If you want to make a request, click here to check the characters from movies and TV shows I take requests from. If it's a different character, please feel free to tell me about it and I'll see if I can do it.
==============
The ones marked with a 🔚 are finished.
The ones marked with a 🔛 are ongoing.
The ones marked with a 🔜 are coming soon.
The ones marked with a 🔙 are on hold.
The ones marked with a 🔝 are the most read.
To find this masterlist search for the hashtag:
#rogue-barnes-16 masterlist
==============
MARVEL:
PIETRO MAXIMOFF
Childish (fluff|oneshot|request)🔝🔚
Not you (angst|oneshot|request) 🔚
STEVE ROGERS
Is this wrong? (angst|oneshot|request)🔝🔚
Danger (angst|oneshot) 🔚
Don't make me mad (SMUT|oneshot|request)🔚
BUCKY BARNES
In this life or in the next (angst-fluff|miniseries)🔝🔙
The protege (angst(with some fluff)|miniseries) 🔝🔛
That punk (angst-fluff|multipart) (aesthetic) (part I) (part II) (part III) (part IV) (part V) (part VI)🔝🔚
Rome(fluff|oneshot|request)🔝🔚
Strangers (fluff|oneshot)
The war song (angstyfluff|oneshot)🔚
Pity (angsty fluff|multipart) (part I) (part II)
Blind (angst-fluff|series) 🔝🔚
The myth (angst-fluff|multipart|request) (part I) (part II) (part III) 🔚
Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.
Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader
Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers
A/N: girl I did not proofread this, lemme come back in the morning BUT. Here comes the first Bastogne chapter. Enjoy<3
Head-to-head masterlist
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
The barrage had been going on for too long. Too fucking long. I curled deeper into myself, arms wrapped tight around my middle, pressing my body against the frozen dirt of the foxhole as if I could disappear into it. The ground shook with every impact, my ribs rattling with it. Each blast sent tremors through my bones, cracking the air apart.
Joe was sat by my right, still and quiet. Too quiet.
He wasn't even supposed to be here, with me—not when they first sent us here, anyway. After the first night, half the replacements had dropped like flies; by the time the sun rose in December 19th, I was alone in a foxhole dug for three people.
'Liebgott volunteered to cover up', Lipton had said, 'until more replacements come'.
That was two days ago. There were still no replacements, still no food, still no winter clothing. Twelve inches of thick snow had fallen on us during the early morning, making us gasp for air. Now, in the late afternoon, the third shelling of the day made me wish the pristine white blanket had buried me alive.
I risked a glance at Joe. Just one, to hold onto my sanity. He was hunched forward, rifle loose in his hands, eyes fixed ahead, unfocused. His breath fogged in the freezing air, short and shallow. His fingers flexed, twitched.
Another explosion. The ground trembled. My teeth clenched, bracing for the next, and the next, and the next. The shelling blurred together into a single, never-ending noise, engulfing us in deafening sound.
Please, make it stop, I prayed to whoever listened, eyelids shut like they would shield me from it all.
I felt a rustle beside me; clothes scrapping against hard ground.
I took another look at Joe. His position had shifted, shoulders now rigid, and his right hand moved away from his rifle. To his sidearm.
The shift of his elbow, the drag of his shaky fingers, it was slow, deliberate —automatic, too. The constant artillery dazed my brain, making it hard to process it when Joe grabbed the gun's grip and pulled it out of the holster.
A sharp click. The safety.
"Joe—" A sucked-in breath.
Move.
The last shell hit right as I threw myself over him, launching at the pistol with terror-driven hastiness.
BANG!
The blast cracked through the sudden silence, echoing, ringing. A sharp sting burned my palm—the one I used to support myself to scramble onto his lap—, now scraped by the frozen ground behind Joe's back.
The bullet had hit nothing but dirt.
For a second, neither of us moved. The only sound was our breathing, rough and uneven. I could feel Joe’s chest rising and falling beneath me, feel the way his body trembled, locked up and straining like he had been wound too tight.
His eyes were wide, clouded. Not here.
"Joe." I barely recognize the wrecked voice as mine. My pulse was a riot in my throat.
He just stared past my shoulder, then down to the sidearm. His digits were still curled around it. I teared it from him to toss it away with disgust.
I registered a shout—muffled, distant, urgent.
"WHAT WAS THAT?! Y/N?!"
Joe blinked once, twice, waking up from something. Here. Panicked. Fast footsteps crunched the snow somewhere nearby.
Lipton's boots skidded against the solidified dirt as he dropped into the foxhole. He looked at Joe, then at me.
At the way I was still half on top of him.
At the gun now partly buried beside us.
"LIP!" Buck called for our first sergeant from another foxhole. "SNIPER?!"
Lipton hesitated, assessing the situation with an empathetic glance.
"ALL GOOD, BUCK!" he responded, his attention zeroed in on the shaken Translator.
Careful hands landed on my bicep and back to ease me off Joe's lap, granting me space to recoil to the farthest corner of the foxhole. Then, he reached for him.
Lipton murmured something I wasn't able to catch; a question? His head tilted to the side, gloved fingers curling around Joe's arm. "Let's get out of here for a second."
Joe didn't fight it, nor did he say a word. He simply let Lipton pull him up and lead away with his head down.
I stayed where I was. In the dirt. In the cold. My heart threatening to burst out of my chest, my ears still ringing from the barrage.
The bullet hole was right there in the foxhole wall. What if I hadn't turned to look and—
I swallowed hard, bringing my knees to my chest.
Don't think about that.
The icy afternoon mashed into yet another frigid night at some point. Not that had noticed. I hadn't moved in hours, and neither did I move when two sets of bootsteps approached towards my foxhole.
"Y/l/n," Buck landed first with a grunt and his charismatic half smile, as if we weren't holding on by the thinnest threads. "Everything alright?"
I replied with a monotonic 'Yes, Sir' while Lipton jumped in to sit beside me.
"We just uh... Wanted to let you know," the first sergeant exchanged an indecipherable glance with the officer. "Liebgott's been pulled off the line for a bit."
Just like that. Not wounded, not dead; just gone.
"We'll ask around tomorrow," Buck added from my other side, "see who wants to share the foxhole with you 'til we get word from the replacement depot."
That barely got a reaction out of me, my mind still staggering, trying to catch up with the hours gone by since the barrage.
They allowed me a beat of silence to pretend normalcy, but I knew they weren't done.
"Earlier— this afternoon," the officer attempted to catch my gaze without fruition. "What happened?"
No.
My eyes stayed fixed on the spot of the foxhole where the bullet had burrowed into the wall. My voice came out flat. "I don't know."
Lipton adjusted slightly, his breath fogging in the cold. "Liebgott didn't say much about it," he explained gently, and immediately went on to say, "No one's in trouble. We just wanna understand."
Every muscle in my body was so numb, so tight, I might as well have turned into stone. They awaited an explanation, the only sound filling up the air being the rustle of fabric due to the constant shivering.
The shivers had become a constant.
Shivers. Shivers and cold. And snow. And fog. And exhaustion and bullets and death and blood and—
"Okay—" Lipton's hand rubbed my back reassuringly when I folded, my forehead resting against my kneecaps as I braced myself. "It's okay..." He repeated softer.
It took me a minute to realize I was sobbing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The town of Bastogne was half-swallowed by fog, a pale curtain that blurred the bombed-out edges and softened the devastation. Boots crunched over bloodied dirt, too cold to slush, and shattered glass as I followed Roe past the collapsed arch of what used to be a bakery. The cold burned straight through my bones, but I kept my arms tight around the crate full of bandages, morphine, plasma; whatever we could scrounge.
The medic, more anxious than usual, climbed up the jeep first, making space for the supplies I carried. The truth was, I had become more of a liability rather than a functioning soldier, but Regiment couldn't afford pulling more troopers off the line just because they were worn out.
A couple of hours away from it all would do me some good, Winters had determined. As if Bastogne looked any better.
"—Y/l/n."
My gaze snapped up at Roe, only to find him already staring at me.
"Sorry." I plopped the crate onto the back of the vehicle with a huff. "You said something?"
In response, the medic limited himself to tilt his chin up behind me. I spotted Joe across the street almost immediately, standing by the rubble like a ghostly apparition in the milky fog. His helmet was off, tucked under his arm while he talked to a surgeon. The words didn't carry, but his expression alone was a telltale sign that he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Go." Gene said, bringing my attention back to him. "You got a minute."
"Uhm—" I looked over my shoulder with enough luck to find Joe's eyes fixed on the jeep. "No," I replied to the medic, rotating back to face the crate before me, fast enough for a couple of strands to come loose from my bun. "no, it's fine. Let's head back."
"Too late." Gene muttered. "You got one minute." He repeated, moving to the front of the jeep just as Joe entered my peripheral vision.
I pushed a stubborn locks of hair from my face, forcing my features into something neutral as I turned to face him.
"Hey," I said first.
He stopped a couple of feet away, eyes flicking over me with a quick up-and-down. "You holding up alright?"
"Fine." A quick nod, too effusive to be sincere. "You?"
Looking to the side, he scrunched his nose a little and sniffed, playing at indifference. "Busy." Clearing his throat, his gaze dropped searching and finding something to hold onto. "That's mine." He pointed with his index finger at the sidearm strapped to my side.
My sight followed his pointer. "I know."
"You can give it back now."
"No." The answer came flat and immediate.
We stood there in our quiet. Somewhere in the village, a door slammed. Someone yelled for a medic. Tires scraped the snowed ground. The war wouldn't stop just because we needed a minute.
"I didn't wanna do it." he tried to vindicate himself, with a softer voice; maybe it was honest.
"I don't believe you."
By the way his jaw tensed, my statement landed harder than I expected, but he didn’t argue.
He stared past me before commanding, "Don't lose it."
"I won't."
"Y/n." Gene called from the passenger seat.
Without another word, I grabbed the tailgate and climbed into the jeep, next to the supplies. When I spun to say something, anything, I found Joe leaning in, forearms resting on the side of the vehicle.
His mouth opened and closed twice before he settled for, "I'll see you when I see you."
My hand reached to squeeze his forearm once before I could even think about doing so. He didn't flinch.
"Take care." I whispered, sitting back right on time for the jeep jockey to drive us out the town.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The mournful silence that followed the bombings of Christmas Eve was almost peaceful; a short-lived Holiday present that came in the form of a deep sleep for me.
Only a mere couple of hours must have had passed since my eyelids fluttered shut in the stranger comfort of my foxhole when someone dove right into it. My body was violently shaken awake even before my brain could catch up with it, numbed grip scrambling for my M1.
"Fuck—" Joe pried the rifle away from me, fast as lightning. "You wanna kill me now?"
"Are you stupid?" I hissed, smacking his arm away before letting my crown fall against the foxhole's makeshift wall, willing my heartbeat to slow down.
"I'm not the one who fell asleep on the front line." He tsked, scanning the quiet surroundings with watchful eyes. "Still no replacements?"
"Still no replacements." I echoed, tugging the blanket up to cover my chin. "The hell are you doing here?"
"Someone's gotta keep you awake." He shrugged, pulling at his scarf. "And I don't like being Winters' errand boy."
I furrowed my brows at him, struggling to understand the meaning behind it all. 'You're back?' I should've asked, but instead I just stared at him, somewhat wary.
"I'm fine." he declared, harsher than he meant to. "Stop looking at me like that."
"Jesus," I muttered, pulling my blanket tighter around my shoulders. "Okay."
We sat in the heavy silence, the kind that only comes after too much death, with the rising sun kissing our pinkish cheeks.
Confusion washed over me when Joe's hand reached for mine beneath my blanket. The faint warmth bled through the leather of the gloves and into my freezing palm when I interlaced my digits with his in an iron grip.
Neither of us said anything, but we leaned in, inch by inch until the left side of his body was flush against my right.
Christmas morning.
No carols. No lights. Just two people buried in a frozen hole in the earth, holding on for dear life in the only way we knew how.
Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.
Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader
Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers
A/N: Surprise surprise, you get two chapters in one week! Who's surprised? Not me lmao. Anyway y'all better get ready for the next two chapters. Enjoy the harmless (🧐?) drama for now tho <3
Head-to-head masterlist
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
"Grant!" He turned at the sound of my voice, eyes squinting against the lowering sun bathing the camp as he slowed his pace. "I need your help for a second."
Ramirez and McClung came to a halt as soon as they realized their friend had stopped, throwing curious glances back at us both.
Chuck adjusted the strap on his rifle and approached, maintaining a safe distance. "What is it?"
"Problem with the supply count." I kept my tone even, casual. It wasn't a good lie, but it didn't have to be.
His brows drew at my statement— clocked it. With a muttered 'I'll catch up' to the two men with him, he followed as I turned and headed behind one of the barracks. Out of sight.
I didn't waste time beating around the bush.
"George saw."
Chuck blinked as if he couldn't believe his ears. "What?"
"In the supply room. He saw us." I repeated, trying not to sound as alarmed as I felt. "Through the window or—I don't know. Doesn't matter. He told Malarkey. They pulled me aside, tried to do some kind of... fucking intervention."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Don didn't even wait for me to shut the door of the shed Luz and him had dragged me into.
"How bad?" He asked, arms akimbo.
I frowned, pushing the wooden gate behind me until I heard a soft click. "How bad what?"
Malarkey's jaw twitched. "How bad did you wanna fuck him over? Seriously."
I blinked, my stomach twisting at the weight of his tone. My gaze flickered to George. He was fidgeting with an unlit cigarette, not meeting my eyes.
My breath caught. "You—" Fuck. I straightened on the spot. "Okay. Whatever you think you know—"
"Oh, I know." Malarkey declared, staring at me like I was the biggest headache he'd ever had. "George saw."
I snapped my eyes to Luz, heat crawling up my neck.
"I wasn't tryna see anything!" He explained, a bit panicked. "I just— I went to grab some smokes, and I heard—" He cut himself off with a wince. "Look, you two weren't exactly quiet, okay?"
Shame curled in my stomach, but it was quickly burned away by something sharper. I turned back to Malarkey.
"Who else knows?"
His stare didn't waver. "Just us."
"Perco knows." George cut in, lifting his hands in surrender when we both gaped at him. "What? He was with me."
"Alright." I puffed, already taking half a step back to the door. "Just you. Then drop it."
George scoffed. "Yeah, not gonna happen."
"Why." I ground my teeth. "It's none of your business."
Malarkey's brows shot up. "None of— You think this is just about you?" He let out a humorless laugh. "He's gonna make it everyone's problem."
My arms tightened around myself. "This has nothing to do with him."
"Nothing to—" George barked out a laugh. "Couldn't you fuck that H Company fella who made a move on you last month? Did it have to be Liebgott's friend?"
I narrowed my eyes. "What, I can't pick who I fuck in case Liebgott throws a fit?"
Malarkey ran a hand down his face, frustration rolling off of him. "Are you kidding?! I'd throw a fit if I were him!"
I scoffed. "Why would you?"
Malarkey groaned with widened eyes. "He LIKES you!"
"We went through that already!" I threw my hands up, doing a half turn. "He doesn't like me!"
"So you fucked his best friend 'cause you think he doesn't like you?" George deadpanned with a sardonic smile.
"I fucked his best friend because I wanted to." I retorted, my voice sharp. "Joe isn't part of this equation."
"From where I'm standing," Malarkey pointed at his feet with his index finger. "it looks like Joe is the equation."
"Why isn't Grant getting a lecture?"
"'Cause he's not my best friend." The ginger spat, leaning forward in my direction. "Can you get your head out of your ass for a second?"
"You're being dramatic."
The two men exchanged a glance. My pulse thrummed in my ears. George let out a breath. "Lieb's gonna kill him."
I swallowed hard. "He's not gonna know."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I rubbed a hand down my face, jaw tight. My skin still felt warm from the confrontation, the sting of it clinging to the edges of my thoughts.
Chuck sighed, seemingly calm. He sounded resigned when he spoke.
"George is gonna tell the whole damn company."
"He said he wouldn't."
"And you believed him?"
I scoffed, a bit bitter, a bit anxious. The best thing I could give him was that non-answer. He crossed his arms, taking a moment to ponder how to approach this situation.
"Did anyone else see?" he said.
"Perconte."
"It's gonna spread." He tilted his head, accommodating the rifle on his shoulder.
"Yeah." I looked away into the darkening horizon of the french camp. "Good fucking luck to us."
He studied me for another second, then exhaled through his nose like the whole thing was a nuisance, not worth the trouble.
"He's gonna kill me."
"Put the blame on me, then."
Chuck huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Right. He's not gonna buy that.'
"Why not?"
He gestured vaguely between us. "What—how—how am I supposed to lay it down for him? 'Hey Joe, it was all her. Yeah, no, I tripped and fucked her by accident.' For Christ's sake."
Right.
"Don says he's gonna lose it." I muttered, quieter this time.
"Probably." Chuck responded, even. "Couldn't have this happened last week?" He added with a tinge of frustration. No explanation needed. It would have been easier to deal with the situation we found ourselves tangled into if we were still in Holland —still fighting, still patrolling, still having bigger things to worry about.
But here, in Mourmelon? with nothing better to do aside from drinking, training and bitching about Dike? A debacle waiting to happen. We stood in front of each other with nothing left to say that would fix it.
He reached up, thumb rubbing lightly over his brow. "You want me to talk to him?"
"No," I denied with my head, kicking a stray cartridge abandoned on the dirt road. "No, I'll deal with it."
"Don't." It was final enough to raise questions in me. "Joe's been..." Chuck exhaled through his nose, making a point to avoid my confused gaze. "He's wound up."
"He's always wound up." I countered.
"Not like this." Chuck's cautioning pitch made a pang of worry flourish in my stomach.
"What's that mean?"
Hesitation flashed through his face. "We should let it blow over." He chose his words carefully. "Hope it doesn't reach him."
"Alright." I agreed and took a step back, cueing him to finish the conversation. "Just keep an eye out."
"You too." He squeezed my arm and walked out of the secluded corner behind the barracks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I scanned the group and spotted Y/n near the edge, toying with her gloves. A couple of strands stuck slightly to her temple, damp from her shower. She was smiling at something Hoobler had said. Fuck, maybe I should've waited for her outside the showers.
JOE'S P. O. V.
The crowd outside the cinema tent was already starting to thicken, cigarette smoke curling in the air, boots scuffing over half-frozen dirt. Someone was laughing too loud. I caught sight of Muck waving his arms around mid-story, a grin stretched across his face. Seeing everyone so light almost felt off, and it made me wonder if I was just falling behind or if they had gotten better at pretending we were okay.
I made my way over, halfheartedly squeezing myself before I could talk myself out of it.
"Hey." I called out, low, just for her.
Her head snapped in my direction just as I reached her side, and I could feel the air in my lungs thicken. She didn't look aloof, but face wasn't exactly warm either. Maybe she was bracing for something, or maybe she was as taken aback as I was by this.
"What is it?" It was a near-whisper, and I tried to recall when was the last time we spoke to each other this close.
"Can we talk?"
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, gaze darting to the tent, then to the men filtering into it. "I'm gonna see the movie."
My jaw clenched. There goes nothing.
"We can talk afterwards." Her voice softened when she threw me that lifeline, like she had noticed the edge in her own tone.
I can work with that, I thought.
"I'll wait."
She nodded and parted her lips to tell me something that didn't come. With a tight smile that didn't reach her eyes, she excused herself and went into the tent.
My feet stayed glued on the spot, the mid-December breeze biting at the bits of my skin that remained exposed.
The noise from inside was muffled, voices blending with the flicker of old reel and static. I checked my wristwatch three times before my mind wandered off, getting lost someplace else.
I didn't know how long I stood there; enough for the cold to chew through my sleeves and into the bone. I only noticed my fingers had gone numb when I tried to dig them deeper into my jacket pockets.
"—Lieb."
I blinked the turmoil of thoughts away, Skinny's voice pulling me back to the camp. He stop a couple of feet away, holding up the tent's tarp with Talbert, Ramirez and Grant close behind.
"Huh?"
"Are you coming in?" Skinny asked, probably for the second time, jabbing a thumb towards the cinema. When I didn't reply immediately, he asked, "you alright?"
"Yeah."
Talbert, careful, jumped into the interaction. "You talked to her yet?"
Oh, Jesus Christ.
"Talk to who? Y/n?" Grant questioned, eyes ping-ponging between me and Tab.
"He was gonna tell her something." The brunette clarified, making me huff a frustrated breath. "Did you?" He asked, turning to face me.
"No, she went in." I forced my sentence not to sound too clipped. I wasn't in the mood for yet another lecture about how I couldn't snap at everything that irritated me. I didn't have the strength to lie and tell them they were wrong, either. "I'm waiting."
“Until the movie ends?” Ramirez quirked a brow and turned to the small group. "Ain't they playing Seven Sinners?"
"Yeah," Skinny confirmed, "you're gonna freeze out here waiting."
An annoyed exhale seeped out of me. My friends shared glances that spoke volumes without saying a word out loud.
"I'll go get her." Talbert announced, walking past Grant and Ramirez. Not past me. I grabbed his arm before he made it into the tent.
"She's watching the damn movie." I bit out.
"Then get in and wait inside." He countered in a more serious tone.
"Can you stop telling me what the fuck I gotta do?"
Tab's usual boyish smile vanished, giving way to exasperation. "I don't know. Can you stop being a dick for a minute?"
Skinny spared us a mildly worried look and mumbled something about heading in. No one stopped him.
"What do you wanna tell her that's so important?" Chuck inquired, his blue eyes trying to decipher something I myself didn't understand.
"None of your business."
"Jesus Christ, Joe." Chuck scoffed humorlessly. "Is this how it's gonna be until we're deployed again? You being a prick just 'cause you're lovesick?"
I narrowed my eyes. "The fuck did you just say?"
"Grant." Ramirez gave our friend a light shove on his shoulder. A warning.
I let go of Talberts arm, only for him to catch mine while I attempted to get closer to Chuck. "You think that's what's going on?"
"Why are you willing to freeze out here, then?" His voice raised, and that only made it harder to water down the burning rage brewing inside me. Not because of him, though, but it sure wasn't helping.
"Better shut the hell up, alright?" Ramirez muttered, not at me. At Grant. Again. I drew my brows at them.
Before the argument could escalate, the lightbulbs in the cinema lit up and the soldiers who had been watching the movie began exiting the tent in dribs and drabs with somber visages.
"What the hell..." Talbert muttered under his breath, releasing me from his prudent grasp.
Chuck was the quickest of the four to take a hold of someone —that someone being Y/n. "Hey," his hand trapped her wrist for a split second, making her come to a stop. "What's going on?"
"The Germans broke through the Ardennes forest." Her dulled irises travelled quick from Grant to me, indecipherable. "We're moving out."
"Wait— now?" Y/n shook her head affirmatively in response to my question, making us all groan and cuss.
"Grab what you can." She warned, and, as if she could feel I was about to call for her, she added for me only, "Not now." And with that, she was off into the sea of uniforms.
Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.
Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader
Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers
Warnings: warfare, gore, language, smoking, brief Chuck Grant x reader (is this a warning? Lmao)
A/N: I accidentally deleted this chapter and had to rebuild it with the chaotic paragraphs in my notes app, my amazingly biased memory, the help of God and the song Bitter by Palace on loop keeping me sane (everyone say thank you to @fromjupitertocentauri). That said, enjoy<3
Head-to-head masterlist
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
The barn they put us in smelled like damp straw and cigarette smoke, packed with too many bodies and not enough space. The air was condensed; the low hum of conversation, the scrape of rifle parts being cleaned, and the occasional burst of laughter from some card game near the back didn't help.
Y/n sat with crossed legs on a hay bale, half-listening to Penkala as she pulled her hair up. She was slow with it, her digits moving on instinct while her mind was elsewhere. It gave me plenty of time to watch the way her nose scrunched slightly as she twisted the strands, the way the muscles in her arms tensed when she tied it back.
Not that she would appreciate the attention. Still, something inside my chest twisted with the need to get her to talk to me.
Fuck, she hadn't talked to me in days, not a single word, and that only made the need to get her to react more unbearable. That was bad. Bad because the little self-restraint I had when it came to speaking before thinking flew out the window twice as fast.
"Bad timing to play hairdresser, don't you think?"
Loud enough to reach her—hell, loud enough to reach half the company lounging in the first floor of the barn. Yet, she barely acknowledged it.
She, however, did change her locks for her M1, which didn't make me feel any better. Her hands were steady as she wiped down her rifle, her movements methodical, and what was left of her attention was poured onto the boy animatedly talking to her.
Because I was nothing if not persistent, I tried again.
"Careful, don't break a nail, sweetheart."
That should've done the trick to get at least an eye roll, some smart-ass retort, anything. I was waiting for it, but all I got was a flicker of a glance before she went back to her rifle.
Nothing.
Alright. Once more, then.
"You always work that slow, or—"
"What the fuck do you want?"
Her voice cut clean through the hubbub, causing the men to quiet down; not due to me trying to get a rise out of her, that was white noise for everyone at this point. No, what got the attention was the coldness in her tone.
The words hung there for a second, suspended in the charged air. I put on a grin to mask how bad she had made me lose my footing with six stupid words.
"I'm just sayin'—"
"If you're just saying, then I'm not interested." She didn't even let me finish, her eyes already back on Penkala. "Take a hint."
I heard the reaction before I saw it—the muffled laughs from everyone who had been paying attention to my stunt.
"Damn, Lieb." Ramirez let out a low whistle, clapping the back of my shoulder. "You broke her."
Laughter. A couple of amused murmurs.
Y/n pretended the conversation didn't concern her and I held onto my grin, now a bit tighter, ignoring the way something hot curled in my gut. I let out a sharp exhale, pretending I thought it was funny.
Didn't feel so fucking funny.
I dragged a hand through my hair, leg bouncing on the wooden planks. Maybe Alley was right and I had fucked up beyond repair somewhere between the pushes and the crossed lines.
She seemed just fine when—
"—Lieb, you listenin'?" Popeye's nudge snapped me out of it.
"Yeah." No. I assessed the small group I sat with to try and guess what I'd missed. A deck, a couple of drinks, a few crumpled dollar bills. "I'm in."
"There we go!" Talbert exclaimed, gifting me a satisfied smile as he shuffled the cards.
Don't look. She's not fucking looking. Don't look.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
READER'S P. O. V.
I stepped through the damp grass, balancing the three tin cups of coffee I cradled with the rifle slung on my shoulder. The warmth seeping into my fingers should have been comforting.
Dukeman's body sat between Joe and Bull. A still thing in the chilly October morning.
Joe had one of Dukeman’s cigarettes between his fingers, turning it absently before tucking it between his lips. Bull was staring past the hedgerow like there was something worth looking at in the distance. Martin still yelling at the prisoners, perhaps.
"Coffee?" I announced myself, drawing their gazes.
I bent over and handed one cup to Bull, which the blonde man took with a nod of quiet gratitude. I didn't have time to stretch out my arm to Joe; he eagerly met me halfway, his fingertips grazing the back of my hand for a split second.
Not an accident, but a deliberate action. Another one of the many tentative moves he had been pulling since our first day in the Island.
'Still mad?'
As soon as Joe had a decent hold on the coffee cup, I retreated.
Yes.
I sat down across from Dukeman, my hold around the last tin cup tightening ever so slightly. I unwillingly observed the mess of his chest —blood, torn fabric, the ugly ruin left behind. A friend. What remained of him, anyway.
A nudge against my boot snapped me out of it, and I blinked away the heavy haze. Joe's eyes, honeyed by the early sunrays, skimmed over my shagged form.
"You with us?"
"Yeah." My voice, light, didn't sound like mine.
Joe pulled out another cigarette and offered it out to me. I took it with an absent 'thank you'. He bent forward as if to say something. Just as quickly, though, he turned to Bull, leaning past Dukeman's body with the smoke hanging from his lips.
"Got a light?"
I watched Joe inhale the smoke, my eyes dragging over worn his face and down to the bloodied bandage around his neck.
He's fine. He's fine. Don't ask.
"Still bleeding?"
His free hand shot up to press the soaked gauze, as if he had forgotten about it already.
"Think so." He wiped his crimson stained palm against his trousers. "Doesn't matter." He took two long drags, each one deeper than the last, and put the cigarette out in the dirt. With a groan, he got up, stretching his legs with his M1 in hand.
Bull side-eyed him. "Where you goin'?"
Joe chugged the burning coffee in one go, dropping the cup by the casualty. "Got some spare rounds." He glanced toward the open field behind him, where scattered SS soldiers were still trying to crawl away. "Figured I'd get some shooting practice in."
"You needa be put on a damn leash, boy." Bull grunted.
Joe puffed out a breath, scrunching his nose. "Real funny." He spared me a glance I couldn't quite read before walking off, rifle slung against his shoulder. I followed him with my eyes until Bull spoke.
"You're not goin' with him?"
"Why would I?"
The man fished in his breast pocket for a cigar. "He could use the company."
I let my head fall back against the damp hedgerow, staring up at the golden-lit sky. "He's a big boy."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scattered spare uniforms, canned goods, and cartons of cigarettes —among other things— covered the entirety of a small room behind Regiment's assigned building in half-organized piles. Reorganizing supplies was, by far, everyone's least favorite task.
Chuck and I were the designated martyrs of the evening. The rest of the Company was either playing cards, drinking in the barn, or already calling it a night. A handful of unlucky fellas had been put on sentry duty, but I'd have switched places with them in a heartbeat.
Chuck crouched by one of the crates, his fingers working to count out ration packs. I stood by a small wooden table, rolling bandages with quiet precision—or at least as much precision as I could after doing the same damn task for over an hour.
"You fold 'em like that and Doc'll be on your ass." Chuck warned me.
"Doc can kiss my ass." I shot back without missing a beat, my eyes flicking up to meet his.
He shook his head, glancing over his shoulder at me with an amused smirk. "I'll make sure to let him know you said that."
"No, you won't." I singsonged with confidence. That got a chuckle out of him, his eyes lingering on me a little longer than they needed to.
We both went back to work —me, to the medical supplies; him, to the rations stacks—, but silence didn't last.
"You're okay, right?"
I hummed affirmatively as a response to his inquiry. A reflex. "Why?"
He shrugged, pushing himself up to his feet. "You're different lately." He absentmindedly tore a chocolate bar's wrapper.
I quirked a questioning brow, following the dirty blonde man's steps with my gaze as he approached me. "Bad different?"
"Don't know." He split the sweet treat and handed me one half of it. "That's why I'm asking."
"Aw, you're worried." I teased, taking a bite to hide the grin forming on my face. "Cute."
"Oh, shut up." A kick to my leg put emphasis to his demand, to which I agreed with a docile 'okay'. Maybe a bit too sweetened.
Did I start it, then? Or was it him, when the next time he called my name, his voice dropped? Was it my fault for staring a second too long? Was it the dimmed yellowish light, casting soft shadows across his face?
A couple of minutes passed. Or a couple of hours. He stared when he thought I wasn't looking— but so did I.
"You're quiet." he said after a while, standing across the room. His tone casual, like he wasn't trying to pry. He pretended to busy himself.
"Just thinking." I replied, mirroring his actions, focusing exclusively on the syrettes I was counting. Don't look at him.
"About?" His tentative tone requested my attention, and I indulged him, which probably was the first mistake. Or the last.
"Nothin' worth mentioning." I shifted my weight from one feet to the other. Count the damn syrettes.
"You sure?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
"Mm-hm," I answered, turning my upper body to the table behind me to grab another bundle of medical supplies. "I'm just tired, that's all."
"Yeah," he nodded once, like he understood something I wasn't saying. "Me too."
When I glanced at him again, his blue eyes were trained on my frame, waiting for a signal I didn't quite know how to give him.
Neither of us moved, but the small space seemed to tighten around us. I entertained the idea of clearing my throat, abandoning the supplies and going out for a breather.
I didn't.
Chuck’s eyes dropped to my mouth, just for a second, so quick it might have been a trick of the light. What were we doing?
He crossed the space with the excuse of grabbing a pile of shirts behind me.
He didn't take them, though. Instead, he leaned forward, careful, like he knew he was tampering with his luck and wasn't sure if it was worth it.
I placed the medical supplies back on the table and folded my arms. He angled his body to me in response, scratching his temple. I didn't flinch when his eyes fell to my lips again.
"You're getting real desperate." I commented. A call-out. An intention, too.
"Seems to me like you're the desperate one." Chuck's counter held no animosity.
"How come?"
"Cause I don't see you stopping me." He rubbed his neck with a sigh. "I don't know, I'd think twice about it if I were you," he joked. "after what happened last time."
With a tilt of my head, I chose to pretend cluelessness. "What happened?"
"That's what we're doing?" Chuck looked to the side, ruminating a thought before voicing it. "You know he didn't talk to me for a week, right?"
"Can we not make this about him?" I murmured, searching and finding his irises with my own. "He's not here. And I sure ain't gonna tell him shit, 'cause it's none of his business."
Silence.
"Alright..." Chuck stepped in, slow, his breath mixing with mine in that too-small space between us. "Shit."
When his lips finally pressed against mine, it was slow—gentle, even—; his right hand coming up to cup my cheek, his left sparing two fingers to brush my wrists. A cue to unfold my arms. I took it.
My touch trailed up his biceps, down his chest, while we tested how our mouths fit outside the alcohol and the buoyancy.
For better or for worse, it clicked fast, and what had started cautious turned urgent. I momentarily searched the edge of the table to balance myself when Chuck's frame pressed against mine, eager. My forearms snaked over his shoulders, granting him the proximity he craved.
When his hands landed on my waist and squeezed my hips, I wondered if he really wanted me, or if it was exhaustion muddled with the need to pile something good on top of all the bad.
Did it really matter? Here? Now?
Did I care?
I tilted my head to kiss him back harder, my ears pounding with the breathing, the hasty rustle of fabric, the thud of my heartbeat.
It wasn't supposed to happen.
It was happening anyway.
His mouth moved from mine, pressing along my jaw, his heavy exhales hot against my neck. I squeezed my eyes shut, fingers tangling in his hair, curling into the strands, making his breath stutter.
"Fuck me."
It escaped me in a broken whisper, and I felt the man halting his motions completely before meeting my gaze, half lidded, inches away.
"What?" The rasp in his tone made it almost impossible for me to tell if he was thrown aback, unsure, or something worse.
He didn't move away. Bad sign. Horrible sign. But because I didn't know any better, I doubled down.
"You heard me."
His forehead pressed lightly against my shoulder as muttered something I didn't quite catch.
"Grant."
He scoffed, looking back up. "You're not serious."
Shit.
"I'm serious."
He gaped. "You really don't give a shit, do you?"
"Not really." That was a lie. Maybe. I couldn't tell anymore. "If you don't want to, we can stop here." I blurted out, trying my best to sound unbothered.
His hands left my middle to rub his face. "That's not what I'm sayin'."
"Then what are you saying?"
He didn't reply, not immediately. A beat passed, then another one, and another one, and then— a quiet, bitter laugh, frayed at the edges.
"Chuck—"
"Okay, fuck it."
Three words, rough and resigned, like he'd given up fighting. Three words and he was on me again, hands sliding up under my shirt, strong and steady, pressing me closer until I had nowhere left to go.
A green light. A bad decision. We sped into it without a second thought.
The edge of the table dug into my lower back briefly before Chuck hoisted me up to sit on top of it.
Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.
Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader
Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers
Warnings: sexism, slut-shaming (borderlining harassment here ngl), language, smoking
A/N: We're halfway through and I just wanted to mention I'm low-key taken aback by the support this series is getting. It's been so long since I sat down and wrote a long ass fic series, and I forgot how much I liked it. I'm glad y'all are as invested in this silly journey as I am, so enjoy <3
Head-to-head masterlist
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
"—can't believe he got himself a girlfriend." My hearing barely caught on George's full sentence, despite him standing by the pub's threshold I had just crossed, due to the racket inside.
"That's not a girlfriend, alright" Guarnere's back was to the door, but still I saw the direction he shamelessly pointed at. "that's a toy."
"Don't be mean."
"You came!" Luz turned around and took a step back, opening to me the closed half circle they boys had formed. "Thought you were ditching us for loverboy Andrew."
I hummed, taking off my uniform's jacket. "He had things to do."
"Mail boy dumped you? Looking like this?" George whistled, "Men these days," he smacked Toye's chest with the back of his palm. "am I right, Joe?"
"Oh, quit it." I dismissively waved at him, an amused smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "You playing darts?"
Babe, the new kid Guarnere had taken under his wing, gave me an enthusiastic nod. "Toye and I against Lieutenant Compton and Luz."
Of course. "Don't get sharked." I exhorted, giving the replacement a pat on the back. "Someone wants a drink?"
"I'm comin' with you." Toye stated.
My eyes flickered to the full beer he was holding. "No need to."
"I'm comin' with you, c'mon."
With some resistance, we managed to conquer a small corner of the bar counter, dangerously close to Joe and the Attagirl he had chatted up a week prior.
"Huh."
The woman's sharp eyes landed on my puzzled gaze. She gifted me a polite smile, which made Joe turn.
I didn't know what I was expecting, but it surely wasn't a curt nod.
"He gets laid and manners fly off the window." If he heard it, he chose to ignore it. "If he had any to begin with."
"Just order the damn drink." Toye urged me, nudging my shoulder to redirect my attention to the counter, which earned him a warning glare. "Don't go givin' me that look."
I pushed down the urge to start a pointless argument and did as I was told. The barman was quick serving the drink, but not quick enough to avoid trouble.
The free stool on my right scrapped against the wooden floor. "Your boyfriend stood you up?"
"You gotta be shittin' me." Toye rubbed his temples. "Go back to your seat."
"That's what you're opening with?" I spat at Joe, taking the drink Toye shoved into my grasp.
"You're not denying it." His tone was smug enough to almost bait me.
Almost.
"Go back to your pilot and let me enjoy the night without wanting to claw your eyes out." I hissed, bumping his shoulder when I sidestepped him.
Toye walked with me without a word until our paths parted; him joining Heffron to play darts, me squeezing myself between the pub's tables until I found a free chair by Bull's fresh-faced squad. God, did they look young.
I kept my interventions to the minimum, limiting myself to enjoy the bantery conversations. I wasn't in the mood to get any additional attention; it was odd enough for me to be there in the first place, after telling my friends I wouldn't be joining them that evening.
That's why the first time Cobb threw a bad comment to one of the new kids, I simply rolled my eyes. The second time, I just shared a tired look with Bull. By the third time, though, he was out of line.
"Let the kid be, Cobb." I quipped, taking a sip of my drink, legs crossed with my back leaning on the back of the chair. "It's a damn unit citation."
"You should take that off too, Y/l/n." His words carried a poison I had heard too many times. I mused how far he would take it before getting smacked. "Not that you did anything other than suck some officer's dick."
"Hey-" Hoobler gave the man's shoulder a discrete push, causing Cobb's head to snap at him. "Ease up, pal. Don't go there."
"Why? Did I fuckin' lie?" His attention returned to me. "How else would she be here?" My posture didn't change a bit, but there was a tension straining my shoulders and jaw while I seize the situation. "How many higher-ups did you fuck to play soldier, Y/l/n?"
"Cobb." Bull didn't say anything else, but the name was so obviously a warning.
Despite my piercing eyes not breaking eye contact with the man standing across the table, I didn't miss Guarnere's gaze ping-ponging between us rised eyebrows.
"What, you jealous?" Cobb sneered at my clap back. At his lack of response, I cleared my throat and left my glass on the table, propping myself forward on it. "You know what I think, Cobb?" My tone was uncharacteristically light, my pursed smile containing half of the words I would say to him. "I think you're just mad I got through Normandy and came out of it with a promotion, when you didn't even make the damn jump."
"I was hit before I could jump." A wave of shame washed over him like a buck of freezing water, his ears heating up at Guarnere's snickering. "You're a bitch."
"Cobb, shut up." Martin deadpanned behind me.
"Someone has to say what we're all thinking."
"Oh my-" I jumped out of my seat, palms hitting the wooden table. "If you want me to punch you, just say so."
"What's going on?" A quick glance over my shoulder let me know more people than I would have liked were now on us, Buck among them.
"Cobb's calling Y/l/n names, Lieutenant." Babe was quick to give it away, triggering a sigh of resignation on my part.
"I see you don't mind getting dicked down by replacements now," he taunted, not minding Buck's steps to stand by my side. He seemed to be about to try and deescalate the situation, and a part of me wondered if the officer really expected to be successful on it. "Should've figured. Isn't your 4F boyfriend a replacement, too?" Bull secured my arm before I could go around the table. "Where's he? Too busy? Or just too embarrassed to show up with you?"
Guarnere got up with a tired groan, accommodating his uniform— if I didn't hit Cobb, he would.
"You got a big fucking mouth, you know that?" I found myself yelling.
"Funny comin' from you." The man laughed bitterly, eyes glassy from the alcohol "Bet you hear that a lot."
The back of Compton's hand extended before me as a signal for me to stop as he attempted to approach Cobb himself.
He didn't get to him before a hand yanked the instigator's bicep with enough force to make him stumble until his back hit the wall.
"Say that again." Liebgott's daring tone screamed trouble, but he didn't seem to care. "C'mon, say that again, tough guy."
Cobb gaped and, for the first time in the night, he thought twice before speaking.
"Lieb, knock it off." Malarkey had moved through the crowded bar to reach the boiling situation.
"No, I want him to repeat what he said." Cobb tried to step out of Joe's reach, but the latter shoved him back into place.
"Joe," his eyes darted at my call like a flash for a split second.
"Yeah, I know— you got it, but I'm already here." He dismissed me, his full attention on Cobb as if he was waiting to be given an excuse to come to blows.
I nearly missed the concerned yet expectant glance Buck spared me before jumping in. "Alright, that's enough." With a firm hand on Joe's chest, he pushed the Translator back; More and Malarkey took it as a cue to get a grasp and pull him away. "Next time you better watch that mouth." The blond man warned Cobb with a pointed finger. "I might just look away and let her smack your face." The Private muttered a halfhearted 'yes, sir' before our Lieutenant slapped the back of his neck on his way out.
"Thought we were 'boutta send him to the hospital." Guarnere commented with a joking tinge in his voice while he sat back down.
"You're not gonna send anyone to the hospital, Bill." Buck sounded like a father tiredly scolding his trouble child. "Y/n?"
"Sir?"
Buck handed me my long forgotten drink with poorly hidden uneasiness. "Why don't you go outside?" His hand gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, the Lieutenant scanning the pub like he was silently looking for someone else. "Cool off, get some fresh air."
I nodded at the idea, downing what was left in the glass, squinted eyes fixed on a now mortified Cobb sitting in a corner of the bar, until I turned heel to head out. "I'll be back in a moment."
"Y/n/n, can I take your seat?" Babe tentatively questioned when I passed by him and Toye.
"Suit yourself." I tried not to sound too irked, forcing a small smile at the replacement who repaid me with one of his own.
"Hey," Toye stopped me briefly, cutting through. "You alright?" I shook my head affirmatively. The Irishman stepped closer, looking over my shoulder. "You want me to deck him?"
A genuine, quiet laugh left my lungs.
"We'll make it look like an accident." George joked, jumping into the short exchange to offer me a cigarette. "Heading out?"
"Yeah, I need a minute." I placed the smoke between my lips for Luz to light it. "I'm not about to get court-martialled for punching that piece of shit."
"Smarter than some." He mumbled under his breath, pulling a smoke for himself too. "Speaking of the devil, I think Lieb's outside." It was a friendly heads-up.
"Alright." I took a puff out of the cigarette and walked past the boys and out of the place. Aldbourne's cold air hit the bits of my skin left exposed and suddenly I was very grateful for my uniform's jacket.
I slipped it on, braced myself and took a few steps out of the entrance, my heels clicking on the street. Sure enough, there he was, leaning against the building's wall, hands shoved into his pockets while he maintained a heated yet hushed conversation with some of the boys.
Before I could decide whether it would be best to stay on my own or approach him, Don took it upon himself to call for me. With a drag of Luz's cigarette and a double check behind me, I strolled over, arms folded over my chest to preserve the heat.
"—was just drunk, Joe." I only caught part of Skinny's sentence, but the topic was obvious.
"Half of us are drunk, Skinny." More countered before Joe could. "You see anyone pulling that shit?" The man speaking, standing across from me, greeted me with a nod.
The small group made space for me, Talbert quietly checking if I was alright while the rest seemed to be trying to convince Joe this wasn't worth it.
"Y/n, side with us here." Penkala begged, introducing me into the conversation.
"Side with what?"
Liebgott tilted his head up with a humorless laugh, earning an exasperated sigh from Sisk.
"Do you think this was worth the trouble?" Malarkey asked, motioning at the pub.
"What? Cobb?" I turned my face away to exhale the smoke out of the circle of soldiers. "Fuck, no."
"Okay, don't act like you weren't gonna throw hands at him." Joe hissed, throwing a judgmental glare in my direction.
"Doesn't matter what I was gonna do 'cause you beat me to it."
Silence, filled with nothing but the tension coming from two wound-up individuals who didn't know how to talk things out.
"C'mon Mal." More was the first one to bail, giving both Malarkey and Penkala a tug to follow him back in.
"Are you gonna give me shit for this?" Joe inquired in that high-pitched tone he used when he was pissed and didn't even know at what.
Skinny was quick to follow Alton's example. "I'm out."
"Wait for me." Tab called, taking half a step back to the entrance before looking over his shoulder at us. "Don't kill each other."
And just like that, Joe and I were left alone to tread a ridiculously thin line between an argument and an honest conversation.
"I'm not giving you shit for anything." I tried my luck, making a point to sound genuine —because I was.
Joe seemed to get the memo. Truce.
"He's a fucking idiot." He commented, kicking a pebble away.
"I know." I shrugged, taking a drag and exhaling it into the night. "He's all talk, though."
He puffed. "I'm not."
"Neither am I."
Joe mused his next sentence before laying it out unceremoniously. "You wanted me to punch him, didn't you?"
The ghost of a grin twisted up the corner of my lips for a split second; long enough for him to catch on it.
"He's gonna get himself beaten up one of these days." I tossed the cigarette to the ground and heeled it. "Mark my words."
"That wasn't the question." Joe taunted me with a crooked half smile of his own.
"He's not worth the trouble, Joe." I limited myself to reply.
"Still not an answer."
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" I threw another question at him; an obvious deflection he allowed me to get away with. "You left that poor thing in there on her own."
"She knows how to handle herself."
I stole a glance at the pub's door, as if I could see the woman if I tried hard enough. "What's her name?"
"Where's your boyfriend?"
My lips twitched. "I asked first."
"Lorna." He gave in without a fight, which meant he expected me to do the same. "Where is he?"
"His pass got revoked."
"Why?"
A shrug. "Didn't ask."
"Bullshit." His tone got a chuckle out of me. "That's the second time I said it and you didn't deny it."
"He's not my boyfriend," I clarified, leaning in before adding "don't lose sleep over it."
His mouth opened like he was torn between laughing and countering something. I didn't let him do neither before waltzing back to the entrance.
Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.
Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader
Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers
A/N: I feel like this chapter got out of hand lengthwise but I'm the one making the rules, and the rules say no one cares about how long each part is. Maybe I'll update the next part before Thursday, maybe I won't, who knows? I'm chaotic and impatient so everything's possible!! Enjoy<3
Head-to-head masterlist
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
Another slow morning, another goddamn plate of powdered eggs.
Since our return to England, every day felt ridiculously monotonous. It didn't matter how many maneuvers we did, how intense drill trainings were, it just didn't feel like it was enough to keep our minds running and our hands busy.
Maybe it was just me. Maybe Normandy had made something inside me snap like a worn out rubber band. No, it had to be all of us.
All of the veterans, at least. Fuck, there were too many new kids. New kids lucky enough to have landed on Easy Company, I thought to myself, after looking up and spotting Y/n and Bull chatting with five replacements. Probably explaining something to them, by the attentive faces staring at the two veterans.
A piece of bread hit me from across the large table. I blinked at Malarkey's smug grin.
"What."
"A bit early to be ogling, don't you think?"
"A bit early to put me through this shit, don't you think?" I dryly mocked the ginger.
He limited himself to hum, amused at my annoyance, and returned his attention to the most interesting matter at hand in our rowdy table; listening to Luz and Perconte argue over who could throw a deck of cards farther.
Muck was egging them on whilst Penkala was trying to set rules—something about trajectory and wind resistance. Not like any of us gave a shit.
I was halfway through tuning them all out when Toye gave me a nudge to move further to the right. As if we could spare space.
Y/n plopped down by Toye's left, leaning forward to ask us both, "What's going on?"
"They're throwing cards." Her friend replied, his voice raspier than usual due to the morning hours. "Seein' who gets farther. Malark's running a bet, if you wanna join in."
"It's too early for this." She sighed, stabbing at her breakfast halfheartedly.
"That's what I'm saying." I agreed, pointing my fork at her.
"Wow, agreeing with me, Liebgott?" Her arm stretched out to jokingly place the back of her hand to my forehead. "Should we call for Roe?"
I swatted her away, earning a 'for fuck's sake' from the man between us. "Woke up feeling funny?"
"Very."
Mail time interrupted Perconte and Luz's little competition.
A new guy—one of the replacements, I figured—walked down the aisle between tables, calling out names. Nobody gave him much thought, barely glancing up as letters landed in front of them.
One dropped by my tray. Not for me. One dropped in front of Y/n. She didn't seem too interested either, fingers lazily tapping the envelope before flipping it over.
I went back to my eggs.
Then I heard it.
"What, you go to war and forget your manners?"
Everyone of us looked up at the guy, Y/n included. Her face shifted fast; annoyance flickering into something harder to read —maybe shock—, before breaking wide open.
"Ohmygod—"
She was on her feet in a second, launching herself at the guy, arms wrapping around him like he was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. And he —whoever the hell he was—held her just as tight.
The table went quiet.
I dropped my fork, stomach twisting into bothersome knots. I scanned my friends' faces and told myself I couldn't be the only one feeling like this.
Y/n's tone was unmistakably soft when she whispered something into his shoulder, her voice too quiet to catch any words. She wasn't letting go.
Toye looked over his shoulder. "You her brother or somethin'?"
The guy laughed, finally pulling back from her. "Old friend."
Old friend.
I scoffed under my breath, picking my fork back up. "That's what they're calling it now?" The backhanded comment was low enough to stay out of Y/n's earshot, but the men around me heard it loud and clear.
Muck shot me a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothin'," I shrugged, stabbing at my eggs again. "Just never seen her jump into anyone's arms like that before."
"Jealous, Lieb?" Luz smirked, folding over the table as far as he could to keep the comment down.
"Oh, Jesus Christ."
But my eyes were still on her. On them. The way her body had eased into his arms, like, for a second, the weight of the war we all carried wasn't real for her.
Y/n was still holding onto him— barely, just to clinge onto the touch. Her fingers, slightly unsteady, gripped his arm as if she let go, he'd disappear.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she finally asked, voice hovering somewhere between disbelief, concern and the happiness that comes from being met with a piece of home.
The guy grinned. "Delivering mail?"
She pulled back, just enough to smack his arm without having to put any actual space between them. "You're supposed to be in Norfolk, sitting this out. Are you stupid?"
The teasing edge in her voice didn't quite mask the worry underneath. Yeah, this guy wasn't just an old friend, was it?
The man's smile softened. "Finally got the greenlight."
Y/n frowned. "From who?" She was too wrapped up in the conversation to notice the blatant snooping on our part.
"Some doctor with bad judgment, apparently," he joked. "Said I'm not allowed to do much, but at least I get to be here. Figured I'd rather be in the game late than not at all."
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Christ, Andy…"
Andy.
I could feel Muck and Luz exchanging glances, Penkala turning his head to whisper something to Malarkey, even Toye was side-eying Andy. They were waiting, letting it play out until she came back to us.
I was already over it.
Y/n's hold hovered at his elbows, her body language completely open in a way we had never seen before. And Andy— he was looking at her like she hung the goddamn moon.
Not exactly how you'd look at a friend.
"Wait—did you get assigned to Easy?" She pointed her thumb at our general direction.
Oh, fuck no.
"Hell, I wish." Andy denied and added, "Some guy from basic training saw your name on the mail roster and mentioned it in passing. Switched shifts with him soon as I could."
That made me turn.
My mouth started running without sparing my mind any time to catch up with it. "What, you went around basic dropping her full name?"
Y/n's brows shot up. Luz snorted. Malarkey kicked my shin under the table, tearing a wince out of me. To everyone's surprise, Andy simply grinned. "Something like that, yeah."
"You like being the laughingstock, then."
Malarkey's boot met my shin again, harder. My retaliation was followed by a smack on my neck— Y/n's courtesy.
"Fuckin'—" I rubbed the now sore spot on the back of my head. "You're pretty damn eager to touch me this morning, aren't you? Fuck."
"You really don't know how to shut up, do you?" She spat, kicking the back of my seat.
Andy gave me a puzzled look. "Who's this?" He asked, addressing the woman standing in front of him instead of me.
"I'm—"
"A pain in the ass. He's a pain in the ass." Luz jumped in before the situation had the chance to escalate. "Ignore him."
"Yeah, he's having a bad morning." Malarkey clarified with a smile. "Right, Lieb?"
"Fuck you both."
"See what I'm talkin' 'bout?" Luz motioned at me with a flick of his wrist. "Bad morning."
Y/n's attention was back on him after that, although not for long, since someone from another table called for the mail.
"Are you free this weekend?" Andrew asked, all casual confidence.
Y/n snorted before answering with, "If they don't revoke our weekend pass, yeah."
"Good." His ridiculously blue eyes raked her form. "I'll find you."
That should've been the end of it, but as he took a step back, Andy reached out —an easy, practiced motion—, and tapped the side of her cheek with two fingers. A gesture that seemed so familiar between the two of them, it was almost nothing.
Almost.
I caught the way her lips twitched, like she was biting back a smile. Just like that, he was gone, walking off without looking back.
Y/n exhaled, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and turned back toward the table where everyone waited.
"Who was that?" Malarkey was the first to ask.
"A friend." Y/n answered simply, reaching for her coffee like it was that easy.
Penkala let out a low whistle. "Didn't look like just a friend."
"I don't care what it looks like." she stated, taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid in her mug.
Luz occupied his hands on recovering the cards that had been abandoned atop the wooden surface, not without a grin. "Childhood sweetheart?"
"God, no." She made a face. "I grew up with him. He's like— he's just Andrew."
Muck raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, Andrew sure looked happy to see you."
"You guys are worse than nuns." She messaged her temples at the snickering around her. "He's a good friend. Practically like a brother."
"Like a brother?" A scoff teared at my throat, making her meet my gaze. "You serious?"
"Dead serious." Her tone was a warning in itself for me not to keep pushing. "And he shouldn't be here, he's fucking stupid."
I pushed anyway.
"No, you're fucking stupid."
"Okay, what the hell's wrong with you?"
"Y/l/n, you can't be that fucking dense." She leaned over her tray, gaping at my statement. "That guy wants to be more than friends."
"Yeah, Liebgott? 'cause you obviously know him better than I do after seeing him for— what? Two whole minutes?"
"Looks like it."
"You know what—"
"Can you two shut the fuck up?" Toye slammed a hand on the table, making my cup clink against my plate. "It's not even six, I wanna have my damn breakfast in peace."
That shut us up. Both Y/n and I sat back like two kids who had just been scolded, reluctantly focusing on our powdered eggs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
READER'S P. O. V.
I slowed down my rushed pace when I spotted Easy Company leisuring all over the tarmac, my boots crunching against the mildly frost-bitten grass. The men were scattered in small groups, some checking their chutes, some playing cards on top of overturned crates. I wasn't late. Good.
It took about three seconds for Don to notice me. Three seconds too quick.
"Well, well, well," he called out, tossing a pair of gloves at Penkala. "Look who decided to show up!"
I rolled my eyes, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth told me I wouldn't be getting off easy.
"Y'know, Skip," Malarkey continued in a mocking tone, "I don't think I remember seeing Y/n come back to the barracks."
"Funny, I was about to comment how she wasn't at the mess hall this morning." Muck leaned forward from where he was crouched by a duffel bag. "Had a nice, looong night with Andy, Y/n?"
The way he said it sent a ripple of amusement through the men in earshot. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Nothing happened."
"Oh yeah?" Malarkey drawled, grinning as he rocked back on his heels. "So you just—what? Took a nice long walk 'til sunrise?"
"Yes, actually." I dropped my bag by my feet and kneeled down to do a quick equipment check. "Did I miss anything?"
"We're still waiting on the officers." Penkala, who had been watching the brief exchange with the lazy ease of someone who enjoyed a good show, finally spoke up. "So far, the only thing worth mentioning is whatever's going on is that right there."
I followed his vague gesture across the tarmac, toward a small group of RAF officers gathered near the planes the division would use for the morning's maneuver. Except, it wasn't the officers that caught my attention.
It was Joe.
He was angled just slightly toward a woman in uniform; an ATA pilot, by the looks of it, who leaned against a Spitfire.
The woman laughed at something he said, tilting her head just enough for her curls to bounce with the movement. Joe grinned satisfied. Smug.
"What's he doing?" I asked, my voice coming out flatter than I intended.
Muck, still crouched, shot me a knowing look. "What's it look like?"
It looked like he was flirting. It looked like he was good at it. It looked like he was enjoying every second just for the hell of it. For some reason, that rubbed me the wrong way.
"You missed the full show last night."
I had to fight with myself to pull my gaze off them. "What show?"
"While you were walking with Andy," Malarkey sat down beside me with a groan. "Joe decided he wanted to get laid. Made it everyone's problem." The ginger opened my bag wider to help me make sure I had everything. "You know how he is."
"A productive evening, if you ask me." Muck rummaged through his things and handed me a chocolate bar, which I eagerly took since I had skipped breakfast.
"Skip won three out the four bets Guarnere ran." Malarkey clarified.
"Jesus." I made a noise in the back of my throat, something too disdainful to be classified as a genuine laugh. "And that's the girl?"
"The girl's friend." Skip corrected me. "That was the one bet I lost. I was damn sure he'd go for that one." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head "Lost two packs of smokes."
"Two packs?" I scoffed, half amused at the thought of Liebgott having enough criteria for Skip to bet on it. "Why were you so sure?"
The blond man hummed, feigning nonchalance. "She looks like someone I know."
Malarkey nudged him hard enough to make him sway. "Christ, shut up." he muttered under his breath.
"Maybe." Muck shrugged. "But looks like I was right either way. Where's Guarnere? I'm getting those smokes back."
I shot another look at the woman in uniform; her coy smile and the way she tilted her head to the side when Joe almost unperceptively leaned in, as if she was past his game but was indulging him nonetheless.
"That's not as funny as you think it is." I deadpanned, my eyes glued to her.
And just like that, he was off to another point of the tarmac where Bill animatedly chatted with Johnny.
Penkala furrowed his brows at Joe's act. "He's really workin' for it."
"He's not workin' for shit," I countered before I could stop myself. "She's already eating it up."
Malarkey snorted, zipping my bag. "Sounds like you got a problem with that."
"Why would I have a problem with that?" I shot back, a little too quickly. "I don't."
Penkala stretched his arms over his head, eyes landing on me as he said. "Hey, as long as Joe's got his fun, right?"
"Right." An exhalation, sharp and short. "Good for him." I raised to my feet again, dusting off my fatigues.
"Look at it this way," Malarkey mirrored my movements. "He'll be less annoying now."
"Maybe." I forced myself to focus on checking my straps. "Or maybe he'll be even more insufferable."
My eyes drifted across the tarmac again.
Stop looking.
"Fifty-fifty chance." Penkala replied, taking Don's helping hand in order to join us.
Stop looking.
"There they are." Malarkey pointed at Winters and Nixon, approaching the planes with the rest of the officers trailing behind them.
Joe spotted them too. He leaned in to whisper something in the woman's ear.
Stop looking.
"C'mon." Don's boot nudged my bag, prompting me to grab it.
I wanted to request more of the artsy headcannons with guys like Liebgott, Nixon, and Winters, maybe (others if you'd like). I loved the other ones!!
A/N: Got requests for this a while ago, but last time a actually sat down to sketch something, it was 2022 I think? So I was a little rusty BUT here they are. To this ask I added Bill (per @msmercury84's request) and Doc Roe (by @jetjuliette's request). Enjoy these delayed headcanons part 2 <3
Warnings: none
JOSEPH LIEBGOTT
This man can't stay still. You're too focused on fixing up the sketch to notice he's no longer there.
One second he's somewhere across from you talking to Ramirez, the other he's standing right behind you, leaning in with arms akimbo.
"Would you look at that."
That nearly puts you under cardiac arrest because how did he move so fast.
Joe zeroes in on the scribbling around the drawing. You're not sure if it's because he finds it funnier or because he doesn't know what to do with the fact that you were drawing him.
"Likes to fumble with grenades. Who the fuck needs a warning?". Everyone. Literally everyone needs a warning. You just sigh.
His index finger lands on the isolated word. Liebling. "Who taught you that?"
Maybe Web. Maybe you read it somewhere. Maybe Joe said it at some point. Either way you give him a vague answer.
Of course he teases.
Of course he pries the sketchbook away from your hands to check if you wrote something like that beside any of the other boy's sketches.
Of course he gets a shit eating grin when he confirms he's the only one.
RICHARD WINTERS
One would think Dick Winters never snoop.
One would think wrong because we're talking about the same man who pulled the "I'm not a quaker". He does snoop, he's just sneakier than the rest.
Which is why he knows you're sketching him right away. He's pretending he doesn't know, though. Maybe he's waiting for you to tell him.
He is however, sneaking glances at you. Expectant? Amused? Curious? Who knows.
He's looking too much and you finally ask what's up.
"What are you drawing?". You give him a look. A 'oh, shut up' look, because he's not as subtle as he wants to be.
Still, because he's not annoying like Luz or Lieb, you do show him.
He lets out one breathy chuckle. Just one. And you bet your life he's reading 'prettiest eyes'.
He sneaks a side glance at you, a little smile. He will not tease you but he's keeping that piece of information with him.
Definitely finds the notes amusing. Doesn't have much of a reaction, but he does say "it's really good."
On God you keep that compliment to your heart.
As close as he keeps the mental image of the sketch to his.
LEWIS NIXON
"do my eyebrows look like that?"
Absolute jumpscare. Where the hell did he come from.
Kind of worried his eyebrows do look like that. He probably frowns at the scribbling because "I'm not a walking encyclopedia."
Oh but he is when he's around you, isn't he?
He double checks the sketch.
He doesn't bring up the 'smartest officer' part, but he does give you a puzzled look. "Huh."
Walks away and walks back at least twice.
Probably finds himself a bit at loss of words, which is kind of a once in a lifetime event. And it was because of a little sketch?
He's glad no one's around to see him fumbling.
He most likely ends up going with "I don't look that good."
Because you can't turn down an opportunity to fuck with him, you say "oh, you do."
"you're something else." He says, because he really can't think of anything else that won't make him look absolutely stupid.
Maybe he asks you to show him the rest of the sketches just to move on from the topic.
The topic being you thinking he looks that good.
BILL GUARNERE
A loud 'HA!' makes you jump and the sketch nearly gets ruined.
"Look at this, Babe! Picasso here drew me!"
Toye says something about how Bill's too ugly for you to actually draw him. You do not agree, actually.
"Well the dame wrote here I'm a... Charmer, alright? What sweetheart, am I charming ya?"
Smug asshole. He is a charmer, isn't he?
Makes a show out of every detail and every scribble aloud like it's the most hilarious and fascinating thing in the world.
An argument breaks out about whether or not he actually has the most creative comebacks. He does.
Cracks up at the nickname part. Like, genuinely loses his shit because, hell, he does have the funniest nickname.
For sure at some point he states he "ain't that handsome" as a joke. Although there's some truth to it.
Maybe he really doesn't think he looks like that and he wonders if you see him like that.
His chest swells at the possibility of it. He doesn't say it out loud.
He does invite you to a drink later though.
EUGENE ROE
This can go one of two ways.
Either he sees it on accident or someone else lets him know you're sketching him.
It's probably the second way, since Gene spends half the time focused on other people and the other half dissociating.
Maybe Babe insistently tells him he has to see something.
Immediately disappointed but not surprised when Babe takes the sketchbook off your hands and waves it at him.
Gene 100% looks at you to silently check if he can see what Babe's showing him. Honestly, you don't care that much because it's Eugene.
Cue quiet astonishment. I'm talking cigarette hanging from his parted lips kind of astonishment.
He doesn't know how to react, so his eyes just go from the sketch to you and back to the sketch.
Needless to say he doesn't quite believe the things you wrote.
'Angel on Earth'? Definitely not. 'Too good for this shit'? Doesn't believe it for a second. The only thing that might be true is the fact that he's the only Doc you'll trust but that just makes him anxious.
He's taken aback by the fact that someone actually thinks those things about him.
He just gives you a small smile and tells you it's really pretty. You consider it a win because he rarely cracks a smile anymore.
·★· ·★· ·★· ·★· ·★· ·★· ·★· ·★· ·★· ·★· ·★·
Tags:
Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark
Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.
Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader
Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers
Warnings: PTSD, slight gore (blink and you'll miss it), warfare, language, smoking
A/N: I'm gonna say this once. If you know the gif creator, tell me. Beware of the fact that I nearly didn't post this today bc anons annoyed me THAT much. Anyway, enjoy ig? <3
Head-to-head masterlist
Band Of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
Shoot. Get down. Live grenade. They got us zeroed. Move. Shoot. Move. Keep moving.
Keep moving. Shoot.
Smoke. Blood. Gunshots.
A shell. Move. A blast. Shoot.
Move. Gunshots.
Blood. Death. Pain.
Tipper.
Blood. Blood. Blood gushing.
Y/n.
"Jesus Christ."
There was no training for that part, was it?
We all had heard it from veterans— battle fatigue, shellshock; whatever comes after combat, when the silence is too loud and the peace too stifling. No one in their right mind would toss and turn and sweat and shake here.
After four weeks of nonstop fighting, Regiment had pulled Easy to the camp set at Utah beach. Warm food, beds, hot showers and the soft waves of the ocean lulling us into a deep sleep for a couple of nights. Then, England. A well-deserved rest.
No one was actually resting.
We all pretended we were, though. The few who didn't bother on feigning it had found different activities to busy themselves. Some read, some cleaned their M1s, some polished their boots.
No one spoke.
I turned to lie on my back, stare fixed on the canvas above our heads. A welcomed anomaly, compared to what we had grown accustomed to.
The cot was too soft. I shuffled on it, once, twice. A frustrated puff escaped me. I turned again, this time on my right shoulder, facing the tarp serving as doorway. It flapped with the wind, allowing my view to reach a figure standing by the shore.
Maybe picking out who it was would have been harder if she had been wearing, at the very least, a damn jacket.
If we had learned something from France, it was that the nights weren't warm, and the English channel's influence didn't do us any favors regarding the temperature.
I had a foot set out of the tent before I could think better of it. Toye and Guarnere, standing right outside, spared me a nod of acknowledgment.
"What's she doing?"
Toye quirked a brow. Whether it was at my question or at my tone, I didn't know. "Didn't ask her."
"She's gonna catch something."
"She's a big girl, alright." The Irishman countered.
"She's an idiot."
Guarnere pulled a face and motioned at the dark silhouette of Y/n, contrasting with the refracted moonlight. "you go tell her that, buddy. We'll wait for ya right here."
Instead of exchanging another word with the two men, I turned heel and reached Y/n's bunk in a couple of strides. My fingers curled around the fabric of her jacket, and, after throwing it over my shoulder, I crossed the distance to the beach.
At first, I didn't call her name— didn't speak at all. The last thing we all needed was to get spooked and, although I highly doubted I'd have managed to take her by surprise, I didn't want to tamper with my luck.
The late night hours, the exhaustion from the last weeks, and the way the sand seemed to swallow my footsteps weren't the best combination.
She still noticed —of course she noticed— that she was no longer alone. The slightest change of posture gave her away. By the slight widening of her eyes when she turned to check the source of movement, whoever she had expected to come get her clearly wasn't me.
"You made it through Normandy just so you could catch pneumonia?" I questioned, holding out her jacket.
"It’s not that cold." It was a dismissive whisper. 'You worry too much'. But she took the piece of clothing nonetheless, slipping it on with slow, careful motions.
"You'll thank me later." I shoved my hands into the pockets of my pants, watching her with an inquisitive look. Y/n must have noticed, because she made a point not to spare my a single look, her attention elsewhere. "What are you even doing out here?"
"Couldn't sleep."
"No shit."
"I thought I'd go for a swim."
"You're full of great ideas, aren't you?" I waited for a comeback; an annoyed response that matched my sarcastic pitch. She didn't take the bait.
Her scoff, barely there, lacked humor and strength. "Well, I'm not getting in the water, if it's any comfort."
"Changed your mind?"
She glanced at me then, skimming over my face before looking past my shoulder. "Guess you could say so."
My gaze exchanged her form for the soft waves. The water stretched out endless in front of us, dark and calmer than it had been when we'd arrived in the morning.
Maybe Y/n was right and I couldn't shut up to save my life, which was why I opened my mouth in the first place. Whatever stupid thought I was about to voice died, transforming into a sucked-in breath I poorly hid by clearing my throat when a busted helmet hit my unlaced boot.
A month had passed since the Normandy landings, yet the tide wasn't done dragging pieces of the dead— gear, guns, torn fabric.
Worse things than torn fabric.
Y/n's back was now to the Atlantic, her arm brushing my own for an instant.
"My ma used to say it's bad luck to turn your back to the ocean, you know?" It was almost an afterthought, my eyes lingering on the half buried helmet.
"I'll take my chances." She muttered uninterested, patting her jacket in search of something she didn't find. "You got a cigarette?"
My hands mimicked her previous actions, with enough luck to find a crumpled pack.
I pulled out two, placing one in her palm. "You got a lighter?"
She snorted, shaking her head as she reached into her pocket. Her fingers set the flame, the amber light illuminating her features for an instant. She held the lighter out to me, her free hand protecting it from the wind, and I leaned in until the end of my cigarette caught the soft glow.
We stood like that for a moment, quiet, Y/n facing the camp and me facing the waves.
The tide rolled in.
"Don't dwell on it, alright?" I said.
She took the cigarette to her lips, still not looking at me. "I'm not."
I didn't even let myself entertain the thought that she was lying. She sounds unbothered, I told myself, she must be.
That surely wasn't a lie of my own, was it? An excuse crafted by my selfish mind, one that would help me sleep better at night after choosing not to dig into it.
But then again, what consolation could I have offered to her, anyway? When, on a good day, we tolerated each other.
Y/n took another drag of the cigarette, then pulled it away to inspect it with a small frown. "What's this?"
I glanced down to pull the pack out of my pocket again. Her fingers clasped my wrist to twist the little box in the camp's lighting direction in order to read the name.
"Chesterfield." Her brows twitched, like that wasn't the answer she expected. "Since when do you smoke Chesterfields?"
"Got a problem with them?" She set me free just as quick as she had gotten a hold of me, allowing me to put the cigarettes back into their assigned spot. "'Cause you can always give it back."
She didn’t say a word, just put the smoke back to her lips and took another drag, slow and pointed. Stubborn.
"You like it?"
Y/n gifted me a tight-lipped smile. "Love it."
Oh, she hated it.
I didn't push it. We shifted slightly, the movement sending our biceps to bump again.
"You did good." She exhaled, watching the smoke dissolve into the air before saying, "Thought you'd get yourself killed before shooting a round."
I blinked. I wasn't sure how to take that from her— something that wasn't sarcastic or backhanded; just an observation, maybe even a compliment of some sort and, for some reason, that made it harder to respond to.
My instinct kicked in. "Yeah, well. You've been decent so far."
She rolled her eyes. A reaction easier to place.
A beat of silence passed, the distant, almost nonexistent murmur inside the tents and the steady rush of the tide filling the space between us.
Too quiet.
"What's in your head?"
Y/n inhaled through her nose, flicking the ashes onto the damp sand. "I'm starting to think I should've stayed home."
It wasn't self-pity, and clearly wasn't looking for a response. Just a thought said aloud.
Just a thought that didn't sit right with me.
"Yeah. I don't think so." It took me a second to meet her gaze. The surprise that simple sentence pulled out of her was almost funny. "What would you be doing at home, anyway?"
"Don't know." Y/n gave me a shrug and a thoughtful pout. "Marrying a good man?"
I gave her an skeptical look.
She squinted her lids. "What's that face, Liebgott?"
"Nothing." I raised my hands in surrender and clicked my tongue. "I just don't think that would've worked for you, since, you know, all the good men are overseas."
"That's not true." Her furrowed brows were a stark contrast to her amused smile. "My brothers are in the States."
Brothers. Plural. Huh. "Why?"
"Two 4Fs, one conscientious objector." The corner of her lips pulled upwards at my blank stare. "You think it's funny, don't you?"
"It is funny." The statement came through a snicker. "You're here to— what? Salvage your family's reputation?"
That earned me a lazy kick of her boot. "Yeah, 'cause me being here is gonna do a lot for their reputation."
The cigarette burned between my fingers, and the question I had been dying to ask her itched at the tip of my tongue.
If there was a time to ask, it was now.
"How the hell did you even get into the Airborne?"
Y/n turned her head slightly, just enough to give me a side glance. She was weighing her possibilities.
"You've been holding onto that one for long?"
Of course. I quirked my brow at her, prompting her to give me something real. A sly grin escaped her before she could look away again.
It was strange. For a moment, the war felt a world away. No mud, no rain, no dead bodies washing up on shore. Just a woman with sharp eyes, standing too close and not moving away. It almost felt like San Francisco again, like she was just another pretty girl at my local bar.
Wishful thinking, worth nothing.
Just when I thought I wouldn't get a reply, she settled for, "Lying, bribing, and being stubborn."
"Sounds about right." I scrunched my nose, losing my gaze to the ocean momentarily. "You sure you'd be equipped to stay at home and marry a good man?"
That got a laugh out of her. Short, but real. The stitches on her face pulled, making her wince slightly, and I caught myself looking a second too long.
I smirked, tilting my head at her and teased, "Thought you couldn't laugh.", because asking if it hurt meant I cared.
Y/n halfheartedly glared at me, her fingertips pressing the soreness away from her scarred cheek. "Thought you weren't funny."
It was meant to be a comeback, but it didn't land like that. She noticed a bit too late, with the grin spreading over my face. Too late to take it back.
"You think I’m funny?"
The thought of doing a u-turn flashed so obviously across her face, but to my surprise, she doubled down. "Sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
Y/n scoffed, her body already angled toward camp as if to shield herself from the teasing. "When you're not an absolute dick."
"Aren't you sweet." I flicked my cigarette, glancing away.
"I am being sweet." She took a long drag, the smoke curling above her when she exhaled it.
"Right."
The tide rolled in, dragged back out. I gently kicked the helmet back into the sea. She looked over her shoulder at the waves; her profile cut against the vastness of the clear night sky from were I stood.
Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.
Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader
Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers
A/N: a bit shorter than the last one but I might have some little treat ready to post in a few days. Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist through the askbox or the comments. Enjoy<3
Head-to-head masterlist
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
The squelch of my boots stepping on the mud alerted the three soldiers huddled in the hedgerow, trying with nearly no fruition to get some rest. Whether it was due to the constant drizzle or the German division waiting for dawn on the higher side of the french field, I didn't know.
"Flash!"
"Thunder." My voice was flat as I slid down by Luz's side, careful to keep my rifle away from the damp hole turned trench. "McGrath," I motioned vaguely behind me, gaze fixed on the man who sat in front of me. "you're up."
"Already?" I nodded, already making myself as comfortable as possible. McGrath mumbled a complaint and climbed out, shoving his helmet back on.
Luz, who I had most likely been shaken out of a light sleep with my irruption, gave me a wary up-and-down. "What the hell are you doing here?"
That made my brows draw. "What?"
"She probably got stitched up and busted out the aid station." Joe replied, as if I was not sitting right across from him.
"I didn't bust out." My tone, although low, denoted irritation, which was what Joe was aiming for by the satisfied smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "I just left. Doc gave me the green light."
George's eyes squinted in the dark, searching my profile. "I was half-expecting them to pull you back after that stunt in Carentan."
"Why would they?" sigh. "I can shoot, I can fight, I can run. They're not gonna pull me back for a little shrapnel on my face." I tugged off my own helmet and let it drop with a dull thud before running a hand through my wet hair, slicking it back. "This damn rain."
Joe turned his head to watch me, his tone sarcastic when he quipped, "Thought you liked the rain."
I huffed, locating my rifle strategically for it not to get soaked. "I also like sleeping in a bed, but here we are."
The soil had turned to slush, the rain making sure we felt every inch of our fatigues sticking to our bodies like a second skin. By how unbothered the two men seemed despite the droplets plastering their hair to their skulls, I figured they had given up on caring.
"Ah, fuck." Luz grimaced, staring at his wristwatch.
"What now?" Joe's annoyance was a telltale sign that George had done his fair share of complaining already.
"My watch starts in three hours." The Portuguese clicked his tongue. "Can't a guy get some sleep without a pretty girl dropping beside him?"
"Oh, God." Joe groaned, tilting his head back against the compacted dirt.
George's cheeky grin earned him a light smack on the back of his neck from me. "Go to sleep then."
"Yes, ma'am."
Joe shook his head at our friend's demeanor but refrained himself from speaking up.
George, to his credit, did as he was told and soon enough, he was out cold, his head slumped over my shoulder as his breathing evened out.
Joe and I sat in the quiet, only filled by the soft ricocheting of the water. It was almost eery —the lack of gunfire, mortars and tracers.
"Anything happen while I was on watch?" I whispered in an attempt to break through the unusual silence.
Joe exhaled. "Talbert got stabbed."
"What?"
"Smith got spooked. Talbert was wearing that Kraut poncho—" he rubbed a hand over his face. That damn poncho. "guess it looked wrong in the dark. Smith panicked and stuck him with his bayonet."
My fingers tapped on my thigh in a quick, anxious rhythm. "Is he—?"
"Doc got to him." He waved his hand as a dismissal. "He'll be alright."
I let out a slow breath. We sat with that for a second before I glanced at him again. "You hear anything about Tipper?"
Joe shrugged, jaw tight. "Nothing."
I swallowed. My throat felt dry despite the humidity. "He'll be okay." The words left my mouth without permission.
Joe nodded, his attention fixed on his restless hands. I didn't mention I hadn't seen Tipper at the aid station. Joe didn't ask, either.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
A deafening whistle, a white-hot flash, a crack of thunder that didn't come from the sky breaking through the roof. The blast swallowed the world whole.
Look away. An instinct-driven thought.
The pressure slammed into me nonetheless, flinging me back, out the door I had barely set a foot across, dragging something sharp across my skin.
I made a sound—something strangled that didn't reach anyone's ears over the constant gunfire. Not mine, not Tipper's. My hands were on my face before I even thought to move them, warm and slick.
Blood.
My blood.
My fingertips trembled against my cheek, my jaw, my throat.
Not fatal. It couldn't be. Yet the word medic teared harshly at my throat.
I barely had time to register the pain; the sensation of hot shrapnel gnawing through my profile, digging deeper into the flesh with every move of my jaw, before the ringing in my ears cleared just enough to hear it.
"TIP?!"
Joe's voice, sharp and loud. They must have seen the shell diving into the building Tipper had cleared. They must have heard me yelling for medical aid.
"Tipper!! Answer me, Tip!"
I caught a glimpse of Joe and Stroll rounding the corner, feet scraping the gravel in the streets. They both stood frozen in front of the doorway, too shocked pay any attention to me.
I saw why.
Tipper dragged himself out the dim ruin of the building, silhouetted against dust and rubble. His leg —or what was left of it— was soaked through with red, his foot unrecognizable despite him still planting it. One side of his face was a nasty mix of blood and debris, his eye —Jesus Christ, his eye—
I stopped breathing, the crimson dripping down my face momentarily forgotten.
Joe was the first to move. He dropped his rifle against better judgement and stepped forward. Slow. Careful. Bullets were still cutting through the air all around us, but at Tipper's broken mumble calling Joe's name, his voice slipped into something soft. Too soft for a battlefield.
"Lookin' real good, Tip," he murmured. "Alright, you gotta sit down, c'mon."
Tipper barely reacted, too dazed, too wrecked. Too scared. Joe caught him anyway, guiding him down like he was handling fine porcelain. He forced his hands to be steady, to be gentle, trying not to hurt the battered man further.
"Y/l/n— Jesus..." It took Scroll's panicked grip on my shoulders for me to snap out of it. "Where—" His digits, hasty, pressed on my cheek first, then my forehead; they stayed on neck, drawing a pained breath out of me. They were cold compared to the liquid soaking my face.
Soaking Tipper's uniform.
God.
"We gotta move 'em, Lieb!"
For a brief second, Joe looked at me. Just a flicker of movement darting to my face, now smeared in hot blood.
I wouldn't have known the sight he met with, but he looked away just as quickly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
More silence.
A part of me wondered if it was just the battlefield's call for sound discipline, or if our dynamic had somehow shifted irreversibly after landing in Normandy.
An exhausted puff of air. My palm rubbing the water off my eyes. Joe's knife tracing pattern into the dirt.
I glanced over my shoulder at the treeline. Just dark shapes against darker shadows; nothing moving, nothing out of place.
When I turned back, Joe was staring. His eyes dragged over my face, lingering too long at my cheek, my jaw, my neck. My skin prickled.
I didn't have the chance to call him out on it. "It's not that bad."
He got a huff as a response. My mind fished for a smart remark, but I wasn't able to find anything that matched his comment.
Joe tilted his chin up. "Does it hurt?"
"The stitches pull when I laugh."
He snorted, just barely audible over the steady drum of rain. "Then it's a good thing I ain't funny."
My lips parted, but no quips came out, just a careful half smile. Joe didn't mirror the gesture, his narrowed stare tracing the small ridges of stitches. My fingers twitched around my rifle.
"Not that bad." He muttered again, more to himself.
"Not that bad." I echoed even quieter. There wasn't much more to say on my part, yet the silence was begging to be broken.
"I thought you got your face blown off."
I blinked, thrown off by his frankness.
Say something.
"Disappointed?"
Wrong something.
"It's not fucking funny." Joe hissed, shoulders squared up. "You didn't see it. It looked..."
His face subconsciously pulled into a grimace at the mere memory of it, bringing back to my mind the way he had averted his eyes.
I didn't even try to stop myself, the words spilling bitter, pointed and accusatory. "Is that why you wouldn't look at me?"
"What?"
"'Cause you were disgusted?"
Joe's expression twitched, caught between irritation and offense. "Jesus, give me a fuckin' break, alright?"
"No, you give me a break."
"I was busy." The phrase cut its way out like it was meant to be shouted instead of hushed. "Kinda had a guy missing half his goddamn leg in front of me." He leaned forward, forearms draped on his knees. "So excuse me if I didn't have time to worry about your" His wrist flicked, vaguely gesturing at me. "little scratches."
"Don't make it sound like—"
"Like what?"
I narrowed my eyes, mentally taking a step back. We can't do this here. "Tell you what, you're so full of shit."
His mouth twitched like he wanted to argue; instead, he just turned his head away with a moue. The conversation had hit a dead end, but I didn't miss the way his fingers tapped rapidly against his knee.
Maybe that was his way of restraining the verbal retaliation which had become second nature between us at that point in time.
I shifted against the damp earth ever so slightly.
Luz mumbled something in his sleep, head heavy against my shoulder.
Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.
Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader
Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers
Warnings: language, death, gore, religious themes (blink and you'll miss it)
A/N: woah look at that. We made it to D-Day. I thought I'd leave this on hiatus before reaching this point BUT I DIDN'T. This one's a little longer but I don't care and neither do you. If you'd like to be added to the taglist let me know and enjoy<3
Head-to-head masterlist
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
READER'S P. O. V.
Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come; thy…
Thy…
"Fuck."
The cuss got lost in the deafening racket of the plane.
I clenched my jaw, blinking away the sting of sweat caused by the stress and the ridiculous amount of gear we were supposed to drop with.
I'm gonna die.
The thought settled in like it had always been there— and maybe it had been. It wasn't a question, not even fear; just a cold, undeniable fact.
My fingers dug into my straps. I tried to picture what it would feel like —why?—, if I would know, if would have time to know. If it would hurt or just… end.
The plane rocked, metal clattering around us. My stomach lurched. A frustrated swear on my far left. A properly muttered prayer in front of me, unlike mine. My knuckles had gone bloodless around the straps, my mind running too fast.
I'm gonna die.
I exhaled slow. Forced my hands to unclench.
Should've taken that second pill.
I checked my gear again. Helmet, straps, chute. Leg bag, M1, grenades. My grandma's cross. Compass, knife, my helmet again. Was the strap too loose?
I'm gonna die.
Lieutenant Compton walked the row, his booming voice barely cutting through the engines' roar. I nodded when he looked at me, mechanical, automatic.
The crammed space smelled like metal, sweat and oil. My skin was too tight, my pulse hammering slow and deep in my throat, my stomach still twisting.
The light overhead burned red.
Almost time.
The plane rocked again. Someone screamed. I would have sworn the plane gained speed.
But the light turned green.
Time to go.
JOE'S P. O. V.
The plane rattled like it was about to fall apart.
My head rested against the vibrating metal wall, eyes half-lidded as I attempted to keep my stomach from doing another somersault. That little pill they gave us—meant to stop... airsickness? Had kicked in hard.
Everything felt just a little too slow; my limbs felt like they were moving through molasses, and the weight of the equipment wasn't helping the bizarre sensation.
My thoughts, out of step with my body, were running at full speed.
Not that they were worth much right now.
Please, God. If you're listening, make it quick.
That was about as much praying as I was willing to do.
The red interior light casted ominous shadows on everyone's faces, turning them into a row of ghosts strapped in with jump gear. The grumble of the engines swallowed almost everything, but ever so often, I caught a cough, the sound of someone sucking in a shaky breath, someone shouting for smokes.
I didn't look at anyone. I didn't want to see fear on their faces. I didn't want to see the absence of it, either.
I focused on my gloved hands, resting on my lap. I flexed my fingers. Loosened, clenched, loosened. Checked my weapon for the tenth time.
It's not going anywhere. Let it be.
Winters did his best to have his last-minute instructions reach us. I barely heard him, so I just nodded along, licking my lips.
Focus.
The taste of smoke and sweat.
The bite of adrenaline that hadn't hit full force yet.
The cold touch of the hook strapped in the line.
The thought of her.
"The fuck..."
Not on purpose.
It wasn't sentimental, nothing dramatic—just a flash of Y/n's face, half-shadowed, rain dripping off her collar, a cigarette hanging from her lips, curved into an open smile.
"This damn pill."
"WHATCHA SAY?!!" Someone behind me —who was supposed to be behind me?— yelled straight into my ear.
"THIS DAMN PILL!!"
A couple if pats on my shoulder blade.
"YOU BETTER WAKE UP, LIEB!!"
I shook my head, exhaled through my nose.
Focus.
I could see flashing lights through the clouds. Lightning, maybe. Something worse, probably. France beneath us.
Jesus.
My fingers curled tighter around the edge of my reserve chute. The air inside the plane shifted, like everyone had started breathing a little shallower. Lieutenant raised a fist. Equipment check.
I swallowed, rolling my shoulders.
"Shit. C'mon."
Please, God. Make it fucking quick.
The light turned green.
READER'S P. O. V.
The ground came up too fast, the impact rattling through my spine and knocking the air from my lungs. The canopy that had barely stopped my kneecaps from busting against the french soil dragged me half a foot before I managed to fight the buckle free.
The grass was damp, the earthiness of the air mixing with the gunpowder. My palms patted my body from top to bottom, acknowledging what was left of my gear by touch alone.
A strained gasp left me when I rolled onto my stomach and sat back on my heels. Just a moment, just to check everything was in place.
The knife strapped to my calf, the loose rounds digging into my pockets, my compass, my M1.
No helmet.
"Shit!"
A ragged burn where my chinstrap had dug into my skin before the force of the blast blew it off.
I wasn't dead, though. Not yet.
That was the only thing I knew for certain.
My surroundings were pure chaos, partly because of the mayhem of sounds, partly because my sight relied solely in whatever bit of the landscape the anti-aircraft tracers lit up intermittently.
I wasn't dead. I strained my ears, listening for voices, for movement, for anything I could catch nearby despite the drone of planes overhead.
Somewhere ahead of me, something moved. I heard it before I saw it and I prayed for the cover of darkness and my lack of helmet to work in my favor. But the movement was slow. Intentional. Close. A shuffle. Closer.
I squinted my eyes and, rifle raised, I caught a figure. Low in the grass, barely visible. My first instinct was to shoot. I had been trained to shoot, we all had. Shoot first, think second.
Shoot first.
Shoot.
But recognition had bloomed in me before thought, before instinct.
"Liebgott?"
The person slithered fast in my direction, triggering an uneven stammering in my heart. A hand clamped down on my arm, bringing me forward so fast I almost faceplanted into the dirt.
"Jesus Christ, Y/l/n." Joe's voice, rough and sharp. Too close. He was crouched in front of me, knife gripped so tight his knuckles were white, sweat slicking his forehead under his netted helmet. "Flash. Thunder." I could feel his breath against my cheek, his grip still firm on my arm, holding me low. "How 'bout you don't throw out my goddamn name in enemy territory?"
"Fucking flash, asshole." I yanked free but didn't bother on putting distance between us.
"Where's your damn helmet?" There was a certain frustration in his tone, not quite at me, nor at the helmet, but at the situation. They had fucked us over.
"Somewhere over Normandy."
"That's lovely."
"You don't have a gun?"
"What's it look like, smartass?"
His tone was biting, but his eyes, widened and on edge, were scanning our swamped vicinity.
"How long have you been down here?"
"Couple minutes." His response was low and sort of absent. He was focused on something else. "Saw your chute. Thought you'd be someone from my stick."
"Missed the drop zone."
He glanced me over. "You or me?"
"Don't know yet." I took a look around and, thanks to the deathly flashes shot at the C-47s, I got a glimpse of the chaotically scattered canopies still dropping from the planes, too fast, too low, too dispersed. "Maybe everyone."
Just when Joe looked like he was about to reply something, the air split.
We both spun to face the thud of a body hitting the ground beside us, my rifle up in no time, breaths frozen in our throats. The figure writhed, tangled in his chute, gasping something between a groan and a curse.
Joe was quicker than me to recognize him. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, Petty."
Petty twisted onto his back, still winded. "Hell of a way to wake up."
I let my rifle lower, pulse hammering, but still found the nerve to turn to Joe and spit, "What happened to flash, thunder, 'don't throw out names in enemy territory'?"
Joe wiped a hand down his face. "Give me a fucking break, sweetheart."
"You call me sweetheart again, I swear to God—"
"No, I swear to God," Petty interrupted, cutting himself loose from his chute to join us. "if you two don't shut up, the Krauts won't have time to get you before I do." He shot us an exasperated glare, checking his sidearm. "My friggin' luck."
"Don't sound so thrilled there, buddy." Joe bit back.
"Let's just move." Petty loaded the pistol and quirked a brow at me, expectant. "Y/l/n?"
"I'm on it." I pulled my compass from my breast pocket and took advantage of the German artillery barraging our planes. "Alright." Think. You don't need a map. Just think. "We're moving out to those hedgerows." I pointed behind us. "Look out for railroads. They'll make this much easier."
"Who needs a map when you got Y/n Y/l/n, am I right?" Petty slapped Joe's shoulder and eagerly followed my indications.
We needed a damn map.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
JOE'S P. O. V.
The first dead soldiers we came across weren't Germans. They weren't Nazis, shot down with an M1, laid on the french grass.
They were ours.
A couple of unlucky men.
No, not men. Kids.
The first one was hanging by his risers on the higher branches, swaying like a butchered pig.
The second one was a few feet lower, limbs tangled like a broken marionette. Their chutes had failed to cut loose. Or maybe they had been shot before they had the chance. Maybe they hit the trees wrong and snapped their necks before they could even fight for air.
It didn't matter. They were dead all the same.
We knew their faces. Not their names—just faces. We had all trained together at some point, ate in the same mess halls, stood in the same formation. I was sure one of them had played poker with us back in Aldbourne.
Y/n forced herself not to avert her eyes.
Petty turned away, finding solace on the dewed grass.
I didn't.
I couldn't.
So I stared, my stomach twisting at the unnaturally shaped silhouettes hanging above us.
"We need to grab their gear." Y/n noted, not quite contemplating the bodies as much as assessing the easiest way to reach them.
I forced myself to blink. "Yeah."
"Who's climbing?" Petty's inquiry was hushed, as if he didn't want to disturb the hanging men.
Y/n moved first, brushing past me to get to the base of the twisted trunk. She tested her footing, sizing up the climb, then glanced over her shoulder.
I didn't even let her ask. I just knelt, clasping my hands together. Her mud-covered boot setting into my grip served as a prompt for me to boost her up, which I did. She caught the lowest branch and pulled herself higher.
The tree groaned softly under her weight. She climbed fast, steady, the rope of her dog tags catching the faintest rays of dawn slipping through the dark clouds with every shift of her body.
I wasn't able to discern her expression while her knife forced the risers to give with a few purposeful slices.
One body dropped.
It hit the ground heavy, wrong, all limp limbs and dead weight. Something inside me flinched like I had been yanked backward by the spine.
She climbed higher, a poorly contained gasp pushing out her throat when her grip slipped.
"Shit—" Petty hissed, both of us taking an instinctive step closer to the base of the tree as if to catch her.
She dismissed us with a vague wave of her hand and, with a stretched arm, she slashed the second soldier's tangled straps.
And another body dropped, this time closer, harder. The sound wasn't as loud as a gunshot, but it might as well have been. A dull, sick thud.
God, they didn't train us for this.
Y/n didn't dwell on it; she just started climbing down like she hadn't just sent a couple of american paratroopers crashing lifelessly to the ground.
I stepped forward, bracing her by the waist to help her down.
She immediately bristled. "I don't need fucking help—"
My fingers clenched against her uniform, too tight —tighter than I meant— and hauled her down. "I'm not in the mood, so shut the fuck up."
"Joe, c'mon." Petty halfheartedly chastised me, like he knew this moment would inevitably come and he really didn't want to be caught in the middle of it.
"No, don't start with me" I snapped, throwing him a look over my shoulder. "when she's the one bitching and moaning."
My attention immediately returned to Y/n, who had gone uncharacteristically still, her eyes trained on my form.
Not because I hadn't let go of her yet.
Because my hands were shaking.
Just a tremor against her ribs, a flex of my fingers like I was willing them to stay steady. But she noticed.
I let go of her uniform like it had burned me. Petty, who had given up quickly on trying to keep peace, was now kneeling by the fallen soldiers, rummaging through their gear. My hands were still trembling. I rubbed them together once, twice, like it might shake the feeling out.
"Okay." Y/n's tone shifted. It was subtle, almost imperceptible. Not soft. But not the usual edge either. A tilt of her head. "Okay..." A frown. "Alright."
Not worried, not exactly. Maybe careful, but not by much.
She reached out, gloved fingers brushing the fabric of my sleeve briefly before fisting it with a quiet, determined yank.
My first instinct was to jerk away, so I did; I pulled my arm free in one clean motion.
"We gotta move." Petty's voice broke the silence, attracting our glances to him. He wasn't looking at us. His eyes were scanning the trees, the low grass, the quiet farmhouse at his six.
Y/n didn't budge. "Give me a second."
Petty groaned, did a half turn and commented something I barely caught above the scattered gunfire about having to land with us out of everyone. But he indulged her nonetheless.
She yanked my sleeve again, more forceful this time. The sound of it scraping against my arm was unrealistically loud —at least to my ears.
Her pitch was calculated, nonchalant enough to almost pass as casual. "You good?"
It threw me off. If she had picked up on it, she didn't bring it up. Maybe later on, in the middle of a pointless argument, she would.
My reply was clipped and fast. "Fuck that."
"Joe."
It's wasn't the word that got me; it was the way she said it, and the faint glimpse of genuine care in her pupils, visible only when the occasional flak fire going up into the late night turned early morning illuminated her features.
Get a grip.
"I'm good. C'mon."
My voice didn't exactly sound convinced, but at the very least it sounded resolved and stubborn, and that would have to cut it.
Y/n stared at me for a beat. Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment I thought she might press again.
She didn't. Instead, she just tilted her chin up once as if to say 'fine'.
She moved past me and reached the corpses in a couple of strides, catching the helmet Petty threw her way.
Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.
Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader
Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers
Warnings: language, smoking, implied sexism, low-key allusions to murder but honestly who cares
A/N: this part is longer than I anticipated but LOOK I COULDN'T WRITE TWO PARTS OUT OF THIS, WE'RE NOT EVEN PAST D-DAY. This fic series got so out of hand ISTG. Anyway. Enjoy<3
Head-to-head masterlist
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
Plop!
"Jesus—!"
I instinctively tilted back my upper body, putting distance between me and the seat across where Sisk's tray had been violently dropped, spilling the poor excuse of scrambled eggs in his plate.
"Can you not?"
Skinny ignored my annoyed glare and leaned in to whisper, "You heard?"
"Heard what?" I grumbled, only half interested whilst cleaning the spots of my side of the table where Sisk's breakfast had spilled.
"Sergeants turned in their stripes to Sink."
That got my attention.
"What? Which Sergeants?"
"All of them."
"All of them?"
Oh God.
Five Days Earlier
"You’re telling me Sobel actually thought you were Horton?" Malarkey asked in disbelief, his right hand distractedly picking at the grass we were all spread out over.
"Swear to God," Luz said, crossing his heart. "Cut the fence without a second thought."
"Christ..." Ramirez muttered, spinning his knife between his fingers.
"You know, it'd be funnier," Alley pointed out, rubbing a hand over his face. "if our lives didn't depend on whether or not he can read a goddamn map."
"Said it before, I'll say it again." I exhaled slowly, flicking ash off my cigarette over a patch of wet dirt behind me. "Someone should just bite the bullet and take him out."
A few chuckles. A few nods. A few uneasy glances.
"Yeah, 'cause that won’t land us all in Leavenworth." Perconte muttered, rolling his eyes.
"You got a better idea?" I shot back.
Before he could answer, another voice cut in. "There are other ways to get rid of him."
I turned toward Y/n, who was sitting a few feet away, leaning back on her hands like she didn’t have a care in the world. "Oh yeah?" I narrowed my eyes. "Like what, sweetheart? Poison his rations?"
She didn't even blink at the sarcasm. "Cleanest way is getting him removed from command."
I let out a dry scoff disguised as laugh. "Right, 'cause they're gonna listen to us."
"And they're gonna listen to you when you cross your heart and hope to die about not blowing up Sobel's ass with a hand grenade?" She mocked me, earning a few laughs from our company-mates. "Give me a break."
"You really think it’s as simple as crying to Sink about how much of an incompetent asshole Sobel is?"
Y/n didn't miss a beat before throwing a retort at me. "Have you tried that yet?"
I exhaled something close to a snort, scrunching my nose whilst looking for something to focus on other than her deadpanning expression. "Alright."
"Liebgott's right." Tipper jumped into the conversation, not bothering to prop himself up from the grass to face the group. "Sink won't listen. Someone's gotta get his sorry ass, 'cause I'm one maneuver away from doing it myself."
"I think you might be a bit biased there, Tip." Muck teased my friend.
"I'm just saying," Y/n continued with that stubborn resolve in her eyes. "I think if someone makes enough noise, higher-ups will have to listen."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was about to question Sisk about what he knew when I caught with the corner of my eye Y/n's form moving around the food service counter.
"Hey, Y/l/n." She pretended not to hear me, walking past our table to look for a free seat. "Y/l/n!"
I cursed under my breath but still got up and stalked in her direction until I was close enough not to draw any nosy ears with my words.
"Didn't think you'd actually do it." I commented, falling into step with her.
"Wasn't my call."
"Then who was it?" She shook her head 'no' at my inquiry. "How did it go?"
"Fantastic. Sink wanted us lined up and shot."
"Shit." I answered. As if that wasn't expected at all. "What happened then?"
"Demoted."
"All of you?"
"Just me and Ranney. Sink booted out Harris." She slowed her walk until she came to a stop, making me do the same. "Look, why don't you go ask Talbert and let me have breakfast in peace?"
"You're real charming." I remarked unfazed. "Just thought you were behind this."
"I told you. I'm not."
"The hell did he bust you for, then?"
Her jaw locked briefly as if she was mustering all the patience she didn't have. "Take a wild guess."
"You can't blame all the bullshit that happens to you on being a broad."
"This I can. Sink made it pretty clear." Y/n used the corner of her tray to lightly nudge my arm; a cue for me to step aside, which I did. "Tell you what, you should try your luck with the grenades." She added, sidestepping me with her eyes trained ahead.
"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" I questioned, loud enough for her to catch the tease in my voice she found so annoying.
"Yes!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~
READER'S P. O. V.
"Mind the company?"
My gaze snapped up from the M1 resting on my lap, almost thoroughly cleaned, to the source of the voice.
Due to the loud pitter-patter of the rain against the eave I sat under, I had failed to notice Joe coming out of the adjacent barracks.
"I always mind if it's your company." That answer earned an unamused puff from Joe, now leaning back against the building's wall across from me.
"Can you not be a pain in the ass for five minutes?"
"Can you?" Joe didn't even have time to open his mouth. "I'll do an exception, just because they're getting out of hand."
Joe hummed, the closest thing to an 'okay, thank you' I would get. The boys inside were rowdier than usual. I couldn't blame them; we had just gotten word that the company's command had been transferred out of Sobel's hands. Everyone was happy— no, not happy. Exhilarated.
But they were pushing it now, and the indoor areas assigned to Easy had become suffocating enough for a handful of us to choose Britain's rain over the common spaces.
"Meehan, huh?" Joe was the one to break the silence between us. Before returning my attention to my rifle, I caught sight of his fingers drumming against his thighs and I wondered how long would it take for his hands to search something to toy with.
"Mmm-hmm."
"Guess you were right."
I quirked a brow at him. "What was that, Liebgott?"
"You deaf now?"
"Yes."
He averted his eyes and mumbled something I couldn't quite catch with a tinge of annoyance.
"You getting back your rank now?"
"Why would I?" Before he could counter my inquiry with something that would surely send us into a pointless argument, I added, "Whatever, I don't care." A lie. He didn't call me out on it. "As long as we have a decent CO."
"Fair."
And there went his restless hands, eagerly fishing for something in his pockets. He soon pulled out a half empty Lucky Strike pack and that godawful lighter he should have thrown away already.
I awaited, observing how he unsurprisingly tried out his luck with lighting himself a cigarette.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
"Jesus Christ," I whispered, mildly surprised by his stubborness. "just get yourself another lighter."
"It's this damn rain."
"No, it's your damn lighter."
With a halfhearted sigh, I set my rifle over the bench I was sat on and withdrew from the side of my jacket a cigarette that instantly caught my lighter's flame. As if taking a silent cue, Joe threw his own lighter back into his pocket and tucked his unlit smoke behind his ear.
"Here." I extended my arm halfway through the narrow alley formed by the two buildings that offered us shelter, covering the cigarette from the rain with my hand.
Joe replicated my motions to take what I handed him. "Does it ever stop pouring?" He gave his arm a couple of sharp shakes in a futile attempt to dry the droplets off his sleeve faster. "This damn weather."
"It's not that bad."
"Do you disagree with me as a sport?"
I exhaled a lazy laugh, gaining a barely-there lopsided smirk from Joe. "I just like the rain." He gave me a judgmental look that screamed 'really?', to which I simply shrugged.
"You're outta your mind. This fucking island is miserable."
Silence
"I've always wanted to visit England."
"Yeah?" His eyes sized me up for no particular reason as he took a drag from his half forgotten cigarette. "You like it?"
"It's alright."
Joe must have noticed the disillusionment in my tone.
"Not what you imagined?"
"Not really."
He nodded at my curt response but didn't push for more.
"You ever wanna go anywhere else? Besides England, I mean."
I considered for a moment. "Paris, maybe. I don't know."
He huffed, a mix of humor and disdain noticeable.
"The hell was that?"
"Nothing," He muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Just real original. Paris. City of love. Eiffel Tower. All that shit."
With a groan and a roll of my eyes, I pondered and discarded the idea of telling him to leave. "What about you?" I inquired instead, pulling my knee up to my chest.
"What about me?"
"You ever wanna visit anywhere? In Europe?"
He exhaled the smoke, watching it curl in the air before replying, "Germany."
I snorted. Louder than I would have liked. More genuine that Joe would have expected.
"What's funny?"
I shook my head, squinting my eyes as if that would make me the ability to decide whether or not he was joking. "Jesus, Liebgott."
"What? We're going there anyway." He leaned forward slightly, letting his front locks catch a handful of raindrops. "Might as well make a fun trip out of it. Eat Apfelstrudel in the morning, kill nazis in the afternoon." His upper body returned to rest against the wall, a breathy snicker leaving his lungs as if he was amused by his own joke.
He was. And so was I. For all the broken humor and dry sarcasm, Joe was actually funny when he wanted to be. Not that I would ever explicitly tell him, but my smile had given me away countless times— too many for me to try and conceal it anymore.
"Yeah, let's take the scenery route to Hitler's house." I kept the joking undercurrent alive, to Joe's liking. It came with ease, and despite it being rare between us, it wasn't unwelcome. "While we're at it, we could take a detour and—"
The sound of the front door around the corner swinging open accompanied George's voice, his upper body peeping at us from the other side of the barracks.
"What are you two doing out here?" He asked with a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips.
"Breathe."
"Talk."
Joe and I spoke simultaneously.
"Talk." George repeated my phrase with certain wariness. "You spend an awful lot of time together these days."
"You were the one who wanted us to be civil." I protested.
"Might be worse than I thought."
Joe kicked a pebble in George's direction. "Piss off, Luz."
"You two are a weird pair, y'know that?" George tossed the pebble back at Joe and turned heel to head back inside.
After a beat of silence, Joe absentmindedly asked, "Take a detour and what?"
"Huh?"
"You were saying something."
"Oh." I furrowed my brows, trying and failing to recall what he demanded. "I forgot. Probably a bad joke."
Joe flicked the ash off the cigarette with a crooked grin. "You got a lot of those lately."
"I pick all of them from you."
He tittered briefly, and the silence that followed wasn't all that bad.
"I'm gonna head back inside." He announced, running his fingers through the mildly wet locks framing his forehead. "See if the room is still standing and all."
"Alright." I took my rifle and returned it to my lap in order to finish the task I had interrupted. "Don't get lost."
"Real funny, sweetheart." The quip barely carried over the rain.
"Idiot." I muttered, aware that, although he wouldn't hear it, he'd know some insult directed to him had left my mouth.
Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.
Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader
Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers
Tags:
Head-to-head: @derersketnoget
Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters
A/N: this took longer than I wanted to because adulting sucks and my life is currently a roller coaster. Not even emotionally, it's just dead ass going off the rails in every way. In case 2024 is being a bitch to you too, have some Liebgott content to brighten up your day, enjoy <3
Head-to-head masterlist
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
"You happy now?" Joe's voice broke the empty mess hall's unusual silence, making me jump ever so slightly before he appeared on my side by the door.
"I gotta put up with you for the night, so no." My eyes landed on him with my last words, making emphasis on my discontentment with the punishment. "I don't get what I did wrong to deserve this."
"Do I spell it out for you?"
"Shut up."
6 Hours Earlier
"Why're you running?"
Running? No, I was not running. The only occasions anyone would see me running were the ones when we went up and down Currahee.
Walking fast? Maybe. Maybe for once I was trying not to get in trouble, even if 'trouble' meant three men choosing to make hell out of my afternoon off just because they knew they could.
"C'mon, doll."
That did it. I planted my feet on the camp's dirt, causing the fastest of the three to bump into me.
"Don't 'doll' me, asshole." I accompanied my statement with a shove on the boy's chest, not strong enough to make him stumble but firm enough to maintain my personal space.
"Feisty one, ain't ya?" The second one to chime into the confrontation circled me to stand by my left. I didn't dignify his prying with my attention.
"What do I call you then, princess?" Bennett, I recalled, was the name of the soldier who was adamant about giving me a pet name.
"Mmm..." I pretended to muse it, my index finger resting atop my lips. "What 'bout you just don't call me? Ever. Problem fuckin' solved."
"Good girls don't swear." I scoffed at the poisonous warning with anything but amusement. "What's funny, doll?"
"Oh, honey, you don't know how good of a girl I'm being right now."
"Ooooh..." He shortened the space between us, hovering as if to make me back against the barracks. Not happening. "Look at her, Smith. So tough."
"Big mouth, but be careful." They were closing on me. It didn't take a genius to see where this was about to go. "Keep running it like that and Easy might find you in a ditch one day."
"Real charmer, aren't you?" The corner of my mouth twitched up briefly, chin held up like I had nothing to lose. "Take it easy, yeah? Might surprise yourself and end up flat on your back."
"That what you think's gonna happen?"
JOE'S P. O. V.
I had been trying to find a half-assed excuse to approach Y/n for a good minute—obviously with no fruition—, when one of the men now crowding her got in her face.
"Goddamn it." I muttered through gritted teeth, tossing my cigarette to the dirt to crush it with my heel before stalking to the group's side. "Back off her! Now."
Y/n's squinted eyes landed on me before I could close the distance. "The hell are you doing?" The tone was quiet and hasty, as if she was ready to start a side fight with me.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" I countered, rising my arm between Y/n and Bennett, not turning my head to him briefly. "Don't even think about it."
"This isn't your fight." My attention returned to Y/n with an annoyed huff when she put my arm down.
"Go back where you came from, Liebgott." I didn't even process Smith stepping to me until his hand collided with my shoulder, causing me to bump against the barracks' wall. "We're just having a chat."
I didn't give give it a second thought before pushing Smith back. Hard. "Try that again."
READER'S P. O. V.
The soldier snarled, giving Joe a taunting up-and-down, and swung a fist toward him.
I was acting out of instinct when, without a word, my hand closed on Smith's collar and landed a hard punch that forced him to back off.
"Nobody touches him." My index finger pointed at Joe in an attempt to regain some control of a situation that had already spiraled.
The remaining privates hesitated for an instant —just an instant— after realizing the confrontation escalated in the middle of camp. One way or another, we all were already in trouble.
I guess that's what Bennett was thinking when he attempted to take a swing back at me.
Joe yanked me back by my arm at the same time as Malarkey and Grant sprinted to put themselves between both Bennett and us.
"Hey! Break it up- BREAK IT UP!" Don yelled, struggling to keep back the two privates, although not as much as Grant struggled to keep both me and Joe at bay. "Toye! Bill!"
In a matter of seconds, Guarnere and Toye took on Malarkey's task so the ginger could separate me from Liebgott. I guess, by now, they knew us too well.
"You try that. See where it takes you." Toye grunted, shoving Bennett to the ground with minimal effort. "Get outta here."
"The hell were you two on now?" Guarnere's question almost sounded as a complaint when he turned around.
"You ask her." Joe spat, shaking Grant off.
"Don't put this on me," I pointed an accusatory finger at Joe. "you threw hands first."
"Did you miss the part where he shoved me?"
"Next time don't play hero and maybe you won't get pushed around."
Joe looked away with a sneer. "You're a goddamn idiot, you know that? Do you even know what was about to happen?"
"Don't put it like it was my fault." I heard a muttered curse from someone on my left flank when I pivoted my body to face Joe.
"Y/n." Malarkey placed his full attention on me in a disguised attempt to deescalate the argument. "What happened?"
"I'm a girl surrounded by assholes who don't know when to quit, Malark. That happened." It wasn't meant to land on Liebgott —it really wasn't—, but he took it personally anyway.
"No, what happened is that you don't know how to shut up." It was Joe's turn to step closer, forcing Grant to halfheartedly press a steady hand on his shoulder as a warning.
"And you do?!"
"You know how fights work?!"
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't!"
"Really?! Three against one?! real fuckin' smart!"
"I didn't ask for your opinion, and I sure as hell didn't ask for your help!"
"Alright, you know what—" Joe slapped Grant's hand away.
"Hey!" A flustered Talbert swept in just in time to take a hold of his friend. "Enough!"
"No, let him." I coaxed Floyd, although my eyes stayed locked with Liebgott's. "You're no better than them, you know that?"
"The hell is wrong with you two?" Don's exasperated gaze ping-ponged between us both. "No, seriously. What's gonna happen when we're out there? We're supposed to be a team."
"Don's right." Toye, who rarely showed any interest in whatever spat Joe and I had gotten ourselves into, sounded fairly worried. "You keep this shit up, you're gonna get someone killed."
"What's going on here?" Nixon's voice, despite not holding any scowl, snapped everyone out of the chaotic haze hanging among us. It barely took him a few seconds to pick up on what was going on. "Oh, for Christ's sake... Liebgott, Y/l/n. With me. Now."
With two quiet 'yes, Sir' Joe and I parted ways from our friends to follow the irritated officer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
My eyes traced, distracted, invisible patterns on the wooden floor beneath my half-laced boots. Across from me, Joe toyed with the buttons of his jacket, fingers methodical, as if the world outside didn’t exist.
Around half an hour must have passed since we both finally were able to return to our bunks.
Neither of us had spoken much. At first, it was due to Sobel's orders —'no talking unless it's related to the mess hall's cleaning'—, but as the night unfolded, Joe and I got caught in the quiet haze of fatigue that made talking feel like too much effort.
Funnily enough, as soon as we got the chance to get the rest we needed, our bodies and minds refused to shut down.
Something about the silence felt stifling now, uncomfortable. Maybe it was the fact that we were the only two people awake, or maybe it was the scarce distance put between us.
"You got a fella back home?" Joe's voice cut through the quiet, his tone casual but clear.
Of course he would go there.
"If I had a nickel for every time one of you asked," I muttered, pulling at the knot of my laces. "I think I wouldn’t need a paycheck."
"Didn’t answer the question." he replied, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes sharp on me in that way of his that made anyone feel like they were being measured.
"No, Joe," my negative was a little sharper than I had intended. "Don’t have a fella. Don't need one."
"Huh." he leaned back again, eyes still on me like he was dissecting my words.
The conversation should’ve ended there, but we were tired, and tired people asked questions they wouldn’t normally ask. I glanced up at him, squinting slightly in the dim light.
"What about you, Liebgott? Got a girl waiting on you?"
His digits, now taking unnecessary time with the cuff of his sleeve, paused briefly. "Not anymore."
The shift in his tone caught me off guard. It wasn’t bitter, but it wasn’t light either. It had weight. Enough weight to make me sit up straighter and watch him a little more closely.
"Not anymore." I repeated, letting the words hang there for a moment before tilting my head. "What's that mean?"
He scratched at the back of his head, fingers combing through his dark hair before resting at the nape of his neck. His gaze stayed casted down on the floor like he was reading something only he could see.
"Eh... Being in love ain't enough sometimes."
"You were in love?" I didn't bother hiding the surprise in my voice.
"Shit, I was married." There was an amused ring to his admission, and even in the darkness of the garrison, I discerned the usual twitch on the corner of his mouth. "What? Surprised?"
I shrugged, kicking off my jump boots. "Wouldn't have pinned you for the married type."
"Yeah, well," he shook off his jacket and bent over to undo his laces. "what about the divorced type?"
His eyes flickered to me, so quickly it might as well have been a trick of my imagination. He wanted to catch my reaction, but didn't want me to do the same with him.
"We were too young. People pull reckless moves when they're hung up on somebody."
A frown he wouldn't catch due to his sudden interest in his boots darkened my expression for an instant. He was justifying himself. Why?
"Won't catch me doing that shit ever again, though."
"What? Falling in love?" After the way his head tilted up to me, I didn't need a verbal answer. "is it that awful?"
It was his turn to furrow his brows. "You never been in love?"
"Nah." I accompanied my curt reply with a denying move before pulling my legs onto the mattress.
"Do yourself a favor," he threw his footwear under the bed and mirrored my posture. "keep it that way."
"Holy shit." I exhaled with a single breathy laugh. "She really fucked you up, huh?" He chuckled, shaking his head without looking at me. "She left you, then."
The loudness of his silence made me wonder if I had pushed it too far. There was no hostility in him, though, only something that could easily pass as discomfort peppered with what I hardly identified as guilt.
"So what? You get burned once and never try again?"
"Damn right." He grunted, laying down and pulling the covers over his lower body. "Love’s a loaded gun. I'm done pulling that trigger."
"You're so dramatic." I murmured with a quiet chuckle, subconsciously following his cue to get some sleep.
Joe propped himself on his elbow to meet my eyes before I could fully recline. "Just wait 'til some douchebag breaks your heart."
"I don't think I'll have time for that anytime soon." I retorted without missing a beat, although there was no illness in my response.
"Smart." He stated after examining whatever glimpse of my frame he could still see. "Smarter than me."
"Don't get cocky, alright?"
"I know."
Joe gave me one last look that seemed more amused than annoyed.
"Night, Liebgott." I simply replied, tucking myself comfortably in my bunk.
Summary: she was a nurse. He was a soldier. They fell in love at first sight. It was beautiful, true love. But something isn’t beautiful because it lasts.
Playlist for the series by the lovely @spiderdahlia
Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.
Pairing: Joe Liebgott x Reader
Genre: angst splattered with fluff
Tags:
Head-to-head: @derersketnoget
Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters
A/N: am I writing a multipart for this scrappy little shit just because I had a weirdly vivid dream with him? Yes. I need him out of my head NOW🗣️. Enjoy this little prologue <3
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
When I had first signed up to serve in the Airborne, I hadn't expected things to be smooth or easy. Hell, a part of me didn't even expect me to make it through the cut, let alone find the road paved for me to waltz into the army.
At the end of the day, being a woman was hard enough. Being a female paratrooper? Do not get me started.
Easy Company's men had been a short breath of fresh air —a glint of hope—, but nevertheless, it still was difficult enough.
I didn't need additional challenges added to the mix. I genuinely did not need someone like Joe Liebgott to take interest in talking to me.
The fact that I had been avoiding interacting with certain men in the company wasn't coincidental. I didn't trust them. Not entirely.
Of course, my opinions about most of them shifted from wary to positive after they gradually approached me. Some were a nice surprise, like Joe Toye. Some were deep down expected, like Don Malarkey or Shifty Powers.
I wasn't exactly eager to have any sort of interaction with Joe Liebgott, although the feeling apparently was not mutual. At least from the beginning.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It hadn’t taken long for me to notice Joe Liebgott. He was hard to miss with his loud comments and cocky stride. In the few days of training, I had already made up my mind—he wasn't someone I wanted to interact with.
That was the reason why I felt a quick wave of irritation when, while I had a chat outside the barracks with Hoobler and Shifty, I caught him casually sauntering over like he owned the place.
This moment was doomed to come.
"Having a chat, fellas?" His grin made it clear he thought he was charming.
With a sigh louder than I intended, I raised to my feet and shook the dust off my uniform. "I think this is my cue to head out."
"Woah, where's the fire, Y/l/n?" Liebgott questioned giving me an up-and-down. "It's Y/l/n, right?"
"Right."
Silence stretched between us while we seized up each other. Maybe he had expected me to say something else. I, myself, expected the same from him.
"Can I help you with anything or...?" I gave in first.
“I figured it was time to see what all the fuss was about." he said, leaning against the barracks' wall with that confident air. "A broad? in a place like this? That's something."
I raised an eyebrow. “Really? Starting with that line?"
"C'mon, it's true. It ain't everyday you see someone who can keep up with the boys." His hands dove into his pockets, chin slightly tilted up. "You must be pretty special."
A wave of disgust washed over my face so obviously that Hoobler had to hold back a laugh. "This is exactly why I didn’t approach you in the first place.”
He blinked, surprise flickering across his face, but he quickly masked it with another grin. "Come on, I'm just tryna be friendly."
"If this is friendly, then I don't wanna see the rest."
His smile faltered, and he shifted his posture ever so slightly. "You got a big mouth, don't you?"
"Makes the two of us." By the taken aback look on his face, he clearly wasn't expecting this to go sideways. "Don't give me that look, I've seen your little act."
"You've been watching me then." He took a quick look at the boys standing nearby as if waiting for a couple of laughs on their part.
"Oh please, spare me." I waved him off, a humorless half smile tugging on the corner of my lips. "I could hear you from a mile away."
He scoffed a bit too loud. "That's rich coming from someone who can be heard from the top of that goddamn mountain." His index finger pointed behind us at Currahee. There it was; that attitude he was so quick to turn to.
"Oh but that's just perfect." I quipped with a fake smile as I resumed my way out. "Means there's no need to get close!"
I would have sworn he used the word 'bitch' behind my back. I wasn't sure, though, but I had no interest in retrace my steps to get into a stupid spat with some I didn't even want to interact with in the first place.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yeah, after our first conversation, one would think we would try to avoid each other.
I guess it just wasn't in Joe's nature to give up without a fight, and it wasn't in mine to keep quiet and suck it up.
Request: maybeee dialogue prompt 53 with Nixon x female reader?? But maybe kinda angsty also??? (anything u write is great so 🤷♀️)
Summary: after all the tragedy endured during the war, nobody would have guessed one last mishap would help the stars align for Lewis Nixon and Y/n Y/l/n.
Prompt:
53. "I remember kissing you. Why do I remember kissing you?"
Pairing: Lewis Nixon x Reader
Genre: angst/fluff
Tags:
Requested by: anon
Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters
A/N: writing for Nixon was surprisingly easy? I high-key had fun with this one. Thanks for the request love. Remember that requests are open rn so feel free to send yours in. Meanwhile, enjoy this little fic <3
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
A dull light crept through the curtains of the flat Regiment had billeted me in when Nixon finally stirred.
He shifted on my bed, a slight groan escaping his lips the moment his barely open eyes hit the few rays of sun striking the mattress. He had one hell of a hungover.
During the last year of our lives, Lewis Nixon and I had worked side by side across Europe practically at all times— which meant I wasn't exactly a stranger to his drinking problem. Since we came back from that jump over Germany though, it had escalated to a different level.
'He's been demoted' I had disclosed to Dick as soon as we linked back up with Battalion HQ.
'Demoted?' Although his friend had questioned it, no explanation was needed. He already knew. 'Okay, I'll talk to him'.
I don't think anyone could blame him. It all had become too much to handle, specially if one had lost conviction in the reasons we were still fighting this war.
I knew he had lost it. As if it wasn't obvious enough, he had blurted it out one of those nights we stayed awake for one reason or another. That exact night everyone had stayed awake, I believe.
That damned patrol back in Hagenau. We had fought Sink not to push forward that mission, but there was no use.
"This is stupid." I mumbled, arms crossed and my eyes fixed to the other side of the river.
The full moon's light reflected on the snow. In any other setting, I would have found it beautiful, but with fifteen Easy Company members being sent on a suicide, the landscape was far from that.
"Glueing yourself to the window won't help them."
I shot Nix a tired glare and pushed myself off the window in order to walk towards him. "They shouldn't be out there."
"None of us should be out here."
"What do you mean?"
"Why the hell are we here at this point, Y/n/n?"
I didn't have a response.
"Don't you wanna come back home already? To that lovely husband of yours." He teased with a bitter half laugh.
"You're funny." He didn't know about the mail. How could he know? "Don't think he'll be there when I come back."
"What?"
"He sent a letter back when we were in the Bois Jaques." I explained, snatching the glass of whiskey Nix had by the typewriter. "Said if I wasn't home by New Year, he'd file for divorce."
"You're kidding." Nix sat straight in his chair when I didn't laugh. "Who in their right mind would leave you?"
"The man I married, apparently." The officer struggled to meet my eyes. He knew by now I didn't want pity. "Guess he doesn't know why we're still out here either."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
He sat up slowly, squinting against the light, one hand coming up to clutch his head. It didn’t take long for him to notice me slouched on the bedroom's armchair. His gaze darkened, panic flashing across his features.
“What the hell…” he muttered, groaning softly. He rubbed his face and looked around, as if hoping he could piece together the memory.
I watched his eyes darting around like he was still scrambling to make sense of everything. The awkward silence stretched between us until he finally spoke.
“I… I remember kissing you.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking almost angry with himself. “Why do I remember kissing you?”
The Night Before
The knock at the door was unsteady, clumsy, like he could barely remember how to make a fist. I pulled on a sweater and padded across the cold floor, half-expecting to find someone delivering bad news. Instead, there was Nixon, eyes glazed, swaying slightly as he tried to focus on me.
“Jesus, Nix…” I murmured, instinctively stepping aside as he staggered into the room. The sharp, sour scent of whiskey clung to him, familiar but stronger than usual, almost suffocating. I shut the door behind him, hands already moving to steady him as he slumped into the nearest chair, his gaze unfocused.
“What on God's name are you doing here?”
He looked up at me, his face a blur of exhaustion, frustration, and something else—something deeper. “She’s leaving me, y'know,” he slurred. “Kat's divorcing me."
"Jesus, Lew." I poured him a glass of water and kneeled down. "Now?"
"Took… took the damn dog, too."
"She took your dog?!"
He snorted with glassy irises. "Everything. I think... I knew it would happen, but… didn’t think it’d feel like… like this.”
I swallowed, feeling the heaviness of his words settle in my chest. “I’m sorry, Nix,” I whispered, unsure of what else to say, until I remembered the words he said to me back in Hagenau. “I don't know who in their right mind would leave you.”
It was soft, just like the featherlight touch of my thumb brushing away a rogue tear before it could reach his jawline. It sounded dangerously similar to 'I wouldn't leave you'. Maybe that's what he had meant back then.
He let out a bitter laugh, his head falling back against the chair. “Yeah, well… doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” He closed his eyes, breathing out, then looked at me with a strange intensity, like he’d finally worked up the nerve to say something he’d been holding onto for too long.
Something I both craved and dreaded to hear.
“Do you know…” He trailed off, blinking as if the words kept slipping away from him. “Do you know how hard it’s been? Pretending I don’t… pretending I don’t want to kiss you every damn time I see you?”
The confession knocked the air from my lungs, and I stood there, stunned, heart pounding too loudly in the silence that followed.
“Nix…” I began, voice barely a whisper, but he just shook his head, his eyes shifting, unfocused and pained.
“I wanted to kiss you from the very first second I heard your voice.” he said, voice rough and broken. "I remember how beautiful you looked the first day we worked together, how smart you were and how I just wanted to... But Kat- I couldn't... Do that to her and your- you..." He pinched the bridge of his nose, "I tried and... for what? For this?"
My lips were sealed with panic but the glint in my gaze and the liquor in his veins spurred him.
"Tell me it's just me... Tell me..." He did his best to lean forward without lolling too much. "Everytime it almost happened... Just say..." His look dropped to my lips, too intoxicated to care how obvious he was. "The 'what if's haunt me when I stare for too long..."
I couldn't say I didn't feel exactly like that. The cautious dance we were in was long overdue —the brush of a hand, a whisper closer than necessary, that drink we shared in Mourmelon that almost made us cross the line—, but it had been a silent mutual agreement not to act on it.
Before I could process everything, before I could find the right words to stop it without pretending I didn't feel the same, he leaned forward, his hands gripping my arms for support as he pressed his lips to mine.
It was lousy, desperate, filled with something raw and aching, and I didn’t know if it was my own hesitation or his unsteady hands that made it linger just a second too long.
He staggered back, eyes half-closed, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the whole thing. His hands dropped, and he swayed, his breath slowing as the exhaustion finally took over. His head slumped onto my shoulder, and he exhaled, a quiet surrender.
“Nix?” I whispered, looking down to see his eyes shut, breaths now slow and even.
The confession hung between us, unanswered. And I sat there, his weight against me, tangled in everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The panicked question floated in the air, heavy with something I couldn’t quite name.
"Y/n." I looked down, unable to meet his eyes. "Why do I remember kissing you?"
I cleared my throat and did my best to sound somewhat nonchalant about it. “Well, maybe because you kissed me, Lew.”
"For Christ's sake..." He groaned, rubbing his face with his palms. "Just what I needed, great. This is great."
"You drank too much." I tried to excuse him. Emphasis on 'tried'.
"I always drink too much and this never—" Another frustrated groan, this time louder, escaped him.
"I've never seen you... That drunk." The statement was tainted with worry; a worry I had felt the night before and didn't have time to voice. "You looked... awful. I had to drag you to the bed." I stole a peek at him while I explained, catching a mortified expression on his part as he sat up, legs hanging from the side of the bed as he was now facing me. "I get it. I really do. It's hard enough out here. Hey—" I kneeled down to meet his casted down face, much like the night before, but with very different circumstances. "You saw me in Noville. I wasn't... I wasn't myself. And it wasn't even-"
I pondered how to put my thoughts into words without making it worse. The best way to explain he wasn't all that bad without making a fool of myself.
"I didn't... Love him, y'know? Charles, I mean." At the name of my soon to be ex-husband, Nix seemed to regain the will to meet my eyes, which now recoiled from his. "Not anymore, at least. But it felt... The letter felt like a gut punch— I felt like... my life slipped through my fingers. And when stuff like that happens, we do stupid things. Because we feel lost."
"Is that what I said?"
"Huh?"
"That I felt lost."
I shook my head no, the realization that he didn't quite remember his drunken speech dawning on me.
"What exactly did I tell you?"
"You... Don't remember what you said?"
"No- I... What did I say?"
Suddenly eager to put distance between us, I bolted to my feet and walked out of the room. "I don't know- things anyone would say when they're drunk as a skunk."
"Like- like what things?" He questioned, his steps trailing behind me in the kitchen's direction.
"Nix, you were drunk and going through shit." Deep down, I didn't think I would be able to reason my way out of that one, but I had to try. "Don't put much thought into it." I insisted, reaching for the percolator to brew a very much needed coffee.
"What did I say? Y/n-" just as I was about to turn on the stove, he interlaced his calloused fingers around my wrist and gently tugged on it to stand face-to-face. "Just tell me how much I screwed it."
"You didn't screw anything."
"Then why can't you look at me?"
"Maybe because we've been trying not to end up here for a literal year and now this happened?"
Lew scrutinized me with fear in his dark eyes. I had seen that expression too many times, he was drawing his conclusions based on what he knew.
"Did I tell you I'm in love with you?"
Silence. Charged silence. One look was enough for him to realize he did not say that. His hand let go of me to cover his mouth while he took a step back.
Once more, I was at loss of words, which was something Nix had rarely accomplished in the time we had known each other.
"I... I don't know what I was thinking— Jesus Christ—" he exhaled the last part, an apology plastered all over him. "I'm just gonna... I shouldn't have come in the first place."
He was about to turn heel and leave. We both had done that before, more times than we could count. The difference was, there was no need for me to let him slip away; not anymore.
In a spurt of bravery, I grasped at his forearm and tugged him back, daring to stare straight into his soul while I spoke.
"You said Kat was divorcing you. Said you didn't think you'd feel like this." I began, voice clear as day. "You said you were done pretending you didn't wanna kiss me everytime you see me." He dropped his gaze, a flicker of regret in his eyes, jaw clenched tight. "You said the 'what if's haunt you if you stare for too long. You asked me if it was just you who felt like that."
"... Am I?" He recalculated the situation, shame dissipating to let me discern something similar to hope.
"Y'know what's the first thing I thought after reading Charles' letter?" He barely had time to deny with his head before I continued. "I thought 'fuck him, the man I love sleeps in my goddamn foxhole'." His breath hitched at the word but he didn't shy away from me; on the contrary, he watched my every move while my grip eased from his arm and traveled to the back of his neck. "Now tell me, are you fucking sober yet?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good 'cause I'm done pretending too."
My statement was hasty and quick. The previous night had left me too eager to return the kiss I had so desperately wanted to give him.
Months of stealing longing glances at each other fueled our need to make sure there was no space between us anymore. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling my upper body flush against his while the kiss deepened in a way we could only have fantasized about— had it not been for those damn letters.
Who would have thought our silver lining of war would be our failed marriages?
Request: omg you are my favourite writer, and I read your bob stuff weekly again and again ! If you feel like it, I was thinking prompt 7? With George Luz ? I’m a sucker for angst so like anything angsty with my boo George Luz.
Summary: Bastogne took a serious toll on Easy Company. At the loss of so many friends, George Luz started to tamper with his luck a bit too much for a certain medic's liking.
Prompt/s:
"We have a problem." "No— you have a problem. I have an idiot who keeps getting in trouble."
Pairing: George Luz x medic!Reader
Genre: angst
Tags:
Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters
Warnings: mentions of death, survivor's guilt, self-destructive behavior, depressed George Luz (YES THIS IS A WARNING I'M GENUINELY SORRY)
A/N: you asked for angst? I'll give you angst. Also, it's been SOOO long idek if I'm gonna write the BoB boys right/as I used to, so bear with me while I try to get the hang of this again. Enjoy this request and remember they're open so feel free to send ideas <3.
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
In war, much like in any aspect of life, there would always be recklessness.
Little did it matter whether it was on the XO's, the Privates' or the civilians'. There would always be recklessness causing avoc amongst the carefully detailed strategies. It wasn't an excuse for whatever the outcome was, but it was expected and one could somewhat prepare to counteract it— to balance it out.
George Luz's behavior during our last days in the Bois Jaques was not recklessness.
No, it wasn't something as simple, so easily justified by inexperience, pride or short-temper. It was darker, more complicated, and way much worrying than recklessness.
'you think he's tryna kill himself?'
Spina's question, the one he had whispered to me in our foxhole a few nights prior, echoed in the back of my mind every day since then.
'Don't say that.' I had responded at the time.
Now George Luz laid before me, unconscious, with bandages under his winter uniform and I asked myself the same damn question.
Twenty Hours Earlier
"INCOMING!"
Lip's shouts were barely audible, muffled under the thunderous shelling of our position.
We had just managed to advance further into the Bois Jaques and towards the town of Foy, which seemed more and more unreachable each passing day, when that dreadful whistling hovered over us.
Foxholes barely dug and low morale after the loses we had endured the past couple of days, made it harder than usual to react on time.
Thankfully, German artillery hadn't zeroed us yet, so most of us managed to take cover.
If most of us managed, why was George still standing out in the open?
"LUZ! GET DOWN!" Someone yelled, but it didn't reach him.
"GEORGE!! DOWN!!" Lipton's throat sounded sore, but it did the trick and soon the Technician was crouching, yards away from me, helmet secured with one hand and his rifle up on the other.
Lucky Luz, an ominous, abrupt silence followed his delayed reaction as the shelling seemed to come to a halt.
"Woah," as if everything was fine, he snapped back into his carefree demeanor with a breathy laugh. "That was a close one, huh, Y/n?"
My immediate, impulse-driven reaction was to yell at him, although not even I could hear it.
Another deafening whistle.
Another explosion.
Maybe Luz was lucky himself, or maybe, just maybe, he was lucky we were willing to risk our lives for him.
Maybe he was just lucky I jumped out of my foxhole to pull him into it.
Maybe he was just lucky I wrapped him in a tight embrace to shield him from possible shrapnel the best I could.
Maybe, just maybe, he was lucky enough for me to feel his yelp despite not hearing him due to the explosions— lucky enough to have been dragged on his back instead of his tummy.
Lucky enough to be in a medic's foxhole.
The shelling stopped, this time for good. I halfheartedly let go of Luz, my gloves now crimson-stained.
My heart skipped a beat.
" 'M hit—"
"Christ— I got it." My covered palms instinctively found the left side of his ribcage, but failed to reach his wounded upper thigh.
"—fuck-" he hissed, jolting his head up in pain and consequently bumping it on my shoulder.
"LIP!" Before I could yell anything else, our Sergeant slid into the foxhole.
"WE NEED A JEEP OVER HERE! PERCONTE!" He shouted, pulling George towards him so I could move aside and properly fix him up. "It's alright, George, you're okay— right Y/n?"
Luz was not okay. We knew it.
But I couldn't exactly say that, specially just after he had been hit.
"Right, Y/n?" Lipton insisted intently, holding George in place while I ripped his jacket to have an easier access to the main wound. "Y/n?"
"Yeah- yeah, right." I mumbled, dusting the sulfa powder where he had been hit. "Sarge, I need that jeep."
Lipton sighed and looked over his shoulder. "Perco?!"
"They're comin', Lip!"
George was awfully quiet as he tried not to recoil due to the pressure put over his open wounds.
"It's alright." Lipton repeated, more to himself than to Luz.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
GEORGE'S P. O. V.
"You're awake." She stated even before I could open my eyelids to see her standing by me, arms crossed and a frown on her face.
"How'd you know?" I question, squinting and blinking a few times before propping myself up in the poor excuse of a bed in which I had been laid to recover.
" 'Cause I know you."
"Where are we?"
"You got hit."
"I know."
"Then why on earth did you ask—"
"Dunno, I was hoping we'd be in heaven." I winked at her before completing my sentence. "Since you're my own personal angel."
Silence.
"You think it's funny?" I opened my mouth in agape, not knowing which was the right answer to that —because there was always a right answer with her— but I had no time to choose. "You think it's funny that I had to put myself in harm's way to drag your ass to safety?"
I furrowed my brows with a puzzled half smile and a sort of anger I couldn't describe brewing inside me. "You're kiddin' right?" A single breathy laugh escaped my throat. "C'mon Y/n/n, I thought you knew what you were signing up for when you volunteered to be a medic."
"Excuse me?"
"I mean if you don't know you have to 'put yourself in harm's way'," I mimicked her voice, which left her stunned. "Then, we have a problem."
"No. You have a problem." oh, she was mad. "I have an idiot who keeps getting in trouble." The medic was quite obviously trying not to yell at me.
"Okay, if you say so." I shrugged, trying not to let the turmoil of emotions the conversation was triggering inside me show through my careless facade.
"What are you trying to do here, George?"
"Nothin'?"
"Why are you trying to get under my skin?"
"It's just what I do best, sweetheart."
And it was true. For two years, I had been an awfully insufferable piece of shit.
How could I not? When that was the only way to get her attention back in Toccoa; the only way to stand up in the eyes of the prettiest woman I had ever seen amongst an entire Battalion of men.
Not that it took me anywhere per se, but at least we had forged a friendship based on sweet bickering, muffled laughs and knowing glances.
She used to laugh all the time.
Maybe I was no longer funny. Had I lost the one thing I was useful for?
Or maybe she was tired of me.
She did seem tired then, staring at me with a saddened, wornout visage.
"You're not okay." She nearly whispered. "I'm done letting you pretend you are."
"I'm not pretending—"
"You think I don't know what means being medic?" Her tone told me I had crossed the line. "You think I don't know I gotta get out there if someone cries for help, no matter how scared am I or how slim my chances of survival are?" Y/n tried to stay gentle, but she had had enough, which somehow scared me. "But no one screamed 'medic', George. You weren't down. But I still got out there to get you. It was not my job, do you understand?"
Shut up shut up shut up.
"Well if you're gonna complain this much then you should've left me there—"
"To die?"
Despite the crazing chaos that surrounded our little corner in the aid station, I somehow heard nothing but a deafening silence and the pounding of my heart.
"Do you wanna die, George?" I went livid, trying to look for a reply that wouldn't make me crack. "Is that what you're trying to do? Kill yourself?"
"Are you nuts?"
"Answer my question."
"I-" Scoff. "what d'you even—"
"Luz."
"I'm tired! I'm just tired and didn't react on time, okay? Is that what you wanna hear?"
"What I wanna hear is a good reason not to get you pulled off the line!" She shouted, stomping on the cold ground beneath us.
Oh, now people were staring.
She used to become so self-conscious about that; people giving her looks for raising her tone.
As she stood straight by my side, towering over my bed, there was not a single ounce of self-consciousness in her frame.
She was mad. Mad and hurt.
Hurt because I wasn't being honest with her. Hurt because she had been sticking up for me for an entire week because I just wasn't there; because I was, like she had just said, I was an idiot getting in trouble.
"So? Go on, then." The medic spurred me, gradually lowering her voice again. "Give me a good reason."
"You can't get the XO'S to pull me off the line, Y/n." I chose to respond, almost daring the girl.
She was holding back. I didn't quite know from what exactly but I knew she was holding back, and a part of me wanted Y/n to lash out.
I'm sure a part of her wanted, too.
Tension could be cut with a knife, and deep down I wanted to give her an answer but the truth was I couldn't find it, and if I was damn good at something, it was dodging the bullet.
"Listen if you don't have anythin' else to say," I shrugged with my brows raised. "Guess it's better for you to head out."
"Y'know what? I still have something to say." She spat through gritted teeth, yanking a stool that stood alone by a blooded stretcher. With a deep breath, she sat down beside me, which was the last thing I expected her to do. "You're a fuckin' moron. You've always been. But you've never been an asshole." She spoke intently, trying to get her point across despite me not being in the best place to listen. "You're not an asshole, George."
No matter how angry or frustrated she was, there was always an inherent sweetness in her tone whenever she talked to me, one that shook me to the core because how could someone be so lovely in such horrific setting? How could she be so lovely to me?
"And you're not gonna convince me otherwise." She firmly stated, staring straight into my soul to make herself clear.
'I see through your bullshit'.
"So quit it."
She remained expectant, waiting for me to say something —anything.
I couldn't.
She knew it.
With a defeated sigh, she reached out for my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before getting up and out of the tent. It was her way to apologize because she had to leave. I knew that gesture too well.
Aldbourne, Early September
Laughter and soft music kept the good spirits high inside the crowded pub in Aldbourne; our small safe haven. The only place where I had seen Y/n loosen up completely.
She lit up the place, dancing with Penkala, telling stories with Guarnere, cracking jokes with Martin —her dry humor matched his perfectly.
It was, I think, while she held onto my arm, throwing her head back in a fit of laughter due to something Babe had said, that I knew I loved her.
Even with her head on my shoulder and my arm lazily wrapped around her waist, she remembered to check her watch. Ever the dutiful one.
"Jesus! Would you look at that?" She pulled away from me, her fingers gently clasping my forearm before giving me an apologetic smile. "Gotta head out already, boys."
"Oh, c'mon Y/n" Buck complained, but she repeated the gesture with him and he knew no amount of convincing would get her to stay.
"But we're just getting started!" Babe complained.
"Sorry, Heffron. I really gotta head out." She squeezed his bicep briefly when she walked past him. "You better not be late, Compton!" She yelled as a form of goodbye before waving at the boys filling the English bar, now a bit less merry. At least for me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
READER'S P. O. V.
"M'kay what else do we need?" I asked Gene, my trusted pencil in hand to write down the supplies needed on the back of a photograph.
"What d'you have so far?"
"Uhm... Morphine," I listed, raising a finger. "bandages, three pairs of scissors,"
"Sulfa powder." He added, going through the boxes we had left.
"Sulfa... powder..." I muttered with knitted eyebrows while I noted the words. "Anything else?"
"Let me check—" The medic stood up in his foxhole, his attention caught on a particular voice coming from our left. "Ain't that—"
"Yes it is. Fuck." I handed Eugene the photograph and climbed out the dug out patch on the frozen ground. A part of us expected to be wrong, but of course not. What had initially been tentative steps turned into fast stalking. "Are you kidding me?"
George's laugh died down and a wave of 'shit's came out of the group of veterans surrounding him, who quickly spread out.
"Missed me much?" The attempted playfulness was charged with masked fear. He let out a yelp when I grasped his forearm and dragged him away from curious ears. "What's that for?"
"Don't you dare act stupid." I hissed with a menacing index finger up at his face.
"Okay, Y/n, listen—"
"You went AWOL in this state. I'm not listening to any bullshit."
"Oh, c'mon" the dismissive eye roll only made me fume even more. "We've all done that."
"It's not the same."
"How."
"You're. Not. Okay. George."
"Oh and you are?!" I sushed him when he inevitably rose his tone at me, clearly forgetting we didn't know exactly how close we were to the Germans. "Breaking news, Y/n/n!" The belligerent tone in which my nickname had come out sounded so unnatural. "no one's okay!"
"Winters is expecting my final advice."
"On what?"
"On whether to pull you back or not." His mouth opened in agape, betrayal reflected all over him. "I wasn't bluffing when I said I'd get you out." There was a finality in my words, one that neither of us liked.
Since the current situation seemed to be leading to the one which had place in the aid station a couple of days prior, I turned heel and attempted to leave.
"Y/n wait—" George's digits yanked back the sleeve of my coat. "I don't want out!" His throat suffered from the rasping.
"Then why does it look like you do?"
I should have stopped pushing.
"YOU DIDN'T SEE IT!" He exchanged the whisper-shouts for a loud cry filled with anger and frustration and something that made his chocolate brown irises water.
"SHHHH!"
"DON'T SHUSH ME!" He was losing it. It wasn't the yelling that gave it away, but the push on my shoulder.
I shouldn't have, but I myself didn't have much patience left in me. Against better judgement, My gloves found the lapels of his coat and shoved him back against a nearby tree. "I don't wanna get shot, George, so tone it down." The softness in my pitch came out as a hard contrast to my actions.
It did the trick, though. After a gulp and a deep breath, George's tone lowered. "You didn't see it? Okay? No one saw— I- They- " My hands abandoned him in order to offer some space, hoping that would help him articulate his thoughts better. "There was noth- nothing left!"
"What's-" I tilted my head to the side, trying to make sense out of the unfinished sentences. "What d'you mean w—"
"And I was right there!" He pushed himself off the tree, an index pointing at his chest violently. "I had to see it! Right in front of me!"
"George, you need to slow down-" my palms raised in surrender, ready to grab the technician if necessary.
The tension he was building up made both of our hearts pound faster each passing second for more than one reason.
"First Toye and... And then that happened and I-I had to dig out the fuckin'- the goddamn cross! I was- There were... Parts of 'em—"
Oh.
"It was... I was looking for it all over and... it was all mushy and I don't know if it was... Dirt or... Jesus..." The man took a step back, consciously or not and his legs seemed to falter ever so slightly.
"Okay, I got you." clasping his forearms with all my might, I helped him hold himself upright, not without some staggering. "I need you to breathe, okay?" My eyes searched for his, unwilling to meet mines. So that was what had been happening.
"I don't want out." He stated with a shake of his head, making a single strand of hair wobble over his forehead. "I don't get to leave."
Sigh.
"Muck and Penkala," he flinched at the mention of their names. "They'd want you to leave."
"You don't know that." It was a murmur, much less intended to be said out loud than the question that followed it. "Do you want me to leave?"
No.
"I just don't want you dead."
"That wasn't the question."
I don't want you to leave me here. Alone.
"For god's sake George—"
"Why do you want me away so badly?" There was a sort of plea in the question, one that was breaking my heart. "Did you get tired of me?"
I love you.
"That's not—"
"If you're done with my bullshit I can just ask to switch platoons."
I love you.
"George I'm telling you—" I groaned, letting go of him. "it's not about that."
"Well whatever it is, I can just switch to second,"
"George."
I love you.
"they're short on people anyway."
I love you.
"I don't need you to switch platoons."
"Then what the hell do you need?"
I love you.
"I need you to be careful!" Now it was me who needed to be sushed. "You're gonna get yourself killed. And you're gonna get me killed!"
That hit a nerve.
With regained strength, George shortened the distance I had just put between us in order to try and breathe, a task that seemed to become more difficult each passing second.
"Then stop sticking out for me!"
I love you.
"It's not that simple!"
"Why not?"
"I love you! You idiot." Lucky me, Luz was way too perplexed to tease me about the red tinge bringing life to my cheeks. "I can't just... look away if you're doing something stupid."
Maybe I would have preferred the teasing over his unresponsive behavior. Yeah, I would have rather had a cheeky grin lighting up his face, instead of the lividness washing him out.
"I don't need you moved to another platoon," I attempted to redirect the conversation to a less pathetic outcome, and George didn't seem to oppose. "I just need you to be careful and take care of yourself." Still no response; my heart sunk deeper if that was even possible. "I've lost too many friends already. Can't lose another one."
"How long?"
"What'd you mean?"
"How long have you known?"
"I don't know." I folded my arms and recoiled from the man in front of me, actively avoiding to meet his gaze. "I think... Maybe Normandy. When we regrouped."
Normandy, D-Day plus 3
"Look who decided to show up, Floyd!" Luz and Liebgott went straight to the Sergeant walking a few steps ahead of me and Shifty, ready to compare their trophies and souvenirs.
It wasn't until Talbert folded his newly acquired poncho that the boys became aware of us.
"Well, would you look at that." Lieb smacked George's shoulder with the back of his hand before nodding in my direction.
"Sorry fellas," Floyd feigned an apology. "But I figured I just couldn't show up without our medic. Right, Luz?"
If there was a situation in which George would not match the banter thrown at him, that was the one. Instead, he stood still with widened eyes.
"What? Cat's got your tongue?" I questioned, approaching the group with the sniper trailing after me.
"Oh, she bites now." Lieb snickered. "That's fun."
Still no response from Luz, apart from the shocked expression. I was about to taunt him again when he shoved Tab aside and engulfed me in a hug, one that took me a hot second to reciprocate.
"Where the hell have you been?" He limited himself to ask, breath fanning on the crook of my neck.
"Missed the DZ by four miles." My explanation sounded restrained due to the tight embrace. "Took a while to walk 'em."
"Thought you didn't make it." He murmured, this time only for me to hear. "If you scare me like that again I'll kill ya."
Peeking over his shoulder, I caught the knowing eyes of our comrades. Either Luz was unaware or didn't care enough. I myself had other things to focus on, such as the butterflies in my tummy or the scary feeling swelling up my heart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Why didn't you tell me?" His question hid something I couldn't quite decipher, although the gleam in his eyes could be worked out as a clue.
I shrugged, trying to play off the conversation I had been avoiding for months due to fear. "Why would I?"
He shrugged too, and, after opening his mouth a couple of times without getting a word out, I assume he was at a loss for words.
"I feel like we went off the topic here." I stated, once more trying to redirect the conversation, and once more failing to do so.
"Did you mean it?"
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I inhaled deeply. George Luz really had a gift for driving me mad. "Can we move on from that? 'Cause at this point we're dragging the conversation and I'm-"
"You should've told me earlier."
I finally met his eyes with an exasperated look.
"Would that change anything?"
"I could've done something about it."
"Like what?"
He hesitated for a moment, darting a quick glance at my lips I nearly didn't catch before closing the space between us, his hands cupping my cheeks with a featherlight touch.
Just like in Normandy, it took me a moment to react; only that this time I wasn't fast enough and George slipped away from my grasp and took a step back.
"Where d'you think you're going?" I snapped, once again clutching his coat, this time for a very different purpose than minutes ago.
As my mouth found his again, deepening the kiss with my fingers entangled in his unusually long locks and the sides of my coat bunched up in his fists, I wondered if I had really found out I loved him in Normandy.
All from sudden, the feeling that I had known it from the very first corny pick-up line he had thrown at me back in Toccoa washed over me.
Either by the long awaited kiss or by the overwhelming emotions, it was my turn to pull away in order to catch my breath.
"Could've saved me a lot of teasing, y'know?" He mumbled, letting his forehead rest on mine for an instant. "Having everyone and their mother poking fun at me was pretty embarrassing."
"You really are an idiot."
That tore a quiet laugh out of him. A genuine one. It seemed to be so long since that had happened.
"I love you too, by the way."
"Oh, I think I got the memo."
Another laugh. His stupid grin. His cheeky demeanor. All of it made him lit up a little bit. My thumb caressed his face, and it occurred to me that maybe what George Luz really needed was to feel loved.
Lucky him, I wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon.
Summary: Their imminent death brings surprising clarity to both Jyn and Cassian about how they feel about each other. While one of them surrenders to the realization, the other decides to act on it.
Warnings: major character death, wounds and injuries, mild language, blasters, canon compliant (I feel like that should be a warning tbh)
A/N: Recently read the Rogue One novelisation in hopes of finding a little kiss in the elevator scene. I was so disappointed that I wrote it myself. Enjoy?
Rogue-barnes-16 masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 navigation
Jyn Erso wasn't stupid. She knew they wouldn't make it.
A part of her was made aware of that the moment K2 had shut the vault's gate. Said part kept growing the higher she climbed.
By the time she, through welled up, defiant eyes, saw Cassian Andor holding up a smoky blaster even though he could barely hold himself up on his feet, she knew.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
IM GOING TO HUNT U DOWN FOR THIS YOURE SO WRONG SO SO WRONG FOR COMIBG BACK AFTER A CENTURY OF BEING M.I.A AND HITTING US WITH THIS FIC WITHOUT A PROPER WARNING
