#lewis nixon fic

[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

[indigo-graves]

Rusty | Lewis Nixon

Nina tilted her head back, coaxing the entirety of the drink she had been nursing down her throat. The encouragement of thuds as each of the Easy men thumped their fists on the table in front of them was the only reason she had not dismissed the challenge. When the glass came down on the table, there was more force than she anticipated, the unfortunate swimming of her head had started from the three drinks prior. Each of her companions cheered her on, clapping their hands, whooping, and patting her on the back and shoulder. 

“Well done, bird,” Luz laughed, taking the cap from the bottle and pouring her another. 

“I can’t,” Nina held her hand out as he pushed the full glass back toward her. A resounding “boo” echoed from the men around her. 

“Find someone else to bully!” She waved them off. “Talbert’s barely on his second drink!” 

“Gee, thanks.” Talbert rolled his eyes as the focus was pulled toward him. Each of the men taking turns coaxing him to down his drink to catch up. 

Nina joined in, giddy with the buzz of alcohol, encouraging the man to drink up. She felt a tap on her shoulder and whipped around, a strand of her hair coming undone from her neat pin as a result. She was face to face with Lewis Nixon. 

“Hey, Nix,” she spoke casually. Lewis watched the way her tongue lazily pronounced his name, the sweet and sour tinge of alcohol on her breath. 

“Wanna dance?” He asked, tilting his head back towards the radio that played loudly on the other side of the room. 

She lifted an eyebrow. She had not had a reason to dance since England. A drink or two less and she might have politely declined, as there was no one else using the center of the room for this purpose. Nixon looked at her expectantly, his large brown eyes searched hers in a way that made her belly tighten. 

“Yes,” she said more confidently than she felt. But if there was any reason to accept an invitation to dance, the end of the war would be at the top of the list. 

She was surprised by the smoothness of his hand as she took it. Even more surprised by the way he gripped her hip with purpose and confidence. She swallowed hard when she placed her hand on his shoulder. He guided her softly into the rhythm, calling on her to be more conscious of her feet than she had been all night. 

“I’m rusty,” she giggled. Nixon smirked down at her affectionately. 

“You’re doing just fine. Just let me lead.” 

Something about the way the exchange settled over them felt heavier than its surface meaning. Nina tried to ignore how good it felt to have an arm wrapped around her, to be held, after all this time. The smooth, deep scent of Nixon’s cologne, mixed with the alcohol had her head feeling floaty and detached from the room around her. It was hard to focus on anything else besides the way his arm snaked further around her lower back, pulling her flush against him. 

She let out a breath she had been holding, finding herself relaxing the hand on his shoulder and gently tracing the lapel of his dress uniform. 

“Hold me any tighter, doll,” he warned her in a deep whisper, “think the room may catch fire with jealousy.” 

“Yeah?” Nina looked up at him, biting at her lower lip.  

“Yeah,” Nixon replied, reaching up and pressing his thumb to her chin, coaxing her lower lip out from between her teeth. 

“Give them something to be jealous of,” Nina spoke back, barely above a whisper. 

#band of brothers #lewis nixon #bob #hbo war #lewis nixon/oc #nixon/oc #lewis nixon/reader #nixon/reader #band of brothers fic #bob fic #hbo war fic #hbo fanfic #lewis nixon fic #lewis nixon fanfic #nixon one shot #hbo war one shot #band of brothers one shot #fan fiction

[xximperioxx]

Forever Is the Sweetest Con

And you asked me to dance

And I said, “Dancing is a dangerous game.”

Wanting to be just like her mother, Rebecca decides to become a nurse but is realizing she wants more to her name. When an old friend of her father offers her an opportunity to show her worth, Rebecca realizes she got a lot more than she bargained for.

Lewis Nixon/Original Female Character

~~~~~~

Warnings: None

This work is purely fiction and based on the HBO miniseries ‘Band of Brothers’. No disrespect is meant to the real men of Easy Company and those who fought in WWII. Historical inaccuracy is likely.

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1

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

February 17, 1942

Lexington, NC

~~~

It was late when Rebecca arrived home, yet she didn’t care. The day at the hospital was tiring. She wondered how her mom was able to come home and leave work at work. Not once when growing up did her mother complain about the hospital when she came home. Maybe it was to assure her daughter she loved her job, to help people. When her mother died, Rebecca wanted to be a nurse just like her mom. At a young age, she threw herself into studies and work.

The only problem was she is starting to want more to her name. Every day she deals with patients who didn’t want to listen to her because she wasn’t a doctor. Every day she works with Doctor Childers who looks to her for guidance and takes all the credit. She deserves the title of Doctor more than he does but the world doesn’t think so.

Gently closing the door, she leaned back and sighed before taking off her heels. Something seemed off which caused Rebecca to look around the room. There sat her father in his chair, reading this week’s newspaper.

Hank knew something was wrong when his daughter didn’t come home when she normally did. Putting a hand on her chest and letting out a quiet laugh, “Christ, Papa, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Hank couldn’t help but smile at his daughter as she made her way over to him and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. He reached out for her hands as she pulled away. She sat on the arm of the chair and tossed her cap on the floor. Hank studied his daughter. It was quiet.

“I don't know how mom did it.” Rebecca whispered, “How she was always so calm when she came home after dealing with the hospital.”

The father set down his newspaper and reassured his daughter, “There were some days she didn’t. She just didn't want you to see.”

Rebecca knew this towards the end of her mother’s life. When she rounded the corner of the kitchen as a little girl to see her mother wipe her tears and put on a fake smile just for her. Of course, Rebecca just assumed this was because she was having a bad day, not because of work or her cancer. Rebecca believed every word her mother would tell her, especially when she would say she was fine. Looking back, she could curse herself for being so naive.

‘What happened today?” Hank questioned.

The young woman huffed, “I had a meeting with Doctor Childers and asked when I would be able to change my title as doctor. I reminded him of my experience and education. He laughed in my face! Right in front of me!” She scoffed, “Told me the highest position for me is a nurse when I know damn well-”

He gives his daughter a look for the language. She rolled her eyes, “Papa, you don't understand, I am much more skilled than him. I deserve that title.”

“You deserve the world.”

She looked down, “Did mom ever face the same problem?”

Hank thought for a moment.

“No,” He takes her hand, “But you are not your mother and that is okay. I need you to understand that it's okay that you want more in life.”

“I just want to make her proud.” Her voice cracked as tears flooded her eyes.

“She was already proud of you since the day you were born.”

“And you?”

Hank let out a laugh, “Me? Well same as your mother of course,” He reassured her, “...But the day you punched your ex-fiancé right in the face was my proudest moment.”

A moment that was. A nurse from work had told Rebecca she had seen her fiancé out to dinner with another woman and watched him give her a pearl necklace. He kissed her in the restaurant. An affair where everyone could see.

One thing about nurses is they don't lie to each other. Rebecca had known he didn't like that she worked so much and often argued with her about her staying home while he worked. She had thought he was different. She loved him more than she could ever love herself. When she showed up to family dinner that night, Rebecca marched right up and punched him in anger. Hank watched in pure delight as he never really liked the man to begin with, but he never told his daughter that.

After that Hank saw a change. Rebecca became so engrossed into her work and education; she didn’t bother seeing anyone after she got her heart broken.

She pulled away from her father and wiped her tears with a laugh. “You're ridiculous.” Her smile slowly faded before she mumbled out, “I miss her.”

“So do I, my dear,’ Hank kissed her forehead.

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

It was another busy day at the hospital. It was quarter past 2 when Rebecca was able to sit down and eat lunch. That was until Doctor Childers strolled into the break room and right up to her table.

The urge to not roll her eyes strong but instead laced her hands. Irritably, she looked up at him, “What can I do for you, doctor?”

Childers clicked his tongue. “Patient in 301. Refuses to talk to me and requests only you. By name.”

He walks away before she could say anything. A confused look appears on her face. She shoved some food in her face as she packed up her lunch before she headed over to room 301.

She gently knocked on the door before entering. There stood a man she remembers from growing up. An old friend of her father.

“Mr. Sink?” Rebecca glances down at his pin. “Or should I say Colonel Sink. What can I do for you?” She reaches her hand out for him to shake.

“Rebecca Noble! How are you? How's your father?” The tall man questions with a grin on his face while shaking her hand.

She gives curt answers before repeating her question to him again. Not that she didn't want to talk to him but rather she wanted to know why he requested her.

The Colonel cleared his throat.

“I have an offer for you.” He begins, “I am in command of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division and in my regards to make my paratroopers the best, I am asking you to assist and lead my men and medics in training and on the battlefield. Your experience and education make you my top choice.”

The nurse stared at him, not letting any emotion show. In her mind she wondered how he thought of her. The thought of the Nurse Corps has always been in the back of her mind but she felt like she didn't have time to sign up. An offer that could prove men around her that she wasn't some little nurse. Rebecca knew that the United States were desperate to build up a defense as quickly as possible since the attack at Pearl Harbor happened. It was now or never.

“One condition. I’m given the rank of first lieutenant when I join.” The Colonel raised an eyebrow at her demand. Rebecca wasn’t dim. “Given my education and experience, it's the rank I would receive if I joined the Nurse Corps instead of taking up your offer.”

The woman sticks out her hand, waiting for his response. Sink hides his look of impression as he pauses before placing his hand in hers, giving her a firm handshake.

“Once you arrive at Camp Toccoa, I’ll have you trained to earn your wings as a paratrooper. I look forward to seeing you soon, Noble.”

Rebecca gave him a nod as the Colonel bid her farewell.

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

It was the night before Rebecca had to leave for Camp Toccoa and she had just finished cleaning up after dinner for her and her father. He sat in his chair reading the newspaper, “Have you heard about the Army’s new division?” Rebecca stops scrubbing when she hears him mention the Parachute Infantry Regiment.

“Yes, I have.” Rebecca continues to finish the dishes. Guilt finds its way into her stomach as she worries that he knows. She bites her lip, “Paratroopers, right?”

“What kind of people volunteer to jump out of a perfectly good airplane?”

She chuckles at her father and puts the dishes away, “Probably crazy people.”

Hank smiles at his daughter, “You’re right but they also must be incredibly brave to do such a thing.”

Rebecca smiles at him as she takes off her apron before joining him in the chair next to his. She was nervous, she could feel it in her stomach. He looked over at her as if waiting for her to tell him.

She’ll tell him like ripping the band aid. Get it over with. “Robert Sink came to visit me at the hospital the other day. Offered me a job. I’ll be trained as a paratrooper before training and leading the men in medical training. I leave tomorrow morning.”

Rebecca looked away before she could see her father’s reaction.

It was deadly silent.

A few moments went by before the young woman decided he was angry. She stood up abruptly. There was nothing she could do. She makes her way over to him and bends down, kissing his cheek. “Good night, Papa.”

Unable to say anything, Hank watches as she goes to her room.

It was before dawn when Rebecca woke up. Quietly, she got ready to not wake up her father. She couldn’t sleep last night. Guilt kept her awake like a constant nightmare.

The uniform stares her in her face. Sink was ever so gracious to send her the uniform beforehand. She wondered where he was able to get a skirt for her.

As Rebecca looks at herself in the mirror, she runs her fingers across the screaming eagle patch.

By the time she had packed her bag and made her way downstairs, her father stood in the kitchen. His face softens when he sees her in her uniform.

“Oh, look at you.” He reaches out to hold her hand as he gives her a weak smile with teary eyes, "I am so proud of you, my dear.”

She pulls him into a tight hug. She lets out a breath of relief.

“I was selfish in thinking I could keep you with me forever,” he whispers, “I know you’ll always be my little girl.”

Her lips quivers, “Thank you for everything,” she takes a shaky breath, “It’s time for me to go.”

He pulls away from her to plant a kiss on her forehead.

“I love you, Papa,” Rebecca whispers as she squeezes his hand one last time. Trying to hide her emotions, she gives him a fake smile. Just like her mother used to do.

“And I love you, my dear.” He gives her hand another squeeze before he lets go.

#band of brothers #hbo war #lewis nixon #female oc #Lewis Nixon fic #Lewis Nixon imagine #band of brothers fic #band of brothers imagine #richard winters #ronald speirs #easy company #donald malarkey #george luz #frank perconte #harry welsh #joe liebgott #joe toye

[blurredcolour]

I Wish You Love | Part One

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Lewis Nixon x Housemaid!Female Reader

Watching Miss Isobel encourage Lieutenant Nixon's affections only to ignore his letters as soon as he's deployed proves too much for you to bear.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Angst, Class Divide, Infidelity, Dishonesty, Discussion of War Wounds, Language, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Reader's nationality is British and liberties have been taken in describing her background and family life for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. A good portion of this fic will be letter-based. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 4611

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

You had met Lewis Nixon first. On a misty morning in early December 1943 when The Honourable Isobel St John’s dog, Dash III, was yet again carelessly let out of the house by the naïve kitchen maid Else. The poor girl, freshly arrived from Austria, meant well, truly. But she simply did not seem to comprehend the vastness of Lydiard Park, nor the fact that a great portion of it had become off limits, requestioned by the 101st Airborne to construct a field hospital in anticipation of the invasion of France.

Wrapping a shawl around the shoulders of your black service dress, lace collar at your throat, you had forced yourself out into the damp chill, shoes crunching on the pea gravel path as you had called out for the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. Miss Isobel thought quite highly of herself, typical middle child syndrome if one were being quite honest, and had kept a series of Cavalier’s named after Queen Victoria’s own – though she preferred the Blenheim colouring to the original’s tri-coloured coat. Of all the staff, and humans, at Lydiard House, Dash III was most likely to respond to you and so this task was one with which you were quite familiar.

What you had not expected to find was the missing canine squirming in the arms of a handsome American Lieutenant, desperately trying to lick at his striking jawline.

“Dash!” You had cried out at the state of his filthy coat, the majority of the white streaked with mud.

“That’s your name, then, is it?” The Lieutenant had smirked, a label bearing the last name of ‘Nixon’ stitched onto his uniform above his left breast pocket.

“Dash the third, Leftenant.” You had gulped roughly at the broad grin that had unfurled across his features at your British pronunciation of his rank.

“Dash the third. I am Lewis Nixon the third, what destiny we should meet.” Nixon had addressed the filthy dog fondly, prompting him to squirm in delight, smearing all manner of muck onto his uniform.

“I am terribly sorry for the trouble, sir, please allow me.” You had moved to take Dash from Nixon, but the gentle shake of his head had halted your movements.

“Not at all, miss, I’m assuming this rogue Dash belongs up at the house?” He had raised an eyebrow and you had nodded quickly. “Allow me then, my clothes are meant to get dirty.” He had tucked the dog under his arm more securely and began walking back with you. “I take it this is not Dash’s first great escape?”

You had shaken your head quickly, biting back a laugh. “Unfortunately not, Leftenant. I truly appreciate your help returning him to us. Miss Isobel will be relieved.”

“And how about you?” Nixon had inquired with a grin.

You had looked to your feet quickly, the expression only making him transition from good looking to dangerously handsome. “Grateful, of course, sir.”

“And is that what I should call you? Grateful? Is that her name, Dash?” He had looked down to the dog beneath his arm, earning a warm tongue along his cheek in response.

A laugh had escaped your lips before you had introduced yourself properly as the pair of you neared the 18th century Palladian style home. “Please follow me to the kitchen door, Leftenant, I’ll need to give Dash a bath before he is unleashed upon the household.”

Nixon’s appearance in the servants’ hall had caused quite a stir, earning him an introduction to the family upstairs upon which Miss Isobel had immediately set her eyes on him. The Honourable Isobel St John was a complicated woman and while you were the same age, born in 1918, your experiences and perceptions of the world could not have been more different. Third child of Viscount Bolingbroke, what she lacked in social standing she more than made up for in entitlement.

While her parents, Bertrand and Elizabeth St John were disappointed in her unwed state at the age of twenty-five, four years into the war it was more common than not. And it was not for any lack of suitors on Miss Isobel’s part. A veritable parade of uniformed men had joined the family at the simpler dinner parties they now hosted, particularly with their eldest child and only son taken prisoner by the Japanese so early in the war. With eldest daughter Gwendoline busily running her own household with two children, and youngest Rosamund off with the Auxiliary Territorial Service, Lydiard House was held hostage by the whims and desires of Miss Isobel. And through the winter of 1943 into spring 1944 that had been Lieutenant Lewis Nixon.

From the glimpses you caught of him whilst serving cocktails and dinner, the lack of footmen pressing housemaids such as yourself into service in unusual roles, and the starry-eyed descriptions provided by Miss Isobel herself as you helped her dress and undress before said gatherings, it seemed Lieutenant Nixon fit in quite well at an upper-class table. Naturally his duties prevented him from visiting every weekend, but he was present more often than not, and as the weather grew warmer, he and Miss Isobel would take long walks on the grounds still available to the St John family, Dash happily accompanying them on a leash.

Lieutenant Nixon was polite and friendly, greeting you with a familiar nod when you would fetch Dash for his meal as they were lounging beside the lake, or throwing you a smile as you would hold out his preferred whiskey on a silver tray before dinner. But you by no means expected his generosity that rainy Sunday in mid-April. Having taken the majority of the day off for your father’s birthday, you had seen to it that Miss Isobel was dressed and on her way to breakfast, before changing into a once-colourful dress of your own, frowning as the skies opened up.

Pulling on your Macintosh, you tucked your small gift into the inside pocket before dashing out to the garage to fetch your bicycle, heading down the gravel drive toward the road into town when Lieutenant Nixon’s covered jeep pulled up beside you.

“Where are you going in this deluge?!” He peered out at you, and you swallowed.

“Good morning, Leftenant. Headed into Swindon to see my father. You’ll find Miss Isobel in the breakfast room, sir.”

Your eyes widened as he put the jeep in park, the door swinging open before he dashed around to open the tail gate. “Put your bike the back, I’ll drive you.”

“But sir, I…” You trailed off as the jacket of his uniform was growing darker with rain by the moment and found yourself unable to argue at the expense of his clothing.

You quickly dismounted and surrendered your bicycle, trying not to stare too intently as he easily hoisted it into the back before ushering you into the passenger’s seat on the right side of the vehicle – the positioning utterly foreign, but you quickly dashed inside, sliding off your hood as he jogged back to the driver’s side.

“This is truly unnecessary, Leftenant, it’s out of your way and will only delay you.” You pleaded with him once he was back under the canvas cover.

He gave you his lopsided grin, shaking his head, scattering some raindrops from his garrison cap. “Izzy’ll not even notice, let her enjoy her cold toast.”

You bit your lip savagely, well aware of the degree to which Miss Isobel loathed that nickname, yet she never seemed to correct him on it. Executing a smooth three-point turn, he aimed the jeep back toward the main road and began to drive to Swindon. “How long does it take you to cycle there?”

“About twenty minutes, sir. It’s a nice ride on a dry day.” You undid the buttons on your Macintosh, overheating in the garment, and slid it open to reveal your dress.

Lieutenant Nixon’s glance in your direction, and quick double-take, had you smoothing the hem of it against your knees self-consciously. “I’m sorry, you look lovely, I’m just so used to seeing you in black and white it’s like we’ve landed in Oz and you’re suddenly in Technicolor over there.”

The analogy was so striking that you were completely taken aback.  Laughter bubbled up from your throat as you shook your head and belatedly covered your mouth as he grinned broadly, seeming quite pleased with himself.

“So, you grew up in Swindon?” Nixon asked over the sound of rain pelting the roof and windshield and you nodded quickly.

“Yes, sir.” You swallowed, hands planted in your lap as you tugged at your fingertips nervously.

“Izzy tells me you have a brother fighting in Italy, is that right?”

You looked to him, startled to learn that you had ever been a topic of conversation between him and Miss Isobel. “I do, sir.”

“Is he older or younger than you?” He took his eyes off the road to meet yours briefly, seeming genuinely interested in your answer.

“Johnny is twelve minutes older, sir.”

“Twins?!” His wide, brown eyes flashed back to yours and you nodded with a soft laugh.

“I don’t think I’ve met a twin before…” He murmured thoughtfully. “And what does your father do?”

Swallowing nervously, you glanced out the window a moment to carefully formulate your answer. “He picks up work at the Swindon Railway Works.” You replied, leaving out the part that he only did so when he was physically well enough. The loss of his leg on the Somme was a wound that had never fully healed and nagged him more and more as he got older.

“Do you get to see him often?” He asked, making the turn into town easily as you shook your head sadly.

“Not as often as I should – it’s his birthday today, though, so I asked to take most of the day a few months ago.”

“Well, wish him a happy birthday for me, will you?” He smiled and you nodded before guiding him through the streets to the simpler, working-class neighbourhood where the one-bedroom flat you’d grown up in was located.

Lieutenant Nixon parked the jeep in front of the building and the pair of you hurried out into the rain to retrieve your bicycle from the back. You had just finished thanking him profusely when you turned to see your father standing in the doorway on his crutches, not wearing prosthetic leg. It was no surprise, actually, in weather like this he found the thing extremely uncomfortable.

A look of understanding crossed Lieutenant Nixon’s face and he insisted on walking you to the door, offering his hand to shake your father’s.

“Happy Birthday, sir.”

Your baffled father had shaken it in return with his thanks, completely taken aback by the American Lieutenant on his doorstep.

“Thank you again, Leftenant.”

“It was my pleasure, enjoy your afternoon off.” He smiled and dashed back to the car as you ushered your father inside, explaining everything as you helped him to his chair.

Mercifully, when it came time for you to return to Lydiard House for the evening, the rain had eased up and you were able to cycle back without getting soaked to the skin. As you came up the drive, you spotted Lieutenant Nixon and Miss Isobel walking arm in arm, heads bent toward one another as Dash walked alongside. You dismounted quickly, trying to be discrete, but the dog turned as soon as he caught your scent, barking happily in greeting.

“Ah, you’re back.” Miss Isobel said flatly.

“Good Evening Miss Isobel, Leftenant Ni–“

“Oh, don’t be so British, it’s Lieutenant.” Miss Isobel cut you off, tone rather condescending as she slipped the leash from the Lieutenant’s grasp and held it out toward you expectantly. “Will you take Dash inside for his meal? Then I’ll see you to change for dinner.”

You hurried to close the distance, pushing your bike along with you as you took the leash from her, Dash happily wending his way between your ankles in greeting. “Certainly, Miss.” You replied patiently before excusing yourself with a curtsy, leading the dog inside, finding it rather awkward to manage the bicycle as well but after nearly ten years of serving the St John family you knew better than to test Miss Isobel.

“I think it’s charming how she says it.” You bit the inside of your cheek savagely, trying not to overhear Lieutenant Nixon’s defense of your pronunciation, particularly when Miss Isobel replied in a sultry voice.

“I’ll tell you what’s charming…” The rest of her statement was mercifully out of the range of your hearing as you tucked your bicycle away in the garage.

As the calendar flipped to May, Lieutenant Nixon’s presence became less and less frequent at Lydiard and the ever-impatient Miss Isobel’s eye began to wander. It most certainly was not your place to have an opinion, or loyalties to any of her suitors, but the presence of a RAF pilot named Shore left a sour taste in your mouth.

It was early on June 7 when the first of Lieutenant Nixon’s letters to Miss Isobel arrived. Placing it on a silver tray, you took it up first thing in the morning when you went up to dress her for the day. It sat on her vanity, unopened still, when you changed her for dinner with Captain Shore, remained there while she flirted with him brightly through the meal, and was brushed into the dust bin as you undressed her for bed. “Oh, Miss I think you…”

“That will be all, good night.” She waved her hand dismissively and you frowned, excusing yourself with a nod before stepping out of the room.

Sitting heavily on your twin bed in the attic, the metal frame creaking in protest, your brow remained furrowed as all you could picture was Lieutenant Nixon’s caring face as he had listened attentively to your answers whilst going out of his way to drive you into town. He was a kind and considerate man, not to mention excruciatingly handsome, but now that he was out of sight, he was quite simply out of Miss Isobel’s mind. For all anyone knew he could be lying dead in France somewhere by now, the news of the invasion fresh in everyone’s mind, particularly the steep toll and tenuous hold.

“You keep making that face and it’ll get stuck like that.” Helen, your roommate chided warmly, and you blinked rapidly, shaking your head to clear it with a self-deprecating laugh.

“Just overthinking things, sorry Helen. Shall I get the light?”

With her agreement, you flicked the switch off at the wall and shuffled back to bed, sliding under the covers, mulling over the conundrum of the unopened letter upstairs. You would be emptying that dustbin tomorrow morning while Miss Isobel was at breakfast. Perhaps you should rescue it in case she changed her mind. Plan formulated, you were able to get some rest and later secured the correspondence, storing it in the bottom of your suitcase.

One week later, the second letter arrived, and you took it up to Miss Isobel hopefully.

“Oh, you can stop bringing these to me, I shan’t be taking up correspondence with him.” She muttered dismissively, not even taking the letter from the tray on which you presented it to her.

Your entire body went rigid for a moment, and it took a great summoning of strength to reply, “Yes, Miss.”

“And take Dash for an extra long walk, would you, he’s been positively listless the past few weeks and the weight of his gaze is quite a bore.” She sank in the vanity chair expectantly as you glanced over at the dog, lying forgotten on his plush, velvet bed, no longer of use to her as Captain Shore was allergic.

“Yes, Miss.” Your reply was perhaps terser than it ought to be, but to your good fortune, Miss Isobel was already flipping through a magazine idly as she waited for you to begin styling her hair.

Drawing deeply from your well of restraint, you managed not to jab her scalp with any pins as you secured her hair into a set of fashionable victory rolls before you called to Dash to take him for a walk. As you descended the stairs, you took the abandoned letter from its tray and shoved it into your pocket, grabbing Dash’s leash from the backdoor in the servant’s hall and heading out for a lengthy walk of the grounds. It did both of you good to get out of that house, Dash immediately perking up, tailing wagging as he trotted to-and-fro to inspect the foliage while you worked out your frustration at the petulant child you worked for by setting a brisk pace.

You only slowed after about thirty minutes, when a sheen of sweat had gathered at your brow and your legs were beginning to ache, changing to a stroll as you circled the lake, laughing softly as Dash barked at the ducks far out in the water who paid him no mind. “I promise to bring you out here more often, you silly boy.” You muttered, sliding a hand into your pocket and blinking as you found the letter, guilt twisting like a knife in your belly. “Because there’s a lot to make up for when it comes to your mistress.”

Swallowing tightly, you slowly pulled out the envelope, looking over Lieutenant Nixon’s tidy cursive. Certainly, there were laws against reading another’s mail, but the immorality of entertaining a man’s affections for six months only to throw him over as soon as he went to war seemed to outweigh all that in your mind. He had taken the time to write to an ungrateful, spoiled woman, the least someone could do was grant him the courtesy of reading it. Johnny had always said what a joy it was to send and receive letters, how it took his mind off life at the front first in North Africa and now Italy, and as someone who got to enjoy the safety and comfort of home it was a duty in your mind to do whatever you could to help those fighting for the Allies.

Taking a shaky breath, you carefully slipped the letter from the pre-sliced envelope – Miss Isobel was not even expected to open her own mail, after all – and unfolded the sheets of paper.

Pressing your fingertips to your lips, you only realized your feet had stopped their progress across the lawn when Dash’s leash tugged at your wrist insistently before he bounded over to you, pressing his paws onto your calf impatient to continue on. “Sorry, Dash, yes.” You whispered, carefully folding the letter and sliding it back into its envelope before returning it to your pocket.

For all his jokes and smirks, there had always been an air of melancholy about Lieutenant Nixon, one that he seemed to hide beneath a good story and strong drink. The only crime, as far as you could see, would be for his letters, written with such care and affection and filled with a need for connection, to remain unanswered. You could write well-enough, had received excellent marks on your cursive before you left school at sixteen to begin working and supporting your father as his old wound had become more and more troublesome.

You would, of course, toe the line of impersonating your employer. There would be no soppy declarations, just descriptions of the home and the family. Stories to keep his spirits up – just as he requested. Begging out of the after-dinner socializing with the rest of the staff due to a headache, you slipped up to your room to retrieve the first letter from the bottom of your suitcase and sat on your bed to read it as well, intending to reply to both.

Settling against the headboard with some fresh paper and a pen, you nibbled on the end of it thoughtfully, trying to decide how to begin your response.

Lieutenant Nixon

My Dear Lewis

Dearest Lewis

“You’d think I was trying to reinvent the wheel…” You hissed under your breath before grabbing a new sheet of paper and starting anew.

You bit your lip as you signed off, taking more than a little pleasure in perpetuating a nickname you knew Miss Isobel loathed. There were moments in the letter where you may have let a bit more of your own personality shine through but on the whole, you were satisfied that it was a rather good impersonation of your mistress. And most important of all, provided Lieutenant Nixon with the fuel for his imagination that he so longed for.

Preparing an envelope with the mailing address and Miss Isobel’s return address, you carefully folded it all up once the ink had properly dried and placed it in the outgoing post that night after you’d helped Miss Isobel change for bed. In your thoughts as you fell asleep was not only the hope for your brother’s safe return, but also that of Lieutenant Nixon, too.

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

Read Part Two

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24

#lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon imagines #lewis nixon imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fic #band of brothers

[batmanschmatman]

@heystovepipeboys and I have been working on this fic all last week and I am very excited to get it out in the world for other folks to look at! it's a complete, multichapter winnix fic where Nix dies in Holland and Dick can't accept it. enjoy!!!

#band of brothers #winnix #dick winters #lewis nixon #hbo war #hbowar #my fic

[mads-weasley]

Epiphany Pt. 9: Lover

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Inspo: Lover (First Dance Version): Taylor Swift

A/N: the awaited chapter is here!!! i hope y'all enjoy! this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Word Count: 5k

Summary: As (y/n) and Lew explore Paris, the city itself seems to push them together, and the city of love brings them together atop the Eiffel Tower in a beautiful culmination of the past few years.

(Y/n) woke up with the sun, its gentle rays filtering through her room’s curtains, casting a warm, golden hue on everything it touched. She let out a soft, tired yawn and gracefully extended her limbs, feeling a slight twinge as the mended muscles in her side protested at the movement. The wound, though healed, still sent stabs of discomfort whenever she exerted herself or took a breath too deeply.

A sigh escaped her, and she glanced at the clock by her bedside: 8:34 AM. Then, a wide, contented smile curved her lips as the memories of the incredible night spent with Lew danced in her mind. The magical evening had brought them even closer, and the potential of the day ahead filled her with excitement.

Throwing back the covers, she carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed, her heart already beating a little faster in anticipation. Clad in her PT shirt and shorts, she tiptoed to the hallway, steps light with excitement. As (y/n) knocked on Lew’s door, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of déjá vu. The last time she stood there, it was with a different kind of worry; a deep-rooted concern for his well-being. But today, it was all about the anticipation of the day ahead.

Expecting to find Nix either still asleep or in the process of waking up, she was surprised when he opened the door, fully dressed and ready for the day. She raised a brow in suspicion at the unexpected sight. 

“Good morning,” he chirped, his gaze subtly trailing down her body to her bare legs before he seemed to catch himself, letting her in his room. It was almost an identical match to hers, right down to the less-than-appealing bright orange bedspread. She playfully plopped down on the mostly made-up bed. 

“Where are you headed off to? I didn’t even think you’d be up,” she remarked, curiosity lacing her words. 

Leaning against the closed door, he rolled his eyes, a light blush gracing his cheeks “Well, I have a big day planned for us, so we need to get an early start.”

(Y/n) looked at him with a mixture of surprise and amusement, her eyes narrowing. “Who are you, and what have you done with Lewis Nixon?”

He chuckled, moved closer to her and took her hand, leading her toward the door. “Go get ready and I’ll come get you in an hour.”

“What have you got planned, Lew?” She asked, a sense of anticipation building within her. Opening her door, she leaned against its frame. “Please tell me,” she begged, peeing up into his soft browns. 

“You’ll just have to wait and see, (y/n/n),” he grinned mischievously. “Trust me, you’re gonna love it.”

Sighing with a fake pout, she entered her room, giving him a wary look. 

”Go on,” Lew retorted, playfully gesturing for her to shut the door. “I’m not gonna tell you…yet.” 

The twinkle in his eyes promised a day of adventure, and with the click of the door, she began running around getting ready. Excitement bubbled within her, and the thought of spending the whole day with Lew, exploring Paris, made her heart flutter. She quickly changed out of her PT gear and into her khaki service uniform, paired with a jacket. 

In what felt like no time, she was ready and stood before the small mirror, adjusting her clothes with a smile. The longer she inspected her reflection, the more her smile fell. The memories of donning flattering dresses for dances and nights out with friends tugged at her heart. 

A light knock on the door startled her from her thoughts, and she opened it to find Lew waiting outside holding a package, wearing his own khaki service uniform.

“Special delivery,” he grinned. 

As (y/n) spotted the package in Nix’s hands, confusion danced in her eyes. She had no inkling of what could be inside. She hesitated for a moment, surprised by the unexpected gesture, then took the package from him with a warm but puzzled smile.

“Is this…for me?” she asked, turning the package over in her hands.

Lewis nodded, the corner of his lips quirking into a smile. “Open it.”

With a hint of skepticism, she moved to the bed and sat down. Her fingers traced the edges of the wrapping, feeling the paper under her touch. She slowly tore it open, revealing the lavish box within. As (y/n) opened the box, her eyes widened in surprise and delight. She gently lifted its contents from the box, a soft fabric flowing through her fingers. 

It was the dress from the shop window.

The colors were beautiful, a blend of blues and greens, like that of the ocean on a clear day. It was absolutely beautiful, and she felt her heart skip a beat.

“How did you…?” she started, lost for words.

Leaning against the doorframe, he grinned. “A little bit of magic. I have my ways.”

“Oh, Lew,” she breathed, looking up at his with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “This is…wow.”

“Try it on,” Lew encouraged gently, noting her hesitation.

Her voice was full of pure joy as she hugged him tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Feeling her excitement, Lew chuckled softly. It was a joy to see her so happy, and the sound of her laughter filled the room, making everything seem a little brighter. She pulled back slightly and planted a grateful kiss on his cheek. It was a soft touch that left a lingering warmth on his skin. He could feel the gentle press of her lips, a touch that seemed to linger for a moment longer.

Nix grinned down at her as she pulled away. “Go on,” he urged, nodding toward the bathroom.

She hurriedly went to change, feeling a mix of excitement and anticipation. Slipping out of her boxy service uniform, she carefully slid into the dress. As she stood before the mirror, clad in the dress, her breath caught in her throat. It was a sight she hadn’t seen in years, a vision of femininity that had been suppressed for years. The dress draped over her frame gracefully, the fabric gently caressing her skin. Her eyes met her reflection, and for a moment, she was taken aback. It was her, and yet, it felt like she was seeing someone else. The woman in the mirror was strong, resilient, and beautiful. The dress, with its simple yet elegant design, accentuated her features, highlighting the curves and lines of her body.

Tears welled up in her eyes, reflecting the myriad of emotions swirling within her. It had been so long since she felt like a woman; feminine, delicate, and simply herself. The war had taken so much from her, including the chance to embrace her womanhood. But in this moment, in this dress, she felt a glimpse of it once more. She took a deep breath and attempted to zip up the back of the dress. Despite her efforts, she found it surprisingly difficult to do it on her own. The zipper seemed determined to elude her, mocking her efforts. 

(Y/n) emerged from the bathroom, her steps tentative, but her face radiant with a newfound sense of confidence. Her hair was down, and her eyes shone with a captivating blend of excitement and nervousness. She stopped a few feet from him, allowing him to take her in. Nix’s eyes widened, and she couldn’t help but blush under his gaze. It was an unspoken compliment that made her feel more beautiful than she had in years.

Lew was momentarily struck by her beauty, a mixture of awe and adoration enveloping him. He had seen her in her uniform every day, but this was different; She looked like a vision, like a magnificent piece of art that hung in the Louvre. He stood up off the doorframe, a beaming smile gracing his face as he took in her appearance. 

“Would you mind…uh…zipping me up?” she asked, a blush tinting her cheeks. It was a simple request, but it held a significance that made her heart flutter. For Lewis, her request set his heart racing. It was an intimate act, and he nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

“Of course,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

As she turned, her back exposed, he saw how the dress delicately revealed her skin.  She brushed her hair gently to the side. (Y/n)’s skin was bare against the zipper, and Lew could feel his fingers trembling slightly with nervousness. He took a steadying breath, trying to focus on the task at hand. 

His fingertips brushed against her back as began to pull the zipper up, his touch light and cautious, yet filled with a tenderness he couldn’t contain. The sensation of her bare skin beneath his fingers sent shivers down his spine, igniting a warmth that spread through him. Lew tried to keep his focus on the zipper, on the task at hand, but he couldn’t help being acutely aware of her presence and the intimacy of the moment. 

As Nix finished zipping up her dress, he paused for a moment, taking in the sight before him. (Y/n) looked stunning, the dress accentuating her features in a way that made his breath catch. He felt a surge of pride that he had chosen something that made her smile and feel beautiful.

When she turned to face him, her cheeks dusted pink with a sheepish smile and he grinned back. “You look absolutely breathtaking,” he breathed, his voice laced with awe.

“Thank you, Lew,” she replied. “That means more to me than you know.”

Nix gently brushed a few strands of her (y/h/c) hair back from her face. His fingers were careful and tender, lightly grazing her skin, allowing her to feel their warmth. For a brief second, their eyes locked unspoken emotions passing between them like a silent conversation.

In that moment, it was as if time slowed down. She felt his touch, gentle and reassuring, and something more; a connection that stirred her. The intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on either of them.

He stepped back, breaking the gentle spell, and gestured toward the door. “Shall we?” 

(Y/n) closed the door behind her with a wide smile. “Absolutely.”

As they made their way to the lobby, she noticed the bustling atmosphere of the hotel. Guests were going about their day, the sound of chatter and laughter filling the air. There was a certain charm to it, one that she’d come to associate with the beautiful city. 

Lew held the door for her as they stepped out into the lively Parisian streets. It was a beautiful morning, the city alive despite how desolate the night before had been. The crisp air carried the faint smell of coffee and pastries, mixing with the sounds of distant street musicians and the lively chatter of the bustling city. 

“So what’s first on the agenda?” She asked, her eyes shining with curiosity.

He beamed, tucking his arm through hers as they strolled down the street. “Breakfast.”

(Y/n) chucked, feeling pure joy as they wandered through the vibrant streets, looking for the perfect café to start their adventure.

After a hearty breakfast and several cups of coffee to fuel them for the day, (y/n) and Lewis set out for the day’s adventures. Lew guided her through the cobbled streets, past charming little shops, cafés, and artistic displays. The world seemed to be at ease, the Eiffel Tower standing tall in the distance.

As they walked, he shared stories of the city, tales of its history, art, and its resilience under Nazi occupation. She listened intently, captivated by both the tales and the storyteller himself. Every once in a while, he’d move his hand to her waist to direct her through a crowd, and each time, a gentle flutter danced in her chest. 

They found themselves in Montmartre, a place seemingly frozen in time with its cobbled streets and rustic buildings. It was there that they stumbled upon a charming art gallery tucked away on a cobblestone side street. Sharing an intrigued look, they decided to step inside.

Lew’s eyes were drawn to a particular piece that captured his attention: a painting of Paris at night. The artist had beautifully blended dark blues and purples to form the backdrop of the city with twinkling lights like stars on the ground. The Eiffel Tower stood tall, a beacon of bright elegance against the dark canvas.

“Look at his,” he said, gesturing toward the work.

(Y/n) stared at the piece in wonder. “I don’t know how people are so talented.”

“Me neither.” 

As they stood before the painting, they became captivated by the way the artist had recreated the magic of Paris after dark. It was a beautiful representation of the city and echoing its vibrant nightlife. The gallery held many such treasures, each reflecting the essence of the city they had grown to love. After a few hours of perusing the artwork and exploring, Lewis led them to their next stop.

In the heart of Paris, Notre Dame Cathedral stood as a timeless testament to history and faith. (Y/n) and Lew approached the iconic structure, awestruck by its intricate details and towering spires.

They stepped into the cool, dim interior, and were greeted by the hushed whispers of other visitors. Rays of sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the worn wooden pews and mosaic floor.

“This is my mother’s favorite,” Nix spoke, his voice hushed. “She loved to come here and pray.”

(Y/n) watched his eyes slowly rise to the cross at the front of the sanctuary as he continued quietly. “She needs it being married to my father.”

Sliding his arm from hers, she wrapped her hand around his bicep, squeezing softly in a gesture that told him she was there. “We’d sometimes come here just to get away. She never told Blanche and I, but we knew.”

Their footsteps echoed through the ancient halls as they slowly walked down the aisle. (Y/n) could sense the weight of Lew’s memories as he revisited the cathedral. She was honored to be allowed into a part of his life that was incredibly personal, but also heartbroken that he had such memories.

“I’m sorry,” (y/n) said gently, her voice filled with empathy.

He shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “Visiting here makes me feel close to her. I miss her more than I thought I would. Her and Blanche both.”

They reached the side chapel, its walls adorned with flickering candles and well-worn prayer benches. Lew paused, gazing at a flickering candle as if lost in thought. 

“When I visited alone, sometimes I’d light a candle for her,” he continued, his voice still soft. “I’d pray for her peace, for our family.”

(Y/n) watched the flame, feeling incredible respect for the woman who shaped him into the man he was today; the man she’d fallen in love with. She imagined the strength it must have taken for Lew’s mother to endure and protect her children. 

“Your mother sounds like an incredible woman,” she murmured.

He nodded, a distant look in his eyes. “She is. Back home, she’s the national vice-president of the AWVS.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened slightly. “Wow. That’s amazing.”

Looking down at her, he grinned, a glint of love in his eyes. “So are you,” he whispered as he gently hooked his arm around hers began leading them to the exit. 

(Y/n)’s face warmed as they stepped out into the chilly Parisian air, and Lew took a deep breath, exhaling a sense of relief. “(Y/n), thank you.”

“For what?” she asked.

“For being there.”

She gently squeezed his arm, offering a somforting smile. “Always.”

It was around noon by the time they made their way back to the main street after visiting the beautiful Luxembourg gardens. Amidst the lively street scene, (y/n) noticed a quaint bookshop, its windows decorated with book covers and handwritten signs announcing what she guessed were the latest arrivals.

She gasped softly, her eyes brightening with excitement as she pulled on Nix’s arm. “Lew, look at that bookshop! Can we go in?”

He smiled at her eagerness. “Lead the way, corporal.”

They stepped into the bookshop, and (y/n) felt a rush of warmth and nostalgia. The scent of old and new books mingled, and the soft lighting created a cozy atmosphere. Wooden shelved reached the ceiling, packed with books of varying sizes, colors, and languages. 

“This is what I imagine heaven is like,” (y/n) whispered, her eyes alight with glee.

Her eyes danced with delight as she roamed the aisles, trailing her fingers over the spines of the books. Lew watched her, admiring the way her face lit up with each new discovery, her enthusiasm infectious. He might not be an avid reader, but seeing her so joyful made his heart swell. As she continued to explore the shelves, Lewis found himself pulled into her enthusiasm. He picked up a few books that seemed interesting to him, mostly based on historical events and memoirs. 

As they browsed through the shelves, they would occasionally pick out a book that caught their eye, sharing it with the other. They read aloud interesting excerpts, laughing or pondering over the words.They spent a good amount of time immersed in the shelves, exchanging stories and good conversation. Sometimes, their fingers brushed against each other, causing a blush to creep onto their faces.

Lew was engrossed in the books before him as (y/n) browsed the neighboring bookshelf. She couldn’t help but steal glances at the man she was completely in love with. His focused expression hinted at the stories and emotions the books invoked within him. Fascinated by the glint in his eye and the subtle smile gracing hi lips, (y/n) drifted closer to him. 

Lew’s deep boice pulled her from her thoughts, his words tinged with excitement. “Hey, (y/n). I think you’ll like this one,” he called, holding up a slightly worn book with a dark red cover. 

Her eyes widened in amazement as she read the title,”Roméo et Juliette.” A gasp of delight escaped her lips. “No way! And it’s in French!” she exclaimed. “I don’t speak French, but I have to have this.”

She watched as Nix smiled, the affection in his gaze not lost on her. “Mon cœur a-t-il aimé jusqu'à présent?” he began, the words rolling off his tongue beautifully. renoncez-y, vue! Car je n'ai jamais vu la vraie beauté jusqu'à cette nuit.”

Entranced by his almost perfect french, she listened intently as his gaze remained on her. The way he looked at her made her feel cherished and appreciated, as if she were the most beautiful story in this quaint bookstore.

“What does it mean?” she asked softly, her voice unsteady under his gaze.

Lew shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face. “It’s a quote from Romeo and Juliet, but I can’t remember which part.”

(Y/n) raised a speculative eyebrow as amusement danced in her eyes. “If you say so,” she paused, grabbing the book from his hand. “I’m gonna get this.”

Little did she know that he knew exactly what he’d said.

“Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For i ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”

Later That Night:

The city was awash with the golden hues of twilight, slowly surrendering to the incandescent glow of a thousand streetlights. (Y/n) and Lewis strolled arm in arm down a broad, bustling street, their breath visible in the cold evening air, drawing them closer together in search of warmth. A musician serenaded the area with the sweet melodies of his violin from a nearby street corner. The couple walked in silence. It was welcome, but (y/n) decided to break it with a question.

“So,” she began softly, the night breeze carrying her words gently into the air. “What do you think you’ll do when we finally go home?”

Lew looked down at her, the soft glow of the streetlights playing across his features. An indiscernible expression passed over his face as he carefully chose his words. “I honestly don’t know,” he replied, hiding his true desire. “I think I’m going to offer Dick a position to work for me at the Nitration Works.”

In truth, he knew exactly what he wanted to do when he got home. He wanted to marry the woman in front of him, to start a life with her, to build a future together. But those words remained unsaid, guarded in his heart as he waited for the right moment to reveal them.

Her thoughtful gaze met his, and a playful grin tugged at her lips. “What if someone else happened to be looking for a job? Someone like your best friend?

Lew chuckled, masking the way his heart jolted at the suggestion. “Ehh,” he shrugged, his expression light-hearted. “Harry’s gonna marry Kitty the second we get back, so-”

(Y/n) mockingly scoffed, releasing his arm and stepping back, feigning offense. “Shut up! You’re such a-”

But her rebuke was halted as he gently drew her back toward him, his hand resting warmly on her waist, bringing her almost flush against his chest. In that moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, and a wave of shudders passed through her. 

“-Wonderful human being?” He finished, a knowing glint in his eyes and a touch of mischief in his voice. They stood close, their breaths mingling in the chilly air. “I think something can be arranged. I do know the owners, after all.”

“You wouldn’t get tired of me?” (Y/n) mumbled, feeling his warm breath on her face, the possibility both thrilling and nerve-wracking.

His eyes locked onto hers, seeing a future reflected in their depths. “Never. I’ll never get tired of you, (y/n/n).”

A tender smile crept across her lips, her heart pulsating with a mixture of excitement and affection. “Well,” she softly murmured, laying a gentle hand on his chest. “I’m glad that’s settled, then.”

“Good,” he whispered, his voice smooth as honey. ”Look up.”

(Y/n) glanced at him briefly before lifting her gaze to follow his. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Eiffel Tower before her and how it seemingly touched the clouds. 

 “Wow,” she breathed, the wonder and awe evident in her voice as she took in the sight. “It’s more beautiful than I could ever imagine.”

Lew’s eyes softened as he looked at her, a smile gracing his features. He gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “More than words can describe.”

Her awestruck gaze shifted to him, and he turned and held his hand out for her, the other gesturing toward the tower’s entrance. “Shall we?”

Nodding, she took his hand, intertwining their fingers softly, a heat spreading up her arm at the contact. Together, they made their way toward the entrance, anticipation in the air as they boarded the lift and ascended the tower. The iron structure offered a breathtaking view of Paris, like a million stars scattered across the earth. The Seine River glimmered below, winding its way through the heart of the city.

Reaching the topmost platform, they exited the lift and icy wind hit their faces. (Y/n) instinctively turned into Lew, and he wrapped an arm around her waist carefully, pulling her into his side. They made their way to the railing and leaned against it, taking in the panorama before them. At the top of the tower, amidst the twinkling lights of Paris, the air was charged with expectation, and the city below them a dreamy canvas where romance seemed to linger in every corner.

“It’s like a sea of lights,” (y/n) marveled, her voice tinged with wonder.

Lew nodded, captivated by her. “It never gets old.”

They stood there holding the other close, lost in the beauty of the scene. The night seemed to stretch endlessly, time freezing as they reveled in the magic of the moment. After a while, Lew looked down at her in his arms, his gaze soft. 

“You know,” he began, voice gentle. “Today has been one of the best days I’ve ever had.”

She smiled, the moment washing over her like a warm embrace. “Me too, Lewis. There’s no place I’d rather be.”

This was it.

Lew hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before turning to face her and taking her hand in his. “(Y/n), you’re the most important person in my life.”

When you got hit,” he continued, his voice strained but steady as he cleared his throat. “I realized that I can’t live without you. When you were gone, I-” His voice trailed off, a lump forming in his throat as he grappled with the memories of that moment.

(Y/n) stood in front of him, her breath held and heart thundering in her chest. The gravity of his words sank in, and she searched his eyes, finding a vulnerability she’d glimpsed only once before: the moment she lay bleeding out before him as he begged her to stay awake. She couldn’t bear to hear more and her heart urged her to act. So, before he could continue, a surge of courage and longing flowed through her. She slid her hand to the nape of his neck and pulled him down toward her slowly. Lew then tugged her tightly against him, her body fitting perfectly into his embrace. The warmth of her presence, the scent of her hair, and the beating of her heart against his chest fueled the intensity of the moment.

As their lips met, it was an electric collision of emotions. Passion surged through their veins, a fierce and tender connection that ignited a fire within them. Her lips were soft and yielding as Lew fervently deepened the kiss, fueled by years of unvoiced affection. He slid his hand up her waist, feeling the curve of her body. His fingers gently cupped her jaw, tilting her head for a deeper connection. 

(Y/n) responded in kind, her arms wrapped around him, pulling him impossibly closer. Her hand slid into his hair, fingers intertwining with the soft strands. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath her touch, matching the tempo of her own. 

As they reluctantly pulled away, their breathless pants mingled in the cold night air creating a visible mist. Their lips tingled, the echoes of the kiss lingering. Nix could feel his heart racing, an adrenaline-fueled excitement that made him momentarily forget the cold. He smiled, his cheeks flushed with a mix of cold air and warmth from their embrace. 

“Wow.” he managed to say, breathless and amazed.

(Y/n) laughed, a delightful sound that filled the space around them. “Yeah, wow,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with joy and love. 

They stood there, caught in a bubble of euphoria, their laughter ringing in the Parisian night. The world below seemed to carry on, but for that moment, it was just the two of them, wrapped up in the magic of the Eiffel Tower. 

Lewis brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle and affectionate. “I’ve wanted to do that for years, you know. You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. 

Blushing, (y/n)’s smile widened. “I’ve been waiting for you to do that for years,” she teased, her fingers tracing patterns on his coat.

“What?” He asked in disbelief. “I didn’t know that!”

She shrugged. “Well, for an intelligence officer, you can be clueless.”

Smirking, he brought her close once more, their foreheads touching. “I love you. More than anything,” he whispered. His hand, warm and gentle, cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing circles as if to memorize every contour.

(Y/n) smiled, a radiant expression that illuminated the darkness around them. “I love you, too,” she responded, her voice tender, as if afraid this might still be a dream.

The years of unspoken feelings, the shared laughter, the late-night conversations…they had all led to this moment. The Eiffel Tower, with all its history and romantic lore, bore witness to the birth of their love story.

Their lips met again, softer this time, a gentle affirmation of their confessions. It was a kiss that spoke of promises and futures. Nix let his hand fall from her cheek to her waist, pulling her close in a tender embrace.

(Y/n) rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It was a comforting rhythm, a reminder that they had crossed the line they’d been wanting for the longest time.

“I never want this moment to end,” Lew whispered, his voice a tender murmur.

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with love and a tinge of sadness. “Me neither. I wish we could always be this close.”

He nodded, a sense of completeness settling in his heart. The view of Paris below them was still breathtaking, but it paled in comparison to their love, which encompassed their world, lighting it in a dazzling haze. 

(Y/n) gasped suddenly, the sound echoing in the cold air and joltingLew from his thoughts. He looked at her, concern furrowing his brow. “What?” He asked, eyes widening with a mix of surprise and worry.

“Is this why Dick gave us the passes?” She asked, amusement filling her voice.

Nix’s laughter joined the chorus of the Parisian night, a hearty sound that seemed to reverberate through the beams of the tower itself. He found himself shrugging, an innocent look on his face. “Maybe,” he admitted, mischief floating in his eyes.

Tag List: @softguarnere @mrsgeorgeluz @flowers-and-fichte @inglourious-imagines @peggyvan @rebeccapearson @hxad-ovxr-hxart @merriell-allesandro-shelton @shakespear-picaso-lovechild @titiglt @stvrkdream @multifandomfanfic @starlordsatellite @blvestxr @iceman-kazansky

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

#band od brothers #mads' rambles #mads fandoms #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #lewis nixon #band of brothers fanfic #easy company #band of brothers imagines #hbo war #mads' writing mania #mads' fandoms #easy company imagines #easy company x reader #easy company x y/n #band of brothers series #band of brothers fic #dick winters #carwood lipton #richard winters #lewis nixon fluff #lewis nixon imagines #lewis nixon imagine #lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon angst #lewis nixon x reader angst #damian lewis #lewis nixon hurt/comfort #nix x reader

[emilee1421]

Nixon accompanies Winters on a much needed 48 hour pass to Paris…

The concierge flipped nervously through the ledger, glancing up every so often at the two uniformed men at the front desk.

Nix shifted his bag on his shoulder, one dark eyebrow quirked impatiently. He watched Winters as he leaned against the polished wood of the front desk. There were smudges under his eyes, dark and bruise-like, and a slight curve had settled in his shoulders. The past few weeks had been hard for all the men, but they had been especially hard for Winters. He hated handing Easy over to another C.O. and it showed in the creases that now permanently resided between his brows.

“It seems I only have one room available tonight.” The concierge finally said.

“We’ll take it.” Nix cut him off, anxious to get them both out of the crowded lobby before Winters could change his mind about being here. Winters was less than thrilled about the 48 hour pass but the brass had decided a break was necessary for their dedicated Captain. Nix had finally talked him into it and decided to come along to make sure Winters did more than pace and brood for two days.

The concierge pulled the key from a rack behind him. “Third floor, Room 316.”

The elevator doors slid open and Winters followed Nix down the hall until they finally reached the door marked with the gold numbers ‘316’. He opened the heavy door and flipped on the lights, the golden glow of the lamp illuminated the well appointed room and the large bed that took the center of the room.

The only bed.

“I can go back downstairs and see if -”

“We’ll make it work.” Winters sighed tiredly, shouldering past Nix. He dropped his bag onto the luggage rack in the corner of the room then headed to the bathroom. “I’m going to take advantage of some hot water.” he called over his shoulder before pushing the door closed behind him.

Nix poured himself a few fingers of scotch from the decanter on the sideboard before dropping himself down onto the bed, relaxing into the plush duvet and sinking into what must have been the softest mattress he’d ever felt. Though he supposed anything would feel luxurious after countless nights spent in foxholes and the occasional stiff cot. He sipped his scotch, savoring burn as the sound of running water in the bathroom lulled him to sleep.

The rocking motion of the bed jolted him awake. Winters on the other side, dressed in his uniform pants and undershirt, a white towel draped over his shoulders absorbing the drips from his hair. He grabbed several pillows from the bed, piling them onto an arm of the chaise by the window.

“What are you doing?” Nix asked, sitting up and setting his glass aside.

“You can have the bed.” Winters said over his shoulder, pulling a spare blanket from the linen closet and tossing it onto the chaise.

“Dick. Dick c’mon” he caught Winters by his elbow, turning him around to face him.

“You’re here to relax and get some rest” Nix emphasized, leading Winters over to the bed and pushing him down gently by the shoulders. “And that's exactly what you’re gonna do,” he added.

Winters huffed in exasperation, scrubbing a hand over his face before resting his forehead in his palms.

Nix gathered the pillows from the chaise and tossed them onto the bed. Winters, resigned to his fate, settled under the covers and turned away from Nix before flicking off the lamp.

He was pulled from sleep once again by the bed shifting beneath him. He heard Winters roll over, tugging at the sheets and fluffing his pillows. Not even five minutes later the mattress shook again as he rolled to the other side.

“Would you cut it out?!” Nix huffed, flipping over to face winters who was in the process of fluffing his pillow yet again.

Winters scrubbed his hands over his face, sitting up against the headboard “can't sleep” he groaned.

“Yea, that makes two of us now”, nix grumbled back.

“You’re the one who insisted I sleep here.”

The back of Winters’ head thudded against the headboard in frustration and the crease between his brow deepened even as his eyes remained closed. In the moonlight that filtered in through the curtains, Nix could still make out the tense lines around his mouth and the hollows under his eyes. He looked positively exhausted. Smaller somehow. Like the stress of the past few months had eroded his very being. It made Nix’s chest clench with an aching pain behind his ribs.

Nix sat up too, resting against the headboard bedside Winters. The warm brush of their thighs searing him to his core. He’d spent countless nights in close quarters with Winters, bombed out farmhouses and foxholes, sharing body heat under the guise of necessity. But this felt entirely different. Intimate in a way that took his breath out of his lungs and stoked the ember of desire within him.

With two fingers, he tipped Winters’ chin toward him and met that perfect crystalline blue gaze. He moved cautiously slow, always feeling out that ever shifting boundaries between them.

“Let me help you.” He whispered as his thumb grazed the freshly shaved skin of Winters’ jaw. The soft little exhale the touch elicited sent a frisson of heat down Nix’s spine.

He turned in bed toward the other man, cupping Winters’ face in both his hands. And with as much restraint as he could manage, kissed him gently.

Winters tensed at the first brush of his lips but before Nix could pull away, he went slack in his hold. Winters leaned into the kiss, parting his lips, granting permission as Nix’s hands drifted down to his shoulders. Winter’s body uncoiled slowly, relaxing and melting into him as he sucked at his bottom lip and tugged at the hem of his undershirt.

He lifted his arms for Nix to pull the shirt over his head. The smooth pale pains of his chest and arms were etched marble in the silver light and the auburn hair formed a dark path between his pectoral muscles, down his toned abdomen and below where the sheets pooled at his waist.

Nix pressed gentle, nipping kisses to the exposed curve of Winters’ throat as his hand slid down Winters’ chest and abdomen; the taught muscles dancing under his fingers. He paused when he reached the waistband of his boxers, holding his own breath as he cupped the unmistakable bulge that was forming between Winters’ legs.

He squeezed the hardening length, palming the growing outline through the thin material and watching Winters’ face for any sign of discomfort; thanking every known deity when he saw only the tortured throes of desire.

“Is this ok?” Nix asked, voice strained.

Winters nodded, eyes shut tight as he tried to bite back another moan.

Nix pulled his boxer shorts down in one smooth tug, leaving Winters fully bare, all alabaster skin and hewn muscle against the soft sheets. His now fully erect member laid thick and proud against his stomach, the tip blushing a deep scarlet and already leaking pearls of precum. Nix trailed a finger down the prominent vein on the underside, completely enraptured as he watched Winters’ abs ripple at the light, teasing touch.

He glanced back up to Winters’ face. His jaw was tight and he watched Nix back with unmatched intensity; the same way he watched the line late at night. But the shallow, panting breaths and the unmistakable glossiness in those blue eyes left no question in Nix’s mind.

He gripped Winters with a firm, sure hand and gave a few languid strokes, swiping a thumb over the weeping head and working the wetness down his shaft.

Nix continued to watch his face as he worked him toward the edge. He was beautifully flushed; eyes shut tight and mouth slightly open in a silent moan of pleasure. He was perfect.

”That’s it, Dick, let go for me. I’ve got you.” Nix purred in his ear, tightening his grip and working him faster.

Winters nodded, releasing a shuddered breath. He was always the one in control, the one who the men looked to for direction; he held their lives in his hands every day. but in this moment he was all too willing to cede control completely to Nix. It wasn’t weakness or wanton carelessness, but rather a show of absolute trust.

Winters’ breath came in ragged pants as he leaned into Nix’s touch, relaxing his thighs wider to give Nix a better angle and submitting completely to the pleasure.

The sight alone had Nix on the edge himself, his own cock was stiff and throbbing but he focused all his attention on Winters. This was all about him, his pleasure, and his finally letting go of the tension that had been building between them.

He sped up his strokes, twisting his palm over the tip each time and watching closely as Winters’ abs jumped and his thighs trembled as he teetered on the edge. He groaned and a blissed out sob broke from his chest, body shaking violently as he coated Nix’s hand and his own abs with his release.

Winters fell back against the pillows, panting and boneless in the afterglow of bliss.

Nix reached over the side of the bed, grabbing his undershirt from the floor. He gently cleaned the pearly streaks from Winters’ skin.

Winters’ head lolled on his pillow, looking up at Nix with glossy eyes, a deeply satisfied grin spreading over his face as he traced his finger tips down Nix’s chest.

A similar grin pulled at Nix’s lips as he felt the fingers slide down to the band of his boxers.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

#hbo war #band of brothers #lewis nixon #winnix #dick winters #fan fic #ao3 fanfic #bob

[phyllisthefirst]

Am I sliding ever deeper into my "Nixon loves to meddle, gossip and play matchmaker"-era? Yes.

Is it going to be a problem? I don't know, you tell me.

#I just love interpreting *Intelligence Officer* as *knows everything about the people around him and will use it to meddle when he's bored* #only with the best intentions of course #band of brothers #lewis nixon #also it's not a dynamic we see very often but Nixon and Luz interacting? So much fun to write! #and yes I am finally getting back into my Luz/OC-fic #writing tons of scenes except for the next one. you know the one I actually need to post the next part.

[hanniewinnix]

My kids and grandkids will never know how Joe and David made significant changes in my viewpoint of love. They will never know how Joe resented David because he sneaked in Old Spice in the European war theater, how it frustrated Joe that while his snarky, mean behavior is always about David and his viciously gorgeous blue eyes, he actually does want to listen to him talk about school and how he was a student at fucking Harvard before joining the paratroopers. They won't see me stare into nothing, thinking about how Joe would dream about David in the cold, winter hell in Bastogne. They will never know the terrified pants during Toccoa, the thrill of being caught during Aldbourne, the stare at the airstrip, the waves of pleasure and relief back in England after d-day, the burning jealousy when Joe looked at how Tab spinned David in Eindhoven and carding his fingers through his inky black hair, and when Joe just silently patched up David the night of the patrol. Oh no, they'll be clueless when Easy thought David died when a German squad intercepted an army jeep, taking him prisoner until David was rescued in Haguenau and Joe never leaving his side when he realized it was David that he's been carrying to safety. They won't hear about my sobs when Joe is gonna keep calling David 'Web' because David's name stirs his guts and his pulses scream with repressed affection, because come on, it's fucking DAVID. The kids will never know that Joe worked, dragged his forlorn mental health, and built his war-torn life from pieces just to propose to David with a table because he can't give David a room to write yet. And then, they'll never know why David didn't invite Joe on his wedding, and why Joe didn't notify David of a promise before he went to war, and how they both didn't realize what they lost.

#im just gonna lock myself and cry in a corner because to be honest a ship never stuck with me this long than webgott #seriously the fics ive read are ridiculously priceless #should put them in a glass box and show it in a museum or smthn #reflected on the fics ive read these months and last year and all i can say is it is mostly about the obscure amount of webgott and winnix #band of brothers #joe liebgott #david webster #webgott #dick winters #lewis nixon #hbo war #band of brothers fanfic #winnix #the ones above didn't even took half of the ones ive read #and this is only from ao3

[pookielious]

Hold Me Closer

eugene roe x babe heffron

☆

It had been only a few hours since gene had patched heffron up, they where still at the line, planning to move forward into a small town  in attempts to gain more territory. Bastogne was in ruins, the bodies left in the ruins of the town where far to dangerous to get out right now, but Bastogne was still used as a aid station it was the best they could do till another supply drop would come , hopefully in the near future. 

It had been a relatively quiet day at least for the front, some firing here and there but nothing easy company hadn't seen before

"So where'd you get this auh?" Heffron spoke up finally , looking  at the stripped blue fabric of his make shift bandage "Kraut drop it or sumn'thin?",

"No" gene answered tiredly "found it in bastogne— when we took Gordon I think" he said,  his eyes on his hands, beat up and stained with dried blood 

"I heard you tellin'  winters about bastogne, is it really that bad there?" Heffron question,  shifting a bit to but his hands in his pockets

"Its in ruins ," he answered honestly " they bombed the whole thing" he stared off at his hands , picking at the blood under his finger nails as he reimagined the scene of it all, fires and the cracking sound of the wood houses giving "nothin' left but they're still taking wounded men there"

"Gave us a merry Christmas " babe retorted sarcastically, Renée is all that Eugene thought about , for chrismas they'd taken her away, his chrismas gift was all that was left of her. A scarf. "Right" Eugene said in reply so much for a christmas 

" 'ey Gene?"

"Hm?" He hummed glancing red at the redhead

"Merry christmas " babe smiled softly

" merry chrismas heffron" 

Babe laughed a little laying back in the fox hole "are you ever gonna stop with the 'heffron' shit?" He questioned

"Probably not" he said truthfully, he didn't fancy calling people by their nick names, it just made things alot easier at least  in his mind. just as babe opened his mouth to talk the two heard a shot then strangely enough a splash the two looked at eachother confusedlt; gene straightened up  and babe grabbed his gun, crouching and looking over at the line, nothing ?

"Medic !" A familiar voice called out

The two waited a second 

"Doc!" The same voice called out

"Was that a sniper?" Babe said confusedly looking at Eugene who stood up from his crouching position  "I don't know"

"Go! Com'on" heffron said quickly peeking over the foxhole at the line , he figured it was just a sniper or somthing  he saw no other shots or any sort of flashing and Gene complied getting out of the hole and running to where the same voice called him

A he was close to the line he knew that, there was a short drop down a small hill he hadn't seen and he practically rolled down it

"Doc !? You okay?!" A voice yelled out, different than the one before , joe toye he figured out  "im fine!" Gene continued and stood up , making his way towards toye again as he saw another figure and half of another one , he would've paused if it wasn't for the adrenaline rushing through his body from the fall and the sniper "What's going on—" the ground shook and the sky flashed "wouldya get me out!" Luz , who was the half body gene had seen yelled "yer gonna get me shot!"  The man shivered, flopping like a fish to try and wiggle himself out if the water, it was a almost humorous to watch

due to the shock to his muscles and the weight of his gear it was a useless effort Gene looked confusedly, he was half submerged in a now ,leibgott,  who had been the 3rd figure gene had saw was trying to left him out  

The 3 managed to get him out without getting  shot, he was drenched he had been fully submerged for only a few seconds but he'd been in the water for a good minute, enough time partnered with the cold it was good enough to get him a bad case of hypothermia "toye go get a jeep! And some blankets, towels, anything we need to get him dry !" Toye nodded and ran off ahead of the two,  leibgott and gene carried Luz who had started shivering violently

Once they got back up to the company they set Luz down and started getting all of his gear and top layers of clothes off "ain't that gonna make him more cold?!" Liebgott questioned rather loudly "he's gon' freeze to death if we dont!" 

Toye came back running with a blanket , nearly tripping over someone's fox hole and a few  sticks and the ground that where to be used as camouflage  for the foxholes "dry him off quickly!" Gene ordered and the 3 started to rub him off rather aggressively with the cover,  gene knew they couldn't have a fire for them nor would he be able to start of quick enough with wet hands, he stood up, ripping the medic arm band off of his jacket that was held on with some strategic sewing and mostly safety pins and stuffed the syrettes and morphine into his back before also taking that off, he then unzipped his jacket and knelt back down with the help of leibgott he got it onto Luz "awh– d-oc youre-" where the only words Luz could get out

The jeep pulled up with in seeing distance and the 3 got up , picking Luz back up again "don't you worry about me" gene insisted, gene let go of Luz and grabbed his sopping wet equipment, placing them in the passenger seat  foot rests of the jeep "toye, go with him make sure they get him  inside of somewhere,  broken building or anything that'll get him protected from the wind, ya here?" Toye nodded and hopped into the passenger seat at as jeep sped away.

At first the feeling of cold hadn't him, he'd noticed the strange looks he'd gotten from most of 2nd battalion he'd saw as he ran around , bandaging wounds, mostly accidental ones from being scared by the sudden shoots but after the adrenaline had finally wore off it came at him hard, gene really wasn't made t  handle the cold all that much, Louisiana was a much more hotter climent then western Europe . he made is rounds, checking up on everyone else incase he'd missed anything or to hear if they needed anything as usual , buck had taken a notice as gene stopped at his foxhole 

"Where your jacket?" Buck started, looking up at him as he ate a makeshift snowcone with the powered lemonade that was common amongst the soliders 

"With George Luz sir" gene managed, crouched next to the foxhole, holding himself to keep some warmth

"Luz?" buck questioned,  the confusion plastered is normally plain expression, dancing around in his ice blue eyes "Why does Luz have it?"

"Needed it more then me, " gene continued "Germans lured toye 'n him  with some supplies — they ain't notice it was over some frozin' over lake" he shifted slightly, he knew he needed to stay moving in order to lessen the feeling of cold "liebgott tried to get them outta there but snipe cracked the ice, Luz fell right in" 

Buck sighed softly "right" the blonde nodded, thinking for a moment  " check with Nixon and winters they're probably hanging about , see if they can do anything for you"

Gene simply nodded and stood up, continuing his arounds

He hasn't managed to spot nixon or winters, they always went around in a pair so he doubted he'd find just one of them sitting around, he got back to his foxhole and jumped in, curling up in it as he shivered helplessly. the cold stung his arms  and there was nothing he could do about it 

"Woah there" he heard the familiar Philadelphian accent of Edward "correct me if I'm wrong doc but I 'on think stripping is gonna keep you all that warm" 

"Real Perceptive heffron" he spoke through his shivering

"What happened?" Heffron hopped into the hole, putting his gun down along with his helmet

"Luz fell into a lake, gave it to him" gene summarized to save from explaining for the 3rd time that day

"Here," heffron took off his scarf and crawled on his knees closer to the medic, wrapping the scarf around his neck and part of his face "my grandma used to wrap me up like his" heffron tucked the end of the scarf back into itself so it wouldn't come loose and unwrapped 

"Never needed to be wrapped like this before" 

"Your from the south right?" 

Gene nodded "Louisiana, bayou chou" 

"Ever fought a croc? Yall got those down there yeah?"

"Not dumb enough to so no— I used to see'em alot when I was younger, my grandfather wrestled one right infront of me once" 

"I saw one in the zoo once" there wasn't any crazy wild animals in Philadelphia, it was a major city after all, nothing crazy like the costal states like Louisiana "had–" he laughed a little " had a pigeon trynna steal my cheese steak one time, never fought somthing harder in my life" 

Gene smiled a bit at the sheer image Of Edward trying to fight a pigeon off 

Heffron stood up half way peering over edge of the foxhole "aye' garnere?"

"Aeh?" The man hummed, peaking up from his hole

"Ya Got a blanket? Docs cold" 

There was A brief pause as Bill presumably looked around "yeah" Bill said , balling up the blanket and throwing it over to heffron"thanks" the other said as he caught the blanket

He looked down at gene, he looked pitiful ,his nose and cheeks where a rosy pink color while the rest of him had palen more then usual, his teeth chattering so hard he could hear it, heffron knelt back down again and wrapped him in the blanket "how about we get you into town doc?" Heffron offered, putting his hands on genes shoulders above the blankets and rubbing the to make some sort of heat with the friction 

"I have to stay on the line, case of anymore of those bombs " the southerner sighed softly  , holding the blanket shut with his hands 

"Right" heffron bit his lip , there wasn't many ways to stay warm in the front lines, especially without all of the promised snow gear that hadn't gotten to them yet,  much less without at least a jacket but just then a idea popped in his head

He gently took oneside of the blanket and sat next to gene, closing the blanket  with the hand and wrapping his other around the medic "whatdya' doing?" Gene asked quietly "keeping you warm— somone aughta do it " the ginger smiled proudly , gently rubbing Eugene side with his ungloved hand , Eugene simply accepted his fate, there wasn't much else he could do if he wanted to avoid frost bite, gene tiredly leaned against heffron , resting his head on his shoulder

The two stayed like that for a while, Essentially cuddled up as the sun started to lower more, there hadn't been any attacks since Luzs , gene had figured this meant the the Germans had turnt in for the holiday, the chrismas joy had carried throughout the line, the sounds of singing and laughing was heard throughout the camp, much to the dismay of those trying to keep the group of loudmouthed men quiet, the singing had lowered but hadn't came to a complete stop, the sheer chrismas cheer seemed to have made the Lieutenants and commanders let it slide just this once, for the morale of the soldiers 

Edward and Eugene had been half asleep in their foxhole, babes idea of warming him up had worked somewhat, it had managed to warm him up to enough to stop the teeth chattering, it wasnt to the same effect as having a jacket on but it was relieving enough to keep him from hypothermia 

"Thanks babe" gene finally spoke 

The words made the ginger grin ear to ear 

"Course' genie" 

"Genie, huh"  Eugene closed his eyes

"Could be eugina or sumn' if you prefer" babe joked, gently stroking genes side

"No, I like that" 

#baberoe #bill guarnere #joe liebgott #george luz #my first band of brother fic so be nice #band of brothers #lewis nixon #dick winters #easy company #richard winters #101st airborne #babe heffron #buck compton #subtle mentions of : #winnix #luztoye #kind of #might be noncanon acting my bad #edward heffron #gene roe #eugene roe #doc roe #renee lemaire #needed a exuse for them to cuddle sorry luz #babys first fic #band of brothers fic at least #swear ive written #lmk of grammar/spelling mistakes! #dabble ? #fanfic

[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

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

When You Know, You Know - Ronald Speirs x OC

Summary: A night of drinking with Valerie and the men leads Ron to realise that he's in much deeper than he thought

Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption/intoxication

Word count: 2.8k

Tags (Mostly using the taglist from the original fic): @50svibes @cagzzz107 @yentroucnagol @mads-weasley @mrsalwayswrite @dcyllom

A/N: This oneshot is building on from the characters/storyline established in my fic Just Come Home, which you can read in its entirety here. For those of you who have read it already, this is set roughly between chapters 5 and 6. Enjoy!

I can't even tell if this is good, I just needed to write for them again, I miss them so much

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"I win again!"

"God dammit!" George Luz cried, throwing down his hand of cards upon the table as Valerie laughed, taking a sip of her drink and revelling in his distress. Easy Company had been in Berchtesgaden for almost a week, and already boredom was beginning to set in, remedied seemingly only by late nights of drinking, card games, and music which they had begun to host almost daily in the huge abandoned hotel at the end of the main street.

The huge dining hall was bathed in a low, golden glow, a refuge from the darkness outside, and a gramophone crackled away in the corner, playing record after record of German music only a few among them could understand. A few portraits of prominent officials hung on the walls - survivors of the initial scourge which had seen the men clear out anything of value - their faces vandalised beyond recognition, drooping unevenly on their hooks. The large, circular tables that had once hosted wealthy guests to the town were now used for rowdy games of all kinds, stacks of empty glasses growing taller by the hour.

It had been almost two hours since Valerie had found herself dragged into one of these games. The men had clearly thought her light competition, but in those two hours, not one of them had won a single round. As the night wore on, and she continued to prevail, they grew only more determined to continue, to find a hole in her strategy to exploit, to finally beat her, for God's sake.

"I mean, Jesus, I just don't understand it," Tab sighed, frowning as he poured himself another glass of whiskey, staring wearily at his own hand in the realisation that he never could have won. "How can you win every goddamn time?"

Val chuckled, patting him on the arm in consolation. "I think it might be time to call it a night, eh gents?"

Luz shook his head. "No. Nuh-uh. We're not leaving until I win."

"You better be careful you don't run outta money first."

Tutting, he reached into his pocket for some more cash. "You better donate this shit to a charity or something when you get home, God knows you don't fucking need it," He lamented, muttering something to himself about big fucking houses and rich fucking parents.

With a grin, she accepted her winnings, sliding the money into the pocket of the coat she draped over the back of her chair. It was not her own coat - none of Valerie's clothes were her own, all of them pilfered from the abandoned closets of rich German wives, fleeing in a hurry with their rich Nazi husbands. But in the grand scheme of things, she hardly felt guilty. "Pleasure doing business with ya, Georgie." Val teased, her tongue drawn between her teeth.

A wide archway separated the main dining room from the smaller, private hall next door - a more intimate space for what had once been the wealthiest of hotel guests, but which now belonged to the officers of Easy Company, a huge central table proving the perfect place for late night games of poker.

Ron stared at the unimpressive cards in his hand, suppressing a frown, his infamous stony gaze playing in his favour once again. He would not win this game, but as long as Harry continued to play as badly as he had so far, he would not lose either. The sound of laughter in the next room pulled his gaze - and there she was. Valerie's face flushed red as she laughed, her cheeks creased as she tilted her head back, George Luz chuckling beside her at whatever he had said that was so damn funny. He wasn't sure he had ever made her laugh like that - but Ron knew he wasn't a funny guy, not like Luz at least. A few months ago, he might have felt the inkling of insecurity bubbling in his chest, but not now. Despite all the things that made him seem so intimidating to the other men, it seemed Ron was stuck with Valerie whether he liked it or not.

He did.

The sound of someone noisily clearing their throat pulled his attention away from the next room, and as Ron looked across the table, he noticed Nixon staring straight at him, brow raised. "Hm?" He asked, mirroring his expression.

"You gonna take your turn?" Nixon asked. "Or you gonna keep staring?"

Ron decided not to acknowledge this second question, instead swiftly taking his turn, placing his cards down forcefully, as if making a performance out of it. He wasn't staring. Just... watching.

In the corner of the dining hall, the record that had been playing stopped with a crackle, and Valerie stood up to change it, sliding her cards into her pocket to prevent Luz from cheating. The man scoffed at the mere suggestion, but they both knew he wasn't above taking a peek. As she neared the gramophone in the corner, Chuck Grant came passing the other way, their shoulders brushing against each other as he headed back to his own table. "Ooh, Val," He spoke, stepping up behind her as she flicked through the box of records. "You gotta try this."

Looking up, she accepted the glass in his hand, stifling a cough after her first sip as the liquid burned her throat. "Oh, fucking Christ, what is that?"

"No idea. Malark's recipe - good though, right?"

"Good, but I think it'll kill me," Val confessed, flicking through the box of records with her free hand.

"That's the spirit," He chuckled, patting her on the shoulder before turning to return to his table. "Drink up."

She grinned as he left, taking another sip of Malarkey's dangerous concoction before selecting a record. Their titles had all been in German, so Valerie had been forced to make a decision based off of the covers alone, and as such was slightly taken aback when upbeat folk music came blasting through the gramophone's horn, although the men around her seemed too engrossed in their games to even notice.

Returning to the table, interrupting Luz and Tab as they talked strategy, she put down her drink, taking a seat. "What's that?" George asked, nodding towards her glass.

"No idea. Malarkey's makin' 'em over there apparently."

He paused momentarily, slowly sliding his cards into his pocket as if Val actually needed to cheat to win. "...Don't mind if I do."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Just over an hour had passed since the last time Ron had looked over at Valerie - Harry had lost their last game, predictably, and the officers had been darting between conversation and cards ever since, the energy slowly draining from the room as the night wore on and they began to find it harder to focus on the more technical games. The group had noticed the main dining hall growing steadily louder as the night progressed, but the disturbance had not been enough to warrant their attention until suddenly a smash rang out, accompanied by a series of whoops and laughter.

Craning his neck to see what was happening, Ron's gaze fell upon the portrait of Hitler that Valerie had taken a knife to on their first day in town, his face now stained with dark red wine, a few shards of glass embedded in the canvas. Still seated at her table, Val let out a hearty laugh, her cheeks flushed bright red as if she had caught a chill. But he knew it wasn't that.

Of the men of Easy Company still occupying the hall, not a single one of them appeared sober, the scent of alcohol lingering on the very air. Sitting across the table from Valerie, it appeared George Luz had actually fallen asleep, suddenly roused by the sound of the wine bottle exploding into hundreds of fragments the moment it struck the wall.

"Aw, shit," Nixon sighed. "Looks like they found the good stuff."

Across the room, Skinny Sisk tripped on the edge of a tablecloth that had been left dragging across the floor, tumbling to the ground in a mass of flailing limbs. Val let out a guffaw of laughter, clapping her hands in delight as she slumped further in her seat, reaching for another sip of whatever the hell was in her glass.

"Alright, ok," Ron muttered, rising from his seat and crossing the room in a moment, prying the drink from her hand before it could reach her lips. Val opened her mouth in objection, brow drawn with outrage, but the sudden appearance of the infamous Captain Speirs seemed to sober up the rest of the room, the other men taking the hint to calm themselves and begin shuffling out the door to return to their billets and sleep off their drunkenness.

"I wasn't done with that, yunno," She drawled, barely noticing as Luz drifted away from the table, rubbing at his temples in an attempt to nurse an already developing headache.

"Yeah, you're not gonna be, either," Raising the glass, Ron took a sniff, expression twisting into a grimace. "Jesus. How many of these did you have?"

"I... do not know."

"Hey, Speirs?" Harry called from the next room, clearly impatient to get back to their game.

"Uh, yeah - deal me out, ok? See you fellas tomorrow," He nodded, placing a gentle hand on Valerie's arm to help her to her feet. She swayed slightly, but could certainly walk, and as Ron helped her to the door, he emptied her glass into an unused ice bucket as they passed.

She probably could have made it back up to her room entirely unscathed, even the wobble in her step ebbing away as they exited into the night air, but Ron wasn't sure he'd be able to live with himself if he let her go anywhere alone. "I'm not plastered by the way - I've been plastered, this ain't that."

"Whatever you say," He breathed, arm still secure around her as they descended the front steps to the hotel.

"I'm serious."

"I believe you, dear," Ron nodded, and a giddy grin made its way across her face at the term of endearment. It had slipped out before he could stop it, and he was suddenly grateful for the minuscule chance that she would remember it the next day - he did not in fact believe her.

It was quiet out on the street, the men who had scattered returning promptly to their nearby billets, turning Berchtesgaden back into the ghost town it had been when they had found it. The street lamps cast puddles of golden light as they passed beneath them, his gaze momentarily wandering to Val's face. Her hair had come loose, a strand hanging limply in her face, and the tip of her nose flushed pink in the cool air. Without a word, Ron shrugged off his jacket, slinging it over her shoulders. She did not hesitate to slide her arms into the sleeves, wrapping the jacket tightly around herself, and playing it off as a yawn when she took a deep breath, smelling the scent of his cigarettes that permeated the fabric.

They were mere feet from the front door when Ron felt Valerie slide from his grip, turning to watch as she took a seat on a nearby bench, one foot tucked behind the other, hands in her lap as she looked up at the night sky above.

"Almost there, c'mon," He urged, gesturing for her to follow.

"Come sit down."

Ron didn't move, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Val, come on, you'll catch a cold out here, let's get you insi-"

"Just sit down, Ronald!" Val demanded, almost laughing. She always seemed so ceaselessly amused by him - he wouldn't pretend not to enjoy it, but it struck him as odd sometimes.

Folding his hands awkwardly in his lap, Ron took a seat beside her on the bench, a polite gap left between them. It couldn't have been more than a couple of inches, but it might as well have been a mile for how tempted he felt to move closer.

Her gaze had not shifted from the sky above since the moment he sat down, and after a while spent sitting in silence, he allowed himself to do the same, peering up at the stars above. There was a full moon out that night, hanging like a beacon above them, never quite allowing the town to fall into total darkness as it bathed the ground below in its glow. It was quite marvellous, really.

As weight pressed down on his shoulder, Ron felt his breath catch in his throat, so desperate was he to preserve the serenity of this moment as Valerie leant over, resting her head against him. He scarcely dared more, for fear that he would shrug her off - it was almost comical, the battle-hardened Captain Speirs, who ran past half a dozen tanks at Foy twice over without fear, suddenly paralysed at the prospect of pushing her away.

"Our families are looking at the same moon back home," Valerie said, her voice muffled against the fabric of Ron's jacket as she turned her chin into the collar. "I like thinkin' about that." When she spoke it sounded drowsy, exhaustion tugging downwards at her eyelids.

"C'mon," He urged again, matching her softness. "You can't sleep out here, you'll freeze to death."

Val nodded slowly, her hair catching on his shirt. "That'd be very inconvenient for you."

"Out the the two of us, I don't think I'm the one getting the short end of the stick in this scenario, Val."

"Ah, but you'd miss me," She sighed with a dramatic flourish of her hand, pushing herself up from the bench with a grunt. Ron had not had the chance to stand up himself before Valerie started walking, the sway in her step settled as she confidently made her way down the street.

"You're going the wrong way, dear," He pointed out, gesturing to the front door, mere feet away from them.

"I know that," Val rolled her eyes, turning sharply on her heel and marching up to the front step as he chuckled. Taking the step up, she looked back at him. "C'mere," She ordered.

"What do you want now?" Ron teased, already moving to do her bidding. Taking a step up to stand beside her, they faced each other, shoulders pressed against the front door to the house they were billeted in. Leaning forward, Val pressed her body flat against his, her chin resting on his chest, face tilted up towards him. He could feel her breath, escaping through parted lips and fanning his neck as he peered down at her. Their faces were mere inches apart, and oh, how he had wanted to give in at that moment - give in to the months they had spent together, growing ever more enamoured by her with each passing day. Putting her weight on her toes, she began to push herself up towards him, their lips barely parted, so close their noses brushed against each other.

She was drunk. Ron knew this - could see it in her flushed cheeks, could hear it in her slow words. It would not happen like this. Placing soft hands to either side of her face, he held her back as gently, as tenderly as he could, his thumb skirting across the soft flesh of her cheek as Valerie eased herself back onto her heels, her eyes like dark pools under the light of the street lamp, as wide as he had ever seen them.

"Goodnight Cap'n," Her voice was scarcely a whisper as her hand found the door handle, opening it onto the great foyer inside, the heels of her shoes clacking against the floorboards as she trailed inside. Ron would follow soon - would climb the stairs to his own room along the hall from her own - but for now, he held back, watching on as Val headed upstairs, his jacket still hanging off her back as she disappeared down the hall, the sound of humming trailing after her even after she was gone from sight, fading away with the sound of a closing door. It wasn't until now, when Ron was alone in the foyer, did he realise he was smiling - beaming even. It was very... un-ron-like. But she had wanted to kiss him.

He had done the right thing. He knew this.

But Jesus Christ, was he in deeper than he thought.

#band of brothers #ronald speirs #ronald speirs x ofc #ronald speirs x oc #band of brothers oc #band of brothers fic #hbo war #hbo war fic #hbo war oc #george luz #floyd talbert #lewis nixon #harry welsh #chuck grant #donald malarkey #oc: valerie

[blurredcolour]

I Wish You Love | Part Four

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Lewis Nixon x Housemaid!Female Reader

The end of the war feels so near and yet still so far off. Questions of the future and feelings of impatience plague you and Lewis equally.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Angst, Class Divide, Infidelity, Dishonesty, Lots of Kissing, Sexual Tension and Innuendos, Language, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Surprise (as in no surprise whatsoever), this is not the final part of this series. There is one more part, because Bee does not know how to be brief. Reader's nationality is British and liberties have been taken in describing her background and family life for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. A good portion of this fic will be letter-based. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 4378

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

Perhaps it was the English in you, but no matter how deliriously giddy you felt at the hopeful tone of Captain Nixon’s reply, you still found it necessary to make things absolutely clear. To add a strong dose of realism and seek confirmation of things in concrete terms. Settling in at the kitchen table once dinner had been cleaned up after and your father was properly ensconced in his favourite chair, listening to the wireless, you pulled out your writing supplies and took a direction approach.

Lewis, in all his Americanness, was having none of it. His response arrived promptly, two weeks later.

Four long months passed. Eight letters more letters crossed the Channel, four apiece. Spring blossomed before wilting into heat of summer. Germany surrendered. The Japanese held on until mid-August. You managed to assemble an untold number of shells without injury, though the skin of your face and hands as well as the halo of hair around your face became tinged as yellow as your fellow canary girls.

Word came from Austria that Johnny was on his way home, after six long years away. The universe works in mysterious ways, leading both of the men you cared for most in all the world to Austria to manage the occupation after Germany’s surrender. Lewis had kept you up to date on the dissolution of his marriage – the loss of his treasured dog Edgar, as well as his house, and custody of his son. You did your best to remain reassuring and supportive in your letters, reminding him of the untold potential of your future together.

Your immediate future, however, was somewhat more precarious. With so many men returning home from the war, employment was in high demand and the expectation was for women to return to the roles they had occupied before 1939 – where they ‘belonged.’ You were grateful you had lived well within your means, accumulating sufficient savings to see you through the end of your job at the factory in July and the seemingly endless search for new work since. With the effects of TNT still tainting your appearance, work in a shop was out of the question – such establishments immediately turning their noses up at you.

You had picked up a few clients as a charwoman, but unless you found many more, and quick, things were going to become very difficult indeed. Making your way home one midday at the end of August, you smoothed a hand over your hair, feeling positively overheated and unkempt after a particularly demanding morning scrubbing Mr. and Mrs. Danes house. As you rounded the corner of the lane you’d lived on most of your life, your feet stuttered to a stop at sight of the figure leaning against the front of the building of flats, sharing a cigarette with your father.

Neither of them had spotted you yet, and you swallowed roughly as your eyes drank in the dashing appearance of Captain Lewis Nixon in his dress uniform, sporting the short cut Eisenhower jacket that showed off his trim waist and long legs. You could not have felt more drab in your worn work dress, wishing desperately you could dash inside and freshen up but there was nothing for it now as he had lifted his eyes. You could see his smile from half a block away as he began striding towards you confidently, flicking his cigarette into the street as he rapidly closed the distance.

With small, hopefully furtive, movements you did your best to tidy your hair and the fall of your dress against your body.

“Darling.” Lewis smiled warmly, capturing your hands, ceasing your fretting as his long fingers enveloped yours. His eyes raked over your face with an expression that carried nothing but wonder.

If you had felt warm before, hearing the term of endearment he’d begun to use in his letters fall from his lips was akin to walking on the surface of the sun. “Lewis.” You breathed shakily, swallowing tightly at the brilliant grin he bestowed upon you in response as his hands squeezed yours tightly.

“Christ, you are a wonder to behold.” He murmured stepping closer and you raised an eyebrow skeptically as you very much felt otherwise. “No, I insist.” One broad hand slid to your waist, your heart racing as you found your own feet shuffling closer, your tongue darted out to wet your lips nervously. His eyes dropped to focus on your mouth a moment before his adam’s apple bobbed rapidly. “I’m going to kiss you now.” He warned you softly, gripping your waist with both hands now as he pulled you closer still.

The most you could manage in response was a rapid nod before his mouth was upon yours, lips gentle at first, moving slowly before they became insistent and eager. Fingers gripping at his biceps, curling into the fabric of his jacket, you tilted your head back in surrender, mouth pliant beneath his. He tasted of tobacco, smelled of his intoxicating aftershave and something that was uniquely Lewis. You could only hope there was something to recommend you in that moment and were heartened as he pulled you somehow even tighter to him, eliminating the last millimetres of space between your bodies.

Lewis’s lips pulled back from yours slowly, allowing you to suck in a shuddering breath as he pressed his face to your hair, an action he’d often described in his letters, realized at last. “Darling…” He whispered once more, tenderly, and you slid your arms around his shoulders to hold him fully.

“Welcome back, Lewis.” You sighed, finally allowing relief to wash over you.

“Thank you.” His lips brushed against your temple before he straightened slowly, fingers tracing along your jaw tenderly. “Your father tells me you should have some time to spend with me this afternoon?”

You tried not to frown at the reminder of all the free time you had on your hands, the economic implications thereof, and nodded gently. “I would like that very much, but whether you admit it or not I look a fright. Please let me change and freshen up?”

“You’re right, I’ll never admit it, because it’ll never be true.” He smirked and stole one last kiss before tucking your arm into his, leading you back towards your flat.

You noted your father had retreated inside to give you some privacy – as much privacy as one could be afforded in the middle of the street, of course, but you appreciated the thought, nonetheless. You stopped on the threshold and turned to Lewis quickly. “It’s no Lydiard House, I warn you.”

“Thank god.” He smiled reassuringly, hand settling on your lower back, a flock of butterflies fluttering erratically in your abdomen as you led him inside your humble home where you father was happily reading the newspaper.

“Will you two be all right if I take a moment to change?” You asked your father and he smirked.

“We’ve been alright for the past two hours, sweet pea, off you pop.” He shooed you towards the bedroom where your meagre wardrobe was stored and you glanced at Lewis, startled to learn he’d been waiting for you that long.

“Take your time.” He nodded, settling onto the worn sofa easily.

The world seemed quite off-kilter for a moment, Lewis occupying a space so separate from that in which you had known him, and yet how many hours had you spent thinking of him while sitting on that very sofa? Smiling slowly as everything seemed to slide into its new place of belonging, you stepped into the bedroom to pull one of your nicer dresses from the closet you shared with your father. Taking it to the bathroom, you freshened up and tamed your hair, feeling much better armed to face to world as you emerged, stowing your work clothes into the hamper before you rejoined them in the sitting room.

Lewis immediately rose to his feet on your return, a shy smile tugging at your lips fondly as your father looked up from his paper.

“I do hope the pair of you are going to spend your afternoon out in the sunshine and not in here with this old bore.” His eyes twinkled in amusement. “And don’t even bother telling me you’ll be home for dinner, I’m perfectly capable of eating at the pub.”

You closed your mouth quickly, your father killing that thought before you could voice it. Grabbing your handbag, you looked up as Lewis spoke.

“I was hoping to take both of you out to dinner tomorrow night, sir?” He offered hopefully.

“That would be very generous of you, thank you. Now, on your bike.” Your father snapped his paper back into place to hide his growing grin and Lewis laced your fingers together before leading you outside, sliding his garrison cap back onto his luscious hair.

“How did you manage to get over here? I thought they were shipping you back to New York?” You asked as you closed the door behind you.

“I have a few days and then the boat leaves from Marseille. I couldn’t leave before seeing you.”

You watched as he lifted your hands to press his lips to your knuckles gently. “Thank you.” You breathed softly and he looked to you tenderly.

“I’m the one with the debt of gratitude. Will you allow me some leeway to begin repaying you for all your kindness?” The way his warm brown eyes were boring into yours, framed by his long lashes, was threatening to make your knees knock together.

Taking a steadying breath, you shook your head firmly. “You say that like you have not somehow become the centre of my entire world, Lewis.” You countered weakly. “I don’t know where I’d be if you hadn’t forgiven me…”

He gently pressed a finger to your lips, shifting to whisper into your ear. “Then let me spoil you simply because I love you.”

His breath against your skin made you shiver before the meaning of his words registered and you pulled back to look at him, eyes wide. “Lewis…” Your gaze skittered across his face, drinking in the hopeful glint in his eyes, the way he held his breath awaiting your response, before you hesitantly leaned forward to brush your lips against his. “I love you too.” You barely had time to exhale before he cupped your cheek to kiss you deeply.

Pulled back to bestow a warm grin on you, he squeezed your hand softly. “Allow me to lead you to the car before I give you a reputation on your street.”

With a breathless laugh you nodded, following him over to the civilian vehicle that you had no idea from where he’d procured, sliding into the passenger’s seat on the lefthand side. “You’re a very mysterious man, Lewis Nixon.” You shook your head as he climbed in beside you, driving off easily.

“I hope not, or I intend not to be. I don’t like keeping secrets from you, darling. I much prefer being completely open and honest with you.”

You smiled fondly as your heart throbbed in your chest. “Where are we going, then?”

“Your father allowed me to check the pictures playing at your local cinema and it seems there is an afternoon showing of the Wizard of Oz – I thought you might enjoy that?” He glanced over at you, smiling when you nodded quickly. “Then some window-shopping and dinner?”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at the second activity, but dinner certainly sounded lovely. “That sounds like a wonderful day.”

“Good.” He nodded, navigating his way through the narrow streets until he found the cinema and a parking spot.

The pair of you arrived just in time to purchase a few snacks and settle into the half-empty theatre. Mid-afternoon was not a very popular time on a weekday, after all.

“I haven’t been to see a film in years.” You whispered as he lifted the armrest to snake his arm around your waist and pull you close, making you bite your lip.

“Me neither.” He admitted, resting his fingers against your hip softly as the picture started.

You knew you shouldn’t let him hold you so close, particularly not in such a public place, and yet it was dark in theatre and in all honestly you probably could not have born any distance between you, needing him as near as possible after so long apart. After falling so deeply in love with him. It did, however, make it awfully difficult to focus on the film. Your eyes continued to flick between the screen and his profile, inhaling deeply, enjoying the press of him along your side despite the added warmth of his body heat.

Somehow you did manage to remember to pay attention to the scene where Dorothy’s home landed after the twister, gnawing your lip in anticipation as she made her way to the front door and inhaling in wonder as the colourful land of Oz lay on the other side. The transition held just as much magic as it had the only other time you’d seen the film, a grin unfurling on your face as she wandered through the quaint village, passed the pond filled with lotus leaves. As your eyes inevitably shifted to sneak a look at Lewis you jumped slightly as they met his own directly, already watching you intently with a fond smile on his face.

Wordlessly he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips before turning back to the screen with a very pleased expression on his face. Sharing your treats, you enjoyed the film together in companionable silence, not a hairsbreadth of space between you, until the lights came up.

“That was even better than the first time I saw it thank you, Lewis.”

“I’m very glad, you’re welcome.” He grinned, pressing a kiss to your temple before you shuffled out with the rest of the crowd.

The brilliant sunshine of midday had since been replaced by heavy clouds, rain threatening as Lewis took your hand and led you across the street to a rather upscale department store – one that you certainly had never shopped at before.

“Lewis, I didn’t bring my ration book…” You murmured nervously as he held the door open for you.

“Not to worry, we’re only window-shopping, not a shilling will be spent.” He winked, taking your arm once you were both inside and leading you around, getting your opinions on all sorts of things. Men’s clothing, women’s, toys, trinkets, before leading you over to the jewelry counters.

“Good lord…” You breathed at some of the more ostentatious engagement rings they had on display with massive diamonds.

Lewis smirked at you as he leaned against the case. “A bit much for your taste, darling?”

“Entirely too much.” You nodded firmly. “I don’t know how a woman could accomplish anything with a ring that size on her finger.”

“I suppose she wouldn’t be expected to, but that sort of life doesn’t really seem your speed does it.”

Looking to him slowly as this conversation took on a rather layered meaning, you shook your head. “No, I don’t think it would. Even if I did not need an income, I would most definitely need a purpose.”

“Noted.” He replied with a nod before moving towards a more modest selection. “Are these a little more to your liking then?”

Swallowing dryly you gave him a slow nod. “They are quite nice, yes.” You nodded, feeling suddenly rather nervous. Not in a bad way, but your heart most certainly could not remember how to beat properly despite you trying to remind yourself that it was only ‘window-shopping.’

Sensing your distress, Lewis led you over to inspect the necklaces, your tension easing without rows of engagement rings on display in front of you. After sampling a few perfumes, he smiled to you. “Ready for dinner?”

“Are you certain you didn’t need to make any sort of purchases?”

“That would be against the premise of window-shopping darling, was there anything you needed though?” He raised an eyebrow, and you shook your head, glancing back toward the store before turning to him.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You replied stubbornly and he squeezed your hand, the pair of your heading back outside as thunder rumbled long and low along the darkening street.

“I hope we can make it back to car.” He glanced at you quickly and you both immediately started hurrying your steps.

The skies opened up then and you quickly darted beneath the awning of a small shop that seemed to be closed for the day, yanking Lewis beneath its shelter as sheets of rain began to come down.

“Damn…” He laughed, shaking his head as you giggled softly in reply.

“Shouldn’t last long, doesn’t usually when summer storms pop up like this.” A brilliant flash of lightning cut through the gloom making you flinch and step closer to him, the resulting thunder startling you in turn.

“I’ve got you darling, nothing to worry about.” He slid his arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest comfortingly as the rain fell so hard it rebounded off the pavement, practically obscuring the world outside your tiny dry square of shelter.

Reaching out to caress his cheek gratefully, his lips met yours halfway, seemingly unable to resist one another after so many months of denial. Lewis’s hand splayed across your lower back, moulding you to him as his tongue swept into your mouth, drawing a reflexive whimper from your throat. Giving in to impulse, you allowed your fingers to slide into the dark locks of his hair beneath his cap as his tongue dragged along yours, making it awfully difficult to keep on your feet.

The sound of the rain and intermittent crashes of thunder faded away into the background, all your focus drawn onto the man in your arms and your stolen moment amidst the chaos around you. Time became irrelevant as all sensation narrowed to his excruciatingly thorough kiss and the way it raised your body temperature, your body itself raising onto your tip toes to crush against his torso wantonly. A hum of approval rumbled through his chest, which you felt more than heard courtesy of the early evening thunderstorm, a tremor running through you in silent reply.

Lewis’s lips wrenched back from yours, his chest heaving, his normally rich brown eyes darkened by something you’d never seen before, something wild, primal. It made your thighs clench slightly to see it, his nostrils flaring as he surely felt the motion given that you were very much still pressed against him. You stared at one another, unmoving, silent, yet in your hazy state you still managed to note that the tumult around you was easing up, the other side of the street becoming visible through the curtain of rain.

“Dinner.” He eventually exhaled, taking a reluctant step back to reintroduce a respectable distance.

“Mmm.” You replied nonsensically with a nod of affirmation as the rain petered out to no more than a mist, frantic drips falling from the awning in the aftermath of the squall.

Lewis eyed you intensely a moment, swallowing visibly before wrenching his gaze from your face and continuing back towards the car with your hand tucked into his elbow. By the time the pair of you arrived at a rather nice, but not too nice, restaurant you’d both managed to regain a sense of composure. Lewis navigated the menu and wine list expertly and you were happy to let him do so, rather afraid to look at the prices.

His choices were impeccable, some of the best you’d ever eaten, certainly since before the start of the war, and though you were growing tired at the end of the evening as he pulled up to the flat you shared with your father, you were also loath for it to end.

“Where are you staying?” Your eyes widened as you realized you’d forgotten to ask such a pivotal question.

“The Goddard Arms, it’s quite suitable – far superior to a fox hole at any rate. May I pick you up around the same time tomorrow?”

Running through your mental list of clients, you nodded, noting happily you would have some time to change before his arrival. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Perfect. I’d like to take you on a drive and a picnic, just so you can plan your wardrobe accordingly.” He winked teasingly. “I’ll walk you to your door.” He slid from the car as you laughed warmly, coming around to open your door and help you from the vehicle.

As he led you up the walk and into the building, you smiled to him softly. “Today was incredible, Lewis, thank you very much.”

“Glad you enjoyed it, I intend to outdo myself tomorrow.” He smirked and you smothered your laugh behind your hand, not wanting to disrupt the neighbours.

“Sleep well then, best to keep up your strength.” You teased before your eyes widened slightly at the unintended innuendo.

“Please, I beg you, don’t tempt me anymore than you already are, darling.” He muttered, voice taking on a dangerous tone as he leaned in to kiss you fiercely.

You clung to his shoulders, feeling quite at risk of being swept away by his intensity, breath shaking as he pulled back.

“Good night.” He rasped.

You nodded, speechless and fumbling with the door to the flat before eventually making it inside.

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

Read Part Five

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24, @gretagerwigsmuse

#lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon imagines #lewis nixon imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagines #hbo war fic #band of brothers imagine #lewis nixon #band of brothers #easy company

[softguarnere]

can I maybe request intelligence officer x ron speirs?? this is like my favorite idea rn....love your work! <33

People-Watching vs People Watching

Ron Speirs x reader

A/N: Anon, thank you so much for the compliment, and thank you so much for trusting me to write this idea -- I had a lot of fun with it (mainly because I'm like halfway through with Fierce Valor and got to sprinkle in more Speirs facts hehehe). This doesn't really take place between or during any episode, and the mission referred to later in the story is made up. So if anyone is looking for historical accuracy, this isn't it lol. (The usual disclaimer: this is written for the fictional depiction from the show -- no disrespect to the real life veterans!) And I hope you enjoy, Anon, because intelligence officer x Speirs is SUCH a good concept 🕊️💖

Warnings: war, blood, guns, drinking, the usual HBOWar things

From across the pub, Ron can hear you laugh politely at something one of the other officers has just said. Reason dictates that he could take his drink and cross the room to join the crowd, but he keeps holding himself back. Instead, he takes another sip of his drink.

"Funny, I should have known that you would be a pensive drunk. But part of me hoped that you would be a loud, fun one instead." Across the table from him, Nixon smirks before taking a sip of his own drink.

Ron sits up a little straighter. "I'm not drunk."

"No, I know. I don't expect anyone will ever see the day that Ron Speirs lets down his guard in that way. I just meant that everyone else with a drink in their hand seems happy, but you don't."

There are arguments that Ron could make in response to that. But how to explain to someone as laid-back and extroverted as Lewis Nixon that he, Ron, is more of a reserved introvert who prefers people-watching to people watching? It's just his nature.

Across the pub, the group laughs again. Nixon's eyes flicker between it and Ron. "Oooh. Okay."

"What?"

Nixon leans back in his chair with a smile.

"What?"

"The new intelligence officer," Nixon says. "(Y/N). It's her, isn't it?"

Ron is thankful that, even with the alcohol that's starting to warm him from inside, he's always been good at keeping his emotions off his face, and that he's not prone to blushing. He's able to keep it cool when he asks, "What are you talking about?"

The captain in front of him just laughs. "Oh come on, Speirs. I'm an intelligence officer. It's my job to notice things. Don't deny it," he adds quickly. "Liking someone is nothing to be embarrassed about. Have you spoken to her?"

"No," Ron admits. He's not shy around girls. He's flirted before. But there's a war going on. And you're a fellow officer. There are probably rules against fraternization, and he would rather not find out what the consequence of breaking those rules is. So when Ron says he hasn't spoken to you, it's not because he's afraid to do it, but because he doesn't trust his heart not to betray him and convince him to put something above his duties in the war. Duties which, he reminds himself, he worked very hard for.

Not to mention the gnawing thought at the back of his mind that keeps telling him that he won't even survive the war.

A crease forms between Nixon's eyebrows as he mulls over Ron's short answer. "Well, are you planning to?"

"I would imagine that I'll have to speak to her at some point, as a fellow officer."

"Well, as a fellow intelligence officer, I talk to her all the time." His smile is cheeky. Even though he's inebriated -- but then again, when is he not? -- anyone could see the wheels turning in his mind as he forms a plan. "You want me to find out more about her, see if she likes anyone? You know, like a wingman?"

Ron almost scoffs. Studying at an all boys military school growing up deprived him of certain childhood experiences, but from what he heard his older sisters say about crushes and public school drama, this seems a bit like some silly high school romance idea.

"Gathering intelligence on a fellow intelligence officer," he muses instead. "That doesn't seem too smart, somehow."

Nixon twists his glass in his hand, eyebrows drawn as he looks towards you across the pub. "Don't worry, Ron. I'll figure something out."

Sometimes it's easier not to argue with someone who's drunk. Sometimes it's easier to let them think that they've won, and then be grateful in the morning when it becomes clear that they've forgotten everything from the night before.

"Sure thing." Ron downs the rest of his glass and stands, offering Nixon a nod before he heads off across the pub, straight for the door.

But behind him, a slow smile has started to creep across Nixon's face as he watches his fellow officer go. If Ron thought that he would get out of this with ease, he was sorely mistaken; it doesn't pay to underestimate Lewis Nixon when he sets his mind to something.

--

The muggy English morning clings to you as you make your way to headquarters. If you had to spend the day inside dealing with meetings and briefings, at least it was such an overcast one -- it would be a shame to waste a good day.

Inside, work is already in full swing as people dart about with coffee and paperwork, trying to set things straight before any of the morning's meetings. Sliding between people, you manage to grab a mug and fill it up with coffee.

"Ah, there you are (Y/N)!" As you take your first sip of your drink, the crowd parts and Nixon makes his way over to you, smiling broadly despite the early hour.

You offer him a salute, but he waves it off -- he might be an officer, but most of the time, the formalities don't bother him. It's nice to have someone like him in this new place to show you the ropes.

Nixon tilts his head, motioning for you to follow him. "I was hoping you would be in soon. We just received some very exciting orders, and I thought that you would be perfect for the job, if you're interested."

"Well I guess that depends. During Basic, I had higher ups convince us that scrubbing the latrine was very exciting, but personally, I don't think I would be too interested in doing it ever again."

The dark-haired man laughs as he leads you into a small office. He pushes some files aside to make room for his own coffee cup as he sits down behind the desk. "How would you feel about getting out of this stuffy building and out into the field?"

"Like you?" You ask. Some people preferred working the indoor intelligence jobs, but it had always been obvious from the way you looked longingly towards the door whenever other officers left their meetings that you would much rather be heading out to work intelligence head-on.

Nixon nods, his own smile growing as he watches your face light up. "It just so happens that we need a new intelligence officer for one of the companies. You'd get to be out in the field, and we could coordinate orders and intelligence between our companies. Now I know that it's not scrubbing the latrine, but it sounds pretty exciting to me." He raises his eyebrows. "Are you interested?"

"Of course."

"Wonderful. You'll be assigned to Dog Company, and working with their lieutenant."

Behind you, the door opens and shuts quickly as someone else enters the room, offering Nixon a salute.

"Ah, and here he is now," Nixon announces before you can even turn to see who has just come in. "(Y/N), I would like for you to meet Lieutenant Ronald Speirs -- the man you'll be working with in Dog Company."

--

Service before self, Ron keeps reminding himself whenever he's around you. Although it's getting harder to ignore the feeling that invades his chest whenever he looks at you.

But even with the constant mantra running through the back of his mind, it's become so easy to be around you. At first he hadn't been sure how he would feel about working so closely with an intelligence officer, but now it's hard for him to remember a time when you weren't around. You were never daunted by his demeanor, and something about the way you approached him -- or approached anything, for that matter -- impressed him. It didn't take long for him to learn to let walls down around you. It's refreshing; he feels like he's able to take off a mask that he didn't even know he had been wearing since the war had started.

Service before self, he thinks the first time you make him laugh. Service before self -- when he realizes how adorable you look when you're puzzling over reports, eyebrows furrowed and tapping a pen to a rhythm that only you can hear. Service before self -- when he glances at you during an officer's meeting and sees that you've been looking at him, only to quickly glance away when your eyes meet. Service before self -- the night that neither of you can sleep and he finds himself telling you his fondest memories of traveling to Scotland with his parents. Service before self -- a few days later after a skirmish, when the two of you have finished checking on the men and are checking in with each other, standing close, hearts beating fast; another step closer, your head tilting, and then him asking, "Can I - ?" Service before --

Self. Selfish? Ron wonders as your lips crash together in the long anticipated kiss. No. Not selfish; just a rearranging of priorities: you before him. You before anything and everything.

--

Even men made of legends and rumors can have trouble jumpstarting their day. Especially at three in the morning when he has been woken up by someone knocking on his door, announcing that he is needed for an urgent meeting.

Ron is good about waking up, being alert, being able to function. That doesn't mean that he likes it. He pours himself a cup of coffee as soon as he gets to headquarters, the smell of the morning elixir helping to coax his senses into action as he makes his way back to the office where he hears voices.

"And we're sure it has to be Easy?" He would know your voice anywhere.

"I wouldn't trust anyone else with this," Colonel Sink replies, voice just as action-ready as ever. "But the question is, who?"

"A good shot like Shifty Powers would be ideal," Winters says. Part of Ron is glad to hear that he also sounds a bit tired -- it means that Ron is not the only officer whose normal, mortal instincts are giving him a hard time this morning. When Ron steps into the room, only the other sleepy officer seems to acknowledge his presence.

"But he doesn't speak German," you say. "Who in Easy does? Just Liebgott and Webster?"

Colonel Sink nods. "What do you think of them?"

"If I may," Nixon cuts in. "Liebgott might get too trigger happy."

"So then just Webster?"

"No, Webster and Liebgott would balance each other out, I think."

Everyone's eyes turn to you, waiting for an answer.

"I know them both. I trust them both."

"But?" The colonel asks, sensing something in your voice.

You bite your lip, your eyes darting between the other officers as you think. "I think we would all know who I would prefer to come with me."

"But Speirs doesn't speak German."

At the mention of his name, Speirs' attention snaps from you to the rest of the room. If he had felt a step behind when he entered the room, now he feels like everyone else has taken off running, and he's stuck behind them in the dust.

Your face falls. "I know."

"Well, I think it's settled then." Colonel Sink offers you a fatherly pat on the shoulder before turning to the door, nodding to Speirs as he passes, and then taking his leave.

The lower ranking officers visibly relax the moment he leaves, a collective sigh of relief and disappointment surging through the room.

"I'll go get Liebgott and Webster so they can be fitted and briefed," Nixon offers. His eyes catch Ron's in the doorway and he nods.

You turn, finally seeing him for the first time. In a second, you're out of your seat and bee-lining towards him. A frown tugs at your lips and darkens your eyes. "I wish it were you."

"For what?" Ron asks. "What's going on?"

"You didn't hear?"

He shakes his head, watching your frown grow deeper with every second.

"I've been chosen to infiltrate the German line to gather intelligence."

--

Ron has never seen anyone look at themselves with as much hatred as Liebgott does when he puts on the German uniform and sees himself in the mirror. If Webster didn't already look like he was so uncomfortable that he wants to crawl out of his skin, then Joe's scowl and his muttering would dampen the already somber mood.

Webster swallows. "We look --"

"Like them," Liebgott spits.

"That's the point," Nixon reminds them. "It's got to be convincing. There can be absolutely no suspicion once the three of you cross their line."

The bathroom door swings open and you step out, looking just as uncomfortable as the Easy men. After seeing you in your paratrooper uniform the entire war, seeing you dressed like a German nurse is almost enough to take Ron off-guard -- which means that it will convince the Germans.

You balk at yourself in the mirror. "This feels . . ."

"Disgusting?" Liebgott offers. "Unnatural? Disagreeable? Excruciating?"

Webster lets out a low whistle. "Those are some big words, Lieb."

It's obvious that he's trying to lighten the mood a little, but Liebgott's scowl only deepens. "Not everyone needs a college degree to have a wide vocabulary, Web."

"Let's review one more time," Nixon suggests before the two have the chance to turn their spat ugly.

"We cross the German line," you say. "If anyone asks, we were POWs who escaped and are trying to find our company. We find their headquarters, take the maps of their routes to see where they're going next, and make it back here as quickly and safely as we can."

Nixon nods. "Good." He hands his men some convincing looking documents that will back up their story. He fixes Liebgott with a firm look. "Before you go, Winters wants to talk to you."

Everyone knows that he's going to be getting a warning about what will happen if he gets trigger happy while on the other side of the line, but for is sake, Webster heads out with him to receive a similar warning, even though no one is worried about bookish, thoughtful Webster acting impulsively.

Which leaves you and Ron alone.

"Hey." You nudge his shoulder, something that's not quite a smile pulling at your mouth. "Don't worry about me. I've got this. We've got this."

Ron nods. "I know. I just wish I were the one going with you. I would feel a whole lot better about the whole thing."

"Me too. But the war won't always let us get what we want."

"Don't say that." You're referring to the mission, but it makes him think of his own belief that he won't make it through the war. It's fine for him to think so pessimistically, he reasons, but you shouldn't have to. The war hasn't always allowed him what he wants -- hell, life in general hasn't -- but he's stubborn enough that he's going to at least try to make things go his way. He suddenly knows how Orpheus felt when he determined to bring Eurydice back from the underworld.

You glance at the door that the other men left through, making sure that there isn't anyone watching, and then you take his hand. "I'll see you when I get back."

"I'll be waiting as close to the line for you as I can."

"I know you will."

And then you kiss him, putting self over service one last time.

--

The first thing that Ron hears is the heavy footsteps and the panting of multiple people trying to catch their breath. He automatically raises his rifle, just in case.

The first thing he sees is the blood covering the front of your nurse uniform and staining your hands. Your hands, which are white-knuckling a small stack of folders, but all he can focus on is the blood. Beside you, he only just registers that Webster and Liebgott are okay -- sweaty and blood splattered, but alive and back on the American side of the line.

No one is behind you. At least you weren't pursued.

Ron swings his rifle across his back and is by your side in a second, his hands automatically turning into those of a medic, searching you for a wound. He takes in a breath, ready to call out for Doc Roe, praying he'll be in earshot when you catch his hands, leaving streaks of red behind.

"Ron."

"Where did they get you?" He can't see any sort of entry wound, but he continues to search anyway. "(Y/N), where were you hit?" He doesn't ask his most important question: who do I have to kill?

"Ron." You still his hands. "It's not mine."

He freezes. "What?"

"It's not mine."

Webster is quick to explain, "Someone in their headquarters got suspicious about her uniform. They asked why she was wearing American shoes. We tried to explain that they were given to her when we were POWs, but one of the commanders got angry, saying that she should never have accepted anything from the enemy."

"He started asking too many questions, wouldn't let us leave," you pick up, squeezing Ron's hands so he won't feel how they shake. "We did what we had to do, and we got out with what we could."

"Oh thank God." In his relief, even with Webster and Liebgott right there, he cups your face and kisses you like you've been separated for eternity. You over him. You before the world.

"Oh." He's vaguely aware of Liebgott and Webster sharing a look. "Well this explains quite a lot."

"I'm okay." You rest your forehead against Ron's, both of you breathing heavily. It's quiet, but you huff a small, teasing laugh. "I'd have hoped that you would have more faith in me than that, Ron."

"You know I do," he assures you. "I'm just relieved, is all." And then, for good measure, he kisses you again. This, he thinks, is only appropriate -- it's what Orpheus would have done had Eurydice returned to him.

Who cares if there are people watching?

#I am incapable of writing a Speirs fic without some sort of greek mythology reference apparently #ron speirs #ron speirs x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #joe liebgott #lewis nixon #david webster #dick winters #my writing #ronald speirs #ronald speirs x reader

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Young Love and Old Money

Summary: this series follows the story of Lewis Nixon and Josephine Wills and their trials, tribulation and love throughout WW2, including stories of their friends in between. Warnings: swearing, mentions of war, class prejudices

Masterlist Moodboards

When Love Blooms - Aldbourne, October 1943

Lewis Nixon had never been known for being nervous but standing by the green in the middle of town he couldn’t help but cringe at the anxiety nibbling away at him. He’d checked his watch four times in the last 30 seconds and yet time seemed to have stopped altogether. Lewis tried to reassure himself that Josephine was only three minutes late. ‘She could easily be held up’ he tried to convince himself but as the minutes ticked by he became restless, striding back and forth, mumbling about how stupid he must have been. To think he actually believed she’d want to have dinner with him. Lewis jumped when a slender hand tapped his shoulder. Spinning around so quickly that he went cross-eyed, Lewis came face to face with a rather startled Josephine.

“Lieutenant Nixon, are you quite alright? You look like you’ve had quite a fright.” Josephine was an image of unimaginable beauty in his eyes. Her brunette locks were pinned neatly in two roles above her head, and the rest of her hair fell loosely around her shoulders in delicate curls. Her lips were painted red and her eyes shone like the stars above them, just brighter. Lewis had never truly appreciated the night sky, having always lived in New Jersey there was always light, always the noise of traffic but here in Aldbourne, the world stood still. The stars above them shone brighter than ever, whether this was due to the blackouts or just the nature of the evening Lewis didn’t know but he didn’t care. Standing before him was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes upon and he intended to cherish every moment with her.

“Wow,” was all Lewis could muster, his mouth suddenly feeling dry and his palms clammy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt nervous because of a woman but looking at Josie, the picture of beauty and elegance, Lewis could understand why.

“Shall we?” Josie placed her arm out for Lewis to take, which he gladly expected, pulling her against his warm chest and enveloping their hands together.

“We shall.” Lewis lead her towards the waiting jeep that Lewis had ‘borrowed’ for the evening and had somehow coerced his best friend, Dick Winters, to cover for him. “You really should meet Dick again on better terms, he’s a great guy,” Lewis assured her, causing Josie to laugh.

“I’m sure he is,” she smiled across at Lewis as he climbed into the other side of the vehicle, confusingly to Josie being the opposite side to where she was used to the driver sitting but she accepted the unusual American layout. All in all the jeep was rather spacious.

“So, where are we going?” Josie asked eagerly as the engine hummed to life with a shout and jolted forward. Lewis looked over to her, his brown eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint in them.

“You’ll have to wait and see.” He smirked and took great pleasure in Josie's small, pouty protest but it was all in jest and the pair quickly fell into conversation as if they had known each other for years.

The evening was wonderful, the food from the restaurant in Swindon was delicious and brought about some sense of normality to the pair. It had been a long time since Josie had eaten out in a restaurant, and the company was delightful. Josie couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so much as Lewis recalled tales from his childhood or his time at Camp Toccoa. “When this darn war is over I’m going to take you to Chicago and New York,” Lewis promised and Josie believed him. She hung off his every word and her heart fluttered every time their hands burst or their knees touched under the table. Could the evening be any more perfect?

After dinner, the pair walked along the cobbled street, arm in arm and sharing body heat against the cold October wind.

“I think a storm is brewing,” Lewis said, as another rumble of thunder confirmed his suspicion.

“I think you could be right,” Josie replied, and as if the heavens had heard large fat raindrops began to fall before coming down in sheets, smacking the pavement in heavy sheets.

“Run Josie!” Lewis called, grabbing her arm and hauling her into a sheltered alleyway. Josie screeched as a large raindrop splashed down her neck, giggling at Lewis who was squinting against the sudden onslaught. Josie felt safe as he wrapped his arms around her, their wet clothes sticking against their bodies and Lewis’ white shirt becoming transparent. Josie blushed as she watched the muscles of his abdomen ripple as he laughed.

“That was a close one,” she admitted, averting her gaze back to Lewis’ face but he’d already noticed her looking.

“It sure was.” It was so easy to laugh with Lewis and Josie forgot all her worries about the war. In this moment it was just her and Lewis, pressed impossibly close together in an alleyway sheltering from the rain.

“Josie?” Lewis whispered, his breath fanning across her face. She looked at him noticing the way his lip quivered slightly and his eyes hovered above her head but wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Lewis?”

“Josie, I… well I. You're a great girl Josie and…I had a really great time with you…” Lewis stumbled over his words and no longer resembled the confident intelligence officer she had met in Littlecote's driveway. As if Josie could sense what he was leading up to she grabbed hold of his collar, pulling him closer.

“I had a great time too.” She assured as she sealed their lips together. His lips were warm and comforting, not like anyone Josie had ever kissed before. She felt as though she was flying high above the clouds, the butterflies in her stomach lifting her far from the ground. When the pair broke apart Josie could still feel the imprint of his lips on hers.

“We should be getting back,” Lewis said, not even bothering to look at his watch, he was too lost in Josie’s eyes.

“Yes, we should.” Reluctantly the pair exited the alley, still arm in arm but closer than before and laughing joyfully back to the jeep

The drive home wasn’t long, although with blackout regulations Lewis drove impossibly slowly along the country lanes, whether it was for their safety or because he didn’t want the evening to end Josie wasn’t sure.

The headlights of the jeep were partly covered to comply with blackout regulations but still flashed upon the house, lighting it up from the end of the gloomy driveway. Josie felt her heart sink as they approached the two cars parked side by side on the driveway. Her father's black Rolls Royce parked menacingly by the front door, an ominous figure compared to the similarly green Austin parked beside it. Josie would recognise that car anywhere. It belonged to William Frederick Beaumont, or Will as Josie had always known him. William’s family had always been close to Josie’s family so naturally they had grown up together.

“Whose cars are in the driveway? Are your folks home from London?” Lewis asked, pulling the jeep up next to William’s Austin and cutting the engine.

“It’s my parents and a family friend. Look Lewis I had a wonderful time this evening…”

“Yes, I did too. It was swell and you’re a real lovely girl Josie. I…”

Josie interrupted Lewis, placing a hand against his strong, broad chest, “but I need to go.” She left a quick kiss on the intelligence officer's cheek, hurriedly gathering her dress into a bunch as she swung her legs out of the door, her feet hitting the gravel driveway with a loud crunch.

“Hey Josie, wait up!” Lewis hurried around to greet her, concern evident on his face. Josie felt her heart thudding frantically as he pressed her against his chest, his hand finding its way to her spine, running his fingers delicately along it.

Her eyes darted up to face him. “Lewis, I’m sorry I really need to…”

“JOSEPHINE, WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS GOING ON?” Her father's voice bellowed, causing Josie to freeze in Lewis’ embrace.

“Lewis, you have to go, please,” Josie’s voice was desperate, she pushed her hands against his chest, pushing him further from her and back towards the jeep. She hated what she was doing to him, she hated herself for treating him like this but she wanted to spare him from her father's wrath.

“JOSEPHINE!” His voice bellowed again, she could hear his feet stomping furiously across the gravel creating a cacophony of crunches, the sharp little stones compressing under his large frame.

“By God, you’ve done it this time my girl. Out until God knows what hour, in the dark and with an American no less. You bring shame upon this family…”

“Please Sir, allow me to introduce myself. Lieutenant Lewis Nixon of the 101st Airborne Division. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Lewis thrust his large hand towards her father, the other remaining behind his back as he gave her father a dazzling smile. Josie didn’t know whether to admire his bravery or think he was completely bonkers.

“Did I say you could speak, Yank!” Her father snarled, his face contorted with rage. Lewis withdrew his hand, replacing it into his jacket pocket with a nod.

“Sir, I’m sorry for having your daughter out so late. We lost track of time but I can assure you my intentions for your daughter are honest and this will not happen again.” Lewis reached out to squeeze Josie’s hand reassuringly which she gladly accepted.

“Unbelievable!” Josie’s father grabbed hold of her arm, dragging her from Lewis’ grip despite his protest and pulling her towards the house.

“Mr Wills, please don’t do this. Let’s just talk about this,” Lewis called desperately. Josie could feel hot tears streaming down her rouged cheeks, her arm stinging under her fathers tight grip.

“You stay away from my family, Yank. We don’t need the likes of you around here,” Mr Wills shouted as he slammed the front door shut, blocking out the light from the hallway and leaving a rather dejected Lewis standing on the driveway.

The door slammed shut, screaming on its hinges and causing Josie to jump. Her hands shook and her breathing was rapid and shaky. She tried to dry her tears in the sleeve of her coat whilst her father paced up and down in front of her muttering to himself. His large frame towered above her and his brisk, heavy steps wore away at the hallway carpet.

“What the hell are you playing at? Do you have no respect for this family anymore?” He turned swiftly to glare at her but Josie just shook her head, keeping quiet. Josie had been through this drill before and while in the past she would have argued, shouted, and cried from the heavens about how unfair her life was, this time she didn’t. She felt humiliated. Lewis Nixon the only man she had truly felt a connection to watched as she was dragged helplessly away by her father. Would she ever see him again? Not if her father had his say she wouldn’t.

“And an American no less. You know they only want one thing from you Josephine! One thing!” His voice echoed through the halls and Josie only hoped that her mother and William were out of earshot.

“You humiliate this family and I will not have that. I will not have you sleeping your way through the entire US forces.”

Josie opened her mouth in a small squeak of protest but her father's harsh glare caused her jaw to slap shut.

“No, we will deal with this situation with grace and decorum. You are to be married as soon as possible to William. He is an excellent young gentleman, of good pedigree and he will look after you.”

Josie stared at her father in disbelief, the cogs of her mind turned ten to the dozen as she tried to process what he had said. William was a fine young gentleman of excellent pedigree, he was also very kind and funny and Josie did enjoy his company but she didn’t love him. Not like she had started to feel towards Lewis.

“But father please, William is wonderful but I do not love him.” Her father snorted, his large ruddy face wobbling as he chuckled.

“Love? What has love got to do with any of this? You are to marry William. We shall discuss the arrangements over breakfast in the morning. Now go straight to bed, I want you looking your best for your official engagement tomorrow.” And with that, her father hurried down the corridor to the room he shared with his wife, his broad shoulders barely avoiding near misses with the ornament cabinet as he hurried away.

Josie felt herself release the breath she was holding, she gasped as the salty tears returned, flowing freely down her cheeks as she tried to stabilise herself on the Chester draws in the hallway. She collapsed backwards, pressing herself against the door as she sobbed, short gasping breath escaped her burning lungs, as all the pain flowed freely from her. How could her father do such a thing? How could he be so cruel? Josie’s mind thought to her early question of whether she would ever see Lewis again after tonight but the answer didn’t matter anymore because she was to marry William and she’d have no choice but to say yes.

Tagging: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @hbowardaily @mayhem24-7forever @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @blvestxr @merriell-allesandro-shelton

Please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from this series taglist.

#young love and old money #Josephine Wills #lewis nixon x oc #oc band of brothers fic #band of brothers #hbo war

[coveredinsun]

i wrote 3 different winnix fics in december & january but i realized i NEVER posted them here. so behold, my series of winnix fics where i get further and further detached from canon, and where i also make lew a girldad for fun

1. darling, it’s grand, they just don’t understand

“Act upon what he finds within himself, and only himself,” said Dick, audibly pensive in a way he hadn’t been. “I quite like that.”

“Well, that’s the gist,” said Lew with a shrug. He wasn’t even in the top half of eloquent men. “Honestly, I really hated reading and analyzing Emerson’s essays. He found a way to talk and talk and talk about nothing at all, when he could’ve kept it perfectly concise.”

Like you, Lew almost said. The bullet got jammed. Still, he had a hunch that Dick could read his mind this one time.

Or: July, 1948. Blanche Nixon invites her brother, and his business partner slash lover, to… a baseball game?

6.5k words, fluffiest of the three; my weird band of brothers/a league of their own (2022) crossover fic??? whatever. blanche invites winnix to a baseball game to see her baseball player girlfriend-ish, all the way mae. stupid emily dickinson references because i’m lame and basic, sue me. gay jazz clubs :)

2. november 27th

“Kathy hates it when I call her Maggie, but I think it’s cute that she’s got a little nickname to grow out of.”

“Or maybe she’ll find someone who calls her Maggie,” replied Dick, totally without thinking. “And he’ll say it’s ‘cause it’s easier, sure. But more than anything he’ll like the way it sounds when he says it.”

When Nix looked at him, then, his eyes glittered. His lips were pursed like he needed to say something or he’d shrivel up and die.

There were many things Dick could conceptualize him saying. Luckily, they fell into two neat categories—the things Dick expected Nix to say, and the things Dick wanted him to.

Or: 1942, 1944, and 1946. A study on Lewis Nixon’s history with love, destructive vices, and fatherhood—as seen from the eyes of a wife and a lover.

8.2k words, perhaps the most densely packed with angst of the three. examines lew and his relationships with love and fatherhood, both alongside kathy and alongside dick. ann winters introduction <3 and classic new jersey angst

3. the likes of me abide

“Well, I feel compelled to be a little more brave now,” replied Dick, holding up his gaze like Atlas held the heavens. “I ought to give you an answer that’s more honest.”

But not fully. It was sort of bitingly ironic, the way Lew always put up Dick as the more honest of them. He didn’t find that to be true. Not when there still existed so many selfish desires in his mind, like the one that practically clawed and scratched like an animal just to fit somewhere into this part of Lew’s life. He might never put that desperation into words.

Or: Summertime, 1951. Lew gets back in touch with Kathy.

10.3k words, angsty but less intensely as last time. i go reallyyyyy ham with kathy’s character in this, so take that as a treat. i also actually make lew and kathy’s daughter into a character <3

#just in case people still check this tag #ship of theseus-ing winnix one fic at a time! call that the winnix of theseus #aka the saga of girldad lew🫶 #<- he deserves it. take that statement however you want #band of brothers #winnix #lewis nixon #dick winters #<- i HATEEEEEE tagging their names sm😭😭😭😭 #band of brothers fic #my writing