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we-always-hit-our-ass · 4 years

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Pecks and Clementines (George Luz x Reader)

Author’s Note: After this, I’ll shortly open my inbox so please stay tuned! I apologize in advance if any of my lovely readers are allergic or dislike clementines hnhh. Also also- I love you guys, that is all.

Warnings: just a few swear words, nothin’ too major +its pretty fuckin long cause ahaha slowwww burn with luz hnghh

Words: 7.1k (my essays are quaking)

Description: A simple interaction shared between you and George leaves him enamored and he finds himself having feelings for you. You soon follow suit. Who knew giving clementines could get you someone as amazing as George?

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A gesture was all it took.

What happened wasn’t even something intimate; it was more of a touch that was commonly shared by acquaintances or strangers rather than lovers. To briefly put it, that gesture was just you offering him a clementine. He remembers how he was fixed upon the bright orange clementine in your soft hand, ripe and just begging to be peeled and eaten.

A kind, old woman generously handed you plenty back in England and so you thought you’d share. George was the nearest to you and so he was the first one who received the sweet citrus fruit, something he never thought he’d be thankful for.

Passing it along to him, you thought nothing of the interaction as a mere act of kindness. However it felt like so much more. How an act as simple as that made him burst into flames is an enigma. Not to mention how your hand ever so softly brushed against his. The touch lingering mere moments longer after the deed was done and George couldn’t help but feel just a tad disappointed when it finally disappeared.

He didn’t even know if he felt it... But he did, and with that one coincidental incident--he was hooked. A magnetizing presence was what you had, and like a piece of metal, George was instantly drawn to you.

Who wouldn’t?

There was something unique about you, something he had never seen or experienced before. That moment back in England felt so far away but also felt like it just occurred yesterday. The technician thought about you for weeks, the beautiful and more than capable soldier who put up with the company.

(Y/N) (L/N)... (Y/N) (L/N), he kept repeating in his head, your name ingrained in his head and it spilling out of his lips like a mantra. Thoughts about you in his head bouncing around like how a ball would when thrown against a surface.

The young man couldn’t identify how to describe how he felt, what he was experiencing only categorized as a deep and sensual longing. Of course George knew that it was way more than a passing fancy, for it was exponentially deeper. Complicated were the feelings of love, and George was yet another who got caught in the mystery of it.

His heart fluttered whenever his honey brown eyes laid upon yours, that radiant (E/C) hue that seemed to reveal your innermost secrets yet simultaneously concealing them from the outside world. Of course for the past few months of his newfound attraction towards you, he’d dismiss it as nothing serious.

But one cannot plainly deny fate and George soon accepted that fact. Now, he made more of an effort to see you--to interact more with the woman who’d captured his heart. But moments with you were scarce, making it even more a reason to cherish and savor them for as much as he could.

Easy Company had been staying in Normandy, the events of D-Day all too fresh on everyone’s minds. A break was what they needed and the men indulged themselves in the quiet and peaceful moments before they would move out again. They were stationed in a quaint town where they were now resting.

Perconte was showing off the many watches he had snagged from dead soldiers to Blithe, who was only silent and once again zoning out. Banter was frequent and it comforted the both of you, a homey and cozy feeling enveloping your forms. But all good things come to an end and Welsh had told the company that they would be capturing a town called Carentan. Welsh had just informed the men, who were still tired and perhaps a bit sluggish, that General Taylor would be sending the whole division for this.

“Remember boys, maybe three days and three nights of rough fightin', and you will be relieved!'" George rang out towards the group. The ebony haired man receiving a few laughs and an especially amused look from 2nd Lieutenant Welsh as well. George cracked a smile of his own as he continued.

“Another thing to remember boys, flies spread disease, so keep yours closed.” Laughs were plentiful then, one soldier even jokingly telling him to shut up.

Then… That’s when he heard it--your laugh. George had never heard anything more beautiful in his entire life, and for once in the war, he felt like he was floating his way to heaven. He never noticed you were so close to him, as he was preoccupied mimicking the General himself. George let his jaw go slack and gazed at your twinkling eyes, your lips still stretched in a smile. His own orbs never left your form and while his mouth was parted, no words came out.

“Ello, Georgie, you were imitating Taylor a lil while ago, what’cha mimicking now? A rock?” A devilish grin was on your face and George felt himself heat up, a light rouge color dusting his cheeks.

You chuckled as you walked alongside him with the rest of the men. The technician’s eyes only widened for a second before reverting to their normal size. “For your information Corporal (L/N), I was imitating a soldier who was left speechless from looking at a beauty.”

After his remark, it was your turn to flush. Turning your head sideways so as to not let George see your face from picking up any more color. Triumphant and feeling a bit proud in himself for making you react like that, George nudged you and you were met with a smirk. You two stuck by each other’s sides as you and the rest of the company kept on marching to their next destination, butterflies in your stomach the whole journey through.

Happiness was what you felt, and you found yourself experiencing them when you were with George. Silence took over you both, it was comfortable and quiet, even if the rest of the boys weren’t. For George, it wasn’t like him to be silent--little did you know that he was only like that because he was far too afraid to embarrass himself.

Prior confidence be damned, the poor boy was reduced to a puddle when around you, and you could say the same about yourself when you were around him too (you were just a tad bit better at keeping your composure than George).

Deciding to strike up another conversation with him, you looked up at him and your two eyes met for a short time before turning back to face forward again. “You all good, Georgie?”

“I’m good.” Warm hazel eyes glanced at your being next to his, the corners of his lips tugging into another one of his dopey smiles.

The way the sun played upon your hair, the beams reflected on it making it seem like you had a halo, and after taking note of that his smile only grew bigger. “Very good, (Y/N).”

And George knew that no amount of his jokes or imitations could hide the fact that he was head over heels.

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

Carentan was nothing short of traumatic, it was something else and the thought of it left a foul taste on George’s tongue. It made him queasy just thinking about it and while he knew these sorts of things would happen, George would rather much prefer if these events were shoved deep in the back of his brain.

A lot of things kept his mind running though, like Skip’s hilarious recountings of what he did in his hometown, Johnny’s quips and sarcastic comments, and Guarnere chipping in his opinion on obscure matters. And of course, how could he forget you sitting right beside him--so close it was almost unbearable. You two joined in whatever conversation the men close to you were having and George felt as if he’d been blessed every time you giggled at one of his jokes.

Then all the sudden Smokey was reciting a poem he had made, much to the chagrin of Talbert and Smith. “Night of the Bayonet” as he had called it, and George exhaled air out his nose the moment he started speaking. Talbert and Smith were good-natured about it though, and every time Gordon finished a rhyme, a chorus of light chuckles followed. It was amusing, seeing one of your fellow soldiers like this and you were grinning throughout the entire thing.

“Never knew Smokey was Shakespeare.” You comment under your breath, and George perked up almost immediately as soon as your melodious voice flowed to his ears.

“Neither did I, but we’re all full of surprises aren’t we?” George playfully replied, reveling in the smile you sent his way before turning back to the standing soldier. Smokey went on in the background, making everyone in the mess hall chuckle.

Finishing his poem, with a slightly embarrassed Talbert and Smith still trained on his figure, Smokey took off his Purple Heart and announced how he’ll give it to Talbert. The mess hall erupted in whoops and cheers as Gordon handed it to a more than gleeful Tab. The atmosphere was right, and it was all smiles and laughs, how glad George was that Carentan was far behind them. Conversations danced in the air, easily coming out and before George could engage a talk with you, Lipton’s voice filled the air.

Words ceased and heads turned, their attention fixed on the Sergeant.

“Couple of announcements, men.”

“And woman.” George turned his head at you, his head of soft, dark hair taking up most of your vision.

His quiet comment and signature smile made you a bit more relaxed as you had quite stiffened up ever since Lip stood up. You playfully smack his arm and George raises his hands in a faux surrendering motion. The young man sticking his tongue playfully at you as you mockingly rolled your eyes before reverting your attention back to Lipton.

Apparently, their training had been canceled and you wrapped your arms around Babe (the replacement who you and Guarnere quickly got along with) and George briefly while cheering, the latter returning the gesture. Not even a second later, Lipton then announced how their passes were revoked. Smiles turn into light frowns and George’s happy mood deflates, he could feel your arms slowly dropping from his shoulders.

To further add salt to the wound, Easy Company wouldn’t be returning back to England. They were heading back to France, and they had to pack up all their gear and get a move on. Plans you had hoped to do in England were now unceremoniously pushed out of the window, your eyebrows now furrowed hard. You puffed your cheeks out in annoyance and in quiet exasperation as the building turned silent.

George and you exchanged glances at one another, George mouthing ‘what the fuck?’. That made you chuckle louder than you expected and during the Sergeant's announcements, and few men craned over to where you were, giving you a confused glance. Your head dipped from slight embarrassment and you teasingly glared at Luz, who only mouthed back a simple ‘not my fault’, which in return you softly elbowed his upper arm.

“As you were,” and with that, Lipton’s announcements were concluded.

Everybody remained silent for just a little bit longer, seemingly trying to process the new information, but it wasn’t long before chatter rose up. The table, however, was noticeably not the same old happy table they were before. Skip and Luz only looked down and you glanced at black haired individual, thinking of ways to cheer him up.

“Hopefully there’ll be sweet old ladies who give out a store’s worth of clementines in France too,” you said while nudging the technician.

The way you had said was almost wistful, dreamy even, as if you genuinely hoped that you would get at least one of the fruits that you have come to love. Luz immediately mentally makes a note to get you some soon.

George immediately let a wide beaming smile fill his face, his head replaying the memory of you ever so graciously handing him one--the moment where he realized that he had become smitten by you. In a singular moment, you noticed how the whole table seemed to brighten up. What you didn't notice was how George’s gleaming eyes were glazed and a light pink color situated itself on his cheeks.

“(Y/N), of course there’s plenty of them in France. I’m just not sure if they’ll give any to you though.” You feigned hurt at George’s joke, dramatically wiping nonexistent tears as you pretend to not stand George’s presence any longer.

Like a sappy movie, George imitated a heartbroken man and you broke your act, laughing hard at George’s ridiculous imitation. That same warm feeling returned to his chest seeing you clutching your stomach, laughing heartily at something he did.

It was surreal, transcending all human comprehension.

Skip and Martin were caught up conversing on a subject George couldn’t care less about and Guarnere and Heffron seemed to click instantly and they discussed things back in Philadelphia. Recovering from your fit of laughter was no easy task and you begged George to stop messing around or else you wouldn’t be able to breathe.

“You’ll make history Corporal (Y/N), can you imagine--the first soldier to die of laughter rather than a battle wound.”

“And you Luz--the first soldier without a brain to survive a war.”

Proudly smirking at his widened eyes and gaping mouth, it was beautiful seeing it bloom into another one of his charming grins. With no one really paying you two any mind, your smile to George felt different. No longer was it friendly, it felt almost more at that moment. In the frame of just a few seconds, you knew that there was something else.

The chatting in the background kept you tied down to Earth before you could further float away in the moment you and George silently shared. You two were just chatting mere seconds ago, so why now does George look so…? Look so handsome, why now do you only notice that? It was nothing, it was natural to acknowledge an attractive person, and so you paid no mind to that fluttering feeling located deep inside of you.

Clinking from the white porcelain dishes snapped you out of you and George’s reveries and you blinked a multitude of times to get a sense of what just happened. Skip ruffled your hair as if to catch your attention, and it worked.

“The “I’ve-Been-Scared-Shitless-by-the-Ghost-of-my-Great-Uncle” look doesn’t really suit you two.” Skip had said to you as he finished messing up your hair, you turned to give him a deadly look only for it to look like a pout--which he laughed at.

George stood up from the bench and situated himself next Skip before gracefully putting his arms around his shoulders in an exaggerated manner.

“Are you done shitting on the face my mother gave me or is there something else, Mr. Warren ‘My-Dick-was-Baptized-in-the-Niagara-River’ Muck?”

Skip quirked his eyebrows up at George, and a sound that seemed like a combination of a snort and an ambulance left the dirty blonde man. Amused and cheery, the three of you erupt in a burst of subtle chuckles and your exuberant beam dies as you three begin to quiet down.

“Well, if you two weren’t so busy ogling each other, we’re goin’ out already. Need to pack our bags and head out to France, just our luck.” Skip’s thumb pointed to the exit, a steady flow of soldiers already heading out the wooden door.

You grumble quietly, remembering what Lipton had said prior to all this and George couldn’t help but notice your slightly sour mood. Skip was well ahead of you and George, as the both of you took your time getting ready to leave. That same comfortable silence in which you two were so familiar with encompassed you both, but it was slightly dampened from that inconspicuous frown you brandished on your lips.

Finally standing up and smoothing down the wrinkles that have accumulated on your skirt from sitting down, your gaze fell to George. He was patient and didn’t mind waiting for you, but on his face a concerned expression makes itself known.

You attempted to reassure him with a smile, which only seemed to make his eyebrows furrow more. Walking towards the exit and subtly pushing your way through the soldiers by the door, you spoke up about your worries and frustrations.

“I’m just upset, y’know?” Your hands gestured to yourself before falling limply to your side, the both of you subconsciously walked back to the barracks--already having memorized the path to it.

“Oh wow, who would've guessed? Jesus Christ (Y/N), your frown is as noticeable as Malarker’s hair.”

George’s response made you blow out air from your nose, your tense soldiers relaxing before they went stiff again. The raven haired technician placed a reassuring hand on the back of your neck, immediately relieving you.

“But don’t you think it’s too soon?” You questioned him, “We only just got back from Carentan and we lost 65 men there. 65 men, Georgie!”

Immediately hands turned your body to face the man in front of you, and your lips briefly opened from the suddenness. Even after you had already been put forward his hands rested on your shoulders, lightly gripping the fabric of your uniform. Your breathing evened out, no longer the erratic rhythm it took on just a few moments ago. The dirt road you two occupied to the barracks were surprisingly barren, despite the many soldiers who seemed to have been more than eager to head back.

“It’s alright (Y/N), it’s goin’ to be alright.”

“And if not..?” That tinge of desperation in your voice slightly broke something in George and it struck a chord in his heart.

He didn’t want you to be like this--in fear of what the future holds. To see his crush and closest friend look so defeated and frustrated left a deep sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and he desired nothing more than to see you beam again. Oh how he wanted to just swoop you up and kiss you until nothing other than him was on your mind, but he restrained himself. A genuine look nestled itself in George’s sepia eyes, and his hands loosened their grip on your shoulders.

“Well, you still have me.” A shit-eating grin that exudes cockiness replaced his once serene one. He was obviously trying to cheer you up, and of course it worked.

“Oh, shut up, George.”

“And you think that you saying that will make me?”

Your hand went to playfully shove him, but his arm wrapped around your body, pulling you flush against his side. That same beautiful laugh of yours rang out in the air and the once tense and melancholy atmosphere from just a few moments ago dissipated like smoke on a rainy day. The sun could only hide in shame when it saw your blinding smile and George never felt so happy. Previous negative emotions also washed away, being replaced with a soft feeling of bliss.

You two walked back to the barracks, laughing on the whole journey there. The both of you seemed to forget how you still have your arms hanging around each other’s forms, too wrapped up in the conversation you shared with George. Either way, if you did notice, you didn’t think that you would ever want to let go. And for once you let your mind slip about what will happen in the war.

Like what George said: you did still have him after all.

-----------

Returning back to France wasn’t as bad as you had thought, maybe it was because you now grew closer to the ebony haired technician. Mourmand-le-Grand was a quaint little commune and news said that you’d be occupying the small town until Easy Company received orders for another assignment. For the most part, it was so serene, quite the opposite of what you were actually feeling.

A cacophony of little tiny voices of your head screaming at the same time and a discord and flurry of emotions swirled in your chest--restless thoughts about George occupied the space of your brain, turning it into a pig sty of complicated feelings.

After that day, your feelings for George surged through the roof, and what you thought was just as a simple crush turned into something more. Spending time with George went as usual, but you noticed a few additions. Both you and George acknowledged this, but you two were too unsure of the signs to ever push things forward.

Maybe it was the way your hand was lingering longer on his shoulder, the way George looked at your direction for a few more seconds than necessary, or the persistent emotion that always flourished whenever you were near him. That same persistent feeling that could be compared to honey--sticking no matter what and saccharine sweet.

You two knew about your feelings toward each other, hell you even accepted the fact that you did! But how come you two never did anything else? It was if you two stumbled across a brick wall blocking you both from the next step, and instead of trying to find a way around it or break through it, you two just sat there. It just never picked up, and you really didn’t know what to do about it.

If someone were to tease you and George by calling you two a couple or ‘good match’, the latter would always erupt into flames. You would stammer, denying all claims even if they were so fucking obvious and clear as day-

Malarkey and Skip always pestered you to make a move, for he was as in love with you as much as you were with him. They’d try to goad you to finally make the relationship official, often asking you what were you waiting for. You dismissed their ideas and swatted their suggestions to do so, much to the chagrin of the two. It wasn’t as if you were afraid that he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, you knew he did. It was just…

God, why was it all so complicated?

“I don’t get it (Y/N), I really don’t,” Skip propped his elbows on the wooden table, “What’s the point of waitin’ around, you’re just making it harder for yourself.”

Malarkey scooted his chair closer to you and Skip, deciding to hop on the conversation you two are having, “Yeah, you two are practically a couple by now, why are you stalling?” He added, his flaming hair emphasizing the look of disbelief and confusion on his face.

“Well, it’s going to be weird, George is my friend!”

“He also happens to be a friend,” Skip raises his arms to put air quotes, “who is in love with you!” The blonde man quickly quips back, his hands gesticulating wildly in the air to highlight the absurdity of your predicament.

Not having the energy to respond with one of your own snappy remarks, you let Skip’s words sink into your mind. You exhaled and slowly slumped on your chair, your warm forehead making contact with the cool surface of the table. A groan from the back of your throat left your lips, your two confidants giving each other looks before turning back to focus on your hunched form.

“How about you tell him tomorrow?” Malarkey casually suggests, not noticing the way your eyes grow big.

The question punches you deep in the gut and you struggle to form a cohesive thought for a second. You raise your head to give an incredulous look to Malarkey, “And what makes you think I’ll agree to that-”

“Just think about it, (Y/N). You both still have your weekend passes, right? So maybe you two can have some quality couple bonding time with each other--tell him how you feel then you two can do whatever it is couples do.”

Your head went up at the idea, Malarkey grinning when he saw you do so. Your eyes flickered between Malarkey’s face and your lap, your (E/C) orbs deep in thought. Suddenly your face grew warm at the idea of you and George spending time together, and maybe actually going on a date. (Well technically you two actually went on plenty of dates and things like that, you both were just too stubborn to ever call it them that or admit it.)

“And you won’t even have to worry about the rest of us bothering you two because we’d probably be too shit-faced to.”

Skip let out a cheeky smirk and gave a knowing glance to both you and Malarkey, the both of you playfully rolling your eyes at the man. You contemplated for a few more moments, trying to wrap your head around what you’re going to get yourself into. It was a bit stupid--how you were waiting and putting things on hold. Maybe Skip was right about you making it more difficult for yourself and George. Your fingers and fingernails drummed against the wooden table as you pressed your cheek into the palm of your hand.

The two men only glanced at your figure, still idle on the chair. Waiting for an answer, you finally broke the stale, silent air. You released a breath you didn’t even know you were suppressing and gazed upon the expectant looks on Malarkey and Skip. They were on the edge of their seat, looking like a kid waiting to open their presents on Christmas.

“Fine. Tomorrow. If it doesn’t go well I’m going to replace your bullets with stale bread.”

Your thinly veiled threat, which wasn’t even a threat but more of a joke, didn’t deter Malarkey and Skip from bursting into a fit of cheers. Their loud whoops and shouts made you smile and gave you just a bit of reassurance for the next day. The blond and ginger man could be seen giving each other high-fives and patting each other on the back, clearly they had been anticipating this moment for a very very long time.

You knew these two will never shut up about them being you and George’s wingmen if the date goes as planned.

“Stop moping (Y/N), before y’know it, you’re going to be asking yourself why you didn’t do this sooner!”

You looked at Malarkey quizzically but as soon as you did your expression turned into something of the brightest of smiles. The two of them sunk back into their chairs, clearly proud of their feat of finally convincing you to go on an official date with George Luz himself. Both of these idiots are the both the best and worst things to have ever happened to you.

But you now had a date to worry about, and you prayed heavily for it to go well.

-----------

So that’s where you found yourself currently, fussing over your uniform even if you usually didn’t. Tilting your cap so it rested perfectly on your head and adjusting your tie ever so often. Adrenaline pumped throughout your body and a surge of excitement plowed through your being every few minutes.

You remember the pep-talk your two friends have given you (if you can even call it that, it was just Skip teasing you and Malarkey reminding you to stay responsible like a mother). Their reassuring smiles as they left the door brought a feeling of consolation to your nerve-wracked figure.

“--go get him, (Y/N)!”

“And don’t forget to use a condo-” You never shoved anyone so fast out the door so hard in your life.

“Why can’t you two just hurry up and get drunk sooner?”

Your exasperated tone did nothing to hide your clearly warm and flushed face, but your eyes could’ve most definitely paralyzed the men. Skip and Malarkey chuckled loudly before Skip stopped right in front of the door and took off his cap and bowed. Malarkey soon did the same gesture.

“You wish is our command, m’lady.”

Sarcasm flowed from every pore of that statement and you can only huff in amusement at their antics. The two men rushed to the pub where most of the other soldiers were, their arms raising up to bear you farewell, more words of encouragement leaving their lips. A cheeky grin flashed on Skip’s face as he gave you one last joking middle finger--which of course you returned to him.

Their forms disappeared around the corner and you took all your willpower to calm down your rapidly beating heart.

It was now or never, you had guessed.

Even with the two men always pouring you with comforting remarks and consoling you, your body soon soared above the skies with anxiety once again. Oh, you didn’t even know what you were worried about--you like him and he likes you.

In what part of this date was making you so nervous, you two had done it plenty of times. Perhaps it was because you finally came into terms that you did indeed have feelings for him, for all the other times you were so blissfully ignorant of your special bond with him. Shaking your head to relieve yourself of any more questions, you opted to stay silent for the duration of your wait.

So you patiently waited for George near the dirt road where you had told him to meet you. Your thumbnail was placed between your lips and your left foot drummed against the dry floor in a very antsy manner. Seconds rode on achingly slow, it was if they wanted you to suffer. Maybe this was a bad idea, and maybe he wasn’t going to come after all. Why’d you ever listen to those two? What good ever came from actually paying heed to them? With a defeated sigh, you kicked a pebble near your feet and maneuvered your body to head back to the barracks-

“Hey, (Y/N).”

Fuck.

So you turned slowly, your form still in the middle of trying to walk back. And as soon as you did, you thought you were blinded from the sheer beauty that George exuded. Your voice got trapped in your throat and you swore you forgot to even breathe for the briefest of moments. George Luz, standing in front of you with the brightest smile you ever saw him wearing. Both of your lips slightly parted as you took each other’s appearances in, gawking not so subtly at each other.

If you fainted, you wouldn’t exactly blame yourself--just look at him! His soft and short raven hair picking up light from the sun’s rays, giving it a sheer glow. And that damned smile of his, the same one he always wore--and every time they captivated you, this time was no exception. His uniform was clean and crisp, fitting him quite nicely. All you wanted was to stop time so you had just a moment to gather yourself. Instead of fluttering butterflies, you had a whole stampede of elephants occupying your stomach.

“You don’t look half-bad yourself, Georgie,” The amount of effort you put to make your voice sound presentable, you would’ve squeaked it out if you just let it out.

George only hummed in acknowledgement at your greeting, clearly distracted by your presence as you were with his. Your hands shuffled nervously, catching his eye. And the way your (E/C) gleamed as they always had, and despite you acting so flustered, that same spark you carried with you was noticeable. Your lips were caught between your teeth, and he laughed almost sheepishly when you noted his look. Beautiful… You were so beautiful in his eyes.

Time whizzed by and the date for which you two came for flew over your head. Stammering at the realization, you snapped out of daze and walked forward to stand face to face with George.

Forgetting the basket in his hands, George raised it up for you to see. You didn’t even notice that he had a basket for you, as you were too caught up admiring him. It didn’t even take a second for you to immediately recognize its contents. The vivid orange color of the many clementines that were nestled in the straw basket made you beam. After taking one into your hands and inspecting them, you turned your head to look up at George.

“You remembered! How’d you get these?”

Before his response could leave his lips, you pressed your index finger at his lips--effectively shushing him and making him flush.

“Wait no let me guess-” Your fingers snapped before pointing at him, “An old woman came up to you and ever so generously handed you these.”

George laughed and while shaking his head briefly, and that sent shivers crawling down your spine, and you felt aware of the close distance you two shared. You stepped away cautiously, as to not put attention on your form. George eyed the basket one more time before locking his chocolate eyes onto yours.

“Where’d you get 'em then?”

“Saw a tree down by the road-” Cutting him off you glanced at the orange citrus before playfully shoving George.

Shameless was George’s expression, he even seemed pleased even. You gawked at his nonchalant attitude, and George passed the straw basket to you.

“Oh, George you didn’t!” Strolling to your intended spot with George was filled with quips and chuckles, but you couldn’t conceal the surprised expression you held in your face. Eyes still blown wide and mouth stuttering. George stole these clementines… For you? He surely must be joking-

“Oh yes, I did.”

“George Luz, holy shit, where’s your dignity?” You teasingly questioned him.

While you seemed reluctant and against the idea of stealing the possessions of others, you didn’t even hesitate to let your fingers snatch up a small clementine from the basket.

“I never had any in the first place.” He replied, to which you giggled at.

Finally arriving at the place where you and George had agreed to spend your date at, you plopped yourself on the grass with the grace of a new-born deer. You were quite glad you and the technician decided this to be the place. It was simple, really, just a tree near a meadow. The spot wasn’t that far off from the main road and you had a clear view of the serene commune. The sky was absolutely beautiful, a gorgeous azure color--free of any clouds with the sun blessing you with its warm, welcoming rays.

The basket was set between the two of you, giving you a bit of space. The tree provided you with shade, the rustling of the leaves making for relaxing background noise. You would’ve heard the birds singing if it weren’t for the incessant pounding of your heart--it still manages to run a marathon even after it had surely been beating since the beginning of the day.

While your gaze avoided that of George’s, he was quite the opposite. George rested his eyes on your figure, trailing over your form and taking in every single detail. Adoration stretched across his face as the day continued, the two of you staying in a cloak of comfortable silence.

The clementine from earlier was still pressed snug against your palms, and to keep your head busy, you decided to peel it. Using your nails to shed the outer skin and popping a piece into your mouth, immediately hitting your tongue with the fresh taste. Growing bold, you picked a piece and reached your arm to offer it to George.

As if a movie reeled in his head, he was reminded of the first time he had ever interacted with you. George took the piece in your hand, his fingers brushing against your palm--offering him that same shock as the moment you two had shared in England. Muttering his thanks, he concentrated on how utterly peaceful you looked (even when on the inside, you were practically having all natural disasters occurring within you).

You grabbed another clementine from the basket, and once again offered a piece to George, who only looked pleasantly taken back. Breaking the silence, conversations soon flowed easily, like a stream. Hugging your knees close to your chest, you chatted with the black haired man, laughing and giggling ever so often at one of his stories. No longer the silence you two had shared at the beginning, but rather that same banter and ridiculous back-and-forth you always had with each other.

“Did I ever tell you the story of how I stole the neighbor’s dog?”

“You did what?”

“Don’t worry--I gave it back, naturally.”

Letting his words sink in, you grinned--your lips reaching the corners of your eyes. For a second, you felt slightly guilty for laughing at the whole thing. You raised an eyebrow at him, urging him to tell you more.

But you leaned back, still in disbelief at his words and still finding his antics just a bit amusing all the same.

“Well did I ever tell you the story of how I’m going to smack you so hard, they’ll give you a Purple Heart?”

His soft head of hair turned back in a flurry, his hands flying up to shield his upper arms. Giggling, you reassured him that you wouldn’t.

“I’m only joking, calm down!”

Settling down, George continued the many stories of his shenanigans back at his hometown. You gazed in wonder the whole time, nodding your head absentmindedly at each syllable that spilled out of him. The digits of your hands slowly inched closer to his, George also unknowingly doing the same.

The timbre of his voice and impressions left you breathless, your chest almost hurting from the countless times you let out a long chuckle. The grass felt nice upon the surface of your skin and you resumed your conversation with Luz, until you felt something warm against the back of your hand.

Visibly tensing up, you realized that George’s hand was on top of yours. Slumping and relaxing your shoulders when figuring out, George’s words came out fuzzy. Muffled and incoherent, you no longer paid them mind--instead bringing your fingers to intertwine with his. Your companion stopped speaking, sentences refusing to leave his lips.

Without even having to utter a word, the two of you were drawn to each other. Leaning in closer to close the proximity between you two, the basket placed in the middle was knocked over--the small clementines falling out and rolling a short distance before stopping. The clementines were strewn about, but you and George paid no mind. Tantalizing, his lips were right there in front of you--slightly parted and ever so rosy. And with a burst of passion, you leapt to capture his mouth in a slow peck, one that only lasted for a few seconds.

You did it. You actually did it.

“I love you so fucking much, (Y/n)--”

But before George could even say anymore, you silenced him with yet again another short kiss. Your reply was as clear as day, and George looked so enthusiastic and happy you could’ve giggled just a bit at his reaction if it weren’t for the current ardent atmosphere.

George’s cheeks were warm to the touch, and as you pulled away from the brief kiss he could only watch as you breathed heavily. Silently and deliberately, you leaned in--much slower this time. The peck from before laid forgotten in the fervent kiss you gave him.

Your (S/C) hand resting on the side of his head, cupping his head gently. Fingers that were once only loosely connected were tautly wrapped around her each other, his thumb brushing over the supple skin of your hand. In a moment that lasted for what seemed like forever, when you finally stopped--you only craved more.

It was so feverish and heartfelt, yet so tender and like a feather barely ghosting over the edges of your body.

Was this really the same George you knew all this time?

“Wow…”

That was all George said, he himself finding no words to even capture what he felt earlier. Captivated by you, George let his hands grab onto both of your wrists, slipping them down from his face so he can hold them in his own hands.

Deciding to tease him just a little bit, you smirked.

“Was I really that bad?” The way his face turned from a sappy, adoring look to a flustered emotion gave you happiness you couldn’t really fathom.

“Of course not- (Y/N)... You were-- You were amazing.”

“Real smooth, ain’t cha Luz?”

Still wrapped in each other’s embrace, Luz pulled you forward, setting yiu down on his lap as he wrapped his arms around you. Burying his nose in the crook of your neck, you relished in this intimate moment you shared with George. Sitting dormantly with limited movement, the world went still for a moment.

The early morning turned into a bright afternoon. Scooped in his hold, you pressed compassionate kisses all along the edges of his face, his eyelashes fluttering subtly whenever you did so. With the grass matted around your bodies, George’s voice--like music--peppered sweet and quiet declarations of love into your ear.

As you were about to doze off with the feeling of glee surrounding your head, George leaned forward, effectively knocking off your stupor on his shoulder. Light fingers brushed the skin of a nearby clementine--the rest still dispersed in a small pile. Bringing it up to your half-lidded eyes, you twinkled at the sight.

“Clementine?”

The simple act of you two offering the other the sweet fruit seemed like it was you and George’s own unique way of saying ‘I love you’. Sparing not even a second, you brushed what seemed to be like your 1,000th peck of the day on his nose. A fond feeling bloomed in his chest and he was sure that if he wasn’t already sitting down, his knees would’ve given out then--no matter how many times you did it.

“Of course.”

The cotton white clouds aimlessly moved in the sky as the leaves rustled all the same. There laid two people enveloped in each other’s presence. Silently vowing to forever love each other til the end of time. Chestnut eyes focus intently on your (E/C) ones, an affectionate grin setting deep in you and George’s features.

A clementine is shared, just as how the both of you shared your love with one another. Both of your lips move to meet, the whole world once again stopping as you finally do.

-----------

Author’s Note: (*slaps fic* this bad boy can fit so many words in it) Fucky fucky fuck- wow was that absolutely a long ride. As I have mentioned before, I’m finally going to open my requests really soon (whopeee)! I’m sorry if I sound like a wanna-be poet, my vocabulary and grammar skills do be lackin’. I may have a few mistakes here and there and I also apologize for that.

Hnghh, but I hoped that y’all liked this fic! I love you all for takin’ the time to read it. 😩💕

#band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfiction #george luz #george luz x reader #george luz fanfiction #hbo war #hbo war x reader

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eddiemxnsons · 4 years

Text

OUTSIDE — Edward ‘Hillbilly’ Jones

REQUESTED BY: @ourmiraclealigner —

hi! i really loved your take on the last request and was wondering if you could write something else when you get the chance? where the reader is really struggling with everything she’s seeing on peleliu and hillbilly tries cheer her up? maybe she gets hurt and doesn’t call for help?

TRIGGER WARNING: Blood, mental illness, suicide ideation

TAGLIST: @noneofurbusinez

SHE TOLD HERSELF that the floods of crimson fear were merely awry brain chemicals, her amygdala pinged, and then attempted to analyse the situation as an bystander; pondering how a military officer — not a human — would take action. They certainly wouldn’t be cramped ass to ankles in a mud-sodden foxhole, questioning every man lost and if there was an absent step in each incident, a step that would have yanked their golden souls away from Death’s irate tendrils. Where had she gone wrong? She had lost so many men — friends — in this ardent bitterness festering on the Pacific island.

The darkened island was an empire of misery and fear for Y/N; memories of death tucked in with the foliage, playing a macabre game of hide and seek behind trunks with murmurs of young men’s hysterical implores to a savior that wasn't there. A ripple in reality was at her fingertips as she discarded a mournful, muddied foxhole for an equivalent agony beneath the rich canopy of kaleidoscope trees, rifle haphazardly swung on a strap between her shoulder blades. The moon beamed like a flashlight clenched in a steady hand as the stars brushed the curved branches, her weary eyes fixated on the corpses abuzz with hungry flies. And upon the forest floor so woven with ancient tree roots, was subtle streams of crimson, no longer a softened light from nature's bouquet above. And the overwrought young girl in her had emerged with the ghosts behind the trees, the boogeymen of a child’s unconscious mind.

And she momentarily surrendered her obligation of nightly patrol to the small girl misplaced amidst the decaying corpses of men. A fleeting feeling rumbled in her core as if the rumpled yet headstrong woman that stalled in the rain had vanished, a young girl with braids at the facets of her freckled face, and a simper of gold in her absence. Perhaps the war was all a dream. She’d awake in her bed, murmuring of the story her conscious had trudged her soul through. Her soul that wouldn’t be dilated red with the blood of her men. Yet, imagining this itself was a fantasy and was sanity laying in madness.

She’d continuing traipsing her normal patrol with a burdensome soul, a ledger stark red with blood that wasn’t as easy to scour away like blood upon skin. A mental imprint of the young men that cursed her existence from whatever beyond existed. Ones that could pluck her through a ripple of reality, have her on scarred knees imploring for forgiveness beneath the twilight.

An absentminded hand clutched the golden cross stowed under the threadbare collar of her jacket; a dangling sheath of metal that she had prayed over too many times for her aching chest. God wasn’t here. This was a breeding ground of devastation and only the Devil could prosper amidst the chaotic sorrows of humanity’s war. Raindrops accumulated along its frayed edges as she stared at it from beneath rain-sodden eyelashes. She felt a fool for adorning it, a fool for providing false hope.

Y/N weakly lowered herself to a moss-encrusted log, every inch of her body felt as if it accommodated lead weights, her legs cramping with agonizing spasms. The frustrated gulp she took burned her larynx as she gasped for breaths of the humid air, crying despite her distaste for succumbing to this fear.

The ghostly, sweetly bloody fingers of soldiers that failed to be successes of her miraculous hands traced delves into her shoulder blades. They were ambassadors from a misery far away from the comprehension of the sane. The copper sourness exuded from the flickers of their souls in her peripheral, their wounds not healed in the bittersweet glory of the afterlife, rather stark against the ivory complexion of their drained bodies.

Y/N’s throat clawed with the irate exhaustion of her very being to implore for salvation from this eternal hell. Her hand clenched the front of her uniform just as if she was holding what remained of her soul from rotting into the abyss of a lamenting chest. She needed it to stop. Her piteous tears were waving flags of surrender, oval sorrows to the surviving company beyond the slick horizon — to Edward Jones.

Y/N wanted a life with him, oh, how she did. Yet, didn’t desire to be cradled in a life where she was broken and bruised, wrecked from the inside out by war. And that’s why she remained crouched against the fallen trunk, alright with letting the forsaken souls of soldiers take her away, take her away from the death and more dying men. She had nothing left. Ashes of a soul gradually vanishing with each final breath of a fellow soldier. It’s not what her company deserved. It’s not want Edward deserved.

All she could hear was the obnoxious banging of her heart as she peered up with her lungs clenching in her chest almost immediately; a soldier — Japanese — huddled alongside a bullet-ridden tree trunk, glowering at her, eyes searing holes into her soul. Even in the murky shadows, Y/N’s weepy eyes found his finger cramping on the trigger of his rifle.

Yet, she remained there, back constrained against a rooted tropical plant with her own rifle trembling in bloodied hands, a clasp weakening to relinquish the weapon to a congregating puddle. Her mouth was open, but it was an oblivion of silence, not even a single wisp of breath as the pair of them mounted within a tense stare-off. Her bloodshot eyes trickled over the defined, silver corners and edges of the enemy’s rifle — her gateway away from this crimson hell. She wanted to scream at the shadowy soldier to pull the damned trigger, to hush the sullen memories. Pull the trigger, kill the tarnished soul beneath. Dying was quicker than falling asleep. Her achy eyes eased shut, fingers cramping in fragility to renounce her weapon and surrender to a bullet.

Yet, the meager burst of life in her decayed soul desperately thrashed and penetrated the water’s surface her mind was submerged in, writhing against a lotus of misery. It begged for the life she could live, clamored how she wasn’t a bad person. Bad things occurred around her, but she wasn’t a rotten soul for it. She is a categorical victim of war, constantly drowned in tidal waves of guilt, regret, pain, anger. But, she did everything she could have to save those boys.

Y/N heels are what landed roughly first into the crumbly dirt as she anchored jellied legs upon the soiled ground, boots noisily striking rolling pebbles littered in the grass. She cast a hand out to seize up her rifle in a mirror position to the enemy sewed between the foliage. She was the best shot in the company, yet the trigger-happy soldier opposing her trembling stance was a faster one.

Her stomach lurched at the recognized poignant screech from the discharge of a rifle. A successor to shots that silenced golden laughter and made dull lively gazes. Y/N heaved herself absentmindedly backward to elude the contempt trajectory of the approaching bullet. Her boots slipped shortly on slick algae in the shallow water of a stream, trudging through soupy sand until she was struck frozen.

The blast into the gentle air had collapsed into her shoulder and the utter velocity of the meager shard of metal propelled her to the ground. Her chin plummeted through a dense mound of congealed mud, specks of nature’s grime embroidering with the blood splattered across her cheek. Distantly, her bewildered mind detected the silent atmosphere being hindered by fleeing footsteps, a harsh murmur from a foreign land. The soldier thought she was dead.

Her gaze was alight with so much perplexion and despair as she strained to ease herself onto her back, breaths aching her throat. The gaze poked out from eyes swathed with a solidfying concoction of blood and mud, yet her shivering hands trailed to her wound rather than to scrub away the blinding, burning substances.

Cramped fingers shakily reached to apply pressure to what she could access of the wound. She gasped through gritted teeth at the impressive surge of agony trembling her petite frame, her blood now painting her clammy palms.

“Fuck, fuck,” she panted incredibly fast, securing her hands to the accessible portions in a last desire for survival. She was a thoroughly trained medic, yet all that knowledge that was typically at her fingertips, was dissipating with her fading resolve to save herself.

A hollow feeling bloomed at the center of her chest almost immediately at the stark crimson soiling her hands and the brilliant white of pain ricocheting from her shoulder. Dying. She was on a path ending with the turbid shadow of Death. Dead, dead, dead. She was going to die — nobody would be coming. This is what she had wanted, trekked out into the gloomy forest with whispers of intention for death. Yet, was it selfish to forsake Death and proclaim the worthiness of her life? To say she couldn’t leave another soul behind in despair?

However, there was essentially nothing at her dispense to stanch the bleeding without proper assistance. I’m so sorry, Ed. She’ll see him one day. Take your time. I’ll see you on the other side, was her farewell penned to the company’s golden boy in a letter that’ll never be physically scribed. She had touched him for the last time, kissed him for the last time, smiled at him for the last time, spoke to him for the last time, loved him for the last time.

Her mind was prospering with a bitter fire of panic, her chest saturating with this tightening feeling of misery, letting it scorch her from the inside; was this how all those young men felt as they held her hand and cry for their mothers as they bleed out from shredded wounds on their bodies?

But, she never screamed once for any of the troopers that she knew were beyond the rain-sodden horizon — never once in palpable desperation for Edward. She craved death so badly just mere minutes before, and to wish away the desires only festered karma to strike. There was no eluding Death. This was all inevitable and attempting to play God by saving herself, someone not much worthy of living, was foolish.

Her GI-issued uniform was saturated with the rain water and the tickles of sweat emitting from her clammy skin, and it only was anchoring her further into the cradle of sludge. Her free hand reached for the swaying cross on her blemished collarbone, a glance from sore eyes squinting to the cloudy sky for salvation. For a wish that God saw her through a tranquil demise, a desire that he vowed to her that her family — Edward — would fare well without her.

With the smell of Death soaking through and through her skin, perhaps even grazing her rattling bones, she knew she was being anchored into a dusky conscious. The hand planted around the curve of her shoulder uneasily limpened and greeted the plunge of blood that swirled into the rain puddle beneath her. Ragged breaths careened from her glass chest and absentminded fingers poked and prodded at her dog tags suspended beneath her collar. Her mouth was dryer than a sandbox beneath the summer sun whilst her mind contemplated through races of agitation and sorrow being casted. The frustration was a burning rod weaving between the bones of her ribcage, cooking with the shared gaze between her and the sky.

A cacophony of disturbed dirt and pebbles shot through the tension like the bullet bound to the muscles of her shoulder. Her agitation shattered into petrifaction, absentmindedly maneuvering her tender body further into the ink of the shadows. Had the soldier returned to confirm his belief? The belief that she was long dead?

“Y/L/N!”

It was her relief for the patrol that had her ambling amidst the forested graveyard in the first place. Her relief being, by some divine yet sadistic logic, Captain Haldane and Lieutenant Edward Jones. The bitter realization urged her diminishing strength to wrench herself up to sit behind the tree, entirely absent from their view. However, whilst she careened herself up to a sitting stance, she screamed regardless of her resolve to suppress the mind-numbing anguish for the sake of herself and the soldiers not at the mercy of the prowling Japanese.

Y/N fastened her hand over her mouth hastily, clenching her teeth on the begrimed arch of her palm to subdue her whimpers as her wound scraped against rough mounds of bark on the trunk.

Their heels are what landed roughly first into the crumbly dirt adjacent to her shoddy hiding place, skidding a few feet in shell casings, shredded leaves, and rocky sand before a flash of camo green slashed through her spotty gaze. Edward collapsed into dampened dirt amidst the cluster of puddles, blood, and grime whilst Haldane hastened off to retrieve a corpsman. Edward’s expression was consumed with petrification as he regarded her bloodied body heaving against the concave of the trunk. There was so much blood and dirt on her baggy uniform and what skin was exposed.

“Why didn’t you fucking call for help?” He hissed harshly in the midst of recovering a clod of gauze from his jacket, hastily dressing it across her wound without forewarning.

If more strength could have been mustered, she would have nudged him aside and tended to her wounds with more experienced hands, but she was pinned to the ridges of the trunk with her entire body churning with waves of agony. Her chest was heaving and she couldn’t get any word uttered through her clenched throat, the pain superiorizing the need to talk. He rose a few meek fingers on her cheek to shift her amiss gaze to himself, her instinctively subsiding into the meager touch.

Her eyes were just as remarkably expanded as his as they steadied eye contact with one another, and it seemed incredulous now to call her the most dangerous in the regiment when she trembled like an ill child.

“I didn’t because...because....I can’t handle any of this anymore....” she babbled nearly incoherently despite their close proximity, “Just g-go....let me go. I-it’s okay....”

Edward glanced to her with stern glint in his narrowing eyes, “You stop that talk. There’s no outcome in which I leave you here to die. And don’t pity the dead ‘round us now, don’t believe they are dead because of you. None of them are. Their deaths - their blood — that’s all soaking the Jap’s hands, not yours. I see how you pull out every stop to save the lives of these men. You don’t see the wounds, you see the person around them.”

His present hand shifted to skim the rough patch of his thumb across the begrimed apple of her cheek whilst the other one exerted pressure to her wound. And she couldn’t refuse when his hands drew her head into the crook of his neck, embracing her tight to make her cracks remain together. Her leaden arms encompassed his torso whilst easing her cheek to his chest, the aloof ruckus of an approaching medic and her captain resounding behind them.

And she’d go on.

#band of brothers #hbo war #hbowar #dick winters #band of brothers imagines #david webster

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himbowelsh · 4 years

Note

Hello Darling! I just read the valentines alphabet you wrote for Shifty and omg I absolutely loved it! So, if it’s not too much to ask, may I request the same for Bull Randleman? Thank you and have a wonderful weekend 💛

@noneofurbusinez asked: balentines balphabet for my man bull blease ,,,

here’s the big boy

valentines day alphabet ( accepting! )

A : AFFECTION. how does your muse show affection?

Bull’s love language is very much acts of service, so that’s what he’ll do, all the time. He’ll fix something before the person he cares about realizes it’s broken; he’ll do favors, help them with simple tasks without saying a word, and generally be there when needed. He’s not too liberal with words or touch, so Bull says everything through what he does. If he’s really feeling affectionate, he’s got a tiny smile that could melt butter, and only the people closest to him have it directed at them.

B : BOUQUET. does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favourite?

He enjoys flowers in a purely aesthetic sense, but could name... daisies and roses, probably. That’s it. He likes them, but does not understand them. The sort of man to pick a lone-ass flower and give to someone, like that’s an acceptable thing. It’s kind of cute, but also goofy. (He’s always had a soft spot for buttercups.

C : CHOCOLATE. does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

If he is hungry, and a chocolate bar is in front of him, he will eat it, but there are about two dozen snacks he’d enjoy a lot more.

D : DATE. what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

Give him a country fair and some carnival games any day. Watch him win everything, eat multiple corn cobs, go on the ferris wheel just because it’s his favorite, and have a lovely night. If he’s got good company with him, well, that’s all the better.

E : EMBRACE. does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

It’s like hugging a bear, but... in the best way. Bull gives Dad Hugs. Absolutely reassuring, wraps you up completely, kind of hard to breathe but it feels good... if Bull Randleman’s hugging someone, a bomb could drop directly on their heads, and they’d be perfectly safe. Nothing can get through a Bull Hug. People miss it after it’s done.

F : FLIRT. is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

Umm... flirt? Bull? Bull flirt? Nah, man, he... he’s, uhh... he’s a big guy. He’s got eyes. He can make eye contact sometimes. That’s the best he’s got. This man flirts like a brick.

G : GIFT. is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right?

Look. Bull’s out here trying, okay? He really does put a lot of thought into gifts, because it’s important that he gets something his loved one is going to appreciate. This does not make him a... “good” gift giver. Bull’s gifts tend to be very practical, very small --- he’s not going out to buy jewelry or putting a bow on anything, because he will have no idea what he’s doing. Somebody needs new oil for their car, or they’ve been looking for grill charcoal? Someone wants a particular shade of paint but has no clue where to get it? Bull will get it for them, and paint their house on top of that. Honestly, he’s better at doing things than giving things, so his gifts tend to be favors.

H : HEART. is your muse quick or slow to give their heart away?

For Bull Randleman to fall in love, he first has to trust someone completely. That’s no easy feat. He also needs respect in a relationship, and if he hasn’t built that up, he can’t really give his heart to anyone.

I : I LOVE YOU. does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

Shhh. Nah. He’s maybe said it... four times?? In as many years, once he’s been in a long-term relationship. Possible less than that. Bull doesn’t say “I love you”, he shows it. If he’s not able to do that, then he doesn’t deserve to love the person he loves.

J : JEALOUSY. does your muse get jealous in a relationship?

He’s really not a jealous guy. If someone tries to flirt with his partner, he’ll be overall unimpressed by it, and step in if needed, but he’s not hot blooded like certain people he knows.

K : KISS. is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

Shy boy. Unexpectedly shy, but he doesn’t have a lot of experience. This is the one time when he doesn’t quite know what to do with... all of himself. There’s a lot of Bull, and when you’re kissing you have to know exactly how to move, how to match your rhythm with someone else’s... he’s a bit of a clumsy kisser, and would appreciate someone else taking the lead. Quite soft, won’t use tongue at first; prefers to put hands on his partner’s upper back / shoulders; if he can lift them up and put them on top of something, like a tabletop, so they’re at an equal height, that’s just perfect. Not above lifting his partner up while they’re kissing.

L : LOVE. who does your muse love?

His Mama has to take first place here, forever and always. Bull would move mountains for that woman. He’s very devoted to his family overall; he’s got friends he’d drop anything just to help. In general, when Bull decides to love someone, it’s long-lasting and steady. He’s not fickle with his affections, and definitely not into second-guessing. Even when they say hurtful things or quarrel, he won’t stop loving them.

M : MOONLIGHT. is morning or night a more romantic setting?

He’s a morning person. Always has been, always will be. There’s something about early morning that Bull just finds peaceful, and he’d love to share it with someone he cares about.

N : NAUGHTY. what is your muse like in bed?

Again, you gotta understand... there’s a lot of Bull to go around. And he knows what to do with exactly none of it! At first, he’s definitely uncertain of himself, prefering to let his partner take the lead and guide him how they want. A very physical lover; all about body movements, instinct and rhythm; breathes heavily. As he gets more into it, he’ll gain enthusiasm; at this point, he can sometimes get rough without meaning to, though he tries to be mindful of it. Once Bull works his confidence up, he becomes quite an intense lover. This is an intimate experience for him, and he wants to savour the sensations... but he’ll always be focused on his partner, to ensure they’re enjoying it too.

O : ODE. does your muse have a way with words?

He has a way with word. As in, like... one word. He can shoot out monosyllabic answers really well. Bull’s not a talkative guy --- very much an “talk less, do more” type.

P : PARTNER. what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

Well, he’d like someone shorter than him --- that’s not hard --- preferably someone he can pick up easily. He wants someone... gentle isn’t the right word, but someone who’ll be gentle with him. At the same time, not someone delicate, who’ll break easily. If they know their way around a horse, that’s downright perfect. He’s got a thing for eyes --- expressive ones, eyes that dance, eyes that laugh, eyes that sometimes tease. He likes brown ones most of all. And any partner Bull chooses is going to have to be way more talkative than him, sorry --- while he doesn’t dislike silence, he also enjoys having that silence filled, and not having to carry a conversation is a massive weight off his shoulders. He’s more than happy to just listen to the person he loves chatter, smiling benignly at their thoughts.

Q : QUESTION. would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He’s neutral either way. While he wouldn’t mind if his partner asked him first, if he’d already decided he wanted to marry this person, he’d definitely muse on different ways to do it. Nothing elaborate, that’s not Bull’s style --- maybe a proposal during a quiet countryside walk, or after going for a swim, or even at the end of a big day, during the quiet moment when all the festivities are dying down. Bull wouldn’t make a scene out of it; his proposal would be simple, soft, and very sincere.

R : ROMANCE. is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

Not a cynic at all. He’s a practical guy, but he’s got a tiny romantic streak buried deep down in there. A part of Bull just really liked the idea of getting to love someone. He’s lowkey about it, but has a definite romantic side.

S : SWEETHEART. did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

He had a crush on a little girl in his class --- Wendy something-or-other --- for a solid few months, because she had beautiful red curls, tied up in bouncy pig tails. Honestly, Bull might have been more in love with her hair than Wendy herself, but they promised to marry each other under the oak tree outside school. Wendy got cold feet the next week, broke it off, and gave Bull back the straw ring he made for her. It didn’t break his heart, but it taught him a valuable lesson: never fall for anyone just because they’ve got nice hair.

T : TRUE LOVE. does your muse believe in true love?

Nah. That sort of thing belongs in fairy tales. Love has to build itself up in order to really matter.

U : UNREQUITED. has your muse had their heart broken?

Bull’s heart is like a slab of steak. Very beefy, very tender. He doesn’t give it away easily, but it would break easier than he likes to admit. Hasn’t happened yet, because he hasn’t found the right person to hurt him yet.

V : VALENTINE. how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

Honestly? Not a fan. Look, if Bull wants to go on a date, he’ll go on a date --- they can do that any night of the year. If his partner’s into Valentine’s Day, he’ll try to make it special, but otherwise he doesn’t have a problem ignoring the holiday.

W : WEDDING. would your muse get married? why / why not?

Yes! This is actually something he feels quite strongly about. He wants to have a traditional relationship/marriage; he would really like to be a husband one day, to have a ring on his finger and dote on his spouse. It’s not about starting a family for Bull (he doesn’t have any strong feelings about having kids, though he’d be a great dad) but very much about... stability. About someone loving him enough to tie the knot. and getting to love someone that much in return. It’s hard for him to articulate, but he’d really want to get married.

X : XOXO. does your muse use / like pet names?

He’s not really the pet name type... so on the rare occasions he does use them (simple one’s --- “darlin’” is his go-to) it stands out that much more.

Y : YOURS. does your muse get protective easily?

Look, no one’s gonna mess with Bull. He’s a big dude with a withering stare, and could probably flip most people over his shoulder without trying. Bull doesn’t need to put on a show; if someone’s messing with the people he cares about, he’ll stare them down, decimate them with a well-timed remark, and that’s usually all it takes to break up the situation. Not afraid to use the old “arm-around-the-shoulder” trick to show he means business.

Z : ZZZ. how many people has your muse slept with?

Not many! He’s a conservative guy in bed --- he’d prefer one steady partner whom he knows well to a series of strangers. He probably had a girlfriend or two when he was younger, but even then they didn’t do it much; Bull was quite careful, and always respectful.

#bull randleman #band of brothers #*slow chanting* Big Boy Big Boy Big Boy #Anonymous

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