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iceman-kazansky · 4 months

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Two Halves of a Heartbeat, Beating as One

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Merry Christmas @currahee! I'm your secret Santa!

Request: a character who assumes they won't get a gift for Christmas, only to be pleasantly surprised.

Pairings: Ronald Speirs x f!reader

Warnings: Death, depression, probably swearing, kissing

A/n: Hey! I've never seen your account prior to this, so I'm glad to have you as my designated Secret Santa gift receiver!! I hope this is tailored to your liking, and I hope you like this! Merry Christmas and happy new year! :)

Taglist: @inglourious-imagines || (If you'd like to join my taglist; submit a form here!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥

The days slowly melted past one by one, very scarce new events occurring. Every day was a repeat of the one before. Countless shelling from the artillery located just across the clearing. The never ending supply of dead soldiers soaring as morale stooped to an all time low.

Everyone was on the verge of their breaking point.

Through the harshness of Sobel in Toccoa, all the way to Holland, the 506th had been through so much death and destruction yet had remained steadfast throughout it all.

But now, in the company's arguably darkest time, the regiment became ever-fragile. The exhausted soldiers couldn't handle any more of this.

False promises of the war ending before Christmas had become what kept the 506th going, but as the day ticked closer and closer that hope began to dwindle.

Everyone, no matter the transparency each individual experienced as the thought dawned on them, knew they weren't going home for the holiday. They never were.

Dragging yourself from those wretched thoughts, you exhale softly, your breath creating a thick fog that rises and dissipates nearly as fast as it first appeared in the cold afternoon air. Even now, where all you could focus on was the numbness of your fingers, the air held a certain briskness to it that made your throat and nostrils burn when you inhaled.

‘Now is not the time for such dark thoughts’ you think to yourself, shaking your head as if to knock some sense into yourself.

Those thoughts, the one that let reality set in a little too far, were killers. Even just a mere drop in a soldier's ability to keep strong mentally on the frontlines ultimately affected their physical well-being aswell. In a time as dire as war, a drop in strength translated directly to a meaningless death.

In the distance, you could hear the crunching of feet on snow growing increasingly closer.

“Sergeant,” The voice is firm, yet recognizable. You glance up at the mysterious figure who approaches, once again ripped from the storm of endless thoughts brewing within your very mind.

Ronald Speirs.

You instantly recognize Dog companies CO. An intimidating man surrounded by rumors he'd never bothered to confirm nor deny. Yet, a handsome man. His face is one of chiseled beauty, like a Greek god. Something you'd been sure to notice over your countless interactions. Since you'd known him, Speirs had treated you equally despite being the only female in the 506th. Something you admired.

Ever since your first weeks at Toccoa, you’d taken a special interest in Speirs, and naturally you’d gotten a lot closer.

Speirs isn't one to dawdle, so he gets right to the point, “Sergeant, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“Go ahead,” you reply through chattering teeth, sore from clenching them closed so often.

"What are your plans for Christmas this year, if we go back to the states?"

Even in the cold, you can feel your cheeks flushing red. He wants to know what you're christmas plans are?

Not answering immediately, letting the words sink in as you formulate a response, “You don't seriously believe that?" You chuckle dryly at last, "I thought of all people you'd be the most sensible."

"No, I don't," he replies after a moment of silence, "but everyone at least has some plans this holiday. A hope. I wanted to know what yours was." You could've sworn you'd seen him shift his gaze away momentarily, but his face was shadowed by his bulky helmet, obscuring your vision of his beautiful face.

"That everyone wouldn't be me, then," you avert your attention momentarily to his lips, but shake your head in disgust at yourself, what were you looking at? He was your superior! "What about you, captain? Any plans yourself?"

"I was going to visit family if we went back. But, seeing as that isn't happening anytime soon, I thought I'd settle on a gift for someone here." He responds.

“Who would that lucky person be?” You ask, curious who the CO might be referring to. You think back to the town of Bastogne, the town a few klicks away, and all the people for him to choose from.

“I'm still not sure.” he shrugs, standing abruptly and moving away silently, leaving you puzzled and alone.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Christmas day had arrived grimly, the promise of being home by this day long forgotten and farfetched.

The Germans on the other side of the clearing were fortunately nice enough to halt the bombing for the day, leaving the front lines oddly quiet for the first time in weeks.

Despite this, morale wasn't very high. Nobody in the 506th wanted to be in the frozen-hell they were right then.

Standing and unable to withstand the boredom of your foxhole any longer you left to relieve yourself momentarily.

Upon standing, your limbs ached, stiff and sore from the cramped position you'd stayed in for multiple hours, and your feet numb while you stumbled the first few steps. You remembered Doc Roe's countless warnings to the 506th about trench foot. Something you wanted to be certain you wouldn't catch. Perhaps you should invest more time in moving about.

It didn't take long to finish your business, and you figured you ought to head back to the safety of your foxhole soon. Afterall, you never knew when the next shelling would occur, the Germans were unpredictable. You wouldn't doubt they'd go beyond cruelty and bomb the 506th on a day like today. And that was something you absolutely didn't want to be out of your foxhole for. You'd seen the destruction left in their wake countless times.

Your feet crunching loudly in the fresh snow was all you could think of as you retraced your steps back to the front lines. Along the way you passed a few E company members, smiling a little at them and wishing them a short ‘Merry Christmas’ as you trudged past.

Ahead, your empty foxhole beckoned and as you drew near your excitement at the small warmth it provided grew rapidly. You prepare to jump in, but pause at the sight of a small cardboard box nestled at the bottom. The peanut-coloured box appeared as vibrant as blood in the dull white and gray surroundings.

Jumping into your hole, you're careful not to crush the delicate box while you move into a sitting position, pulling it into your lap.

Curiosity consumes you as you open it carefully, revealing a small silver object, a thin wool blanket and a pristine white letter.,

Taking the necklace out you raise it to your face for examination. The pendant was long, and had a natural shimmering silver allure to it. At one end, a small, smooth heart was suspended by the lengthy yet elegant chain. It was beautiful. You gasped as you moved it around in your palm, a large smile pulling at your lips.

Carefully, you fastened the necklace around your neck, looking down to admire it settled against your collarbone once more. Not wasting any more time, you moved onto the next object. An army-issued blanket. Something the company should've been guaranteed before it came to Bastogne, but was never supplied. You took it out, taking care not to lose the letter you had yet to open. How did your mystery sender manage to get their hands on this? However they did it must've been tough, they were in demand everywhere. The material was wool, and you could almost imagine the warmth it provided.

After a short examination of the blanket you were eager to move to the last object, a letter. Grabbing the object and letting your fingers run over the grainy surface momentarily before pulling open the seal to reveal the neatly-folded contents.

Unfolding the letter you're stunned at the lack of words, but regardless begin reading;

Dear Sergeant,

I hope you enjoy these gifts. Merry Christmas.

Signed, Ronald C. Speirs.

Speirs got you these? Hardly containing your smile, you close the letter once more, slipping it into your pocket and getting out of your foxhole, leaving the blanket and box behind.

It took every ounce of strength you had to not run as fast as you could to his assigned tent, instead maintaining a brisk walk. However, something you couldn’t contain was the dopey smile that tugged itself onto your face as you moved, your heart pounding in your chest and your face flushed a bright scarlet.

As you drew near, your pace quickened ever so slightly, your mind urging you to move faster than your legs would allow. You were itching at the prospect of seeing him. Finally reaching the sepia coloured tent, it’s walls faded and worn from the harsh uses it had endured throughout the war, you say “Permission to enter, sir?” from the other side of the tent wall.

His husky voice answers from within the tent, allowing you entry immediately after your request. Without further ado, you step in, blinking to readjust your eyes. In the shadowed room, you make eye contact with Speirs. “I wanted to thank you for the gifts, sir.” You say, not quite sure how to properly thank him.

“Please, just call me Ron,” he corrects, smiling softly at you. A sight so beautiful and rare you can't help but stare in awe. He stands when you enter, maneuvering out from behind his desk.

“Then call me Y/n,” you counter, mirroring his smile.

After a moments pause where nothing is said, you resume, “Ron, do you mind me asking why?” You say hesitantly, unfamiliar with the use of his true name, seeming like all formalities were tossed aside, “Why me?”

He looked at you with an odd unnamed emotion, yet so familiar. It seems like a millenia passes before he replies, “I have admired you since we've met, Y/n.” He pauses to allow the words to sink in, watching your expression closely, “Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I've always been set on you. You drive me crazy. When you step into a room, you're all I can look at. Everything else is irrelevant. When you talk, your voice echoes in my ears all day like a mothers lullaby.

“I've never wanted another woman so badly as i've wanted you before. I didn't care for the dames of Eindhoven like most men. I wanted you. And only you. I've come to the realization I love you, and I couldn't wait another day for you to carry on, not knowing.” he stops to drink in your features before he allows himself to continue, “It's alright if you don't feel the same. I know how terrible the timing is. I can't believe I allowed myself to become so vulnerable in a state of war.”

Without missing a beat you reply, “I feel the same.”

Truthfully, you can hardly believe your ears. It's like a dream come true. You'd loved Ron since he'd done that daring act with Dog Company and the batteries, and you swear you could've felt your own heart stop when he leaped out of that trench and ran, exposed, into the battery, guns blazing. You'd heard the rumors about him too, but they didn't scare you. In fact, they almost drew you in closer, with hopes of unravelling them yourself.

Without even noticing it, you and Ron had begun moving closer to each other, pulled by some other-worldly gravitational force. Drawn to each other like a moth to flame.

When he was within reach, he lifted up his hand, cupping your cheek while the gap grew smaller yet, your faces hovering inches from each other, “Can I kiss you?” he asks, eyes flitting down to your lips only to return once more to your eyes.

You couldn't speak, only administering a nod before he closed the gap.

His lips tasted of lucky strikes, something you wouldn't have thought to expect at first, and they pressed against yours passionately, releasing his inner tension. Your lips moved against his in a synchronized dance, two lovers moving against each other like twin moons in the sky, orbiting the same center. Like two halves of a heartbeat, beating as one.

Reluctantly, he pulled away breathless, resting his forehead against yours.

“I've never wanted more than to kiss you,” he sighs, “I love you.”

“I love you more, Ronnie,” You whisper back

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