugene was feeling awfully guilty about the fact that he had not managed to visit you since the war in Europe had ended. As the jeep pulled up outside the requisitioned gymnasium that had been turned into the 47th Field Hospital, he was not certain if he hoped you were there or not.
He jumped off the back of the vehicle as Speirs and Talbert grabbed each end of the stretcher and the three of them rushed toward the building. Eugene hurried a few steps ahead to pull the door open, wincing a little as Speirs shouldered it open fully, sending into the wall with a ‘bang.’ There was a scurry of footsteps from down a hallway to the right before you stepped into view, clad in your white and brown striped hospital dress, a brown cardigan over top with the sleeves pushed up to your elbows. Concern etched your features.
“Follow me.” You said quickly, rushing to pull open the next door into the gymnasium itself. “On the table right there please, sir.” You gestured to a makeshift exam table built of filing cabinets and a cot.
“Chief Nurse?” A young woman poked her head out from behind a privacy screen and Eugene nearly tripped over his own feet.
Last he’d heard you were Assistant Chief Nurse, promoted after your natural leadership of the group of nurses during your nine hours of capture. You’d gone and gotten yourself promoted again. He fought the urge to grin at you proudly as they carefully set Grant down as instructed.
“Shirley, go fetch Dr. Brock from his office immediately.”
“We need a surgeon.” Speirs rasped and Eugene watched the girl halt her progress across the room and look back to you questioningly.
“Dr. Randall then, quickly.” You amended, shifting to begin triage on the patient by checking his vitals as Speirs took Grant’s hand in his tightly.
Shirley fled the room, returning in less than a minute with a dark-haired man wearing a white coat in tow – surely Dr. Randall. A cigarette hung for his lips as he looked to Eugene for the hand off.
“Shot in the head with a pistol, maybe twenty minutes ago? Bandaged and given blood by IV.”
He saw Shirley hand you a chart out of the corner of his eye and you quickly noted these things along with the vitals you’d been taking when the surgeon had walked in. Dr. Randall leaned down to lift the bandages, inspecting Grant’s wound.
“Jesus.” He muttered.
“What?” Speirs asked, looking to him quickly.
“He’s not gonna make it.” Dr. Randall said, taking a slow drag on his cigarette.
“Ya can’t operate on him?” Eugene asked incredulously. This man was a surgeon, this was his job.
“Not me. You’d need a brain surgeon. And even if you had one, I don’t think there’s any hope.” Dr. Randall rubbed at his eyes, obviously just as worn out from the endless number of casualties he’d born witness to, before walking off.
Eugene’s eyes slid to meet yours where you remained next to the spot recently vacated by Dr. Randall; felt his throat clench painfully at the look of deep sympathy you were sending him.
Speirs took a breath and turned to Talbert, breaking the stunned silence that had fallen over the group. “You find the shooter, I want him alive.” He pointed at him for emphasis before turning back to Eugene. “Come on help me.”
“What’re you doing?” Talbert asked, grabbing the end of the stretcher.
“We’re gonna go find a brain surgeon!” Speirs declared before they were off and running back towards the door.
“There’s a German hospital further into town, follow this road for five blocks then hang a left.” You spoke quickly, hurrying to hold open the doors to ease their progress back to the jeep.
“Thank ya, Ma’am.” Eugene nodded quickly, ducking slightly as it had begun to lightly rain while they were inside.
“Take care.” Your voice shook a little and Eugene looked back to you once he’d resumed his perch on the back of the jeep, watching you wrap your cardigan tighter around yourself as you stood in the rain, staring at him intently until the vehicle jerked into motion as Speirs took off in the direction you had instructed.
The hospital was easy enough to find, thanks to your directions, and Talbert secured another jeep there to carry out Speirs’ orders to find the shooter. The brain surgeon was not currently on duty, but Speirs was undeterred and demanded his home address, from which he fetched him out of bed to operate immediately.
“It will take several hours.” The German surgeon had warned them when Speirs had asked where the waiting room was.
“We’ll wait.” He had replied flatly, and Eugene had followed after him as a nurse led them into an empty room filled with worn chairs and a few side tables with outdated German periodicals.
Eugene watched Speirs sink into one of the chairs while he found himself unable to sit down, wandering the perimeter of the room quietly, mind turning over all manner of things, but always coming back to how reluctant you had looked to see him go. The guilt within him had multiplied astronomically – he had been a fool to not rush to see you the instant he could, and now your first interaction since Easter was purely professional and surely terrifying. Precisely why he had been so very reluctant to admit his feelings to you in the first place.
“Doc, if you’re not going to sit down, go talk to that pretty Chief Nurse, would you?” He muttered, pulling the garrison cap from his hair.
Eugene’s head whipped up to look at his commanding officer in shock. Shock at the fact that Speirs had had the wherewithal to notice the looks you had been exchanging over Grant’s prone form. Shock that he was allowing him the liberty to visit you. Pure shock.
“Otherwise, it’s going to be a very long couple of hours.” There was a dangerous edge to the man’s voice that made Eugene swallow nervously and nod sharply.
“Yes sir, I’ll be back in a few hou’s then, sir.” He moved to slip out of the waiting room.
“Be careful out there, Doc.” Came Speirs’ parting command and Eugene nodded once more before heading out into the street, thankful that the blackout was no longer in effect and he had the assistance of streetlights to retrace his steps back to the Field Hospital.
He made a much quieter entrance this time, finding the nurse, Shirley, at the desk near the door in the gym.
“Oh, you’re the medic from earlier – how is your man?” She asked in a hushed voice as she stood.
“In surgery with a German brain surgeon now…I was wonderin’ if I migh’ speak ta you’ Chief Nurse?” He tilted his head, and she nodded quickly leading him down the hall to an unassuming office door.
“She’s still here, working late again.” She laughed softly and knocked.
“Thank ya, Ma’am.” He nodded as she nodded in return before heading back into the gym as your door swung inward.
“Gene…” You breathed in surprise, peering into the hallway as if to confirm he was truly alone.
“Cher…” He murmured in response, tremor in his own voice this time, and your fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling him into the moderately sized office.
Your arms pulled him into a tight embrace as you nudged the door shut with your foot. He buried his face into your hair, fingers curling into the knit of your cardigan against your back.
“I’m right here, Gene.” You sighed soothingly, arms holding him so tightly, so warmly, Eugene was convinced you might actually be able to fuse his broken pieces back together. To make him feel whole again.
“Merci, cher.” He managed to find his voice after a moment, pulling back slightly only to press his lips to yours tightly in a physical expression of his gratitude.
Eugene felt the tremble that rolled through your body in response, his hands gripping you tighter as your fingers wended their way into his hair making him shudder in return. There was something about your touch tonight that felt like he was playing with fire, your entire presence loaded with explosive charge that could set him off at any moment. He pulled his lips back quickly before he did something wildly inappropriate in your office and panted against your mouth.
“M’sorry I haven’ come ta visit ya.”
Your response was a breathless laugh that made him bite the inside of his cheek.
“I’ve barely left this office. I’m beginning to think this promotion was a curse disguised as a blessing.” You smirked and stole one more kiss from his lips before straightening to look over his face warmly.
“It’s late, and I know ya don’ work nigh’s no mo’e…” He tried to keep the admonishing tone in his voice light, but he was admittedly upset you were working after midnight, something that even he was aware was unusual for a Chief Nurse.
“You know too much, Gene.” Your fingers smoothed his hair gently, restoring order to the strands you had put into disarray, a fond smile stretching his lips as he truly adored hearing you call him ‘Gene.’
His heart had nearly stopped when it had appeared in your letters but to hear it leave your lips was heaven itself.
“Let me walk ya home, tha man who did tha’ is still out the’e.”
He watched your eyes widen before you frowned deeply, shaking your head in dismay. “Did you find the hospital?”
“German brain surgeon’s operatin’ now…”
You took a slow breath before nodding. “I usually have an MP escort me, are you sure you don’t have to get back?”
He shook his head. “Grant’ll be in surgery a few hou’s longah. Cap’n Speirs won’ leave ‘till it’s ovah. Told me ta ‘go talk to that pretty Chief Nurse’ if I wouldn’t sit still.” Gene smirked ruefully and you blinked rapidly before biting your lip.
“Perhaps we have not been nearly as subtle as we thought, Gene…”
He laughed softly under his breath as he watched you turn to collect your things, sliding a small utility bag over your shoulder before turning out the desk light. The desk itself was still covered in stacks of files and he couldn’t help but frown as it seemed that your late nights had barely made a dent in the work your new position had foisted upon you.
“Wait here.” You said once you’d locked your office door and walked a little further down the hall to knock on another door.
He could barely make out another man’s voice, it didn’t sound like Dr. Randall, so presumably Dr. Brock, before you swung by the desk in the gymnasium to wish Shirley a good night. One last stop at the MP office to the left of the entrance where you informed your usual escort you had someone to walk you home before the pair of you were able to step out into the damp night. Thankfully, the rain had stopped falling but the puddles on the ground were plentiful as Eugene offered his arm. He could not help his fond smile as you took it without hesitation, hugging his elbow close as you walked side-by-side.
“I’m quite close to the hospital actually.” You gestured down the road and he nodded, turning that way.
“Tha’s how ya knew…”
Your soft laugh made his stomach quiver slightly though he did not miss the yawn you tried to smother.
“Ya been workin’ late a lot, cher?” He prompted softly, vigilant to your surroundings but so far, the streets were quiet.
“Mm.” You nodded slowly before sighing. “Seems the Chief Nurse before me was not such a fan of paperwork. Maude was a fantastic leader, we’re lucky to have her as the Assistant Director of Austria base, but if I had known what was awaiting me in that office…well I’d probably have asked to help her more when I was her assistant.”
He felt you tug on his arm and looked down to you quickly to see you pointing across the street to a modest apartment building.
“We’re quartered here.”
Eugene nodded and led you across the street as you fished for the keys in your bag. He couldn’t help but notice that you were in fact only a few blocks from the German hospital where Grant was still undergoing surgery. He said another silent prayer to guide the hands of the surgeon to success as you led him up to the building entrance.
A pair of sharp cries cut through the night, making the both of you freeze briefly.
“Hey!”
“Stop right there!”
The voices were still a block or so away, but belonged to men that Eugene knew a well as his own family.
“Inside cher, now.” He said quickly, pulling you toward the building.
“Second floor.” You uttered quickly and he pushed you up the stairs front of him, hands on your hips as he could hear the voices of Talbert and Malarkey growing closer, accompanied by footsteps splashing through puddles and the rumble of a jeep engine close behind.
You stopped at an apartment door and Eugene noted your struggle to line the key with the deadbolt, gently but firmly taking it from you to unlock the door and push you inside. He was quick to close and lock the door behind him, wanting you nowhere near the drunken madman who had already killed at least two people tonight. He heard you take a breath as you turned back toward him and he gently covered your mouth with his palm, shushing you softly as he listened for further noises from the street below.
They sounded as if they were right outside, their voices rising up through the stairwell as his wide eyes bored directly into yours.
“Yeah, that’s him!”
“Get in the jeep you son of a bitch.”
The sound of the engine faded off into the night and Eugene waited a full minute before lowering his hand from your mouth, the only sound remaining being the pounding of his heart in his ears. He heard you suck in a breath, the only warning he was afforded before your lips collided with his. He stumbled slightly, startled a moment, before the adrenaline in his veins was transformed into white hot desire. His hands clutched at your lower back, pulling you tightly against him as he blindly stumbled toward the doorway he had glimpsed upon entering your apartment.
He felt your body impact with something behind you and pulled back from your lips quickly to see he had backed you into the kitchen table. He felt you rise up onto your toes, seemingly intent on sitting on the tabletop and his hands quickly seized your hips, aiding you in your efforts by hoisting you the last bit of distance. He could not help the smirk that graced his features as you gasped at his strength; hard-won through years of training and carrying wounded from the battlefield. His mouth quickly returned to yours, shuddering as your tongue met his eagerly, your fingers once more burrowing into his hair.
Eugene’s lungs began to ache from a lack of oxygen and he reluctantly pulled back from your lips only to begin trailing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your throat. Your shaky exhale filled his ears as your fingers began to tug at the buttons of his OD jacket, sending his own in search of the same on your cardigan. As he pushed the fabric out of the way, he slid his hands along your sides, sucking at the hollow of your throat, exhaling hotly against your skin as you parted your legs for him.
“Cher…” He rasped against your skin, gulping at the whimper that fell from your lips as he stepped closer, nestling between your thighs.
Your body felt so hot against him, even through his ODs and wool trousers, he was helpless not to press as tightly to you as possible, not even leaving a hairsbreadth of space. Your fingers curled into the front of his wool shirt, hips bucking against his slightly as you whimpered again.
“Gene!” Your gasped and he kissed you fiercely as his lower abdomen grew heavy with arousal, blood rushing to his already hardening length as he rutted against you obligingly.
The moan that rattled from your throat into his mouth had his head swimming, his baser instincts immediately taking over, demanding he do anything and everything to draw that sound from you again and again. His hands shifted to grip your thighs, pulling your body even tighter to his as he continued to move against you, delighting in your repeated cries of pleasure which he devoured hungrily. He barely noticed your persistence against the buttons of his uniform shirt until he felt your hands sliding around his torso with only the thin barrier of his undershirt separating your skin, a groan falling from his lips as he tore them from yours.
“Merde.” He hissed, screwing his eyes shut against the salaciously delicious friction between your bodies.
“Mm! I know that one…” You giggled breathily against his neck before your lips were on his skin, making his hips rock sharply against yours.
“Feel so good, cher.” He groaned again, hands shifting beneath the hem of your dress, beneath the hem of your slip, to find the bare skin of your thighs. Quite possibly the softest thing he’d ever touched.
“Yes, Gene.” You whined against his kiss-dampened skin. “Don’t stop.”
He grunted in agreement, fingers tracing higher to grip your hips, increasing the friction yet again as he rutted his fully hard cock against your underwear. The moan that fell from your lips contained an almost anguished tone and he had to grit his teeth against the desire to climax at just the sound of it. Your fingers were digging into his back through the cotton of his undershirt, hips echoing every motion of his as his fingers delved past the edge of your underwear to curl into the soft flesh of your buttocks.
“Oh god Gene I’m…” You panted, head rolling back, and he nodded vigorously, eyes latching onto your face, desperate to watch you fall apart in his arms.
Eugene had long been convinced that you could do everything with grace, and you once again proved his assumption correct as your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks, your mouth falling open to emit a soft wail of pure ecstasy. Burying his face against your neck, he cursed harshly as his hips bucked sharply, all sense of rhythm and control abandoning him as his orgasm immediately overtook him. Sliding one hand out from beneath your skirt to brace against the table lest he collapse onto you, he smiled sheepishly as you grinned up at him, your lower lip caught beneath your teeth.
“Sorry, Gene…” You murmured, running your hands along his back soothingly, your chests brushing against one another as you both struggled to catch your breath.
He shook his head quickly and then tensed. “Do ya….are ya the only one billeted in he’e?” He glanced back toward the hallway, suddenly aware of how much noise the pair of you had made.
Your bright peal of laughter caught his attention, and he turned back to you quickly.
“You ask me that now, Gene?!” You teased, gripping the back his neck to pull him down for a lazy kiss as he huffed a laugh against your lips in reply. “No, just me. Chief Nurse perk.”
He relaxed with a nod, straightening slowly as his legs finally felt like solid muscle and bone once more.
“The washroom is just down the hall if you wa–”
“Be my wife.” The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them.
He had intended to make more of a spectacle of it. Hell, he had intended to have a ring to put on your finger. But the way you were looking up at him now with glossy eyes still hazy with pleasure, crinkled at the corners as you smiled his favorite smile to date – he was helpless to hold them back.
Eugene held his breath as he watched your eyes widen, your mouth drop open, as his unexpected statement hung in the air.
“Are you…proposing to me Eugene Roe?” You exhaled and he gulped roughly.
“I understand if ya don’ wanna marry me, I still have ta go ta tha Pacific an’…”
“How could I say no, Gene, when I was born to be yours.” You eyed him softly but there was something about your words, and the way your lips were twitching with mirth, that tugged at the back of his brain.
“Cher are ya quotin’ Vera Lynn again?” He huffed and grimaced playfully at your answering laugh, yet felt his heart begin to beat double time as your hands cupped his cheeks and your expression grew serious.
“Eugene Roe, I would love to be your wife.” You nodded firmly and sealed your acceptance with a firm kiss that made his heart soar.
-------------------------
Band of Brothers Masterlist
Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24, @phyllisthefirst, @footprintsinthesxnd, @she-wolf09231982
#eugene roe x reader#eugene roe imagine#eugene roe imagines#band of brothers x reader#band of brothers imagines#band of brothers imagine#hbo war fanfic#hbo war fic#eugene roe#band of brothers
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torture, major john egan
pairing: major john "bucky" egan + black!fem!oc (amelia egan)s
content: John is interrogated in Germany.
an: y'all...part 6 of mota....tore me up. spoilers ahead. let's talk about this part! comment, reblog, and send asks!
gif: @olympain
tags: to maintain your place on the taglist, you're expected to interact! @turn-thy-paige @neeville @ineedafictionalman @ihe4rtisa @lovebyceleste
“Married?”
Silence. The air was tense. How could it not be? An American soldier had been captured in the swamps of German territory, beaten like a mule, and whipped like a Roman traitor. Just outside of his line of vision, he saw the bodies of soldiers and civilians drug across the gravel lot. An American soldier had been captured in the swamps of German territory and questioned like a federal criminal by a German pilot who grinned like a cashmere cat; evil and conniving. Silence.
The German interrogator, Hausmann, chuckled dryly and hovered his pen over the sheet of paper under his arm.“From what I hear, I assume you are unmar—“
“I have a wife,” he answered gruffly after some time. A lovely wife, at that. Full of love and affection, mercy and kindness. He missed her dearly. He kept a photo of her in his breast pocket but was too fearful of the damage to look at it.
His throat felt thick like maple syrup running down the stump of a tree. His jaw shook as he inhaled the lit cigarette. He pushed the smoke out of his nose.
Hausmann hummed. “Yes, Amelia. Amelia Mae Egan, correct?”
John leaned forward. How the hell did he know that? He clenched his teeth. The tips of his ears reddened.
The interrogator nodded, his eyebrow-raising in amusement at the pilot’s demeanor shift. John saw the wheels turning in the man's head. In frustration, he ashed the cigarette and dropped his hand against the desk with a thud. The blonde interrogator met John's blue eyes.
“Sorry, Major, I had to ask for documentation. She’s a beautiful woman. I didn’t think these kinds of…couplings were common in America. They aren’t here.” Gasket blown.
“I’m sorry, I’m a little confused,” John hissed. His voice raised an octave which caused the interrogator to jump slightly.``You asked if I was married, and I said yes. I don’t see the point you’re trying to make here, but I’m sure it isn't a part of your freakin’ protocol. Keep my wife out of it.”
Hausmann raised his hands in defense and laughed lightly. John failed to find the joke. His patience wore thin. “Easy, Major Egan. I meant no harm. But um, I have to say, you are making this harder than it needs to be. I simply would like to talk to you, so, I’ll ask you again…”
The words went over his head. His mind spiraled out of control. He had never seen this man in his life yet he knew of his personal life? He knew of Amelia. His precious Rose. He knew of his relationship with Buck, and he was holding it in front of him like a treat for an animal. Is that how he was viewed? As a rabid animal who went killing people like it was a sport?
No, that wasn’t the case at all. He was nothing but a soldier trying to defend his country. If there was another way to solve the issue, who would he be to decline the proposition? And this…this was the punishment for it? His dignity, his life, and his purpose were all questioned by a man who was no better than he was. It was torture.
John’s tongue scraped the roof of his mouth as he lifted his eyes from the papers littered across the desk. Planes crashed. Soldiers lost. His wife at home, clueless about what had gone on. She was unaware if he was alive or dead. Hell, he had no clue where his fate lay either. Would there even be an opportunity to hear her voice again? He could only pray.
He blinked away the tears that pooled in his eyes. Once again, he stated, “John Egan. Major…” Torture indeed.
#saturnville#black!reader#black reader#mota#masters of the air#mastersoftheair#hbo war#john egan#bucky egan#major john egan#major john egan x black reader#major john egan x amelia mae egan#major john egan x black!reader#major john egan x reader#gale cleven#buck cleven#curt biddick#harry crosby#barry keoghan#anthony boyle
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hi everyone! welcome to my band of brothers & the pacific side-blog! my messages and ask box are always open, so shoot me a message anytime you feel like it. also, requests are now CLOSED for the pacific and bob!! you can find the request guidelines below!
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mads :)
Band of Brothers
italics - wips
Eugene “Doc” Roe
- At Last
- Break the Distance
- C'est Toi (Soulmate!AU)
Joe Liebgott
- Of Course It’s You
- Liebling
Floyd Talbert
- “The Night of the Bayonet”
- I’m Here (oc)
George Luz
- Home
- Old Friends
Dick Winters
- Winter at the Winters'
- Meine Liebe
Ron Speirs
- Keeping You Safe
- For Me
- Knight in Dirty ODs
Lewis Nixon
- Here With You
- The Vow
- Timeless
- Epiphany Series Masterlist
Johnny Martin
- Follow You Anywhere
Headcannons
- Nix When He's Sick
- Dating Eugene Roe
- Post-War Harry Welsh
The Pacific
Robert Leckie
- Crazy
Bill "Hoosier" Smith
- You Before Me
Eugene Sledge
- See the Good
Headcanons
- Hoosier Dating an Extrovert
- Chuckler Dating an Artist
- Chuckler Dating a Medic
Masters of the Air:
You can find things from gifs to fics, and posts about the flyers and ground crews in Masters of the Air on my sideblog, @major-mads!!
comment or message me if you want to be tagged in anything!!
#band of brothers#band of brothers masterlist#easy company#george luz#ww2#wwii#world war ii#andrew haldane x reader#andy haldane x reader#rv burgin imagines#band of brothers imagine#band of brothers fanfic#band of brothers imagines#band of brothers x reader#band of brothers x y/n#easy company x reader#easy company x y/n#101st airborne#dick winters#the pacific#the pacific x reader#hbowar x reader#hbo war imagines#hbo war x reader#lewis nixon x reader#lewis nixon x reader angst#lewis nixon#lewis nixon angst#lewis nixon imagines#dick winters imagines
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Knight in Dirty ODs
Ron Speirs x Reader
Masterlist
A/N: Hey! I've been in a Ron mood lately, so here is the product of that!! I do not own any characters except (y/n). Enjoy!
Summary: After having complications with her jump into Normandy on D-Day, (y/n) is luckily found by Ron Speirs.
Warnings: mentions of blood, death, broken bones (non-graphic)
D-Day: June 6th, 1944
"Flash."
(Y/n)'s heart beat out of her chest, waiting for the response that might never come. With her rifle held up, sitting up against a tree, she called out again towards the rustle in the bushes.
"Flash."
After a few seconds, she heard another rustle before a face popped out from behind a thicket.
"Thunder."
At the familiar voice, she sighed, leaning her head back against the rough tree bark.
It was Ron.
"(Y/n)? That you, sweetheart?" He asks, his view obscured by darkness.
"Yeah, it's me."
Crouching next to her, he scanned her face and noted the way her brow was pinched, cupping her cheek.
"You're hurt?"
Nodding slowly, she refused to let tears fill her eyes. "It's my leg. I think it's broken."
Leaning down, he kissed her temple softly. "It's okay. I know it hurts."
Ron glanced down at her leg quickly before moving to get a better look at it. As soon as he started to roll up her pant leg, she covered her mouth and let out a muffled cry.
He froze momentarily, heart clenching at her pain, but he had to continue to see the damage. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
When he finished rolling her ODs up to her knee, an unnatural bulge in her shin caught his attention.
With a sigh, he shook his head.
"It's broken. We can splint it and give you a syrette of morphine, but that's all we can do here."
"Ron, I don't know if I can make it to the meeting area. I can't ev-"
He moved to crouch beside her, taking her hand in his. "Yes, you can. We're going to get there together."
The sheer determination in his face convinced her they could. Ron quickly got out his first aid kit and gathered some sticks for her splint. Luckily for (y/n), adrenaline was still pumping in her veins, so the pain hadn't set in fully yet. Both she and Ron knew it was coming.
He pulled out the syrette and held it up. "Ready?"
With a nod, she bit her lip and waited for the prick of the needle. After a few seconds, she felt its prick, and her pain slowly ebbed away into a dull throb. Lazily, she closed her eyes and sighed in relief.
A ghost of a smile was on his face at her relaxation. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Ron quickly tied the sticks to her leg using strips of her chute. Thankfully, the morphine seemed to knock her out for a minute, so the only pained sounds he heard were quiet whimpers.
He grabbed his M-1 and watched their surroundings for a few minutes so she could rest. Glancing down at his watch, he groaned, knowing they needed to get moving. When morning came, it would be a lot harder for them to move undetected through the French countryside.
"(Y/n). Wake up, doll," he whispered. "I wish you could keep sleeping but we've got to get moving."
The woman's eyes slowly peeled open, and she smiled softly at the sight of Ron before her. "A girl needs her beauty rest."
"Well, you've had enough because you're already the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
A small laugh escaped her lips, but almost immediately, her brows creased.
"How're you feeling?" He asked, brushing her hair back off her sweaty forehead.
"Hurts, but I'll be okay."
"That's my girl."
Grabbing her discarded helmet a few feet away, he plopped it on her head. "Let's get you up."
Ron gripped her underarms and pulled her up as gently as he could. Using her good leg and his help, she stood, but not without white hot pain running up her leg.
Cursing, she threw her arm around Ron's shoulders, leaning on him heavily. He immediately slid an arm around her waist, gripping her hip and pulling more of her weight on him.
"Deep breaths, (y/n/n). The sooner we get to the meeting area, the sooner we can get you proper care."
As they slowly started through the forest, both knew that they had a long journey ahead of them.
"Based on my calculations, we're about 8 miles from the meeting zone."
"Alright," she grunted, taking a step. "We can do this."
1 Hour Later
"You need a break?" Ron asked, hearing (y/n)'s heavy breathing.
She shook her head. "No, I'm okay. I-I just want to get there as soon as possible."
Eyeing her warily, he sighed at her stubbornness. "Alright. But we're taking one soon."
He knew she had the bad habit of pushing through things without taking any time to rest. This often led to her being so exhausted she'd have to go see Doc Roe.
"Sounds good, Sparky."
Rolling his eyes, he returned his gaze to their surroundings, scanning for any unwelcome guests.
2 Hours Later
"That's enough. You need a break, sweetheart."
She scowled at the man. "I'm fine, Ron. We're getting close."
About 10 minutes before, he saw her good foot begin to drag on the forest floor, and honestly, Ron himself was getting tired from supporting her.
"I need a break, then." He replied, leading them over to a downed tree to sit on. Over the last few hours, pain etched her features, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it.
"How's the pain?" He whispered, already knowing the answer.
"It's fine."
"I know you're lying. I can see it on your face," he paused, gently turning her face to look at him. "Tell me the truth."
Her (y/e/c) eyes filled with tears as she threw he arms around him. "It's bad. It's all I can do from falling over every step. I know I'd be dea-"
Suddenly, a cry in German cut through the air, and Ron's eyes widened as he pushed (y/n) off the log and out of the way of the charging soldier. Landing on the ground in a heap, the pain from her leg sent its fiery tendrils across her body until her vision blurred.
Heart racing at (y/n)'s dazed state, Ron tried to grab his pistol, but the German was too close. At that moment, he was thankful for his hand-to-hand combat training at Toccoa, for he quickly got the upper hand and stabbed the man with his own knife through the throat.
He was out of breath as he watched the man meet his end. Panting, he quickly went to (y/n)'s unconscious side.
"(Y/n)!" He whispered, careful not to alert nearby Germans. "I'm sorry. You're okay, sweetheart."
Rolling her onto her back gently, his heart dropped at the sight of her seemingly sleeping face. With a curse, Ron quickly checked over her body for any additional injuries. Just as he was about to try and wake her, another rustle was heard in the trees. He froze, crouching, and pulled out his M-1, aiming it at the noise.
"Flash."
"Thunda'," a cajun accent responded, emerging from the shadows.
"Thank God," the Lieutenant sighed. "Doc, please help (y/n). She's got a broken leg."
As Roe slid onto her other side, he inspected the leg, wincing at its lump.
"What happened?" He asked, eyeing her unconscious form.
"Kraut ambushed us and I pushed her out of the way. It must have jostled the leg. Is she gonna be okay?"
"Probly' passed out from the pain. Did you give her morphine?"
"Yeah," Ron breathed shakily. "About 3 hours ago."
He nodded. "Good job with the splint."
Looking around the trio, Ron felt like they were being watched.
"Let's get moving."
He quickly bent down and hoisted (y/n) into his arms, grunting with the effort. While exhaustion was practically dripping off him, he pushed through, wanting the woman he loved to be safe.
Stepping out of the treeline at the meeting area, Roe started yelling for a stretcher. Seconds later, men came rushing to them. Ron carefully laid her on the stretcher, heart pounding.
She's safe now.
He stood there dumbfounded as the men carried her off to the aid station. Adrenaline had fueled him for the past few hours since the jump, and it seemed it was finally wearing off. His muscles started to ache, and his exhaustion finally settled into his bones.
"You can come with, sir," a private called from the group.
Ron broke from his trance, nodding at the man. "I've got to report to the CP."
With a heavy heart, he made his way to the CP, his thoughts on the (y/h/c) he couldn't get his mind off of.
D-Day + 1
Walking into the field hospital, Ron was hit with the stench of blood and death, which was common since their drop the day before. So many of their men were killed or wounded. The furrow in his brows disappeared at the giggle he heard from the corner of the room.
He knew that sound like the back of his hand.
Making his way over, a smile formed on his face seeing (y/n) awake. Although her lower leg was in a cast, and she had dark circles under her eyes, she had never looked so wonderful.
When she saw him, everything else faded away, including the nurse she was talking to. Noticing her daze, the nurse politely excused herself, giving the couple some privacy.
"Hey," he whispered, gently placing a hand on her hair and sitting on the edge of her bed.
"Hey, you. I was wondering when you were gonna show up."
Panic filled his veins. "I really wanted to stay with you, sweetheart, but th-"
"Ron," she laughed lightly. "I'm not upset. I know you've got a lot on your plate."
Relieved, he moved his hand to her cheek. "How're you feeling? They got you on some painkillers?"
"A little sore, but yeah, they've got me on some good stuff."
Looking into his eyes, her expression became solemn. "Thank you. I wouldn't have made it without you, Ronald."
"(Y/n), no matter what happens, I will never leave you behind, especially if you're wounded. I-I know I don't say it much, but I love you, doll."
A warmth spread through the young woman's body, creeping up her neck. "I love you, too, Sparky."
Ron glanced around them quickly, making sure no one was paying them attention before leaning down and pressing his lips against hers gently. The kiss was quick, but it conveyed all the emotions he wanted it to.
"I'm so glad you're okay, darlin'. Really. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Well, I don't know what I'd do without you, my knight in dirty ODs."
Let me know if you want to be tagged!! :)
#ron speirs fluff#ron speirs x reader#ron speirs#ronald speirs#ron speirs angst#band of brothers imagine#band of brothers fanfic#band of brothers#band of brothers imagines#band of brothers x reader#bandofbrothersedit#band of brothers masterlist#band of brothers headcanons#matthew settle#ronald speirs x reader#ronald speirs imagine#ronald speirs imagines#mads' fandoms#hbo war#hbo war x reader#hbowar#hbo war imagines#ron speirs x y/n#ron speirs imagine#ronald sparky speirs#sparky speirs
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You Can’t Start a Fire Without a Spark (Ron Speirs x Reader)
Summary: Night falls in Bavaria to victorious revelry, and at the goading of your friends, the lust you've been kindling in secret suddenly burns hot and wild to the touch.
Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used besides the slightest bit of backstory. Inspired by several Bruce Springsteen songs. This is based on the fictional portrayals in the HBO miniseries and not the real individuals. (Also, hi I’m Battie! This is my first Band of Brothers fic despite being a fan of the miniseries since 2016. Let me know what you think🖤) Do not interact if you’re under 18, are a terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 3.6k
Warnings: Inherent power imbalance. Explicit content involving vaginal fingering and unprotected sex.
You weren’t sure how six of you managed to squeeze into a booth together in the Bavarian bar, elbow-to-elbow as you drank beer and shouted over each other. Sitting squished against Talbert, who was squished against Malarkey, one of your legs wasn’t even in the booth. On the other side of the table, Babe, Perconte, and Luz were in the same situation.
Victory in Europe had just been declared. The celebratory feeling filled your lungs with each breath despite the cloud of cigarette smoke that hung over the bar. With the war in Japan still raging on, the likelihood of those without enough points having to endure another drop remained up in the air. One night of fun wouldn’t hurt anybody. No one could say you hadn’t earned it.
Glancing around at your friends, the guys you lived and would’ve died for—even after the war ended, if you were being honest with yourself. You couldn’t imagine being closer with anyone else. Growing up without much of a family, passed around homes of distant relatives and near strangers until you had enough and ventured out on your own as a teen, you’d never had such strong connections before. The only reason you were even allowed to work so closely with Easy Company, was the absence of any next-of-kin, no one to cause a fuss if something went wrong while you were overseas. You were non-combat detail, of course, typing and running errands as needed, but more often than was likely ideal, you found yourself somewhere on the line with the medic training you’d gotten.
You hadn’t been at Toccoa with them, only meeting most of the guys just before D-Day. After Operation Market Garden’s failure in Holland, they came around to you upon the return to Aldbourne, least surprising of whom was Talbert, ever so kindly taking you under his wing when he was recovering from being accidentally stabbed by Smith. The two of you became close friends, and though you heard of his exploits with women in just about every city the company passed through, he seemed hellbent on being your wingman, trying to set you up with at least half a dozen members of Easy to little success.
With the taste of sweet victory and bold German beer on everyone’s lips, declarations of what and who everyone would ideally do to celebrate poured from your friends with little prompting. Knowing you well enough at that point, Tab took the opportunity to get you in on the conversation, the light mood and buzz in your system leaving you more loose-lipped than usual.
“Alright, our company’s eligible bachelorette,” Tab said, conspiratorial mirth in his voice. “Fraternization rules to the dust, which of Easy’s officers would you do your celebrating with?”
Your lips twitched, failing to suppress your smile as your drinking buddies awaited your answer. “Speirs.”
Finishing off the rest of your beer, you stifled your amusement at the clamor that ensued. Undoubtedly the least expected answer, part of Tab’s failure to secure a date for you among his comrades was your infatuation with the legendary captain—closely guarded, until you had a beer or two in you, apparently.
“Speirs?” Babe repeated incredulously.
“No way,” Malarkey said, shaking his head. “No fucking way.”
“They need to get you to one of those headshrinkers,” Perconte said.
“Hold on a minute,” Tab said with an amused smile, trying to reign in the chaos. “Let’s hear her out.”
“You wanna know why?” you asked.
Ever since Speirs stuck with Easy Company after Bastogne, you worked closely with him as you did the other officers, taking notes and keeping memos for them. Speirs often requisitioned you to type up reports for him, finding it easier to dictate what he wanted written to you than typing them himself. Sometimes you found his attention drifting off when it was a more mundane report, his words trailing away while he looked at you, typically slouched on a chair or couch at the end of a long day. You would let yourself take him in, hoping the perceptive man wouldn’t notice the way your eyes trailed up his long, outstretched legs to his disheveled hair.
He provided the most attention to battlefield exploits, and at times you couldn’t keep up with how fast he was speaking or would find yourself a bit startled by some of the gruesome details he relayed. You’d heard the rumors about him. Everyone had. But a disgustingly repressed part of you that’d emerged at some point during the war was secretly thrilled by them, almost hoping they were true.
“Well, you owe us that much,” Luz said.
“I owe you all jack and shit.”
“What if I buy you another drink?”
“I think I’m gonna need another one after hearing this,” Babe muttered.
“Let’s see, why would I sleep with Captain Speirs,” you said, playfully tapping your chin in faux thought. “For starters, he’s fine as hell, which should be reason enough. I like that he’s a no-nonsense kinda guy. He has this intensity that I think is really sexy.”
The cacophony of bewilderment and objection that filled the booth met its slow death when the occupant of the booth behind yours got up. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry when you saw it was Speirs.
He made his way out of the pub, your light mood with him.
“Oh my god,” you groaned. “Do you think he heard?”
“No way he didn’t,” Malarkey said.
“Fuck, I need to do something before I get demoted or transferred or something.”
Tab grinned. “Well, if you’re not walking straight tomorrow, we’ll know you did something.”
“Shut up, jerk!” you hissed. “I’m in this mess because of you.”
He gave you a mocking salute.
You flipped him off as you got up from the table, running after your CO who more than likely overheard you expressing to your buddies that you’d enthusiastically have sex with him. Of course it happened the one time you actually joined in on their vulgarity.
Unlike his silent stride, your boots pounded against the pavement, announcing your approach to him.
He turned around abruptly, and you nearly fell over your own feet as you stopped in your tracks.
His intense gaze on you felt like being at the end of his rifle’s sight. “Are you drunk, Y/L/N?”
“No—no, sir.”
“Good. I could use your help with a report.”
You stared at him blankly. A report. At ten o’clock at night. “Of course, sir. Anything you need.”
The corners of his lips upturned for a split second. “I’m sure.” Fuck. He’d definitely heard you.
The two of you started off down the street, toward a more residential area wherein officers had requisitioned houses for the US Army’s use for the foreseeable future. Almost dreamily picturesque, tree branches waved at you in the cool night breeze, the surrounding mountains illuminated by the bright fullness of the moon. From the soft glow of street lamps lighting your way, something you’d previously taken for granted, you tried not to stare at him. In the warm glow of that balmy summer evening, however, he looked almost too good to be true. Hair slightly unkempt, the whisper of stubble along his jaw and cheeks, surely his face would feel like heaven between your thighs.
Soldiers in all states of drunkenness ambled up and down either side of the street, hollering and singing in carefree celebration. Speirs placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you past a group of men who could hardly walk straight. One of them walked right into you, his head nearly colliding with yours.
“Fuck,” the young soldier grumbled under his breath, shooting you a dirty look for being in his way.
Speirs wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you aside to stand in front of you. “Private,” he snapped, staring down the young man who looked like he was about to shit himself. “I advise you get yourself together and watch where you’re going.”
“Yes, sir—Captain Speirs, sir,” he said, turning his attention to you. “Sorry, ma’am.”
You nodded silently, and the private ran off after his buddies.
Speirs turned to you, his hands on your shoulders as his intense gaze searched your face for any sign of injury.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
In Hagenau, one of the replacements had been pestering you the moment he laid eyes on you. At first, you humored him, supposing he needed a friend, as the men who’d been through Normandy and Bastogne were understandably closed-off and tight knit. Thought the new guys were too green, too eager to do something stupid and get someone killed in pursuit of battlefield glory that was too haunting to exist.
Then he started getting handsy, not enough to be outright inappropriate, but enough to make you uncomfortable. You weren’t sure what possessed you to mention it to Speirs when he’d asked you how you were doing one afternoon. His brow furrowed, he gave you a silent nod in response. The replacement had been transferred elsewhere the following day.
Though Speirs stared right at you, there was something far away in his eyes as he squeezed your shoulders.
“I’m fine, sir,” you repeated. “I promise.”
“Hmm? Oh, right,” he said softly.
He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, not bothering to offer you one. You were in the minority of people who didn’t smoke, allowing you to leverage the packs in your rations to trade amongst the men. As time went on, you’d leave them on top of your finished reports for Speirs, especially if they were Luckys. You watched silently as he lit the cigarette in his mouth, a shining silver lighter in his hand. His eyes drifted from the flame back to you, though you noticed the slightest spark behind them.
The rest of the walk was uneventful until you reached the house. A few stragglers hung around on the street outside, their voices becoming the slightest bit more hushed as they watched you follow Speirs inside. By the time the front door shut, they’d already begun speculating why the two of you were going to his place so late. With the way the men spread gossip, you could hazard a guess as to what the tale would morph into by the morning. You silently bemoaned the prospect of the night hardly being as interesting as whatever they conjured up.
Following him upstairs, the makeshift office seemed especially cramped with the boxes and papers that were haphazardly spread around the place. It’d probably take weeks to sift through it all, especially since a glance at one of the files appeared to be in German. Getting help wouldn’t be the issue, but rather the fact that none of the members of Easy who knew German were particularly inclined toward office work, becoming restless after an hour or so.
A problem for another time, however. Glancing at the clock, it was nearly half past ten, and you were almost inclined to ask Speirs about coffee, depending on how long he expected the report to take. You sat down at the desk, ready to begin typing the date when you noticed the ink was out.
“Is there any typewriter ribbon around, sir?” you asked.
He nodded. “Should be in one of the drawers.”
You opened the drawer immediately to your right, finding a mess of stationary that had clearly been shoved in carelessly. Or maybe someone had taken something out of it in a hurry. Digging through it, you came up empty, and moved onto the drawer below it. No dice. The one to your left didn’t have typewriter ribbon either, at least, you would have been surprised to find it tucked in with the loot that nearly filled the thing to the brim–shining silverware, glistening jewelry, and trinkets that someone with a keener eye than you had clearly decided were valuable enough to keep.
His extensive looting was an open secret, but a glimpse of this treasure trove was a shock to the system. So entranced by the contents of the drawer, you didn’t hear him walk up beside you until his shadow fell over the necklaces and rings you silently coveted.
He gave you a sly smile, wolfish in the dim lighting. “Haven’t had much of a chance to organize those.”
“They’re beautiful,” you whispered in awe, gingerly touching a pearl necklace.
“Try them on.”
“Are you sure?”
“Go ahead.”
You picked up the string of pearls, a nervousness washing over you at holding something so valuable, something of his. Walking over to the window, the nearest reflective surface you could find, you pulled the necklace on, garish against your uniform. You tried shaking off the odd feeling of playing dress-up in front of your commanding officer, a girlish whim he inexplicably allowed you to indulge in. His expression was unreadable when you turned around for him.
“They suit you,” he finally said, brushing his fingers against the pearls, slowly drifting lower to the exposed skin of your decollete. “Keep them.”
It wasn’t uncommon for him to bring you small gifts every now and then—typewriter ribbon, fountain pens, chocolate, trinkets. You knew better than to question where he got them, as he seemed to give them to you at the perfect moment. The stationary supplies when you were running low on them, chocolate and trinkets when you were feeling down. At times they’d be accompanied by notes from him. Usually short, but so sincere you treasured them more than the gifts. Whenever you’d try to thank him, he’d just shrug, almost dismissing the gesture.
This time, feeling bold in the cover of night, you pressed your lips to his cheek, uttering a quiet “thank you.”
He didn’t react. Disappointed, you moved to sit back down at the desk until he grabbed your arm, gently pulling you back to him.
“Were you telling the truth?” he asked, his voice a husky, demanding whisper. “Back at the bar.”
“Yes.”
“So if I said I’ve wanted you in a bad way since Bastogne?”
You kissed him, an explosion of warmth in your chest as you tangled your fingers in his hair. He settled his hands on your hips, squeezing them with a tenderness that betrayed his longing. Parting your lips for him, you allowed him to deepen the kiss, wanting to see how far he’d take it.
Almost overwhelmed by his gentle intensity, you pulled away from his lips, though his mouth chased yours, capturing yet another kiss from you.
“Show me how you want me,” you pleaded with desperate kisses to his face, trailing down to his throat where you could feel the way he groaned in pleasure at your touch.
“In my room,” he managed to say. “I wanna lay you on the bed and–”
“Anything, anything you want, Ron.”
His lips slightly blushed from the ferocity of your kiss, he parted his mouth as if to speak, but instead took your hand firmly in his.
He led you straight down the nondescript hallway that nevertheless left you feeling turned around, dizzied by your desire for him. A door opened, and you were promptly pulled inside the room. The click of the lock behind you sent a slight shiver down your spine.
Pulled into his arms again, you lost yourself in his fervent kiss, until you reached down, palming his hardening cock through his pants. He moaned into your mouth, the sound only exacerbating the heat between your thighs, the ache inside of you that up until that point had been abated by your fingers, always rushed, never satisfying the urge to be filled–by him, preferably. From the way he felt beneath your hand, he could do all of that and more.
And after the months of silently, almost guiltily lusting after him like a nun, he wanted you too. The ego boost emboldened you. “Did you ever think about me when you were alone?” you asked, giving his bulge a gentle squeeze.
“Yes–fuck,” he groaned.
“Like what?”
“Besides keeping me warm in that goddamn forest? This–I thought of this,” he murmured against your lips. “But I didn’t let myself think of a future with you. I couldn’t have survived if I did.”
“And now?”
“I want everything you’ll give me, sweetheart.”
“Lucky you, that’s exactly what I wanna give.”
He smiled slightly, his hands hastily working to unbutton your shirt. “Lucky–except you’re wearing too many clothes.”
You reached for the pearls, about to take them off when he caught your wrist in his hand.
“Leave them on.” His voice was steady, authoritative, the closest he sounded to Speirs since he scolded the private who walked into you earlier.
Weak in the knees, you acquiesced to the one and only order your captain would give you that night. You otherwise undressed, your uniform in a pile at your feet. Your bra and panties were simple, certainly not the sexy lingerie you’d fantasized about seducing Ron in, but his eyes blazed as if your body were hugged by an inviting satin set. A burst of confidence rushed through you, and you held his gaze as you discarded your bra and panties.
You laid back on the bed as he undressed, watching intently until he was down to nothing more than his underwear, his hard cock straining against the fabric. He pulled them off, and you sucked in a breath at how big he was. Erect, at attention for you, all the more intimidating as he approached, joining you on the bed. His daring in the line of fire sure as hell wasn’t compensating for anything.
He straddled your hips, his eyes taking in your naked form with a primal intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. He reached down, two of his fingers circling your clit, your body trembled beneath his touch. By the way he studied how your face contorted in pleasure as a foreign-sounding moan rose from deep in your chest, you could tell it was payback for your teasing him just minutes before.
His fingers shifted, slipping inside your wet core with ease. He pumped them in and out at a steady pace that made your stomach tighten and toes curl, but slowly bringing you closer to orgasm. You bucked your hips when he curled his fingers inside of you, blood rushing in your ears so loud that you could hardly hear the obscene sounds coming from your pussy. A lump formed in your throat, one that made you nearly howl in frustration.
“Who got you this worked up, sweetheart?” he asked, nipping the shell of your ear.
A whimper. “You.”
“What was that?”
“You.” Through a haze of lust-soaked desperation, you took his face in your hands. “Don’t make me beg, Sparky. It’s always been you.”
He pulled his hand from between your legs, and you nearly whined until he slid his length inside your pussy, your walls clenching around his cock. You braced yourself on his shoulder blades, your nails doing a number on him as you dug them into his taut skin while he thrust into you. Carefully at first, almost frustratingly so, until you cried, “More.”
He was bigger than you were used to, even before the war, but the slight discomfort was drowned out by the way his steady, deep thrusts filled you. He ducked his head down, taking one of your breasts in his mouth, his hand groping the other. Sucking on your breast, his teeth grazed your nipple, the hint of pain complimenting the pleasure. Your climax was so close you could see it if you closed your eyes, raw and vulnerable.
“Ron, I’m so close,” you moaned. “Don’t stop.”
He lifted his head, nodding. “Where should I–”
“Inside–fuck–I want you to cum inside me.”
And he did, with an erratic thrust that pushed him deeper inside you still. You kissed him as your pussy milked his cock, lifting your hips to grind against him for the slightest bit of friction to your clit. You threw your head back as you came, an obscene moan escaping your lips as pleasure spread across your body, white-hot like a star in supernova.
His name fell from your lips, laced with curses, over and over like a vulgar prayer. He pressed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along your decollete, his lips brushing the pearls that stuck to your sweat-sheened skin until he shuddered, bottoming out in you.
He pulled out slowly, his toned chest heaving before he collapsed next to you. Reaching over to the nightstand, he grabbed a pack of cigarettes, silently offering you one. You declined, and he placed one between his lips, using a nearby match to light it before taking you in his arms. You settled comfortably against his chest, closing your eyes for a few moments.
“So, what about that report?” you asked slyly when you’d finally caught your breath.
His quiet laughter rumbled in his chest, and he took a drag from his cigarette, his gaze betraying his adoration as he looked at you. “I might need your help again tomorrow night."
Knowing it was too risky for you to spend the night, he reluctantly let you leave around three in the morning, a slight pout on his face as you took off the pearl necklace and tucked it into your pocket. You left him with a passionate parting kiss, one that he used to nearly convince you to stay just a little bit longer until you quietly promised you’d report to him first thing.
The streets were mostly deserted except for the men on patrol. You kept your head down, booking it back to where you were quartered, hoping your arrival wouldn’t wake anyone up, or at least raise any questions.
Just your luck, you ran right into Tab, a shit-eating grin on his face at your disheveled appearance. “I knew it."
#ronald speirs x reader#ron speirs x reader#band of brothers#band of brothers x reader#band of brothers fanfic#band of brothers imagine#hbo war#hbo war fanfic
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noises in the bedroom with ron, lew, lieb, luz, and shifty
word count: 770+
warnings: reader has female genitalia, degradation (only in ron's), praise, teasing, i call nixon a whore for the reader (it's true)
notes: i couldn't include babe in this one cause i just decided that i would write for him (and therefore i must do Research) but hope you guys enjoy anyway !!
ronald speirs
big on praise-degradation, like 50/50 on it
unless you managed to really set him off (ex; make him jealous on purpose, tease him, be a brat, etc.), then don't expect very many kind words
he can be so mean and unfair when he wants to, but by the end of it he’s worshiping you like you're a deity
he’ll call you a slut but his slut, yk?
could not care less about who hears — no one's gonna confront him about it anyway with his reputation, and they're definitely not coming up to you either since they know ron is going to be death glaring them the whole time
he groans and grunts huskily + openly and encourages you to not cover up/muffle your sounds with your hand
(quickies are, of course, the exception since that would be unsafe, and if higher-ups are around, obviously he's about to care; in any other situation though, no one is safe from hearing the two of you)
lewis nixon
somehow his moans are louder than yours???
LIKE that's not a bad thing, it just means he's enjoying it just as much as you but he's just so vocal about it, saying your name or princess, doll, sweetheart like his life depended on it
(he's such a whore for you, especially when he goes down on you. you're gonna be feeling the vibrations of his groans bc omg is he obsessed with eating you out…but that's another story)
this is mostly because he also does not care who hears (same exceptions as ron). i imagine dick having to come talk to you all flustered, his face matching his hair and his eyes cast to the ground, asking you guys to keep it down
…nixon definitely didn't get any play for two weeks after that
despite being the #1 slut for you, he still manages to tease you, saying things like, “tell me how bad you want it.” (as if he doesn't want it just as bad)
joseph liebgott
he's probably the biggest pottymouth out of the five
anything he does is followed up by a hoarse “fuck, doll” or “shit, (y/n)”
he's trying to cover up the fact that he's a bit of a whiner/panter
he’ll kiss marks onto and around your breasts to muffle the sound of his moans
definitely says “yeah, you like that?” or “that feel good, baby?” during foreplay, smirking down at you while you’re begging for more (he's a little cocky with it)
becomes soft during and afterwards; he's scared to be vulnerable but he can't help telling you how pretty you look, how good you feel, and how much he loves you
will probably confess some of these things in german so he's not as vulnerable, but you still get the gist either way (and if you do understand german, he's screwed)
george luz
honestly he's just kind of unserious, like this man is giggling he's so happy to be with you (and his laughter and smile are infectious so now you're laughing too and telling him to shut up)
he’ll praise you with jokes, telling you you're prettier than any pinup model
“rita doesn't have anything on you, beautiful.” cue you rolling your eyes with a smile and telling him he’s cheesy
he's a little bit of a cusser too (especially when you play with his hair), not to the level of lieb though
“damn, (y/n), i'm lucky you're all mine.”
eventually the jokes and goofiness dissolve into him straight up telling you how good you feel around him and that you're especially gorgeous like this
+ him confessing his love for you when he's still catching his breath
“(y/n), have i ever told you how much i love you?”
“maybe 100 times today, george”
“oh so not enough then” you kiss him before he can remind you again
shifty powers
loves to praise you (and be praised honestly)
like he swears up and down that you're the most perfect girl alive
he can't believe that you're his and he's yours
kind of shy about his moans but he can't stop himself/hide them well enough because he moans at the slightest touch (he's so in love with you)
whimpers when you say he's making you feel good and “don't stop”
he's definitely asking if you're sure about anything and everything, reminding you that you don't have to go through with this if you don't absolutely want to
you just have to be like “darrell c. powers, please just take me” and lord will he oblige you with the brightest goddamn smile on his face
-
taglist: @mads-weasley, @ronsparky, @dcyllom, @malarkgirlypop, @joetoyesbrassknuckles101, @samwinchesterslostshoe
#ron speirs x reader#lewis nixon x reader#joe liebgott x reader#george luz x reader#shifty powers x reader#band of brothers#band of brothers x reader#hbo war#easy company#101st airborne#band of brothers fanfic#band of brothers imagine#hbo war fanfic#band of brothers imagines#ron speirs#ronald speirs#ronald speirs x reader#lewis nixon#joe liebgott#joseph liebgott x reader#joseph liebgott#george luz#shifty powers
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Though I Yearn • Part 1
Masters of the Air
Secret Admirer x Reader
A string of anonymous letters causes a stir at Thorpe Abbotts. Who could be the author of the tender correspondence you have been receiving?
Warnings: Secret Admirer (could be cute, could be creepy, depends on how you see it.), Reader is part of the Red Cross Girls, Spoilers, possible mentions of injuries, death and warcrimes.
Word Count: ~1.2k
Masterlist Next Part
x x x
Thorpe Abbotts was abuzz before the sun peeked above the horizon. Many of the personnel had been busy throughout the night while the men who would be in the planes got as much rest as their minds and bodies would allow. You were amongst those who had been working through the early morning hours, preparing the Clubmobile to serve fresh donuts and hot coffee that were intended to carry the men through their dangerous and lengthy mission.
Helen stepped into the truck, a small stack of letters piled on top of the supply box in her grip. She set the box down on the chair in the corner, seperating the letters adressed to you from the ones adressed to the few other Red Cross ladies. “Early mail delivery.”
“Must be for morale, first combat mission for many of the men today.” You easily recognized the printing on the first envelope, a letter from back home just like the ones you had recieved every week since arriving to Thorpe Abbotts. The second envelope was unusual, void of a return adress and stamp, only your name was scrawled across the front. You gently peeled open the envelope, unfolding the sheet of paper to read the message inside.
“During our first encounter your presence washed over me like the English rain, soothing and all consuming. You have captured my attention and selfishly, I must admit that I don’t want you to ever let it go.”
The letter had no siganture or name to identify who had written it, only a creased bottom corner and a small coffee stain in the middle of the mostly empty sheet. You didn’t recognize the handwritting but admittedly, you had not seen the writing of the majority of personnel at Thorpe Abbotts. Your brain spun, shuffling through as many first encounters as your mind would allow but it was overwhelming, there were so many possibilites… too many possibilities.
“Everything alright?” Helen asked, her eyes glancing to the letter clutched tightly in your hands, worry creasing her brows. She hoped everything was okay at home, it was everyones nightmare to recieve bad news from home while being on a whole other continent, so close to a raging war.
“Oh,” You quickly folded the letter, tucking it back into its envelope. “Yes, everything is fine.”
You were sure Helen was skeptical, feeling her eyes following your movements as you tucked both letters into your coat. The men trickling out from their quarters was enough to distract both of you from the coffee stained paper.
“I don’t recall such a welcoming committee when I arrived.”
The sudden voice behind you had been startling, you turned to find the handsome Major leaning against the open window of the truck.
“I do recall being in this very spot while you rushed right passed, Major.” You sent the man a polite smile, adding to the stack of paper coffee cups, “Surely you were focused on the business at hand.”
“That must have been it, I’d like to think I would have introduced myself otherwise.“
You were thankful for the roar of planes flying overheard, the arrival of his men drew his attention away from the heat pooling in your cheeks. “That is my cue. Enjoy your day, ma’am.”
The soldiers came in waves, stumbling across the clubmobile on their way to settle in. Many men lined up for the provisions you offered; hot coffee, fresh donuts, cigarettes, the newspaper and even the occasional magazine.
You sent the next in line a smile, one nearly tripping over his own boots as his friend nudged him forward. “Gentlemen, what may I offer you today?”
The dark haired soldier leaned on the window ledge that seperated you, sending you what you could only assume to be intended as a charming smirk. “If a ‘gentle’ man is what you are looking for, then that is what I shall be.”
It certainly had not been the first attempt at flirting you had experienced in the day, but generally the men had kept it tame, calling you pretty in some way or asking to take you for a harmless drink. You let your distaste for the comment show on your face, choosing to adress the amused man at his side.
“May I offer you anything?”
“Just two cups of coffee and cigarettes, thank you.”
You placed only one cup of black coffee on the ledge along with the requested cigarettes, offering a polite smile. “When your friend learns how to speak to women respectfully then he may make requests. Welcome to Thorpe Abbotts.”
Your eyes briefly found those of the dark haired man, his mouth slightly agap with your words before he was pulled out of the line by his now laughing friend.
The line faded quickly, the men moving along to find their Quarters to settle in as soon as they were served. The coffee urns were empty, only a single cup of black coffee leftover from the gallons that had been brewed. Helen had just began to clean when the last few men to arrive wandered through. You had heard through whispers that one plane had been seperated from formation, missing in the clouds. It had flown overhead a short time ago and you assumed these were those lost men. Most passed without stopping for a treat, settling in on the forefront of their minds but one staggered up to the open window.
“Anything left?”
“I’ve always got extra cigarettes or the newspaper on hand, one last cup of coffee if thats what you’re looking for.”
The solider accepted the lone paper cup, sniffing the bitter liquid before taking a large gulp. The boldness helped relieve the putrid smell of vomit from his nostrils. It was fragrent on the plane because his navigator was unable to control his air sickness, but the scent seemed to stuck in his nose as it was still the only thing he could smell, until the coffee anyway.
“You got any gum?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at two men who were busy chatting amongst themelves. You slide a small package of mint gum across the ledge, watching as stalked toward the two soldiers, throwing the gum to the dark haired one without more than a simple ‘Heads up’.
Your first encounters with many of the men circled your mind as you lay on your bed, the letter once again clutched between your fingers. Major Egan, Douglass and Blakely, Hambone, Crosby and Bubbles, Curt and Dickie. Your first interactions with many of the soldiers were friendly introductions, none had stuck out to you as anything other than kind or mildly flirty.
He had never intended on you reading the letter, it had been written in a futile attempt to rid you from the forefront of his mind. He surely wasn’t a fool, you were far too good for a man like him but he had been completely taken by your warm presence. Unable to ease the yearn he felt for you, anchoring deeper every morning when you happily served what the military had insisted to be coffee.
It may have been a presumptious move on his part but he just couldn’t help himself.
He had snuck the letter into the mail carriers bag when he was delivering letters to the men as they ate was being labelled as ‘breakfast’.
x x x
Tags: @canyousmelltheflowers
#masters of the air#mota fanfic#mota#mota spoilers#curtis biddick#major john bucky egan#major gale cleven#james douglass#everett blakely#hambone hamilton#harry crosby#bubbles payne#john brady#benny demarco#apple tv#hbo war#major john egan#bucky egan#john egan#callum turner#mota x reader
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Worth
John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader
Summary: You're swept off your feet by one Major John C. Egan, and you love every second of it. Sequel to Birdie.
Word Count: 3.0k
Tags: female!reader, mechanic!reader, women™, period typical sexism & misogyny, fun date night, dude w/ a small dick gets rightfully called out, mostly just fun date stuff, tons of fluff
A/N: Hello all! Thank you so much for the kind words on Birdie. I really appreciate everyone's comments, they warm my heart right up. I almost didn't write this, but the thought of having these two smooch it up was too good to pass up. I also completely headcanon that Bucky has the biggest sweet tooth, oops. As always, I'd be most gracious if you were to leave a like, comment, and/or reblog :)
Read the OC Version of this story on AO3!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, please don't copy, repost, or translate my writing without explicit prior permission. Don't even think about it, AI!
A knock at the door brings butterflies to your stomach.
“Oh, he’s here!” Irene shouts, which is immediately met with your shushing, as well as Teresa’s.
You nervously pat your hair and check over your outfit for the evening. You’re spending your second day’s leave on a date with Bucky Egan. He had approached you last night at the pub, asking if you wanted to grab dinner. Alone.
You, of course, said yes.
Teresa and Irene go to answer the door while you gather your purse, stuffing it with your essentials. Your friends greet him at the same time, sounding like twins.
“Good evening, Major!”
“Good evening, Major!”
You hear his deep voice reply, only a small bit of surprise leaking into his voice.
“Good evening, ladies. Is Birdie around? We have dinner plans.”
“I’m here! Hi.” You step around the wall that hides you from the front door, taking a look at the man you’d been crushing on for months. He stands tall and confident in his neatly pressed uniform, hat covering most of his dark curls. His mouth gapes, giving you a once over and attempting to speak up.
“I- You-…Uh, wow. Y-you look…” But any sweet words he attempts to say are interrupted by Irene, who comes in hot with a manic smile.
“Did you know that my daddy taught me how to shoot when I was just a little girl? I’m real good at it. They call me Oakley, back home, cause of how great a marksman I am. Y’know, like Annie Oakley?” She stepped forward, puffing up her chest and giving a frightening grin to Major Egan. You and Teresa exchanged confused looks, not knowing quite where she was going with this.
“I’m not allowed a sidearm or a rifle over here, but I’m sure I could easily borrow one from any of the fellas on base should you break my best friend’s hea—”
“OKAY! We don’t wanna be late, all the tables might be taken soon. Gotta go. Love you. Bye!” You quickly shove past the blonde, stepping over the threshold. You take Bucky’s hand and practically drag his tall form down the hallway, away from your best friend’s attempt at a shovel talk.
You faintly hear Teresa’s well wishes to you amid the aggressively whispered conversation she has with Irene. The last words you hear before the elevator door closes in front of you are a heavily accented protest from Irene.
“What? I was just trying to..!”
The pair of you stand in the elevator in silence. A slight rocking indicates the starting motion of it, which snaps you back to reality. Looking down, you realize that you’re still holding hands with Bucky. You quickly separate your hand from his, heat rising to your cheeks.
“Your friends seem nice.”
Your head snaps to glance at Bucky, who is already looking at you. A sincere smile graces his face, not a hint of mocking in his eyes.
“I’m glad you have them looking out for you.”
You feel your face start to cool down, making you comfortable enough to respond.
“They drive me nuts sometimes. But they’re the best friends I could ever ask for.” You mean every word.
You see John nod, so you turn back to look to the elevator doors in front of you. An awkward pause.
“You look beautiful.”
Another pause. “What?”
“It’s what I meant to say earlier. That you look beautiful. Because you do.”
Heat quickly returns to your cheeks, spreading throughout your whole upper body. You give a bashful smile, peeking up at him through your lashes. You gaze into his eyes for a moment.
“Thank you, Johnny. You look quite handsome yourself.” The Major adjusts his hat, covering just the tips of his ears. He returns your gaze with an uncharacteristically nervous grin. The floor gives a slight rattle, elevator door and gate opening to reveal the lobby.
John straightens up, holding out his arm for you to take. You tentatively weave your hand within the crook of his elbow. He gently presses his arm in, bringing your body closer to his.
You meet your other hand in its position and let Bucky lead you out of the hotel and into the evening air.
✨
“That was so delicious! I never knew that a roast could be so tender…”
The pair of you were walking arm-in-arm down a cobblestone street, just having finished dinner. It was a wonderful time. Bucky had been the perfect gentleman, but made his interest in you clear without being sleezy.
He was entirely focused on you the whole time. He asked questions and was genuinely invested in your answers. Conversation came to the two of you like a duck to water. After a shared glass of wine, his hand had slowly inched towards yours. Soon he had cradled it in his, like you were a precious commodity, until your meals arrived. You could hardly keep your eyes off of each other long enough to even promptly acknowledge the wait staff, which you were sure annoyed some and amused others.
Safe to say, John Egan was doing his best to sweep you off your feet.
You hadn’t discussed any other plans for after dinner, but the walk you’re on now is nice enough to give you reason to stick close together.
Bucky nods along, “And that fruit tart? Incredible.”
You laugh, leaning into your date, “I knew that would be your favorite part. You’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, don’t you?”
Bucky holds his hands up with a mischievous smirk on his face, “Hey, I plead the fifth.”
“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen someone so adamant on having some coffee with his sugar.” You continue to tease him. He nudges you playfully, giving a smooth grin in return.
“Hey, we’re in a war! If you see something sweet,” Bucky surprises you by picking you up and twirling you around, getting a full belly laugh from you as he sets you back on the ground.
“You gotta snatch it up and enjoy it while you can.”
You have a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about food.
By that point, you’re leaning against his front, hands on both of his shoulders. The moment has shifted into something else. Something different. His eyes roam your face, eventually stopping on your lips. Just as he starts to lean in, the moment is shattered by the sound of instruments starting up nearby. Bucky flinches, cursing the ill-timed disruption.
Oblivious to his turmoil, you gasp in delight and look around for the source of the music.
“Do you hear that? I think there’s a band playing!”
You spot a few people walk into what looks like a club. It barely a stone’s throw from where you’re both currently standing.
Bucky quickly recovers, “Should we grab a drink? Have a dance or two?”
You beam at him, and his heart stutters in his chest once more. After you give a nod, you place your hand in his arm and let him lead you into the club.
The two of you step into the establishment, and the energy is almost electric. There are mills of people walking about, drinking, talking, laughing. There’s a great score more on the dance floor, hopping and jiving along to the band you now knew you’d heard earlier. There weren’t a lot of uniforms present, but the ones that were were RAF.
Bucky guides you to the bar, hand on your back until you're both sat on a pair of stools. Your drinks are quickly ordered and served, so your night continues. You both allow yourselves to talk shop for a moment, so your conversation turns towards what you were working on before your leave. As you get to discussing the more intricate parts of your project, you hear a scoff from behind you.
John quickly looks over your shoulder, spotting the culprit.
“Excuse me, is there a problem here?”
You turn around to find a uniformed man taking a sip of his whiskey, RAF logo plastered on the lapel. He mockingly shakes his head, placing the glass down on the bar.
“No, no problem at all.”
Bucky, ever the confrontationist, persists. “It seems like there’s a problem here.”
You gesture towards the man, silently indicating that he was welcome to speak his mind.
“It’s not enough that you Yanks come over to our country, destroy our pubs and disrespect our women with your recklessness. But you can’t even keep your own women in check! She should be at home, away from the war, for God’s sake. Taking care of the house and the children. You know, doing feminine duties.”
You had heard all of this before, so it was no skin off your back to hear it again. You roll your eyes and decided to just ignore him. Then the man started to laugh, as if he was in on a private joke.
“I mean, a female mechanic? Between that and your daytime missions, it’s no wonder you’re all dropping like flies.”
You let out an exhale, letting the air stream out through your nose. In your periphery, you see Bucky start to stand— to, no doubt, escalate the situation. You stop him with a hand on his chest. He sits back down, looking between you and the man who had just insulted you. You set your glass down, hopping off the stool and giving a slow clap.
“I’m so glad to know that some people still live in the Stone Age, where apparently all a woman is good for is cooking and giving birth! Thank you so much for showing us exactly what a lack of education and individual thought looks like! See where we are—over in modern times— women can do whatever the hell they want. That includes fixing your planes and jeeps, operating your radios, driving your trucks, and even training your allies to use machine artillery!”
The RAF soldier realizes what he’s gotten himself into but is backed into a corner of the bar as you pace forward with each scathing word that leaves your mouth.
“Never mind all the bullshit you just spouted about what a woman is fit to do. I think that women can decide for ourselves exactly what we can and cannot do. As for my countrymen, I’m proud to serve alongside them. They go up every day willing to sacrifice themselves so that the rest of us don’t have to. They’re gonna be remembered for their bravery and grit. They’re not cowardly enough to hem and haw and stick up their noses at the thought of a woman doing something other than popping out a kid and ironing their pleats.”
The music has dulled down, but you don’t have the complete attention of the club. That gives you the courage to say your final piece.
“Never you mind. I'm confident that the men I serve with, including the man I have with me tonight, aren’t anything like you. Thank God for that! They're not so…” You take an exaggerated glance towards the man’s crotch, scrunching up your nose. “…small-minded.”
Leaving the gaping man behind, you turn to Bucky and ask if he wants to go get some air. He picks his jaw up off the floor quick enough to nod and lead you back outside into the street.
Hey, hanging around Irene pays off sometimes.
As you step out into the night air, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. You feel John step up behind you, voice carefully asking,
“Hey, are you okay? Birdie?”
You continue to stand with your eyes closed. You just needed a moment.
“I’ve come too far to let anyone’s opinion of me, or my career choices, effect me.”
You open your eyes and look over your shoulder at your date. He gives an understanding nod, stepping closer to you. He places his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. You lean back into him, closing your eyes once more, letting him comfort you for the time being.
“Sorry if I ruined the night.”
You can feel a rumble from Bucky’s chest as he chuckles. “Oh, this night’s far from ruined. In fact, that was probably the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
One of your eyes pops open. You crane your neck to peek at him, “Even better than the time you told me about Curt knocking out an RAF officer in one punch?”
“Yep.”
“Winning that bet to get your bicycle?”
“Oh, for sure.”
“Better than your fruit tart from dinner?”
His smile widens, “Okay, let’s not get crazy here. Maybe it was top ten.”
“Top ten?!” You playfully gasp, turning around to face him again. You rest your hands on your hips, “What’s a girl gotta do to rank above a fruit tart around here?”
“Well…” You scoff and shove Bucky at the cheeky smirk he gives you. You’re quickly distracted by the sound of the band inside starting up again. This time with a familiar tune.
“Oh, your song’s on, Johnny!”
Bucky tosses his hat to the side, steps back and gives a very unserious bow. He then sneers with a hyper-nasal impression of the RAF officer you’d just affronted.
“My lady.”
You roll your eyes and give a joking curtsy in return, taking his offered hand. He pulls you into a proper stance for a waltz, which is a complete offset to the jive song that reaches your ears. You both jokingly hop along in the awkward squared formation for a moment, giggling to yourselves.
He gently pushes on your hip while outstretching his hand, so you take the cue and twirl until you’re both standing at each other’s fingertips. A quick grasp of your hand and a pull twirls you right back into his arms, bumping into his chest. The moment made you burst into laughter, leaning into your dance partner until the song ends.
The next song is a much slower tune, giving Bucky the chance to pull you in close. You hum along to the band playing, sidling up to the Major’s chest. He places a hand in yours and loops the other around your waist. Your free arm gently drapes under his and over his shoulder, encouraging a lean into his firm body. You both give a slow sway, leading each other back and forth in the quiet echoes of the street. Closer than before.
“You know, I’ve been plucking up the courage to ask you to dinner for a while now.”
You lay your head on the knuckles of your hand that rest on his shoulder, responding lowly.
“Really?”
You continue to sway.
“Yeah.”
You’re curious, so you ask, “What made you finally do it?”
He thinks on the answer for a moment, almost chewing on his thoughts. John is not the kind of person to typically contemplate over an answer, so you gift him all the time in the world to respond. You recognize how important that is to him.
“I… I think that it was a lot of little things.” He pulls you in closer. “Your smile, your eyes, the way you talk about the things you love. Birdie, you are so personable with everyone you come into contact with and it’s so magnetic.”
The flow of compliments shocks you, not expecting this barrage of details to come from the man in front of you. But you dance on anyways.
“But I really think what did me in was yesterday, at the pub. When you looked at me during your song.”
You remember. You know exactly what he was talking about. Whatever he must have felt, you know that you felt it too.
He continues to speak in an intimate tone as you sway along in the street.
“I felt my entire life click into place. It was like everything suddenly made sense. I didn’t have to wonder about what my life was going to be like in five, ten, fifteen years. Because I knew.”
He pulls back to look you in the eye, and the amount of vulnerability in his eyes floors you.
“I’ll be honest, it scared the shit outta me. It terrified me.”
You understand what he meant. This is all new to him, as it is to you. You pull his forehead to touch yours, noses gently brushing one another, as you offer your best words of comfort in that moment.
“Sometimes, you have to do what scares you the most to find out what’s worth doing.”
He cups your face, letting his lips ghost against yours. He made his intentions clear, but it was up to you to decide how you move forward.
So, you close your eyes and take the leap.
Your lips press into his, hands stroking the arms that were framing your face. He immediately responds in kind, lips moving in tandem with yours. You melt into him at the reciprocated motion. His arms soon move to your waist, pulling you impossibly close. Your arms reach around his neck, hands resting at the nape of his neck. As he deepens the kiss, you run your hands up, down, and through the dark curls on the back of his head, earning a groan from your partner.
A burst of warmth sparks from within your very being, traveling further and further through your body until you’re consumed by flames. Half of your mind is scrambling to make sense of reality, and the other half is completely consumed by passion.
After a moment, you reluctantly separate from one another, panting to catch your breath. It’s as if the world stopped spinning when you connected, and then started up again when you parted.
Giving a nervous look to the man you just kissed, you’re elated when he gives you an ear-to-ear grin. He grasps one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. His other hand comes up to cup your face again, thumb gently stroking your cheekbone.
You stay silent for the time being, letting the moment marinate. He brings up your joined hands to kiss the back of your palm. Your heart jumps with joy at the sight.
Bucky gives an exhale before breaking the silence.
“You are most definitely worth it.”
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