Hope you are doing good , I’m just sending this out here as I have a bofb fic request/idea! Not expecting anything by the way lol , your personal life comes first ofc! So : what about enemies to lovers with Speirs , maybe mix in the “one bed “ trope , and omg , don’t go light on the angst , all my homies LOVE angst.
Ronald Speirs x Reader [One Bed Trope]
A/N: For his birthday!!! Inspired by 2 requests who asked for Ron, and a one-bed trope! The one bed is a bit of a different take on the trope, but I like it, so enjoy!
Warnings: none.
Word Count: 1313
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The walk up the stairs was somehow harder and more exhausting than spending the entire day running around Hagneau, making sure people didn’t get themselves killed, which, being another medic for Easy Company, was harder than I could have ever thought.
Pushing open the door on the left and softly shutting it behind me, I shed my jacket, scarf, and medic bag onto the chair next to the dirty window.
My eyes are mostly shut as I shuffle over to the bed and shove at the shoulder of the lump on the bed, “Eug’ne, move over.” I grumble, the figure rolling over enough that I can crawl in behind him.
I sigh as my body hits the semi-hard mattress and pull the thin army blanket over me.
I fall asleep quickly, my back pressed against Eugene’s, feeling him breathe deeply.
A few hours later, it’s still dark out, but the sky is lit up not far from us as a bomb is dropped, followed by a faint sound of gunfire. I jump as the echo of the bomb shakes the house, dust falling onto us from the ceiling.
I look around the room, my heart beating quickly at the sudden awakening.
From around my waist, an arm squeezes me, rough fingers brushing at the small sliver of skin that’s been revealed as I sleep.
When I'm finally calm enough to realize that we’re not in any danger, I lie back against the flat pillow.
The hand slowly runs over my hip and brushes the edge of all my layers up so it can splay against my stomach, and I grasp the wrist, trying to pull the arm off me.
“Eugene, if you’re looking for somethin’ else, go find Babe.”
It’s quiet for a moment, so I repeat myself a little louder.
“Gene, go find Babe if you want fun.”
“‘M not Gene… and ‘m not looking for fun, you’re just warm.”
The gruff voice and hot puff of air against the back of my neck make me shiver as I realize this isn’t Gene.
‘But he said, first door on the left- right… Shit.’ I realize my mistake, and my stomach sinks, because if whoever is behind me thought I came into his room on purpose, this could be bad.
I sit up and roll onto my back so I can look at the man beside me. My stomach drops when the moon lights up the scruffy face of my company commander, his eyes closed and lips just barely parted as he breathes deeply, obviously somewhere in between asleep and awake.
“Sir?” My voice shakes slightly at how compromised this position is, and how long it had taken me to realize that it wasn’t Gene who was behind me
“Are you going to lie back down or-” I leap out of the bed and grab my gear from the chair as I leave quickly, slamming the door behind me.
I don’t sleep for the rest of the night, too occupied with the situation of accidentally sharing a bed with my Captain and how warm he was behind me, a feeling that I didn’t realize I missed until I sat on the couch in the dirty living room and felt a shiver go through me.
The next day, I avoid Ron as much as possible, refusing to be in a room with him for any longer than a few minutes before needing to step back out into the cold air of the street.
More than once, Ron calls my name, and I pretend not to hear him, ducking into one of the random groups of soldiers until he leaves.
It’s a few days later, and I’m still avoiding Ron as much as I can, only speaking when spoken to, and in a group or around the others, where I know Ron won’t bring up what happened.
The night is finally winding down, and most of the guys have gone to different rooms or houses, so I start posting up on the couch again for the night.
Though I had been sleeping on the couch for a few nights, I hadn’t been doing much sleeping. I had spent every night thinking about lying next to Ron; how good it felt to have someone who could watch my back, how warm he was behind me, and how gentle his rough hand was on my stomach-
“L/n.”
I look up from my hands and the rough army blanket that I’m picking at.
“Can I speak with you?” Ron’s voice is quiet but hard as he stands in front of the couch.
I nod, and Ron turns, walking right up the stairs. Quickly, I stand, dropping my blanket onto the couch as I follow him up the rickety stairs into the bedroom where this had started.
My heart beats quickly as the door closes and he takes a few strides to stand in front of me, and I turn my head to look down at our boots and how close they are to touching, nearly toe-to-toe.
“I’m sorry.”
His breath brushes my hair slightly as he breaks the silence.
“I should have left when you thought I was Gene-”
“No. No, it’s okay, I should have checked, I walked into the wrong room-”
Ron taps my chin with a rough finger, and I look up at him, his dark eyes reflecting the moon in a way that makes my heart beat faster.
“Are you okay- with what happened, I mean?”
I think for a moment, looking over his scruffy face and dark under-eye circles- God, he’s exhausted.
“I felt safer sleeping in the same bed with you than I ever have throughout this entire war.” I breathe out quickly, my cheeks warming at how quickly his eyes go soft.
“You haven’t been sleeping.” He whispers back, bringing a tentative thumb up to brush under my eyes, his touch gentle and caring.
“I-I uhm…”
“You’ve been on the couch for three nights, take the bed.” His voice is gentle and calming, instantly putting me at ease enough that I can feel a wave of exhaustion wash over me.
I nod silently, leaning into the touch of his warm hand that’s been lovingly brushing under my eye.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” He whispers, taking a step away before nodding and turning, walking towards the door.
“You’re not staying?” My voice is quiet as I whisper, calling out for him to stay.
Ron turns quickly at my question, his lips parting in shock at my question.
The way he looks at me makes my heart beat faster, a soft flush warming my cheeks at my offer.
He looks between the bed and me nervously, silently asking if I’m sure.
I nod, and the corner of my lips quirks up slightly in confirmation.
Silently, we shed the top layers of our uniform and place them side-by-side on the chair, smiling when our hands accidentally brush.
I’m the first one to crawl under the ratty covers, my back facing Ron as he slides into bed behind me.
The room is dark and cold, but behind me, I can feel the warmth of Ron radiating through my back, our boots gently knocking together as we get comfortable.
I roll over slowly, facing Ron and trying to make out all of his features in the dark light.
Slowly, I reach for his hand, grasping it gently and guiding it to rest on my waist.
He looks at me, watching my reactions as his cold thumb brushes under my layers, rubbing over my hip.
“Sleep…” He whispers, breath fanning over my face softly.
I let my eyes flutter shut and wriggle my hand so I can hug him, placing my head against his chest and sighing as I let my body relax against his.
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Do you all remember when I said I might post some fanfics here for you? Well, that day has come. I was rewatching The Pacific and decided to write something with Leckie. It’s a bit short, but I hope you all enjoy it. PS: gifs not mine. credit to the owner..
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: None. Enjoy ♡
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The smell of gunpowder mixed with the metallic scent of blood. The field was chaos, shouted commands, bursts of machine gun fire, the dull thud of explosions that shook the ground. You ran crouched, gripping your medical bag tightly, weaving between craters and debris. Your uniform was already stained with mud and sweat, but your focus was on finding who needed help.
“Medic! Medic!” a man’s voice called out desperately.
You followed the sound and found him: Robert Leckie, lying behind an improvised barricade, clutching his left shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers. Even injured, his eyes still held that stubborn spark.
“Leckie!” you knelt beside him, quickly pulling out a bandage kit. “Where else are you hurt?”
“Just here… I think. But it’s nothing, I’ve had worse.” he tried to smile, though his breathing was heavy.
“Nothing? You’re bleeding like you fought a shark.” you muttered, cutting away the fabric of his sleeve to expose the wound.
He let out a short laugh, wincing from the pain.
“Are you always this bossy?”
“Only with the ones who insist on dying in front of me.” you shot back, pressing gauze firmly against his shoulder.
As you worked, the war seemed to fade into the background. The sound of explosions grew distant, as if at that moment there was only his breathing and your touch. He studied your every move, your steady hands, the furrow in your brow, the way you bit your lip in concentration.
“You know… it’s strange.” he murmured with a half-smile. “I never thought, in the middle of all this, I’d meet someone like you.”
“Someone who stitches foolish soldiers back together?” you tried to joke, but felt your face warm.
“Someone who makes me want to come back alive.”
You finished the bandage, tightening it just enough to stop the bleeding.
“There. Now you’re going to live just to give me more work.”
“I promise. But… you’ll have to stay close to make sure.” he replied, his light humor hiding the pain.
A piece of shrapnel landed nearby, and you both instinctively ducked. Without thinking, you ended up covering his body with yours, the smell of gunpowder and sweat mixing with his warmth so close. For a second, the outside world disappeared, all that remained was the sound of your hearts racing.
“I think I might get hurt more often if it means getting this kind of treatment.” he whispered, making you laugh nervously.
“Don’t even think about it, Leckie.” you said, though you couldn’t hide your smile.
You stood together, and as you helped him walk toward the safe zone, you realized that even in the hell of war, there were small moments that could warm you, and that Robert Leckie, with that sarcastic tone and intense gaze, might just be yours.
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