#joe liebgott x ofc

[skiesofrosie]

all is fair, but matters of the heart

joe liebgott x ofc (amy calloway)

summary: joe doesn't quite know why he's even fighting the war anymore, until she starts to give him reason.

word count: 6.7k+ words

a/n: this is a long one, so i don't know if anyone would want to read it, but if you do, then do enjoy. all characters based only from the show. oh, and ps. these photos do not belong to me. :)

1942

Joe Liebgott is a reckless man disguised in a fight for honor.

perhaps, it's the notion that he has nothing to lose. if fate decides he should take a bullet through the heart, than his mother had six others still beating.

it’s not that he believes his life to be disposable, it just seems he was meant for more than to sit behind a wheel and drive a yellow cab. though, the smiles that would linger on his customers’ faces when they shut the door as they leave, always drew a smirk of satisfaction to his lips. Joe was an expert at bringing laughter to the table.

but there was something untamed in the depth of Liebgott’s soul, and he figured the war would be the key to unchain it from its cage. it was the mask he was looking for, a place where he could ravage against an enemy because the lines of good and bad were nowhere to be found.

many will say that Amy Calloway is soft-spoken, elegant, and revoltingly kind — everything that the war is not. there were no more men in Easy Company to question her placement. nobody would say it, but the thought would linger in the back of all of their minds: that a woman, a small and reserved one at that, is assigned to be their medic and last more than ten minutes on the battlefield.

but she will not let them prod at her flames with gasoline on their fingers.

everyone thought it, but only Joe would say it.

“and the woman has barely said anything since she got here,” he rants over lunch, mouth full of spaghetti that's spitting out to Webster, who flinches in distaste. it didn’t help, Web thinks, that Joe has the tendency to speak like there's a microphone in his lungs. “if she goes, that’s another loss for E company, and another medic down. fuckin’ hell–”

there’s a reason she keeps her composure intact. the Calloways spanned generations through the military. her own father had fought as a pilot in the first war, and her mother was a nurse, drafted at the same base where he was stationed. she told Amy the stories of quieter days, where daylight would be a welcome deception to the true face of volatile combat. of course, it is days like those her parents would sneak away, and in the doings of a weekend pass, they married and conceived Amy right in the middle of war.

but she also told her of the days when there wasn’t an inch one could go where blood did not stain the sterile floors, the white curtains and every leaf in a potted plant. it is in this chaos, she would say, that it is most important to remain patient with mankind.

“as a medic, you’d be gambling with their lives otherwise,” she remarked. “become too riled up to do your job right.”

of course, this excludes the fact if they are shooting at you.

that day in the cafeteria however, Amy is not yet weighed down by the tribulations of saving lives. they are not in the crossroads, so she can afford a little gamble.

Amy is seated just two tables down from Liebgott, letting the comfort of a silence in her fellow medic, Eugene Roe, speak louder than his obnoxious tongue. it's one thing to insult her capabilities as a medic, but it's another to base judgment on whether she would survive to her being a woman. she did not train for nine months to be berated by a man with an ego. when the words left his mouth, implications that she was a liability to the airborne infantry, the budding flame began to release its fumes in her blue eyes.

“Roe,” she calls, Eugene’s attention snapping to her. “i’m gonna get a second round.” he nods and pronounces he could use another plate too. oh, if only he had known he would get caught in a—albeit tame—crossfire.

and Liebgott dares to lock eyes with Amy, winking as her figure approaches his table. “ah, and here she is, Easy’s very own princess.”

“i appreciate the honor, really,” she replies, nonchalant. Liebgott scoffs, and he is about to blurt another unremarkable comment when she snatches the mic from his chest, “perhaps, i don’t say much, especially to you, because i don’t waste my breath on people who aren’t worth it.”

“the fuck did you just say to me,” he spat, nearly kicking his seat back. before he can even stand, Floyd grabs him by the shoulder and shoves him back down. the room is deafeningly silent, save for the clang of pots and pans in the distance. “jesus, Lieb,” Talbert says, exasperated, “you gonna square up with the woman?”

“looks like you’re ready to take it.” it is quite amusing what the choice of rebuttal could do to a man. his shoulders are tense, and his lips are pulled into a sneer. a smirk betrays her attempts at schooling how smug she felt. she pays no mind to the way his eyes fall to her lips while he licks his own clean. “you got anything else you wanna fucking say?”

“that you have to trust me,” she states, and his fingers that were about to lift a cigarette to his mouth pauses mid-air. “i wouldn’t be here, chosen for Easy if they weren’t damn sure i could keep your legs and your arms attached to your body.”

Joe is surprised to find no snark in her tone. it was no testimony to prove her case, just a statement of her belief. and despite himself, he is impressed at which she holds it with pride, cementing her position in black, permanent ink.

when Amy turns around, she closes her eyes for a split second longer than usual, and breathes out a sigh of relief. funnily enough, she was never one for confrontation. she laughs at the sight of Eugene, who is trailing close behind her, but darting his eyes to every corner of the room in pure discomfort.

it was misplaced to Joe, the scent of lilies and jasmines she left in her wake (but, of course, he barely noticed). he huffs in annoyance, but as the clock ticks by, the rowdy chatter starts to intrude into his head like noise pollution. he wonders if somebody had punched a hole in the roof, because an irrepressible feeling of guilt began to pour in and drown his cocky charade. and he knows Webster has caught on. his bunkmate took one look at Joe, shoving the spaghetti around silently in his plate, and began chortling to himself. 

a whistle blowing stabs at his eardrums, and he groans when Sobel walks in. “Easy Company is running up Currahee!”

1944

there is a shift in Joe Liebgott, and not in the way he would expect.

he joined the infantry as a complete rascal, aimless with his gun so as long as it points to the enemy. whether in bar fights or with machine guns, and especially in the aftermath of D-Day, Joe is a walking grenade. 

but there are a few instances, in the throes of his rage, when fiery strikes would perish into complete duds. and in each occasion, she was there.

ever since that day in Camp Toccoa, he had attempted to keep his distance. keyword: attempted, and failed. it is quite a feat to achieve, especially when he feels her presence like the sun, even as she shies away into the corner of a room. and joe may be a reckless man, but he’s hardly stupid. he knows there is something in the way she brings him serenity. in a place where the soil comes infused with blood, agony and finality, she was the lone flower that found the strength to bloom within it all. and in her roots are humility and grit — all things that holds the stem of her beauty. 

truth be told, it is not like him to restrain from matters of the heart. people believe Joe to be a man who doesn’t think, only does. that he does not feel, simply acts. but the reality is quite the opposite. he drives himself into carelessness, oftentimes crashing into a dead end, because he feels too much. his rationality is uncaring when the question of fairness is at hand. and Joe—watching his friends, watching her, on the verge of death—feels that this entire war is the definition of unfair.

he keeps his distance from Amy Calloway, because if there is one thing he is careful of, it's to not make her fall for someone like him. and he knows she feels it too.

if not love, they both walk a tightrope—one end tells them both to just let it go, and the other begs them to take a chance. 

they balanced a step forward when he felt the soft skin on her hands slip over his fist, back when they were on their way to England. in his defense, everyone was on edge on that ship, awaiting the hellfire; even more so than now, when sacrifice was something they just had to expect. and his outburst, because of course Joe had to throw a punch somewhere, was egged on by Guarnere running his mouth.

“Joe,” she whispered. “Joe,” she muttered, even quieter, but her lips felt closer to his ears. her presence overwhelmed him with the way she stood so close to his right, grabbing onto his biceps to force him down. despite the scowl on Bill’s face, and the three, maybe four other soldiers straining to keep him still, it was when he felt her fingers clasp over his own that he tampered the fire in his breath. “don’t let him get to you, he’s just being a fucking idiot.”

it was most difficult to not meet her eyes, what with the way he felt her breath on his neck.

they took another tip toe forward, when he spotted her clear as day, shrouded in a darkness thick with trees that strayed into an abyss, from about 100 meters away in Normandy. he’d like to say it was because of her glassy blue eyes, or her porcelain skin, but really, it's because he’d recognize that short stack figure of hers anywhere.

“flash!” Joe whisper-yelled, throwing his hands up when she whips her head around and points her rifle, laser sharp, at him. “Joe?”

Amy lowered her gun, her chest visibly rising and falling in a rush of panic. Joe managed to crack a light, teasing grin then, in hopes it would put her at ease, “i should report you for breaking the regime, Private Calloway.”

and it did, for a few seconds. taking a few steps in crunching leaves, she was about to retort—until gunfire cut her straight off.

hastily, they dropped to the ground, dragging their bodies against the soil with their elbows and fists, and found themselves hidden behind a tree. as they were clinging as close to each other as possible, the sides of their arms and legs trying to fight for cover behind the trunk, a single thought crossed Joe’s mind: this is the first time he has ever shown fear. and of course, he thinks, as the bullets stop flying, it’s in front of her.

in the name of fury, he was about to channel his fear into an air massacre with his gun. that is, until he heard the shaky exhale of her breath, stark in the eery quiet. and in knowing she was there, alive, by his side, he could already feel his rage slow down by a fraction.

“hey,” he stammered, leaving her side to crouch at her front, “are you hit anywhere?” he asked, because of course she’s not okay. she nodded a no, and closed her eyes to regain composure. before he could deliberate his actions, he reached a hand to cup her cheek, eyes scanning her face intently. “we have to keep moving, find the others.”

and there went the savage in his heart, tamed simply with her presence.

after Carentan

there is something about Joe, and the way his warmth seeps through her in waves.

Eugene would always say he was a wild one, and to be frank, his point has been proven one too many times. it was easy to let loose at camp, because everyone believed they were invincible—especially if you bulldozed through Sobel’s dictatorship. and she liked that he was never one to back down from a challenge. with each taunt he threw into her lane as they hiked up Currahee (“keep up princess,” “can see through your shirt, Ames,” “big steps short stack”), it sparked a flame in her body that made her legs pick up their pace.

but here they are, having scraped by Carentan with 65 casualties. they are most certainly not invincible anymore, and with her and Eugene being medics, they know that better than anyone else.

the war is changing everyone, but especially Joe Liebgott. 

“you’ve seen better days,” she says, lightly teasing as she cracks his door open. at the sound of her entrance, he kicks his legs to sit up on his bed, setting the newspaper on his pillow. he huffs a single, mirthless laugh, and nods in what seems like annoyance, but Amy knows it’s not at her. “here, i got you some…well, i guess you can call it soup. god forbid he kills me for calling this shit.”

he chuckles, albeit soft, but genuinely at that. he turns to sit on the side of his bed, facing her as she takes the one right opposite. they are back in England now, taking residence in a hostel, somewhere in the countryside (they never really knew where they were). the rest of Easy Company were drowning their sorrows at the bar downstairs, but Joe, he had enough.

“not interested in watching the wolf pack rip apart a dartboard?” he questions, and she shakes her head. “probably for the same reason as you. i just need a break. Gene and I, we…went to go visit the wounded men.”

a thick silence hangs in the air when that sentence leaves her breath. it is usually comfortable with Joe, the quiet. the both of them need not say any words to feel safe when they’re next to each other. but this time, she knows there is a question stuck in his throat, one he isn't quite sure he wants the answer to.

“he’s okay,” she mutters, afraid to probe, but even Joe Liebgott is too tired to light up. “Tipper. he looks—“

“like piss?” he added, and she chuckles. it floats into his ear like the twitter of a nightingale, prompting his heart to start beating again, slow and steady. “like absolute shit. a little more than roughed up, but, he’ll make it through.”

he nods and his shoulders sag ever so slightly, feeling relieved at the news. he doubts Tipper would’ve made it if not for Amy, who sprung into action not even ten seconds after he yelled out for a medic. she was always there, and especially for him. and Amy knew, that if he ever called, she would run. there’s a clear tiredness in his eyes when she looks at Joe, and the spark in them clearly struggling, but she thinks them to be as beautiful as they were two years ago. 

“you know,” he mumbles, all of a sudden, “you’re my fucking miracle.”

she was about to laugh, but it dies on her tongue when she sees him, looking nothing less than serious. in fact, with the quiver in his voice, he almost seems vulnerable.

Joe is still the same aggressive bloke who surprises her with his softer traits. the day she walked into the nurse wing back at Toccoa, paying visit when he broke his foot on a run, she nearly squealed with delight to find him flipping the pages to Frankenstein by Mary Shelley—one of her favorites. he had pretended to shove his book under the pillow then, as if to upkeep his feisty image. but that was the first time they laughed together, and they shivered in unison when they spoke of the monster.

the only books either of them can read in Europe are dusty, torn up papers they’d find beneath building rubbles. the same Joe who walked around with a permanent smirk now had a scowl almost always worn on his lips. his snarky words now stemmed from hatred instead of humor, and he was quick to anger, like poking a lion with a stick.

but, Amy knows she has a way of calming him down. in fact, everyone knows. if another time, she would have spent her nights overthinking the way she could always feel his brown-eyed stare from across the room, completely unwarranted. but Amy didn’t see it fitting to place gravity on what that all meant, at least not right now. it is better to just stay close to him, and be a shoulder he can lean on because the world has turned so, so vile. whatever she felt, it just wasn't important anymore.

her lips fall apart slightly at the intensity in his gaze. “what do you mean?”

“i mean,” he says, rising to his feet slowly, “i don’t think i would be sitting here without you.”

“joe, you knows that’s not true,” she replies, a little unsure. craning her neck upwards as he closes the gap, slowly, from his bed to hers, she continues, “you’re a strong fighter. one of the best in easy, and that’s why you’re here.”

he doesn’t say anything to that, opts to kneel down on one knee instead. she is his lone flower, still heavenly beautiful even if a few of her petals have fallen. an unguarded smile breaks out on his face at the sprinkle of red dusting her cheeks. he reaches for her hands, the skin now much more coarse, unable to control the way his eyes keep darting to her lips.

“that’s not what i meant,” he murmurs, inching his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath clouding over. Amy is barely breathing at all. but as she finds herself pulling closer towards him, their lips barely grazing each other, a creak of the wooden floors ‘causes her to flinch back.

and it's a sound that would go unnoticed by Joe. 

the door to his room slams open to reveal a floundering George Luz. “oh,” he jolts, a deer in headlights as he realizes to have interrupted a moment. “children,” he coughs, flustered by the way Joe is glaring at him. “we’re moving out.”

dread swarms the nerves she was feeling before, but as she looked back at Joe, quiet and deflated (and utterly heartbroken), she didn’t quite know which was worse.

the tightrope, now thinning and flimsy, had yanked them both backwards.

Bagstone

it’s rare that Joe, a man who seeks thrill, ever backs down. and for some reason, whenever he so chooses it winds up being the most unfortunate timing. the one time he’d hesitate to call on his opponent in a game of bluff, he would lose all his pennies. that one day after school, when he chose to bike home through the civilian route instead of his usual, dangerous back alley, and was met with an accident that’s left a scar on his right knee.

there's one mantra he keeps pinned to his forehead, one his mother ingrained in his mind: if you’re going to take a risk, then trust yourself to couch the fall. and Joe is hardly scared of a few broken bones.

he just wasn’t prepared for the insurmountable pain of a broken heart.

the scene rewinds in his mind like a broken tape, the way her body flinched at the touch of their lips. he wonders if it was in panic, or in pure regret. either way, he’d rather not know. and it reminds Joe that his soul is not made for love anyways, so he exerts his desolation by doing the most reckless thing of all—he avoids her. and this time, it doesn’t stop at trying.

it’s better this way, he decides. they were sitting ducks in the center of the war, and to be distracted, is practically asking to be hit. 

of course, his resolve cracks just a little when disappointment storms in her eyes as he denies yet another shitty bowl of soup she’s saved for him. he knows he’s being a fowl idiot, when he pretends to be distracted with a book, or writings letters in his room, when she seeks a moment of his solitude. the day she found him, playing dice with Luz and Talbert, not even fifteen minutes after proclaiming to be busy for the nth time, she had stopped asking.

(she wonders if he sought her as an outlet in a moment of weakness. Joe wouldn’t do that, she tells herself.)

but the worst, to Joe, is when she stops reacting altogether. Easy has been shoved to the front lines of Bagstone, forced to make defense in the piercing, icy snow with no ammo and no winter gear. when he’d pass by Amy waiting in line for some chow, her lips chapped and skin faded, she would morph her discontent into a strained smile, and leave their conversation at hello. and what makes it even worse, is that he doesn’t have a right to be annoyed.

it’s better this way, he tells himself. cut the tightrope lose now, save them from any grief.

but it is in his attempts to cut his losses, that the most painful loss cuts through him. it never occurred to him, in the equation of his decisions, that she would get hit.

nothing would slice through Joe more then the screech of Amy’s voice, ripping through eruptive shells of 88s. his body immediately freezes, the sound of the artillery strike somehow muffling as he searches the distance. he runs, when hears another wretched scream tear through his ears, every fiber of his being set ablaze in total dread. he runs, even as a small piece of flak shoots through his shoulder. and when he sees her, laying, pulsing, with blood streaming out her neck—well, he never wishes to feel that anguish stab at his veins ever again.

“medic!” he yelled, from whatever is left in the back of his throat. “Roe!” he collapses by her figure, murmurs words of i’ve got you, sweetheart, i’m here. he grabs a piece of cloth, tucked in her red-stained jacket, then presses it at her neck as a poor attempt to slow the bleeding. screaming, falling trees, wailing orders, frantic footsteps, and Luz who runs towards them, they all swirl into a blur, because in that moment, the only thing existing is the sight of her inching closer and closer to a demise. “hey, hey,” he gulped, whispering, while his free hand strokes her hair as her eyes begin to flutter, “keep your eyes open for me.”

even in despair, her blue eyes are the most beautiful thing. to him they are as rare as a pearl that washes ashore into the sand. and even if from afar, he’d do anything to keep them blinking.

her hands are trembling, far too much in pain to fully move, but he knows how hard she's trying. he barely notices the way Doc Roe shoves him off, and when he does, he is too far in shock, his back glued to the snow. the flecks of white are barely traceable in scatters of ash and soil. it feels like the sky is falling, the darkness hovering over his nose with the glow of a meteor shower. he thinks he would be okay if it just swallowed him whole.

“Liebgott,” Eugene calls, grabbing at his uninjured shoulder. “Lieb, snap out of it,” he exclaims, and reality surfaces back into his mind. “we’re bringing Ames to the aid station, and we need to get your shoulder patched up. come on.”

before Luz can slip his arms under her body, Joe pushes him off to carry her himself, with Eugene on the other side. “we got you, Ames,” Eugene coaxes. “you’re holding up just fine, sweet girl.”

yes - his lone, beautiful flower that found the strength to bloom amidst an entire war.

Joe hops into the back of the jeep first, and the trio then lays her body across, with her head resting on his lap. her eyes are starting to flicker, darting at every corner, and her hands lightly flail, but they are just too weak and tired. he holds her chin with his thumb and index finger, and brings his head down close to her, occasionally jumping as the jeep roars through broken roads. “hey, beautiful,” he mutters, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. “aren’t you a pretty thing,” feeling the ghost of a bitter smile on his lips.

she renders him speechless when her fingers, slowly raising and quivering, begin to trace softly at the shape of his lips. he feels a choke in his throat and is unable to restrain his emotions, letting a single tear fall from his eyes and down her skin.

he questions the world and its fairness, because Amy of all people, did not deserve this.

“she’ll be okay, Liebgott,” Doc Roe tells him, completely worn out. “she’s a strong woman, you don’t even have to worry.”

for a while, he wasn't permitted to abandon the front lines—the numbers were dropping, and Joe was one of their best. but everyone was worried about him. he was the resident firecracker of Easy Company; confident on the battlefield, and spared no hesitation in combat. he was unafraid to cast his spitfire, even if it was against an officer. but like every other man, Liebgott had his limits. the spark in his eyes began to dissipate long ago, from the first sight of a fallen soldier. but he, compared to most men, held on the strongest.

Amy going down had just about forced him over the edge. the fire in Joe Liebgott had died the second he heard her scream. he felt only anguish, and it began to consume him.

he barely slept, he barely ate, he barely moved, and only did so when called to fight. some days after he’d stopped counting, having ignored the mush that Talbert left at his feet, Sergeant Lipton came creeping by his foxhole. and clearly, word has travelled on the state of Joe, who was on the brink of delirium in the middle of a harsh winter. Lipton informed him that Captain Winters had requested him as a battalion runner. months ago, he would’ve refused in favor of the action. but this time, he perked up, knowing that could’ve been a few days to spend by her side.

“take about an hour and get yourself a hot meal,” Captain Winters ordered as he briefed him on his duties, back at headquarters. Winters was distracted by a map, as much as Joe was distracted with the field hospital. “do what you need to do.”

to hell with a hot meal, he thinks, making his way straight to the aid station.

the dead weight dissolves from his shoulders the second he sees her, back facing him, awake, and chatting with Doc Roe and another wounded Easy soldier, Skinny. the hospital is plenty gray and dull, and Joe had to keep from pulling a face at the lack of an eye in one of the men. but even so, the sight of her, alive, is enough to invigorate a few pulses in him. his feet are planted to the ground, arms bent against his waist. he lets his head fall downwards, closes his eyes and heaves a sigh.

“hey Doc,” Skinny says, groaning as he accidentally twists his broken leg, “Doc...think you can get us outta here before they move? i don’t wanna be stuck here when Easy’s rollin’ out.”

“you do that, and you’re gonna need to cut off your leg,” Eugene replies, lighting up a cigarette as Amy chuckles. a very luckily, small piece of shrapnel had busted a couple of bones in Skinny’s leg, before Amy got hit—they were sticking out as she drove him into town. “keep doing nothin’ for once Skinny, this is basically the Ritz Carlton.”

“so where’s my fuckin’ champagne?” he gestures mockingly. she snorts at that, “i’m sure Malarkey can pull something out of his ass.”

“hopefully not a fucking bullet,” Eugene mutters. “isn’t that the golden shot?” Skinny adds, “you’re practically Easy royalty.”

she takes a good look at Eugene. the bags under his eyes have turned purple, the skin on his fingers are tearing and bruised, and though he was always quiet, now he seems more distant. now that Amy is down, he's the only medic keeping those boys intact. but there is no use in pointing it all out, not unless he wants to speak first. there is nothing that can be done either way.

“what,” Eugene asks, speaking under his breath, “i think i can make front cover on news looking this god damn handsome, don’t you?” she would’ve shoved him if not for the bandage that was wrapped tightly around her neck, and weaved through her arms. sometimes it was hard to breathe in them, but perhaps, it was the better than having the flesh in her neck spill out. it is a miracle that it's not that.

Skinny scoffs, shaking his head as he stares at his broken leg. “nah doc, i’m the prett— Liebgott.”

scrutinized, is what Joe feels when all three of them whip their heads to face him clearly. with the way she furrows her eyebrows, looking concerned all over, it was clear he— “look like shit. damn, 88 got yer face or something,” Skinny jokes, and Amy rolls her eyes. she would’ve shoved him too for that. 

Eugene nods at them then, standing up to take his leave. “alright,” he says, “rest up both of you. and don’t try to get outta here before you can.” as Eugene turns around and makes small talk with Joe, she cannot help the way her eyes fall taking in the sight of him. if she thinks Gene looks exhausted; well, Joe looks deathly pale. 

“you’re not taking care of yourself,” is the first thing Amy says when he takes the chair Eugene was seated in. he chuckles at the observation, but it's empty, lacking in amusement. “Joe, when’s the last time you’ve properly eaten? and your shoulder, how’s it feeling?”

he scoffs, feeling something between annoyed, and a spill of warmth. “shit Amy, you’re wrapped up like a fuckin’ mummy and you still gotta fuss over me. how bout ya let me worry about you this time? i'm at your service, princess.”

“hey look at me,” she gestures to herself, as much as she could in those bandages anyway. “i’m sitting up, i’m talking, i’m not fuckin’ sliced up like Toye and Guarnere. jesus. i’m basically as good as new, Joe. do you know what’s the first thing Guarnere said when he got here? ‘hey Amy darling, i always knew i’d end up in bed right next to ya!’ blown off leg be damned.”

despite the mental kick he sends Bill up his ass, Joe can’t help but laugh at how comical she's acting—it was always the other way around, him scouring every excuse to make her laugh. at the crack of his snickers, Amy smiles at him too. she's always loved the sound of his laugh, but it has become so rare, that each time he does, she tries to memorize every single note to replay it again and again.

“they keeping you both in check in here?” he asks, tipping his head at Skinny, who's just been floating in the background of them two. Skinny nods, “Doc’s right, this is basically Ritz Carlton. i got nurses at my beck and call, they bring food to my bed, what else could a man ask for?”

Joe breathes a laugh, but as he looks to Amy, he fails to catch his breath. she is looking at him with such tenderness, and her smile grows wider as he stares back, at a loss of what to say. he doesn't know if it's appropriate, considering the way he’s ignored her for weeks. he thinks that Amy shouldn’t even be bothered with him. but no, she’s looking at him like he’s the first taste of rainfall to her drought.

“why did you stop talking to me Joe?” she questions lightly. there is no bitterness in her tone, just a plea to say the truth. a truth that they both know, but have allowed to go unspoken. and now that she is really asking, he finds it hard to make an answer—bare his imperfect heart, and hand it to her, even though he knows that is where it will be safest.

his head hangs low, feeling ashamed at his choice to be a coward. but she moves her fingers to tilt his chin up, forcing him to meet her eyes. as she begins to stroke his cheek, he finds himself leaning into her touch without even thinking, raising his hand to meet hers and hold it in its shape.

(“you have to trust me,” she once said.)

finally, he speaks his mind. “i thought i was doing us both a favor. you’re just everything good, and you deserve someone who’s not…who’s not me. i don’t know how to do any of this, i don’t know how to give you the best and even then i think you deserve so much fucking better than that. so i, i chose to surrender. keep a distance between you and me, as if i could live without you. and i think i’ve always known this, and i've never admitted it to myself, but i’ll admit it now—i really, really can’t live without you.”

there was something untamed in Joe Liebgott, back when he signed his name in 1942. he joined the war, ready to release that vigor and channeled his rage into the way a single bullet would zip through the air and pierce through the enemy. he was a seeker of thrill like moth to a flame, but the longer they spent in Europe, the more his resolve crumbled into the remnants of the friends he had lost. now, over two years later, he has become a fragment of his old self, finding it hard to reason why he still bothered shooting the rifle. he was tired of it, tired of all the noise, all the pain, and found the only thing that gave him adrenaline was the sound of her laugh, and the feel of her touch.

and it is her touch, in that moment, that holds his left hand tenderly, bringing it to her lips to kiss the back of it. “Joe, you are so much more capable of love than you allow yourself to think.”

Joe is trying to survive, because he knows his mother is waiting at her front porch for his return. he is trying to survive, because fuck, he actually enjoys the ease of driving people around. he loves making them laugh and seeing the city pass him by. he is trying to survive, because he wants to find out who Joe Liebgott is without the war, placed deep into his mind. 

but he needs to survive, because when he gets back to the States, he is going to buy Amy that lily and jasmine perfume she always used to wear back at Toccoa, spritz it all over his home until she's ready to move in with him herself. but right now, that’s reaching too far.

he is no longer fighting the war just to fight, he thinks, while inching forward to press a soft, warm kiss to her lips. this time, the chaos of the aid station did not make her flinch, 'cause there was only him.

no, he is fighting to survive, for her.

1945, Austria

“is there a reason you call me a little flower, Joe?” Amy asks.

“because come sunshine or rain, you manage to keep being so fuckin’ beautiful,” Joe answers, shrugging.

she blushes at that. Joe, whose face is half covered by a new comic his sister has just mailed in, smirks in satisfaction. there is no doubt who has the upper hand of turning the other into mush—it was Amy, and it annoys him that she never even has to try. whenever he gets a chance to make her even a little flustered, he takes it, and he rubs it in her face.

his attention flickers back to the comic for a second, before he looks at Amy again. Amy, though busy with her coffee and crossword puzzle, darts her eyes to him and back playfully, throwing in a wink—and he laughs at that. setting his comic book down, he walks the close distance to her wicker chair. their hotel balcony they're sat on faces the mountainous, green view and it's so glorious that it seems more like a painting. there are birds flying through the skies, a few of the Easy boys yelling rambunctiously through some baseball, and hot water in the showers.

“Joe, what—” her thoughts are cut off when she’s engulfed by both of his arms, muscles in his tank flexing as he carries her whole, and plops himself down in her chair, before cuddling her on top. “what?” he says, smirking as she chuckles, before settling back into his arms. it feels surreal, to Joe and Amy both, being able to bask in the quiet of each other, in the comfort of their own room (well, sneaking into each other’s rooms). they didn't have to wake up breathless in the face of an artillery strike, and they didn’t have to steal kisses in the cover of the night. everyone knew about Amy and Joe (especially Skinny, god bless him having to watch them kiss), but they were in the middle of a war, and about to be promoted on the basis of their discipline.

in fact, it felt wrong sometimes, taking advantage of the luxury in this place. but they’ve also just dragged their minds through Haguenau, Thalem, and Landsberg, where they found that the scale of brutality committed was much, much bigger than they figured humanely possible. perhaps Colonel Sink thought they deserved a reminder of what the world was like when it was still good. it all felt wrong, but everyone preferred to be imposters in the sunshine, than burn alive underneath it.

“you told me,” Joe asks, caressing her waist and her thighs lightly, “that you wanted to open a little bookstore when this is all over.”

fiddling with the necklace around Joe’s neck, she nods. “what about it?”

“where?” he asks again. Amy notices the way his tone is not only questioning, but nervous. “where would the dream Calloway bookstore be?”

she sits up slowly, placing a hand on Joe’s chest which he cradles with his own, rubbing his thumb back and forth on her skin. “i don’t think i’ve really thought much about what i’m gonna do beyond this place Joe…i, i don’t know. anywhere back home’s gonna be better than here. i just need to get away.”

“home?” Joe asks, “you’ll go back home?”

(my home, Joe thinks, is wherever you are.)

the sound of the scenery washes over their reverie. the afternoon laze is settling in, the men that were playing baseball now dispersing, remaining a distant sound from where Amy and Joe's room was. none of that matters to Amy though, because she's focused solely on Joe, slowly grabbing his hand and raising to kiss the back of it. it reminds him of their time, withering away in the freezing cold of Bagstone, but he shoves that thought in the back of their mind. they are in Austria now. and though they were awaiting on orders for the Pacific, for now, they were safe.

“home is the where the heart is,” she marvels, her smile growing. “so yes Joe,” she continues, reaching into his heart, “i’ll be going wherever home takes me.”

thank you for reading.

#band of brothers #band of brothers x ofc #joe liebgott #joseph liebgott #joe liebgott x ofc #band of brothers x oc

[softspeirs]

Everything Has Its Place

Pairing: Joe Liebgott x OFC (Anna) Summary: Anna and Joe have a heart-to-heart after an argument. Mid-war timeline. You can read more about Lieb and Anna here.

But sure as a ring goes with a hand Stars with the moon And just like the ocean pairs well with the sand I go with you

It’s absolute chaos during and after taking Carentan. Anna feels like she hasn’t had a second to breathe in days. Between her and Shifty nearly being pinned down and the endless combat, her eyes are practically crossed due to exhaustion.

“Drink.” A hand is in her face, thrusting a canteen at her. 

She looks up, eyes barely open, seeing Liebgott standing over her. “You should save it for yourself.” 

He looks-- well, he looks like shit. He’s as tired as she is, no doubt. There’s something else in his eyes she doesn’t recognize. 

“What happened to you?” He asks, gesturing at her forehead as he sits down next to her. 

“Oh,” she says, like she’d forgotten, reaching up to dab at the half-dried blood on her face. “Comes with the territory unfortunately.” 

She and Shifty had been pinned down on opposite ends of a chicken coop for nearly a half hour during the heat of the battle. Between the fucking chickens squawking their heads off and the bullets whizzing by, enough debris and shrapnel had been flying around to cut Anna’s face in several places. 

She also feels sore on one arm, but she’s pretty sure she hasn’t been hit. She’s not bleeding, at any rate. Her rifle arm especially feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. She had her arms upright for nearly the entire battle. 

“Here.” He tries again, and this time she takes the water, chugging some of it before handing it back to him. 

“You okay?” She asks, glancing at him up and down. He looks alright, but there’s still that... something on his face from earlier.

“Fine, only a few scratches. I-- Tipper got hit. Bad.” 

“Shit.” Anna swears, turning to face him. “Is he--”

“I don’t know. He was alive when I left him. I don’t-- Jesus, Anna, you should have seen him. There was so much blood, and his fucking legs...” 

“You don’t have to talk about it.” This is Joe’s best friend they’re talking about. To live through Normandy and then have to go through this? The world is a cruel place sometimes, and she hates that Joe Liebgott is the one bearing the brunt right now.

They both sit there for awhile in silence, heads leaning back against the wall at their backs. Anna’s breath slows and Joe is pretty sure she’s asleep. He’s hesitant to wake her, but Lieutenant Welsh starts hollering, and she startles awake.

“Easy, Tiger.” He says, and she glares. 

“Let’s go, first!” Welsh calls from the distance. “Cunningham!” He shouts, and Anna’s on her feet with a groan, Joe right beside her.

“Be careful,” she says quietly, and with a small smile, she’s gone, leaving him to watch after her, that tightening feeling in his chest getting worse when she’s out of his sight.

.

That night they finally have some rest, though everyone is on edge. They took some fire earlier in the day and Anna was grazed, and everyone’s been walking on eggshells around her ever since.

Everyone, that is, except Joe Liebgott.

He’s glaring at her now from across the foxhole, as the Germans on the other side of the hedgerow keep right on singing as if they don’t have a care in the world.

“You need the aid station.” He grumbles, eyes fixed on the spot on her shoulder where a white bandage is soaking through. The bleeding has mostly stopped, but Anna can’t deny she’s hurting. 

“Doc said--”

“I heard what he said.” 

Anna’s face scrunches in displeasure. “What’s with you, Lieb?”

“Maybe I just got done scrubbing my friend’s blood off my hands from fucking  earlier, and I don’t want to have to do it a second time.” Without thinking, he absently rubs his hands over his pant legs. 

“In case you missed it,” Anna hisses, trying to keep her voice down, “I was already hit, Lieb. It won’t happen again.”

“You don’t know that.” He fires back, eyes dark. “And you don’t need to remind me that I wasn’t there.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Denying you a chance to play white knight, Joe? Jesus Christ.”

He leans forward, grabbing her arm. “That’s not what I meant and you know it, Cunningham. Sorry I wanted to help my fucking friend.” He says, vitriol lacing his words.

She knows she’s being unreasonable, but she’s also a goddamn sniper. One of the best marksman in Easy, and she’s tired of everyone acting like she needs to be rescued. Especially Liebgott, who, as he so gently put it, is supposed to be her fucking friend. He’s supposed to have a little bit of faith in her.

“You can’t be behind me every time, Lieb.” She says tiredly, trying to soften her words. “They’re firing at me more than they’re firing at you.” 

“Just leave it, Cunningham.” He says, and before she can reply, Talbert is there, waiting to get Liebgott for his watch. 

“All right?” Tab asks, hesitating, watching Lieb go.

“I’ll be fine.” 

He raises a brow, but doesn’t challenge her, just tips his helmet to her before heading off to follow Liebgott. 

.

The next day is another shit show. They’re in it from the moment they wake until nearly nightfall, but the 2d armored division shows up right in time to save their asses. 

Joe and Lieutenant Welsh are sharing a cigarette on the edge of a hedgerow with shaky hands when Anna shows up, sliding in next to them. 

“Cunningham, how we faring today?” Welsh asks, a big grin on his face. 

“I’ll be hard of hearing for years, sir, but I’ll live.” 

He nods. “That’s my girl.” He swats at her helmet, knocking it askew. 

She scowls, but it transforms into an easy smile, the adrenaline of winning the fight hard to keep off her face. 

“I should go find out what’s what.” Welsh says, and leaves her there with Joe, who hasn’t looked at Anna once. 

“You hit?” Anna asks him, and he shakes his head. 

“No. A few close calls, though.”

“You’re telling me.”

He takes a deep breath, then finally meets her eyes. “Look, I’m not good at apologies, okay?”

She shrugs. “Me either. And for the record, I wasn’t asking for one.”

Joe fidgets, looking down at his hands. “Tipper-- that scared me, alright? I just... I don’t want to see that happen to anyone else. Especially you.”

Anna freezes, but the look on his face passes. “You can’t protect me forever, Joe.” Before he can open his mouth to reply, she continues, “You know I’ve got your back, right? I don’t mean to be so--”

“Bitchy? Reckless?” He snipes, but there’s no heat behind his words. In fact, she can still see the lingering worry in his eyes.

“I have to be, Lieb. You know that. Everyone was expecting me to fail on day one, and be some wilting flower. I had to cut that shit out of my personality. I’m not doing it to worry you or-- be a bitch, as you so eloquently put it.”

He rolls his eyes. “I know that. It’s me you’re talking to.” He lights up another cigarette with slightly shaking hands. “’M sorry, okay? Christ.”

She rolls her eyes at how exasperated he sounds, but nudges his shoulder with her own. “I know you are, stupid. I am too. We’ll be alright, you and me.”

He meets her gaze with that look again, the one she can’t decipher no matter how hard she tries. It’s gone as soon as he blinks, but she feels the weight of unspoken things settle in between them again. 

She just knows one thing for sure - they’re a pair. In one way or another, they go together. They have since basic when they were paired together for nearly every drill, every exercise. It’s been Anna and Lieb since day one, even if they had to quit arguing for two seconds to realize how well they worked together.

It’s always been Anna and Lieb, and she’s going to work damn hard to make sure it stays that way. 

Everything has its place It is certain to me now Wild and arranged We were built for the same purpose somehow As sure as a ring goes with a hand Stars with the moon Just like the ocean pairs well with the sand I go with you

#band of brothers fanfiction #joe liebgott x oc #joe liebgott x ofc #joe liebgott fanfiction #softspeirs band of brothers fanfiction

[latibvles]

‘ cause we both know i’ll never be your lover i only bring the heat, company under covers filling space in your sheets so please just blow out all the candles

alternatively : thinking about joe and rita ends up with this

#band of brothers #joe liebgott #joe liebgott x ofc #BoB edit #. sbt gallery #lieb x rita #ch: rita mccarney #i felt like this bridge really suits where they’re headed #something something right person wrong time #also east vs west coast couples #and men in the yearning position is more interesting for me to write if that wasn’t obvious enough #but maybe that’s the wlw in me speaking

[bandagesandloveletters]

Band of Brothers Masterlist

𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜, 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸'𝚖 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘, 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝙱𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚔. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎!

Tag list: If you like my work, feel free to comment, and I can add you to a tag list for any future works either in general or for a certain character.

Lewis Nixon

Cold as Ice -A little something where Nixon learns to ice skate but it’s all part of a deeper plan. Pairing: Lewis Nixon x OFC.

Richard "Dick" Winters

Hidden Love - A request written around the reader and Dick having a hidden love for each other. Pairing: Richard Winters x Reader

Chuck Grant

Get Well Soon - Chuck gets a visitor to cheer him up. Pairing: Chuck Grant x OFC

Floyd Talbert

Frostbite and Kisses - In the cold depths of Bastogne, a little warmth is always welcome. Pairing: Floyd Talbert x OFC (Rosie Moretti)

George Luz

Sentimental Journey - A dance brings two kindred souls together. Pairing: George Luz x OFC (Ellis White)

Joe Liebgott

A Sergeant's Sorrow - A conversation between two friends after Brécourt. Pairing: Joe Liebgott x Platonic!OFC (Lizzie Welsh)

#hbo war #band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers x ofc #lewis nixon #lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon x oc #lewis nixon x y/n #lewis nixon x ofc #richard winters x reader #dick winters x reader #dick winters x ofc #dick winters x oc #dick winters x y/n #chuck grant #chuck grant x reader #chuck grant x ofc #chuck grant x oc #charles grant #hbo war imagines #floyd talbert #floyd talbert imagine #floyd talbert x reader #joe liebgott #joe liebgott imagine #joe liebgott x reader #george luz #george luz imagine #george luz x reader #band of brothers fanfiction

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter Seven: Nvwatohiyadv & Saoirse

Summary: If this is what Hell feels like, at least it’s not as lonely as all those days back home in her room.

A/N: An update? After all this time? I'm just as shocked. I'm trying my hardest to keep up, but I have so many papers and projects due this semester that updates may be a little infrequent for the next few weeks.

Also a massive thank you to the wonderful @latibvles for supplying the name of Zenie's first kiss 🫶🏼You are so beloved And for those of you who like chapter titles, nvwatohiyadv is the Cherokee word for liberty, while saoirse is Irish for freedom - just trying to combine both parts of Zenie's heritage

Warnings: alcohol, smoking, religious trauma, period typical attitudes and terms in regards to race, homophobia, improper binding techniques, language, brief mention of vomit

Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @mrs-murder-daddy @lieutenant-speirs

August 1943, New York

Most of them are spilling their alcohol soaked guts onto the docks with retches that hurt to listen to. The few of them that didn’t partake in the guzzling of whiskey the night before are strong stomached until they step onto the SS Samaria, and then they too are sick to their stomachs.

Hardly any of them have ever been on a ship before, and it’s taking them a while to get their sea legs. Funny, how they can fling themselves out of perfectly good airplanes, hurling themselves toward a cold and unforgiving ground, but a ship against the rocking of the waves is what makes most of them feel ill.

But something else is getting to Zenie. Not the usual nerves that send a chill down her spine whenever she spares the occasional moment to be anxious about the possibility of being found out. This is something else. It’s almost like homesickness, or tender feelings for the place she’s about to leave behind.

Life jackets on, they all pack together on the deck as the Samaria leaves New York. She’s short enough that she manages to claim a place by the rail without anyone complaining that they can’t see. After all, just like her, everyone is vying for a peek of Lady Liberty herself.

She’s beautiful. Tall. Elegant. Set against the hazy backdrop of orange sky and mist rising from the waters around her, she’s more of a figure, looming larger than life as they sail by.

Zenie has only met her paternal grandparents a handful of times, but now a memory of her grandfather’s voice whispers to her in his thick accent. “. . . I looked out across the water, and there she was. Her torch guided the ship like a lighthouse, pullin’ us in. All my doubts about leavin’ Ireland left me then. How could I be nervous, with such a lass watchin’ over me?”

Guilt turns into a rock in her stomach. Her father’s parents worked hard to get out of Ireland, to get themselves and their descendants to America. And here she is, willingly going back to the place that they fled.

And now the fine lady watches Zenie as she goes in the opposite direction – leaving America for Europe. If the statue were real, she might recognize something of her Irish grandparents in Zenie and offer her the same strength that she did them so long ago.

What about her other grandparents? The ones who are one hundred percent all-American, whose parents and their parents and the ones before them had been in America since time immemorial. Lady Liberty never welcomed them – they were already here.

It’s silly, really, to wonder whether or not a statue could afford some fondness or sense of protection on a person, but Zenie can’t help but wonder if the figure protects her and her liberties, too, when the world seems so keen on keeping those rights away from her and other Indians.

No. A statue can’t protect anyone, or their liberties. Not really. It’s Zenie and these men and all the other people fighting this war that are protecting those freedoms. The statue is just a reminder of what is often overlooked; it gives an icon to an ideal. If anything, the statue doesn’t represent some omnipresent force that welcomed her grandparents when they immigrated, but rather regular people and their beliefs. The statue only exists because someone believed in something enough to give the world a giant reminder of it.

Well then, what does Zenie believe in?

The lady looming over the water must have some sort of answer. Just as she welcomed Granda into America so long ago, she now watches Zenie leave it – both McGlamery’s traveling towards something that they believe in, though their journeys go in opposite directions.

Go, the godlike figure on the island seems to tell her. Go forth and protect and defend what I represent. For people like your Irish grandfather, who believed in liberty. And people like your Cherokee Granny, who hardly got to see it.

Lady Liberty is stuck in place. Zenie knows what that feels like. But she’s not immobile now. She unstuck herself because of feelings of suffocating in one place. Now she keeps going because she believes in what she’s doing. She believes that she’s a part of something that’s good.

How could she feel guilty with such a lass watching over her?

The longer that they’re on the ship, the more grateful Zenie becomes that she’s not in the Navy, or the Marines, or the Coast Guard. Or any sort of sailor, actually, carrying her secret or not. It’s hot and crowded and miserable. The men stink and personal space is quickly becoming a foreign concept. Her large feet trip her up on the ladders several times, and the only thing that keeps her from tumbling down and crashing onto the decks are the quick hands of her friends that fly out to catch her by the arm.

Toye claps her on the back once after helping her stay upright. She hopes that he mistakes her wince as one of relief and not her dread that he might feel her bandages.

If anything, her secret is only making her experience aboard the Samaria more miserable than everyone else’s. The farther down into the ship they go, the hotter and more crowded it becomes. The binding around her chest makes it harder to breathe, and even though the men all have a few beads of sweat along their hairlines, she feels like she’s glistening with it. All she can do is hope that by some miracle, the ship will reach her destination faster than anticipated, because the second that Zenie sees the hammocks packed together to provide them with a place to sleep, she has a feeling that she won’t be doing much of that – not when the mercury is so high and the oxygen so scarce.

If her feet don’t floor her in this crowded place, the realization that hits her does: where will she change? Clean up? Relieve herself? They’ll toss her out to sea before the ship even sets sail.

“You look like shit, Tommy Boy,” Bill deadpans.

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, I’m bein’ serious. Have a cigarette or somethin’.”

“Maybe you should find Doc Roe,” Luz suggests. He slings his pack over his shoulder and sighs up at the racks above them, resolving himself to climb up to the top where there are still a few that are unoccupied. “If anyone wants to offer a trade, now’s your last chance.”

Toye makes a show of stretching out on his rack, which is close to the ground. “I’m good.”

Bill flips open his lighter and holds it to the end of his cigarette. “Same here.”

Finding Gene is probably her best option. He’ll have some sort of suggestion; he always knows what to do. But right now the boat is hot and she’s exhausted.

A vague memory of a church sermon from her childhood flashes through her mind. The pastor, his booming voice like a canon as it echoed off the walls of the church, lecturing the congregation about the fires of Hell that awaited them if they strayed from the flock. He gave the lecture so many times that she could be remembering any given Sunday of her childhood. As a young girl, the danger of the Underworld seemed to lurk right beneath her feet, the ground threatening to split open and reveal lapping flames that would swallow her up if she so much as fidgeted during the service. The Sunday after she had her first kiss – with that pretty Lucy Jordan from out of town, with the pretty hair and the soft lips – she sweated in her family’s pew as she awaited the inferno to take her. When nothing happened, the fire and brimstone didn’t seem quite so threatening, or even all that real.

The heat generated from the bodies all tightly packed around her does make her wonder, though, if this is what the nether regions of the afterlife feel like. At least she’s surrounded by friends. The thought makes her chuckle to herself as she plops down on a rack. She removes a cigarette from the mostly untouched pack in her pocket, nicks Bill’s lighter, and fills her lungs with the smoke, hoping it will help her nerves.

She glances around, chuckling again as she picks up pieces of scattered conversations from the men. If this is what Hell feels like, at least it’s not as lonely as all those days back home in her room.

Yeah, she thinks. Not too bad. 

“My brother’s in North Africa,” Bill’s voice draws her out of her thoughts. “He says it’s hot.”

“Really?” Malarkey snarks from behind him. “It’s hot in Africa?”

“Shuddup.” Malarkey’s hard expression melts as he laughs. Bill rolls his eyes. “Point is, it don’t matter where we go. Once we get into combat, the only person you can trust is yourself, and the fella next to ya.”

Or woman. Lady. Lass. Dame. Whatever slang term Philadelphians use for girls.

Would they trust her, if they knew her secret and then found themselves next to her on a battlefield? Eugene would; he had said she was brave. If there’s anyone I would trust in combat, it’s someone as fearless as you.

Maybe someone else on the ship is fearless in the same way that she allegedly is. Maybe they share the same secret. That’s a nice thought. She would trust these men – these fellas – if the bullets were flying, but if they knew the truth, they would probably never trust her again.

“Long as he’s a paratrooper,” Toye says.

Zenie might not be a man, but she is a paratrooper. She went through the same training as everyone else here.

“Oh yeah? And what if that paratrooper turns out to be Sobel?” Luz asks as he hauls himself up the racks. Looks like he couldn’t convince anyone to trade spots with him.

Above them, someone else’s voice sounds off with a response that she misses over the din of whoever is above her shifting his weight, making the rack squeak. Another thing that reminds her of Sundays in church: learning to tune things out. She doesn’t need to get her feelings hurt by listening to them talk about who they do or do not trust – because while Tommy falls into one category, Zenie most likely falls pretty firmly into the other.

The next thing that she knows, the rack beside her is shifting as Bill stands, and then the people around her fall quiet as Liebgott’s voice fills the space. “I’m a Jew.”

“Congratulations.” She can’t see him, but Zenie can hear the smug smirk on Bill’s face when he responds, “Now get your nose outta my face.”

He deserves it, friend or not, when Liebgott swings at him. He should know better than to say something like that, and she’s planning on telling him so when she jumps up to help the others hold the two men apart.

A sharp pain blooms in her chest, sending her stumbling back into the racks. A gasp escapes from her lips. No one notices – they’re all too busy trying to keep the first Easy Company casualties from occurring before the ship reaches England.

She’s never been hit in the breast before. And now someone’s elbow has just jabbed her there, managing to hurt even through the bandages.

That’s it. She’s got to solve this problem.

It’s a miracle that she doesn’t get jabbed again as she pushes through the throng of bodies. The miracle balances itself out with the fact that she doesn’t see Gene anywhere among them, and no one seems to know where he is when she throws the question out to them. Instead she finds –

“Tommy!” McClung yells above the rest of the voices that swirl around them. In a second, he’s pushed through the crowd and caught up to her, Popeye and Shifty right behind him. “Where’re you off to?”

“Any of y’all seen Doc Roe?”

“No.” Popeye tilts his head. “Are you as sick as ol’ Shifty Boy here from all that whiskey?”

“Just eat somethin’,” Shifty suggests with a nod. “A couple of those donuts from the Red Cross girls had me right as rain.”

Popeye claps him on the back and flashes her a winning grin. “He learned that from me.”

“No, it’s –“ She offers a vague, sweeping gesture with her arm. The heat. The tight space. The lack of privacy. “I just need some air.”

“We were goin’ up top, anyways. We’ll come with you!”

It’s easier to push through the crowd when she’s got three friends helping her clear people out of the way. Earl pushes through the crowd like it’s nothing. Popeye calls out greetings to people as he goes. Zenie scans everyone’s faces, looking for Gene, reassuring herself with the thought that he’ll know what to do and he’ll come up with a plan for how to handle all this bandage business.

“Fuckin’ ridge runners,” someone scoffs as they force their way through the crowd.

At her sides, her hands immediately ball themselves into fists. She scowls, looking around for whoever might have said it. Cobb is sitting on a rack nearby, and she’s willing to bet the comment was thrown from his direction.

“Hey.” A gentle hand places itself on her shoulder and urges her forward from behind. “Just ignore him. Been enough fights on this boat for one day.”

“But –“ She feels herself deflate under Shifty’s touch. He’s right; they’ve been called worse.

The salt on the breeze is unlike any kind of wind that she felt back at home. During the more pleasant times of year, mountain breezes feel friendly and teasing as they play with her hair and snap flags on their posts. The wind from the sea that greets them abovedeck carries a sense of adventure. It’s powerful – powerful enough to carry them somewhere new.

It fills her lungs and whispers to something in her soul. All those days of sitting in her bedroom feeling suffocated and sorry for herself. Now she’s the farthest away from home that she’s ever been, and (as long as she’s not crammed in the bowls of the ship with the other men) she can breathe.

“Feelin’ better?” Shifty asks. His hand hasn’t left her shoulder. Zenie finds that she doesn’t really want him to remove it.

“Much.”

Earl gestures to all the space around them. “Look at this! This is way better than being trapped belowdecks.”

“Well, it’s a long way to England. We can probably spend as much time up here as we want.” I know I will be, Zenie doesn’t add as she relishes in the cool breeze and the sound of the waves.

“We oughtta sleep out here,” Popeye says. “Better than sweatin’ for hours at a time and listenin’ to everyone snore and complain about the heat.”

Shifty nods in agreement. “We oughtta.”

So they do.

The first night of the voyage, they return to their racks with everyone else. Zenie stays awake all night, listening to people pant in the heat, grimacing every time a rack squeaks as someone shifts their weight. Some people manage to doze, but she spends the next day groggy and vows that she’ll take Popeye’s suggestion. Her friends don’t take much convincing.

“Like camping.” They’re all sprawled out on the deck, hoping that any non-coms or officers that catch them won’t send them back below. The waves slapping against the side of the boat are loud but soothing. In the growing darkness, Zenie can just make out Shifty’s smile. He’s in his element. The others agree, and she doesn’t admit that no one has ever actually taken her camping before.

Instead she’s intent to just be there, the ocean sounds sending that thrum of adventure running through her core as it carries her far, far away from that noble statue back in New York. Far away from the loneliness of her room and straight into the next leg of her adventure. Surrounded by friends.

Not too bad.

#if you can't tell: I really really like statues and have very strong opinions about them #thanks art appreciation! #Ayyyeee Zenie's queerness makes a cameo! Skoden! #(it will be elaberated upon further in upcoming chapters ;) don't worry #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers #band of brothers x oc #my writing #oc zenie mcglamery #shifty powers #shifty powers x original female character #shifty powers x ofc #hbo war fanfic #hbo war #your daily dose of indigenous language preservation my liege #bill guarnere #joe toye #joe liebgott #joseph liebgott #george luz #popeye wynn #earl mcclung #don malarkey

[goyaagogo]

I’ll Be Seeing You (George Luz x OFC)

Hiii this is very long overdue because I was working annnddd got covid and was stuck in Paris, weeeee. 

But anywho, here is chapter 5 and 6. There is finally smut in here (chapter 6), so be warned if you dont like that stuff. 

Here are the previous chapters if you missed them!

Part 1

Part 2

Chapter 5

Simone had walked home from CP alone that night, the gunfight having intensified and drawn nearer, making her afraid to stay, though she desperately wanted to-- to wait to hear word about Dick's men... about George.

 The next day had dragged on, a day that seemingly would never end. She spent the day in bed under the covers, trying to give her weary eyes a rest, but whenever she closed her eyes, all she could see was the flashes of gunfire against the backdrop of Bois Jacques and she would be overwhelmed with a feeling of remorse. She wondered if she had just run faster, maybe the soldiers would have had a chance to ready themselves, even if it was just a minute. She knew there was no use in wallowing, things had gone wrong before, messages delivered too late, hand-offs missed-- it was just the business of resistance work, and Simone knew it well, but this time it felt different-- and she knew it was because of George. 

She felt frustrated with herself-- this feeling was why she kept herself at a distance from those she worked with.As long as the day felt, she also dreaded the night. Would anyone be coming? Would it be Malarkey, or George? She felt entirely burnt out by nighttime, both delirious and numb from the lack of sleep and lack of food too-- she couldn't find the strength to make even the most meager of meals. The cold had finally driven her to the kitchen, warming herself by the fire, watching the flames dance and crackle in the hearth. There was a knock at the door, and immediately she wanted to cry. She didn't want to answer the door, she could think of little worse than answering it, finding out what happened-- if George was dead or alive. There was another knock, this one sounding harder and more deliberate. She pulled herself out of the chair, trying to blink away her tears as she walked to the door. There on her doorstep, was someone she didn't know but recognized as the third man in Dick's tent from last night. 

"Who are you?" Simone asked, not caring that she was being rude.

 If he was taken aback by her bluntness, he didn't show it. 

"I'm Ron Speirs."

She stepped aside, letting him by. She felt a rising tide of despair-- sure that this meant both Malarkey and George were dead. What else would be the reason another soldier would come? She grabbed the decanter of brandy and a single glass and sat down at the table, as Speirs stood near the sink watching her intently.Simone poured a glass and downed it quickly as tears began to fall.

 "How many?" she asked after a moment, having let the brandy numb her further.

"How many what?" 

"How many men are dead from the attack last night?" she croaked, the words tasting vile and sour in her mouth.

"None." Speirs answered and then asked, "may I sit? Or do Luz and Malarkey usually stand all night?"

Simone nodded at the chair across from her and Ron took a seat. None? Had she heard him right?

"None? No one died?" she asked as he settled back in the chair.

He took her glass and poured himself some brandy, taking it back in one swig before pushing it back to her.

"Pas une seule personne." he answered in impeccable French, "but there were a few injured."

"Malarkey... and George, are they okay?" 

Ron nodded, "not a scratch."

At once she felt like laughing and crying. They were okay and no one had died-- she could hardly believe it. 

"Why aren't they here then? It's always been either of them."

Ron took the cigarette from behind his ear and lit it, taking a deep draw."Thought I'd give them a break for the night." 

She nodded, feeling a foolish sadness-- did George not want to see her? Wouldn't he have insisted on coming, despite Speirs' offer? She scolded herself for such petty worries and poured herself some more brandy. Simone could feel Ron watching her as she took a sip and turned towards the fire. 

"Can you stop looking at me like that?" 

He smiled mischievously at her, not breaking his eye contact, “like what?"

 "Like... that..." she knew she sounded ridiculous, but she couldn't fully describe the way he looked at her-- with those piercing eyes that almost seemed to be undressing her. 

Simone wasn't a vain woman, but she knew when someone was keen on her.

 He looked down, still smiling to himself and took another drag off his cigarette. Simone felt herself in a foul mood suddenly, feeling cross that George hadn't come, and that Speirs was looking at her in a way that made her feel funny.

"I'm going to bed..." she declared coldly before pushing out her chair. 

She stood up, but felt herself go wobbly with fatigue, hunger and probably a little drunkenness too. She sat back down immediately and Speirs sat up, concerned with the state of her.

“Are you alright?"

Simone nodded and put her head in her hands, "I think I'm just tired..."

"What did you eat today?"

She was silent for a moment before answering, "rien."

"Nothing? You've had nothing to eat today?" Speirs had raised his voice and Simone suddenly felt like she was in trouble.

She shook her head in response, not daring to meet his eye. He sighed and stood up, flicking his cigarette butt into the fire. 

He started rummaging through her cupboards. Simone watched him as he cut a couple pieces of bread, popped open a jar of raspberry preserves and spread a thick layer on one piece. He stopped and looked around the cupboards again before turning back to Simone.

"Do you have peanut butter?"

"What?" Simone asked.

 "Nevermind..." he mumbled, turning back to the counter. He returned to the table and placed the plate in front of her.

"Eat." he said as he sat back down.

Simone took a bite of the sandwich, which was really just stale bread with jam.

"It would be better with peanut butter." he remarked as he watched her take another bite.

"What's that?"

"You crush up peanuts and it becomes this spread."

"That doesn't sound good..." she said after swallowing another bite. 

Speirs shrugged, "it's alright. Probably better than just jam on bread."

"Thank you..." Simone's heart softened slightly towards Speirs as she realized that this had been the first time in years, literal years-- that someone had taken care of her. 

"De rien." he answered with a small smile.

 "I guess I'll go to bed now. If I can stand up." Simone said as she pushed her chair out and stood up, just wobbling slightly. 

Speirs stood up too, "I'll walk you up."

"No, no I'll be okay. "

 "The last thing I need is for you to fall. Winters will kill me if you get hurt."

She relented and let him follow her upstairs, his hand on her back the entire way. 

They came to her room and she opened the door before turning to face him again. Speirs was quiet for a moment, and Simone could tell he was trying to find the words for what he wanted to say, but in the end he gave her a simple "Goodnight.”

"Goodnight.” Simone returned before shutting the door behind her, listening to his footsteps back down the stairs. 

 Chapter 6

Simone slept late the next morning, feeling that her body could finally rest knowing that no one had been killed the night of the attack, and that George was safe. 

As the day wore on, she began to feel anxious about the impending evening, hoping with all her heart that George would come. When night fell and she heard the knock, her heart raced as she went to answer it.

There on her doorstep was George, his goofy smile lighting up when he saw her. It took all her strength to not hug him.

"It's you!" Simone exclaimed as she let him in.

"It's me, George Luz, flesh and blood!" he said as he walked into the kitchen and took a seat at the table.

"Brandy?" she asked, grabbing the decanter from the counter.

"Oh yes please!"

She grabbed two glasses and sat across from him. She couldn't contain her smile as she watched him take a sip. 

"You survived Speirs last night, huh?" he asked, sitting back in his chair.

 "Was there a chance I wouldn't?" she asked with a laugh.

"He's a brutal, brutal soldier, though I suppose he would be on his best behavior for you."

"He was very nice to me, even made me a sandwich"

"Speirs cooked for you?" George exclaimed in disbelief.

"I wouldn't say he cooked-- he just put jam on bread."

"Geesh, didn't think he could handle a butterknife." George joked. 

Simone laughed and felt a genuine sense of elation at the present moment. She had agonized over George, whether he was alive or dead after the attack, and to see him in person, to hear his wise cracks-- it was almost overwhelming. 

She took a sip of brandy, and suddenly felt tears come to her eyes. She tried her best to blink them away, and looked towards the fire. 

"You alright, Simone?" George asked, sitting up, and scooching his chair forward towards her. 

She tried to smile and wipe away her tears as she turned to him. His face shadowed with concern as he looked at her.

"Yes, yes-- I'm fine, I'm just being silly..." she tried to assure him, but he still looked worried.

 "Being silly about what?" he asked. 

Simone sniffed and turned to face him, "I just... I was just so afraid that you were hurt that night...""

When? Oh, that ambush the other night... nah, that was nothing, we were fine."

"George, I was there... it wasn't nothing. I heard the bombs and the gunfire."

He looked confused just then, "you were there?" 

"I had gone with Malarkey to CP... one of my runners came here just before the attack and told me about it."

George looked sheepish, "well okay, so it wasn't nothing... but no one was killed, so it was alright in the end."

Simone was in awe of George's ability to see the good in terrible situations.

 "I thought that something had happened to you when I saw Speirs last night. I was so afraid you were dead."

Just speaking her fear out loud was enough for her to feel more tears coming on.

George reached across the table and swiped a falling tear from her cheek, "I'm alright, Simone, please don't cry." 

"I'm sorry, I'm being such a baby."George came over and sat in the chair next to her, pulling her into his chest. 

She cried in his arms, comforted by his warmth. “I’m just so happy you’re okay… I couldn’t sleep that night, I was so afraid you were hurt, or worse…”

“Aww.. are you sweet on me?” George teased before placing a gentle kiss on her head as he hugged her closer.

Simone laughed at the expression and sat up straight to look at him, the tears still streaking her face. She touched his cheek, smooth from a recent shave, and leaned in to kiss him. Her kiss was hungry and desperate but she didn’t care. 

Simone was done thinking—for now at least— done worrying what her involvement with him meant and the potential consequences. All she cared about was his lips and their softness, and how they felt as they moved slowly from her lips, to her jawline and then down her neck. 

She stood up and grasped George’s hand and pulled him up from his chair. He followed her up the stairs and into her bedroom, where she closed the blackout curtains and lit a couple candles on her dresser. 

She felt George come up behind her, placing his hands on her waist and tracing the curve of her neck with gentle kisses while he unbuttoned the front of her dress slowly, expertly, and she let it fall to the floor. She turned around to face him and they kissed passionately, her fingers working quickly at the buttons of his shirt.  

George slipped his shirt off and she pulled his white cotton undershirt loose and up over his head, revealing his smooth chest.

Simone then walked over to a bedpost and leaned against it as she took off her stockings one by one, watching George kick off his loosely laced boots. 

As George approached she saw a look of soft but smoldering desire in his eyes. Something about this felt different to Simone, more natural and less awkward than it had with other lovers. There was no pretense, no thoughts of the future, it was just this moment between the two of them. 

He stood looking at her for a long moment, taking in the sight of her and Simone was surprised at how relaxed she felt under his gaze. He looked at her like she was the most perfect being on God’s green earth. 

George stepped closer and grasped the hem of her satin slip, pulling it up and over her head, Simone putting up her arms in compliance, and then reached behind her back and undid her bra, letting it fall to the floor. She pulled him in, placing tender kisses along his collar bone as she unbuttoned his pants and let them pool at his feet. 

George inhaled sharply as Simone slid her hand into his boxers and gently grasped his hardening cock. She continued kissing his neck and chest as she stroked his length slowly, eliciting quiet moans from him. 

“Lay down…” George breathed, his voice now raspy and deep.Simone turned from him to the bed,  pulled back the sheets and laid down, her heart beating wildly as she watched him approach with his cock stiff against the white cotton of his boxers.

He climbed on top of her, and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, before placing more kisses down her neck to her breasts. He traced his tongue around the slope of her breasts to her nipples, sucking and nipping at each one, causing Simone to arch her back into him.

 George sat up on his knees and looped his fingers around her panties and pulled them down. Simone expected him to come back up, to kiss her, which she desperately wanted— she wanted to taste his lips, to feel his hot tongue on hers, but instead he settled himself down with his head between her legs.

 Simone sat up on her elbows and looked down at him, puzzled by his move. George held her gaze as he nipped at her inner thigh, making her jerk slightly at the unexpected feeling, and then placed a gentle kiss on her cunt, before slipping his tongue between her lips and up to her clit. 

Simone moaned and lolled her head back, her elbows giving out beneath her. She had had sex like this before, but somehow didn’t expect it from an American, but she was far from complaining. 

He continued licking and sucking her clit and folds and her breathing became ragged as the orgasm built to its crescendo.

 “Putain…” she breathed, grabbing at his hair and bucking her hips towards his mouth.Simone cried out, her body electric from the orgasm pulsing through her.

 She lay still for a moment trying to catch her breath, still seeing stars. She could feel George come up and she grabbed his face and pulled him in for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips. 

She felt desire build again as she felt his hard cock press against her, and she couldn’t wait to feel him inside her, except—

“George.. I- I haven’t had sex in a long time…I’m afraid it will hurt.”

He suddenly looked concerned, and rolled over to the side of her, propping himself up on his elbow.

“We don’t have to do anything more, Simone, if you’re not ready.”

“No, no it’s not that, George. I’m just afraid it will hurt… and that I won’t be much good anymore. I haven’t been with someone since ‘41.”

He shrugged, “it’s been since ‘43 for me… so we both might be rusty.. but hey, we’ll figure it out.” 

They both shared a quiet laugh, and she pulled him in again, their kisses growing in intensity until he had pulled his boxers down and settled on top of her. 

He ran his cock along her folds, gathering her wetness on the tip before sliding into her with ease. They both moaned and George stayed still for a moment, both of them getting their bearings.

 Simone felt herself stretch with his cock with only the slightest bit of pain before the overwhelming pleasure, as he slowly began fucking her.

“You’re so tight.. so fucking tight.” George breathed just as Simone wrapped her legs are his back, pulling him in deeper. 

She couldn’t remember sex ever feeling this good before. He varied his paces, going from slow and deep to fast and hard, pushing her legs up to get a better angle.

George began to tense, his thrusts becoming more erratic, “I’m gonna cum, fuck…”

“Cum for me, George...” Simone whispered in his ear, just before he pulled out of her, spilling his load onto her stomach with a final moan.

He rolled over next to her, both of their chests heaving up and down, trying to catch their breaths.

“Christ, Simone..” George exclaimed, pushing his hair, damp with sweat, out of his face.

“Putain…” was all Simone could say, her body still feeling aftershocks of pleasure.

She felt George get off the bed and walk over to his pants, riffling through his pocket till he found a handkerchief. He sat back down on the bed next to Simone and gently wiped his mess from her stomach. Simone watched his face, so soft but focused on cleaning her up right. It was a tender moment, and suddenly Simone felt a lump in her throat— she was falling for him. 

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #george luz #george luz x ofc #george luz imagine #george luz fanfic #ron speirs #Ron Speirs imagine #dick winters #joe liebgott #donald malarkey

[bellewintersroe]

okay i'm glad! then i'm sending this in if you ever get back in a BoB mood, but no pressure :)

can i request headcanons on how some of them would react (i was thinking mainly Liebgott, Roe and Speirs, but absolutely feel free to add anyone you want too like Luz or Malarkey) if the Easy company gets dispatched in a town near the sea/has to sleep in a beach or similar, and the sweet and kind nurse that is always dispatched with the second battalion (who everyone is crushing on ofc hahaha) as soon as all the high ranks are gone just, takes off her uniform (so she is like in her bra and underwear) and just bolts it towards the sea, calling for the others to join her and play around in the water, because she just loves the sea that much?

i just thought something fun and light could be cute, since the boys definitely need some fun time :)🫶🏻

heyyyy omg so sorry it’s taken so long to reply but thank you thank you thank you for your request! I love this idea sm!! I have altered it slightly to make it more realistic (don’t ask why cos I bend the rules all the time) but I hope these head cannons are okay!!! &lt;3 <3 <3 <3

Band of Brothers x Nurse!Reader Headcannons

General HC’s for 2nd battalion + some more men reacting to their well loved nurse having some fun in the water.

So first let me set the scene, you’ve all just been told you’re being shipped back off to the pacific and morale has somewhat dropped again.

theres so much anxiety snd tension in the air that nobody really can unwind, so after one particularly gruelling training session, 2nd battalions nurse decides to have a little fun…

It’s a boiling hot day in Austria, the lake looks so inviting, and she’s such a sweetheart she just wants to boost morale. All the men absolutely adore her, if they don’t have a crush on her they find her endearing and a comfort to them.

“fuck it.” She mutters, stripping off her uniform as she runs closer to the pier, dropping each piece of clothing behind her.

One by one all the men’s heads turn and then suddenly begin whooping and whistling in excitement. Joe Liebgott:

Stunned to see you stripping off, in fact he remains frozen with his jaw dropped for a few moments. He’s so used to seeing you all covered up and oh my god boobs.

“Close your trap, Joe, you’re trapping flies.”

wouldn’t take much convincing to get in, I think he’d be super playful with you, splashing you and dunking you.

deffo splashes you a little too much, but when you’d jump on his back and he feels the press of your boobs against his bare back- uhhhh his brain turns to mush.

“It’s so nice, isn't it Joe?”

“Uh- yeah, so nice…” deffo gets a boner.

Eugene Roe:

Maybe a lil different scenario, I feel like if there was a group of you he’d probably sit on the side watching and laughing in amusement.

he’d watch you strip off and immediately avert his eyes out of respect but ohmygodogogososo he’s blushing- he hasn’t seen a woman like that for years.

you’re already super close, so to be able to have downtime together creates something more… intimate.

if you’d jump in at the end of the day, the sun setting when it’s just the two of you I don’t think it would take much convincing to for him to get in the water.

you’d float further back from the surface with a smirk as he undressed, jumping in and purposefully splashing you.

would be a little more shy, especially if there’s more men around, but the second you joke about how he might need to give you cpr and the kiss of life he’s smirking and acting all cool and omg.

his hands would snake lower and lower down onto your butt and everybody would be none the wiser around you guys if there was others there.

who knew Roe could be such a flirt?

Ron Speirs:

Now this guy being your literal superior probably wouldn’t linger around to see you, 2nd battalions own nurse, strip off to go for a swim whilst all the horny men giggle like children from the land.

he’d deffo know he had to be more respectful, but let’s change the time a little, it’s just after the German army surrendered, you’re both wasted.

Rob asks you like ‘so what were you doing in the water the other day?’

You’d tell him in return you were just having some fun and he should’ve tried it. Ron, in a celebratory mood, and captivated by how fucking beautiful you are just thinks ‘fuck it’ and makes the decision to go on a ‘walk’.

You end up pushing each other into the water.

for a moment you’re probs shocked that this is literally Captain Speirs you’re swimming with, but things get… heated and there’s no time to think about being intimidated.

you’d deffo probs have the hottest, spontaneous sex with him in the water lmaooo.

George Luz:

You just know this man would be the first one to jump in with you OMG.

he’d be so excited like finally, somebody’s just as fun as he is…

Probs like that kid on holiday that takes it too far and dunks you to the point you’re so out of breath.

I feel like you two would physically play fight to playfully drowning each other. Would be chaos central and anybody who tried to come near you would get a face-full of water.

Don’t be surprised if you wake up the next day with bruises.

kinda sweet tho, you’d lay on the beach together the same night and he’d be all sweet, apologising and checking he didn’t take it too far?

Don Malarkey:

Everybody knows Don needs this time to unwind and just have some fun.

for the first time in months he feels more like himself, the two of you already have a very close bond so it makes you both so mutually happy to the see the other so care free.

I think he’d be laughing like crazy, probably throwing you off the dock and then jumping in after you, cos even tho he’s playing around he doesn’t want to be too rough with you.

would happily shove any of the other men in the water so that the two of you are left standing on the land together.

When he see’s you in your wet bikini oh my godddd- his brain turns to mush and he practically avoids even making eye contact with you he’s that nervous.

when you sit on his lap later that evening he’s done for.

he’s a little stunned cos you’re always so sweet and innocent… but it feels like a dream come true for Malarkey.

#band of brothers headcanons #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x reader #joe liebgott imagines #joe liebgott x reader #gene roe x reader #ron speirs x reader #george luz x reader #don malarkey x reader

[ithinkabouttzu]

May I request band of brothers x reader and reader falling asleep on them?

Yes ofc thank you for your request my beloved! 💗

BoB reaction to you falling asleep on them

genre: Romance; fluff

warnings: none

Description: BoB reaction to their s/o (you) falling asleep on them for the first time

Dick Winters

Okay so I think he would he shocked at first seeing you lay your head right on his chest with ease., “What are they doing?” Is what he’s probably thinking in his head, once he finally hears your soft snores, then he’d notice that you’ve fallen asleep on him. He’s smile softly to himself, making sure to be extra quiet and careful not to wake you up. Honestly he’d be a little blushy at first too, just happy that you feel comfortable enough to fall asleep on him

Lewis Nixon

His breathing would just stop at first when you lay your head on his shoulder. Like omg? You got this man over here getting nervoussss when you do that. Like you got him scared to even move an inch. He’d even try slowing down his breathing because he didn’t want to wake you up. He’d be so sweet about it, he’d hold you in his arms and stroke your hair softly. I could also seeing him getting sleepy and falling asleep on you :,)

Carwood Lipton

He is so cute about it, he’d ask you if you’re alright, not realizing how tired you were. Once he realized you had fallen asleep on him his heart literally melted omg. And you better get that he was still as stone when you were sleeping, bc you’re his bae and you deserve a good sleep in his arms. He’d hold you so softly and feeling of your head on him would make him just content. He’d definitely fall asleep to just holding you so comfortably.

Joe Toye

A huge smile appears on his face when he sees you laying your head on him. He’s tries to play it off all chill but he’s lowkey so excited on the inside. He would wrap an arm around you and keep you secure, making sure that if anyone came by that they were quiet, and ofc making sure he was quiet himself. The cutest thing of all though is how sweet he is to you when you wake up from your short nap. “How are you pretty thing? Ya sleep okay?” UGH he’d be so cute about it. I think you just falling asleep on him would be his favorite thing about y’all’s relationship.

Joe Liebgott

Freezes in his spot when he sees you laying your head on him. “Are you okay?” He’d say, Looking at your face he would see how exhausted you looked and maybe thought that you weren’t feeling good or something was wrong. When you told him that you were just sleepy, and that’s why, he would be so sweet. Honestly he would’ve gotten so happy hearing that’s why you were laying on him. Asking you if you want his jacket or something he has for you to warm up in. Resting on him would be one of the most comfiest things ever. Plus he’d be rubbing your arms up and down, hugging you super tight and warm.

Bill Guarnere

A big ole smirk would come up on his face so quickly. “get comfy, doll” He would rub his arms down back and forth on your arm, keeping a tight grip on your body. He would be so warm and comfortable to fall asleep on, he would try and keep quiet the whole time, especially when he heard you snoring. I think he would really enjoy you taking a nap on him (LOL) , He would end up getting so sleepy, he’d try fighting it off at first but he’d end up giving up after seeing how comfortable you were in his arms.

George Luz

Oh boy, he’s a total angel about the whole thing, when he sees you lay your head on you it makes his heart beat 2x faster then it’s original pace like omg. If you look up at him, all you will see on his face is that huge bright smile of his staring back at you. On the outside he’d try to keep it cool, and not make too much of a scene, but in the inside he was literally FREAKING out, like he is totally frozen in his position because he would feel absolutely horrible to accidentally wake you up. I think he would stroke your hair really nicely, helping you go to sleep with his calming touch almost immediately.

Bull Randleman

Ugh he’s honestly the best person to fall asleep on after a long day. He’d be so nice about it, at first he’d ask you if you were okay, “Are you alright. darlin’?” and you’d reply back just saying you were sleepy or something like that, and he’d say, “Come er’ get some sleep, princess/prince” He’d hold you super soft and would be a total snuggle bug. You made his day just holding onto him tightly while sleeping. he’d be a little nervous at first, because he didn’t want to accidentally hurt you or wake you at first, He would just watch you, admiring you and seeing how beautiful you truly are. He’s just so happy he gets to be around you, you make him so happy.

Eugene Roe

He’s having an internal breakdown when you just lay your head on him, you got him freaking out on the inside for real. He wouldn’t say anything to you about it though, he would just try his hardest to be natural, and he’d lean into you too, holding you by your shoulder and rubbing it slowly. He was nervous you could hear his heartbeat thumping out of his chest at first. But he still tried his best to be normal, and not make you uncomfortable in any way. Laying on him you’d almost fall asleep like immediately, there’s just something so warming about him, you just feel safe enough to sleep in his arms. While your sleeping, he thinks you look absolutely adorable. He’s ultimately glad that he’s with you right now.

Floyd Talbert

He is actually giggling on the inside like a little girl omg, also when you lay on him it’s just an ego booster, like out of all people, your laying on him, he definitely feels lucky, even though he knows his way around the ladies, all of that smoothness goes out the window with you. He just feels so happy when you lay on him comfortably, when he hears you snoring lightly, he can’t help but let out a small laugh and a huge smile. He just feels so nice with you laying on him, you are his favorite person ever.

Skip Muck

Okay so, I think he would be so so excited to be hanging out with you in general, so can you just imagine the look on his face when he sees you laying your head on his chest. Like his heart is ready to burst at any moment, don’t even get me started. I think he’d be so nervous to move, just because he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable at all. He realizes that your sleeping when he hears your soft snores for the first time. He thinks you sound so so cute, like he falls in love with you a million times more when he hears that. Ugh he’s just so obsessed with you.

Don Malarkey

This sweet boy is more than happy for you to lay down on him. You’re sleepy? Well of course, lay down. His heart rate would go up by a bunch when you put your head on him, He can’t lie though, you feel so comfortable. I think he’d end up falling asleep first though and it’d be so cute, you’d look up to see him just snoring and he was passed out LOL, It’s just that he is so comfortable around you that he can fall asleep so easily, he doesn’t know why but he just does, oh and, something else that is absolutely adorable, is how even though he’s asleep, he will still stroke you hair so softly, just because he finds it so comforting holding you.

Babe Heffron

He is so happy when he sees you lay down on him, like his smile gets so big and his heart rate starts beating faster and faster. He would be so excited but nervous while you lay on him, he doesn’t want to disturb you or something that would make you get up, once he starts getting more comfortable with you laying on him, he’d wrap his arms around you and just hug you there, he’s super super sweet when you are laying down. And when he hears you snoring, ugh he thinks you are even cuter, he’d hold you for the rest of the time, just giving your the best forehead kisses and whispering the sweetest little things in your ear while you were asleep. “You’re my favorite, you know that right?”

Shifty Powers

Oh my, this sweethearts face would get so red when he sees you just laying down ask getting comfortable on his chest. He was honestly scared you could hear his heart beating because it was going so fast. He would timidly out his hand on your back and hold you gently. Honestly he’s the most comfortable person you could ever sleep with, Like just relaxing with him will make you instantly fall asleep. He’s so sweet the whole time, just rubbing your back and hugging in the best way ever. When he sees that your sleeping a huge smile appears on his face, he is in absolute awe of your beauty and he just loves you so much.

Frank Perconte

When he sees you laying down on his shoulder his body just rushes with love omg. He would be a little nervous at first but I think after awhile he would out of instinct just wrap his arms around you and hold you close, and in reaction to that I think he’d get really sleepy, like he’d be trying to fight sleep the whole time, just because he didn’t want to be rude. But when calls your name and you don’t answer back, He would look at you and see that you’re sleeping. He would he admiring you so hard, just thinking to himself how cute you are in his arms, before he finally fell asleep himself.

#band of brothers #band of brothers reaction #band of brothers ships #band of brothers fluff #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers react #band of brothers oneshots #band of brothers reactions #ithinkabouttzu #dick winters #lewis nixon #carwood lipton #joe toye #joe liebgott #bill guarnere #george luz #bull randleman #eugene roe #floyd talbert #skip muck #don malarkey #babe heffron #shifty powers #frank perconte

[adamantiumdragonfly]

chapter eighteen - like will to like

Sink's battalion had set up their maps and communications with all the hustle and bustle from Sainte-Marie-Du-Mont in an old farmhouse at the edge of town, the back windows looking out onto American conquered land. From the open front door, there were miles of land that only aerial surveillance and French resistance knew hid within its fields.

Colonel Sink was likely tired of seeing me. I had made myself a thorn in Command's side since my arrival, the very presence causing overturned coffee mugs and distrustful looks from couriers and aids. An unknown woman was suspicious in most places but inside of an Army CP, it was positively dangerous.

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@julianneday1701 @wexhappyxfew @sunflowerchuck @alienoresimagines @rinadoesstuff @thoughpoppiesblow @pilindieltheelf @rogue-sunday @sunnyshifty @pxpeyewynn @trashgoddess600 @50svibes @thegirlwithoutaname87 @tvserie-s-world @how-are-those-nuts-sarge

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[theliebgotts]

Meet Joe Liebgott!

(based solely on Ross McCall's portrayal of him from Band of Brothers)

basic information

full name — Joseph David Liebgott, Jr.

nicknames — Joe, Joey, Lieb

birth date — May 17th

age — 28

zodiac sign — Taurus

gender & pronouns — male, he/him

sexual orientation — heterosexual

languages — English, German, some Yiddish

occupation — Cab driver, barber, paratrooper

place of birth — Michigan

place of residence — California

relationships

parents — Mary Liebgott (49) & Joseph Liebgott Sr. (52)

siblings — oldest of six

romantic tendencies — doesn't care to bog himself down with a relationship right now, is looking to wait til he gets home

sexual tendencies — he'll get it when and where he can

physical characteristics

hair color and texture — brunette, soft waves

eye color — amber brown

body type — slim, muscular

height — 5'9" (1m, 75cm)

skin color — fair

voice — raspy, on the higher end of tone, generally loud

dominant hand — right hand

glasses — no

other physical features — often gets comments on his "perfect" hair

physical illness — none

personality traits

positive aspects — charismatic, funny, smarter than he lets on, emotionally intelligent

negative aspects — scrappy, hotheaded, holds grudges, temperamental

phobias — none

extra information

smoking — definitely

quirks — chewing his nails

favorite color — blue

favorite food — pastrami and swiss hoagie from Lucca's

favorite drink — beer, whiskey, RC Cola (its better than that Coca Cola shit..)

hobbies — cutting hair, reading comics, drawing

tokens — Magen David necklace

#joe liebgott #joseph liebgott #band of brothers fanfic #the liebgotts #joe liebgott x merle aldridge #joe liebgott x ofc

[mrsalwayswrite]

Sing Me a Song (Joseph Liebgott x reader)

Can be read as a reader or OFC piece. I was playing around with writing in first person.

The song referenced is Only Forever by Bing Crosby.

Warnings: um...none really. fluff?

Tags: @evelynshelby​

It was a cold, white hell. Snow covered everything. Well everything that had not been destroyed by the most recent barrage. The air was frigid, the cold seeping into my clothes until it felt like my bones had been replaced with icicles. Splintered trees surrounded us, an ode to the destruction we faced. Stains on the ground reminded us where someone had been hit, either injured or died.

 The only thing that made this place even remotely tolerable was my fellow paratroopers...and him. 

 I sat next to Muck, sides pressed against one another with the idea of sharing warmth. Even if neither one of us had warmth to share. Our legs dangled over the side of Luz's foxhole, listening to him and Malark joke about something. A few other guys were around, listening in and adding their own commentary. Specifically, he sat across from me in the foxhole, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, fingers tapping out a silent beat on his thigh. 

 I remember the exact moment I met Joseph Liebgott. I knew he would be trouble for me. That messy hair, dark eyes and the don't-fuck-with-me attitude. Sure I found that attractive and his dry humor always made me laugh. Although his stubbornness and ability to pick a fight with almost anyone did irk me. He was untouchable. It was obvious he was a ladies-man, and knew it. I was...well, not someone typically picked up at a bar. I had always been alright with my lack of male attention, but for once, I wish I knew how to charm and flirt, to beguile a man and have the audacity to kiss one. 

 But that was not me. So I sat and watched from the sidelines. 

"What the fuck are they singing about now?" Liebgott complained, glaring across the no-man's land between us and the Germans in the Bois Jacques. 

 Sure enough, German singing could be heard, carrying with the wind. They seemed to be singing more lately, either to boost their own morale or annoy the Americans. 

 It sure got a rise out of some of the paratroopers. 

 "They just serenading you, Joe." Malark joked then called over to a passing Sergeant, "Ain't that right, Lip?"

 Lipton just shook his head, a small smile touching his lips. "Whatever you say, Malark. You boys make sure to keep your heads down. Ma'am too." He kept walking, probably to find Dike.  

 I giggled, smiling as Lipton walked away. No matter how many times I told him to stop, he still called me 'ma'am'. Something about it being disrespectful and even in the middle of a war his mother would find him and spank him with her wooden spoon if she thought he was being disrespectful. 

 Liebgott kept scowling. "Well I wish they'd shut the fuck up." He mumbled something under his breath, running a hand through his shaggy hair. 

 "Oh I see, you prefer me to serenade you." Luz smiled. "I mean, all you had to do was ask, really. Oklahoma where the wind comes sweeping…"

 "Shut it. I'm sick of your singing." 

 "Joe…" I reprimanded softly. He glanced over at me and gave the briefest of winks. That simple action, every time, always set my cheeks ablaze and a fire in my belly. I scrubbed a hand over my face, praying no one saw how flustered I was. 

 "Well what do you want? Not a lot of options here, unless you know where some band is hiding nearby." Muck said, rubbing his hands together for warmth. 

 "Shit, I don't know. I just miss music, good music I guess. Always had the radio playing in my cab."

 My heart broke at the forlorn look on his face. We all had our moments where the longing for home, to be anywhere but this terrible place, overwhelmed us. It was up to our friends around to cheer us up, however they could, but lately it was getting harder and harder to do. The constant threat of bombardment, the frigid cold, lack of food and watching our friends get injured and/or die. It killed the small hints of hope left in us. That we would survive. That we would escape this place.  

 He drummed his fingers against his thigh, some song probably playing in his head. Even those around us had grown silent, lost in their own memories of before. Who knew such a simple thing as music could be so meaningful. 

 "I'll sing for you."

 Then I realized the words I blurted out. Shit. 

 "Yeah? You sing?"

 Luz butted in. "Since when do you sing? And why are we hearing about this now? We could have been singing duets this whole time!" 

 I ignored him, keeping my eyes on Liebgott. "I used to sing in school. Nothing special."

 That may have been the biggest lie of my life. I used to sing all the time, whenever I could. I even sang for our local radio a couple times. Then war happened. It did not feel right to sing during training, just gave Sobel another reason to despise me, and here surrounded by blood and bullets, I did not even think about it. 

 For him though, I would do it. To make him smile in this frozen hell. I would sing for him. 

 "What are you going to sing?"

 "What would you like?"

 He paused for a moment before smirking. "Surprise me."

 Well there was no going back now. Butterflies were throwing a lively party in my belly, my hands were sweaty and my mind continued to berate me for my idiotic decisions. I pushed it all away. I had survived D-Day. I had helped take Carentan. I had fought at the Crossroads. I could sing one song for the man that made my knees weak with a wink. 

 Right?

 Shit. 

 Carefully I stood up, dusting the snow off my ODs as I mentally chose a song. What did I want to sing? In my mind I imagined myself back home, the sun shining on my face, sand between my toes and the sounds of the ocean waves crashing on the beach. Then I imagined him next to me. A huge smile on his face, like the ones from back in Toccoa when he would hide Guarnere's boots just to see him furious and swearing to make even a sailor blush. 

 So I closed my eyes, opened my mouth and let the song pour forth. 

 Do I want to be with you

As the years come and go

Only forever

If you care to know.

Would I grant all your wishes

And be proud of the task

Only forever

If someone should ask.

How long would it take me

To be near if you beckon?

Off hand I would figure

Less than a second.

Do you think I'll remember 

How you looked when you smile?

Only forever 

That's puttin' it mild. 

 When I finished the song, barely a sound was heard. Self-conscious, I opened my eyes to meet the stares and dropped jaws of my fellow paratroopers.  

 I met those dark eyes that I adored and softly said, "happy Hanukkah, Joe."

 Then my nerves gave out and I quickly dropped back down to sit next to Muck. 

 "What the hell was that? Were you planning on keep that from us this whole time?" Luz demanded, looking both offended and awed. 

 I just shrugged. 

 "That was beautiful." Muck whispered, nudging me in the side. 

 "Thank you."

 Buck called my name from behind, so I turned to see all the officers standing nearby probably making a plan since Dike was not around. Honestly I was mortified that they had heard also but the smiles on their faces alleviated some of the anxiety. "From now on, only you should be singing for Easy."

 "Hey!" Luz placed a hand over his heart, cigarette between his fingers. "You wound me, Buck. You love my singing."

 "Keep telling yourself that, George."

 Smiling at their silly antics, I was glad the attention was momentarily off me but I knew it would not be for long. It had felt good to sing again. I wondered if my self-imposed denial was without merit. If it boosted the morale of my friends, was it selfish of me to hold back? I figured I should talk to Doc about it later. He gave the best advice.  

 "You sang that….for me?"

 The question startled me out of my musings. I looked over the foxhole to see Liebgott staring at me with an intensity I had never seen before. It made a fire grow in my belly and my toes curl.  

 I nodded, biting my chapped lip. 

 His eyes bore into mine for a long moment. Then without warning, he shoved off the side of the foxhole he sat on and in two steps stood before me. Before a word could escape me, his lips crushed against mine with an almost bruising passion. 

 It felt as if the world faded away and the only thing that mattered was his soft, equally chapped lips, his warm breath and the feeling of his hands cupping my cheeks. Once my brain restarted, I kissed him back with equal passion. For a moment I was unsure if this was a dream or real. Either way I intended to enjoy it. I knocked his helmet off so I could card my fingers through his messy hair like I had fantasized about so many times. It was greasy and dirty but it was perfect. 

 Eventually the world resumed and I could hear the hooting and cheering of the guys around us. I pulled back slightly from Liebgott, my cheeks flaming from more than just the cold. 

 "Hell of a kiss you laid on her, Joe." Malarkey teased. 

 "Hell of a dame." Liebgott replied, his eyes never leaving mine as one of his thumbs brushed gently over my swollen, bottom lip. I could not help the small smile, amazed that this was real. 

 Quickly he snuck a brief kiss once more before pulling himself up and sitting next to me, his arm tucking me into his side. Not that I complained.

 "Why don't you kiss me after I sing to you? Huh?" Luz pouted but the huge smile on his face gave him away. 

 "I guess you didn't know the right song." 

 They laughed at my joke, the tension that typically hung over us like an axe gone for the time. The guys heckled one another and tried to convince me to sing again amidst pretending to recreate The Kiss scene Liebgott and I just gave them, like some high school play. 

 The snow and cold seeped through our clothes, threatening that we would never feel warmth again. The enemy sat in wait not far from us. For now, I pretended those dangers were imaginary. I laughed as Luz tried to sing like me, only to fail spectacularly, and be bombarded with snow balls. 

 Most of all, I felt a fresh breath of life in me as I scooted closer and laid my head on Liebgott's shoulder, his arm tight around my side. The faintest press of a kiss on the top of my head made my smile grow. 

 I wondered if I should have sang months ago or maybe it was this moment, that finally allowed me to show him how I felt. 

 His fingers thread through mine, and I realized it did not matter. I was happy. And that was something I planned on never letting go. 

#easy company #band of brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #band of brothers fanfic #joe liebgott #joe liebgott x reader #joe liebgott x ofc #george luz #donald malarkey #buck compton #skip muck #reader insert #mzwrites

[skiesofrosie]

would anyone be interested, at all, in a joe liebgott x ofc, pretty long one-shot? >.< my fingers started typing it out. (the character in the show, not the real person!!)

#band of brothers #joe liebgott #joseph liebgott #liebgott #band of brothers x ofc

[floralfloyd]

 Masterlist

Started: 8th April 2020

Last Updated: 01/03/2022

Works: 25

Characters

Band of Sisters - The OFC's of Easy Company Masterlist

Band of Brothers

George Luz

Sentimental Journey (George Luz x OFC)

Chuck Grant

Get Well Soon (Chuck Grant x OFC)

Joe Liebgott 

A Seargent's Sorrow (Joe Liebgott x OFC Platonic)

Edward ‘Babe’ Heffron

Dick Winters

Floyd Talbert

Frostbite and Kisses (Floyd Talbert x OFC)

Bill Guarnere

Lewis Nixon

Cold Ice, Warm Hearts (Lewis Nixon x OFC)

The Pacific

Bill ‘Hoosier’ Smith

Robert Leckie

War is Over (Robert Leckie x Reader)

Lew ‘Chuckler’ Jurgens  

Eugene Sledge 

Andrew ‘Ack Ack’ Haldane

Nolan Hemmings

Jamie Finn (Heartbeat)

Young Love (Jamie Finn x OFC)

Jacob Pitts (Coming Soon)

Deputy Marshall Tim Gutterson (Justified)

Cooper Harris (Eurotrip)

Bill ‘Hoosier’ Smith (The Pacific)

Gwilym Lee

A Field of Flowers (Samuel Castell):

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue (Coming Soon)

Since I’ve Been Loving You (Gwilym Lee)

A Winter’s Tale (Gwilym Lee)

Queen

Confidence (Brian May x Reader)

Dreamers Ball Part 1 (Brian May x Reader)

Pink Floyd

Tears Like Raindrops (David Gilmour x Reader)

 If there’s someone not on the list above that you would like a one-shot, series, or even blurb about, feel free to ask my inbox and I’ll happily include them if I can. I’m always expanding my genres and characters so keep an eye out.

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #samuel castell #grigor dymov #Henry Jameson #Brian May #pink floyd #david gilmour #david gilmour x reader #George Luz #george luz x reader #george luz x ofc #chuck grant #chuck grant x reader #chuck grant x ofc #joe liebgott #floyd talbert #babe heffron #bill guarnere #ron spiers

[latibvles]

ooohhh this ask game looks like fun! 69 and 97 for Liebgott and Rita? :)

OUAAAAGH dove u know the way to my heart. (It’s talking about rita mccarney in any capacity)

FLIRTING UNDER FIRE + TIME TRAVEL

Because that’s how it started — wasn’t it? Remarks exchanged on the beaches of Normandy. The one who was able to keep up with her better than most, who liked her fire rather than trying to snuff it out. ( And yet she stamps them out, and she denies him, and at the end of the War it’s two very lonely train cars taking them to opposite ends of the Coast )

Lonely beds, a smirk that lingers in her dreams, a laugh, body heat, stolen kisses — all the things she aches for. Closing her eyes in a lonely Brooklyn apartment and opening them in that tent, near that beach, on that damned cot.

Maybe it’s fate that gives her this second chance, at the beginning again, at the place that started it all. And Rita hasn’t been given many second chances. And he loved her once, at least, she’s pretty certain it was love — could he love her again? She hopes so.

Maybe she can change to phrase to “second time’s the charm.”

send a ship + 2 prompts and I’ll tell you how I’d write it!

#lieb x rita #ch: rita mccarney #poet’s mail box #poe’s pals #band of brothers #THEY ARE ! SO PERSONAL TO ME #SQUISHES THEM #joe liebgott x ofc

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 6: Nothing to Hide

Summary: Zenie swallows the lump in her throat and nods. “Could have been worse.”

Warnings: language

A/N: Ya girl has been in a Mood™️ today, and since I have a feeling that the storm is gonna knock out my wifi, have another early LAGLAM update, on the house 😉

Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @lieutenant-speirs

March, 1943 – Camp Mackall, NC

Liebgott is the best at cutting hair and his prices are fair. If you’re a paratrooper and you want your hair cut and you want it cut right, then he’s your man. He’ll throw around jokes, talk about camp drama if that’s your style. And if not, he’ll work quickly and quietly through the silence without complaint.

They never talk while he cuts Zenie’s hair. This is mostly on her, because ever since that day in Toccoa when he accused her of being “performance shy”, she swears that every time he looks at her he sees straight through her disguise. She wants a good haircut. What she doesn’t want is for her observant barber to hear her voice up close and realize that – despite all her practice and effort – it’s probably more feminine than it should be.

He's close to being done and Zenie is counting down the minutes. Liebgott might be a nice guy to joke around with under different circumstances, but she’d rather get back to her friends, who are less observant.

Behind her, Liebgott sucks in a breath, and she’s worried that he’s about to say something when Luz rounds the corner, fiddling with what appears to be a stack of papers.

He smiles. It’s duller than usual. “Hey ho, Tommy Boy!”

“Hiya Luz. Watchya got there?”

The radioman looks down, his mouth dropping into an O of shock. Then he smirks. “Oh, this old thing? Just some maps that I’m helping the Black Swan misplace.”

Liebgott snorts, his hands still preoccupied with Zenie’s hair. “Plain sight is the best hiding place. I’d try slipping them into Regimental HQ.”

“Or the kitchens,” Zenie suggests. “He spends a lot of time in there.”

Luz taps his nose. “Those are both good. We have that field exercise tomorrow, and I don’t want him to find them before then.”

“Put ‘em under his own mattress,” Zenie jokes, thinking about the hiding place she used back in Toccoa. No one ever looked under or in her mattress until Eugene started helping her. And who would think to look under their own mattress for missing maps?

The laugh that escapes Luz isn’t as jolly as it usually is. It’s offkey, sour. “Yeah, that’d be some sort of poetic justice.”

Liebgott’s hands pause. “How?”

“You haven’t heard?”

“Obviously not.”

Luz tilts his head, motioning for them to follow him as he shoves the maps into his pocket. Zenie turns to Liebgott, whose eyebrows are drawn in a way that must mirror her own. He gives her a pat on the shoulder and says, “You’re all through, Tommy” before they follow George away.

“Holy shit,” Liebgott says when they step into the barracks.

“Holy shit,” Zenie echoes. Her stomach drops at the sight before her.

The barracks look as if a tornado has swept through them. Mattresses have been toppled off of beds, the sheets that once adorned them tangled together in heaps on the floor. Footlockers have been forced open and toppled over, their belongings spilling out. Socks and underwear are everywhere. Letters line the floors. Even their pillows haven’t escaped the massacre, Zenie notes as she watches a few paratroopers trying to seal up holes in the sides of theirs.

“Fuckin’ Sobel,” Liebgott mutters, taking a step further into the mess.

Surveying the carnage, the room suddenly feels cold, like ice water has been poured down the back of her shirt. Zenie has nothing to hide – no physical belongings to hide, anyway – yet she feels exposed. Her hands shake as she reaches her bed, pulling her mattress back onto it before she searches the floor for her few letters from Bobby.

Thank God none of them call her by her real name or mention her secret.

Thank God for Eugene helping her keep her secret.

Around her, the others are comparing the damage done to their personal belongings, but their voices seem distant. She plucks a sock off of her pillow and busies herself trying to put it into a neat ball. Everyone else is pissed off because they feel like their privacy has been violated, like their secrets have been laid bare. Ironic, that she – with the biggest secret of them all – somehow had nothing to hide and got of scot-free. A trickle of cold sweat runs down her spine as she takes it all in.

“You okay?” A gentle voice beside her pulls her from her thoughts and back into the loud, indignant atmosphere. Gene’s hand is paused halfway to her shoulders, like he was going to place one there to comfort her before thinking better of it.

Zenie swallows the lump in her throat and nods. “Could have been worse.”

They look around at the rest of the company. Someone is complaining that all of his letters are gone. Someone’s socks were stolen. A few men are packing their belongings away for good, readying themselves to be shipped home after what was found in their belongings.

Eugene nods. “Coulda been much worse.”

The deep, throaty croaking of a crow in the branches above her makes Zenie pause mid-step. Back home, the crows that hung around the farm usually only made that noise when someone entered their woods, or when they sensed some sort of perceived danger. She holds her breath and waits. Sure enough, someone – or something – rustles the greenery nearby.

On instinct she crouches and freezes, turning her attention towards the noise.

To her right, a group of paratroopers and a medic are crouched around an unconscious body, giggling and talking quickly. It becomes obvious the second that one of them lifts the body that whoever it might be is unconscious. She almost starts to worry that there has been an actual accident, but when she creeps closer she realizes two things: the paratroopers are pulling down the unconscious body's pants, and that the unconscious body in question belongs to none other than Captain Sobel.

Curiosity satisfied, she turns away and heads back in her original direction. It’s supposed to be a training exercise. No one is supposed to get hurt. Yet she has a feeling that things will be much worse for Sobel when they get into actual combat. Especially since what she just saw is definitely born out of revenge, no doubt about it.

Maybe the next time that there’s a boxing match, Sobel will try his luck and get in the ring. It’s too bad that Bill stopped boxing once he got promoted from corporal to squad sergeant. He’d have a thing or two to show their captain when the gloves were on. Then again, Liebgott’s a hell of a boxer. It probably wouldn’t take much convincing for him to get into the ring and show Sobel what’s what.  

That’s what he gets for going through our stuff and taking our weekend passes, she thinks. Remembering the barracks – turned inside out and completely trashed, people’s personal effects strewn everywhere, half of it missing – still makes her throat dry. Thank God for Eugene and his friendship. If not for him, her mattress would have been torn open to reveal rolls of bandages and packages of health sponges, and she would have been . . . Court martialed? Thrown in military prison? Or worse, maybe sent home. She makes a mental note to thank him again for keeping both her secret and any supplies she might need safe for her.

In a different part of her life, or maybe some time back at Toccoa, Zenie might have felt bad about what she just witnessed. Part of her might have felt bad watching Luz and some of the others misplace the Captain’s maps and equipment. If there’s one thing she’s learned recently, it’s that the Airborne is no place for secrets or emotions. She simply tries to numb the feelings, push them down and ignore them, as she plunges into her training.

Ahead of her, she spies more movement that she thinks she recognizes. Sure enough, Popeye turns, allowing her a glimpse of his face through the trees. And beside him moves another familiar figure – one that makes her heart speed up.

No! She swallows, trying to concentrate. These feelings will go away if she ignores them long enough. Then things can go back to normal; she can go on being friends with Shifty without worrying about ruining the whole damn thing.

(Because right now, looking at him is like looking directly into the sun; she feels like she can only do it in glances. She would never ignore him. He’s her friend, and she couldn’t do that to him. Especially when she knows how awful it feels to be the one being ignored. No, it’s just uncomfortable to talk to one of her friends while I think I’m in love with you and I really can’t afford that runs through the back of her mind the entire time. She’s got to find a way to fix this – whatever this is.)

There’s more movement to her left. She turns in time to see the smiling face of Joe Toye.

“Easy, Tommy.” He tilts his head back towards where he came. “Rest of your squad is that way.”

She shoulders her gun and starts after him. Part of her wants to go after Shifty and Popeye instead, but she needs to find the rest of her squad, not follow her heart.

Because no matter how she does or does not feel, here, on the ground, there is only one thing that matters: being prepared to jump into combat. If there’s one thing from her life before the Airborne that is useful, it’s that – as per the usual – her feelings do not matter.

#honestly shocked tumblr let me upload the moodboard with all the rain #Hope y'all are having a nice day btw #lots of love <3 #like a girl (like a man) #my writing #oc zenie mcglamery #shifty powers x original female character #shifty powers x ofc #shifty powers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #joe liebgott #george luz #joe toye

[rogue-durin-16]

POISON IN YOUR COFFEE

hi dear! I got a request for you (if u want ofc), Liebgott x reader with the prompt "+If I were your wife, I'd put poison in your tea/-If I were your husband, I'd drink it"?? I really love how you write for Lieb, so I'll just send the prompt and ask you not to make it too angsty xxx

Pairing: Joe Liebgott x Reader

Genre: fluff w/ angst

Tags:

Requested by: anon

Band Of Brothers: @sparkyluz @chubbypotatoepie

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @comfort-reads

Warnings: mentions of shooting, language

A/N: a bit of a break from making matchups to post some of the fics I've got stored; don't fret my darlings, your requested ships are on the making. Meanwhile, enjoy this <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

I was only half awake as I entered the mess hall in order to join Dick and have breakfast, but I was soon completely awoken by the shouts of two particular privates, too infuriated at each other to care about having two COs around them.

"—No, actually, thank you very much, Y/l/n!"

"You SHOULD be thankful, YOU PRICK!"

Lacking energy and knowledge of the situation, instead of telling both of them off, I instinctively stepped out of Y/l/n's way, and consequently Liebgott's, as he stalked behind her, wide eyed at the pair.

I found Dick, as expected, sat on our usual table, following the two troublemakers' path before making eye contact with me.

"Y'know, you're never gonna land a man with that mouth!" I spared them one more dumbfounded look before making my way to the seat my friend had been saving. "Specially me."

"Good morning, Lew." Dick whispered.

"Jesus Christ..." I muttered, raising my brows in despair. "Did you try to stop this?"

"God forbid me going after someone like you!"

"Well, I did try." He tilted his head to the side, eyes fixed on Y/n, who had just turned around to confront the boy trailing after her. "But I don't have a death wish."

"If I were your wife, I'd put poison in your coffee!"

"Damn!" I couldn't help but exclaim, earning a brief, mortified look from the girl, which disappeared as soon as Liebgott opened his mouth again.

"If I were your husband, sweetheart, I'd fucking drink it!"

"ASSHOLE!"

"COME BACK HERE— Y'KNOW WHAT—!"

Their conversation died down with the abrupt shutting of the door after their dramatic exit.

"Sobel's so gonna make me give them latrine duty for this." My friend pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What's wrong with those two now?" I questioned, rubbing my eyes.

Dick puffed, toying with his breakfast. "Liebgott's pass got revoked. Y/l/n reported him and Alley out of the camp last night."

"Y/l/n? A snitch?" I huffed in surprise. "Wouldn't have guessed."

My friend shook his head no, taking a bite of the food in his plate. "I think she was worried." He motioned at the door with his fork. "Liebgott's been getting into spats with a couple of privates from Baker company— a fight was mentioned last afternoon."

"And given how Liebgott is..."

Dick nodded, swallowing the food before speaking. "She figured he'd be getting beaten up."

"You think Y/l/n and Liebgott...?" I raised my eyebrows intently at my friend, who let the ghost of an amused smile twist up the corner of his mouth.

"Don't we all?" He turned thoughtful all from sudden, letting silence overtake our conversation for a brief moment before questioning me. "You think I should suggest Sobel transferring Y/l/n to another company?"

"Christ, no!" I denied without missing a beat, taking a sip of Dick's coffee and earning a glare in the process. "Don't put her under Sobel's eye, that'd be no good." I denied with my head. "Once you get promoted to Easy's commanding officer,"

"Lew..."

"What?" I grinned, leaning back in my chair. "Anyway, once that happens, if they're still at each other's throats, yeah, transfer her."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

JOE'S P. O. V.

"Fuck— get me outta here!" I lost no time to lift the tarp once the truck stopped, nearly throwing myself out of the vehicle.

I didn't bother putting the canvas back down before walking away; as I pulled a messed candy bar from my pocket in order to placate my hunger, a familiar voice caught my attention.

"—tryna find Easy, Sir." I frowned, pausing my actions to prick up my ears whilst taking cautious steps in the voice's direction. "I've been—"

"Y/l/n?" The girl spun her head at me, Speirs looking over her shoulder to check who had interrupted them. "Sorry, Sir. She's—"

"Liebgott, right?" I nodded, not daring to take any further steps while Speirs redirected his attention back to Y/n. "There you have 'em. We're moving out in an hour, make sure you eat something."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." Dog Company's Lieutenant did a half turn and I stalked to meet Y/n; she did the same, leaving us in an awkward position before she reached out her hand to me.

I eagerly took it, giving it a firm shake which seemed to make whatever barrier had stood between us wobble.

"You made it." I pointed out the obvious, giving her a quick check to make sure she was okay.

"Barely." She scoffed, following me as I lead the way back to the truck. As I came to a halt, Y/n spared our surroundings an observant glance. "What did I miss?"

"Our first assault." Absentmindedly, I took the candy bar in my hand and split it in two, giving her half of it. "Thank God Winters is in command and not Sobel."

"Where's Meehan?" I shrugged, worry forming a frown in both of our gazes. "Anyone down?" I denied, triggering a sigh of relief from her.

"Malarkey's making us dinner." I tilted my head at the truck at my left. "You should go say hi."

The girl rushed to the vehicle, only to rotate her head before lifting the canvas. "You comin'?"

I shook my head no. "The smell in there is... somethin'."

She laughed —genuinely laughed— and I felt my stomach do a flip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

READER'S P. O. V.

I stalked into the room without giving much attention to the people in there. The so-called successful patrol was playing on my mind; Jackson's cries for help echoed particularly loud within the walls of my head.

"Woah— Y/n/n, you okay?" I spared Malarkey a quick glance when he expressed his concern, pushing himself off the bunk bed.

"Uh... What?" I dazedly asked, unbuttoning my ruined jacket.

"Shit, you got hit?" Perconte questioned just as worried, to which I shook my head no, discarding the piece of clothing I had just gotten a few hours ago, now stained with blood and dirt.

"It's Jackson's." Webster muttered, gaze lost.

"She was right behind him."

Lieutenant Jones' voice made me drop my motions. "Sorry, Sir, I didn't see—"

"It's fine, Corporal." I gave him a thankful nod, freeing my hair from the messed braid in order to fix it, and turned my back to them.

As I walked away from the men in the table's direction, I heard the bed squeaking, followed by a stomp on the ground. I didn't need to turn around to see Liebgott had just climbed off the top bunk.

"Y/l/n." He called for me right when I was rotating in order to sit atop the table. I hummed in response, cueing him to speak, but he only unbuttoned his own jacket and took it off. "You'll get cold."

I looked at the jacket in his hand, stretched out in my direction, and then at his face, fixed on the fabric instead of in me.

"All from sudden you can't get cold?" I mumbled in a much hostile voice that I had meant to.

"Shit, Y/l/n, just take the fucking jacket, yeah?"

"Jeez, okay." Taking it in my hands, I threw it over my shoulders before slipping my arms into the sleeves.

My attention landed on the group we had left on the opposite side of the basement, taking turns to steal curious looks at our odd interaction.

Liebgott, who had walked away as soon as I had accepted the jacket, came back with a cup of coffee and handed it to me.

"Don't worry, it's not poisoned." He taunted, in a half bitter, half jokingly voice.

"Ha ha." I took it without complaints this time, wrapping both of my cold hands around the hot metallic container; I let out a pleased sigh at the very much needed warmth and, after a moment, I turned my head to Joe again, who was now leaning against the table's edge by my side. "Thank you."

He dismissed it with a shake of his head. "Y'know, you should go get some sleep." He suggested after an instant of silence. "If we're actually going on another patrol tonight."

"Whaddya mean 'we'?"

"You're down to fourteen. The roaster was supposed to be fifteen men."

"So?"

"With me, it'd be fifteen." He clicked his tongue, his head casted down. "And I was supposed to go in first place so..."

"So was Malark." I responded in a rather soothing tone. He was just as afraid of the next patrol as we were. "But he's not coming to this one, and neither are you. We were down to twelve men and still carried it out."

He didn't seem all too convinced, but a glimmer of hope shone in his eyes. "Fuck, why do they want another patrol anyway?"

I shrugged, nursing the cup of coffee. "Sink hates us?"

"It's startin' to look like that."

"Lieb, I'm kidding."

I didn't notice it had slipped until that dumbfounded yet cocky half smile made an appearance on his face, eyes staring at me through a confused frown.

"Whaddya just call me?"

"Oh shut up, I'm exhausted." I retorted, bringing the cup of coffee to my lips when my cheeks started to heat up. "You sure it's not poisoned?"

"Don't worry, Y/n/n." He leaned on ever so slightly and I had to fight the urge to dig a hole and bury my head in the ground. "I wouldn't poison you."

My nickname rolled out of his lips smoothly, leaving a weird feeling in my stomach. Was that how he had felt when I had unconsciously shortened his last name?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had barely claimed a stool as my seat in the crowded Austrian bar, when somebody's upper body leaned into my peripheral vision. Sighing, I spared the disturber a glance.

"You're Easy's gal, ain't ya?" I couldn't help but scoff before examining the boy. His cheeky grin and fresh face let me know that he was a replacement. "Mind if I buy ya a drink?"

I gave him an unamused smile, swinging my recently filled glass in front of him. "Don't even try."

"Oh, c'mon!" I shook my head in a tired manner, choosing to gaze forward in hopes that he would go away. "What 'bout—"

A sort of stomp was heard between the replacement and me, making us both jolt.

"What 'bout you leave her alone." Liebgott squeezed up between us, not so subtly elbowing the boy.

"Good Lord, not today." I pleaded tired, pinching the bridge of my nose with my eyes shut and a poorly hidden smile.

"Oh, you love me, shut up." He spat before returning his attention to the replacement. "It's past your bedtime, kid."

I bit back a chuckle. Checking the replacement's actions wasn't necessary; I knew he had gone away the moment Liebgott's forearm stopped pressing against mine.

"Thank you." I spoke, peeking at him. "I really can't deal with replacements right now."

"None of us can." He looked over his shoulder, most likely at the group of younger fellas sticking together in the bar. Every veteran had become wary of the replacements after Grant had gotten shot.

Our gazes danced with one another's for a minute before Joe spoke. "Am I bothering you?"

"Always." My tone was surprisingly soft, but so was his. "Can you let me drink this one in peace?"

"Only if you let me drink it with ya," at my quirked eyebrow, he turned to dig in his pocket before pulling out a white colored handkerchief. "Truce?" His hand waved the piece of cloth in front of my face, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Since you ask so nicely."

His gaze, until then casted down on the wooden surface in which our drinks laid, lifted to meet mine. "Currahee." Liebgott nonchalantly raised his glass from the counter, tilting it in my direction.

"Currahee." I echoed, leaning on him ever so slightly, clinking my jar with his before taking a swig of the drink.

There was a moment of silence between us, filled with the incessant noise of the establishment prior to Liebgott scooting closer. "Listen, Y/n," I hummed, cueing the rest of his sentence. "I was thinkin'—"

"Damn, can you do that?" He spared me a warning look and I bumped his shoulder with mine, turning his scowl into a half smile. "Enlighten me, what's on your mind?"

"Well, I was... I was thinkin'..." He cleared his throat, choosing to stare ahead of him instead of at me.

"C'mon, Joe, spit it out." I prompted him with a chuckle, one that died down as soon as I noticed the fluster of his cheeks.

"Fuckin'... Okay I was— would you like to grab a coffee? with me." My lips parted in awe. I don't know what I had expected, but surely it was not that.

"As in— as in just the two of us?"

He scorned. "No, I'm gonna invite that replacement too."

"Joe?" I turned leaning to the side on the counter, contorting to meet his eyes that he so badly struggled to avert from mines. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"Whatever you wanna call it." He scrunched his nose, sparing me an anxious look that soon eased due to my smile. "Whatcha say?"

"Are you not scared of me putting poison in your coffee?"

"Joke's on you, I never was." He shrugged, playing off the situation with the help of a cocky grin. "I said I'd drink it, didn't I?"

I tilted my head, brows frowned and a tender half smile on my face. Somehow, his invitation had not taken me aback; on the contrary, it felt long overdue.

"Wanna grab it here? Or back at home?"

"Both?" He asked tentatively.

"Sounds good to me." I agreed. Trapping my lower lip between my teeth, I raised from the stool to place a peck on his left cheek, holding the right one with my hand. I soon pulled away, rubbing a couple of circles on the side of his face with my thumb.

"Tomorrow?" He nodded to my whispered question, his eyelids partially closed as he leaned on my touch. "I'mma go dance." I announced, letting my palm fall from his cheek to his arm. "You comin'?"

He clicked his tongue, denying. "Not a dancer. Sorry, Y/n."

"Such a pity. I'll find someone else to dance with." I squeezed his bicep and attempted to step away and into the crowd, but as soon as my touch left his uniform, his fingers interlaced with mines, causing me to turn around in surprise.

"Just one dance." He warned, walking with me to the dance floor. I couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow at him, surprised and amused at the behavior. "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything!" I whined, throwing my arms over his shoulders.

"I know that face." He spat, placing his hands on my waist.

"Okay, okay." I let out a laugh, which dragged out one of his own. "I'll shut up."

"Good, 'cause otherwise," he brought me closer for me to rest my head against him, which I did. "I'll be the one putting poison in your coffee."

"Oh, you bet I'd drink it." I talked back, smirking against the crook of his neck.

#joe liebgott fanfiction #joe liebgott x reader #joe liebgott #joseph liebgott x reader #joseph liebgott fanfiction #joseph liebgott imagine #ross mccall #joseph liebgott #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fandom #band of brothers #hbo war fic