#lewis nixon fanfiction

[midnightfictionlibrary]

Saccharine - Dick Winters x FemNurse!Reader

Saccharine - Dick Winters x FemNurse!Reader

Word Count : 1.9k 

Warnings : mentions of war, wounds, slight jealousy (barely)

Summary : Three Times Dick Winters Wanted to Confess His Feelings and The One Time He Did

A/N : Hello, the next fic after this will be the winner of the WIP poll. This one was tickling my brain though, so I had to write it! This fic is based on the fictional depiction in the miniseries Band of Brothers, not the real veterans. I hope you enjoy it and as always, pls like and reblog if you’d like to see more <;33

Shortly After You Met 

You were quickly wrapping bandages, stocking the medics’ bags, making sure morphine was ready, and generally cleaning house. Keeping clean conditions was a little more difficult in the position you were all in, but you liked to make sure the medics felt even partially clean and organized. 

“Well look at that..” you hear a voice behind you and you turn slightly, recognizing Dick Winters. You smile at him, eyes lighting up when you register that Doc Roe is standing next to him. 

“Just the men I wanted to see.” You hand a fully stocked aid kit to Doc “At the ready for use.” You lower your voice. “Don’t tell anybody but I gave my favorite company medic a few extra bandages.” Roe nods thoughtfully with a little laugh and takes his aid kit from you. 

Your eyes slide to Winters, smile brightening for him. “Hello Lieutenant Winters.” 

Dick pauses for a moment before answering you, your smile disarming him. Never had he seen you smile so brightly at him. He would have figured you would have reserved such sweet smiles for someone like Doc. 

Doc was looking between the two of you, eyebrows scrunched together a bit. Lieutenant Winters wasn’t a very talkative man, sure, but he seemed dumbstruck by you. 

“Hello, Nurse.” Dick says quietly. “Always a pleasure to see you.” He gives you a small, polite smile. You duck your head slightly, trying to hide the scarlet blush creeping up your cheeks. Dick pretends not to notice, but is secretly very pleased that he’s had this effect on you. 

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Such kind words for such difficult times bring me great comfort.” You fiddle absentmindedly with the spare piece of gauze in your hand, your calloused fingers looking so rough, but your touch being so gentle. 

“Nurse!” You hear someone call. “NURSE!” You head turns quickly and you notice a young man dragging his half conscious friend behind him. You drop the spare gauze in your hands and rush over, immediately pushing yourself under the unconscious young man’s other shoulder. You can see his lower leg is torn up, the blood mingling with his shredded trousers. You guide both men to a cot and as you reach for the makeshift curtain you lock eyes with Dick Winters, who looks as if he wants to say something to you. Before he opens his mouth, you close the curtain, turning to the wounded soldier. 

“I need a surgeon!” You yell, beginning with staunching blood flow. Once another nurse arrives, you pause, wiping your hands quickly and ripping open a sulfa powder packet with your teeth, sprinkling it on the unconscious man’s leg. 

Dick watches you from afar, admiring how you seem so sure of yourself. He can barely tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. He shakes himself out of his reverie and exits the aid station with Doc Roe. 

2. When He Just Happened To Walk By

You were standing outside the aid station, taking a small breather. You knew you were meant to help people, it had just seemed like a calling, but watching men take their last breaths takes a toll on a person, and you needed to leave the stuffy confines of your post for a moment. 

“Oh. Hello.” You hear, and you look up, surprised to see Lieutenant Winters. “I just happened to be walking by and thought I would come say hello.” What you didn’t know is that he had given himself a papercut on purpose so he could come speak to you directly. Finding that you were already there, he forgot all about his self-inflicted cut and approached you carefully. 

You can’t help but smile at him. Of course, you smiled at many of the men, but something about Winters made you want to smile whenever you saw him. “Hello, Lieutenant Winters.” You say politely. Dick arches an eyebrow and looks down at you. 

“Please, call me Dick.” He says, one corner of his mouth quirking up at you, and you grin at him. His heart feels like it seized a bit, and he realizes that seeing you is something he keeps finding himself seeking out. 

“Okay.” You say sweetly. “Nice to meet you, Dick.” 

Now it’s Dick’s turn to grin at you. “Nice to meet you.” His blue eyes sparkle at you and you turn back to look at the road. 

Dick clears his throat. “You know, I -“ 

You turn to look at him again and he falters. He’s too nervous to tell you just how much he enjoys seeing you.

“Never mind. I seem to have lost my train of thought, Nurse.” He looks down briefly at the finger with the paper cut and you notice, gently taking his hand in yours. Dick’s heart skips a beat and you examine his finger. 

“Just a small paper cut. Do you want a bandage?” You say, looking up at him with what he swears is the sweetest expression he’s ever seen. 

He shakes his head slowly at you. “No, no. Save it for a man who needs it.” You notice that he doesn’t move his hand out of yours right away, and you like it. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a small crush on the lieutenant, and when it felt like he sought you out just to say hello, you were elated. 

“You’re a noble man,Lieutenant. Braving that paper cut all by yourself.” You tease him, lowering both your hands gently. You bring your hand up and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, aware of his eyes on you. 

“Well, someone has to do it.” He jokes lightly back. 

The two of you stand outside the aid station, a small smile playing on both your lips. 

3. The Ricochet 

You would be lying if you said you weren’t panicked. There was a rumor running through that Dick Winters had been shot, and you were running around the station, gathering whatever it was you thought might help. The other nurses glanced between themselves, knowing that Winters was important to you, even if you wouldn’t admit it. 

You make sure there’s a cot ready, waiting to see Doc Roe rush in, yelling at the others that a surgeon was needed, that Dick was losing too much blood, that he might not make it. 

When Dick walks in, limping, you stand there, shocked. 

He was standing upright. 

Dick raises his eyes and notices you, limping towards you. “Just the nurse I need to see.” You stare at him, unsure how to react, what to say. If your silence wasn’t embarrassing enough, you could feel tears pricking at your eyes. “Are…are you alright?” You look as if you may faint, and Dick reaches his hand out to cup your elbow gently. 

You blink a few times, looking up at him. Then you look down at his feet, remembering that he had limped over to meet you. “I…oh my, I’m so sorry.” You say, guiding him to a chair. Sitting opposite him, you just shake your head. “I…um. They told me you had been shot. That it might be bad.” 

Dick’s eyebrows raise, now understanding why you seemed to be worried. “Oh, no. No, sweetheart, it’s just a ricochet wound.” 

You pretend not to notice the “sweetheart” that slipped from his lips as he lifted his leg for you to examine. It truly wasn’t as bad as you had been told, and you clean and bandage it quickly. “You need to try and stay off this leg.” 

He shakes his head at you. “I can’t.” 

You smile sadly at him. “I know.” 

He leans forward and smiles softly at you, lifting your hand and bringing it to his lips. “Thank you, nurse.” 

4. The Night George Luz Asked You To Dance

Dick didn’t know why his stomach felt like someone had reached into and grabbed it with an iron fist. 

But Nixon did. As he follows Dick’s gaze he notices you, happily dancing with George Luz. He sees you throw your head back in a laugh and swears he sees Dick’s jaw jump. 

The men and most of the nurses were drinking, dancing, having a general good time before everything crumbled and went haywire. It almost felt normal, but what about war could ever be normal? Dick clears his throat and looks down at his feet briefly, noticing that the song had slowed down considerably, and you were now in Luz’s arms, swaying slightly to the soft music in the background. 

Nixon is still glancing at Dick when he sees his friend cross the room and cut in, taking you in to the same slow dance you had just been dancing with Luz. 

Dick looks down at you. “You look lovely tonight.” 

You smile up at him, blushing slightly. “How many pretty nurses have you said that to tonight?” You see his eyes soften considerably and he chuckles. 

“Only one.” You blush openly now as Dick draws you in, his cheek resting gently against your head as you sway to the music. 

“How’s your leg doing?” You ask quietly, and you hear Winters hum. 

“Sore. I’m just lucky I had such a tender nurse.” 

You pull your head back to look at him, finding him ready to meet your eyes. 

“I have to confess that it’s easy being a nurse to such a kind man.” You say, and Dick smiles at you. 

“I have to confess something as well.” He says, his eyes searching yours. “I think you are the nicest girl I’ve ever met.” He pauses, turning you slightly as the two of you sway to the song. “And I find myself thinking about you more and more.” 

You swallow, your eyes flicking across his face. “Is that so?” 

He nods, watching your face. You feel his arm around your back gently pull you closer again. He’s always gentle with you, like he thinks you might break. 

“I’ve thought about you a lot too. I think you may know that I care about you…given my reaction to your wound.” 

Dick’s heart skips a beat at this confession, and he takes his hand to softly cup under your chin, pulling your eyes to meet him. “When this is over, let me take you dancing properly.” 

“Does that mean you’ll stop dancing with me now when given the chance?” You ask, eyebrows scrunched together in fake anguish. 

Dick laughs, gently lifting your chin again. “May I kiss you?”  

You can’t speak, you just nod. He leans in, his lips touching yours ever so gently. 

It was saccharine, and when he pulls away from you, you can’t help but grin widely at him as he rests his forehead on yours. “What’s that pretty little smile for?” 

You shrug slightly. “Just terribly happy that you think about me as much as I think about you.” 

“I have ever since I first laid eyes on you, sweetheart.” 

You smile to yourself, feeling like you might burst with the butterflies that were fluttering in your stomach. 

From afar, Lewis Nixon stands with a drink in his hand, a small smile on his lips, happy that Dick had finally plucked up the courage to gather you in his arms. 

#dick winters x reader #dick winters #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers #bob fanfic #bob hbo #george luz #lewis nixon #doc roe #dick winters fanfiction #Richard winters x reader #band of brothers x reader

[theweirdgoodbyes]

misadventures at nix’s tavern

“Joe, you’re fired.”

“No, I’m not.”

Lewis Nixon put his head in his hands and wonders why the fuck this needed to be happening today of all days. Despite never advertising as such, but possibly having to do with his brusque employees and inability to keep a female hire, Nix’s Tavern had gotten the reputation as both an Irish bar and a gay bar; March 17th and June 28th were their busiest days of the year. It was the morning of Saint Patrick’s Day and all hands were on deck to keep shit as together as possible: Joe was an active hindrance to that. Joe, all 135 pounds of him, was his best bartender and worst nightmare rolled into one. He could make a drink quicker and better than anyone, was never late, and managed to piss off everyone who stepped in the door, highlighted by last night’s disaster.

“Joe, don’t do this to me today. C‘mon, man.”

“You can’t fire me. What did I do wrong?” Joe, who he doesn’t even remember hiring by the way, throws his arms up.

“What did you-Joe, do you remember calling a woman a troglodyte last night? Because I do. Do you remember her throwing one of my martini glasses at your head? You still smell like olives.”

“I didn’t call her a troglodyte, I called her boyfriend one,” Joe shrugs, looking back at the bar he had been summoned from, “Can I get back to my prep?”

“Her boyfriend, oh, my deepest apologies,“ Nix presses his hands together in mock remorse, “Yes, you called her boyfriend a troglodyte. That makes it so much better. Joe, I cannot fucking have you here tonight. Just go home. Please, man.”

“You can’t expect Welsh and Luz to be on bar alone!” Joe cries, pointing at the two other bartenders who are supposed to be cutting limes but seem to be having more fun balancing shot glasses on their palms.

“They have each other. Put the fucking glass down, George!” George shoots Nix a quick thumbs up before the three glasses he has balancing in his other hand fall to the floor and shatter. George just gives him a shrug. God, this day needs to be done with already.

“Lew, are you fucking stupid?”

“Stupid for letting you work here? Stupid for opening this place? I’m the biggest idiot on fucking earth.”

“Lew,” Joe says, as serious as Joe can ever be, “I’ll be good tonight. Promise.” It’s a bold faced lie, but they both know that Joe needs to be here. A fact that Nix hates and Joe will never let him forget. For all his flaws and abilities to irritate the shit out of most of their customers, Joe had been a godsend after Buck quit.

“Joe, I swear to God,” Nix says, the same warning he’s given him time and time again, “Last chance.”

“Last chance.” Joe gives him a shit eating grin and a wink before getting up from their table and heading back to the bar, grabbing a pan and broom on the way to clean up George’s mess.

Joe fucking Liebgott, Nix laments as he gets up and makes him way to the kitchen to check on Malarkey, I hope you get your ass kicked tonight.

Enjoy this little add on to my other dive bar!au posts, all of which are now tagged under “misadventures at nix’s tavern!

#misadventures at nix’s tavern #enjoy this little snippet! I think this au will end up being mostly little screenshots of moments at the bar #because who needs a plot #hbo war #band of brothers #band of brothers au #band of brothers fanfiction #hbo war fanfic #Lewis Nixon #joseph liebgott #maddie writes

[libraryofantiquitea]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧.

pairing: dick winters x lewis nixon

summary: upon returning to america, lewis watches the subtle changes in dick. He doesn't like them.

warnings: descriptions of sex, discussions of war, repressed feelings, alcoholism.

word count: 1.7k

author's notes: another fic that i wrote ever a decade ago and have posted over on ao3. apparently i struggled giving these two something resembling a happy ending.

likes / comments / reblogs are very much appreciated! thank you for reading! ♥

For as long as he had known him, Dick had possessed a sort of grace that did not seem possible for anyone within the realm of reality. Lewis had originally noticed it while training at Toccoa, and was amazed that it continued on, even throughout the war and in combat; perhaps even more so amidst the firefights, the hails of bullets, the mortar shells, and the bloodshed. Having taken to stumbling drunkenly through Europe, as he did in life in so many more aspects than simply the act of putting one foot in front of the other, Lewis found himself amazed in the constant and the consistency of the grace that held its sway over Richard Winters.

It held on in dire moments of deafening noise where just one step to the right could perhaps end it all, and in the oddly quiet moments where war seemed that it just might be the furthest from his mind. Nixon recalled with stunning clarity instances when there was nothing beautiful, nothing poetic about the circumstances they had been thrust into. And yet, with a quiet elegance, there he was – unwavering and unrelenting. There were moments where he had been filthy, covered in dirt and the blood of men who he had known or not known at all. His eyes had been weary, yet bright, and what passed for a smile upon his lips was capable of lighting up the entirety of any room. A lot of the men looked up to him, admired him. Lewis was foolishly in love.

His fingers, nimble as his mannerisms, had gently coaxed Nixon out of his clothing one night in Austria, merely because he had gotten so blindingly drunk that he wasn’t capable of operating buttons. Lewis declared that he was fine and attempted to push Winters away, who told him in as serious a tone that he could manage that Lewis was pushing a coat rack and not him. Lewis allowed himself to be undressed, although he would have gladly burned his ODs then and not given a fuck for the rest of time. Dick stopped upon reaching Nixon’s undershirt and shorts, and Nixon told him not to. With grace and not a moment’s hesitation, Dick complied, and Lewis drunkenly pulled at Dick’s clothing until it wasn’t there anymore, attempting to kiss him properly but instead missing his lips by a few centimetres and kissing the corner of his mouth.

Skin on skin, warm and damp, indulging in the utterly delicious feeling that only came with his friend’s hips pressed nakedly against his own, Lewis gasped curses against Dick’s lips, while Dick whispered about sins and forgiveness. Nixon’s fingertips must have burned wherever they grazed Dick’s flesh, for the other man moaned as if he’d been injured every time he felt them. Dick seemed particularly fond of kissing, not at all minding the taste of alcohol and cigarettes that came with the territory when pressing one’s lips to Lewis’. Neither of them truly listened to the other, until they both lie on the uncomfortable twin bed, exhausted and completely spent. Dick said, “That can’t happen again.” Lewis replied with, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Lewis didn’t drink as much the following day.

Until the day that Nixon was sent home, he and Dick shared moments as they could get them, although it was never anything more than a fleeting glance or a momentary intertwining of fingers when no one was looking. Lewis returned to the States to inherit a broken home, divorce papers, and child support. When Dick’s services were finally no longer required in Europe, he returned to the States to inherit Lewis Nixon.

—

Nixon kept bottles around the house in various states – some were empty, had a shot or two left, while some were half full and half empty, or hadn’t even been opened yet. Dick tried to dispose of the empty ones as often as he could, but Lewis seemed to drink faster than he could keep up. He drank to keep the memories at bay, and leave them far away from his mind, back in places like Normandy, Eindhoven, and Landsberg where he had acquired them.

Despite earlier affirmations that what happened in Austria was not meant to happen again, and a bedroom which had become his own, Dick eventually found his way into Nixon’s bed after a month of lodging with him. The first few times it came in the middle of the night, like a child having awoken from a nightmare. Dick slipped under the covers of Lewis’ bed, didn’t ask if he could, simply did. Lewis would wrap an arm around him, pull him close, and Dick would finally fall asleep while listening to the persistent beating of Lewis’ heart. Then he stopped going to his own room, following Lewis up to bed instead when they eventually called it a night. On the fifth night of abandoning his bed for Lewis’, Dick let Lewis touch him, and he made him gasp and whimper as he had in Austria so many months previous.

With the exception of for grabbing a change of clothes, or keeping up appearances when the occasional guest (usually Lewis’ sister, Blanche) came over, Dick didn’t return to his bedroom.

—

It was in the way that he moved.

Grace found itself slowly removed from Dick’s existence, and Lewis struggled with the implications of that. He wondered if the fatigue of war, the weight that Dick had held upon his shoulders for so many years were finally picking at the already frayed edges. It was in the subtle way that he moved, in such a simple thing as walking. It was nowhere near the lumbering Lewis considered an appropriate way to get from Point A to Point B, but it was very much not the sort of way he’d become accustomed to Dick moving. His impenetrable grace was as much a part of him as his fiery red hair, which still remained as the grace slowly left.

All parts of Dick should remain intact, Lewis thought.

—

Dick lay in bed, Lewis beside him, fingertips gently tracing over scars that Dick never remembered how he obtained. His fingertips must not have burned, for Dick only sighed softly when Nixon’s touch grazed over raised, angry looking white and red marks embedded in his flesh. It had come with the territory, and Winters wasn’t certain if they’d ever go away, or if he would wear them as reminders until the day that he died. They hadn’t hurt, he would’ve remembered them if they had hurt.

Lips replaced fingers, and they must have burned, as Dick gasped and writhed beneath him, hands tangling in Nixon’s mop of dark hair that had grown past regulation length. Wet kisses moved down the length of Dick’s torso, stopping to take inventory of those scars of varying sizes. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, Lewis’ lips reached their intended goal and he took his friend’s hardened cock into his mouth.

Dick had moaned, his body shifting constantly beneath Nixon, unable to keep still for more than second. He would push Lewis away, only to pull him back again, begging him to not stop, murmuring that he’d never felt anything so amazing.

After he was spent, Winters lay unmoving on his side, looking at Lewis who felt even more naked under the scrutiny of his friend’s green eyes. Determined to not look away, Lewis starred right back at him, challenging his friend’s gaze, willing him to say whatever it was that he was thinking. Finally sighing, Dick rolled over onto his back and shifted his eyes to look toward the ceiling.

“That can’t happen again.”

“Sure.”

It didn’t.

—

Lewis sat in his study, pretending to read as he drank because Dick said that it was awful that all of those books were never opened by him. He didn’t even bother with glasses anymore, he finished the bottles too quickly to justify it, and what was the sense in creating dirty dishes. It was far too late for him to still be awake, but Dick wasn’t in bed either, he could hear him moving around upstairs.

Leaving the bottle and the book, Nixon carefully made his way up the steps, following the light to Dick’s bedroom, to find him sitting on the edge of his bed. Standing in the doorway for a moment, Lewis watched him just sit there, wringing his hands together and alternating between starring at them and starring straight ahead. Finally having enough of the silence, Lewis moved into the room and carefully sat beside him on the bed. Dick didn’t acknowledge his presence.

“What is it?” Lewis finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Winters replied.

Lewis joined him in starring at his hands, pursing his lips together. Dick had held onto his allure through training, through their years spent in tents and in Europe, and Lewis recalled the instant when he began to see it leave.

It wasn’t being home in America that was destroying Dick Winters’ elegance – it was him. Lewis felt as though he had a hand in the killing of his best friend, and was completely at a loss for how to deal with the emotions that he found caught in his throat as he tried to speak. “Maybe you should sleep in here tonight.”

“Maybe.”

He did.

Lewis felt colder than he had ever felt in Bastogne.

—

In the morning, Lewis was alone in the house. He smoked a pack of cigarettes before noon, and drank a bottle of whiskey before two o’clock. For the entirety of the day, he sat in a chair and waited, save for when he was finally able to bring himself to look in Dick’s bedroom. He hadn’t brought many possessions with him, but the dresser drawers and closet were empty.

Lewis was alone in the house the following day as well, and the day after that, and the sickening pattern continued for months before he finally realized that Dick wasn’t coming home.

—

Eventually there was a letter, but Lewis didn’t read it, but he couldn’t bring himself to throw it out either. He kept it on the dresser in what had been Dick’s bedroom, because he couldn’t stand to even look at the envelope and Dick’s neat handwriting.

There was no one around to pick up the empty bottles anymore.

[/end.]

#band of brothers #band of brothers fic #band of brothers fanfiction #dick winters #lewis nixon #dick winters x lewis nixon #winters x nixon #winnix #dick winters fic #lewis nixon fic #writing #fic #antiquitea.fic

[bandagesandloveletters]

Band of Brothers Masterlist

𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜, 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸'𝚖 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘, 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝙱𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚔. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎!

Tag list: If you like my work, feel free to comment, and I can add you to a tag list for any future works either in general or for a certain character.

Lewis Nixon

Cold as Ice -A little something where Nixon learns to ice skate but it’s all part of a deeper plan. Pairing: Lewis Nixon x OFC.

Richard "Dick" Winters

Hidden Love - A request written around the reader and Dick having a hidden love for each other. Pairing: Richard Winters x Reader

Chuck Grant

Get Well Soon - Chuck gets a visitor to cheer him up. Pairing: Chuck Grant x OFC

Floyd Talbert

Frostbite and Kisses - In the cold depths of Bastogne, a little warmth is always welcome. Pairing: Floyd Talbert x OFC (Rosie Moretti)

George Luz

Sentimental Journey - A dance brings two kindred souls together. Pairing: George Luz x OFC (Ellis White)

Joe Liebgott

A Sergeant's Sorrow - A conversation between two friends after Brécourt. Pairing: Joe Liebgott x Platonic!OFC (Lizzie Welsh)

#hbo war #band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers x ofc #lewis nixon #lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon x oc #lewis nixon x y/n #lewis nixon x ofc #richard winters x reader #dick winters x reader #dick winters x ofc #dick winters x oc #dick winters x y/n #chuck grant #chuck grant x reader #chuck grant x ofc #chuck grant x oc #charles grant #hbo war imagines #floyd talbert #floyd talbert imagine #floyd talbert x reader #joe liebgott #joe liebgott imagine #joe liebgott x reader #george luz #george luz imagine #george luz x reader #band of brothers fanfiction

[indigo-graves]

My Links ao3 wattpad ff.net

Soft | Roy Kent -ao3 -ff.net -wattpad

After | Roy Kent (One Shot) 18+ -ao3 -ff.net -wattpad

Softer | Roy Kent coming soon

This Dance | Joe Liebgott

This Dance Pt. 2 | Joe Liebgott 18+

Falling | Carwood Lipton 18+

Rusty | Lewis Nixon

Rusty pt. 2 | Lewis Nixon 18+

Curahee | Joe Toye

Warmth | Eugene Roe

#fic masterlist #fan fiction masterlist #fan fiction #fan fic #fanfic #fanfiction #band of brothers #band of brothers fan fiction #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fic #BoB #joe liebgott #carwood lipton #lewis nixon #joe toye #eugene roe #smut fic #band of brothers smut #band of brother smut fic #joe liebgott x oc #joe toye x oc #lewis nixon x oc #joe liebgott smut #lewis nixon smut #carwood lipton smut #hbo war #hbo war fic #ao3 #wattpad #ffn

[mrs-murder-daddy]

Hello love! Hope you're having a good day :) I absolutely LOVED the Bill fic you wrote for me 😌🤌🏼 Thank you so much for writing it! Since you sent the ask saying that requests are still open, I was hoping to request another one of your amazing fics 🤗 Could I get something with the prompt "He/She did it!" "No, he/she did it!" for reader and the Easy man of your choice? Thank youuu 💕

A/N: Of course my love! You’ve given me so much to read and enjoy, I thought I’d return the favour!

Quick warning: this gets 'fade to black' levels of spicy in the last section so if you're uncomfortable with that I would suggest stopping at that third divider.

The Easy man of my choice! Ahh you spoil me. I chose Nixy because after this latest rewatch… 🎶what a man, what a man, what a mighty good man🎶

three times you and nixon played tricks (+ one time you treated poor lip to an eyeful)

Lewis Nixon x Reader

You're not quite sure how your prank war with Nix started, but it was certainly not because you were a little in love with him. I mean the man was married with a child (and a dog)!

Well, actually you remember the exact moment it started. He had teased you about your hairy legs. You didn't exactly have the time to sit and shave them, which he knew. The bastard still poked at that spot though. And eventually you had enough.

One night, while the other officers were out for the night, you snuck back into your barracks, three cans of shaving cream in hand.

Grabbing Nixon's pillow, you drained all three cans into his pillowcase before running to the latrines, ready for your little scheme to pay off. You dumped the cans along your run, hoping it would lead the scent from you.

You showered (the perfect alibi) and watched Lewis and Dick walk into the barracks behind Lieutenant Welsh, a new addition to your little group from the 82nd.

You were still drying your hair as you made your way inside, only to see the short blond man jump from his bed. The back of his head was suspiciously... foamy.

He gave a disgusted cry, still a little tipsy. "Shaving cream? Seriously?!"

You panicked and pointed to an equally tipsy Nixon, "Lew did it! He told me all about his little plan too."

Harry just sighed through his nose and dropped the pillow on the floor. He was just drunk enough that the setup of his bed didn't matter, he would fall asleep instantly.

The next morning you surprisingly woke up after Lewis, spotting three empty cans of shaving cream on your footlocker. A little piece of torn paper under one, 'Check you have the right pillow next time. - L xx'

Who knew Nixy wrote kisses at the end of his notes.

Nothing Lewis tried to do to retaliate seemed to work. You were stone faced through a lot and he would never do anything serious to jeopardise your positions but he was running out of ideas damn it!

All through training, even in England, your 'pranks' turned into schoolyard insults and poking and prodding. It looked more like teenagers who couldn't just explain their feelings. Not that that situation is any more immature than reality.

He finally thought of a good one when Dick 'accidentally' threw a pitcher of piss on his head to wake him up. Now obviously he wasn't gonna pour piss on you, but some real sloppy mud should do the trick.

For once in his life, Lewis Nixon woke up early of his own volition. He found a bucket (he wasn't sure what its purpose was but he had a new task in mind) and shoveled some mud into it. He poured more water on top of that and started mixing. He got a weird look but you know, Webster is the last guy who'll fault the childlike joy of making mud potions.

Giddy with the excitement of finally one-upping you, Lew barreled through your borrowed bedroom door and tossed the mud concoction on the large lump under your sheets.

Only the startled shriek was maybe an octave lower than yours. And a head of very short red hair popped out from under the covers. Babe Heffron was in your bed. Babe Heffron, the replacement you had taken under your wing, was in your bed. Babe Heffron, the replacement you had taken under your wing, was in your bed and covered in mud.

Well shit.

You came running when you heard your Babe scream, worried your little duckling was having another nightmare or something. Only to see bane of your existence, object of your desires, Lewis Nixon with a bucket in hand, mud covering your bed and poor Babe.

Nix slammed the bucket into your arms and half-laughing, cried, "Now why would you do that?"

Babe frowned, "Ma'am, what's going on?"

Nix gestured to your hands, clutching the weapon of bedding destruction. "She did it! Poured mud all over you Private!"

He would never admit it out loud but the death glare you gave him, his blood shifted south at an alarming rate and he got the most delicious shiver down his spine.

Austria, despite the reason you were there, was truly a paradise. If you could, you would have your honeymoon in the Austrian Alps. You joked about it with Lewis and immediately, "I'll keep it in mind honey."

Guilt still ate you a tiny bit. Kathy had sent the Dear John letter a whole month ago, but all it changed in your relationship to Nix was the teasing was less playful, more... intimate. Touches would linger, insults turned to backhanded compliments that were honestly just compliments. For example, "Jesus, Y/N! Put that smile away, the sun's getting jealous."

So naturally you wanted to gauge where your kind-of friend, kind-of lover, mostly colleague was at mentally. The way you did that was one final little prank. Though you were more looking out for his reaction.

It was the Battalion's worst kept secret that Ronald Speirs was looting, the guy was shameless. But what most didn't realise was how extensive his jewellery collection was. And how well he could appraise the items.

Ron said Lewis had a cool undertone, so silver worked best. And due to his relative stockiness compared to his height, a chunkier chain was ideal. So, you finally managed to find the perfect 'be my boyfriend' gift.

But of course, you had to play a trick.

Ron stormed into Nixon's room, seemingly ignoring your presence.

"Did you steal a bracelet from me?"

Lew frowned, more confused than intimidated, "Of course not!"

"Well someone took it and no one else has owned up to it."

"Look you can search my stuff if you want to but I don't have it."

You piped up, "Hey Ron, I'm really sorry but... I-"

You were immediately cut off by your tall, dark and handsome man, "Was trying to cover for me." He sighed, "I did it. I took it."

When Ron smiled and simply walked out after giving you a wink, Lewis was certain his heart was gonna fall out of his ass.

His terrified eyes met yours then shifted to the chain in your hands.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT?!" He whisper shouted.

"It only cost me three packs of cigarettes and a Hershey's bar, but I wanted to give you something when I asked."

"Asked me what?"

"You wanna go steady with me, Nixy?"

Your answer was a toe-curling, foot popping, film star kiss.

VE Day was already a special day, it was in the name, victory in Europe. The euphoria of knowing this war was over and the uncertainty of what Easy would be facing in Japan led you to the lake.

Watching your boys splash around one last time filled your heart with bittersweet pain. You would be going home, or at least to New Jersey, waiting for Lewis. And your boys were going to fight in yet another war.

You sat on that pier for hours, waving each man off as he said goodbye, hugging your favourites (you couldn't deny Babe's sweet little face ever).

You were shivering by the time Lew found you. Not from the cold, the sun was still out. Your emotions had hit you full force and your body couldn't handle them.

And when your partner laid those warm hands on your shoulders, you just felt this rush of adoration, love, desire. You would raze the earth if it meant you and Lewis Nixon could be happy together. Just the thought of those stupid sunglasses on that beautiful face could have you dazed and drooling.

You dipped your head back, and he pressed an awkward kiss on your bottom lip and chin.

You both took your time heading back to the house you were billeted in, hand-in-hand, making plans for his eventual return to Jersey. Eventually the excitement of being together, the dream of maybe getting married, starting a family gets overwhelming.

You ducked into alleyways and behind buildings, stealing a few kisses, each growing more and more passionate. Then you finally reached your bedroom, neither of you looking where you were going anymore.

The house was thankfully empty for now, because you knew your moaning would've resulted in relentless teasing.

That evening, you and Lewis were wrapped in each other, sheets loose around your waists, fantasising a little more about your future together.

Someone's throat was cleared and you saw Lip covering his eyes with a hand while the other was held up in surrender.

"I didn't see anything scandalous ma'am, I swear." His bashful tone was enough to convince you (besides it was the honourable Carwood Lipton who stumbled in, you trusted him).

"We're decent, Lip." You pushed through your teeth, clenching your jaw with annoyance. Nix was enjoying this far too much for your liking.

Lip waited another few seconds for assurance before dropping his hands. "Uh, I'm sorry sir, ma'am for just bursting in like this, only this is my room."

Upon further inspection, without the intense haze of lust, you saw precisely none of your or Lewis' things. And your face could have cooked an egg.

Pointing to each other, you and your lover shouted "It was his/her fault!"

#band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fanfiction #lewis nixon x reader

[pfenniged]

Band of Brothers Week: Day 2: Kraut Medicine:

Fanfiction: Kraut Medicine

Day 2 ( July 2nd ) Prompts for Band of Brothers Week: OTP || Faceless || Favorite COs || Red

Characters: Babe Heffron, Doc Eugene Roe, Ronald Spiers, Carwood Lipton, Dick Winters, Lewis Nixon, Bill Guarnere, Frank Perconte, David Webster

Genre: Dark humour, with a mix of dark horror.

Summary: Babe Heffron accidentally-on-purpose drugs the entire Company in Bastogne. Chaos ensues.

Author’s Notes: Fanfiction contribution for Day 2 of Band of Brothers Week! I had this idea bumping around in my head, based on the fact that A) Men scavenged in war, B) Men can be stupid, and C) We all know Babe Heffron is that kid who ate things before he asked what they actually were. 

This is also based on the idea and historical fact that German soldiers were given literal derivatives of meth in order to stay awake and alert for long hours. While I thought it’d be crass to actually name what the drug was, it’s pretty wildly acknowledged now that all sides in the war were taking all kinds of uppers (and downers) to get through the conflict. In my mind, it just happened that Babe Heffron was very, very stupid with it.

As always, no disrespect to the actual historical figures themselves. This is solely based on the characters in the 2001 Miniseries.

-------------------------------------------------------

It was two hours before Doc Roe noticed something was off about Babe Heffron.

Sure, he was usually a massive idiot (the term used affectionally, in most cases). But something about the way he was jiggling his leg up and down becoming more and more annoying the longer he did it, despite Doc noticing him from a distance and through the slow fall of snow in the dark.

“Fuck it, I’m going to say something,” Guarnere muttered, already halfway out of his foxhole and the entire company wound so tight due to previous shelling that a snap of a twig would send most of them off.

“I’ve got it,” Doc murmured softly, holding out a hand and only making direct eye contact with the man from Philadelphia when he could already see he was ready to argue. “I’ve got it-“ He repeats, but this time far more firmly, despite being relatively small and stature and pale, the look in his eyes telling Guarnere not to push it.

Guarnere holds up his hands. “That’s your venue, Doc.” He deadpans, already settling back down next two partially visible bodies under their cover, as Doc looks back. The leg was still going.

“For Chrissake- there’s supposed to be a no-motion ban- light and noise discipline-“ A voice mutters nearby, sounding suspiciously like Buck Compton, as Doc finally decides to act. Taking a deep but quiet breath, he crouched down close to the ground before slowly but deftly making his way across snow, careful about where he stepped lest he set something off.

By the time he’d reached Babe’s foxhole, both legs were going now, along with a little jiggle of his shoulders. “Everything alright, Heffron-?” Doc starts, slowly and carefully putting a hand on his shoulder but jolting it back as soon as he saw Babe’s dilated pupils and the stupid grin on his face. “Lord Almighty-“

“Hiya, Doc~” Babe grinned almost comically wide, it taking a moment for it to sink in that he was doing a little two-step as best he could in his foxhole, the entire snow below him turned to mush and dirt underneath his feet. “How’s life treatin’ ya-?”

Doc bit back an answer that was more sarcastic than Babe was probably in any place to understand or answer, before scootching closer, trying to inspect his eyes and holding up a finger to see if Babe’s eyes would follow a moving object. “Pretty good, Heffron, how are you?” He says evenly, that being his first mistake.

“I told you- it’s Baaaaaaabe~” Babe practically whines, body going limp and actually dropping his gun as he wiggles back and forth, Doc now looking at him more suspiciously than ever as he feels him up for his pockets.

“Doc, if you were interested, you should have just asked-“ Babe giggles, wriggling away from his touch like a child being tickled. Except he was a six foot tall man who was currently kicking a five foot seven Doc in the shoulder with a dirty boot.

“For goddsake, what the hell did yeh eat?” Doc finally snaps, before hearing the hiss from nearby foxholes, immediately reducing his snapping to a hiss.

“Nothing-“ Babe said with a pout, crossing his arms but still holding back lower body wiggles. “Just some of that Kraut chocolate we picked up near the border. And Webster told me about medication- t-they had pain medication- he translated the label-“

“So you took medication you couldn’t even read the label of?” Doc gave him a look like he was an idiot, before finally finding the bottle in the front of Babe’s jacket and shaking it, several pulls still rattling about inside.

“It’s pain relief.” Babe says proudly, nose up in the air. “I found it. And I feel fineeeeeee-“

“Yeah, I bet you DO-“ Doc mutters, trying to make out any indication for what the drugs actually contained. He opened the container and tried to give it a sniff. “You eat anything anyone gives you-?” He huffed, but now trying to think about how to bring Babe down from the clear high he was still on before he was actually needed in battle.

“Yup! It’s the Military!” Babe says with the same proud grin, wiggling from side to side. “Yay Babe!”

“For Chrissake-“ Doc muttered, now raising from his foxhole and intent on murdering Webster. “Anyone else take this?”

Babe stops his happy wiggles, freezing, before attempting to look innocent. “I mean, I know Webster has one. And Luz has one. Unless they gave some out, I don’t think so-“

Doc grunted in response, already annoyed at having to babysit a company of grown men from basically acting like they’d tasted the Devil’s Lettuce. Webster most likely didn’t share. Luz, on the other hand-

“Oh. And I added it to the water supply-“

“YOU WHAT?” Doc can’t help but snap, ready to punch his shoulder before the same hissing being heard again, but this time being accompanied by hissing from a distance.

“GO GO GO!” A voice can be heard screaming, as Doc covers Babe’s head as he tries to force him as closely down in the hole as he can, Babe fighting him every step of the way.

“LAY. DOWN. IDIOT.” Doc hissed, as Babe whines. “Heffron~  Idiot~ Why don’t you ever call me Babe~”

“NICE NOISE DISCIPLINE DOCTOR!” Guarnere’s voice can be heard sarcastically as he passes him to get out of a dangerously close shelling area, Doc poking his head out and seeing shell after shell splintering trees, quickly ducking down.

“IT’S NOT MY FAULT HEFFRON’S TELLEMENT STUPIDE-!” He calls back, before hearing the telltale scream of “MEDIC!”, Doc grabbing Babe by the front of his lapels, slapping his cheek to get him to pay attention to him. “You don’t leave this foxhole unless a mortar or a German is flying right at you. Got it?” He snapped, Babe almost looking sad. “Yessir-“

Doc moved to duck under trees and jump branches, before finding the person screaming for a medic to be right next to George Luz. George sat staring at the man, cross-legged, both seemingly completely fine.

“P-Peconte?” Doc pants, already touching the man up as soon as he gets near him to feel for injury. “Where are ya hit?”

“We never see each other any more, Doc- what- you don’t like me or nothin’?” Peconte says sadly, George looking at him and literally giving a shrug.

“Not you, too-“ Doc mutters, before slapping both of them lightly. “You are children! Give me those pills-“ He snaps, grabbing them off both of them and forcing George to focus on him. “Who else did you give these to-?”

“I mean, we thought it’d be funny to help Spiers loosen up a bit- may have dropped one or two into his canteen when he wasn’t lookin’-“ He shrugged, as Peconte starts giggling. “Boom~”

------------------------------------------------------

Doc stared at them, before shoving them under a tree, treating two extra wounds before sliding into a foxhole with one Carwood Lipton.

“Lip, Lip- thank god, some sense-“ Doc says, relieved, knowing the man wouldn’t put anything in his body before knowing what it was first. “Y-You drank any water? You seen Captain Spiers?”

Lipton gave him a weird look at how wild-eyed Doc looked himself. “Are you okay, Doc?” He says softly, as if they weren’t in the middle of a firefight.

“No, I’m not okay, Lieutenant, because Babe Heffron has apparently spiked the water supply with German drugs that make everyone loopy, Officer Spiers is apparently unknowingly drinking a canteen full of dissolved pills, and half the Company if they don’t dump their watah anytime soon could be just as stupid as Babe Heffron, Luz, and Peconte-“ He snapped, finally able to vent when the shelling took a momentary break.

“… Ah. That’ll do it.” Lip bites his lip, before looking up at him cautiously.

Doc listened. No screaming, no other noise. He could fully relax. Finally.

“… It’s a little funny.”

“Thank you,” Lipton says, clearly now chewing on the inside of his lip to keep from full on smiling, before grinning. “Wow. Spiers on drugs.”

“Either he’ll beat the entire German Army before we do, or throw a hand grenade that bounces back and kills him like a Looney Tunes cartoon-“ A rough voice says in the hole nearby, Captain Nixon slowly but surely sticking his head out his hole.

“You take any of this crap, Cap?” Doc shakes the pill bottles lightly. “It’s in the watah, too-“

Nix was able to muster a sardonic smile.

“Now, Doc- you know I don’t drink “watah” out here.”~

-------------------------------

“And you two are sure about this?” Winters says, rubbing his nose and blinking far more times then necessary, arms crossed and swaying ever so slightly from side to side.

Nix and Doc looked at each other. Doc moved to open his mouth, before Nix held a hand out, stepping forward and taking Winter’s face in his hands.

“Dick- ironically as the drunk one, I’m the most sober one of us, right now. Yes. Babe contaminated the drinking water- Spiers is apparently on a double dose- and, Peconte thinks he’s lost his leg but he hasn’t- so he’s the least of our problems now.”

Winters blinked rapidly as soon as Nix held his face in his hands, before managing to say in an even tone. “Were your hands always this big?”

“You know it’s bad when I’m your last line of defense, come on-“ Nix rolled his eyes, stepping away from Winters and Winters almost dropping from the lack of being held up, but attempting to hide it by spinning in a circle. “First thing- dump the water we have where no one will eat the snow and put in new snow to melt- fresh snow- second, find Spiers. Third- send someone back to HQ and find how the hell long it takes for this medication to work its way out of your system- go-“

Doc nods, being pushed back towards an awaiting Jeep with several injured, the Jeep making it halfway through the back lines before stopping before a figure in the dark, standing and surrounded by dead bodies of German soldiers.

The lights slowly but surely illuminating the scene, almost like a horror movie, as Ronald Spiers slowly turned around, moving to light a cigarette, before saying calmly.

“You got a fresh canteen, Doc? Mine’s tasted kind of funny- dumped all of it an hour ago.”

#bobweek2023 #hbowardaily #personal #band of brothers #hbo war #I wrote a thing #fanfiction #Ronald spiers #lewis nixon #dick winters #doc roe #carwood lipton #I hate editing up fan fictions on Tumblr but here you go #here's my contribution #also on A03

[fernando-jpg]

hellooo, if your requests are still open can I ask for some band of brothers headcannons for Speirs being very protective over reader who is the only woman in easy (maybe she’s a medic or sniper or something, up to you). Thank youuu 💕

Another great request! <3

when ron first saw you it was at toccoa

he heard rumors about a woman, a great sniper who fought in europe before, joining the paratroopers

joining the easy company

he saw you walk the grounds of the camp, sniper rifle on your shoulder

you went the rifle range with sobel, colonel sink and two other officers

he watched you shoot and hit each target perfectly

and that man was struck by lightning

he was like "damn girl"

he was both stunned and impressed that you're so good at shooting

up until Normandy he hardly talked to you

expect for couple times you ran into him at night when you went to rifle range

overall ron preferred to creepily watch you while smoking behind barracks

during the d-day, after you jumped into to france, you ended up on a tree

you tried to cut yourself off but it was pretty high

you've heard someone approach and then miraculously ronald showed up from behind the bushes

"flash!" "fucking help me speirs!"

ron was your lifesaver

you finally talked more than two sentences to each other

you to stumbled upon two krauts that night and immediately when you two spotted them, ron pushed himself in front of you and dealt with them himself

like a badass B))

during the attack of brecourt manor, you were pinned down by krauts

shots were ringing all around you

and when ron saw this whew

you know the scene where he runs through the trenches like he has 9 lives? yeah that's how he ran to help you

"you're crazy ronald" "yeah, you're welcome"

after that he was more open towards you

and was thankful you didn't fear him like the rest cuz of the rumors

at carentan he watched you shoot at your enemies and he was scared about your well-being

but deep down he knew you can handle it

he was super overprotective during Bastogne

hell, he hardly was at his position with dog because he wandered around and kept his eye on you

"are you still with dog or were you transferred to easy?"

you got a splinter in your hand one time and he made sure gene checked on you at least thrice a day

he checked on you too obv

then ron became the leader of easy and now Ron was near you at all times

in hagenau you got shot in the leg during the patrol when you helped other soldiers

when he saw johnny carry you to the aid station, he almost lost his shit

he ran into the aid station, kicked everyone except gene out and stayed by your side the whole procedure

he carried you to the bed

he tucked you into the bed

and ordered you to get rest for at least couple days

you were stuck in bed for 3 days until you had enough

"i ain't getting back into bed ron" "...fine. go and eat something" "i got a hershey bar from Luz" "here, have another one"

Ron was tailing behind you wherever you went or rather limped

lewis secretly made fun of you two with dick and lip

never spoke out loud about it cuz speirs was fucking scary lol

the rest noticed it too

one day, luz and perconte were giggling like schoolgirls, joking about ron being your guard dog

and Ron walked in

"what's so funny?"

luz went pale and perco almost passed out

until the end of the war he was your biggest protector

and when the war ended, he told you how much he loved you cared about you

"i want to take care of you for the rest of your life" uwu

#that was probably my favorite so far #band of brothers #ronald speirs imagine #ronald speirs x reader #ron speirs #ronald speirs #ron speirs x reader #ron speirs x you #matthew settle #george luz #frank perconte #lewis nixon #dick winters #female reader #hbo war #bob #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x reader

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 24

(Ch. 23) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: "No, I could never give you peace."

WARNINGS: Angst, Espionage, the usual

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @indigo-luvers @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu

Contemporary: October 25th, 1944. Driel, Netherlands.

After she finished her story, Alix hung her head, unwilling or unable to glance up, afraid of what she’d see reflected back at her in those pools of honey-brown...

Disgust. Shock. Pity. 

Or worse: Admiration. Affection. Kindness.

Things she didn’t deserve, especially not from Joe.

She hadn’t even realized she'd reached for his hand until he gave it a light, reassuring squeeze. But she didn’t pull away, instead letting their fingers rest together, lightly intertwined.

In another life, she thought to herself. Maybe if things were different...

For a brief second, the spy allowed her mind to meander, imagining what it might be like to live in a world with no war, no Millicent, no familial pressure, a world where they could love each other out loud with nothing standing in their way.

But as Alix studied the subtle burgundy of her chipped nail polish, the ink blotches on Joe's fingertips brought her crashing back to earth.

That wasn't the world they lived in.

That wasn't a world she'd ever see.

The soft rasp of gravel in Joe’s voice brought her focus back. 

"That Larsson guy really threatened to kick you out 'cause you didn’t wanna kill a fuckin' kid?"

Alix nodded and she could hear a dangerous, razor-sharp edge enter his tone but it wasn't directed at her. 

"I'd like to meet the guy." 

It was a simple statement but the way Joe had said "meet" sounded an awful lot like "murder". 

"You wouldn't like him," Alix replied with a rueful grimace and Joe chuckled darkly and moved to crack his knuckles. 

"Yeah well, after me and him go a few rounds in the ring, I bet he wouldn't like me too much either." 

Alix turned her head away to hide her smile and there was another beat of silence between the pair before Joe spoke again. 

“Y'know that’s not all you are, right?” 

Alix's head jerked up in surprise before she could stop it. 

"What?" 

"A killer," the technician clarified and she could feel the physical shift of him rubbing the back of his neck, scruffing up his light brown hair. 

"I don't give a shit what he…what they told you. You're so much fuckin' more than that." 

Alix pressed her lips into a grimace. 

She wanted to believe him, she really did. But after a month of silence and then that letter…everything he said just rang hollow.

“You don’t know me," the spy mumbled defensively. “Not really.” 

If you did, you wouldn’t want me.

But Joe gently leaned his shoulder against hers again. 

"I do though," he replied, the light rasp in his voice contrasting with the softness of his tone. "Better than ya think." 

"Prove it then," Alix challenged as she crossed her arms and Joe tilted his head in thought, clearly pondering an opener. 

“'Kay, well, your favorite color is red–” 

Alix opened her mouth to correct him but Joe was quicker. 

“I know, I know, 'scarlet'…” He commented with exaggerated air quotes before adding wryly, “But it's the same thing, which is fuckin’ red.” 

“Is that all you’ve got?” the spy inquired cynically as she bit back a giggle at his dramatics.

“And you got a smart-ass comment for everything,” Joe teased before deftly tugging a pack of Chesterfields from his pocket.

“Want one?” 

Alix nodded eagerly, thanking him as she plucked one from the packaging but when the technician retrieved his Zippo, Alix hesitated. 

She knew better than to bring her face closer so he could give her a light. 

She would have to lean in close to his lips, almost as if… she shook her head, trying to banish the thought. 

His heart belongs to someone else, she reminded herself. It wouldn’t be right.

Noticing her reluctance, Joe’s face seemed to fall, but he handed her the lighter anyway, his fingertips brushing ever so slightly against hers as he pressed the smooth metal into her grasp.

Alix tried to ignore the giddy sensation and focused on lighting her cigarette while he resumed his Herculean task.

"You never take your rosary off," he pointed out after a slow drag. “And you say you don’t believe it does anything but when you get nervous, you still bite your lip and reach for it anyway.” 

Did she really? The spy was impressed and a little intrigued but still tried her hardest to feign nonchalance for pride’s sake.

“Congratulations,” Alix remarked dryly. “You have eyes.” 

Joe cocked an eyebrow. 

“Shit, alright, tough crowd,” he quipped with a smirk. 

“Lemme think… You only drink Gin & Tonics now ‘cause ya went a little too hard on the vodka at some party once and spent the rest of the night upchucking into the bushes.”

Alix felt her cheeks beginning to flush, now wishing distinctly that she would evaporate on the spot. 

Had she really done that? She only hoped to God it hadn’t been in front of him.

But Joe seemed to take her silent mortification as skepticism because he added, “Muck told me." 

"That bastard," Alix muttered but there was no venom behind her words and Joe chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“Go easy on the guy,” the Californian joked with a sheepish grin. “It was a while back. I just got a good memory, ‘specially when it comes to you, I guess.” 

Alix took a quick drag and wound a strand of her hair around finger absentmindedly, unsure of quite how to respond to his kindness.

“Well thank you… I think?” 

“Don’t thank me yet, Ziskeit,” Joe shrugged with an easy smile. 

“‘Cause I ain’t done."

He took a short drag, watching the smoke rise in spiraling plumes before giving her a sly look out of the corner of his sparkling brown eyes. 

“You left your window unlocked fer me when we were back in Aldbourne so I could get into your room without anybody seein' me–”

He chuckled and teasingly gave her a light nudge.

"--Not that it mattered anyway ‘cause you left me with so many fuckin' hickeys and scratches that our old CO said it looked like I’d been mauled by a fuckin’ bear.”

Alix drew her bottom lip between her teeth and dropped her gaze to the ground, certain now that she was a brilliant shade of crimson. 

Joe haphazardly tossed his cigarette away before continuing, 

“You been trained in deception or whatever but when it comes to people close to ya, y'can’t lie for shit. Like right now–" 

He gently slid a finger under the spy’s chin and gently turned her to face him. 

“– Tell me you ain’t got feelings for me.”

Her eyes must’ve looked like saucers.

“W-What?” she choked out, blinking in confusion as her heartbeat stuttering to a near-stop at his sudden proximity.

“Tell me you don't want me, Zees,” he insisted, the huskiness of his voice seeming to slow time and his gaze seemed to flit down to her lips before returning to her eyes.  

"'Cause I think you do."

It was a dare but behind his trademark cockiness was a current of desperation, his warm whiskey eyes pleading with her for the truth, whatever it might be. 

“Look, you want me outta your life for good, all you gotta do is say it: say you don’t want me and mean it. Yeah, ‘s gonna hurt like a bitch, I'm not gonna bullshit ya, but I gotta know, Zees. 'Cause right now...Me and you and Doc, I-"

His voice broke and he took a second before running his thumb lightly across her cheek, brushing away a tear. 

She hadn't even realized she'd been crying.

The paratrooper set his jaw and when he spoke again, there was a quiet determination in his voice, as though he was forcing it under control.

"Zees, if I gotta love you from a distance, then that's just what I gotta do.”

Alix faltered, momentarily lost for words, her stunned expression mirrored in the glossy reflection of Joe’s dark eyes.

The words were on the tip of her tongue: 

I love you. I want you, only you. Always you.

But she knew she couldn’t say them, no matter how badly she wanted to.

It wouldn’t be fair– 

Not to Millicent, who was counting on her sweetheart to be faithful from an ocean away. 

Not to Gene, whose schoolboy crush seemed to be the only thing keeping him from crumbling to pieces some days.

And most importantly, not to Joe who deserved far better than a damaged girl who could never give him the peace his turbulent soul so desperately longed for.

Her chest ached helplessly, her pulse seeming to radiate through her upper body as though her heart was trying to force its way to him. 

“Joey, I-”

The thunderous roar of her name being called cut her off before she could get any further and her head swiveled immediately toward the sound. 

It was her case officer who burst into the clearing with a radio in one hand and a bag in the other, its red stripes designating it as an OSS burn bag. 

“Martinelli, grab your shit,” Nixon commanded, looking more alert than she'd seen him since Survival drills. “We’ve got to move now!” 

With a last apologetic glance in Joe’s direction, Alix sprang to her feet and hurriedly began stuffing her stack of comic books into her canvas bag before bolting off after her handler, who was already several strides ahead of her and showing no signs of stopping.

“Hey! Hey Nix!” she called after him, trying to provoke some sort of response but instead of his usual dramatics over her neglecting to address him properly, he ordered her to hand over her bag. 

Once she had, he began tearing through it like a madman, rifling through her comics and the letter from her aunt, pushing past her knives, garrote wire, and the vials of Prussic Acid neatly rolled into bandages. 

“What the hell– ?” Alix demanded just as he swiped her false documents from the side pocket and shoved them into his burn bag.

“Have you lost your mind?!" she hissed, trying to grab his arm to stop him. "I fucking need those!” 

"Not anymore you don't," Nixon reported, shrugging her off and lighting the Zippo. “You've been compromised.”  

"What, how?!" 

Alix felt her stomach lurch and she searched her handler’s face for the slightest trace of deception but found none.

 

"Madonna mia," she breathed as they both watched the burn bag begin to crackle, the terrifying reality sinking in. 

"How bad was the leak?"

"Bad," Nixon uttered, shaking his head. 

"Payce and De Luca were executed yesterday. Bouchard's been captured. Perrault's MIA. God only knows about the rest. I haven't heard."

They might've captured Jennie?!

Alix took a deep breath, trying in vain to calm her racing thoughts and keep a cool head. 

"You'll have to lay low for awhile," Nixon stated, sounding almost apologetic as they watched her identity papers begin to disintegrate in the blaze. 

"Donovan's got a place you can go, an agency safehouse. I'll bring you updates when I can." 

"How many?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"How many of my covers have been compromised…?" 

The captain swallowed hard before responding, his voice coming out as brittle as broken bone.

“All of them.”

#Ta-Da! Cliffhanger [jazz hands 🤗] #Band of Brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #BoB fandom #BoB #Band of Brothers fanfiction #Band of Brothers fanfics #Band of Brothers OC #Band of Brothers x reader #Band of Brothers x OC #Joe Liebgott x OC #Joe Liebgott x Reader #Joe Liebgott x Alix Martinelli #Joelix #Alix Martinelli x Eugene Roe #Roelix #Eugene Roe x OC #Eugene Roe x reader #Lewis Nixon #Skip Muck #HBO War #HBO band of brothers #HBO War fandom #love triangle #angst my beloved

[trashbag-baby666]

Guys I have covid so hit me with more request prompts from this list!! Ive got a few boring days ahead of me!!!

Taking requests for:

Band of Brothers:

Joe Liebgott

Webgott

Luztoye

Baberoe

Winnix

Speirton

The Hunger Games:

Finnick Odair

Top Gun: Maverick:

Rooster Bradshaw

Hangman Seresin

OC’s:

Daisybilly

Baberoe/Graham

#request #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #thg fanfiction #the hunger games #band of brothers #joe liebgott #george luz #david webster #joe toye #luztoye #webgott #babe heffron #eugene roe #baberoe #dick winters #lewis nixon #winnix #ronald speirs #carwood lipton #top gun maverick #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #hangman seresin #jake seresin

[pechesenboite]

HBOWarDaily's Secret Santa!: Gift #1: “Who Has a Town Named After Them, Anyway?”: Lewis Nixon x Reader:

(From @currahee​, posted on my Band of Brothers sideblog, @pechesenboite. Hope you enjoy, sweetheart! <3)

Thank you for getting involved in the event! You will be making a gift for @mads-weasley. 

username: @mads-weasley shows: Band of Brothers type of gift: gifs/graphics, fanfiction Band of Brothers characters: Lewis Nixon, Ronald Speirs, Joe Liebgott Fanfiction preferences: reader

1) Lewis Nixon x Reader Domestic Fluff: “Who Has a Town Named After Them, Anyway?”

(Prompt #1: ) I would like one fluffy (possibly domestic fluff) one where character and reader are married)

“So the town is named after your family? Relatable.” You deadpanned the first time you found out about Nixon, New Jersey.

“Yeah, well- I might be able to pull a few strings- get you in with the bigwigs who run this town-“ Lewis had said coyly in response.

He had been good to his word. One house with a white picket fence later, and any visits from anyone from Easy Company involved active scoffing from how far Lewis Nixon had come since the end of the war.

You had met on a night out on the town in New York- Lewis was still wearing his uniform, fresh off the boat from Europe and having half the women in the room eating out of his hand. He had been obviously inebriated by the end of the night, and your soft heart overtook the thought that this man would actively proposition a telephone pole by this point in the night.

“Hey Soldier,” You had said to him, the man passed out at the bar. You carefully poked him, knowing many men from the war came back… different.  

Nixon had turned, squinting, before murmuring.  “You’re too good looking to be left alone at the end of the night.”

You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. 

“I’m not alone. I’m here with you.” You deadpanned, but gently helping him sit up, hand on his chest and many of the other women having cleared out when it was obvious he had been too drunk to go anywhere with him. “And you- are too drunk for anyone to take you home. So I can at least walk you to the subway-“ You started, as Nixon waved off the subway with a grunt of taste, holding out car keys and waving to the opulent luxury car outside.

“You have got to be kidding me.” You muttered, but the next thing you knew, you were driving a luxury sports car the likes of which you hadn’t seen since the pre-war years through the Lincoln Tunnel over to New Jersey, wondering how you were supposed to get home to Manhattan proper late at night without getting mugged.

“Left-“ Nixon directed, becoming more and more sober the longer you drove out. At a certain point when you were nearly forty minutes out from downtown New York, you supposed if you died trying to do a good deed for a drunken soldier, it was at least in a spirit of supporting returning soldiers.

You had stopped in front of an opulent, almost mansionlike house. “Here?” You couldn’t help but raise both brows, as Lewis gave off an impish grin.

“What- you thought I stole this?” He joked, hopping out with surprising quickness as he makes his way around to help you out of the driver’s seat. You look up at him in surprise. He attempted to look innocent.

“Oh, I wasn’t really as drunk as all that-“ He said casually, but checking the time on his watch. “How about you come inside, we’ll set you up in one of the extra rooms, and I’ll drive you back myself tomorrow-?”

Every cell of your New York City-dwelling body told you this ended up with you being murdered, but as if sensing your hesitation, Nixon had held up his hands. “We have help- if I was going to kill you, there’d be a hell of a lot of witnesses-“

You couldn’t help but smile, and Nixon smiled back.

“-And that’s when I knew I had her-“ He often would brag playfully at parties where the visitors of Easy Company would laugh uproariously, you would hide your head in a nearby pillow, and Dick Winters, Nixon’s best friend, would do everything he could to resist rolling his eyes and help himself to another hors d’ouvre.

“When foolin’ me was apparently more exciting than a drink-“ You joked lightly, as you gained your composure and reached for your own drink. Everyone chuckled and the conversation continued to flow, but you looked up and saw Nixon staring at you contemplatively, nursing the same drink he’d had all night. You smiled, before patting next to you on the couch. In a second, he was next to you and leaning into your frame.

“You bet your ass, kid.” He murmured, before kissing you gently. Without another word, you smiled into the kiss, and clinked your glasses together.

#hbo war #band of brothers #fanfiction #hope you enjoy bb #hbowardaily #secret santa #Lewis Nixon x reader

[fallsirens]

Oh baby guess what! It’s gotten way WORSE! You’d think taking a creative writing class this semester would help me hone in on my WIPs but no, absolutely not, now I have so many ideas and actual class time dedicated to writing from prompts that I can then take home to adapt to my fun writing???

Color coding is the same as my last post of this notebook but now because I want to write basically the same fic but with different pairings I’ve started to add multipliers to some of them. And tbh a lot of the fics under ideas/outtakes need to be moved to be their own section not just a page because they are shaping up to be fully fleshed out/a lot longer than I thought they would be.

So with all that because it’s changed/grown so much I thought I’d post another little capture of my writing situation. Sorry if the text is small and it’s hard to see, you should be able to zoom in on the app if you’re curious!

Anyway peace and love!

#Sav!Scribbles #band of brothers #david webster #joe liebgott #webgott #george luz #joe toye #luztoye #winnix #writing #fanfiction #dick winters #lewis nixon #okaythisisgettingoutofhand

[sergeant-spoons]

Secret Santa ‘22 (Pt 2)

@rebeccapearson​​​​​ ~ Secret Santa Pt 2: electric boogaloo. I swear, these just keep getting away from me and getting longer! Your third fic will be published tomorrow (and it’s twice as long as today’s). I hope you like this one! 💕

Your Typical Annual Nixon Christmas Party

Pairing: Lewis Nixon x Female OC

Word count: 5629

Tone: Friends to lovers, mutual pining, only one bed, ballroom dancing, all my homies hate Stanhope Nixon, angst with a happy ending

Warnings: A bit risqué at some parts, nonsexual & nongraphic nudity (taking a shower), brief mentions of body shaming and childhood trauma (I repeat: all my homies hate Stanhope Nixon)

Prompt: “If I ask you to kiss me in front of all these people, will you do it?”

Summary: He needs a date to the annual family Christmas party to stick it to his father, and she’s more than happy to go along with the ploy—until she realizes just how bad his father really is. OR The one where Lewis Nixon loves her too much to ever let her go.

Read it here on AO3!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"My father is hosting the annual Nixon Christmas party and I need a girlfriend ASAP."

Marisa blinks at Lewis. When he told her he had a favor to ask of her, something of this caliber did not cross her mind. They've been friends for so long that she can usually read him like a book.

Usually.

"Uh... why?"

"Because he'll be twice as unbearable if I go alone."

"Ah." Marisa feels a wave of sympathy. "So... you want me to be your-"

At the same time as Marisa says, "-fake girlfriend to get your father off your back?", Lewis agrees, "fake girlfriend to get my father off my back. Yes. Exactly."

"Why do you of all people need a fake girlfriend?"

He starts to answer, then hesitates.

"I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult."

"I mean I'm surprised you can't find a real date." Marisa reaches over and dusts a piece of lint off his shoulder, adding, "Charmer that you are."

"I'm flattered," he chuckles, "but I'm not really... in that scene, right now."

She softens. "Right."

"If I don't go with someone," he admits, fiddling with the hem of his sweater, the one she bought him last Christmas, "he'll set me up with some socialite and I'll be married again by the end of the year. And I..." He glances aside. "I can't do that again. Not to me or to her, whoever she would be."

Marisa nods sympathetically, reaching over to smooth down his sleeve. She gets it. He's been divorced twice. No wonder he's not looking for anything right now.

"I understand."

His smile is a little sad.

"I knew you would." A beat. "So?"

They both know she'd go to the ends of the earth for him. It's only a matter of time before she agrees.

"Well," she supposes, having made up her mind, "because you are such a dear friend to me, I'll consider it."

"It's next week," he informs her quickly. "That should give you plenty of time to decide."

"Next week?" She scrunches up her nose as if anything could dissuade her now. "I'm not sure if I can get a dress in time."

"Oh, I took care of that."

Lewis goes over to the Christmas tree in the corner of his apartment and picks up a rather large box adorned with a big green bow. As he brings it over to the sofa, Marisa realizes it is labeled with her name. He comes back to the sofa and deposits it on the table, then slides it her way and gestures for her to take a look.

"Go on. Open it."

Marisa eyes him with playful suspicion; nevertheless, she accepts the box and draws it to her.

"Lewis Nixon, are you trying to bribe me?" she teases as she reaches out and tugs the bow off.

"What can I say?" Lewis shrugs as Marisa lifts the lid to reveal the most beautiful gown she's ever seen. "It reminded me of you."

"Lewis!" she gasps. "It's gorgeous."

"A beautiful dress for a beautiful woman."

She holds the gown to her chest and turns to him with tears of genuine gratitude in her eyes. Lewis shifts uncomfortably and offers her a slightly nervous smile.

"Hey, now, don't look at me like that."

"It's such a lovely gift."

"It's yours," he promises, "whether or not you go with me."

"Oh, Lewis—!"

"Merry Christmas, Risa. But, ah-" He clears his throat. "-you know, you might want somewhere to wear that dress-"

Marisa can't help the soft laugh bubbling up from a chest full of warmth for his kindness.

"Lewis-"

"-and what better place than a party? You'll go with me, of course-"

"Lewis-"

"-and everyone will see just how beautiful you are and be so incredibly jealous of me-"

"Alright, alright," she laughs, gently letting the dress fall back into the box. "You can stop buttering me up now. I'll go."

"You'll go? You'll go!" Lewis wraps his arms around her and plants a wet kiss on her cheek. "See, this is why you're the best."

"Yes, yes, I'll go-" Marisa wriggles out of his arms, laughing. "-but I've got one condition."

"What? Anything!"

"If it gets to be 10 o'clock and they've still got us trapped, we stage an escape."

Lewis sighs fondly, laying his hand over his heart.

"I could never have asked for a more perfect partner in crime."

A week later, they arrive at the house just before midnight, per Lewis' assumption that his father won't be up to 'greet' them. They carry their own luggage, to the tired-looking butler's relief, and follow him upstairs, trying to walk as quietly as they can past Stanhope Nixon's unfriendly quarters. Thankfully, they continue on and cross from the East Wing of the house to the West Wing, which is far more warmly lit and forgiving. They pass a bathroom with the door open and the light from the wired chandelier inside bleeding out into the hall. A woman in a silk dressing gown is sitting on the edge of a lavish bathtub, painting her nails. She waves lazily at Lewis through the open door and eyes Marisa curiously but not unkindly. They both wave back, and as they continue down the hall, Lewis leans toward Marisa's ear and mutters that she just met his sister Blanche.

"She's the good one, right?" Marisa asks, and when Lewis makes a face, she giggles softly. “Other than you.” 

“Other than me, yes.”

"So you two get along?"

Lewis smiles, one side of his mouth turned up a little higher than the other.

"We bicker the same as any siblings, but I'll never let anyone say a bad thing about her, and she'll do the same for me." He ducks his head. "Well, anyone except..."

Marisa frowns sympathetically. "Anyone except your father?"

He doesn't respond, just turns his head aside as if he's ashamed of the answer, and Marisa knows she's right. She reaches out and takes his hand, and maybe it's a bold thing to do, but after a moment, he curls his fingers around her and relaxes. She catches him looking at their joined hands with a smile as they come up to the door the butler has indicated and her heart gives an unusual flutter.

What's that all about?

Before she can give it any more than a fleeting consideration, the butler is ushering them inside the bedroom, reaching for the light switch to reveal a handsome spread of maroon and gold. There's a grand old bed with a tall spruce headboard, a sideless bookshelf that Marisa is pretty sure is called an étagère, a Victorian-style chaise lounge, a dozen velvety pillows all across the furniture, and even a miniature Christmas tree draped with tinsel atop the dresser—and that's just at first glance. The butler explains there's a bathroom attached to one end of the room and a walk-in closet to the other, and as Marisa's still reeling, Lewis, who grew up accustomed to this luxury, thanks the man and bids him goodnight. The butler shuts the door behind him and it's only then that Marisa realizes this isn't meant to be just Lewis' space but both of theirs.

"Uh, Lewis?"

He's busy dragging their suitcases over to the dresser as quietly as he can and doesn't hear her, so she repeats his name.

"Lewis."

"Hmm?"

Marisa licks her lips, a nervous habit.

"How in the name of Father Christmas is there, in this enormous house, only one bed left?"

From where he's bent over, laying his suitcase down, Lewis looks up, tossing dark waves out of his eyes.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

Marisa eyes the chaise lounge. It's pretty big, for a truncated couch with an asymmetrical back. The gold gilding is a nice touch. Lewis sees where she's looking and rises as he shakes his head.

"No, Risa. You're not sleeping on that old thing. There's plenty of room on the bed for the both of us."

Marisa knows he's right, but that little heart flutter has put a sort of nervousness into her that she's not used to feeling, and knowing Lewis has got something to do with it makes her a little wary to share a bed with him.

It's only one night, she reminds herself, and it's not like you haven't been friends for ages.

Lewis looks torn between wanting to apologize and wanting to tease, and it's so like him that Marisa relaxes.

If he didn't trust you, he wouldn't have asked you to come.

"Right," she says aloud, "we'll share the bed," and with that, the matter is settled.

The next morning, they wake up to the cold Winter sun, streaming through the window and illuminating the room. Before Marisa even opens her eyes, she knows it's too early, and from Lewis' soft, wordless grumbling, he feels the same. She snuggles further into him, then realizes what she's doing and freezes. His hand, which has been smoothing down her hair, stills after a moment, and she can feel it against his chest when he sucks in a sharp breath.

Maybe it's not too early to get up, after all.

Marisa tumbles out of bed, yawning, and sleepily flees to the shower. Lewis mumbles a good morning as she goes and she just bobs her head, too shy in the moment to reply with something just as mundane. The bathroom is just as ornate as the bedroom. Marisa starts the water running and turns to the sink to brush her teeth. She looks a little ragged, with her hair all mussed up on one side, her eyes drooping with drowsiness, and one side of her chin redder than the other from how she slept with it smushed into the pillow. She can't imagine how she must have looked to Lewis, creeping away into the bathroom like that. She must have seemed to him shamefaced or sheepish—but he knows better than to tolerate the notion. They both know what their lie is and that it is a lie, and that once this is over, they will still be friends and nothing more.

Marisa's heart gives a pang. She does her best to ignore it.

Once the water is hot enough, she steps into the shower and shuts the glass door behind her. Her whole body relaxes under the stream and she gives a long sigh. She takes a moment just to stand there, stretching her neck and arms, relishing in the water cascading down her frame. The Nixons spared no expense in building this mansion, and the water pressure is no exception.

"Risa?" comes a slightly awkward call from outside the door. Marisa almost misses it with the shower pounding past her ears. She leans out of the stream and acknowledges she heard him, wincing at how scratchy her voice feels and how rough it sounds.

"I'm, uh, I'm going downstairs to get some coffee. You want some?"

She does. When he comes back, she's brushing her hair in front of the mirror. She's opened the bathroom door to let the steam out (blowdrying always makes her dizzy, especially in a hot room), and when he pokes his head in, he's got one hand over his eyes.

"Coffee for the lady."

"Why, thank you, sir."

As Risa takes the mug, she notices the stiffness of his shoulders and the slight downturn of his brow. As soon as she's got the coffee, he tries to leave, but she takes his hand and pulls it down from his face so she can kiss his cheek. He still keeps his eyes closed, but he relaxes, and so does she—they're back on the same page.

"Are you decent?"

"Decently dressed? Yes. Decently caffeinated? I will be soon."

She takes a sip as he finally looks at her, and it scares her, just how much she missed those dark, intelligent eyes of his.

"Ooh, yum." She looks down into the coffee, hiding from this perfectly normal interaction. "Is that peppermint?"

Lewis shrugs, the corner of his mouth tugging up.

"I thought it'd be festive."

"Well, it's good. Thanks."

There's something tender in his eyes when he replies, "Sure," and Marisa has a strange inkling that it's been there all along.

After he's done with his own coffee, they swap, and he showers while she gets dressed. When he emerges, toweling off his hair, shirtless, she pretends she's not allowed to look at him and silently chastises herself for the heat creeping into her cheeks. As she faces away, putting in little earrings by feel, he tells her she looks nice. She thanks him, but then he hesitates, and when she asks what's the matter, he tells her they're going out for the day and she might want something warmer. He turns his back and she swaps her blouse for a sweater, and this time, she can't look away from his smile.

"Better?" she asks a bit meekly, and his smile grows.

"I like that color on you," he says, "it goes nice with your eyes," and before Marisa has time to even consider what he means, he's slipped back into the bathroom, clothes in hand.

They spend most of the day out in the city, avoiding Lewis' family (especially his father). They walk most of the way, but eventually, their feet grow tired and Lewis hails a taxi to take them to his favorite lunch spot. Blanche meets up with them there and stays with them for the rest of the afternoon. She and Marisa hit it off, so much so that Lewis jokes they should be each other's date instead. Marisa, who has taken to walking on his arm, teases him that he's jealous, and although he rolls his eyes, his cheeks have assumed a hint of pink, and he's quick to move on to the next distraction. Blanche shoots Marisa a wink and Marisa giggles despite herself—maybe there's something in the air today that's making her flutter her lashes just a little more every time Lewis looks her way.

They head back mid-afternoon to get ready for the party. Marisa and Lewis confine themselves to their room and play cards to pass the time, betting on promises that might make the inevitable event more bearable.

"If I win, you have to dance with me tonight."

"If I win, you have to dance with me tonight and let me dip you."

Marisa's winning streak is not to be broken. Lewis groans, tossing down his hand, and she reaches over to pat his knee in mock sympathy.

"It's okay," she says around a mouthful of chocolate, "I'll still let you dip me."

Blanche has warned them not to be late, but even then, they stall until they really can't put it off any longer. He takes his tux into the walk-in closet and shut the door, and just for kicks, she yells after him:

"No peeking!"

She hears a muffled laugh. "I wouldn't dare."

"That's right," she replies, getting a goofy grin on her face, and at the same time as she says "I'd kick your ass," he choruses, "You'd kick my ass."

Marisa prepares to wiggle her way into the gown, but to her surprise, when she steps into it, it slips right up her body like silk. She straightens everything out and feels a hint of pride when she manages to zip up the back all by herself. She hasn't looked properly in the mirror yet, but when she does, tugging at her hair, she just about freezes. Her hands drop down to her sides and she stares at herself for almost too long to be sensible. Lewis starts humming an old song from inside the closet and Marisa remembers she's not alone. Coming back to herself, she gives a slight turn to the left and then the right, just to test the flow of the gown. It twinkles in the light, and she gives a squeak, covering her mouth with her hands. Electrified, she bounces all around, watching the fabric ebb and flow, growing giddier by the minute. It's the most expensive piece of cloth Marisa's ever put on her body, and though a part of her feels like a fish out of water, she can't help but admire herself in the gown. When Lewis reappears, adjusting his tie, neither can he.

"Wow." He dares to whistle, and she blushes. "Risa, you look..."

"Good?" she suggests, shimmying to show him how the gown shimmers, and she thinks his jaw might drop.

"Stunning."

"Oh, you charmer, you," she refutes, feeling warm with affection, and comes over to help Lewis. "Here. Let me."

This has been a ritual of theirs for years, ever since they met at Officer Candidate School way back in '41. Marisa teased Lewis for being incapable of tying his own tie despite his wealthy upbringing, and Lewis shot right back, why don't you do it, then? She did, flawlessly, on the first try, and since that day, they've been inseparable. OCS led to the 101st Airborne and Easy Company, and they rode that train all the way to Europe and back. Somehow, throughout all of that, only rarely did they part. About a year after the war ended, Marisa made a quip at a party that the only reason Lewis still kept her around was to manage his ties for him. To her surprise, he drew her aside, gravely concerned that she truly believed what she'd said—for the first time in years, one of her jokes had gone right over his head.

I was only kidding. I know you love me too much to ever let me go, you big sap.

...

Lewis?

Look, Buck Compton's here. Let's go say hello.

It was a strange moment that Marisa still doesn't understand. Even stranger, they've never spoken of it since.

"Really, Risa," Lewis says, breaking the gentle silence and bringing her back to the moment, "you look exquisite."

Marisa chuckles despite the slight churning in her stomach. "You're not so bad yourself, Lew."

He softens. Though she's not expecting his arm to wrap around her waist, she's not startled by it. She's done with the tie, but she keeps ahold of it as he inches toward her and she reciprocates. She can feel his breath on her lips. He's never looked at her this way before—or maybe she's never noticed. His eyes keep darting between hers as if looking for a sign she doesn't know how to give. They're still drifting closer, and Lewis looks like he wants to do something about it—but then he steps back, smooths down his suit jacket, and offers her his arm.

"Shall we?"

Marisa hopes her sigh comes across as one of teasing chagrin and not of disappointment.

"If we must."

Lewis leads the way through the West Wing. He doesn't say a word and neither does she. They pass by Blanche's door—upon which she has pinned a sprig of mistletoe—and head for the main staircase. It isn't long before they can hear the music wafting up from downstairs. They're almost at the upstairs balcony when Lewis abruptly stops. In the shadows of the hall, he is able to hide his fear. For his sake, Marisa pretends she doesn't see it, but she can't help feeling twice as nervous. The butler from last night is standing at the top of the steps, introducing members of the Nixon family as they appear from their rooms and quarters throughout the house. God bless him, he's pretending he hasn't noticed them yet. Marisa is getting more and more anxious about making their grand entrance, and then Lewis turns to her and says he's got a better idea. She squeezes his arm and steps a little closer to his side, wordlessly communicating her relief, and he turns them back down the hall, explaining as they go. Half-hidden around the corner from his mother's old bedroom, there is a far plainer staircase that will take them around to the dining room, a smaller space adjacent to the ballroom. Someone will find them eventually, but this way, their arrival will be far less dramatic and might go mostly unnoticed.

"Ten o'clock," Marisa says quietly, pointing to the large grandfather clock adjacent to the landing.

"Ten o'clock," Lewis affirms with a nod, and just like that, they enter the lion's den.

Unfortunately, their arrival is one of note, and they are announced almost immediately. Standing awkwardly in the lofty arch between the dining room and the ballroom, they watch as the attention of all is redirected their way. Fury flashes in the icy eyes of a tall, hard-faced man who can be no other than Stanhope Nixon. He marches over and directs them to the center of the ballroom, loudly and sternly announcing that his son, the Nixon heir, must have the first dance with his date. The party began fifteen minutes ago, and dancing is already in full force; still, the host forces everyone to step to the side. Marisa's face feels hot. If this is how Stanhope treats his guests, she can't imagine what Lewis has had to deal with over the last twenty-eight years. All eyes are on them. Lewis looks like he wants to throw something—or throw up. They've been through a war and he's still frightened by his father. Marisa's afraid, too. When he sees her hand trembling on his arm, he takes it, squeezes, and draws her to him in the first position for a waltz.

"Ready?" he mouths as the music starts, and she's not sure how she finds it in herself to nod, but she does, and they begin.

Everyone is watching them. Marisa knows if she looks away from Lewis, she'll lose her footing, so she keeps her gaze trained on his, and that does the trick. For several months now, Lewis has been teaching her assorted ballroom dances. She told him once, several years ago, that she'd like to learn if she ever got the chance. Then the war ended and she became his neighbor in New Brunswick, and he, who seems to remember everything she's ever told him, offered to teach her. Tonight, his hand on the small of her back is soothing, and she admires him openly. His hair is neatly combed and coiffed. She wants to run her hands through it, knowing it will soothe him, but she can't. He's holding a great deal of tension in his handsome jaw, but she can see it slacken as they go through the motions without faltering. They make it through the dance, and as their undesirable audience politely applauds, they bow and wish to disappear.

The first hour isn't too awful, after that. Lewis walks Marisa around, introducing her to various family and family friends, some of which are actually quite agreeable. A very old woman with one pair of spectacles on her nose and another perched atop her feathery hair tells them point-blank that it's all her husband's fault for her son's wretched behavior. Lewis chuckles awkwardly and tries to placate her, but as soon as Marisa realizes the woman is Stanhope's mother, she interrupts Lewis and thanks the old matriarch for her sympathy. She brightens up (as much as she can for how slowly she moves) and pulls Marisa over to an excessively long sofa to tell her an equally lengthy story. In the half-hour that Marisa sits with Lewis' grandmother, no one bothers them except for one servant who's obligated to offer them hors d'oeuvres. Marisa is so grateful for the company that she almost blesses the old woman aloud. Then Lewis reappears and tells her they're wanted in the parlor, and her little bubble bursts. Once they have both bestowed his grandmother with a kiss on the cheek, he leads her away, whispering an apology in advance.

"What for?" she whispers back, but then they turn into the parlor, and Marisa understands.

Stanhope, Blanche, and Lewis' mother Doris are all gathered by the fireplace, talking stiffly and eyeing the doorway. Marisa only has time to recall that Stanhope and Doris are divorced before Stanhope spots them and drags them over, commanding that they join the conversation. The next twenty minutes are painful, to say the least, and Marisa does her best to maintain composure while answering every question under the sun as to her personal and professional life. Doris, with her upturned nose and wounded eyes, is clearly displeased to learn her son's date is a woman of literature. When Blanche starts to congratulate Marisa on her recent book deal, Doris interrupts and asks about Marisa's social life and what circles she runs in. Lewis is starting to look like he wants to jump out the window. At one point, Marisa mentions that she served in the Airborne too, and while Doris and Stanhope are practically appalled, she finds some relief in the gleam of admiration in Blanche's eye.

When she's finally unable to stomach Marisa any longer, Doris hauls Blanche off to meet a potential suitor. Marisa is confused why Blanche is looking at her pityingly until Stanhope tells Lewis to fetch him a glass of whiskey and she realizes she is the one in the mire. Lewis tries to take Marisa with him, but Stanhope won't permit it, and he leaves with a muttered promise to be back as soon as he can. Stanhope is neutral enough for a moment or two as they exchange a few words on the evening's décor, but then he eyes her up and down and she feels a shiver of disgust run up her spine. He's off like a shot, then, going on about how her dress doesn't fit her figure right, how unwomanly she is for still being unmarried at twenty-five (how he knew her age, Marisa doesn't know, but it makes her stomach churn to think), and how she ought to find someone more handsome than his son or else the babies will turn out hideous. She's half a second away from slapping him when Lewis returns and exchanges the whiskey glass for Marisa. Stanhope, peeved, saunters off to find ice (which Lewis purposefully left out of the drink), and Marisa falls into Lewis' arms, on the brink of tears.

"Wicked old bastard," she mumbles into his shoulder, and he hisses a breath through his teeth.

"Shit. You okay?"

"Ugh," she groans, huddling closer to him, her lifeline. "What a creep."

She has the feeling he'd hold her for as long as she needed, but people are starting to stare, and she knows she should step back. So she does, and when he asks her again if she's alright, she almost laughs, broken-hearted.

"I'll be fine."

His worried frown persists; she knows he can see right through her.

"Risa-"

"Not here." She shakes her head, touching her hand to her forehead. "How much longer do we have to stay?"

He considers for only a moment before he takes her hand and starts to lead her out of the parlor and back into the ballroom. Stanhope is at the bar against the far wall, drinking his whiskey. Doris and Blanche are a few yards away from him, talking to a suave-looking fellow that Blanche is trying desperately not to roll her eyes at.

"Lewis?"

"Not much longer, if you go along with this."

"With what?"

He wraps his arm around her waist, draws her to him, and asks in that low voice of his, scanning her face with a serious sort of hope, “If I ask you to kiss me in front of all these people—really kiss me—will you do it?”

She grabs his tie and falls back against the wall, smashing her lips into his. He lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes fluttering closed. Marisa feels hot all over as he runs his hands up and down her sides. When he pokes his tongue against her bottom lip, asking permission, she lets him in with a hum of desire. As his lips fall from hers and latch onto her neck, somebody whistles, and then Stanhope bellows. As light-headed as Marisa is, she knows in an instant that this is their cue to run. She grabs Lewis' hand and they take off, darting into the dining room and then up the side stairs. The grandfather clock chimes right as they turn the corner and Lewis, spooked, takes a tumble. Marisa helps him to his feet, and they take off again, still hand in hand, laughing to know it is ten o'clock on the dot.

"Where to?" Marisa asks, trusting him to lead the way.

"Not our room," Lewis replies, turning down a narrow hallway Marisa hadn't noticed before. "We've got to hide for a bit."

Footsteps come running up behind them, fast enough to catch them, and as they whirl around, Lewis jumps in front of Marisa—but it is only Blanche. She skids to a stop and almost falls forward as she bends over her knees, wheezing.

"Father sent me after you," she half-laughs, half-gasps. "That was quite the show you put on. I thought Mother was going to faint."

"You won't actually...?"

"Oh, God, no," she says in earnest, lifting her head to look at her brother and his date. "I just came to say my thanks. I would never have escaped if it weren't for you."

To both Blanche and Lewis' surprise, Marisa goes and hugs her.

"You'll get out of here someday, Blanche," she says softly. "You're so much more than these people."

"Well, shit," Blanche replies as they part, sounding a little choked up. "Don't make me cry. My makeup's going to run."

"Sorry," Marisa chuckles, and Blanche squeezes her hand, stepping back.

"I've held you up too long," she says. "Go hide yourselves in Grandmama's old room. She hasn't been able to make it up the stairs for a decade but they still haven't redone it."

"On our way," Lewis agrees, sharing a nod with his sister. "Happy holidays, Blanche."

"The same to you, Lewis."

The door they seek is in the corner of the West Wing, tucked away between a laundry room and the back of the house. Inside, the room is just as hot and stuffy as the rest of the house but not nearly as dusty as Marisa expects. When she finds the light switch and flicks it, she sees it's actually pretty nice. The furniture is more modest in here, something closer to what Lewis has in his apartment back in New Brunswick. For a moment, she wishes they were there, slow dancing to the Christmas music on the radio, him in his tux and her in her gown. She watches him as he crosses to the window and throws it open, and though it's freezing outside, the cold breeze is a welcome change to the stifling hot house. Marisa goes over to feel it and Lewis steps aside, allowing her the window space. She leans back on it, her elbows propped up on the sill and her low-cut dress exposing her back to the elements. Her chest feels sore from the cold and the running, but she feels doubly alive from that surreal, searing kiss.

"Did you ask me to do that just to piss them off?" she asks, still trying to catch her breath. "I wouldn't blame you if you did."

Terrified of his rejection, she starts laughing, but as soon as she does, Lewis takes her face in his hands and kisses her, hard.

"I love you," he whispers when they part, tenderly smoothing his thumb over her cheek. "I've loved you since that first time you fixed my tie and called me a lazy rich boy for not knowing how to do it myself."

Marisa's eyes are wet, and she blinks desperately, allowing the tears to fall so she can see Lewis clearly again.

"All the way back at OCS?" she asks hoarsely, and he leans closer, taking a deep, shaky breath.

"All the way back at OCS."

She can feel his lips brushing hers, and she wants to kiss him, but there's something more that needs to be said, so she lets him say it.

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this mess," he whispers, his gaze dropping to her lips. "It wasn't fair of me to-"

She silences him with a kiss, trembling when he sighs into her mouth, eagerly giving up his apology.

"If you hadn't," she says, reluctantly parting from his lips, "you wouldn't have asked me to kiss you. And I wouldn't have had the courage to tell you..."

She walks her fingers up his chest to his chin and pulls him in for a slow, deep, breathtaking kiss.

"That you love me, too?" he guesses when they separate for want of air, his eyes sparkling with hope and longing and joy and a million other things that make her heart go wild in her chest.

"That I love you, too," she affirms, and he smiles, leaning his forehead against hers.

"So you liked that kiss, huh?"

Marisa laughs, swatting at his chest in retribution for ruining the moment, but he just grins and leans in.

"About that kiss..."

He crowds her against the window, careful not to let her lean too far back, and she hums happily, running her hands through his hair like she's wanted to all night.

"Where were we?" 

He kisses her neck and she inhales sharply, tilting her head back to see the night sky up and behind her.

"Ah."

He smiles and she can feel it, his lips hot against her cool skin.

"Right here."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world​​​​​​ @thoughpoppiesblow​​​​​ @victoryrollsandredlips​​​​​ @now-im-a-belieber​​​​​ @50svibes​​​​​ @mgdln97​​​​​​​ @tina1938​​​​​ @drinkwhiskeyandsmile​​​​​ @ask-you-what-sir​​​​​ @indecisiveimpatience​​​​​ @whovian45810​​​​​ @brokennerdalert​​​​​ @holdingforgeneralhugs​​​​​ @onlyyouexisthere​​

#band of brothers #hbowardaily's secret santa '22 #secret santa #lewis nixon #lewis nixon x oc #rebeccapearson #fanfiction #gift fic #band of brothers fanfiction #hbo war show #hbo war show fanfiction #band of brothers one shot #hbo war show one shot

[victoryrollsandredlips]

Gossip Gal

I got tipsy and wrote A Thing™️. Anyways, here's a preview:

~~

Good Morning, Upper East-siders!

Spotted at Grand Central, bags in hand: Lewis Nixon, home a week or two early from Yale. It felt like only yesterday everyone’s favorite Bad Boy was trying to turn good by enrolling in the famous law school. Did you miss Gala season that badly, Lew?

With the Webster family rumored to also be in attendance, tonight’s soiree at the Waldorf is sure to be one for the books, or rather, this column. Watch this space for all things Harvard vs Yale, gentleman vs rake, Freshman It Boy vs Alumni It Boy.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #lewis nixon #daniel webster #nixter

[roadtogracelandx45]

Courage Under Fire Masterlist

No disrespect meant to the real life heroes. This purely based off of the actors portrayals

AO3

Wattpad

FFN

Pinterest

Olivia Stewart information

Marla Stewart information

Betsy Michaels information

Evie Jenkins information

Lily Johns information

Amber Scott information

Daisy Goodwin information

Edward Stewart information

Robert Stewart information

Cast list

Playlist

Prompts

Lewis Nixon 1

You Think I'm Pretty Now- set during Currahee after another one of Sobel's raids

One shots

Coming Out of My Cage- NixLiv

Should Be Me- Part 2 Bill / Olivia - what if

Weekend Pass- Liebgott/Olivia- Set before D-Day

London Grey- Set before D-Day- NixLiv

What Once Was Mine- Bill/ Olivia- Set during the Toccoa days

moodboards

Robert and Olivia Stewart- the Stewart twins

Part 1 Pre War- Currahee

0.01

0.02

0.03

0.04

0.05

0.06

0.07

0.08

0.09

0.10

Part 2- Day of Days

Part 3- Carentan

London Blue- 7 part short story set after D-Day

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

part six

part seven

Part 4- Replacements

Part 5- Crossroads

Part 6- Bastogne

Got To Get Up (outake of full scene)

Part 7- The Breaking Point

Part 8- The Last Patrol

Part 9- Why We Fight

Part 10- Points

I Want This- (not full scene)

Part 11- Post War

#ash writes #band of fanfiction imagines #band of brothers fan fiction #oc: olivia Stewart #series: courage under fire #joseph liebgott fan fiction #joseph liebgott imagines #wild bill guarnere fan fiction #wild bill gaurnere imagines #lewis nixon fan fiction #lewis nixon imagines

[rogue-durin-16]

ROGUE-DURIN-16 PROMPT LIST FOR REQUESTS

Disclaimer: you don't have to use these ones specifically, you can send your own prompts and scenarios too. Also, feel free to reblog if you're a writer.

GUIDELINES:

Write down the prompt numbers and/or letters (up to 3)

Write down the character(s) you want in the fic

Choose the fic genre

Specify the reader's pronouns

Optional:

Add a more information on the plot if you want

Specify who's saying which quote

DIALOGUE PROMPTS:

"Hey, you're bleeding!" "Oh my god— really? I didn't fucking notice!"

"Please get up."

"I like you." "Don't do that to yourself."

"Quick— kiss me!"

"Your lips are getting really close to mine."

"My family thinks we're dating."

"We have a problem." "No— you have a problem. I have an idiot who keeps getting in trouble."

"Please, don't let go of my hand. I'm scared."

"Dance with me?" "There's no music." "We'll hum."

"You look like you could use a hug." "Now, that's embarrassing."

"If I don't get coffee soon, someone's gonna die." "I'm 'someone', am I not?"

"How's the day going?" "Well, no one died." "Those are your standards?"

"Don't you dare walk away."

"I'm trying to have a serious conversation!" "And I'm trying to avoid it!"

"Now that I made it weird, I'm gonna leave."

"I don't like saying 'I told you so' but—" "the hell you don't, it's your favorite phrase."

"Are you sure I can't break his nose?" "Depends. Do you wanna get court-martialed?"

"Ten bucks says you don't make it to the door before passing out."

"I've lost the will to fight."

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything that night."

"Come here." "Why?" "Just come here." "No, you're gonna hit me."

"Shut up." "Make me."

"You know we're meant to be." "Yeah, six feet apart at all times."

"I'm gonna marry you someday."

Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment?"

"It was just a joke." "It wasn't funny!"

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"Yes, I have feelings for you. Moving on..."

"Were you dropped on your head as a kid?" "As a matter of fact, yes."

"Rumor has it, I make you nervous."

"I can't get up." "I'll carry you."

"we should cuddle— platonically, of course."

"are you crying?" "... No." "Wow, that sounded so convincing."

"Look at me— you're gonna be okay."

"You have a heart of gold." "But that's not enough for you, is it?"

"Are you asleep yet?" "..." "I love you."

"I've actually practiced this." "Asking me out?" "Yes."

"I'm not easy to love." "Who told you that?"

"You're so adorable." "And you're ruining my reputation. Stop."

"We're just friends." "Oh, c'mon! the only ones who buy that are you, Y/n, and that poor idiot they're dating."

"I have a solution." "Thank goodness." "It involves fire." "Absolutely not."

"Don't you trust me?" "Uh, yeah, with my life, not with my hair!"

"If you ask me, I'd say we deserve a happy ending."

"Can you please keep stroking my hair?"

"We'll get through this. Together."

"You're like a sister/brother to me." "What a sweet way of breaking my heart."

"We could've died!" "Yeah but we didn't." "No thanks to you."

"I don't think I'll ever be ready to lose you."

"What if we kissed?"

"Maybe making out for a few minutes would help us figure things up."

"Oh, you're still alive." "Don't sound so disappointed, I might think you don't like me."

"How long have you been standing there?" "Longer than you'd like."

"I remember kissing you. Why do I remember kissing you?"

"Go to hell." "And leave you here all alone?"

"You feelin' alright?" "Peachy!" *passes out*

"I'm happy with them." "That's not fair!" "Why?" "'Cause I loved you first!"

"You're very pretty." "And you're very drunk."

SITUATION PROMPTS:

A. One falls asleep on the other's shoulder.

B. First kiss.

C. Last kiss.

D. Cooking together.

E. The reader gets hurt.

F. The character gets hurt.

G. They're stranded (alone or with more people).

H. A breaks down, B comforts them.

I. A fixes up B after B gets into a fight.

J. Drunkenly confessing their feelings.

K. Heated argument leads to a kiss/confession.

L. First date.

M. Fake date.

N. Trying to keep each other warm.

O. A is drunk and B takes care of them.

P. Dealing with a friend's death.

Q. A asks B for a dance.

R. Bumping into each other after a long time.

S. The character realizes they're falling in love with the reader (or viceversa)

T. Starcrossed lovers.

FIC GENRES:

Fluff

Angst

Angst-fluff

Hurt/comfort

Friends to lovers

Rivals to lovers

Lovers to friends

Unrequited love

Mutual pinning

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Band Of Brothers: @sparkycorleone @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @comfort-reads

#band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fandom #band of brothers request #george luz #don malarkey #joe liebgott #joe toye #buck compton #bill guarnere #babe heffron #ron speirs #renee lemaire #carwood lipton #lewis nixon #skip muck #alex penkala #x reader #hbo war fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #stranger things 4