⭑ YEAHH this is so good i’m so sick over this man. thank you for requesting!
⭑ no warnings except language and alcohol + drunk bucky but what’s new?? gender neutral.
The atmosphere was relaxed—smooth jazz played ahead of you. You tapped your foot to the beat of Irving Berlin’s ‘Blue Skies’, sipping at your drink. It wasn’t often you got to relax through your busy schedule—so, you laid back and enjoyed yourself for once. Most officers danced in time to the song, girls at their arms. Others sat and smoked, making hushed conversation. Then, there was Bucky Egan.
He was next to you, struggling to sit still. He’d already had a couple of glasses of whiskey, but he’d been mostly tolerable for the majority of the night. Beside him sat Buck Cleven, whose fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle of Coke, enjoying the music just as much as you were. Bucky looked around, eyes meeting yours for a split money while he grinned. His brows shot up as he flashed his teeth, before he was leaning back towards his best friend, head practically resting on the blond’s shoulder.
“Hey—you know what this is missing?” asks Bucky, taking a big sip of his third whiskey.
Buck’s eyes flickered to him, a hint of annoyance apparent. “Nothing?” Bucky responds, brows knitting together as he turned back to watch.
“Vocals!” Bucky exclaimed.
Buck shook his head. “No, John—”
“I’m gonna sing!” Bucky said, sitting up. Buck was quick to push him back, not even batting an eye. Bucky huffed, straightening his uniform. He looked around, leaning forward around Buck to one of his friends. “Should I sing?” he asked.
“No.” he was quick to say.
Bucky looked defeated for a moment, but that didn’t deter him. He leaned over you, to another man. “Hey! Should I sing?” he whisper yelled.
“No?”
Bucky’s eyes flashed to yours. He repeated the question, practically leaning into you. Your eyes widened with amusement, and you could see Buck shaking his head slowly from over Bucky’s head. You sighed. “No, Bucky. I don’t think so.” you said, patting his shoulder.
Bucky leaned back into his seat, and sighed. “Yeah. Alright. Okay. You’re right.” he said aloud, relaxing back into his chair. Then, his hand met the armrest of his chair, meeting the beat of the song. He looked like he was holding back belting into song right there—then, he was yelping something out, pushing himself out of his chair.
Bucky stood in front of you, dancing backwards, eyes on you. “It’s my song, guys!” he exclaimed, shuffling backwards with a grin on his face. Buck watched in horror, jaw dropped. You cringed for a moment, watching as Bucky snatched the mic, hunching over to get close to it.
Then, he was singing. Loud and out of tune, Bucky Egan’s voice boomed throughout the hall. All you could do was sit there and watch, and somehow pretend you didn’t know him. Then, Bucky was pointing to you, singing in your direction.
Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me, you thought. “Nothin’ but blue skiiiiies, from now on!” Bucky sang out, hand outstretched to you. Your brows shot up, face pink with embarrassment. You turned to look at Buck, who was already looking at you, hand over his mouth.
“Are you kidding?” you whisper yelled. “Go get your friend!” you exclaimed, trying to hide.
Buck shook his head. “No way. He’s singing to you. In front of everyone.” Buck stated, laughing to himself. “Well, I guess you gotta go up there.”
Seriously? you thought. Without a reluctant huff, you pushed yourself out of your chair, downing your drink in one go. This man was going to be the death of you—you knew that much.
Song Inspo: Castles Crumbling (feat. Hayley Williams): Taylor Swift
A/N: Sorry in advance for breaking hearts with this one, guys. Be prepared for some angst...sorry Jess! (@footprintsinthesxnd) Remember, this is all according to the master plan. this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!
Word Count: 3.5k
Summary: Unexpected events threaten to send members of Easy past their breaking point.
JANUARY 11, 1945: BOIS JACQUES, BELGIUM: 2200HRS
The cold seemed to seep into Lewis’ ODs as he sat in his freezing foxhole. The only semblance of warmth that clung to him came from (y/n)‘s shaking figure in his arms. Earlier that day, Nix finally reached (y/n), and her pure anguish broke his heart more than he thought possible. Each cry was like a stake being driven further and further into his chest.
The couple spent most of the day relaxing in (y/n)‘s hole in silence, just taking in each other’s company. She sometimes spoke of Skip and Alex if a certain memory came into her mind, and tears often accompanied such stories. Nix held her close and listened intently, hating the helpless feeling that filled him. There was nothing he could do to ease her pain other than be there with her, and it was hard for him to bear.
If there was one thing Lewis Nixon was not, it was someone who sat back and did nothing. Was he a borderline alcoholic? Maybe. But would he ever sit back and watch those he loved struggle alone? Never.
The January day had ticked by slowly, and by late afternoon, Lew convinced (y/n) to move to his foxhole for a little bit of space from the line, hoping it would help distance herself from the shelling that had stolen two of her best friends. With her head slouched against Lew’s shoulder, she slept soundly, her mouth open as soft snores left her lips in small icy clouds.
Ice crunched nearby, and Nix looked up to see Dick crouching beside their foxhole. “Hey,” he whispered, looking down at the (y/h/c) with a concerned frown. “How’s she doing?”
Lew quietly sighed and pulled the blanket up to her chin. “Better. Not great…but better. She agreed to go back to the hospital tomorrow.”
Dick nodded softly, “Good. I talked to Doc today while you were gone. He said it might take up to a month for her arm to fully heal.”
Eyes flicking up to the redhead’s, Nixon’s heart dropped into his stomach. Of course, he was more than happy that (y/n) was finally getting the help she needed, but a lot could happen in a month.
“I know.”
“She’ll be okay, Nix,” Winters urged, his voice slightly shaking as a harsh gust of wind swept through his thin coat. “And she’ll be back in no time.”
Lew shook his head and leaned it back against the frozen dirt wall of his hole. “I don’t know if she’ll make it in a hospital by herself after losing Skip and Alex. She won’t know anyone or-”
“Lew,” Dick interrupted softly. “She can’t stay here and we both know that. The best thing for her is to go tomorrow.”
“I know that. It doesn’t stop me from worrying, though.”
Before Dick could respond, a voice called out from behind him. “Captain Winters.”
Lieutenant Dike.
Nix and Dick shared a loaded glance, and both Captains had to refrain from rolling their eyes. Dike hadn’t reported to them in almost four days, and in those four days, the Company had lost two of its most important members. As the lieutenant approached the trio, his eyes drifted down to the woman in Lewis’s arms. He seemed to be momentarily confused as he stared with narrowed eyes.
Catching his glare, Dick stood and ushered him toward the tent with a hand on his shoulder. “What can I help you with, Lieutenant?”
Nix’s eyes followed them as they disappeared into the makeshift shelter, and anger swirled in his stomach. A good leader should respect their men, lead by example, and try to keep up with how each one is doing. Dike did none of this. In fact, he did the opposite. Men in his company had been killed, and their deaths greatly affected company morale, but he couldn’t care less. The lieutenant was away more than he was around, and when he was, he didn’t do much. It was a well-known fact that the NCOs were the ones holding the company together.
In the silence, (y/n) stirred, a low groan escaping her lips.
“Hey,” he murmured, his fingers gently tracing soothing circles on her back. “You okay?”
She winced, her eyes fluttering open with a hint of discomfort. “My head’s pounding and my throat feels like sandpaper,” she rasped. “It’s probably from all the crying.”
Lew reached for his canteen, unscrewing the cap. “Take a sip and then try to go back to sleep. It might help.”
He held the canteen up to (y/n)‘s lips, guiding it gently as she took a few sips. Leaning back against his shoulder with a sigh, she nuzzled into his warmth. “What time is it?”
“10:30. Dike just showed up to talk to Dick,” Nix replied, checking his watch.
(Y/n) rolled her eyes with a scoff. “Now he shows up. After all that’s happened? What a joke.”
“Yeah, I know,” Lew sighed. “I’m glad you won’t have to deal with him during the assault.”
Her swollen eyes peered up at him. “I’m worried for the guys,” she said softly. “He’s gonna lead them to their deaths, Lew, and I know don’t think I could take it after…”
“Dick will take care of them the best he can,” he replied, rubbing her upper arm gently. “They’ll be alright.”
“I hope so,” she yawned, laying her head back on Nix’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go back to sleep now.”
He chuckled lowly and leaned down to place a kiss on her hairline. “Goodnight. Wake me up if you feel any worse, alright?”
(Y/n)‘s eyes were already drifting closed as she mumbled, “Yes, captain. Love you.”
“I love you, too. Now go to sleep.”
JANUARY 12, 1945: BOIS JACQUES, BELGIUM: 0300HRS
When Lew woke up, the air surrounding the foxhole was silent, and the covering atop the hole kept any unwanted snow from falling on the couple as they slept. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand and looked around blearily. Everything seemed to be alright, but he was surprisingly warm.
He had not been warm in almost a month.
As soon as the thought circled in his brain, he realized with a start that the intense heat was coming from beside him. Looking down at (y/n) curled into his chest, Lew cursed, noticing the way she seemed to be radiating so much heat that he was sweaty just from being pressed against her. (Y/n), however, was drenched in sweat. Her (y/h/c) hair was plastered to her forehead and neck, and uncontrollable shivers wracked her body, causing her to tremble even in the unusual warmth of the hole.
“(Y/n)?” Lew mumbled, wiping the sweaty hair off her forehead. Her skin was hot to the touch, and it was then that he knew something was very wrong.
“Sweetheart? Wake up,” he said more urgently, shaking her shoulder gently. Panic gripped him when her only response was a weak groan and rapid eye movement under her closed lids.
Lew’s heart clenched in his chest as he tapped her cheeks lightly. “(Y/n/n), come on, wake up,” he begged, his mind racing. “Please wake up.”
No response.
The night air was pierced by Lew’s urgent call, “Dick!” His voice carried the weight of his panic as he threw the cover off their foxhole. Within seconds, Winters ran into view and dropped down into their hole with a thud.
“What’s wrong, Lew?” Dick asked, concern etched across his face.
“I don’t know, Dick! She’s burning up and completely out of it. Something’s wrong,” Lew exclaimed hoarsely as he sat (y/n) up against the side of the foxhole.
Dick swiftly assessed the situation, and a sudden realization flashed across his face as he reached for her arm. He removed (y/n)‘s sock glove, revealing a swollen and red hand adorned with a speckled rash that extended from her cast down to her fingertips.
Lew’s reaction was immediate, a string of curses escaping his lips as he almost pushed Dick out of the hole. “Go get Roe, Dick, now! And hurry!”
As he hurried away, Lew continued to try and wake her up. He cupped her face softly, his thumb running over her cheekbone. “We’re gonna get you help, alright. You’re gonna be fine.”
(Y/n)‘s eyes fluttered open for a moment and Lew could see the cloud of fever in her usually lively (y/e/c) irises. “Hey, (y/n/n). Can you hear me?”
“Lew?” she muttered shakily as her teeth chattered together from the chills racking through her body. Her mind was in a state of delirium as she called out for him, and even in her feverish state, she longed for his comforting presence.
“Yeah, it’s me, sweetheart,” he whispered, his throat closing up with emotion. “Dick’s getting Doc. They’ll be here soon.”
The sweat beading from her forehead was a stark contrast to the frigid temperatures around them, and Lew noticed her trembling getting even worse. Without a second thought, he began to take off his coat and wrap it around (y/n), along with his beanie and anything else he could find to keep her warm.
The cold bit at Lew’s skin as he stripped off his winter clothing, but he didn’t seem to feel it. His only concern was the woman before him in dire need of help. His mind involuntarily flashed back to the last time they were in this position…
“You’re gonna be okay, you hear me?” Nix’s voice quivered, but he fought to keep it steady. “You’re gonna be fine, sweetheart.”
Roe skidded next to her and shoved Lew aside as he began to assess and treat (y/n). Her trembling hand shot out, desperately grabbing onto Nix’s.
“Lew,” she croaked through her tears, her voice filled with fear. “I’m scared.”
He cupped her cheek gently, his touch tender. “I know,” he whispered, his eyes locked on hers. “I’m here.”
The similarities were eerie, and Lew found himself doing something he didn’t do. He began to pray.
“Please, God…” he whispered into her neck as he tugged (y/n) close to his body. “My mother says that you listen, and I’m depending on that right now. Get her through this. I love her…please. ”
It was a raw, emotional plea that came from the depths of his heart. If there was one thing he cared about in this stupid war, it was her. If she was taken from him, he didn’t know how long he would last.
She would be his breaking point.
He didn’t get to finish the thought because Dick returned with Roe. Eugene’s eyes widened as he took in the scene: Nixon, clad in only his thin ODs, shivering alongside (y/n), who was covered in his clothes. Gene exchanged a glance with the Captain, his expression a blend of worry and disapproval.
“I woke up to her shaking and burning up. She complained of her throat and head hurting earlier, but I didn’t think anything of it,” Lewis interjected quickly, his words rushing out in a mix of frustration and worry.
Without hesitation, Roe hopped down into the foxhole, swiftly gathering all the extra clothes that were attempting to warm (y/n), and tossed them back on Nix.
“Put these back on. The last thing we need is you getting hypothermia,” Gene urged, his breath coming out in rapid puffs, winded from the sprint to the couple.
As Lew quickly complied and layered himself once again, Gene set to work. He first started his examination by gently lifting (y/n)‘s eyelids. The pale moonlight revealed the redness of her cheeks, the pallor of her skin contrasting sharply with the usual warmth that marked her complexion.
Lew anxiously watched every move Gene made, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before him. Gene pressed his fingers to (y/n)‘s uncasted wrist, checking her pulse, and then moved on to feeling her forehead once more.
Gene muttered to himself as he worked, “Fever is high, and her pupils are reactive but sluggish. She’s probably dehydrated, too.”
Dick and Lew shared a helpless glance, and the redhead placed a steadying hand on Nix’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him.
Roe looked visibly frustrated as he carefully examined (y/n)‘s hand. “Damn it, I knew this would happen!”
“What, Doc?” Lew questioned anxiously.
“She’s got an infection, and it looks like a pretty nasty one, too. We need to get her back to the hospital and get some penicillin in her system. I don’t have any here,” Gene explained, his diagnosis sending a pang of guilt through Nix.
He shouldn’t have let it get that bad. He should have made her go back sooner.
“I wish I could take this thing off, but I don’t think my scissas' will do it,” Doc grimaced, gently prodding the skin around the end of the cast. “The infection’s probably from moisture stuck under the cast. With this fever…”
The Cajun looked up at Winters with wary eyes that said everything the Captain needed to know. “We need a jeep…now,” Gene called out, and Dick jumped up and ran for the nearby radio. “Without antibiotics, she could go into septic shock, and there’s no recovering from that.”
Lew’s hand instinctively reached for her good one, wrapping his gloved hands around hers. He rubbed his thumb soothingly over the back of her hand. He didn’t know whether it was for himself or for (y/n), but what he did know was that his insides were twisting with guilt, the pang growing into a constant ache. The fears he had quelled the previous day came raging back, and all he could see was the worst-case scenario in his mind. The vivid images almost stole his breath.
They were the same ones he’d had since she was first shot: Nix standing above a blanketed figure lying on a cot in a dark and bloody aid station, feeling like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He closed his eyes and brought her frail hand up to his lips, the same way she’d done the day before as he reminded himself that she was alive…for now.
“This is Captain Winters. I need a jeep to 2nd Battalion CP for casevac, now!” Dick yelled into the receiver. A few moments passed, and then he was beside them again. “They’re on their way.”
During the whole interaction, Lew was frozen. The voices around him faded into background noise, and his gaze was stuck on (y/n). The situation weighed heavily on him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should have acted sooner. A hand on his shoulder brought the voices back into focus.
“Help me get her out of here,” Doc said quickly, breaking Nixon from his trance.
Taking a deep breath, he nodded, his eyes not leaving (y/n). “Yeah.”
His hands trembled slightly as he reached down to carefully lift her from the foxhole. Gently cradling her in his arms, he could still feel the heat radiating from her fevered body like he did when he first awoke. He quickly carried her past the shelter to the area where the jeep would arrive.
“Fight, sweetheart,” he whispered down to her. “Fight for me, alright? I love you.”
The trio heard the jeep before they saw it. There was the hum of an engine, followed by headlights in the distance that cut through the darkness. Nix rushed to the jeep as Roe ran past him and hopped into the back of the jeep beside the awaiting stretcher. Lew’s jaw tightened as he carefully placed her on the stretcher.
The engine hummed to life as the jeep prepared to depart, and Nix reluctantly stepped back, his eyes never straying from (y/n)‘s prone figure. Gene’s eyes briefly met his, and the Doc nodded, sharing a silent agreement that she would be taken care of.
Nix stood there, numb and motionless, staring at the fading lights of the departing jeep. The crunch of the ice beneath its tires was the only sound filling the night air. The bitter cold gnawed at his exposed skin, but it was the icy grip of guilt that truly chilled him to the core. Dick approached cautiously, trying to offer comfort, but Lew’s anger erupted before he could utter a word.
“I should have made her go. If I did she wouldn’t ha-” his voice cracked with regret, the weight of guilt pressing down on him.
“Nix,” Dick attempted to intervene, but Nix cut him off.
“No, it’s my job to keep her safe, Dick,” he yelled, pointing at himself. “And I can’t even do that.”
“You can’t control everything-”
“But I could control this,” he interrupted. “I could have ordered her to go back and we’d have avoided all this. She’d probably be back in a few weeks, but now I-,” Lew cut himself off as he placed his hands on his hips, trying to keep his composure. His eyes lowered to his boots, and the fury disappeared in his voice. “I don’t even know if she’s coming back. If she doesn’t, Dick-”
Winters placed a comforting hand on Nix’s shoulder as he interrupted him. “She will.”
Eyes rising to meet Dick’s, Lew found more worry than he’d ever seen reflected in the stark blues. Although he was a master at disguising his true emotions, especially in front of the men, Lewis could see right through it.
Would Dick put on a show for the men?
Sure.
But he never put one on for Nix.
For once, the redhead’s words were not as strong and resolute as normal. Doubt flickered in his pale irises, and the sight made Nix question everything. The two things he could always count on were (y/n) being by his side, and Dick being the reliable word of advice and honesty. At that moment, both the pillars of Lewis Nixon’s steadfast support system began crumbling around him.
Contrary to Dick, Lew was accustomed to shielding his every thought from others…a side effect of his affluent but rocky upbringing. It was mainly a result of his father’s constant anger and need to lash out at his family, which Lew often took the brunt of for his mother and sister as he got older.
“Yes, sir,” became a hollow phrase in the Nixon household, and the young Nixon children became masters of masking their expressions with whatever was needed to get through the situation. It was a skill that Lew used daily as an intelligence officer, but this time, he hated the fact that he had to use it on his best friend.
“Yeah,” Lew nodded slowly, his emotional exterior hardening slightly. “She’s tough. She’ll be alright. Thanks, Dick.”
Slapping him on the shoulder lightly, Nix took a deep breath and made his way to his hole, regret filling him for more than one reason. He plopped down into the hole roughly, throwing the cover over it a moment later. Once out of view, he dropped his face into his hands, trying to calm his racing heart. Every time he closed his eyes, his fears made themselves known, and he longed for the one thing that could numb the growing storm inside of him. Eyeing (y/n)‘s discarded helmet in the corner of the hole, he grabbed it and held the cold metal in his lap. He stared at it for a moment as he contemplated his decision.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath, placing the helmet back in its place in the corner. Nix removed the cover and went toward the radio. He brought the receiver up to his mouth and ear, ignoring a few confused looks from Dick.
“This is Captain Nixon,” he began. “I need a jeep to Regiment at the 2nd Battalion HQ.”
That night, Lewis Nixon found himself in the lonely officer’s mess, his only company the empty whiskey bottles scattered on the old, beat-up table in front of him. The familiar burn momentarily took away the pain, and the numbness welcomed him back like an old friend finally coming home from a long absence.
Ok but hear me out - Bucky and reader rooting for different baseball teams
⭑ saw this and immediately had to answer. i love this concept and competitive bucky will live rent free in my mind for the next 4 months thank you
⭑ no warnings except language, drinking, bucky and reader being competitive, gender neutral!!!
You sat back in your chair, movements languid as you sipped your beer, shoulder to shoulder with Curt and Buck. The bar was packed with both American and British airmen alike—you were focusing in and out of the conversation in front of you. You’d caught a lot of smack talk between your friends beside you, and the RAF men across the table. They all wore smug looks, and spoke poshly. Your lips wrapped around your beer as you tipped the rest of it back. You caught some of the words.
“If you wanna get the Major excited,” Curt started, reaching for the refill Crosby set down. “Baseball.” Curt stated.
Major John Bucky Egan turned, brows shooting up. “Yeah! Specifically Yankees.” You rolled your eyes at this. The Yankees? Out of all the teams, Egan was rooting for them? Bucky caught the action, and he sat up straighter, brows furrowed. “What was that, L/N? You rolled your eyes.”
You shrugged, grabbing your new beer. “Just…didn’t pin you for a Yankees guy, is all.” you had muttered in response, lips forming a thin line.
Bucky scoffed. “I love the Yankees. You probably root for the Cardinals or somethin’…” Bucky replied offhandedly, shaking his head.
It went silent for a moment. You blinked at the Manitowoc-born man for a few seconds, jaw dropped. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you asked, eyes narrowing towards him. “The Cardinals are great.” you defended.
“They’re not bad, per se. But, Yankees are better—by a long shot.” Bucky stated, looking at you with wide eyes. This was a revelation for the both of you. You’d known each other for months, and you’d never known that you’d rooted for opposing teams.
“You’re just mad we kicked your ass at the World Series in—” you started, but Bucky intervened.
“No, no, no—I’m not mad, *sweetheart*. I’m just sayin’ that when they’re head to head again, we all know who’s gonna win.” Bucky said, smiling lopsidedly, cheeks flushed from the alcohol.
You huffed. “Yeah, the Cardinals—”
“You misunderstood, it’s gonna be the Yankees—” Bucky interjected again. The RAF men across the table watched the banter back and forth with creases between their brows. The argument definitely wasn’t helping the tension between sides of the tables. Between you and Bucky sat Buck, who had his arms crossed. Buck didn’t give two shits about baseball, or any sport for the matter. He looked like he was about to explode—which was a lot considering Gale Cleven was a very patient man. Reaching for his ginger beer, Buck sighed, lips forming a thin line. He glared daggers at Curt, who’d started the topic of baseball.
“Sorry that I like watching a good team, it’s just—” Bucky was saying. His words were cut off from the sound of Buck setting his bottle on the table roughly, the sound silencing the banter.
“How about they both suck?” asks Buck. “Because you guys really need to shut up…” he muttered. It was silent for a moment—then, you and Bucky were at each other’s throats again. Buck huffed, shaking his head. He gave one last glare to Curt, who just shrugged sheepishly. Some friends he had, right?
summary: your beloved plane is quite literally falling to part in front of you—luckily, you know one hell of a mechanic. specifically for @hogans-heroes bc we need more lem!!!!
authors note: soooo why didn’t i notice raff law was jude laws son?? literally if i looked at him for more than a milisecond i could see that…anyway KEN LEMMONS!!! i am your number one fan. i love you. seriously. anyway, i don’t know Anything about planes or the engines or how to fix them, but, i can pretend!!! anyway gender neutral!! 💖
You cringed as you watched the flames being doused out on the left side of your beloved Flying Fortress you had deemed Starcatcher—she was your pride and joy, really. You and your men had taken care of her, painted her all pretty—and now you watched from the side as all that handiwork burned and peeled off the side of the fort. The mission had been hard, and you were lucky to have gotten out with your life. But regardless, you were pretty struck to watch the beauty fall victim to the Germans, just as many of your friends had.
Up ahead, Sergeant Ken Lemmons stood with his arms crossed over his chest, watching as his men started work on salvaging the fort. You approached him, worrying at your lip. You hissed as a considerable hunk of metal dropped from the propeller, clattering terribly loud against the concrete. Lemmons turned over his shoulder to look at you, and gave you a reassuring look. He beckoned you to his side with a nod of his head.
“You got nothin’ to worry about, Major.” he said, eyes set on Starcatcher. You sighed, and shook your head. Leave it to Lemmons to sugarcoat it.
You let out a dry chuckle. “Is she even…y’know, worth fightin’ for? I mean, wouldn’t the parts be useful elsewhere?” you questioned, brows knitting together as you watched the smoke start to fizzle out into the air as Lemmons’ crew dropped down from their ladders and began to more intricate work. The delicates, you could say.
Lemmons shook his head. “I’d say she is. Just a shot engine, is all. Well…so far.” he said with a sheepish grin. He began to stroll towards the fort, and you followed, arms folded across your chest. He pointed. “See?” he turned to look at you.
You looked blankly at the left engine. All you saw was burnt scraps of what used to be one half of the heart that ran your beloved plane—you blinked. “Uh, no. I don’t.” you stated, firming your lips together. Were you missing something, or…? You rubbed the back of your neck, hand brushing the sheepskin jacket your wore. You lowered your aviators, brows furrowing as you looked for whatever the hell Ken Lemmons was talking about. “Yeah, no. What are you referring to?”
Lemmons sighed, shaking his head. He walked to grab one of the ladders, rolling it to sit right in front of the engine. He climbed halfway, before offering you a hand. You eyes it skeptically, before taking it. Your hand met the side of the ladder as you climbed your way up, before meeting the same height as Lemmons. You were turned at a weird angle to make sure there was space for both of you to stand. He gripped the ladder tightly, and pointed a finger deep inside the engine. “See?” he asked again, hope laced within his words. You looked again, craning your neck. What was this guy on about? you wondered. Lemmons shook his head, reaching his hand into the engine and popped the broken propeller off, letting it clatter noisily down the ladder, falling to the ground below you. “Okay, how about now?”
You grinned. “Alright, yeah. I see. It looks…fixable.” you managed to say, turning to look at him. You realized you’d never been this close to the sergeant in all your time of knowing him—the feeling was foreign, but surprisingly, not unwelcome. “So, how do we fix it?”
“We?” Lemmons scoffed. “You’re supposed to sit back and watch me do all the work, Major.” he said with a laugh, beginning to step down the ladder, careful not to disrupt your position. You were quick to hop down after him, landing roughly on your feet. He kicked the broken propeller away.
You shook your head. “Well, maybe I want to help for a change. Is that such a bad thing? I know some stuff.” you said, somewhat defensively. “It is my plane after all…” you added pridefully.
Lemmons rolled his eyes and laughed. “Alright. You wanna help? Come on.” Lemmons beckoned, tossing you a wrench. You looked at it, a crease between your brows. You looked back at him. “Well, don’t just stand there, Major.”
You huffed, stifling a smile. You asked for this, you thought to yourself. “Yeah, yeah. Shut it, Sergeant.” you muttered, ditching your jacket and hat to follow him towards the worst wreckage of your plane. “What am I supposed to do?” you asked, hand up to block the bright sun from your eyes, squinting to find Lemmons’ in front of you.
“Well…” he started, grinning as he started up the ladder. “You’re gonna have to watch and learn first, Major.” Lemmons stated, before starting work on your Starcatcher. You sighed, and nodded.
“You bust her more and I’ll kick your ass, you hear?” you said, hands on your hips as you watched his fluid movements—he’d done this a hundred times over and over. He could get this done within hours, but still took the extra time to teach you. But why? You decided you didn’t really care about the reason. Lemmons scoffed.
He laughed. “That’s a joke, right?” he asked, looking down at you. “Me messing up a plane…” he muttered to himself, as if it were the punchline. “I couldn’t do any worse than what you put her through.” he added, and smiled down at you.
“Alright, enough smack talk. Show me what to do.” you said, feigning an irritated tone. You bit back a smile, jaw clenched.
“Well, Major, c’mon up here.” he said, offering you a hand. Damn Ken Lemmons, you thought to yourself, glancing around. You didn’t give any more thought to it as you took his calloused hand, once again pressed close to him as he pointed out the smallest bits and pieces of your engine—things even you hadn’t known about. You watched and listened intently, cheek propped on your hand, brows furrowed. For a few times, you couldn’t help but look at him as he spoke, his own meeting yours—you made sure to nod along, even if you didn’t catch on. Anything to keep him talking.
He snapped his fingers. “Did I lose you?”
You shook your head. “What? No, I just—”
Lemmons laughed. “I know I’m easy on the eyes, but this part is important. I don’t want you to get electrocuted or something,” he stated casually.
You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.” you muttered, turning back to look at the engine. Lemmons smiled, but continued on his words nonetheless.
Hiiii!!!!!!! So I saw your requests are open and I have a Pacific one: headcanons for Chuckler dating an artist (I like to draw so I came up with this), perhaps? Thanks!
Chuckler Dating an Artist Headcannons
Lew "Chuckler" Juergens x Artist!Reader
Masterlist
A/N: Hiiii!! i loooooove this concept so much!! thanks for requesting! please request more if you have any ideas!! this is about the fictional portrayal of H company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!
Okay, I'm thinking post-war for these...
After Lew comes home and gets settled in Chicago, he's walking down a street in the Chicago suburb when he sees you for the first time...
You're sitting by the side of the road on a stool, overlooking Columbus Park as you sketched a beautiful work of the sun setting over the lake and skyscrapers in the distance.
Your tongue was poking through your lips in concentration, and Lew found himself completely captivated by you. You looked so at peace...something he was still looking for after the war.
He went up and started talking to you, and the rest is history!
Months later, Chuckler's favorite thing is to watch you draw. Seeing you in your element is something that he never gets tired of.
One day, he comes over to your house with a wrapped box and a wide smile on his face. When you open it, you can't believe what he fought you: a hundred-piece drawing set. You know it must have cost him a fortune, and you throw yourself in his arms, thanking him over and over.
On the days that bring back more memories than usual, he'll come over and you can tell by the look on his face that it's not a good day.
Times like that, you'd spend the day peacefully relaxing (a lot of times on the couch or in bed) snuggled up. You pull him into your arms and hold him tightly, letting him be the little spoon for once.
I'd like to think that you live outside the city a little bit and that you have a pretty backyard with a porch with rocking chairs. On the porch, you snuggle into Lew's lap as he rocks the two of you back and forth.
He seems to enjoy the silence of the night and your gentle conversations that remind him that he survived the war, and that he's safe with you in his arms.
Since you started dating Lew, you'd gone through sooooo many more sketchbooks than before, and he starts to get curious.
One day, you're drawing a scene of the skyline when he asks you if he can look through your sketches.
(sure, you'd shown him many before, but he'd never looked through your book)
You nod and get really nervous as you hand it over.
His smiling face falls slightly as he flips through it slowly. Page after page were different sketches and drawings of him. Some were his signature smile, while others were of him fast asleep, his face serene.
You worried it was 'too much' or that he wouldn't like them, but all your fears dissipated when you saw his reaction.
Tears pricked at his eyes as he looked through the book. How did he ever deserve you?
"These," he whispered, voice cracking as he looked up at you, "Are amazing. I love them."
A smile graces your lips and you blush at the compliment, ducking your head bashfully.
Chuckler just lifts your chin softly, the warm gaze from his glossy blue eyes making your heart skip a beat.
"You're perfect..."
You took a deep breath and smiled, leaning your forehead against his. "I love you."
DUDE ASKS YOU TO MARRY HIM RIGHT THERE
You say yes, ofc!!
Y'all have the sweetest life together, and Lew hangs your artwork all around the house, even if you think it's not the best.
THIS MAN...he will never let you talk bad about yourself or your art, and he does whatever it takes to attend all of your art shows, even if he is the only one there (think Pam's art show from the Office and how Michael is the only one to show up type vibes.)
He continues to get you supplies the second something of yours runs low (if one single pencil or paint runs out, he uses it as an excuse to buy you a whole other kit.)
"What? Your green color pencil broke?" He'd ask after you sent him a playful glare (you loved it when he got you stuff, but you'd never admit it.)
"So you had to give me a whole 24-pack?" you tease.
"Yeah. I gotta make sure you're stocked up, doll."
You hug him tightly. "Thank you, honey. I love them."
You eventually become an art teacher in the Chicago Public School System, where you get to share your passion with your students! (you end up having your kids and grandkids in your classes)
Lew never forgets the moment he saw you and took the chance, and he knows it was the best decision he ever made.
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A/N : this was originally posted on my hbowar imagines book on my wattpad, which you should check out ( jumpwings is my username! ) this plot sort of came to because @hihosilvers made me headcanons. tell me what you think!
You had started dinner frantically, and tried to clean at the same time. Floyd offered to help, but you declined, wanting to let him rest. The moment he entered the kitchen, you knew he wanted something.
He followed you to every corner you went to of the kitchen. At one point, Trigger followed as well, and it had begun a train. "Floyd, honey, what is it?" You asked as you started to place dishes back into the cabinets.
"Oh, nothin'." He said. You rolled your eyes, grabbing a mug and going to place it on the top shelf, seeing as it was the only open space left. You stood on your tiptoes, trying to reach it. Suddenly, Floyd was pressed behind you, grabbing it from your hand.
"Thank you." You said, turning to look at him. Your face was only a few inches from him. But, just as he swooped in for a peck, you dipped away unknowingly to put more dishes away.
Floyd stared at you, but then was back on your heels the moment you went to the stove. You tried to ignore him at first. But, when you could feel his body heat, it was hard to focus.
You wiped your hand with the towel after you put dinner in the oven, and turned to the man who was pouting at the kitchen table.
You chuckled, walking to him. You stood beside his chair, and ran your fingers through his hair, nails brushing his scalp. "What's the matter, tough guy?" You questioned.
Floyd playfully snapped his head away from you, showing that yes, he was still pouting. You stifled a laugh, gently scratching his neck and walked back to the counter, starting to place spices back in their places.
You weren't surprised when you heard the chair behind you scratch across the floor. Floyd placed himself beside you, elbows on the countertop, chin in his hands.
You placed your hand on your hip and turned to him, eyebrows raised. "What's bothering you, honey?" You asked, brushing his bangs from his forehead. He bit back a smile.
"I want a kiss." He said. You smiled, eyes widening.
"A kiss?" You asked, and Floyd nodded his head. You pecked his lips shortly, and then moved away from him.
"I said a kiss!" Floyd said.
"And I gave you one!" You replied, drinking from your water.
"No, you didn't! You-you pecked me! I want a kiss." He emphasized the last word. You turned your head to the side.
"You want a kiss? Come get one." You said. Floyd hopped over from the counter, and stood in front of you. He swooped down, and then the over dinged. "Hold on." You said. Floyd moved you aside, taking the oven-mitt and took dinner out, throwing it on the stovetop. He threw the mit off, and backed you into the corner of the counter.
"It has to cool anyways." He said, placing his arms on either side of you. You smiled.
His eyes went over your face, and he smiled brightly. "You said one." He said.
"What?"
"You said one kiss. What about more than that?" He asked. You rolled your eyes.
"I suppose." He grabbed your hips, and hoisted you onto the counter. You yelped, "Floyd!"
The Kokomo boy smirked, pressing his lips to yours. Your hand went to his hair, messing with it. He smiled into the kiss, pulling you closer. You pulled away to breathe, and he chuckled. "Happy now?" You questioned.
"Maybe a few more." He said, and you yelled as he picked you up and carried you to the couch. Dinner had gone cold after ten minutes, and you smacked his shoulder.
"It's cold!" You said. Floyd rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around you. He reached over and turned the oven on.
