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footprintsinthesxnd · 4 months

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The Angel of Easy

Mads!! I was so excited when Réka messaged me to be your Secret Santa pinch hitter. So here is a special little Nixon fic for my favourite fellow Lewis fangirl.

Being one of the few female intelligence officers in the 101st was always going to be a slightly different experience. Despite her training as an SOE and working at Bletchley Circle nothing prepared her to be thrown into a company of men who drank, swore and fought like dogs but formed a group far stronger than any family could ever be. One of the men she warmed most to was Lewis Nixon. His endless sarcasm and witty humour had cemented him in Y/n’s heart and it didn’t take long for them to become firm friends and then something more.

“Do you have to go on that patrol? Can’t you just stay here with me?” Lewis whined, his head still buried under the bed covers as his near-naked frame lay sprawled across the bed.

Y/n laughed, lacing up her lump boots as the grown man rolled over to face her, his blurry eyes and sleepy smile tugging on her heartstrings and if she looked at him any longer she would climb right back into bed with him.

“You know I have to go. This is finally my chance to truly prove myself,” she retorted, this would be her first time on a patrol without Lewis and she intended to gain the respect of her fellow paratroopers.

“You’ve already proven yourself to me in many ways,” Lewis wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Y/n sighed, hitting him with the nearest pillow.

“I have to go, I’ll see you later. I love you,” Y/n called as the door slammed shut behind her.

“Love you too,” Lewis mumbled into the pillow, his mind drifting back into his sleepy state when he sat upright. Had she just said what he thought she had? And had he replied with the same answer?

“You know Lieutenant, you’re not that bad after all,” Johnny Martin, nodded at her and she smiled in return. Johnny was a hard man to win over so this was the biggest compliment he could have given.

“Yeah, you’re alright Little Lady,” Bull chimed in, patting her on the back with his large hand.

“Well thanks, guys, I knew you’d like me eventually.”

The group continued to laugh as they followed the path back towards their camp when a loud crack from beside them caused them all to hit the deck. “FLASH?” Johnny shouted, his weapon raised. “Flash? Or we fire.” Was followed by a burst of machine gun fire. The firing above Y/n head caused her to freeze, she’d been through basic training just like the rest of them, she’d fired her weapon and she carried her M1 with her now, but something inside her would allow her to move. Her limbs lay frozen against the wet, muddy soil, her head pressed to the ground.

“Y/L/N GET UP!” Johnny grabbed her collar and shoved her against the nearest tree. “Y/l/n, you used that goddamn gun of yours. I don’t care if you are a Lieutenant or a fucking Major. I’m not losing any of my men because of you.” Johnny's voice was harsh, his usual snarl mixed with a desperation for her to follow his instructions.

Y/n nodded quickly, raising her M1 and firing around the edge of the tree. Johnny seemed satisfied with this and continued his way along the line to check in with the rest of his men. Y/n continued to fire, round after round, clip after clip, with only the image of Lewis in her mind to keep her grounded.

“I’m out of ammo,” she called down the line but the others were too preoccupied to hear her above the firing. Y/n did something she never thought she would do, she got up and ran. Time stood still as her legs carried her from behind the cover of her tree to the next tree, bullets whizzing past her.

“You alright Luz?” She asked, sliding down next to George who was trying to call through to Winters on his radio. George nodded to her and she grabbed his ammunition, loaded her weapon and started firing again.

The noise was deafening, nothing like practising on the ranges back at Toccoa.

“Y/L/N!” Johnny called, waving at her from the next tree down. “There’s a whole goddamn Panzer division coming from the south. We’ve gotta get outta here.”

Y/n nodded, motioning for him and the other men to head for cover further back from the line as she continued to fire. Johnny and Bull appeared by her side soon after.

“The others have retreated. I think we’ve hit their line. What’s your orders, Lieutenant? Johnny, Bull and George looked at her expectantly and Y/n felt the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“We hold them off for as long as we can, at least we can give the others a chance to pull back.” The men nodded at her, seemingly approving of her reply.

George continued to keep Winters and the battalion in the loop while the others continued to fire upon the inbound Panzer division. Mortar fire from Malarkey’s mortar squad littered the tree line in front of them and sporadic machine gun fire came in response.

“Winters says to pull back. The air force is bringing in air cover,” George shouted over the firing.

“Cease fire,” Y/n called, motioning for Johnny to head back first while supplying covering fire, then Bull and then George.

“What about you Lieutenant?” George asked, hiking his radio onto his back.

“I’ll be right behind you George, okay?” George nodded, keeping his head down and sprinting towards the cover of the tree line.

Now that she was alone Y/n wondered how she was meant to get herself out of this situation and without covering fire she was a sitting duck. They would have had her firing zeroed by now and mortars would surely start firing soon.

“Well, it’s not or never,” Y/n threw herself out from behind the tree, firing towards the German line as she retreated. Once the clip was empty she slung the weapon onto her back and turned tail, running towards George who was waving frantically at her.

“Y/N COME ON!” He screamed, grabbing her hand as she collapsed into him. “Christ Lieutenant, you’ve got a death wish,” he laughed, helping her up. Johnny nodded at her and Bull gave her his signature smile until their faces fell.

“Hey, what’s all the long faces for?” She laughed, “We just got out of there alive didn’t we?”

“Umm Y/n you might wanna sit down,” George caught her as her knees buckled beneath her. Johnny and Bull quickly moved in to help. Johnny pulled his aid kit out of his pocket, pressing a bandage firmly to the pool of blood at her side, before helping to lift her into Bull’s arms.

“Stay with us Little Lady,” Bull whispered as her heavy eyelids slid closed.

“You know what they say, Dick,” Lewis sighed, rubbing his hand over his stubbly chin.

“What do they say, Lew?” Dick stretched his arms above his head, as he sat in the armchair beside him.

“Well sometimes, no matter how much you want it, some stories just don’t get a happy ending,” Lewis choked, the tears freely rolling down his cheeks again. He had cried so much in the last twenty-four hours that he wasn’t sure how he had any tears left to cry.

“She’ll pull through, Nix. She’s strong and she knows you are waiting for her. She’ll make it.” Dick patted Lewis on the back, raising from his chair and leaving Lewis to sit in his uncomfortable silence once more.

“Lewis?” Her voice was weak, her breaths shallow but her bright eyes watched him intently as he raised his weary head.

“Y/n? By God you’re awake. Oh thank God,” Lewis flung his arms around her neck, burying his head into her neck and crushing the air from her lungs. “Careful Lew, I’m a little sore,” Y/n whined, pushing Lewis gently to which he jumped away.

“I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. Are you alright?” Lewis sat back down in the armchair, his hand clutching desperately at hers.

“I’m a little sore,” she admitted, wincing as she tried to move.

Lewis jumped up again, “do you need me to get, Roe? Do you need some morphine?” Lewis' eyes were wild, searching her face for the unspoken answer.

“No. No, I'm alright. Just sore,” Y/n reassured him, reaching for his hand which Lewis took instantly.

“I was so worried I’d lost you,” Lewis admitted, his eyes full of tears but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her, too afraid that he’d blink and she’d be gone.

“I’m sorry I worried you, Lew. It was all going so well. I think I proved myself to them.”

Lewis chuckled, leaning forward to brush the hair that had fallen upon her face, “You, my love certainly did prove yourself. You are all the men of Easy can talk about. Hell, you’re the ‘Angel of Easy Company.”

Y/n laughed, “Well that’s something I suppose.”

“Just next time, maybe don’t get yourself killed over it alright? I don’t think I could go through that again,” Lewis looked at her poignantly and Y/n just smiled. Her fingers reached up, brushing her fingers over Lew’s cheek, cupping it gently.

“I promise, Lew. I won’t do it again but if I do at least I know I have you to come back to.”

Dick smiled from his spot in the doorway, he’d had a message from Colonel Sink but he couldn’t bear to interrupt this precious moment. Just for those few minutes, his friends were happy and that was all Dick could ask for.

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @msmercury84 @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt @supervalcsi

#lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon #band of brothers #band of brothers easy company #easy company #band of brothers fanfic #secret santa 2023 #hbowarsanta23

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liptonwashere · 5 months

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hii @neptunes-blue !! I'm so glad to be your Secret Santa, had sm fun editing this. I hope you enjoy your surprise and that you have a wonderful celebration with your loved ones. Happy holidays! ❤️🎄

#hbowarsanta23 #band of brothers #the pacific #ack ack haldane #john basilone #eugene sledge #lena riggi #bull randleman #skip muck #alex penkala #manny rodriguez #edit #hbowar

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bennydemarco · 5 months

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HBOWARDAILY SECRET SANTA 2023 - happy holidays to @thewayisset

Forsaking, aching, breaking years, the time and tested heartbreak years These should not be forgotten years - Midnight Oil, Forgotten Years

#*mine #hbowarsanta23 #the pacific #ack ack haldane #hbowaredit #hbo war #userbbelcher #dailytvfilmgifs #happy holidays!#hope you like this little set!

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typical-simplelove · 5 months

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Hidden Words (R. Spiers)

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

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

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

Word Count: 6.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods.

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was it like?”

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

“The war, being overseas.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” you reply.

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

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

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

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

He means something to you.

Yeah, you’re screwed.

. . .

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

Just yourself.

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

Just yourself.

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

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

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

You so badly wanted to be special.

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

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

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

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

“I can sit there.”

“No.”

“Ron—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

There goes that.

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

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

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

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

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

Well, what does that mean?

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs, ending the conversation there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, shit, you chose to ignore that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a lucky guy.”

He nods. “Very lucky.”

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not fair.”

You know it’s not entirely fair.

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

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

“Don’t do that.”

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

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

“I’m going to leave.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

Ron doesn’t know where to start.

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

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

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

But could he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Ron knows that person is you.

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

Because that’s what love does.

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

Ron loves you.

He loves you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

“Ron—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, oops.”

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

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

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

“I’m not doing anything!”

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

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

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

“No, I don’t think so.”

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

“No.”

Ron chuckles. “Fair enough.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fin.

Likes are appreciated; reblogs are better

#hbowarsanta23 #claudia writes #ronald spiers #ron spiers #ronald spiers x reader #ron spiers x reader #ronald spiers imagine #ronald spiers fic #ron spiers imagine #ron spiers fic #hbo war #op: 2023

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staud · 5 months

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small worlds by mac miller brad/ray

hello and happy holidays @mollynoble! from your secret santa ;D click here for part 2 of your gift 💝

#generation kill #bradray #brad colbert #ray person #hbowarsanta23 #gkedit #video #james ransone #alexander skarsgard

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mads-nixon · 5 months

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Post-War Harry Welsh Headcannons

Harry Welsh x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS @iceman-kazansky!! Gift two, here! I hope you like it!! 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! Enjoy!

When he gets home, the first thing he does is marry you.

It's in a courthouse because it was the quickest way, and there were only a few members of both of your families there.

That night sure was one to remember.

I feel like Harry would be so so so excited to carry you across the threshold of your house for the first time. Adorable™️

Husband Harry would be the most attentive ever, I'm convinced.

After being away from you for so long, he tends to follow you like a lost puppy. Every now and then, you have to send him on some errands to get him out of the house.

When he was in the army, he always knew what he was supposed to do, but once he was home, he was uncertain of what do to. He didn't have a job for a little bit while he got accustomed to civilian life again. In the meantime, he was dedicated to being a loving husband.

Everyone knows Harry is a little bit of a wild child ("we're in a dell" and mr. jumps into Johnny's foxhole without saying the codeword) and he has a lot of energy.

When he gets a job as a teacher, it gives him an opportunity to engage with his students and get that energy out.

The first day he comes home from teaching, he goes on and on about each one of his students and how each of his lessons went.

He gets so excited, and you just love the way his eyes light up when he tells stories as you sit on the couch with him

(i have a feeling he teaches junior high history...but you decide which, though!)

"This little shithead in my second period asked how to do the writing assignment five seconds after I got done explaining it."

You just bust out laughing and ask, "And what did you do?"

"Well," he grinned. "I explained it again, even though I just wanted to slap the kid. What else was I supposed to do?"

You lean your head on his shoulder with a chuckle. "You could always use your army training and put the fear of God in them. Then they'd listen to you for sure, hon."

"True," Harry began, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you against him. "But after beating a few dictators in Europe, I'd rather not be a dictator in my own classroom. I want the kids to enjoy learning."

"You already sound like the best teacher those kids will have, Mr. Welsh," you whisper, smiling up at him.

"Why thank you, Mrs. Welsh."

He shoots you his signature toothy grin before leaning down and planting a soft kiss on your lips.

"Maybe you could teach our kid someday," you wonder aloud, hoping he will catch your drift.

"Oh yeah, that would be fun."

"Well, you've got about 11 years until you have the chance to."

He's confused for a second, his brows furrowed. "Why 11?"

You place a hand on your stomach. "Because that's how long until our baby will be in junior high, Harry."

The man is even more confused. "What baby?"

"Harry," you chuckle, the biggest smile painting your lips. "I'm pregnant. We're having a baby."

THIS MAN. I'M CONVINCED HE'D ALMOST PASS OUT FROM EXCITEMENT. EYES WIDE...JAW DROPPED

"We're gonna be parents?"

Pulling his stunned figure into a hug, you rub his back gently, holding back tears. "Yeah, we're gonna be parents, honey."

#hbowarsanta23 #hbo war #band of brothers #hbowar #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x reader #harry welsh #harry welsh x reader #harry welsh imagine #harry welsh headcannons #harry welsh headcannon #harry welsh fluff #harry welsh post-war #101st airborne #easy company x reader #easy company imagines #easy company imagine #easy company

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iceman-kazansky · 5 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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