#ron speirs drabbles

[lieutenant-speirs]

Quick Introduction | Everything under construction

Hello! Just a quick introduction whilst this account is under construction... My name is Charlie and I don't what happened... but I fell face-first into a foxhole and here I am. Firstly this blog isn't to be disrespectful to the real-life people of the 101st Airbourne. I've managed to separate them from the TV Persona of what we know and love on screen. If you cannot accept this, please move on. I simp hard for Speirs, if you couldn't tell by aesthetics, but in no way will I ever call myself 'Speirs' girl' or whatever. No one owns that title. We all simp equally. Be respectful. I'm here to write (when I can. I chose the busiest time of the year to join BoB fandom), and to make friends with the other lovely blogs. Come say hi! The content I will deliver will mostly be centred around Speirs, Lipton, Doc Roe and possibly Johnny Martin (unsure if there's muse there for him or not). I ship Speirs x Lipton hardcore, so you'll see content of that. And I've created a typical Medic x Medic for Doc Roe. Which has been done a thousand times before, but this is my corner where I can dump her in there. I'll work myself up to requests, one-shots, shipping, headcanons etc over time. Please feel free to leave stuff in the ask box. I've uploaded a quick idea that I wrote up at midnight a few days ago as a little drabble example of my writing. It's a little out of character but I don't care. The overall idea was sweet in my head. So yeah. I'm sure there's heaps more to say but I don't know. I'm just here to write, make friends and have fun. I'm not here to be anyone's competition. Thank you for reading this so far and I hope to see you soon! Oh! And I follow from simping-insomniac as this is a side blog.

[blood-mocha-latte]

obscene, obedient, fine + speirton? :)

the fact that it took me MONTHS for me to get to this… honestly a crime. thank you for bearing with me, hope you enjoy <33

—

Carwood couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the stars so clearly.

In Bastogne, and Foy and Noville and Rachamps after that, the sky had always been clotted by smoke: by artillery, by snow, by storm.

Now, in Germany, he had forgotten just how bright they looked.

He believed that Ron may have forgotten, as well.

“You’re not cold?”

Ron looked over his shoulder, when Carwood spoke up: hair messy, eyes warm. His legs were crossed under him, the pads of his fingers tapping against the wood of the windowsill he perched on. It made the moonlight light him up like a candle, like an obscene god.

Carwood wasn’t used to seeing him like this. Soft, almost gentle. Not as a weapon. The stars seemed to catch in Ron’s eyes, shining back at Carwood with the green of them.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be cold again.” Ron told him, leaning back slightly. The window was open, breeze none-too-warm floating through and into the room. Ron’s curls moved with it, soft, almost like a halo. Carwood took a step towards him.

“Alright.” He said, moving closer when Ron held out a hand, palm upwards. “Don’t fall out of the window, then.” He wrapped his fingers around Ron’s own, and the other used that grip to pull him closer, until Carwood stood.

His knees hitting the top of the windowsill as Ron leaned into him, almost swaying. Up closer, his expression looked more nauseous than anything else.

Carwood gave easily to the urge to run his fingers through Ron’s hair, tugging lightly at one of the curls and pushing back a gentle smile when Ron huffed, batting his hand away.

He was still drunk, Carwood thought, as Ron pressed his temple to his heart, resting his head against his chest. Granted, Carwood not even sure when Ron started drinking; certainly before they’d learned the war was over, in Europe, maybe even before he’d gotten up to the mansion.

They weren’t in the mansion, anymore; it had almost made Carwood’s skin crawl and although he hadn’t spoken on it, he knew that Ron felt much in the same. Though still rather extravagant, the lodgings now was not nearly so golden, more small and comfortable and, more importantly, isolated.

Ron’s fingertips floated upwards, tapping against Carwood’s jaw before running along his scar, up to his brow.

When Carwood looked down at him again, meeting his gaze, hand still in his hair, his expression was open, more bare faced than he thought he’d ever seen him, eyes almost pale, glassy.

“You’d look good with a beard.” He said, entirely too seriously as he leaned further into Carwood, who huffed a laugh.

Definitely still drunk.

“C’mon.” He murmured, tugging on Ron’s hand while the other slipped from his hair, curling fingers into Ron’s hand while the other slipped from his hair, curling fingers into his undershirt, at the small of his back. “Away from the window.”

Ron grumbled something that Carwood didn’t catch but tilted into his hands obediently, pushing away from his window and wrapping an arm around Carwood, dropping his forehead to his shoulder as soon as he stood.

It was hard to imagine a time when it wasn’t like this; when Ron didn’t give under his palms and everything was warm and soft and quiet. It was hard to imagine, but it had been only ever a month, and it still struck Carwood all the same; that he was here.

That he was allowed this man, as soft as glass and just as sharp, his edges shattered and cracked and gentle, gentle.

As if sensing his train of thought, Ron’s hand at his waist found its way under the hem of his undershirt, spreading rough and calloused fingers against the skin he found there, mouth pressing to the bare skin of his shoulder.

The sensation made Carwood huff a laugh, turning his head to exhale it into Ron’s hair, smiling against his temple as he shuffled them both towards the bed.

Ron dropped down to the mattress with a gentle oomph, landing on his back, a hand shifting to cover his eyes as he hummed again.

His shoes were already off, only in his trousers and undershirt, and the visage of him made something twist in Carwood’s chest; warm and gentle and loving.

To compensate for it, he kicked off his own boots and sat down on the mattress beside him with a huff, breathing a laugh when Ron’s hand reached out to blindly pat at his shoulder.

When he twisted at the trunk, swinging his legs onto the bed, Ron shifted along with him, arms found around his waist, forehead pressed to his bare bicep.

It was quiet, after that, save for the way that Carwood’s thoughts ran, near blank and absent and ever-present. He released a breath he didn’t even notice he was holding when Ron’s fingertips tapped against the jut of his collarbone, almost a gentle reminder.

For all that he thought it would be, VE Day was much more quiet, than he expected.

Though not even nearly as drunk as Ron, he could feel the familiar thrum of whiskey and tequila and whatever else through his chest, spreading through him easily and making his fingertips warm.

A celebration, maybe of everything, but it still came after a thought of fleeting worry that devolved altogether into a fading smile and a buckets worth of maybes.

Maybe it was actually over. Maybe there wouldn’t be anymore blood on his already cracked open hands. Maybe he’d survive the war, in the end.

Still, as most things did, all maybes led back to Ron.

He was already half asleep. Carwood could tell; the way he closed his eyes in slow blinks, like a cat, the way he was warm and still and near-pliant against Carwood as Carwood rolled over onto his side, thumb along his jaw and press a fingertip to the corner of his mouth before pulling back again, hands going instead to Ron’s shoulders, where the other still laid on his back.

“Roll over?” He asked, and at Ron’s groan, Carwood couldn’t help but laugh, thumbing over the knob of his shoulder. “C’mon.” He wasn’t sure, exactly, just how drunk Ron was, but found it better to be safe than sorry.

It ended up easy, anyways, as Ron just turned his head, letting Carwood pull him to his side, pressing his face to his hair.

“Can I tell you something?” Ron murmured, against his bare skin, and Carwood closed his eyes, maybe just to listen to him.

He just hummed, felt it rumble in his lungs; newly torn apart and freshly healed. Ron was quiet, for a heartbeat, his hands near his face at Carwood’s heart, almost stilled.

“I don’t know what to do after this.” He said after a moment, near vivid. Carwood pressed his cheek to the top of Ron’s head, curls soft against his skin.

“You will.” He said, quiet, sure. “You always know what to do, eventually.” Ron didn’t respond, for a moment.

His fingertips traced the shape of Carwood’s collarbone, traveling up his throat and back down with a careful sort of tracking.

“Not in things like this.” He said, after a moment. He sounded off, voice slightly twisted. “It’s easy, here. I don’t… I don’t want to lose that.”

And Carwood was thinking about that, too. About them. About the idea that it could be over, now. Almost no reason for them to… be, whatever they’d been. Since Rachamps. Since everything after the church.

He came back to the present, as easy as the ocean at the tide, when Ron’s fingertips, calloused and soft and warm and cold, ran over his temple, trace the shape of his lips.

“No.” Carwood heard himself say, against the pads of the others fingers. “I don’t want to lose that, either.”

When Ron tilted his head back to meet Carwood’s eyes, his gaze was heavy, slightly cloudy, face soft and open and so unlike him and so painfully Ron at the same time that it makes Carwood’s chest ache all over again.

He almost couldn’t help it, nosing Ron slightly, gently, into a kiss that’s so unbearably gentle that it didn’t really feel like a kiss at all.

When Ron pulled back he huffed a laugh, lips almost red, eyes bright and almost glassy.

“I’m drunk.” He murmured, sounding some version of vaguely amused. Carwood huffed his own laugh, felt like steam in his lungs.

“I know.” He said back, amused. When Ron hummed, it seemed half asleep.

“Tell me about West Virginia, when I’m not.” Carwood could almost smile, pressing it into the crown of the others head as he made a soft noise of protest, pulling back. “You’re laughing at me.” He said, maybe baleful, but too light to be an accusation.

“I’m not.” Carwood protested, still half-smiling. “I’m — it’s a fine idea.”

Ron made a face at him, half-shadowed by the darkness but nonetheless amused.

“A fine idea.” He repeated, maybe like a mockery, tracking his nose against Carwood’s. “Well, I think so too.”

“Mm.” Carwood said, watching Romndrom so close that his eyes were almost blurred. “Go to sleep, and decide if it is after that.” Ron watched him for a second longer, maybe supposed to be a challenge.

“Alright.” He murmured, cheek pressed against the bedsheets, eyes dark. He reached out, before Carwood could react, callous-torn fingertips pressing to the seam of his lips absently before dropping. “Thanks.” He added, quicker than before, more solemn.

Carwood watched him back, wondered about things changing, about the future and things ending. “Yeah.” He murmured. “Thanks.”

[bleedingcoffee42]

Speirton drabble I just had to get out of my head after seeing a photo that gave me vibes of post-war, Lip finishing his degree while 'roomates' with Ron.

It was 0700 and Carwood was staring at the cardboard taped to the fridge as he drank his morning coffee.   Moments like this he was glad Ron still was in the army and got up earlier than him because otherwise he probably would have made him late to work.

It had been obvious who took his X-acto, it’s not like the dog ran off with it and he only had one ‘roommate’ to contend with.  One who established early on he could be a bit of a kleptomaniac.  

The top note was his frustrated way of trying to get his shit back so he could complete his presentation model for his engineering class.    They had a million knives in the house, from butter to Hitler’s, and Ron had to walk off with his very specific cutting tool.  It even had his name etched into it!

As Carwood stared at the note, he smiled and shook his head, then went about looking for the knife since Ron wouldn’t do anything to hinder his school progress.   Why the hell did Ron need an X-acto knife anyway?   He put his coffee down on the table and looked at his model building and saw the knife beside it.   He started looking around for something Ron would have used it for, then gave up and went to look in the trash that his ‘roommate’ never remembered to take out.  It was there that he found some local grocery store fliers with holes cut in them and some cardstock from invitations missing people shaped chunks.

So old ‘Killer’ Speirs was now into arts and crafts?  How quickly post-war domestic life had ruined him.   He turned back around to look for somewhere Ron would have stashed his creation, it would be somewhere hidden where nobody would accidentally find it if someone stopped by.  Biggest danger would be one of Lip’s classmates, but the occasional Easy Company man couldn’t be ruled out.  

Ron would keep it in his bedroom, which meant Carwood had looked right past it two days in a row.   He started walking there, eyes scanning the photos on the walls to make sure nothing was added to them.  Nothing.   The house wasn’t huge, he was standing in the doorway of their bedroom fairly quickly.   The master bedroom was decorated by Ron with a handful of high school trophies, his accounting certificate, war commendations and medals, and some trophies he liberated from Nazis.   It gave the appearance that they didn’t share a bedroom--at least to everyone who they didn’t serve with who knew they had been billeting together since Ron ran his ass across Foy.   

Carwood looked around, whatever it would be would be small.  Detailed.   Hidden in plain sight.   Ron’s love language was little tokens of appreciation, little details he’d notice and expand upon to show you he cared, or things he’d think you needed.   

He did need the laugh this morning when he saw the ‘note’ on the fridge.   So that meant Ron had already picked up on his stress level and did something about it.   Something that required an Exacto knife?  Lip walked around the bedroom and checked his own dresser, then nightstand, then moved over to Ron’s.   Nightstand clear but the dresser had a collection of new lighters… and behind them a couple of paper cutouts.   Lip looked closer, and saw a little cardboard bed and table.  The table had a pie courtesy of the grocery store ad, a wine bottle thanks to the liquor store sale announcement, and two people cut from the Winters-Nixon wedding invitation beside it.   Two cardstock people with photo faces glued on them.

Carwood picked one up and looked at it, Ron’s face obviously cut from the photo of him in Bastogne with his damned binoculars.    He put the paper doll down and picked up his own.  A photo from Kaprun, when they took the company photo.   Knowing Ron he had copies made, some abuse of military resources for sure.   Lip looked at the scene and smiled, the two of them with a bed and a bottle and some apple pie?   Yeah, it was one of their moments, the moment Ron told him to shut up and get in the bed and took care of him; because he was sick and trying to work himself to death.

“Just got to get to the end of the semester, Ron.”  Carwood says to the little figure on the dresser before putting his in the bed and Ron’s next to him.  “Just a few more weeks, then I graduate.”

Xxxxx

Later that week, Ron came home drunk from a promotion party Lip had to excuse himself from so he could finish schoolwork   The damned officer’s club ruined the man again.

“Car…” Ron slipped his arms around Lip’s shoulders from behind, as he was sitting at the dinner table, ran them down his chest and kissed his neck.  His garrison cap flopped off as he placed a sloppy kiss on his neck.  “Come to bed with me.”

Lip took a deep breath as he smelled the booze on Ron and heard the thick Boston accent emerge which only happened when Ron was completely wasted.   He moved the garrison cap off his notebook as Ron grabbed a pec with one hand and rubbed his abs with another.  “Ron, I hope you didn’t drive.”

“Nooooo.”

“And no, you’re drunk and I need to get this problem figured out before class tomorrow.  You should go to bed though.”  Carwood sighed as Ron got handsy.   

“Not without you.”  Ron leaned harder on him, the chair tipped forward. He attempted to kiss him but just streaked wet lips across his cheek.

Lip braced against the table.  It was 0200!  “Ron.   I’m pulling an all-nighter here, please understand that.”

“I’ll pull an all-nighter too.”

“No, you won’t.  You’re going to either get to bed and slobber on me and giggle and pass out or start crying.   You do not perform well under the influence of alcohol.”

“Then fuck me sober.”

“I have a headache from trying to figure out this math, I’m no further along to solving it, and I have class in six hours.  How about I get the bed ready for you, with a trash can for whatever you’re going to puke up, and I’ll help you out of your uniform?”

“I don’t spit, I swallow.”

“God, you are fucked up.” Lip says and Ron chooses to try and kiss his neck, leaning way too far over for his own safety.  The slurred Boston accent is making him strain to understand what the hell he’s talking about.  “Come on, get to bed.  That’s an order.”

“God, yes, sir.”

Lip barely slips out from under him and Ron’s face is flushed and eyes glassy.   He should have gone out with him and celebrated, but instead he stayed home to work.   Now he was paying for it.  “Sit down, have some coffee and I’ll be right back. Okay?”

“Mmm.” Ron makes it into the chair and looks at the paperwork as Lip goes to do whatever he was doing.  He hums, picks up a pencil and goes to work.

When Lip returns he hears the pencil on the table before anything else.  Someone writing up a storm. Oh, no.   Last time Ron was drunk and around writing utensils he wrote Forrest Guth a ridiculous letter that he was still hearing about.  Except this time it wasn’t a blank sheet of paper, it was his damned schoolwork that he had been slaving over all week.  “Ron, please tell me you’re not…”

Ron put the pencil down and triumphantly said, “Done! Can we fuck now?”

Lip walks over, hands going onto Ron’s shoulder with a death grip as he looks at what Ron did.   It takes a few minutes for him to really comprehend what he was looking at.  “Ron, did you just solve this complicated engineering equation?”

“Just math.”

“Ron, you did.  How did you…how?”

“MMmm?”

Lip is confused as all get out but Ron is swaying back and forth on the chair and surely not going to answer until morning.  “Okay, let’s see what we can do to sober you up because I need an explanation on how you did this before 8 am.”

“mm‘Kay.”

Xxxx

“I did this?”  Ron asks and looks at the paperwork on the table as Carwood stands next to him.  It’s time for work, his head hurts and he can't stomach coffee.   

“Yes.”  Carwood insists.  “Last night you sat down and solved this and I am sure it is right.  So how did you do it?”

“Huh.”  Ron says as he looks at it and Carwood leans up against him and he glances over.  He can see it, the desperation to know how he did it and he doesn’t exactly have an answer.  “You know how I am when things need to be done, I just do it.”

“Yes, but running across Foy or swimming across the Rhine are both incredibly physical and stupid things to do.  This….Ronald…what the fuck is this?”  Lip asked and shook him as he did so, probably not the best thing to do to a man with a hangover, but he was desperate for answers.

“I solve problems when drunk.”  Ron admitted.  “I just see it, and do it.”

“You have come to my bed and cried.   You have begged me to fuck you on the balcony of the Eagle’s Nest.  You have written a letter to Forrest Guth about everyone getting hurt and dying, me going on furlough and you sounding so unenthusiastic about seeing your wife and baby…”  Carwood stops and looks at the math problem then back at Ron.  “Oh shit.”

“I guess I solve my problems with you when I’m drunk?  I didn’t know how to even score when you were embarrassingly cuddly and needy when drunk. Kinda started then.”

“I was sick.”  

“You were very clearly wrapped around me and wanting to be there and I enjoyed it very much, but it got weird after. Want to blame the German couple who told us we were such nice young men and they were glad America was supportive of people like us.”

“Yeah.  I crossed a lot of lines that night.” Lip remembers. "Was a little too loud about it."

“And you got better?  Your lungs cleared up the next day.”

“So you coming to me when Nix got you drunk while celebrating your promotion…”

“Well, I wanted you, but my first instinct was to go to Grant because he would have just kinda swept it under the rug and never said anything.   But that wouldn’t have solved our problem of how weird you were being because we cured your pneumonia.”

“You got drunk and came to me and cried.” Carwood reminded him.

“I had never been drunk, it sucked.  God, I lost all control.   I was embarrassed.”

“And the letter to Forrest?”  

“He was your friend.   He’s at home visiting your family, seeing your wife and baby and you were  in Scotland without me.   I guess indirectly telling you I was not exactly thrilled about going to see my family was a way to hint things weren’t looking promising.   I don’t know, I was drunk?   Did it do anything?” Ron asks and Carwood looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“I’m living with you, aren’t I?” Carwood asks and Ron gives him a smile that says he still doesn’t have a clue how he solved his homework.

“So, you’re a drunken savant.   I can handle that.  You resort to drinking to solve issues we’re having by being a drunk savant….glad to get that out of the way now.”

“You’re going to ask me what my problem is, aren’t you?” Ron asks.

“Yeah.  You feel ignored because of my schoolwork?”

“No, I want this to be a permanent arrangement and you’re going to graduate soon.   I’m tied to the army, you’re going to have to get a job somewhere.” Ron shrugged and looked at the homework.  “I don’t know how to ask you that without impeding on a decision you make about your future.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Ron.  Except class, with no explanation as to how I worked this out.”  Carwood says and gets a smile from Ron, who then sits down and pulls a chair out for him.   He sits and immediately Ron starts pointing to his work.

“Okay, I started here.   How long did it take me to do all this?”

“Five minutes.”

Ron snorted.  “Wow, maybe I should quit my job and be an engineer with you.”

“Thanks asshole.”  Carwood elbows him in the ribs.  “So, walk me through this.”

“Well, this is algebra.”  Ron says and gets elbowed again.  “Give me some paper and I’ll work it out.   Easier for me to just try to do it again.”

Carwood gives him his notebook.  “Thank you.   For everything.  I’m not going anywhere, Ron.   Please stop getting drunk to talk to me.”

“Did I at least try and stay out of your pants this time?”

“No.”

“Well, at least I’m consistent.”  He says and picks up a pencil.  “Okay, from the top…”     

[bellewintersroe]

Band of brothers masterlist 🤍🩷🤍

Finally! Here’s some direct links to my work so far :)

All boys: general hc’s:

Platonic BoB x reader - angst. Easy boys reacting to seeing their lady lieutenant for the first time. Easy boys x reader how they react to accidentally upsetting you.

Easy boys x reader the morning after their first time. Easy boys x reader the morning after their first time, part 2.

Easy boys x reader in Bastogne.

Easy boys x nurse headcannons p1. Easy boys x nurse headcanons p2.

Easy boys x nurse headcannons p3. Easy’s reaction to nurse reader getting hurt.

Easy boys x nurse how they react to you finding them hurt. Easy boys x reader enemies to lovers.

Easy boys x reader they see you dressed up for the first time. Easy boys x reader they see your scars for the first time. Easy boys x nurse how they react to you having fun in the water.

Easy boys x reader they take care of your baby alone for the first time.

Easy boys x reader how they react to you going MIA.

Part 2.

Easy boys x reader how they comfort you when you’re overworked

Easy boys x reader sleeping with them after a long time 18+

Easy boys x reader how they comfort you when you feel guilty/ traumatised.

Ron Speirs:

Protective Ron Speirs x reader. Snowy Days, Ron x reader.

British girl x Ron headcanons - Ron being in a relationship with a girl from Britain.

Ron Speirs x nurse! OC multiple part smut - when celebrations reach a high in the eagles nest, who knew their hook up would be more than a one time thing?

Part 1.

Part 2.

Part 3.

Part 4.

Part 5.

Part 6.

Part 7.

Ron Speirs x ArmyNurse! OC mini series - Margaret ‘Maggie’ Emerson, an army nurse attached to the 506th parachute infantry regiment, finds herself growing closer to her company’s captain, Ronald Speirs. With war drawing to an end, a side to the mystery that is Captain Speirs is revealed. Both Maggie and Ron have a difficult time resisting their attraction to one another.

Part 1.

Part 2.

Joe Liebgott:

Joe Liebgott x reader x Talbert smut. - you, joe and Floyd have some fun on New Year’s Eve in a foxhole. Joe x reader x Talbert smut p2- Joe and Floyd finally give you what you’ve been waiting for…

Untitled Joe Liebgott x reader Drabble. Joe Liebgott x reader angst- the two times Joe doesn’t want to see you and the one time he does.

Joe x reader x Shifty - a request for how Joe would react when he’s in love with you but you’re with Shifty.

Gene and Liebgott Headcannons - when they think they’ve lost you for good but then you reunite with them days later, worse for wear.

Joe Liebgott smut - reader becomes slightly dominant over Joe (request).

Joe Liebgott x reader - You and Joe are ‘best friends’ that occasionally mess around… Joe’s feelings are revealed to you when he defends you from a rather nasty D-company soldier.

Babe Heffron:

Babe Heffron x oc smut- Babe and OC spend some well deserved time together.

Eugene Roe:

Quiet Confessions, Eugene x reader smut - as the title described, quiet confessions between Gene and reader. Sympathy for the Enemy, Gene x oc - oc struggles with hating the enemy, especially when some of them are just boys. Gene comforts her when the inevitable happens. Vocal Gene x reader smut- Requested by a reader! Gene is obsessed with you and expresses this through being vocal in the bedroom… Friends to Lovers, Eugene x reader smut - you and Gene are friends for the longest time until one night that changes with a steamy exchange whilst walking home…

Gene x reader headcanons - just some headcanons on how your friendship turns into a relationship throughout the time during the war you spend together.

Gene and Liebgott Headcannons - when they think they’ve lost you for good but then you reunite with them days later, worse for wear.

Floyd Talbert:

Floyd x reader smut - Floyd and your tension reaches a boiling point after two years together. Liebgott x reader x Talbert smut - threesome.

Liebgott x reader x Talbert smut p2. - threesome continued!

Talbert + Christenson headcanons.

James ‘Moe’ Alley:

Alley x oc was nurse! Jenny. Headcanons of their developing relationship throughout the war.

part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4. part 5.

Skip Muck:

Skip x reader - mutual pinining - friends to lovers arc. Lewis Nixon:

One night stand, Nixon X Reader - after a long night of boozing you and Captain Nixon wake up besides each other, shocked by your actions of the night before.

Chuck Grant:

Chuck x nurse reader headcanons.

Chuck Grant x reader smut.

Alton More:

More x nurse reader headcanons.

Alton more x reader general headcanons.

Alton more x Nurse!Reader smut. Shifty Powers:

Joe x reader x Shifty - a request for how Joe would react to being in love with you but you’re with Shifty. Pat Christenson:

Christenson x reader fluff - pat comforts you after Grant is wounded. Christenson + Talbert headcanons.

Dick Winters:

Dick x reader headcanons - on how Dick steals Sobel’s gf.

[latibvles]

Hey Lex, it is so funny to see how Ron copes with those little childish jealousies of his about Dais and Lieb. I've pictured this scene where Nixon is brazenly eyeing Daisy (bc he senses she's the apple of Ron's eye) and then asking Speirs 'btw, Lieutenant Clarke...' How would that end? ; ) If you wish <333

okay so I was initially gonna answer this just as a regular QnA but ... writing a Drabble about it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. So tonight we present: instigating Nix, oblivious Daisy, and a very disgruntled Ronald Speirs below the cut.

Lieutenant Clarke — how many times had he heard that name since reaching Holland?

If he was being completely honest, he’d heard it before Holland too, technically. He’d heard her first name, “Daisy” in passing from some of the NCOs, heard Captain Brant talk of her kindly, that sort of thing. Putting a name to a face came later down the line, in Holland; a pretty woman with dark eyes and dark hair and the same disposition of the girls his mother used to introduce him to at dinner parties. The calm, collected types, who didn’t wanna be there either. From what Lewis could gather, she was kind of like those teachers everyone liked in grade school. Pretty and nice, and from his own observations, one of those women who took her job very seriously.

He’d seen an illustration once, in a newspaper, of some nurse overlooking a wounded soldier titled GI Angel. It seemed like Lieutenant Clarke was trying to live up to that — everywhere at once. If there was a wounded man, she was the first one there, treating him. In that way, she reminded him of one of their medics, Eugene Roe, who always seemed to be right there when you needed him. It also explained how so many of the men knew her name, and had opinions about her.

Lewis prided himself on his knack for knowing things and noticing things, and in these situations he tends to feel a little bit of pride in his own watchful eyes.

So he already knows that the nurse has garnered her fair share of attention from the men without meaning to. He already knows that despite their closeness, Liebgott and her probably have nothing going on. Just like he knows that Dick’s gaze has been fixed on Captain Brant since Aldbourne, last December — even if he can’t admit to that himself quite yet.

And he knows that right now — this impassive, neutral look on Ron’s face is about as soft as he’s ever seen the man, and it’s a look directed towards no one but the pretty dark-haired nurse talking to a woman with freckles and light brown hair. Kegley, Lewis recalls, remembering Captain Brant calling for her at some point when they were in Uden.

He likes to think that he knows Ron fairly well at this point; they'd spent several months together when he got moved to staff after D-Day, preparing for this very operation. He’s never been the most expressive guy, but his tongue was sharp and he was damn smart too, much more bearable than some of the men Nixon had been dealing with up until that point. Lewis’ gaze falls back to Clarke. She’s got blood on her clothes and on her hands, helmet tucked under one arm and nodding along to whatever Kegley’s saying with an intense kind of eye contact that also reminds him vaguely of Ron. But then the woman breaks out into that lovely grin, and even from their distance he can make out the faint sound of her laugh.

Next to him, he hears Ron let out a sharp exhale through the nose. A lightbulb goes off.

“So Ron… what’d you think my chances are?” Ron turns to look at him, and he watches for a moment as Ron’s gaze turns back to Clarke, and back to him.

“With what?”

“That nurse,” Lewis states, “The ah… one on the left.” Another double-take from the Lieutenant, and then—

“Lieutenant Clarke? No shot.” He says it definitively. Lewis then turns to look at him fully, feigning confusion at the response.

“And why do you say that?” Ron’s brows knit together, and he bites his lip for a moment, before narrowing his eyes.

“Don’t you have a wife, Nix?”

“Hasn’t stopped me before, Sparky.”

“No woman in their right mind is gonna sleep with a married guy,” And it's subtle, but Lewis can make out that sort of ardor in his voice that suggests it’s more than just looking out for a nurse he hardly knows. Lewis smiles in spite of Ron’s smoldering stare. If a look could kill, Lewis would probably be dead. Luckily, he’s gotten used to Ron’s hard looks.

“Didn’t think you’d care this much. You interested in the angel over there? I don’t see a ring on her finger. But I bet you already knew that,” Ron says nothing, but he doesn’t miss the way the man’s gaze falls on the woman again, lips pressing into a thin line. She’s none the wiser — throwing her arm around her friend’s shoulders, jostling them as the two women exit out a different door. Only then, as the door shuts, does he seem to snap out of his trance. He returns his attention to Lewis, still half-scowling.

“It isn’t like that. Did Mihok bring you that intelligence report or do I actually have to do everything myself?” But Lewis only grins wider as Ron waits for his reply, with arms folded across his chest.

I think it’s very much like that, Ronald Speirs.

[softspeirs]

Pairing: Ron Speirs x OC Summary: Someone sent me a prompt, “good hair day”, and of course I thought of our favorite Captain. Author’s Notes: This is just a small drabble to get me back in the swing of things. Hoping to have something longer posted soon!

“How does your hair always look like that?”

Speirs glances up from the report in front of him, eyebrow raised. “Like what?”

“Like…” she gestures vaguely with her left hand, “... like that.” She sighs, sitting back in the chair. “The rest of us have had to have our hair cut short two or three times because of dirt and lice already, and here you are--”

“Is there a point to this? Or is it just jealousy?” He smirks.

“Oh, screw you.” She mutters, their candor light and familiar - something she won’t admit she looks forward to every time they get the chance to be alone.

He raises his eyebrows once more. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

This time, she’s the one who smirks. “Trying to get rid of me?”

Something in his eyes flashes. He gets up from the desk, walking around slowly. A year ago, Kat would have been immeasurably nervous. Hell, he still does make her nervous, but for an entirely different reason.

He makes her feel vulnerable. Seen.

He crouches down in front of her. “I think you’ll find getting rid of you is usually the last thing on my mind.” His voice is low, softer than she expected. The smirk is gone, and so is the bravado.

Her breath whooshes out of her.

He tilts his head, just slightly. “What? Nothing to say now?”

“Oh, shut up.” She says, but her voice is breathy, and there’s absolutely no heat to it. He laughs. He knows exactly what he does to her, and she sometimes can’t fathom how she got here.

His hand touches her cheek lightly, barely a whisper of a touch, and then he’s standing again, heading back to the other side of the desk. “As much as I’m enjoying this, I really do have to get through this. When is your next shift?”

She glances at her watch. “An hour,” she says. “Hoping for nothing too exciting today.”

Occupation duty often means her shift in the aid station is nothing more than helping rehab old wounds or dealing with various ailments. Every now and then, though, someone does something stupid.

Kat thinks she’d be happy to never see another bandage again for as long as she lives. When she looks up to meet Ron’s eyes, his eyes are already on her. He looks away quickly. “For what it’s worth - your hair looks good. Fine.” He says, looking back at the report in front of him.

“Good?”

“Kat–”

“Fine?” She acts offended, but she grins.

He rolls his eyes. “You can go now.”

“You do want to get rid of me!”

“Dismissed, Sergeant.”

Kat grins, rising to her feet. She pretends not to notice the small smile that he’s trying to suppress. Again, she feels affection rising in her like a tidal wave, and reminds herself that they’re not out of the woods yet. She needs to keep her composure, make sure that whatever this is isn’t just born out of them being in close quarters for so long.

It feels like more than that to her. She hopes it does to him, too. For someone who has taught herself over the last three years to never hope for anything, she really hopes for that - that he cares for her the way she does for him.

It’s dangerous thinking, especially in war, but she hopes she has a long time to figure out what comes next.

[liebegott]

Unfortunate. | Ronald Speirs

as requested by @wexhappyxfew​

(click here to read on wattpad)

feel free to send me a request!

pairing: speirs x reader

wc: 1.7k

synopsis: you have pneumonia and ron takes care of you

a/n: shannon requested soft!speirs, which is one of my fav concepts. instead of lipton getting pneumonia, it’s y/n. i hope that’s alright with you! and thank you for reading. 💓

i mean no disrespect to the real ronald speirs. this is all purely based on matthew settle’s portrayal of him in band of brothers.

tagging: @floydtab​ @alienoresimagines​ @order-of-river-phoenix​ @julianneday1701​ @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant​ @wexhappyxfew​ @rarmiitage​ @mavysnavy​

***

You had two problems: you had pneumonia and your captain was being insufferable about it. Laying on a couch in the company CP, you gripped the ends of the blanket that covered your shivering frame. Luz handed you a warm cup of coffee and put a gentle hand on your forehead. "How are you feelin'?" he asked, a toothpick between his teeth. The men were extra kind to you, the only woman in the paratroopers, today. Most of the time, all they did was tease you.

Puffing out your cheeks, you shuddered for the thousandth time today. "Terrible, thank you," you mumbled a reply.

"That's unfortunate," you heard a voice say behind you, and you looked up to see Captain Speirs, a cup of coffee in hand. He placed his cup on the table beside you, arranged the sheets over you and sat on the couch, a look of concern plastered all over his face.

"Captain Speirs, sir," you looked up and saw Webster. He had disappeared before Bastogne, hit in the leg by machine gun artillery. You almost didn't recognise him, but you were sure you didn't recognise the man beside him. "This is Lieutenant Jones.”

At the sound of his voice, Speirs quickly stood, and pretended he wasn't just worrying about you. "Listen, Y/L/N, will you go back in the back and sack out? There are beds there with fresh sheets," he commanded with his usual captain voice he put on in front of the men.

"I will, sir," you replied, your voice hoarse, and Luz helped you up to move you to the back.

You stumbled across the room, your eyelids heavy. You heard Luz let out a laugh, and felt him put an arm around you to help support you. "God," he mumbled, "Speirs can be real soft sometimes, huh?”

"What are you talking about, George?" you responded, looking at him incredulously as he placed you down on a wonky bed. The springs of the mattress were jutting out in some areas, but you managed to settle yourself as comfortably as possible.

He looked down at your shaking form and picked up a fresh sheet, draping it over you. "Well, y'know? It's in the way he looks at you.”

There's a way he looks at me? You asked yourself, your cheeks reddening. "You've got it wrong, Luz," you brushed it off, thanking him quietly for helping take care of you, "He treats me the same way he treats all the men in his company.”

"If you say so, Y/N.”

***

You woke up with a start, a shiver running down your spine. It was dark outside, and you could see the moon from where you were lying down. You felt pain travel through your body and grimaced, sighing when it finally passed. Gently, you sat up, the sheets that were once around you pooled around your small frame.

You stood slowly, placing your feet on the ground as quietly as you could and wobbling out of the room you were in. You cursed at how cold it was, and you turned to pick up your sheets once more, wrapping it around yourself that you looked like a caterpillar, scooting around on your feet. Your socks were slippery, and each step you made made you feel much colder than you were previously.

Pushing open the door gently, you peeked your head out, and you were greeted by none other than Captain Speirs. He was seated on the couch, his back to you, lost in thought. Being as quiet as possible, you opened the door wider, but he always had good ears and turned to you right away.

"Oh, Y/N," he mumbled, turning back around to stare at nothing in particular, "You scared me." He said it so plainly, and you knew it was because nothing scared him. "I was just thinking," Ronald whispered.

"About what, Captain? If you don't mind me asking." you answered, scooting towards the end of the couch and plopping yourself beside him, leaving a lot of space between the two of you, "I was just gonna go look for food." You lifted your legs, wrapping your arms around your knees.

Ronald abruptly stood, and walked towards the kitchen that stored all the food the company had. He opened up one of the cabinets and turned to you. "What are you hungry for?" he asked, and only now did you realise how different he looked in the dark, lit only by the fire place across the room.

Tired was the first word that came to mind when you saw him, dark circles around his eyes, a sullen look on his face. At first, you couldn't respond, the sadness of whatever he was feeling radiating towards you. You suddenly no longer felt cold.

"Peaches," you whispered when you realised you were staring at him, "Actually anything is fine.”

He grabbed a can of peaches from the highest shelf, took out a knife from his pocket and stabbed a hole in the corner. Ronald then opened up the can for you, and grabbed a spoon from the sink. "Don't worry," he said, handing you the food, "I washed the spoon.”

You mumbled a quiet thanks and took a spoonful of peaches, feeling a lot better. "What were you thinking about, Captain?" you asked again, chewing on the fruit, "Is something wrong?”

Ronald stared at the flickering fireplace, the flames dancing beneath the red brick. His jaw hardened, and he shook his head. "Nothing," was all he replied, turning to face you, "Just worried about you.”

That took you off guard. "I'm fine, Captain," you interjected, nearly choking on your peaches. He quickly put a hand on your back, patting you gently to help the food down.

"You don't look fine," he said, his eyes furrowed, "Eat slower, Y/N." Your arms flopped to your side as your captain, the man nearly every man in Easy feared, the man you were sure all the men respected, took the can gently from your hands and used the spoon to cut the peaches into smaller bites.

You watched him, bewildered, as he handed it back to you and stood to get you some water. He circled the room, looking for his canteen, and upon spotting it, sat back down beside you and put it on the small table beside you. You ate in silence as Ronald watched you, a frown plastered on his face.

"I swear, I'm fine, sir," you said again, though your head hurt like crazy and each breath you took was laboured.

He placed a gentle hand on your forehead and exhaled a sigh. "You're warming up again, hold on," he stood, getting another sheet to wrap around you. He wrapped you so tightly, and grabbed the can of peaches from you. "Lay down," he said, his voice no longer commanding but gentle.

You rested your back on the couch, and he pulled your legs over his lap, making sure you were comfortable. Ronald took a spoonful of peaches, and fed them to you quietly. "I really wish you'd call me Ron when we're alone," he whispered, not looking at you, "This sir business is getting old.”

"That's unfortunate," you smiled, copying his response from that afternoon. You swallowed hard, shutting your eyes briefly. "It's kinda fun pretending we aren't a lot closer than everyone thinks.”

At that, Ronald shook his head, "Tsk, it's only fun for you because I get all nervous the men might notice." You let out a laugh, but coughed right after, your chest hurting. Ronald's face changed quickly, and he leaned down to give you some water.

Taking a sip, you closed your eyes, the cool water travelling down your throat. Upon opening them, Ronald was staring at you, his eyes filled with something you couldn't place a finger on— Sadness, admiration? You had no clue.

"I just wished everyone could know," he said, his voice quiet. You scooted back up, pulling your legs off of him and tilted your head questioningly, "If I told you something I've been too worried to tell you for so long, would you hate me?”

It was such a childish question to ask, but then you realised he was just 24. Because despite everything war had done to you, you were all still so young. You had heard the stories of how he had killed those soldiers, but no one ever said a word against it, and he never disputed it.

You placed a gentle hand on his cheek and shook your head, "I would never hate you, Ron. No matter what you've done.”

He frowned, and shook his head as well, quicker, and you dropped your hand. "No, this isn't about the prisoners," he frowned, "It's something else, something that could change us.”

"What is it, Ron?" you asked gently, scooting towards him, hugging the blankets over your shoulders. You saw him struggle with himself, running a hand over his face.

"I'm in love with you, Y/N," Ronald said, "And I'm worried about your health, about the entire company finding out, and about if you don't feel the same way.”

You were quiet for a few moments, taking in his words. Looking up at him, he looked like the 24 year old he really was, not some brave captain who had run through enemy lines time and time again— In short, he was afraid. Your face broke out into a smile.

"Well, that's unfortunate," you said again, the words bouncing off the two of you, "Because I might just be able to get rid of one worry of yours.”

And with that, you closed the space between you, wrapped your arms tightly around the man who softened around you, and kissed him like your life depended on it.

[band-of-brothers-headcannons]

Ronald "Ron" Speirs Headcannons

The Bad Cop™

Almost every boy in Easy Company will tell you that Speirs scares them.

Even boys like Toye and Guarnere know not to mess with Speirs when he's in his killer mode.

And speaking of which, this man is completely nuts.

Who in the hell runs straight into enemy fire, which consists of mortars, snipers, and tanks, with nothing more than the helmet on his head?!?!

After that stunt, everyone knew not to mess with Ronald mother-fucking Speirs.

But, Lip and Dick know that besides the badass military side to him, Ron is a sweetheart.

He loves to joke around and have a beer with them, Harry and Nix, and just let loose.

The first time any of them saw the real Ron was at the Eagles nest, where Harry, Nix, and him were getting drunk off their asses.

He was laughing, smiling, and joking with the guys.

He was acting like he didn't have a care in the war, which he did, since Hilter was dead and they had unlimited access to his personal wine cellar.

[alyseofwonderland]

SpeirsRoe headcanon I feel very strongly: Ron and Gene walking around in a mall. Gene expressing his lack of understanding and almost outrage about how much all those new sneakers can cost. Ron doing that blank stare of his to mask his reaction as an owner of at least a dozen of designer workout shoes.

FACTUAL

Ronald Speirs collects high end sneakers like a bird of paradise would collect colorful rocks and leaves for their mate. He cleans the ones he does wear with a set of tooth brushes. Most remain in their original packaging or in a case in the basement.

Gene doesn’t know about this because he comes from a place where basements don’t exist and livings in constant fear of the room bellow the functional part of their house. 

They both fear the day the other finds out about their secret. 

[chasingstardustandmoonbeams]

Maybe not so one-sided

Repost from my old blog sohoneyspreadyourwings

Drabble: Word Count - 1.1k

The feeling of the alcohol burning as it went down your throat was a stark contrast to cool feeling of the glass against your lips. Unbothered by the bitter taste, you set your glass down against the bar counter. Idly, your finger ran along the side of the glass, swiping at the condensation that had formed.

The bar was lively, men drunkenly singing along to Vera Lynn, while others began to keel over from a friendly drinking competition. You let out a small laugh as Bill Guarnere fell to the floor, knocking down a chair in the process.

“Somebody can’t hold their liquor,” came a snort to your left.

Taking another swig of your drink, you turned with a smile to see George Luz casually leaning against the bar counter.

“Me on the other hand? Five glasses in and I don’t feel nuthin’.” As if to prove his point further, George downed the rest of his glass before asking for another. Leaning against the bar, George nearly fell over as he tried to get the bartender’s attention.

Your arm instinctively reaching out to help him steady, you both let out a booming laugh.

“You alright there, George?” You managed to ask between laughs.

“Me? Just peachy,” he replied a bit breathlessly, a wide smile spread across his face, “Especially since I got you taking care of me.”

“Charmer,” you grinned, enjoying the way George’s smile grew more love struck at the comment.

He opened his mouth to no doubt say something witty, when he peered over your shoulder. Almost comically, his mouth clamped shut, eyes growing wide.

“I, uh, I think…” George stammered, “What’s that Perconte?” He yelled, before ducking down and ramming his hip into a nearby table.

“George?” You called out, but all you got in response was a grunt, and a small whine.

Face scrunched up in confusion, you turned around just in time to see someone make their way outside the bar. Curiosity got the better of you as you weaved your way through drunken men.

Opening the door, you felt a sigh of relief as the cool night air hit you, the quiet a welcome comfort to your ears.

The sound of a lighter clicking drew your attention, your eyes found Speirs a few feet away from you.

“Too noisy for you in there?” You said softly, making your way towards him gradually, as if making a sudden move would cause him to run away like a frightened deer.

Ron let out a short breathy laugh as he lit up his cigarette. “Something like that,”  he murmured.

“What? You’re not gonna offer me one?”

Ron’s eyes turned to you, a mixture of amusement and curiosity written across his face.

“Would you take one?” He challenged, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“No, but not because I think you’d shoot me,” you replied, relishing in the way that Ron’s smile grew by a fraction. “The offer just would have been nice,” you teased.

Ron’s gaze was lingering as he looked at you. Taking a long drag, he tore his eyes away, his gaze now fixed on the horizon.

“What brings you out here anyways? Looked like you were having a good enough time with Luz keeping you company.”

You couldn’t help the perplexed look that appeared on your face, as you looked at Ron. 

His eyes refused to meet yours as he continued to stare into the horizon.

“I was having a nice time with George. He saved me from boredom before he ran off.”

Your eyes searched Ron’s face, looking for the slightest bit of a tell.

“He ran off?” Ron said simply, his voice unwavering.

“Yeah, guess somebody scared him off. Do you know who that might have been?” You challenged, your mind already coming to its own conclusion.

“Not a clue.”

“He rammed into a table, you know.”

“Well, that’s tragic, but I don’t know who-”

“Ron,” you said softly.

His eyes snapped to yours instantly, his expression softening at the sound of his name.

“Why would you scare off George? He’s harmless, and he’s my friend I don’t get why…”

Ron looked at you hard, his jaw working as if he was fighting the words desperately trying to claw themselves out. With frustration, Ron put out his cigarette, his boot harshly scraping against the dirt.

“I mean…” your voice trailed off, “It’s not like your jealous right?”

Ron let out a sigh, crossing his arms against his chest. His downcast eyes met yours and it stole your breath away.

“But…me?” You tried to reason, “We hardly ever speak, and when we do, I’m the one who’s doing most of the talking. I thought, well, I thought you tolerated me at best. I mean, I knew I-”

You clamped your mouth shut, stopping yourself before you said anything that you might regret.

“You knew you what?”

“How I felt about you, how I feel, even if it is one sided.”

You both stood still, watching each other in fear that the other might run.

“Ron, we shouldn’t….I know we’re not supposed to. But I -”

In the blink of an eye, Ron quickly closed the distance between you both. His hands gently cradled your face as he kissed you. It was softer, far softer than you thought Ron was capable of. His hold on you was firm, an extension of Ron himself. He kissed you wholly, deeply, as if all there was was this moment. The both of you standing outside some dingy bar in the middle of a war, as your friends all sung along inside.

Ron pulled away first, his eyes still closed as he delicately cradled your face in his hands.

“It’s not one sided,” he murmured softly against your hair, placing a gentle kiss against your temple.

Your breath grew shakey, your eyes desperately pleading for Ron to open his own.

A loud bang caused you both to jump apart, the silent revere of your words , your kiss, broken.

A group of drunken soldiers came stumbling out of the bar, not paying you a second glance before making their way down the road.

You turned to look at Ron who was nearly halfway down the road.

He turned back to look at you, a somber expression written across his face. He gave you a small nod, a hint of a smile on his face, before he continued his walk.

Your heart felt heavy at the revelation that had just occurred. His words echoing in your head, searing itself into your mind.

“Hey!”

You turned to see George poking his head out the door.

“You in for a game of rummy?”

A smile appearing on your face, you nodded back at George, making your way back inside.

With one last glance down the road, you walked into the bar. Licking your lips, you felt the ghost of Ron’s lips on yours, and the weight of his words on your heart.

[basilone]

personal blog ∞ Vikings & TLK blog ∞ HotD/GoT blog ∞ my ao3 ∞ fic tag ∞ edit tag Below the readmore cut, you will find the masterlist of gifs/edits/fics I have created for the HBO War fandom.

Gifs/edits:

All HBO War creations Band of Brothers Band of Brothers per episode The Pacific Generation Kill SAS Rogue Heroes Ronald Speirs Joe Liebgott Floyd Talbert Lewis Nixon John Basilone Hoosier Smith

Fics:

Form & Void series (Explicit, 62k words) Ron Speirs/OFC, Ron Speirs/Chuck Grant, Shifty Powers/Floyd Talbert God-chosen AU ∞ the long bright dark (main fic) ∞ Spoils Of War (sidefic) ∞ sing of peace in this valley deep (sidefic) ∞ and cry your name out to heaven (sidefic) ∞ so the earth can grow more flowers (sidefic) ∞ assorted drabbles in this series ∞ the divine knife (OFC on loan from The Darkening Sky) to babel, in ruins (Teen & Up Audiences - 5,1k words) Ron Speirs/Chuck Grant ∞ canon setting pulse (Teen & Up Audiences - 4,7k words) Ron Speirs/Chuck Grant ∞ canon setting spark the embers (Explicit - 19k words) Ron Speirs/OFC ∞ canon setting the trouble with wanting is (Explicit - 8,1k words) Ron Speirs/Lewis Nixon ∞ canon setting aethon (Teen & Up Audiences - 3,2k words) Joe Liebgott/Ron Speirs ∞ canon setting this dream of you (Mature - 3k words) Don Malarkey/OFC ∞ canon setting oh please, give me mercy no more (Mature - 6,9k words) Ron Speirs/OFC ∞ vampire AU, OFC on loan from The Darkening Sky shone more bright than midday sun (Teen & Up Audiences - 4,4k words) Ron Speirs/OFC ∞ canon setting, OFC on loan from The Darkening Sky meet me in the margins (Mature - 2,8k words) Leckie/Hoosier ∞ canon setting home is not a place (but a wish your heart makes) (Mature - 2,5k words) Leckie/Hoosier ∞ canon setting assorted writing 2020-2021 (various ratings, no wordcount available) Collection of prompt fills and other stuff I wrote in 2020 and 2021

[lieutenant-speirs]

𝐅𝐎𝐗𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒

▸ Rᴜʟᴇs & Rᴇɢᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs

𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑠 (𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑓𝑖𝑐), 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠, 𝑜𝑟 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 - 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤!

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧 ▸Jᴜsᴛ Hᴏʟᴅ Hɪᴍ - Pᴀʀᴛ Oɴᴇ | Pᴀʀᴛ Tᴡᴏ ▸ Mɪsᴛʟᴇᴛᴏᴇ Kɪss

𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬 ▸ Multi-Fic coming soon [Speirs/Reader/Lipton]

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐧 ▸ Lᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ғʀᴏᴍ Lɪᴘᴛᴏɴ

𝐃𝐨𝐜 𝐑𝐨𝐞 ▸"Would anyone choose you?" [WIP] ▸ I Mᴀᴅᴇ Yᴏᴜ ᴀ Vᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ - Part 1 | Part 2

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧 ▸ Yᴏᴜ Lᴏᴏᴋ Lɪᴋᴇ Yᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ Aʙᴏᴜᴛ Tᴏ Cʀʏ… 𝐉𝐨𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐲𝐞 ▸ Nᴇɪɢʜʙᴏᴜʀ. Fʀɪᴇɴᴅs. Lᴏᴠᴇʀs. 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 ▸ Lɪᴇᴜᴛᴇɴᴀɴᴛ Sᴘᴇɪʀs ▸ Dᴏᴄ Rᴏᴇ

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ▸ Eᴀsʏ Cᴏᴍᴘᴀɴʏ ʟᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀᴀᴛᴇ Hᴀɴɴᴜᴋᴀʜ

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Mobile Masterlist ***(updated 11/15)

Allright! The MASTERLIST. The MASTERLIST for tumblr, the MASTERLIST chosen especially to organize my work for tumblr, tumblr’s MASTERLIST. That MASTERLIST?

Here it is, kids!

NSFW ALPHABET MASTERLIST

Dick Winters

Everything Will Break: part one, part two

Hiding From the War We Claim to Fight For: part one, part two, part three, part four***

Band of Brothers Greetings

 Lewis Nixon

I’ve Yet To Taste, You’ve Yet To Indulge (Allow Me To Remedy Both) ***

Band of Brothers Greetings

Our First Defeat: part one***, part two, part two and a half, part three***, part four, part five

Carwood Lipton 

On Days Like This: part one, part two, part three***, part four, part five

Nothing Dulls Your Foolish Shine***

Band of Brothers Greetings

 Lynn “Buck” Compton

You Are Mine, I Am Yours***

Band of Brothers Greetings

Drabble***

Untitled Buck smut/angst

 Denver “Bull” Randleman

Touch Me With Your Hands Until I’m Yours***

I Pity The Grave That Tries To Keep Me From You

There’s A Reason It’s Called Liquid Courage

Band of Brothers Greetings

 Eugene “Doc” Roe

Never Be Sorry, Not For This: part one***, part two***

You’re All I’ve Ever Wanted, All I Want to Know: part one***, part two***

Band of Brothers Greetings

 Joe Liebgott

Darling I’m Just Not Okay: part one***, part two, part three, part four

You Calm The Storm, You Give Me Rest***

Untitled Bill x Reader x Lieb smut

Untitled Chuck x Reader x Lieb smut (part of the Eyes Will Lead Me Back Home-verse)

You’ve Been Sad (I’ve Been Lonely)

Boys Who Speak With Silver Luck*** (unofficial sequel to above fic)

Caught In Your Riptide, Can’t Let You Know: part one***, part two

Band of Brothers Greetings

 Ron Speirs

Ignorance Is Blitzed: part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven***

It’s Not About Dibs

Forgiveness Is Divine

A Rare Night of Peace

What We Want and What We Can Have: part one, part two

I Wish I could Leave This Alone... (guest starring role)***

Drabble***

Band Of Brothers Greetings p2

 Johnny Martin

If You Need It, Then I Need It***

Untitled Johnny smut

Band Of Brothers Greetings p2

 George Luz

Untitled Luz smut

Drinking Up This Sweet Decadence*** 

Band Of Brothers Greetings p2

 Edward “Babe” Heffron

I Wish I Could Leave This Alone (I Know How Much You Want Me To)***

Untitled Babe smut

Band of Brothers Greetings

 Bill Guarnere

Inherent Risks of Loving A Wild Man: part one, part two***

Untitled Bill x Reader x Lieb smut

Band Of Brothers Greetings p2

 Don Malarkey

Lay Your Hands Upon My Chest (and Call It Home) 

I Know I’m Guilty (It’s Not Your Fault)***

Band Of Brothers Greetings p3

 Darrell “Shifty” Powers

Untitled Shifty angst

Untitled Shifty smut

drabble***

Band Of Brothers Greetings p3

 Joe Toye:

You Can Just Stay (Under This Weight)

Knees Known to Go Weak When You Pull Me In***

NSFW Alphabet***

 Harry Welsh

My Ruin is Heaven Sent and Battle Tested***

 Chuck Grant

The Splendor of These Exploding Skies (Yet All I See Is You)***

Untitled Chuck x Reader x Lieb smut (part of the Eyes Will Lead Me Back Home-verse)

Drabble***

 Floyd Talbert

Your Eyes Will Lead Me Back Home***

Into My Body, You Just Fold***

[bleedingcoffee42]

Speirton Princess Bride AU

Wrote it to get it out of my head, as always. Just a Speirton Drabble. Lip and Ron on work-cation in Scotland and a weekend of child custody for Sparky.

“Carwood, it’s Ron.”

“Ron, it's midnight, everything okay?”  Carwood was working on some engineering schematics and the call so late at night was never a good thing.   

“Yeah, since when do you actually sleep?  You are always up.   That ‘life is fun’ philosophy.  Three hours.”  

“I wasn't asleep, just concerned about getting a phone call this late.  Typically it means you are in trouble.”  Carwood didn’t need to add that they were in Scotland and nobody was calling them anyway.

“No, nothing like that.  I need a favor.”

“Did you kill someone?” Lip asks flatly.

“No.”

“Okay shoot.”  Lip says and sighs.  Wrong choice of words with that man.

There was a snort of amusement and then, “My son can't sleep. Can you tell him a quick story?  He says my stories suck, well in British so it sounds more polite,  after camping with you and the boys he insists your stories are better “

“Since when do you tell stories?“  Carwood asks, 

“I told him about the Mercedes in Austria.  And about Sergeant Smith.   And…”

“Yeah, put him on the phone.”  Carwood says and pinches his nose.  He should have known Ron ‘I’ll inspire you by telling you you’re already dead’ Speirs would not be equipped with child friendly stories.

“Hi Uncle Carwood.”

“Hey Bobby, can't sleep huh?  That have anything to do with your Dad’s stories?”

“You tell them better.   He said you held the men together in the Bois Jacques.”

Lip rolls his eyes and sits down to think of a more appropriate story for a five year old.  Stories come easy to him and it’s actually a welcome relief from staring at schematics of an old glass factory.  “Well, your Dad will never tell you this but he’s a hero.    Saved me and the rest of the guys from Prince HumperDike.”

“Hump or die?”

“No, HumperDike.  Foxhole Norman.   The incompetent Prince of the City of York II.”

“Like the story about putting your finger in a hole to stop the water…”

Lip pinches his nose.    Nobody would believe him that this kid took after his father who was a chatterbox when drunk or friendly.  

“Can you just come over and read it to me?”

Lip shook his head.  Just like his father, perceptive as hell.  He heard Ron in the background, cursing up a storm in Scottish and just decided if his son already figured out they were on vacation together then it was best just to tell the kid a story in person.  “Give me a few minutes to get there, make some tea for me okay?”

“Yay!!!”

And the receiver was slammed down and presumably a five year old British child was now wide awake at the prospect of making tea properly for his father and ‘friend’ in anticipation of story time.   Ron was going to be ready to explode when he got there.

Xxxxx

The door opened and little Robert Speirs was there with a cup of tea and Ron Speirs was behind him holding the door looking like he had just been informed he was being court martialed for fraternizing.  Carwood took the tea, ruffled up Bobby’s head of hair he definitely inherited from his Dad, and gave Ron’s shoulder a firm squeeze.  

‘What does he know?’ Ron mouthed silently.

‘He’s five.  He knows you’re happy around me.   Do not interrogate the child.’

Ron gives him a frown and Bobby is already wandering around the living room chattering about what he thinks Prince HumperDike is going to do and calling him a slew of insults from ‘numpty’ to ‘wanker’.

The door to the English flat Ron is renting closes and Carwood immediately snaps his fingers and points to the boy’s bedroom.  “This is a bedtime story, you need to be in bed young man.”

Bobby defates a little, Uncle Carwood is bossy.   Dad lets him get away with everything on account of him only seeing him once or twice a year.  “Yes,  sir.”

“Thank you for the tea, Bobby.”  Carwood says and the boy lights up.   “Did I ever tell you I used to sell it as a kid? Door to door?”

“How does that even work?”  Ron asks.  A door to door tea salesman?  In West Virginia?

“I lived in town, Ronald, not the mountains.”  Carwood reminds him, seeing his face.  

“Is it so you could throw it in the harbour?”  Bobby asks.  “Your American tea is bitter and weak.”

“He is definitely your son.”  Carwood mumbles to Ron and points to the bedroom.  “Bed.  Don’t think I can’t see what you’re trying to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

And off goes young Speirs, leaving Carwood to give Ron a look that says ‘your poor mother, this child is a replica of you’.

“I was her favorite.”  Ron whispers, answering his silent statement.  “Still am.”

“Mmm.” Lip hums and Ron gives him a grin.

“Thank you for coming.”

“He’s five.  You’re his Dad.  You’re his hero.  He is just looking for reasons to explain why you’re not with his Mom anymore.”  Carwood explains.

“We explained…” Ron begins and Carwood puts a finger on his lips to stop him.

“He’s five.” Carwood repeats.  “He doesn’t understand any of that, just that you let him get away with everything.  You spoil him.  You have fun.   He’s trying to understand why you live a world away and kids are perceptive as hell.   Especially yours.   Relax.”

Ron does, because Carwood always manages to be his calming influence.  “Prince HumperDike, huh?” 

“Get the tea, come tuck your son in and let me tell my story.”  Carwood says and leaves it at that.

“Yes, sir.” Ron says and Lip gives him an admonishing look for how he said it.

Xxxx

Carwood sits in an antique chair and opens up a book of horribly traumatizing fairy tales and pretends to read from it.   Little Robert Speirs is in bed and staring, another trait picked up from his Dad.   “Where were we?”

“Dad saved you from Prince HumperDike.”

“Ah yes, the Frozen Forest of Foy.”   Carwood says and pretends to read from the book but Bobby is more than aware he’s making it up.  Ron is seated on the foot of the bed, eyes fixed on him, not unlike his son.  “Understand names have been changed for classified army reasons.”

“My lips are sealed.” Bobby says.

Carwood nods, also like his father who could keep a secret to his grave unless the right person came along and then he was a flood of information like a damn broke.   Carwood feels a small smirk pull at his lips and knows Ron catches it.    But he continues, “Sergeant ButterBars was looking at the town of Foy with a pair of binoculars gifted to him from an officer he greatly admired.  A legend– The Dread Paratrooper Sparky.”

Ron snorted and got a look from both the kid and the storyteller.  Okay, so now he was going to get reprimanded. “Sorry.”

“These binoculars were special, they were loot captured on one of his many trips across the dangerous land between the forest and the town. A snow blanketed farm field, where it would rain iron and lead.    It was this field, Sergeant ButterBars was now looking at, worried for the men he would try to cross it with.

“The problem was that they had lost a great leader and had yet to find his replacement.   King Richard of Lancaster still watched over them, but due to his position was unable to lead his people into war again.   His queen, the Queen of Scotch, much like in chess, was able to move for him, shuffling pieces on the board so when the inept Prince HumperDike failed there would be a hero to save his people.    ButterBars did not know the details, and went to see the King late at night to express his concern for the people of Toccoa.”

Ron chuckled again and this time it was his son staring daggers at him.  “Sorry.”

“Prince HumperDike was well connected, chosen to fill the void of a man accidentally attacked by his own men for not knowing the secret password.  HumperDike was from the city where the Queen was born, and went to the same school, so ButterBars concerns were already on the minds of the royal couple.  But you can’t just remove a Prince from his command, can you?”

“No.”  Bobby said.  “Got to kill him.”

Just like his father.  Lip shakes his head to say that is not the right answer.  Bobby frowns.  Just like his damned father.  “So ButterBars looked across that frozen tundra of death and thought about tales of old, war stories of men marching across open fields and being killed by artillery a mile away.   And they had already lost so many good men to the exploding trees of the Forest.   He felt that maybe, just maybe, he could encourage the Prince to come out of his hiding spot and just move across the field fast.  Move from mound of hay to mound of hay, just give the orders to let the people do the job they knew how to do.   It wasn’t going to be the case though, HumperDike froze like so many of the men in the forest.  He froze out of fear though, and the attack came to a halt.”

“Oh no.”  Bobby said.

“It was brutal, but the Queen was prepared.  The King was fretting, thinking about running out and saving his people but he could not abandon the rest of his kingdom.  The Dogs and the Foxes still needed him to be their King or they would suffer the same fate as his men in those fields.   He turned and there was the Dread Paratrooper Sparky, ready to save the day.”

“Where did he come from?”  Bobby asks.

“Sparky was once a pawn but he had crossed the board and now was eligible for promotion just like in chess.  So Queen Jersey had made him a Queen piece to enable him to go anywhere he wanted, or was needed.”

“What piece was Butterbars?” Bobby asks and glances at the chess board on his desk, his Dad was trying to teach him how to play.

“Butterbars was a knight, limited range but tactical in moves and thinking.”  Carwood explains.

“Why was the Dread Paratrooper a pawn then?” Bobby’s eyes return to his, staring intensely and needing answers.

“He built a reputation around being the toughest and meanest man from Toccoa.  In battle he was always willing to sacrifice himself.    Everyone noticed.    Nobody considered him a pawn in the derogatory sense, but a man who was the first to start an attack, and could go anywhere.   He was an aggressive pawn, always looking forward and capturing pieces.   He had already established himself as someone who was going to cross the board and take a larger role, but chose to lurk in the outer edges and wait for his time.   Now, he was there for us, the men of Toccoa.  And he was running out to knock over the piece HumperDike represented and take over the board.”  Carwood explains and Bobby is clearly taking mental notes.   

“Are you, I mean, is Butterbars his king?”

Both he and Ron gave the kid a look for his slip up and Bobby just smiled at them sweetly.   

Ron answers this time, “The King is a piece of the board that is the reason the other pieces move, but is unable to move far.  His capture ends the game, without the King the empire crumbles.   The King appears to be shackled to its role, but represents leadership, power and protection.  It is his subjects who must act, who are inspired by his presence and power, who will gladly sacrifice themselves for his safety.  The pawn is a representative of the soldier, the frontline defense of those who are so valuable to winning the game.   To emerge from the trenches as an officer, as a royal piece, well that is quite the feat.  But to earn the seat beside a King, it’s a show they have earned the role through their strategy and versatility.  That the hands moving the pieces have seen them worthy of a board of their own.   And that is what King Richard and his brilliant Queen saw that day–two individuals worthy of taking over their old kingdom.”

Carwood smiled, knowing the way he was looking at Ron was not in any way lost in the impressionable young Speirs.   

“Or so I think, but this isn’t my story.” Ron says and shrugs.

Carwood licks his lips and clears his throat to crush down a laugh.   “So now Dread Paratrooper Sparky is running across the fields, dodging fire eruptions from the earth and iron from the sky.   No fear, unflinching.   He arrives with the King’s decree, HumperDike is relieved of duty and he’s taking over!”

“Oh.”  Bobby says disappointed.  “That’s it?  That’s all of the story?”

“Oh no.  He was just getting started.” Carwood sits back in the chair and Bobby looks thrilled that the story isn’t close to ending.   “Sparky takes over and immediately starts issuing instructions.   ‘Take out that house, halt that flanking attack, let’s go..follow me.’  ButterBars is momentarily stunned, not just by this turn of events, but because Sparky keeps touching his arm.”

“What does that mean?” Bobby asked.  “Is this some American thing?   Are they going to kiss? Is this one of those kissing books?”

Carwood smirks and looks at Ron.  “Well, it turns out the Dread Paratrooper Sparky was not the meanest, heartless man he wanted everyone to believe he was.  It turns out he was just looking for the right kingdom to call his after traveling through the lands of ParaDice.  He had not been appreciated by Charlie Horses, or Dogs or even the Airborne Council of Elders.   Well, when the sun rose that day his destiny was revealed to him.  You see, Dread Paratrooper Sparky had been marked with the Sacred Scar.  Right on the butt, like God himself spanked him for being an idiot who liked to swim across the dangerous river at night.”

“Your arse!?!”  Bobby exclaimed and looked at his father.  “You have the mark!”

“How does the kid know that?”  Carwood asks.

“He asked if I ever got shot in the war.”  Ron shrugged.

“Yes, your father is marked.  Destined to be a leader of the finest bunch of men that ever was assembled.”  Carwood answers and Bobby’s eyes are glowing with admiration.  “Just like Dread Paratrooper Sparky.   Who toppled HumperDike’s chess piece and didn’t stop there.   The whole company was moving forward now and the occupants of Foy were starting to withdraw.    Communication was poor and there were some men who didn’t know they had support.  So, to tell them Sparky ran out in front of the enemy, through their lines and right over to where those men were trapped on the other side of the wall.”

“No way.”

“And..” Carwood says, “As if that wasn’t the most insane thing ButterBars had ever seen, Sparky jumped over that wall and ran back through the lines to return to those men he just saved from HumperDike’s incompetence.   The enemy was prepared this time, firing on him, trying to move a tank to get to him, but they weren’t prepared for how fast Sparky could run.   He had earned a medal from his home kingdom of Masshole for his speed and agility, prior to the great war.  And so he returned, inspiring the men and turning the tides of the battle.  Earning his place among the men he so desperately wanted to join from the beginning.”

Bobby smiled.

Carwood closed the book.  “And that is the end of that chapter, you need to go to bed.”

“Awwww….”

“Nope.’ Carwood says. “If you want to hear the rest of it, you go to bed and I’ll come back tomorrow to tell you about the royal proposal, ButterBars sickness and how Sparky found the healing potion.  The story does not end there.”

“Promise?” 

“I promise.” Carwood says and ruffles the kid’s hair again and puts the book down and turns out the light.  “But it is way past your bedtime.”

“Yes, sir.  Thank you for coming Uncle Carwood.”  Bobby says as he lays down and his Dad tucks him in.  “You should stay and drink your tea, it’s late and you shouldn’t have to drive home because of me.”

“Thank you, for thinking of my safety.”  Carwood says dryly and leaves the room, “Goodnight, Bobby.”

Ron kisses the kid on the forehead and whispers, “You’re not subtle.”

“Neither are you.”

With that he rolls his eyes and says “Goodnight” as he closes the door.  Carwood is ready to start laughing and he carries his cup of tea into the kitchen and sips from it.  “You might as well stay the night.  Clearly I’m doing a shit job of convincing a five year old I’m not here on vacation with you.”

“He’s playing you.  Trying to force your hand.”  Carwood says and a hand goes to his lower back and he turns and says, “You can go one weekend without me in your bed.”

“He’s not the only one who can’t sleep.” Ron says, a whisper in Carwood’s ear and he gets an admonishing look.  

“You’ll live.”  Carwood strikes him down.  “He’s too young for you to understand this and way too young  to be burdened by that kind of secret.   Just plan on dinner tomorrow.  I do have work to get done while we are here.”

Ron frowns but understands, gives Lip a pat on the ass and shits down to drink his tea.  “Fine.  I’ll see you tomorrow.  Thank you for coming over.”

“Go to bed, Ron.” Lip can’t resist running his hand through his hair once before he leaves.  “Sweet dreams.”

“Mmm.” Ron says as that hand runs down his face, along his jaw, and a thumb rolls over his lips.  Before he can suck it, Lip takes it away, leaving only a frown on his lips.  “Tease.”

“I’ll make it up to you, always do.”

[queenofkeys]

Ron Speirs x Reader Drabble

@gendryw4ters was craving some more Speirs stuff, so I decided to answer the call! Slightly shorter than my usual pieces, but I still hope you enjoy! Warning: I know sod all about poker and Speirs may be ooc. No disrespect intended to the original men. Based on the actor’s portrayals. Tagging: @ruinsrebuilt

I drummed my fingers repeatedly on the table in front of me, examining the playing cards in my hand intently. I undoubtedly had a losing hand, but I wasn't about to let Ron know that. He was sat across the table from me, not even bothering to look at his own cards. He looked completely unruffled, except for his hair and that was from where I had run my fingers through it only half an hour earlier, as I persuaded him to play cards with me.

I continued to tap my fingers against the wooden surface in front of me and I could practically see Ron resisting the urge to say something. It was a testament to his love for me, that he hadn't said anything yet. Anybody else and he would have probably already told them off for it.

Chewing absent-mindedly on my lower lip, I reached forward and picked up another card. It wasn’t much of an improvement to my hand, but it was better than nothing and I shuffled my cards around and tried to ignore the way Ron was staring at me.

 “You are the worst poker player I've ever met. The three blind mice could read your tells from a mile away” Ron spoke up, his gruff voice slightly softened by affection.

“Oh, onto the trash talking now?” I asked with a grin as I sat up straighter in my chair.

“I don't need to trash talk. You really are that bad” he responded. There was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, though he attempted to retain his stern expression. It didn’t really work. Not when I was so familiar with him.

This was a side to Ron that most people didn't get the chance to see. A more teasing, jovial side, that was often hidden by his intimidating, fearless demeanour that most people didn't bother looking past. I was incredibly thankful that I had pushed past my initial first impression of him and that I had seen the real man behind the ‘image’. To think of all the things I would have been missing out on if I hadn’t.

Ron slid a couple of more sweets across the table, adding to the growing pile in the middle. We were playing for sweets, instead of money (Ron had a surprising sweet tooth) and he absolutely refused full stop to take money off his partner, (which would have been incredibly likely, given that I had never once won a game). Also as he had once put it to me, “I like it when you can pay your share of the bills”.

If only his men could see the great, fearsome Speirs now.

“I will win one game eventually!” I replied adamantly, only just stopping myself in time from waving my hand in the air dramatically and accidentally revealing my cards to him. The only response I received from Ron was a scoff at my antics, though he was making less of an attempt to hide the smile on his face now

“It's your turn” he pointed out and I came to the sudden realisation that I had no sweets left to bet. No wonder Ron was suddenly smirking and looking smug with himself.

I looked around me, trying to come up with an alternative and my eyes fell on the pen I had used to write out our shopping list, only just earlier this morning.

“I raise you a fluffy pen” I said, picking it up and adding it to the top of the pile. The pen was green, topped with an equally bright halo of green feathery fluff and it stood out in stark contrast to the sweets resting underneath it

“What would I need that for?” Ron asked half exasperated, but I noticed I had caught him somewhat off guard and felt satisfied with myself. He had obviously been expecting me to fold

“You got paperwork, don't you? Stuff to sign?” I replied, purposely keeping my gaze locked with his as I attempted to stare him down, just daring him to refuse my offer.

There was a moment of silence as Ron continued to stare at me incredulously, before rubbing his hand over his face

“Why do I enable you?” he said and I grinned, knowing that I had at least won this little round.

“Because you love me” I chirped in response

I watched him react to my words. There was a subtle shift to his eyes as I spoke, a brightness that let me know just how right I was, in what I had just said.

Ron glanced back down at his cards once more, barely looking at them before he returned his gaze to me. Very slowly, he laid his cards down on the table, spreading them out so I could see. He had four of a kind.

I groaned, dropping my own cards down and tilting my head back to look at the ceiling.

“I can't believe you keep thinking you can out bluff me” Ron said. I looked back at him and the confident grin on his face, only confirmed the satisfaction I had heard in his voice. 

“And I can't believe you won't ever let me win” I replied, not really complaining. I knew even as the words came out of my mouth, that wasn't his style. Ron believed in working hard for your achievements. Even for something as simple as a friendly game of poker with your partner.

“Now where would the fun be in that?” he countered. I leant back and took a moment to admire the way his rolled up sleeves tightened around his arms as reached out for my cards, already cleaning up and packing away. He never could stand a mess, preferred things to be organised.

A few short seconds and there was nothing left to clear up, Ron's quick hands having sorted away everything before I had even had a chance to move. Only the pile of ‘winnings’ remained and that was all his.

I stood up and wordlessly wandered over to the counter, propping myself up on my elbows as I re-read my shopping list, wanting to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. I barely heard Ron approach, he was stealthy as a cat at all times and I only realised how close he was, when he wrapped his arms around me, his chest pressing against my back.

“Here” he murmured as he presented a sweet in front of my face and I instantly recognised the packaging as my favourite. I smiled at his thoughtfulness, thanking him as I took the sweet from him and unwrapping it before popping it in my mouth.

Ron wrapped both of his arms around me again, pulling me close so he could brush his lips over the side of my neck in a firm but loving kiss, with only just a hint of bite. 

“You’re right though. I do love you” he murmured. For all intent and purposes, it sounded like a casual statement, but I knew better and the way his arms momentarily tightened around my waist as he said those words, only confirmed it for me.

[televisionboy]

really small drabble I wrote so long ago and never posted it! I want to clarify if you take this drabble as sexist, it’s meant to be that because it’s the 1940s. Obviously women were not thought of as being strong or “strong enough to kill”. This is very much not my mindset I’m just being realistic of the mindsets in this time!!

@my-haunting-romance @thatsonefishyboi @punkgeekcryptid @pierrespandas @prvtbullshit @liebegott @order-of-river-phoenix @himbowelsh @real-fans @snafus-peckuh @warrior-healer @sydney-m @starkiddasilva @neverendingstories00 @3milesup @sunnyshifty @gutsandgloryhere @band-of-bitches @murphyism @wexhappyxfew @we-always-hit-our-ass @lovingunderratedcharacters @contrabandhothead @alrightnicelighter @georgeluzwarmhugs @sodapop182 @hoosiers-blanket @mrseasycompany @honeybisous @stressedinadress @opalsdaggers @mavysnavy @rayofshanshine @band-of-brothers-headcannons @trashgoddess600 @happyveday @saritanotserena @how-are-those-nuts-sarge

The Rules Of The Game

imagine Ronald Speirs looking like this after he had received a divorce paper during the war from you.

He was a man of his word, promising to give you the bracelet you saw in the antique store, the very expensive new bottle of wine, flowers after work. More often than not, he brought it home. Many times, he did not and refused to listen to you. The few times you talked to him during the war were short letters updating him on life at home and the cats, he would respond with where he was.

Ronald Speirs would respond in his mind because he was clearly not a man of his word. While Easy was in Holland, an anonymous letter was written to you from one of the men saying that Speirs had kissed a European woman and she had found Liebgott late at night confessing that she was pregnant.

The letter was stored quickly away in your plate cabinet all the way in the back. For weeks, you cried, plotted revenge against Ronald Speirs.

“Can ladies kill?” One of your friends had asked. Maybe, only one way to find out. After they had left Holland, Speirs received a letter from you

“I just need to know someone out there listens and understands and doesn’t try to sleep with people even if they could have. I need to know those people exist. I know you long for freedom, and I can’t blame you. You long for women and cheap beer, I cannot tie you down and force you to stay married to me much like your mother attempted to. Occasionally I will allow myself to imagine that you’re somewhere crying while reading this and I feel awful for admitting it makes me feel better, however I know that you are taking shelter somewhere in Europe and surrounding yourself with men who don’t know their right foot from their left and that is your biggest worry right now. Someday I will write poems about this, Ron. And someday you will find them in book stores, maybe one of your mens mothers will send them it. But first I must survive this.

yours

(p.s. I cant blame you for any of this. I would’ve done the same if I was in the middle of nowhere and having to kill people daily. maybe not with you but with that woman)

If a man was not one of his words, then the rules of the game in a relationship are a purge and a lady is allowed to kill him. After all, you should have to pay a price for losing.