Jesseeka

Jess | 23 | She/Her Marvel | Star Wars | Dinosaurs | HBO War Swift | Halsey | Rodrigo | Bridgers

[jesseeka]

clone x princess!reader fics will always be top tier.

[shiftyskip]

Profile Masterlist

BAND OF BROTHERS COMPLETED

Joe Toye

Joe Toye

A post about Joe Toye, our little violent, tough guy, although it is hard to dig up facts on the guy. But turns out our little tough guy had

Eugene Roe

Eugene “Doc” Roe

 A slightly longer post dedicated to the “smol” baby of Easy Company: Doc Roe.  First off, it was extremely hard to find stuff about Roe....

Donald Hoobler

Hoobler

Not much is shown about Donald Hoobler. In fact, not much is known about Hoobler. Except that damn Luger did him in.  Let’s start off with r

Richard Winters

Richard Winters

(Warning extremely long post because its Winters. There’s a lot about Winters) Richard Davis Winters was born on January 21, 1918 in New Hol

George Luz

George Luz

Luz, everyone’s favorite jokester, gets a special post just for him. In the words of one member of Easy Company “Every unit needs a George L

Albert Blithe

Albert Blithe

Albert Blithe was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania June 25, 1923. His father was a delivery man and his mother worked in a garment distric

Alex Penkala

Alex Penkala Jr.

The Real Alex Penkala  Alex’s parents, Mary and Alex Sr., immigrated from Poland to America in 1907. They were married the next year in Indi

Carwood Lipton

Clifford Carwood Lipton

The real Lipton: Lipton Buck and Lipton (right) Lipton’s family were Scottish immigrants that had arrived in North Carolina. Lipton’s fathe

Floyd Talbert

Floyd “Tab” Talbert

The Real Tab is on the right (with the glasses) and Don Malarkey stands next to him. They’re in Austria in 1945.  Floyd Merill Talbert (AKA

Frank Perconte

Frank Perconte

The real Frank Perconte: Frank Perconte was a man of few words, and was very brief with details of his life. I am going to compile everythin

[hqcheerio]

cutting outside the box

joe liebgott x reader

summary: you ask joe for a haircut and he kind of has a crisis about it. he also thinks you might be in love with someone else. he’s definitely not overthinking it.

tags/warnings: friendly colleagues(?) to lovers. you’re in easy company. joe is kind of neurotic but in a really chill and low key way, at least that’s what he thinks. mostly just joe’s inner monologue. fluff? i guess. possibly excessive use of the word fuck. no use of y/n.

this fic is strictly inspired by ross mccall’s performance and by the characters in the HBO show Band of Brothers. it is not intended to depict or disrespect any real life veterans.

———————————————————————

“i’ll wait around for a day,

this porch on which i pace,

‘cause i need me mine i need me yours.”

-crazy bird, wild child

———————————————————————

TOCCOA, 1943

joe’s not sure why he agreed to this.

he could take it back. say no. tack on a joke that always comes out far meaner than intended.

something like you being a waste of his damn time. you’re not. or how he oughta charge you double just for fuckin’ bothering him. he won’t. double of zero is still zero.

the bite in his words never really lands with you though. you just squint your eyes at him like he’s one of those crusty little dogs, growling and bearing teeth too small to do any damage.

he hates that looks. makes him feel like he’s got something to prove. makes him say more bullshit. makes you keep lookin’ at him. makes him feel cornered.

he’s a goddamn paratrooper for christ sake. almost. not according to sobel. but joe ain’t a quitter, he’s getting his damn wings.

so throw the guy a bone. he’s at least one of those austrian huntin’ hounds. maybe not scary looking but damn good at sniffin’ out and killin’ hares hidden deep in the mountains.

jesus christ. this is stupid. so the fuck what. he ain’t a fucking dog and that ain’t the fucking point.

the point is, he could’ve just said no. besides, he’s got every right to be mad at you right now. not that he cares enough to be mad at you, it’s just, well—it’s sunday.

it’s fucking sunday.

he cuts your hair on saturdays.

always has. like clockwork. every other week. same time, same place. same style. you’re never late.

so where the hell were you yesterday?

had him sittin’ outside the barracks waiting for you like a chump, scissors heavy in his pocket.

shootin’ death glares at malarkey, skip, and the rest of their gossipy little mortar squad—the assholes kept fucking lookin’ at him and he could hear them snickering when he wasn’t watching.

he nearly bit tab’s head off after the guy simply asked him where you were. why the fuck should he know, he ain’t your fucking keeper. talbert didn’t push it. just put his hands up in mock surrender and walked away muttering that joe was an idiot. which was fucking rude by the way.

he was dead set on knockin’ the lights out of guarnere for raggin’ on him, girlfriend stand you up, liebgott? chuck and alley stopped him, matching expressions of… pity? on their faces that he still doesn’t really understand.

swinging on guarnere had nothing to do with you. why would it? the guy was just being a dick and joe loves any excuse to start a fight.

when fists start flying, the adrenaline rush pulls him outta his head and into his body. all that excess energy that won’t quit piling up inside him starts flowing a with purpose. sole focus on hit or get hit.

it’s a nice break from his own thoughts. landing a good clean punch on some guy’s ugly mug is pretty satisfying too, makes him a little giddy in a way he should probably unpack one day. after the war.

but now here you are. on fucking sunday. a day late, no sign of an explanation, and asking for bangs.

it bothered him. sorta. not really. just a little bit.

not because it’s you—and definitely not because you fucking ditched him—he just, uh, had things to do… yesterday. better things. like polish his boots. or maybe, um, catch up on some… reading? yeah, that’s it, reading.

he loves to read.

besides, who cares if you want bangs. he certainly doesn’t. he could shave you bald and you’d still look good. not because he thinks you’re pretty or nothin’. he’s just a damn good barber turned part-time hairstylist on saturdays. sunday?

and it’s none of his business why you stood him up. maybe you were off with fucking luz again somewhere. not that he cares. he doesn’t. he’s just, curious. mildly. only thinking about it like a normal amount. he ain’t stewing in it.

he wouldn’t call himself an over-thinker, more of a schemer really. but he ain’t a dweller. ain’t a worrier.

he’s easy-going, for the most part. friendly. funny. it’s not his fault people get easily offended. and yeah, he’s got a little bit of a temper. a teeny bit of rage stuck deep in his bones. but who doesn’t?

he should be mad at you for blowin’ him off yesterday. say something stupid that makes you cuff him on the back of the head. he doesn’t. but something about your request is starting to piss him off. mostly because there ain’t nothin’ truly weird about the request itself.

it’s a pretty popular style and, if he’s being honest, it wouldn’t look half bad on you. it’s just that, he’s been cutting your hair for the better part of a year now and you’ve never once mentioned wanting bangs.

and why would you? bangs are completely impractical out in the field. they’d require constant maintenance. and what if you skipped one of your haircuts again? they’d start to cover up your eyes and your eyes are pretty. um, prettygoodatreadingmapsandshit. bangs need constant touch ups.

so what gives?

does fucking luz like bangs? the guy’s always talkin’ bout rita hayworth this and marlene dietrich that. right in front of you too. and look, he likes luz just fine, but you and luz? he just doesn’t see it.

but you’re looking at him weirdly now. waiting for him to answer and smiling in a way that sort of makes you look constipated.

fuck it, he ain’t gonna let that crummy excuse of a barber from Dog do it.

he takes a step forward, reaching his hand around your head to pull out your hair-tie and let your hair down. a familiar motion by now. it’s not weird, he’s a barber. his fingers carefully start smoothing out your hair, tugging the strands back in place around your face. he takes a half step back and assesses, ignoring the weird feeling building in his chest.

bangs, huh?

his mouth felt kinda dry. probably the cigarettes.

“sobel’s gonna have a fit.”

“exactly,” you said, now smiling in a way he’s more familiar with.

“you gotta death wish or somethin’?”

“yeah, obviously,” you said. “i’m gonna be a fucking paratrooper.”

“in your dreams,” he scoffed, mocking grin spreading across his face. “you woulda blown away and gone airborne again if i hadn’t cut you outta your ‘chute after the last jump.”

“my fucking hero,” you deadpanned. “and you know the buckle was jammed.”

yeah, he did. you both got chewed out by the supply officer for that one. after the guy finished his rant, you smacked the buckle down on the table with a defiant, ‘open it.’ a carnivorous look in your eyes that joe still thinks about a little more than he’d care to admit.

his face felt a little warm. too much sun probably. “c’mon, i gotta grab the scissors from my footlocker.”

you didn’t reply. just fell into step beside him. you were acting normal but he still felt a antsy. on edge.

you really weren’t gonna say nothin’ about it being sunday? he sure as fuck wasn’t gonna be the one to bring it up first. instead he settled on, “you doin’ this to fuck with sobel?”

“no.” you said, like it was obvious. then why?

“is it even regulation?”

a mix of amusement and mild disbelief crossed your face, “just because sink’s looking out for me, doesn’t mean i can just blatantly flaunt the rules.”

okay, fair enough. but his curiosity was starting to get the better of him. he still didn’t get why.

“how you gonna manage bangs in a war? you ain’t gonna have fuckin’ curlers in your foxhole.”

“i know a guy,” you said with a shrug. there was a look in your eye he’s never seen before. fondness maybe? his stomach felt weird, a bitterness hitting the back if his throat.

“yeah, i’m sure luz will find you some real nice beauty pamperin’ shit on his radio,” he said, half joking and too harsh. “it’s a good thing too, you’ll need it.”

a flash of hurt crossed your face, quick enough he almost doubted he saw it at all, before settling back to something more neutral. he felt a little guilty.

“yeah, well, george said guys like bangs. just thought i’d try them out.” so you’re callin’ him george now? figures.

“that’s stupid. if a guy don’t like you, he don’t like you. bangs ain’t gonna change his fuckin’ mind,” he said, clipped and cold.

as you two reached the barracks, he heard you mumble something about waiting outside. whatever.

joe walked inside feeling more agitated with each step. you’re doing this for luz.

maybe he really should say no, that bangs ain’t his specialty. does luz even like you back?

this whole thing, your request, felt off. you’re really goin’ through all this trouble for a guy?

it’s stupid really. you of all people don’t need to change anything for someone to like you. but what’s it matter what he thinks? you ain’t doing this for him.

this restless sort of feeling, one he’s gotten pretty fucking good at ignoring, is starting to make itself known. poking it’s head out of the once tightly sealed, unlabeled box he kept tucked in the back corner of his mind.

it’s just a fucking haircut. so why the fuck does he care so much.

he’ll cut the hair of any Easy guy with 15 cents to spare—does a damn good job too—crew cuts, mohawks, you name it.

he won’t blink once, let alone twice, about charging the chumps in other companies 20 cents a cut, especially those ugly mugs from Fox.

he’ll hand out ‘officer discounts’ with a toothy grin—no funny business, sir. scout’s honor, sir. just 10 cents a cut, sir.—and, halfway through the job—gee, my hands are real tired, sir. it’d sure help me keep ‘em steady knowing i got a weekend pass waitin’ for me, sir. works every time.

but with you? joe’s never really known how to act around you.

it doesn’t help that you’ve been acting different lately too. always trailing after fucking luz, laughing like he must be the funniest guy in the world. he ain’t. joe’s heard his jokes, his impressions. he’ll admit luz does a good major horton, but his colonel sink just ain’t that funny.

it’s frustrating. you’re frustrating.

you don’t fit into the carefully organized boxes in his head. he’s got his friends, his Easy brothers, his fellow paratroopers, his family, his enemies, and so on. there’s some overlap and subfolders among the boxes in his mind, but still nowhere to put you.

he thought maybe you were starting cross over into the friends territory. you had a standing date appointment every other saturday, tucked right between breakfast and PT, where he’d cut your hair. trimming just enough to stay within regulation and keep sobel off your back.

but you’re not really friends, more like friendly colleagues maybe? tab’s his friend. grant and alley are his friends. best friends even. he could shoot the shit with those fellas for days and not get bored.

not to say he gets bored talking to you. he likes talking to you, but you make him feel sort of antsy and on edge in a way his friends definitely do not.

so no, you’re not goin’ in the box of friends.

you’re tough as nails and more than proved you belong in Easy with the rest of the men, but you sure as shit don’t feel like a brother to him.

so no, you’re not goin’ in that box either.

he supposes you are a fellow paratrooper but that feels too informal. that’s the box with those idiots from Dog and Fox and he’s certainly not gonna put you in there with them.

and you’re definitely not his enemy. krauts are enemies. stupid scotty who pushed him off his bike in front of the whole class and laughed at him for cryin’ when he was nine was his enemy. different levels, he ain’t gonna shoot stupid scotty like a kraut but he’d be more than happy to see karma bite him in the ass.

although the glare you shot him back when you first arrived in toccoa must’ve almost put him in your box of enemies. he probably would’ve deserved it too. he lacked a filter on a good day. liked to default to insults and sarcasm to fill gaps in conversation.

but in his defense he wasn’t expecting to see someone like you signing up to be in the airborne. walkin’ around cockier than half the guys knowing sobel couldn’t do a damn thing about you being there, not with colonel sink breathing down his neck.

it was infuriating.

but joe doesn’t hate you.

so no, you’re not goin’ in his box of enemies.

you’re not his friend, not his brother, not just a fellow paratrooper or his enemy. and that unlabeled box with the restless feeling he keeps hidden deep in the back of his mind is starting to open up, forcibly getting dragged into the light.

oh fuck. he feels sick.

he sort of wants to shout at you, which fucking box are you supposed be in and where the fuck were you yesterday?

thank god you’re outside, maybe you’ll just go away if he just stays in here. maybe he can just lock everything back up and pretend he never knew how he fe—

“uh, joe?”

fuck. the thing is he does know. he knows what box you’re in. he knows it ain’t unlabeled. he knows why he’s kept it firmly shut and locked away. he knows, despite what he told you, that your hair don’t actually grow fast enough to get cut every other week. he knows why he’s upset you didn’t show up yesterday. he knows why guarnere’s comment got to him. he knows how he feels.

he fucking knows.

and he knows you don’t feel the same goddamn way.

so you and that restless feeling gotta go back in your box. shoved back into the depths of his mind, away and forgotten.

“joe, you okay?” christ, when the fuck did you come in? “‘cause it’s been like 10 minutes and you said you were just grabbing scissors. and you look sort of—”

he feels fucking pathetic. he’s gotta say something. he’s gotta get you to leave. he’s gotta, he’s gotta do something—leave. you gotta leave, you gotta get back inside your box so he can pretend like none of this ever happened.

“—sort of, like pale and shit,” you paused, stepping closer. “should i get doc?”

“WHY ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR BOX?!”

“excuse me?”

“shit.”

you’re eyes were wide—clearly confused, taken aback, and heavily concerned. you also looked sort of pissed?

“joe, what the fuck.”

“i—”

“my fucking what?”

“it ain’t what it sounded like,” he said defensively.

“yeah, no shit. because i have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about. what fucking box?”

joe stayed silent, refusing to look at you. not trusting himself to say much else.

“seriously,” you said, much softer than he deserved. “what the fuck is wrong with you today?” you meant it sort of like a joke but the tone of concern was unmistakeable.

joe fumbled for the pack of smokes in his pocket. pulling out two mildly squished cigarettes and offering one to you. an olive branch, or maybe a white flag.

you took the smoke and sat down on the corner of his cot. his hands were a little unsteady as he flicked open the lighter, fire catching on the tip of his cigarette, before tossing it to you and taking a deep drag.

“so,” he began, “why you, uh, tryin’ so hard to—” to change yourself? no, that didn’t sit right with him, it’s just fucking hair. you’re still you. to impress luz? he didn’t wanna hear the answer to that.

he shook his head, starting over, “it’s sunday.”

“i know.”

“and yesterday was saturday.”

“correct.”

“where were you?”

you had the audacity to look sheepish.

so you didn’t forget, you ditched him on purpose.

“were you—” he paused, words working their way past the lump in his throat, “are you with luz?”

the guilty look on your face told him all he needed to know.

fuck this. he tossed the forgotten smoke between his fingers into the ashtray. “hope you guys are fucking happy,” he muttered as he moved to leave.

“wait, joe,” you said, grabbing his sleeve as he stood up. “it’s not like that.”

“then what is it like?” he snapped

“we’re not together.”

“why the fuck would i think we were together?” joe spat, angry and desperate for this conversation to be over.

“george and i are not together,” you corrected.

“uh-huh.”

“george just thought that, well, he thought maybe it would bother you. make you… and i thought maybe the,” gesturing to your hair, “i dunno. i guess i just thought getting something fussy would mean more haircuts.”

joe didn’t really understand the look on your face and he didn’t trust the little flicker of hope in his chest.

“more haircuts?” he asked hesitantly.

“more haircuts. more time with you.”

“…with me?” no fucking way. “why?”

“jesus christ, joe,” you said, patience cracking. “do i have to spell it out for you?”

he squinted his eyes at you, sizing you up. trying to decipher if what you’re trying to say is the same as what he wants you to say.

“so yesterday, were you intentionally maneuverin’ me?”

“yes.” you said, face puckered like you ate a lemon.

he smiled, genuine and a little shit eating, “then yeah, you have to spell it out for me.”

“i hate you.” but your eyes were warm. happy.

“no you don’t.” he said, not even trying hide the huge, smug smirk growing on his face.

“no, i don’t.”

“you like me,” he teased.

“you know for a guy who looked ready to throw up 30 seconds ago, you’re awfully fucking smug right now.”

“but you like me.”

“yeah, i do.”

“you still want your haircut? i got a new discount goin’.”

“more discounted than free?” you asked. he’s threatened to, but he’s never actually charged you for a cut before.

“fine, not a discount then. call it a special offer. a limited time bundle.”

“what is it a haircut and a kiss?” you said sarcastically.

“a barber and a boyfriend.” he grinned, “but i’ll throw in the kiss for free.”

———————————

6 DAYS LATER, SATURDAY:

joe kind of wants to hold you hand. instead he rips out a few blades of grass and focuses his attention on splitting them right down the middle the long way.

some of the guys know you’re together now. others just sort of assumed. he found out luz knew how you both felt about each other before either of you even realized it yourselves. the bastard. but you both knew it was best to keep it quiet, especially in front of the officers.

“sweetheart!” luz said with a shitty grin on his face, “your hair looks gorgeous. don’t you think, joe?”

“well i fucking cut it, of course it looks pretty.” you quirked an eyebrow. hasty cover rushing out of his mouth, “uh, pretty good.”

that restless feeling he used box up and lock away was morphing into something calmer. softer. settling down and easing up the more time he let it out of its box. it was starting to feel a lot more like something he could name. it was a little soon to share, but maybe he wouldn’t overthink it when the time was right.

he definitely overthought it, but it felt a whole lot less scary when he was with you.

———————————

OFFICERS’ BARRACKS:

“looks like the kids are gonna be just fine,” nixon said, nodding towards the two of you through the window. “right, dick?”

“they’re not very subtle,” winters replied.

“liebgott follows her around with puppy dog eyes,” welsh chimed in.

“c’mon, it’s sweet,” nixon said. “plus, kitty’s not even here, harry, and you’re still somehow worse than liebgott is.”

“if sobel notices, there’s not much i can do to protect them,” winters continued.

“oh have a heart, dick. it’s young love.”

“and at least they’re trying,” welsh added. “besides, sobel can’t even read a map. no way he notices.”

nixon laughed at that. winters may have even cracked a smile.

———————————————————————

a/n: this is legit my first time actually posting a fic like ever? i’ve jumped from hyper fixation to hyper fixation for years, living off of other people’s big beautiful brains. but i’m pretty sure i’ve read like every liebgott fic multiple times by now, so i’m throwing my hat in the ring.

blame it on the cocky bastard with great hair and a whole lot of trauma who had the audacity to look hot covered in dirt. also please be nice, i wrote this on my phone and the formatting is kind of fucked up. i have no idea how many words this is either.

[megabvtch]

Not the Jealous Type

Liebgott x F!Reader

Warnings: SMUTTT

A/N: It's my bday, so here's a double posttttt. REQUESTS ARE OPEN <3

I hope you enjoy your read!

Xx, meggie <3

────୨ৎ────

Aldbourne, 1943

It was unusual -- you found yourself standing at the bar talking to a man in the 82nd.

You had a glass of wine in your hand, half paying attention to the conversation you were having.

The man was talking about how excited he was to jump into Normandy and "kill some krauts."

You nodded, not fully understanding why someone would be so excited to face the horrors of war. As a nurse, you were faced with the horrific wounds soldiers would come back with -- missing limbs, burns, irriversable damage.

You stared into your glass, unaware of the man watching from afar.

Joe Liebgott had been keeping a careful eye on you all night. After he saw an 82nd boy approach you, he immediately felt a sense of jealousy.

You had known Joe and the boys from Easy for a while and had gotten close to them during training.

You didn't know how to feel about Joe Liebgott. There was no denying your attraction towards him, but sometimes you couldn't get over his attitude. You couldn't tell if he was rude or charming.

Liebgott had enough watching a random man talking to you and thought you could use some saving.

"I'll take it from here, buddy." Joe patted his hand on the back of the other man. You turned around, surprised to see him.

The other man gave him a dirty look before Joe cut him off, "She's not interested, man. Clearly."

The man looked at you. Your eyebrows furrowed in apology -- you mouthed, "I'm sorry," to the man before he got the memo and walked off.

Liebgott took the now-empty seat next to you before ordering a drink.

"That was incredibly rude." You remarked.

Joe scoffed, "Then tell me you were interested in him."

You went quiet, "That's what I thought. You could just say 'thank you.'" Joe snarked.

You elbowed him in the side, "I didn't take you for the jealous type."

Liebgott reacted quickly, snapping his head towards you, "Oh, I'm not jealous, Princess."

You chuckled, "So then how'd you know I wasn't interested?"

"I saw you." Joe responded.

"Oh, so you were spying on me?" You joked.

"I was not spying on you." He defended.

You chuckled, changing the subject, "You ready for the jump?"

Joe went a little quiet -- a little moment of vulnerability before his usual self came back out, "Oh yeah, I'm super excited to jump into enemy territory. My dream vacation."

You scoffed slightly.

"Y'know, this is my first time out of the country?" Joe paused.

You nodded, "I'd like to come back after all of this is over. Hopefully, things will be better."

There was a slight moment of silence as the two of you thought about the state of the world.

The night continued on with small conversations and large glasses of drinks.

...

It was late into the night when the two of you decided to wrap it up.

You and Joe had gotten closer throughout your conversations -- not just as friends, but you had found his hand on your thigh.

You both looked down at his placement before he pulled it away as you stood up -- no one saying anything about it.

The two of you stepped out of the bar, "I'll walk you back. It's late." Joe offered.

You smiled, thanking him.

As you walked and talked back to your quarters, you found yourself reaching for his hand.

You didn't know if it was the several drinks you had or the nerves of the soon-to-come jump into Normandy, but neither of you pulled away.

You arrived at your quarters and faced the awkward part of ending the night.

"Thanks for walking me back," You smiled.

"Don't worry about it." Joe responded.

A moment of silence before you realized you were still holding onto his hand. You let go before turning around and opening the door.

You heard Joe start walking away before an urge overcame you.

Turning around, you called him back, "Joe, wait!"

He stopped in his tracks as you walked up to him.

He raised an eyebrow in confusion. You looked at him for a moment, trying to decide whether or not you should commit.

Fuck it.

You grabbed onto his faced and pulled him into a kiss.

He was surprised at first before leaning into the kiss; his hand found your hips. Your hands trailed up to the back of his head, grabbing onto some hair gently.

You pulled away from the kiss, worried about the awkward moment that was to follow.

"Honestly, I've been wanting to do that for a while." Joe admitted.

You smiled -- relief.

You grabbed onto his hand before pulling him into your empty quarters.

Shutting the door, you pulled him in yet another time. The kiss was more passionate, hungry.

You hadn't been touched in a long time, and you had assumed he hadn't either from the way he was moving.

His hands trailed your body carefully, tugging at your skirt.

You unbuttoned his jacket before taking it off. He tugged off his white undershirt, exposing his chest.

Something about the way his dogtags rested on his chest did something to you.

You admired him for a second before going in for yet another kiss.

He pushed you towards a bed, pulling off your skirt and blouse.

He took a step back, "Fuck," He paused, "You look so good."

You smiled as he leaned in again. Joe pulled off his pants.

You felt his cock hit your stomach as it was freed.

He took off your panties before aligning himself with you.

He entered slowly, giving you time to adjust. Small moans came out of your mouth, trying to keep quiet.

Joe's eyes closed, his eyebrows knitting together. A small moan came from him as he started moving slowly.

He leaned over top of you as he entered and exited, slowly at first.

His pace quickened as the two of you adjusted, his cock sliding in and out of your wetness.

"Fuck, baby." was all he could manage.

You rolled over, getting on top before you started moving.

You moaned in sync -- the two of you taking in every second of this intimate moment.

"I'm gonna -- fuck -- cum, baby." Joe let out.

You moaned, "Cum, baby."

He pulled you in for another kiss as he reached his high. He thrusted into you in a way that hit the perfect spot, sending you to orgasm.

You let out a moan that was much too loud as you arched your back.

The two of you came down from your highs, catching your breath.

You lay next to each other, in silence, trying to absorb everything that just happened.

"Why didn't we do that sooner? Liebgott questioned.

You smiled, "We can make it happen again."

He chuckled slightly before giving you a quick peck.

The two of you fell asleep, not worried about anyone finding you both in the same bed.

[minpage]

Sledge, Shelton, Burgin

“Time had no meaning; life had no meaning. The fierce struggle for survival in the abyss of Peleliu eroded the veneer of civilisation and made savages of us all.”

— E.B Sledge, With the Old Breed

[runnerleckie]

dick winters fandom is dying reblog if you’re a real dickhead

[ww2yaoi]

Ashton Holmes as Sidney Phillips in THE PACIFIC Part VI

VOTE FOR SID

[toastyrobos]

Happy one year anniversary to the ending of my absolute fav Star Wars show. I can not believe the Bad Batch ended a year ago. Like how?

This show means so much to me and I will forever be grateful that it exists. Cause I’m so happy that it does. From the amazing compelling characters to the addictive stories, the bad batch is in my opinion, one of the best Star Wars shows. Thank you for giving us clone force 99.

Hunter, Tech, Crosshair, Wrecker, Echo and Omega will always have a special place in my heart. And I hope this show wasn’t the last we see of them.

[jellyfishforest135]

Rest in peace Sam Neill. Thank you for the awe and wonder you brought to us.

[389]

Laura Dern & Sam Neill in Jurassic Park (1993)

[swan2swan]

I'm gonna be honest

I didn't make enough gifs of him

[liebgottlover]

this is so dumb lol but my Duolingo is making me translate the sentence “if you go I go” and that sounds really cute and romantic to me, could you do a lieb x reader imagine inspired by that line?

STOP THIS IS SO CUTE, I’m sorry it’s more of a drabble because I couldn’t come up with more for it but I hope you enjoy this!!

“Wenn du gehst, gehe ich mit.”

You blinked, staring at Joe dumbfounded.

“Liebgott, you know I don’t speak German or understand it much.”

“That’s alright,” He replied, “you’ll learn one day.”

“Well, what did you say?” You asked sweetly.

“Hm?”

Huffing, you brushed your hair back from your face, “When-do-something or nother. What’s it mean?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” Was Joe’s only reply as he took off to get back to his watch. Your brows furrowed frustratedly.

David Webster, who sat quietly at the table beside of you at a distance, grinned to himself.

“Something funny, Webster?”

Your voice made his head shoot up in a panic, “No, no.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious of him. “You speak German.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what he said.” You demanded. He gulped awkwardly.

“That’s okay, it’s more for him to tell you.”

“David.” You said, softer this time.

He sighed, “Okay, fine.”

You raised your brows as if it say, ‘go ahead.’

“It means, ‘if you go, I go.’” Webster explained.

Your face immediately got hot.

“Oh.”

Oh.

Webster rubbed the back of his neck, already regretting every decision that had led him to this moment.

“Yeah.”

“That’s… that’s what he said?” You asked hesitantly, as if you couldn’t quite believe it.

“Word for word.” Webster nodded.

“Are you sure?”

Webster laughed quietly.

“I’m fairly certain I know my own language.”

You ducked your head, suddenly finding the grain of the wooden table fascinating. Joe Liebgott wasn’t exactly known for saying sentimental things. If anything, he usually buried them beneath sarcasm, profanity, or a cigarette.

Which somehow made this worse. Or better.

You smiled despite yourself.

Webster caught it immediately.

“Don’t tell him I told you.”

“I won’t.” You promised.

“I’m serious.” He insisted, as if scared by the mere idea of Joe finding out.

“David, I won’t.” You stuck out your pinky and Webster eyed you before taking it with his own.

“Because he’ll blame me.” David grumbled as he released your pinky.

You nodded, “He’ll definitely blame you.”

Webster groaned. “Wonderful.”

A moment of silence stretched between you two.

“David?”

“Yes?”

“Could you teach me German?”

————

It had been over a week since you’d been alone with Joe.

Or rather, over a week since you’d let yourself be.

Every time he wandered into a room, you found an excuse to leave. If he sat beside you at chow, you suddenly remembered something Winters needed. If he called your name, you answered over your shoulder and kept walking.

At first, Joe figured you were busy.

Then he figured you were tired.

By the eighth day, he’d run out of excuses.

He caught you just after dusk, when the rest of the company had drifted off to their own conversations.

“Why are you avoidin’ me?”

It wasn’t really a question.

It was a demand disguised as one.

You froze.

“I’m not,” you answered far too quickly.

Joe’s jaw tightened.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You haven’t looked at me in a week.” Joe sounded exasperated.

Silence.

He searched your face, and for the first time since you’d known him, you saw something that made your stomach twist.

He looked…hurt.

“Did I do somethin’?”

The question came quieter this time.

“Did I say somethin’ wrong?”

Your shoulders slumped.

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

You let out a slow breath, your fingers twisting together.

Then, in careful, deliberate German —

“Ich gehe überall mit dir hin.”

translations:

“Wenn du gehst, gehe ich mit.” - if you go, I’m coming with you

“Ich gehe überall mit dir hin.” - I will go anywhere with you

[liebgottlover]

a/n: just something loosely inspired by the supernatural episode where Dean shows up to Lisa’s and meets Ben but much more angsty!

[ Joe Liebgott x reader x Eugene Roe ]

The Life We Never Had

Joseph Liebgott never knew what became of you after the war.

But mostly because he didn’t even know what became of himself.

He disappeared the moment he stepped off that ship back onto American soil, waved goodbye to you and promising to write, but never finding the courage to.

You had managed to find a quiet neighborhood and settle down, occasionally attending the reunions when you were able.

The first one you missed was the first one Joe attended.

George Luz quieted when Joe entered, Don Malarkey turning around to see what Luz and Chuck Grant were staring at so intently.

Bill Guarnere let out a low whistle while Babe Heffron drank his beer.

“Liebgott.” Richard Winters greeted him first, followed by Lewis Nixon, “It’s good to finally see you again.”

“Likewise, sir.” Joe saluted him out of habit. Winters saluted back.

He found himself sitting at a table with his old pals, reminiscing and catching up.

Joe was doing good not scanning the room for you. But as he was trying his hardest not to look for you, he noticed several absences. One stood out to him the most besides yours.

“Where’s Doc?”

Silence.

Then, “He’s with [name].”

Joe swallowed thickly, the air nearly leaving his lungs at the mention of you.

“She didn’t want to come either?” Joe’s voice sounded far away, harsher than he intended.

“Busy.” Babe shrugged, giving him a glare that Joe didn’t miss. Bill elbowed him. “What?”

“Seriously, Babe, shuddup.” Bill insisted.

Joe narrowed his eyes, “What are you not telling me?”

“Lieb—“ Grant began but was cut off.

“Why don’t you go find out for yourself.” Luz slid a paper over to him.

An address.

Your address.

“Preferably right now rather than another two years.”

Joe snapped his eyes up to meet Babe’s annoyed ones.

Knowing how close you were to Babe and Doc Roe, he fully expected some backlash with how he left things. But not like this.

Joe quietly took the paper, tucking it into his pocket. “I’ll go see her now. Thank you fellas.”

The drive to your house was surprisingly quick, and as he pulled down the street he was shocked to realize just how close you lived to him.

Only 10 minutes away.

10 minutes away and he had managed to miss you for two years.

He felt like an absolute dick.

Slowing down as he approached the mailbox with your house numbers on it, he noticed a slew of balloons attached to your mailbox and porch, along with two cars parked in the driveway.

He opted for parking across the street.

Joe’s palms were slick with sweat, despite it being February.

“Coward.” He cursed himself out loud, “Get it together.”

As Joe walked across your yard, he felt like he could explode from nervousness.

Then, before he could even lift his fist to knock, the door swung open.

You looked as beautiful as you always had, but somehow even more so.

During the war, you never had the opportunity to dress up or wear makeup or even fix your hair in a fashionable way.

This version of you was one Joe did not know.

“Hey.” He said.

Hey?

Seriously, two years and all he can manage is a hey?

You smiled, “Hello, Joseph.”

“Hey, cher, I have the —“ Eugene Roe stopped short behind you at the sight of Joe Liebgott.

“Liebgott.”

“Roe.”

Joe didn’t know why he felt so annoyed at how close Doc Roe was standing to you. Or how he called you ‘cher.’ How he was in your house and not at the reunion. How —

His thoughts were cut short by a blur of dark hair coming into view at your legs.

“Mama.” Came a small voice, hands reaching for you impatiently, “Uppie.”

You grinned as you looked at the child, eagerly scooping him up in your arms.

As the child turned, his eyes — your eyes, stared into him with a piercing gaze much like yours. But his face, his face was all Joe.

Eugene sighed, shaking Joe from his racing thoughts, “Edward, you know your mama can’t hold you in her condition.”

You shot Eugene a look, shaking your head softly.

“Joe,” You said, “Why don’t you come in?”

You poured Joe a glass of lemonade as Eugene took Edward upstairs.

He didn’t even give you a moment to turn around fully before he asked, “Is he mine?”

You sighed softly, “Technically yes.”

“Technically yes?” His brows furrowed in confusion.

“You got me pregnant, so yes he’s yours.” You shrugged as if the answer was simple. “But I could never find you, and I was alone. So I stopped waiting.”

Joe scoffed at your words, anger suddenly taking over, “It’s been two years, you couldn’t wait any longer?”

“No.” You suddenly snapped, “No, Joe, I couldn’t ‘wait any longer,’ I was pregnant and young and scared. I needed stability, women don’t receive veterans pay like men do. We aren’t even recognized as veterans for God’s sake.”

Joe softened. “I’m sorry—“

“Don’t cause her any more stress than necessary.”

Joe nearly jumped out of his skin at Doc Roe’s Cajun accent.

“She can handle it, I’ve done plenty of that in the past.” Joe rolled his eyes at Roe’s territorial behavior.

“Maybe. But as my pregnant wife, I won’t stand for you treatin’ her any kind of way other than with respect.”

Wife.

Pregnant wife.

You, Eugene Roe’s pregnant wife.

Not his.

Not Joe’s.

“You married him?” Joe looked hurt.

Your heart ached for him, for the man you once knew and loved.

Joe’s eyes scanned your hand for a ring.

A beautiful gold ring sat on your finger.

His eyes closed slowly, as if understanding he was far too late.

“I waited, Joe. I did.” You began, “I loved you, I still do. But you were gone. I searched everywhere for you, I even went and found your ma. I fell in love with a man who was there. You can’t be angry with me for that.”

“I have a son.” Joe said lamely, feeling like the ultimate loser. Eugene, seemingly taking pity on him, moved to another room again.

“You do.” You agreed, “But he knows Gene as his father. Not you.”

“Can I please be in his life?”

The question you had always longed for.

“Of course you can.” You said, promising it and meaning it.

A moment of silence passed between you two.

“What’s his name?” Joe asked so quietly you almost missed it.

“Edward Joseph Roe.”

Before Joe could speak again, the doorbell rang.

“Come in!” You shouted happily, as if you hadn’t just upturned Joe’s entire life.

It seemed as if the reunion had moved itself to your kitchen as familiar faces flooded the room.

“Hello lovely!” Babe exclaimed as he kissed your cheek, “Hello little lovely.”

“Babe,” You laughed as he spoke to your stomach, “We won’t know if it’s a boy or a girl until it’s born.”

“It’s a girl, I’m telling you!” Babe argued with you as you shook your head.

Grant spoke up as he munched on a piece of cucumber off of a snack tray sitting on your counter, “Definitely a girl.”

“Nah,” Luz shook his head, “Boy.”

Joe frowned. How could he have been so selfish to miss out on a life with you and his friends?

Roe appeared with your son — Joe’s son, who was more than ecstatic to see everyone.

“Hey, little man!” Babe shouted, grabbing the child and swinging him around.

“Be careful!” You fussed.

Joe sat quietly as he observed the life happening before him. His old friends so comfortable in the kitchen of the girl he once loved, the girl he still loved, who was now married and pregnant. He smiled softly at the scene displayed, knowing that just being allowed to be near you and his son would be enough for him.

[feelyaalien]

hi :) can I ask for lieb or luz or doc, whichever of the three you most prefer or all of them if that's okay with you- shouting at reader in an argument that was most definitely his fault. reader walks away & ignores him for days so he plans up an apology. thank you sm if you do decide to write this, your penmanship is incredible <3

I know the perfect character for this kind of scenario and you guys won't guess who... apologies for not making all of them at once it's nearly midnight and I'm running on energy drinks 😭

Joe Liebgott shouting at you and making it up to you

Everyone already knew he was in one of those bad mood days of his, snapping at the next person who so much as breathed next to him.

Unfortunately for you, you didn't know that until you were too close, asking him if he had seen Malarkey—you were, unfortunately, on postal duty for that day, and to your luck, you barely managed to find anyone who mattered.

The person you did find, however, was a Joe Liebgott stewing with his own anger, face flushed from all of the emotions he was probably bottling up inside of him.

"Do I look like I know where Malarkey is right now?! Fuck off already!"

Rude.

He only realized the look of hurt that flashed through your face moments after you had already walked off, the bag filled with letters crumpling under the force of your grip.

What else was he supposed to do? Lie to you? Tell you flourishes about how oh, I haven't seen Malarkey, dearly lovely darling honey?

He hadn't eaten the entire day, Winters had put him on guard duty, he slipped on dog poop while changing shifts with Talbert, a German POW nearly knocked out one of his teeth, and it had been three weeks since the last time he properly got his hands on you.

There was only so much of a breaking point before a man like him couldn't take it anymore.

But, of course, he didn't meant to take it out on you, he never did. He knew you were under pressure just as much as he was, that life at the front wasn't doing you any favors.

He noticed you pulling away the same night, when he laid down next to you in the quietude of the stalls you were sharing, but you pulled away when his fingers all but dusted the back of your shirt.

Fine. If that was how you wanted to play it.

One week.

One fucking week without talking to you, without touching you, without kissing you, without hearing your voice next to his face, without feeling your breath against his cheek or your lips on his temple, your teeth on his earlobe.

Worse still, he hadn't known where you had gone off to that Saturday night in Mourmelon, had no idea what you were doing—only the knowledge that you weren't there next to him when he went to sleep.

Yet, he knew exactly where you were when he woke up at four in the fucking morning to the sound of the entire camp yelling so loudly he swore his eardrums could rupture at any given moment.

He was disheveled, his hair sticking up in odd places, his feet hastily shoved inside his boots with more than half of the buttons of his uniform placed together. None of it mattered much to the roguish man when he spotted Doc Roe pressing gauze pads to a wound on your forehead, when he saw Spina trying to stop a bleeding replacement by your feet, and Captain Winters speaking to a wide-eyed Muck.

Joe didn't understand what had happened besides the muttered words of "patrol", "krauts", "panzer unit", or cared much about anything besides how he practically shoved Eugene aside to press the gauze to your head himself.

He could've lost you.

The realization struck him like lightning, a bolt that made his fingers shake and his ears completely forget the fact that the two of you were pretty much not alone. He wanted to scream you, he wanted to punch something, he wanted to tell you that you were stupid for not telling him you were going out on a patrol, because if you hadn't made it back? He wouldn't have realized it until someone dangled your dog tags in front of him.

So he did the only thing that seemed sensible at that moment, for someone as prideful as he was.

"I'm sorry. For telling you to fuck off. I... didn't want you to fuck off. Actually, please don't ever fuck off, I don't think I'd be able to live with myself if you did fuck off—"

He stopped. Not because he realized he was being stupid, but because your hand covered his, because your eyes finally met after an entire week of receiving the cold shoulder from you, and because he realized he couldn't live with himself if he ever pushed you away again.

Least to say, he never told you to fuck off again.

[aliciax3]

[sophsun1]

Parks and Recreation – 6.08: Fluoride

[liebgottlover]

Hi how are you :)

Could you write a Joe liebgott imagine where he’s realizing he likes you but is in denial and trying not to focus on it bc of the war but it gets to the point where he can’t ignore it anymore!

hey guys you ever write a whole fic and tumblr deletes it? :’)

warnings: mentions of war, violence

In Denial

If there was one thing Joe Liebgott was good at, it was pretending.

He could pretend he wasn’t frozen to the bone sitting in the icey foxhole, he could pretend that he wasn’t scared shitless over the prospect that he might never make it out of said icey foxhole, Joe could even pretend that he didn’t miss his ma and pa terribly.

One thing he was struggling with, though?

Pretending that he didn’t absolutely want you.

Sure, the two of you were quite the opposite. Joe had a potty mouth, you’d blush every shade of red and pink at his profanity sometimes. But the war had begun to harden you, and Joe found himself wanting nothing more than to shield you from it.

He found himself changing for you.

He hated it.

He didn’t hate you, no, he could never hate you.

But Joe hated the way his insides twisted up when Luz made you laugh until you cried, or how you had begun to form a little two-man book club with Webster before he had gotten injured. (Joe also knew you wrote Webster quite often and got immediate replies, that bastard snug as a bug in his hospital bed.)

The truth was that Joe wanted you all to himself.

But this was the war, and war never allowed a man to keep something. Especially something as beautiful as you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” George Luz’s voice nearly made him jump.

Joe’s head snapped to the side, his cigarette almost slipping from his fingers. “Jesus Christ, Luz.”

George lowered himself beside him with a grunt, tucking his chin down into his collar. “You’re wound up tonight.”

“I’m not wound up.”

“You almost jumped outta your skin.”

Joe rolled his eyes and looked back across the line. “Sneak up on a man in the middle of a war, see what happens.”

George followed his gaze.

You were sitting by yourself a little ways off, knees drawn up, helmet tilted low on your head. You had one of Webster’s books open in your lap, though Joe doubted you were reading much of anything. Your eyes hadn’t moved from the same line in nearly five minutes.

George looked from you to Joe.

Joe felt it.

“Don’t,” he muttered.

George lifted his brows. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was just thinking.”

“Don’t do that either.”

George huffed out a quiet laugh and rubbed his hands together. “You know, for a guy who doesn’t wanna be obvious, you’re real bad at not being obvious.”

Joe’s jaw tightened. “I’m looking around.”

“At her?”

“At the scenery.”

“That’s what you call her now?”

Joe cut him a look. “You got a point, or are you just here to annoy me?”

“Little bit of both.”

Joe took a drag from his cigarette, mostly to keep from answering.

The truth was, he knew he had been staring.

He knew it before George sat down. He knew it before the cigarette had burned low between his fingers. He knew it every time his eyes found you without him telling them to.

You had been quiet since that morning.

Not quiet in the way you got when you were tired, or annoyed, or trying not to laugh at something Luz said. This was different. You looked like the cold had finally gotten beneath your skin and settled somewhere deeper.

Joe wanted to go over there.

He wanted to say something.

He wanted to sit down beside you and take that stupid book from your hands and tell you to stop pretending you were reading when you were clearly somewhere else entirely.

Instead, he sat where he was and smoked.

George let the silence sit for a second. Then he said, “She alright?”

Joe’s eyes flicked back to you before he could stop them.

“Why’re you askin’ me?”

“Because you’d know.”

Joe laughed under his breath, but there was no humor in it. “The hell I would.”

“Joe.”

There was something in George’s voice that made him look over.

Not teasing this time.

That was worse.

Joe looked away first.

“She don’t talk to me about that kind of stuff.”

“She might if you didn’t look like you were about to bite her head off every time she gets too close.”

Joe’s mouth twisted. “That’s just my face.”

“Yeah, I know. Ugly thing.”

Joe almost smiled.

Across the way, you shifted and closed the book, keeping one finger tucked between the pages. You stared down at the cover for a moment, thumb rubbing over the worn edge like you were trying to steady yourself with it.

Joe watched the movement.

George watched him watching.

“You care about her,” George said.

Joe stiffened.

He should have snapped back right away. That was what he was good at. A smart mouth, a hard look, something sharp enough to cut the subject open and leave it bleeding somewhere else.

But nothing came.

So he sat there, cigarette burning uselessly between his fingers.

George didn’t push.

That was the problem. If George had joked, Joe could have fought him. If he had grinned, Joe could have cursed him out and been done with it.

But George only waited.

Finally, Joe said, “Ain’t gonna do her any good.”

George’s expression shifted.

Joe looked at you again. “Caring.”

The word felt strange in his mouth. Too soft. Too honest.

George followed his gaze. “Might do her more good than you think.”

Joe scoffed. “What, out here?”

“Especially out here.”

Joe shook his head. “Out here gets people killed.”

“No,” George said quietly. “Out here people get killed anyway.”

That shut him up.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The woods were too still. The kind of stillness that made every man’s shoulders sit a little higher, like the trees themselves were holding their breath.

George pushed himself to his feet.

Joe glanced up. “Where you goin’?”

“To pretend I don’t know things.”

“Try harder.”

George gave him a small grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You too.”

Then he walked off, boots crunching softly through the snow.

Joe watched him go, annoyed that he had left him with something he couldn’t argue with.

He took one last drag from his cigarette and dropped it into the snow, grinding it out with his boot.

You were still sitting alone.

Joe told himself to stay put.

He told himself you didn’t need him hovering. He told himself George didn’t know what he was talking about. He told himself a lot of things, all of them useless.

Then the first shell hit.

The ground jumped beneath him.

Someone shouted.

Joe dropped hard into the foxhole, shoulder slamming against frozen dirt as snow and splinters came raining down. The second shell landed closer, tearing through the trees with a sound so loud it seemed to split open his skull.

Everything became movement.

Men scrambling.

Voices overlapping.

Dirt spitting into the air.

The awful, familiar scream of incoming artillery.

Joe pressed himself low, heart hammering against his ribs.

Then he looked across the snow.

Your spot was empty.

His stomach dropped.

He pushed up before he had time to think.

“Liebgott!” someone yelled.

Joe ignored it.

The air filled with smoke and snow. He could barely see more than a few feet ahead, but he knew where you had been. He knew the exact tree you had been sitting near because he had spent the last half hour pretending not to stare at it.

Another shell hit. The blast threw him sideways, and he caught himself on one hand, pain shooting up his wrist.

He didn’t stop.

He saw your book first.

It was lying open in the snow, pages bent back, already wet.

Then he saw you.

You were on the ground a few yards beyond it, one arm over your head, curled in on yourself like that could make you small enough for the war to miss.

For one second, Joe couldn’t move.

The fear was so sharp it froze him in place.

Then you lifted your head.

Alive.

He ran.

“Y/N!”

You looked toward him, eyes wide under the rim of your helmet. “Joe, get down!”

He reached you as another shell came screaming in. He threw himself down beside you, grabbed the back of your jacket, and pulled you hard against him.

The blast hit somewhere behind him.

For a second, there was nothing but white.

Snow. Dirt. Smoke. The ringing in his ears.

Then you were coughing against his chest, and Joe was moving before he understood how.

“Come on,” he snapped, dragging you up with him.

You stumbled. “Joe—”

“Move.”

Another shell hit close enough to knock you both sideways. Joe caught your arm before you went down again and shoved you ahead of him toward the nearest foxhole.

You were saying something, but he couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear anything except his own pulse and the shells tearing the woods apart.

He half-pushed, half-carried you the last few feet.

Then he dropped into the foxhole and pulled you down on top of him just as the ground shook again.

You landed hard against his chest.

Joe wrapped one arm over your back and kept you there, his other hand braced over your helmet as dirt rained down over both of you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

You were breathing.

He could feel it.

Fast, uneven breaths against his collar.

Joe’s hand tightened in the back of your jacket.

He had never been more aware of another person in his life.

Then you shoved at his chest.

“Are you stupid?”

Joe blinked through the dirt in his lashes. “What?”

“Are you stupid?” you shouted again, voice shaking with anger. “You ran out there in the middle of shelling!”

“You were on the ground!”

“I was trying not to get hit!”

“You were out in the open!”

“So you thought you’d join me?”

Joe stared at you.

Your face was streaked with snow and dirt, eyes bright with fear. Not soft fear either. Angry fear. The kind that had nowhere else to go, so it came out sharp.

His own anger rose to meet it because it was easier than admitting he was still scared.

“You didn’t move!”

“I couldn’t!”

That stopped him.

You sucked in a breath, looking away as another shell hit somewhere beyond the trees. Your hands were still fisted in the front of his jacket.

“I couldn’t move,” you said again, quieter this time.

Joe’s chest tightened.

The ringing in his ears faded enough for the world to come back in pieces. Men shouting. Wood cracking. Snow sliding down into the foxhole. Your breathing. His breathing.

You were pressed close enough that he could feel you trembling.

Or maybe that was him.

He didn’t know anymore.

“You could’ve died,” you said.

Joe let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well. So could you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s exactly the point.”

“No, it isn’t.” You shoved at him again, but there was no strength behind it now. “You don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like your life doesn’t matter just because mine was in danger.”

Joe went still.

The words hit harder than the shelling.

His life.

Like that was something he had been thinking about. Like there had been room for it. The second he saw you on the ground, there had been no Joe, no war, no fear for himself. There had only been you and the unbearable thought that if he waited even one more second, he might watch the world take you from him.

Another shell landed close enough to shake loose a clump of dirt above them.

You flinched.

Joe pulled you down again without thinking, his body curling over yours.

This time, you didn’t argue.

For a few seconds, the two of you stayed like that. Your forehead was pressed to his shoulder. His cheek was against the top of your helmet. His hand was still tangled in the back of your jacket like he was afraid you would disappear if he let go.

Then the shelling eased.

Not stopped.

Just moved farther out.

That somehow made everything worse.

The quiet after was always where the fear caught up.

You lifted your head first.

Joe looked down at you, and the thing he had spent weeks trying to bury rose up so fast he couldn’t stop it.

You were alive.

You were angry with him.

You were looking at him like he had scared you half to death.

And all Joe could think was that both of you could have been dead in the snow before he ever got the nerve to do anything about it.

His hand moved before his mouth could ruin it.

He caught your face between his dirty fingers and kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle.

Not at first.

It was scared and sudden and clumsy, his helmet knocking against yours, his fingers cold against your jaw. It was too much and not enough, all the words he couldn’t say pressed into one desperate second.

You froze.

Joe felt it and pulled back just enough to breathe.

His eyes searched yours, wide and dark and almost panicked.

He looked like he expected you to slap him.

Maybe he deserved it.

But your hands were still gripping his jacket.

Neither of you spoke.

Then your fingers tightened.

You pulled him back.

The second kiss was slower.

Still not soft, not exactly. Nothing in that foxhole was soft. There was dirt on his mouth and snow melting down the back of your neck, and somewhere nearby a man was yelling for a medic.

But this time, Joe let himself feel it.

The warmth of you.

The shake in your breath.

The fact that you were kissing him back.

He angled his head carefully, one hand sliding from your jaw to the side of your neck. His thumb rested just below your ear, feeling your pulse race beneath his skin.

Alive, alive, alive.

When you finally broke apart, Joe didn’t move far.

His forehead rested against yours. His eyes stayed closed.

You were both breathing too hard.

For once, Joe had nothing smart to say.

You did.

“You’re an idiot,” you whispered.

A laugh broke out of him before he could stop it. Small. Shaky. Almost not a laugh at all.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“You could have gotten yourself killed.”

His thumb brushed once against your cheek.

“So could you.”

You pulled back enough to look at him.

Joe’s face had gone serious again. Not angry. Not guarded. Just bare in a way you had never really seen before.

“I saw you out there,” he said, voice low. “And I didn’t think.”

Your expression softened.

He swallowed, like the next words had to fight their way out.

“I can’t think when it’s you.”

The confession sat there between you, simple and devastating.

And Joe Liebgott knew he couldn’t pretend with you anymore.