#band of brothers oneshots

[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.

[indigo-graves]

Warmth | Eugene Roe

When the curtains were no longer able to block out the sun, there was a shift beside Roe, which caused him to stir. There was a moment where he found himself struggling to orient himself to the room. It had been all too easy to forget he was in a bedroom, under warm linens, and not in the snow-dusted forest of Bastogne. A warmth he never would quite be able to replicate radiated from beside him, something he had an even harder time orienting himself to. Even more recent than their arrival at the Eagle’s Nest, was the bedfellow he had found once they got there. 

Gene turned, inhaling her scent. The soap had found in that bathroom was lovely, of course, but he found himself dizzy with desire when he leaned closer, his head tilted to inhale the spot where her hair lingered on her neck. He took a deep breath in, taking in the soft, sweet natural scent, the depth of the warmth that grew in his belly was new. Would he ever get used to being this close? The smokey bite from the fireplace that lingered in her hair felt familiar. He had recalled it from close, accidental brushes when he worked beside her on the battlefield. 

She stirred again, humming as she readjusted herself into the pillow, the mattress, into him. He felt a hum of appreciation rumble deep in his chest. He pressed his lips gently to the back of her shoulder, taking his time to feel the warmth of her skin. Wordlessly, she reached over, taking his hand in hers. He grinned against her skin when she held his hand in hers, lining the length of her fingers up with his. Their two hands became one shadow, blocking the direct light of the sun shining in on the pair. She tipped her fingers between his and pulled it down across her body. His fingers still flexed, hers gripping at his hand, she brought each of the tips of his fingers to her mouth. A kiss was placed on the pad of each finger slowly. Taking her time to recall memories of watching them work tirelessly to keep the Company alive. 

Roe chuckled, the muscles in his cheeks ached from smiling. She felt it against her skin, thanking God for the smile. Few and far between had he shared it with her as they navigated their way across Europe, attempting to keep the Easy Company in one piece. Since finding a place away from mortar rounds and gunfire, both seemed to share those far more freely. And they were not the only two that noticed. 

“Do you think they’ll notice if we both come down to get something to eat at the same time?” She whispered against the back of his hand as she kissed it. He chuckled and moved closer. 

“I don’t think so,” He responded, kissing the back of her neck in kind. “But again, mon cher, it’s not me who is worried about getting caught.” 

She rolled her eyes. She was certainly not going to have this argument on an empty stomach. It had nothing to do with him, of course. Any woman would have tripped over themselves to have a chance to be so adored by a man like Eugene Roe. But it was not something she wanted to be decided until they knew whether or not they would be sent to the Pacific. 

“Gene,” she sighed, turning to face him. He had spent 28 days across from her in Bastogne. They had locked eyes hundreds, if not thousands of times. But each time she focused those large blue eyes on his, he felt a tension in his stomach that no woman had ever caused before. 

“I know,” he nodded. He felt goosebumps raise on his skin as her hand rested on his chest. A soft smile played at his lips in contrast to the pout that had pulled at hers. He kissed her forehead softly, inhaling deeply at the crown of her head. “You stay here. I’ll go get you something to eat.” 

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, “you go down first. Get yourself something. I’ve got to wash up first anyhow.” 

Eugene nodded. He brushed his lips over hers in a whisper of a movement. He swallowed his words. She smiled, pressed a more forceful kiss to his mouth, and rolled out of bed. Again, he thought, he would never be able to replicate that warmth anywhere else in the world. 

[lenisoldi]

Malarkey

First Kiss

Roe

All for nothing

We belong together

Anything for you

Liebgott

You can’t deny it

BoB boys reaction to you being a virgin and a bit shy because of it

BoB boys: Hobbies

HC: You confessing your love to them (Luz, Bill, Nix)

HC: Short fem!reader

HC: Doc’s reaction to Y/N being afraid of nearly everything

Luzs and Docs reaction to see you cry

Speirs reaction to your crying after he yelled at you

Who fell first, who fell harder

HC: Relationship with Ronald Speirs

HC: First time sleeping with them (Bill, Tab, Ron)

Genes reaction to your selfharming

BoB boys reaction to your self harming

BoB boys reaction to your self harming pt.2

Luz and Toye

Speirs

BoB boys

[inglourious-imagines]

practically begging for some george luz w/ enemies to lovers. everyone always writes amazing friends to lovers but there’s sm potential w e2l !!! love ur writing btw xx

Jokes on You (George Luz x Fem!Reader)

Requested by: anon

Summary: George Luz is a funny guy, there is absolutely no denying that. He likes making jokes, and he likes it even more when people laugh at them. So what happens when there comes a person who makes just as good jokes as George? Or maybe even better? Some enemies to lovers for y’all.

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @teenmagazines @meteora-fc @eugenesmorphine @band-of-brothers-cz @real-fans @not-john-watsons-blog @tealaquinn @ok-roemanov @mrseasycompany @punkgeekchic @wexhappyxfew @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @rayofshanshine @mavysnavy @easynix @georgeluzwarmhugs @easy-company-tradition @immrsronaldspeirs @snafus-peckuh @curraheewestandalone @warrior-healer @justamadgirlinabox @happyveday @order-of-river-phoenix @whoahersheybars @nixoninc

Warnings: like two swear words, angst in the form of Bastogne

A/N: I so suck at endings.

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Cracking jokes and making people laugh is George’s thing and his only, that’s how it’s always been. He is the funny guy in the group, that’s how he likes to define himself, the funny one. But to define is to limit and George has made the mistake of limiting himself to clinging to one particular personality trait, humour.

And then Y/N came along; about four months into the boot camp Y/N got reassigned from Dog Company to Easy Company for reasons no one knew, except for Lewis Nixon perhaps. George did not start hating her per say right from the moment he met her, but ever since she beat him to the joke when watching his favourite movie he’s strongly despised her. From then on, the feelings only got stronger; she’s always making the whole Company laugh, some of the jokes even on his account which George does not like one bit, hell she even managed to make Blithe chuckle that one day after D-Day.

Y/N had no idea what she triggered by her naturally jokester nature until she had to face a very pissed off George after she blabbed some joke about some actress and then a very pissed off George is the only kind of George she has had the privilege of meeting. The woman has pondered greatly about what she could have possibly done to anger the man so, but nothing came to mind and she soon gave up. George continued and stubbornly continues to be rude to her so she should only repay his “kindness”.

After Carentan, the word of Operation Market Garden is in the air and the Allies are particularly optimistic. Easy is in the pub, celebrating its successes in the war, while some reinforcements are trying to mingle. Y/N is watching it all from behind, the old breed not wanting to socialize with the newbies at all and sometimes the situations can get truly hilarious.

Somehow, in a few minutes, she finds herself behind a table with Luz, Malarkey, Muck and other three reinforcements who are just drinking up George’s story about his valour in Normandy. Her lips itch upwards from now and then, George’s drunkenness making it all the more amusing. Y/N can tell the new guys are impressed and somewhat terrified as well and one of them puts a pin on it when he asks Luz, “And what rank are you?”

The table sits in silence for a moment, for absolutely no one expected such question, not even the other reinforcements, then Malarkey and Muck burst out laughing, almost tipping over their beers.

Y/N chuckles, reaches over, and pats the guy’s arm. “Oh c’mon, it is Private!”

That absolutely finishes off Don and Skip, Skip eventually falls off his chair, the reinforcements are now laughing too; the mood slightly more friendly and at ease than before. Not for everyone though.

George is red to his ears, as he frowns. “The joke wasn’t that good. And it’s not even true.”

Donald is hiccupping now but manages to answer, “A- a bit c- corny, yes, but f-fucking b-brilliant.”

***

At this point the Company is divided into two parts only, one part bets on the two of them killing each other and the other parts bets on them fucking; which it will be is truly in the stars for George and Y/N are face to face again, both of them red in the cheeks from all the anger, both of them shouting some incoherent insults, and as Penkala has put it, “See? Honestly I can really see both happening. They will either kill each other or fuck, there is absolutely nothing in between.”

But then Market Garden happens, an underestimated operation, that leaves behind too many dead than it should and when all of Easy is boarded on trucks, retreating, the company is two people short.

Bull Randleman and Y/N Y/L/N.

The officers discuss what can be done, and despite all of the men wanting to go and save the two of the best soldiers in the company, they know they can’t. And exactly that is making George Luz lose his mind. He can’t really understand why he is so restless, anxious, and downright terrified throughout the whole night; he tosses and turns, he is not able to bring himself to close his eyes.

But then in the morning he sees Y/N on the jeep next to Bull and suddenly he feels like he could fly and go to Berlin and kill Hitler, just so he could see the carefree smile on her face.

It clicks in him just then, and Malarkey pats his shoulder. “So, you’ve finally figured it out, huh?”

George turns to him, confused. “What?”

Malarkey laughs, shaking his head, and says, “Don’t play dumb with me, you idiot, I saw it just now.”

As much as George would like to answer his friend, he truly has no idea what he is talking about, and when that dawns on Donald, he offers George a sympathetic smile.

“Okay, let me put your thoughts to words, ‘cause you’re such an oblivious idiot that you probably wouldn’t figure it out by the time this motherfucking war is over,” Malarkey continues, “you don’t hate her, do you, not really.”

It is not even a question, more of a statement, and George really wants to protest, more than anything, because it is ridiculous, right?

***

The plan to be home by Christmas isn’t really working out for the Allies but the soldiers of Easy Company have already forgotten about those false hopes, they aren’t the ones to be bothered with when you freeze your ass off in a foxhole in the middle of a forest where the trees blow up every now and then and the place becomes a tornado.

Y/N shares a foxhole with Muck and Penkala, the trio trying to lighten up their gloomy moods with laughter. But even Y/N is running out of jokes now, so when doc Roe runs up to them, asking for scissors, she’s more than happy to go look for them with him too, the need to stretch her stiff and frozen body overpowering her whole self.

She’s just a couple of meters away from her foxhole when another German artillery attack comes and the whole forest becomes a hurricane of explosions, splinters, and blood. The soldier throws herself to the ground, crawling her way, slowly, back to her foxhole, Muck and Penkala shouting something at her she can’t hear, encouraging her to hurry up.

Dirt is everywhere, she barely can see, she covers her ears and head with her hands as another hit comes; she continues right after the explosion, crawling, crawling, crawling.

Muck and Penkala are still shouting at her, she is getting closer; Y/N can hear another artillery attack coming but this time she doesn’t stop proceeding, she knows she has to get into the foxhole soon, so she keeps on pushing.

The explosion comes. Everything goes white for a moment. The pressure wave makes her stop moving, and she is forced to close her eyes and cover her head with her hands.

She opens her eyes. There is nothing.

Seconds ago, there were two people, now there is nothing, nothing left, not a single trace that there have ever human beings stood.

Y/N can’t bring herself to move, she stares blankly into the space before her, her limbs are stiff. But then some arms grab her body, she can hear someone shouting at her.

3 seconds. That’s all it takes her to get back. She holds on to George’s arms as they run together to another foxhole, jumping right in. He immediately brings her into his body, she wraps her arms around his torso instinctively, holding onto him so tight, her head resting on his chest. George shields her body from everything outside and when the bombing finally stops, they don’t let go of each other for another few moments.

It isn’t until a few years after the war and they are married to each other, when they finally talk about what happened that day in the forest of Bois Jacques, not a day sooner. Ever since then, their relationship has been changed, both very much aware of it, neither of them brave enough to bring it up just yet.

It is in Haguenau, where they finally share a conversation. George finds her on her own, behind some building, hiding behind some sacks, looking at the river. He throws a Hershey bar into her lap and when she looks up in confusion, he offers her a warm tired smile.

“What did I do to deserve the affection of the one and only George Luz?” she tries to crack up a joke and chuckles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. George knows Y/N is exhausted beyond words.

He sits down next to her, as he opens his mouth to say something, but he rethinks it in the last second and nothing comes out. They sit out there for a few minutes, sharing the silence and strangely enough, it feels nice. George finally does not feel the need to talk all the time, the need to prove himself funny or worthy of other people’s attention.

“Have you ever been to Rhode Island?” he suddenly blurts out, surprising himself and her at the choice of the question.

Y/N smiles, doesn’t ask why or what. “No, never.”

“Then come with me.”

This time she asks what.

“After the war I mean, come home after the war with me.”

“But- but, you-“ she stutters, her cheeks slightly red, “but you hate me.”

George chuckles at that and looks at her. She has bags under her eyes that are a bit bloodshot (she hasn’t slept much in the last few days), her hair is dirty from dirt and sweat, her face has several scratches and marks, his eyes finds the most visible one just below her left cheekbone (he recalls that day in Carentan when a piece of shrapnel hit her and the wound looked way worse then it actually was for she had blood all over her left side of face, freaking out silently has never been so hard – he hadn’t known at that time what will come). He has never seen anything to maddeningly and purely beautiful as her.

“I thought I did, a very long time ago,” he says, “but actually I never did. I don’t hate you. How could I?”

Y/N looks at him and through all the pain, horror, and grief, she feels peace. It surprises her.

And so she responds, “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I will come home with you. How could I not?”

[rogue-durin-16]

LUCKY LUZ

Request: omg you are my favourite writer, and I read your bob stuff weekly again and again ! If you feel like it, I was thinking prompt 7? With George Luz ? I’m a sucker for angst so like anything angsty with my boo George Luz.

Summary: Bastogne took a serious toll on Easy Company. At the loss of so many friends, George Luz started to tamper with his luck a bit too much for a certain medic's liking.

Prompt/s:

"We have a problem." "No— you have a problem. I have an idiot who keeps getting in trouble."

Pairing: George Luz x medic!Reader

Genre: angst

Tags:

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: mentions of death, survivor's guilt, self-destructive behavior, depressed George Luz (YES THIS IS A WARNING I'M GENUINELY SORRY)

A/N: you asked for angst? I'll give you angst. Also, it's been SOOO long idek if I'm gonna write the BoB boys right/as I used to, so bear with me while I try to get the hang of this again. Enjoy this request and remember they're open so feel free to send ideas <3.

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

In war, much like in any aspect of life, there would always be recklessness.

Little did it matter whether it was on the XO's, the Privates' or the civilians'. There would always be recklessness causing avoc amongst the carefully detailed strategies. It wasn't an excuse for whatever the outcome was, but it was expected and one could somewhat prepare to counteract it— to balance it out.

George Luz's behavior during our last days in the Bois Jaques was not recklessness.

No, it wasn't something as simple, so easily justified by inexperience, pride or short-temper. It was darker, more complicated, and way much worrying than recklessness.

'you think he's tryna kill himself?'

Spina's question, the one he had whispered to me in our foxhole a few nights prior, echoed in the back of my mind every day since then.

'Don't say that.' I had responded at the time.

Now George Luz laid before me, unconscious, with bandages under his winter uniform and I asked myself the same damn question.

Twenty Hours Earlier

"INCOMING!"

Lip's shouts were barely audible, muffled under the thunderous shelling of our position.

We had just managed to advance further into the Bois Jaques and towards the town of Foy, which seemed more and more unreachable each passing day, when that dreadful whistling hovered over us.

Foxholes barely dug and low morale after the loses we had endured the past couple of days, made it harder than usual to react on time.

Thankfully, German artillery hadn't zeroed us yet, so most of us managed to take cover.

If most of us managed, why was George still standing out in the open?

"LUZ! GET DOWN!" Someone yelled, but it didn't reach him.

"GEORGE!! DOWN!!" Lipton's throat sounded sore, but it did the trick and soon the Technician was crouching, yards away from me, helmet secured with one hand and his rifle up on the other.

Lucky Luz, an ominous, abrupt silence followed his delayed reaction as the shelling seemed to come to a halt.

"Woah," as if everything was fine, he snapped back into his carefree demeanor with a breathy laugh. "That was a close one, huh, Y/n?"

My immediate, impulse-driven reaction was to yell at him, although not even I could hear it.

Another deafening whistle.

Another explosion.

Maybe Luz was lucky himself, or maybe, just maybe, he was lucky we were willing to risk our lives for him.

Maybe he was just lucky I jumped out of my foxhole to pull him into it.

Maybe he was just lucky I wrapped him in a tight embrace to shield him from possible shrapnel the best I could.

Maybe, just maybe, he was lucky enough for me to feel his yelp despite not hearing him due to the explosions— lucky enough to have been dragged on his back instead of his tummy.

Lucky enough to be in a medic's foxhole.

The shelling stopped, this time for good. I halfheartedly let go of Luz, my gloves now crimson-stained.

My heart skipped a beat.

" 'M hit—"

"Christ— I got it." My covered palms instinctively found the left side of his ribcage, but failed to reach his wounded upper thigh.

"—fuck-" he hissed, jolting his head up in pain and consequently bumping it on my shoulder.

"LIP!" Before I could yell anything else, our Sergeant slid into the foxhole.

"WE NEED A JEEP OVER HERE! PERCONTE!" He shouted, pulling George towards him so I could move aside and properly fix him up. "It's alright, George, you're okay— right Y/n?"

Luz was not okay. We knew it.

But I couldn't exactly say that, specially just after he had been hit.

"Right, Y/n?" Lipton insisted intently, holding George in place while I ripped his jacket to have an easier access to the main wound. "Y/n?"

"Yeah- yeah, right." I mumbled, dusting the sulfa powder where he had been hit. "Sarge, I need that jeep."

Lipton sighed and looked over his shoulder. "Perco?!"

"They're comin', Lip!"

George was awfully quiet as he tried not to recoil due to the pressure put over his open wounds.

"It's alright." Lipton repeated, more to himself than to Luz.

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

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

"You're awake." She stated even before I could open my eyelids to see her standing by me, arms crossed and a frown on her face.

"How'd you know?" I question, squinting and blinking a few times before propping myself up in the poor excuse of a bed in which I had been laid to recover.

" 'Cause I know you."

"Where are we?"

"You got hit."

"I know."

"Then why on earth did you ask—"

"Dunno, I was hoping we'd be in heaven." I winked at her before completing my sentence. "Since you're my own personal angel."

Silence.

"You think it's funny?" I opened my mouth in agape, not knowing which was the right answer to that —because there was always a right answer with her— but I had no time to choose. "You think it's funny that I had to put myself in harm's way to drag your ass to safety?"

I furrowed my brows with a puzzled half smile and a sort of anger I couldn't describe brewing inside me. "You're kiddin' right?" A single breathy laugh escaped my throat. "C'mon Y/n/n, I thought you knew what you were signing up for when you volunteered to be a medic."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean if you don't know you have to 'put yourself in harm's way'," I mimicked her voice, which left her stunned. "Then, we have a problem."

"No. You have a problem." oh, she was mad. "I have an idiot who keeps getting in trouble." The medic was quite obviously trying not to yell at me.

"Okay, if you say so." I shrugged, trying not to let the turmoil of emotions the conversation was triggering inside me show through my careless facade.

"What are you trying to do here, George?"

"Nothin'?"

"Why are you trying to get under my skin?"

"It's just what I do best, sweetheart."

And it was true. For two years, I had been an awfully insufferable piece of shit.

How could I not? When that was the only way to get her attention back in Toccoa; the only way to stand up in the eyes of the prettiest woman I had ever seen amongst an entire Battalion of men.

Not that it took me anywhere per se, but at least we had forged a friendship based on sweet bickering, muffled laughs and knowing glances.

She used to laugh all the time.

Maybe I was no longer funny. Had I lost the one thing I was useful for?

Or maybe she was tired of me.

She did seem tired then, staring at me with a saddened, wornout visage.

"You're not okay." She nearly whispered. "I'm done letting you pretend you are."

"I'm not pretending—"

"You think I don't know what means being medic?" Her tone told me I had crossed the line. "You think I don't know I gotta get out there if someone cries for help, no matter how scared am I or how slim my chances of survival are?" Y/n tried to stay gentle, but she had had enough, which somehow scared me. "But no one screamed 'medic', George. You weren't down. But I still got out there to get you. It was not my job, do you understand?"

Shut up shut up shut up.

"Well if you're gonna complain this much then you should've left me there—"

"To die?"

Despite the crazing chaos that surrounded our little corner in the aid station, I somehow heard nothing but a deafening silence and the pounding of my heart.

"Do you wanna die, George?" I went livid, trying to look for a reply that wouldn't make me crack. "Is that what you're trying to do? Kill yourself?"

"Are you nuts?"

"Answer my question."

"I-" Scoff. "what d'you even—"

"Luz."

"I'm tired! I'm just tired and didn't react on time, okay? Is that what you wanna hear?"

"What I wanna hear is a good reason not to get you pulled off the line!" She shouted, stomping on the cold ground beneath us.

Oh, now people were staring.

She used to become so self-conscious about that; people giving her looks for raising her tone.

As she stood straight by my side, towering over my bed, there was not a single ounce of self-consciousness in her frame.

She was mad. Mad and hurt.

Hurt because I wasn't being honest with her. Hurt because she had been sticking up for me for an entire week because I just wasn't there; because I was, like she had just said, I was an idiot getting in trouble.

"So? Go on, then." The medic spurred me, gradually lowering her voice again. "Give me a good reason."

"You can't get the XO'S to pull me off the line, Y/n." I chose to respond, almost daring the girl.

She was holding back. I didn't quite know from what exactly but I knew she was holding back, and a part of me wanted Y/n to lash out.

I'm sure a part of her wanted, too.

Tension could be cut with a knife, and deep down I wanted to give her an answer but the truth was I couldn't find it, and if I was damn good at something, it was dodging the bullet.

"Listen if you don't have anythin' else to say," I shrugged with my brows raised. "Guess it's better for you to head out."

"Y'know what? I still have something to say." She spat through gritted teeth, yanking a stool that stood alone by a blooded stretcher. With a deep breath, she sat down beside me, which was the last thing I expected her to do. "You're a fuckin' moron. You've always been. But you've never been an asshole." She spoke intently, trying to get her point across despite me not being in the best place to listen. "You're not an asshole, George."

No matter how angry or frustrated she was, there was always an inherent sweetness in her tone whenever she talked to me, one that shook me to the core because how could someone be so lovely in such horrific setting? How could she be so lovely to me?

"And you're not gonna convince me otherwise." She firmly stated, staring straight into my soul to make herself clear.

'I see through your bullshit'.

"So quit it."

She remained expectant, waiting for me to say something —anything.

I couldn't.

She knew it.

With a defeated sigh, she reached out for my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before getting up and out of the tent. It was her way to apologize because she had to leave. I knew that gesture too well.

Aldbourne, Early September

Laughter and soft music kept the good spirits high inside the crowded pub in Aldbourne; our small safe haven. The only place where I had seen Y/n loosen up completely.

She lit up the place, dancing with Penkala, telling stories with Guarnere, cracking jokes with Martin —her dry humor matched his perfectly.

It was, I think, while she held onto my arm, throwing her head back in a fit of laughter due to something Babe had said, that I knew I loved her.

Even with her head on my shoulder and my arm lazily wrapped around her waist, she remembered to check her watch. Ever the dutiful one.

"Jesus! Would you look at that?" She pulled away from me, her fingers gently clasping my forearm before giving me an apologetic smile. "Gotta head out already, boys."

"Oh, c'mon Y/n" Buck complained, but she repeated the gesture with him and he knew no amount of convincing would get her to stay.

"But we're just getting started!" Babe complained.

"Sorry, Heffron. I really gotta head out." She squeezed his bicep briefly when she walked past him. "You better not be late, Compton!" She yelled as a form of goodbye before waving at the boys filling the English bar, now a bit less merry. At least for me.

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

READER'S P. O. V.

"M'kay what else do we need?" I asked Gene, my trusted pencil in hand to write down the supplies needed on the back of a photograph.

"What d'you have so far?"

"Uhm... Morphine," I listed, raising a finger. "bandages, three pairs of scissors,"

"Sulfa powder." He added, going through the boxes we had left.

"Sulfa... powder..." I muttered with knitted eyebrows while I noted the words. "Anything else?"

"Let me check—" The medic stood up in his foxhole, his attention caught on a particular voice coming from our left. "Ain't that—"

"Yes it is. Fuck." I handed Eugene the photograph and climbed out the dug out patch on the frozen ground. A part of us expected to be wrong, but of course not. What had initially been tentative steps turned into fast stalking. "Are you kidding me?"

George's laugh died down and a wave of 'shit's came out of the group of veterans surrounding him, who quickly spread out.

"Missed me much?" The attempted playfulness was charged with masked fear. He let out a yelp when I grasped his forearm and dragged him away from curious ears. "What's that for?"

"Don't you dare act stupid." I hissed with a menacing index finger up at his face.

"Okay, Y/n, listen—"

"You went AWOL in this state. I'm not listening to any bullshit."

"Oh, c'mon" the dismissive eye roll only made me fume even more. "We've all done that."

"It's not the same."

"How."

"You're. Not. Okay. George."

"Oh and you are?!" I sushed him when he inevitably rose his tone at me, clearly forgetting we didn't know exactly how close we were to the Germans. "Breaking news, Y/n/n!" The belligerent tone in which my nickname had come out sounded so unnatural. "no one's okay!"

"Winters is expecting my final advice."

"On what?"

"On whether to pull you back or not." His mouth opened in agape, betrayal reflected all over him. "I wasn't bluffing when I said I'd get you out." There was a finality in my words, one that neither of us liked.

Since the current situation seemed to be leading to the one which had place in the aid station a couple of days prior, I turned heel and attempted to leave.

"Y/n wait—" George's digits yanked back the sleeve of my coat. "I don't want out!" His throat suffered from the rasping.

"Then why does it look like you do?"

I should have stopped pushing.

"YOU DIDN'T SEE IT!" He exchanged the whisper-shouts for a loud cry filled with anger and frustration and something that made his chocolate brown irises water.

"SHHHH!"

"DON'T SHUSH ME!" He was losing it. It wasn't the yelling that gave it away, but the push on my shoulder.

I shouldn't have, but I myself didn't have much patience left in me. Against better judgement, My gloves found the lapels of his coat and shoved him back against a nearby tree. "I don't wanna get shot, George, so tone it down." The softness in my pitch came out as a hard contrast to my actions.

It did the trick, though. After a gulp and a deep breath, George's tone lowered. "You didn't see it? Okay? No one saw— I- They- " My hands abandoned him in order to offer some space, hoping that would help him articulate his thoughts better. "There was noth- nothing left!"

"What's-" I tilted my head to the side, trying to make sense out of the unfinished sentences. "What d'you mean w—"

"And I was right there!" He pushed himself off the tree, an index pointing at his chest violently. "I had to see it! Right in front of me!"

"George, you need to slow down-" my palms raised in surrender, ready to grab the technician if necessary.

The tension he was building up made both of our hearts pound faster each passing second for more than one reason.

"First Toye and... And then that happened and I-I had to dig out the fuckin'- the goddamn cross! I was- There were... Parts of 'em—"

Oh.

"It was... I was looking for it all over and... it was all mushy and I don't know if it was... Dirt or... Jesus..." The man took a step back, consciously or not and his legs seemed to falter ever so slightly.

"Okay, I got you." clasping his forearms with all my might, I helped him hold himself upright, not without some staggering. "I need you to breathe, okay?" My eyes searched for his, unwilling to meet mines. So that was what had been happening.

"I don't want out." He stated with a shake of his head, making a single strand of hair wobble over his forehead. "I don't get to leave."

Sigh.

"Muck and Penkala," he flinched at the mention of their names. "They'd want you to leave."

"You don't know that." It was a murmur, much less intended to be said out loud than the question that followed it. "Do you want me to leave?"

No.

"I just don't want you dead."

"That wasn't the question."

I don't want you to leave me here. Alone.

"For god's sake George—"

"Why do you want me away so badly?" There was a sort of plea in the question, one that was breaking my heart. "Did you get tired of me?"

I love you.

"That's not—"

"If you're done with my bullshit I can just ask to switch platoons."

I love you.

"George I'm telling you—" I groaned, letting go of him. "it's not about that."

"Well whatever it is, I can just switch to second,"

"George."

I love you.

"they're short on people anyway."

I love you.

"I don't need you to switch platoons."

"Then what the hell do you need?"

I love you.

"I need you to be careful!" Now it was me who needed to be sushed. "You're gonna get yourself killed. And you're gonna get me killed!"

That hit a nerve.

With regained strength, George shortened the distance I had just put between us in order to try and breathe, a task that seemed to become more difficult each passing second.

"Then stop sticking out for me!"

I love you.

"It's not that simple!"

"Why not?"

"I love you! You idiot." Lucky me, Luz was way too perplexed to tease me about the red tinge bringing life to my cheeks. "I can't just... look away if you're doing something stupid."

Maybe I would have preferred the teasing over his unresponsive behavior. Yeah, I would have rather had a cheeky grin lighting up his face, instead of the lividness washing him out.

"I don't need you moved to another platoon," I attempted to redirect the conversation to a less pathetic outcome, and George didn't seem to oppose. "I just need you to be careful and take care of yourself." Still no response; my heart sunk deeper if that was even possible. "I've lost too many friends already. Can't lose another one."

"How long?"

"What'd you mean?"

"How long have you known?"

"I don't know." I folded my arms and recoiled from the man in front of me, actively avoiding to meet his gaze. "I think... Maybe Normandy. When we regrouped."

Normandy, D-Day plus 3

"Look who decided to show up, Floyd!" Luz and Liebgott went straight to the Sergeant walking a few steps ahead of me and Shifty, ready to compare their trophies and souvenirs.

It wasn't until Talbert folded his newly acquired poncho that the boys became aware of us.

"Well, would you look at that." Lieb smacked George's shoulder with the back of his hand before nodding in my direction.

"Sorry fellas," Floyd feigned an apology. "But I figured I just couldn't show up without our medic. Right, Luz?"

If there was a situation in which George would not match the banter thrown at him, that was the one. Instead, he stood still with widened eyes.

"What? Cat's got your tongue?" I questioned, approaching the group with the sniper trailing after me.

"Oh, she bites now." Lieb snickered. "That's fun."

Still no response from Luz, apart from the shocked expression. I was about to taunt him again when he shoved Tab aside and engulfed me in a hug, one that took me a hot second to reciprocate.

"Where the hell have you been?" He limited himself to ask, breath fanning on the crook of my neck.

"Missed the DZ by four miles." My explanation sounded restrained due to the tight embrace. "Took a while to walk 'em."

"Thought you didn't make it." He murmured, this time only for me to hear. "If you scare me like that again I'll kill ya."

Peeking over his shoulder, I caught the knowing eyes of our comrades. Either Luz was unaware or didn't care enough. I myself had other things to focus on, such as the butterflies in my tummy or the scary feeling swelling up my heart.

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

"Why didn't you tell me?" His question hid something I couldn't quite decipher, although the gleam in his eyes could be worked out as a clue.

I shrugged, trying to play off the conversation I had been avoiding for months due to fear. "Why would I?"

He shrugged too, and, after opening his mouth a couple of times without getting a word out, I assume he was at a loss for words.

"I feel like we went off the topic here." I stated, once more trying to redirect the conversation, and once more failing to do so.

"Did you mean it?"

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I inhaled deeply. George Luz really had a gift for driving me mad. "Can we move on from that? 'Cause at this point we're dragging the conversation and I'm-"

"You should've told me earlier."

I finally met his eyes with an exasperated look.

"Would that change anything?"

"I could've done something about it."

"Like what?"

He hesitated for a moment, darting a quick glance at my lips I nearly didn't catch before closing the space between us, his hands cupping my cheeks with a featherlight touch.

Just like in Normandy, it took me a moment to react; only that this time I wasn't fast enough and George slipped away from my grasp and took a step back.

"Where d'you think you're going?" I snapped, once again clutching his coat, this time for a very different purpose than minutes ago.

As my mouth found his again, deepening the kiss with my fingers entangled in his unusually long locks and the sides of my coat bunched up in his fists, I wondered if I had really found out I loved him in Normandy.

All from sudden, the feeling that I had known it from the very first corny pick-up line he had thrown at me back in Toccoa washed over me.

Either by the long awaited kiss or by the overwhelming emotions, it was my turn to pull away in order to catch my breath.

"Could've saved me a lot of teasing, y'know?" He mumbled, letting his forehead rest on mine for an instant. "Having everyone and their mother poking fun at me was pretty embarrassing."

"You really are an idiot."

That tore a quiet laugh out of him. A genuine one. It seemed to be so long since that had happened.

"I love you too, by the way."

"Oh, I think I got the memo."

Another laugh. His stupid grin. His cheeky demeanor. All of it made him lit up a little bit. My thumb caressed his face, and it occurred to me that maybe what George Luz really needed was to feel loved.

Lucky him, I wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon.

[evanesce-origin]

when i die (which i must do)

speirsroe have a good time during the war and nothing goes wrong (lying)

ao3 link

CW: major character death, canon-typical injuries, canon divergence. apologies in advance for the things ive written. blasphemy??? (religion as a consistent metaphor)

Speirs had long grown used to the incessant prickling of cold at his fingers, like thousands of pins finding a home in his skin. He paid little mind to it; whether he was in the foxholes or wandering aboveground, it was rare that any presence of warmth showed him what he was missing. It was another aspect of war that faded to background noise; the static of loss and gunfire rang somewhere in between. He flexed his fingers and shifted his weight as he stood overlooking the quiet forest ahead of him.

The thick blanket of snow muffled any sound that wasn’t one of impending violence.There was no movement from the rest of Dog company— most had long dug into their foxholes for the night. Whether they slept or not was another story. Sleep didn’t come easy to any of them anymore.

Speirs moved through the trees like a ghost. His afterimage haunted the forest with the footsteps he left behind, breath whisking itself into the air when it escaped from behind the scarf he hid his face behind. Stoicism was a facade he knew all too well, like holding a mirror to the suffocating cold that surrounded him and donning it as a sort of camouflage. It was comfortable there, in the stiff lines of his braced shoulders and the rigid curve of his spine.There was an unfortunate ease that came to him exploring the line, one that had arrived long before Bastogne. Somewhere just before Taccoa, when he’d accepted he was a dead man walking and had little reason to protest otherwise, the calm had settled in his veins like ice and hadn’t been shaken since.

In the space between Dog company and Easy company’s lines, it could’ve been easy to forget there was a war going on. If he wanted to, he could’ve pretended he was the only man in the world, surrounded by the bright light that reflected off the snow from the moon like a system of funhouse mirrors guiding the sunlight back to Earth. If he wanted to, he could’ve imagined a world of peace that wasn’t so harsh as to take the men he walked amongst, body and spirit. He didn’t, though.

The time for reflection was one Speirs cherished more than anyone else would ever know. He mulled over his experiences from the last few years and the way his heart had changed. A novel concept, the heart of Lieutenant Ronald Speirs; its existence a myth that the paratroopers often made jokes about. Hell, if he were anyone but himself, he’d be cracking the same jokes.

With this time, he thought of the first time he saw Eugene Roe. It’d been a sweltering summer, midday sometime in August, and Dog company had just finished running drills. Easy company, contrary to their name, wasn’t granted the opportunity for a break like they should’ve been. Sobel was running them into the ground, figuratively and literally, as he did often. Incessantly. Shouted orders, insults, and curses poured out of Sobel’s mouth so loudly they rang in the ears of men halfway across the fields. Most of the men in Easy company had at least some level of exasperation on their face, if not pure outrage and murder in their eyes. 

Roe’s face was a facade of calm, even when Sobel began arguing with Winters. He stood at attention as if he had been born to, familiarity and ease in the posture. It was only when Sobel said something blatantly wrong about code and a tactical decision Winters had apparently made earlier that week that Speirs saw a crack in that expression; a brief twinge of annoyance and fury that escaped as Roe’s gaze flickered from straight ahead of him to where Sobel stood. He set his jaw and raised his chin slightly.

There was an urge like a gut-punch that Speirs felt, nearly taking his breath away. The urge to dig at that crack, to unearth whatever was behind it and revel in it. The cold fire in Roe’s eyes had sparked something in his curiosity, and that was bad enough; Speirs didn’t get curious about the other men. He had no urge to know the others, not in the way that they seemed to intimately make friends despite their impending march to certain death, one he had accepted.

There was a part of his subconscious that had always kept track of Roe throughout their separate time at Toccoa. To be fair, he kept track of everyone. It was a force of habit, a way of keeping aware of his surroundings in a sense. Besides, he wanted to know the men he was going into the war with and their skill sets. There was no denying that his curiosity was far more than professional, however, and that ate at him like nothing else had.

Time in Europe before they officially dropped in Normandy had been a blessing, like the miracle of lightning striking a church. The first time they were in Aldbourne, there was much revelry to be had in the bars that remained standing, something all of the companies participated in without hesitation. Speirs didn’t find himself amongst them often, but on the rare occasions he did, there were a further few that overlapped with “Doc” Roe participating. The curiosity turned into a soul-felt hunger, one he tried his very best to ignore. This was one of few things Speirs wasn’t successful at, despite putting his mind to it.

Introductions were made eventually, casual and brief as they were between passing companies as a paratrooper brought Roe’s name up as an afterthought. Speirs refused to acknowledge the delighted twinge he felt at Roe’s accent, the low pitch of his voice bleeding into his thoughts like ink spilled upon a page, dark and all-encompassing as it clung to whatever it could reach. It was soft, something he didn’t often find comfort in, but the low rumble of Roe’s introduction and the subsequent way he shifted in his seat, grasping at his drink to avoid eye contact but not drinking, had Speirs settling in the chair across from him. Perhaps a conversation would satiate his curiosity, if he could just get a glimpse through the crack of his demeanor.

Looking back, this would be the moment that Speirs would declare everything had gone so very right and so horrifyingly wrong. He had never been a man of self control, though, and this characterisation would follow him to both of their graves. He was doomed from the very beginning, marching toward devastation as he followed the pure warmth of that Cajun accent. He would’ve followed it to the end of the war, too. 

Quiet, sparse conversations punctuated with mutual, easy silence over drinks that were rarely alcoholic gave a foundation to acknowledgement of each other outside the little dark corners they spent their time in. It was hard to reconcile with, though; the moments Speirs spent studying the intricacies of Roe’s face, with the dancing firelight shifting and giving a further brilliance to all the softest and sharpest parts of his features. The angle of his brows, the thin purse of his mouth as he contemplated something in their mutual silence, the abrupt yet rounded lines of his cheekbones.

And Jesus Christ, his eyes held storms Speirs would dive headfirst into if given the chance. They were dark, like the farside of the moon and just as enticing. He didn’t catch them often, as Roe preferred to stare down at the surface of their rickety table or glance around the bar with a paranoia troopers didn’t often acquire before dropping for the first time, but Speirs didn’t mind much. Roe asked Speirs occasional questions about the version of himself he’d left behind in the States, one that he’d slaughtered without hesitation in preparation for their upcoming conflicts. He didn’t mind taking those old bones out once in a while, though, and showing them off for Roe if he asked. Roe did the same on occasion too, giving little quips of Louisiana tales that felt distant to them both.

Roe told him about the church he went to and a fondness he had for his “Ma’s cookin’” and the simple delights of walking down the street to a local bakery. The little details were gifts, wrapped by Roe and sent over with tentative hesitation and a wariness in his eyes that gave way to something else if pried upon.

The cold in Speirs’ voice never seemed to put Roe off any, nor did the uneasy way he smiled or the haunting of his eyes that trailed around the room boring holes into the backs of the other men. His Cheshire cat smile did send a shiver down Roe’s back once or twice, but it didn’t seem to be a negative reaction from what Speirs could gather. Speirs wasn’t insecure about the way he was perceived, the demeanor he held so naturally that unsettled the others, but at the time he thought it would’ve been a shame if Roe was the type to be scared off so easily. He wasn’t.

When they caught each other outside of their little corner, it was brief and in passing, but no less appreciated. Once, Speirs had even caught a glimpse of the quirk of the corner of Roe’s mouth, and felt a sense of nonsensical accomplishment. The preparation and anticipation had left them all a bit haggard; drawing a smile out of Doc Roe meant he was doing something right. There weren’t many more opportunities for quiet conversations left before something was bound to happen; they were awaiting further orders from the chain of command. The energy around Aldbourne felt much like the lighting of a fuse, waiting for the bomb to go off. Speirs awaited it eagerly, Roe with a sense of God-fearing dread.

There were bags under those half-moon eyes the last time Speirs saw Roe before the drop on Normandy, more prominent than they usually were, and he felt an irritating itch in his fingertips to smooth them away. At no point had Speirs accounted for any sort of desire, in any sense of the word, rearing its ugly head and drawing his attention somewhere other than the immediate pressing matter of the war ahead of them. He wanted to call out reassurances, make a comment about comforts Roe would find in the rosary beads that hung around his neck, but that wasn’t something that came naturally to him. Instead, across the airfield, their eyes caught on each other; a momentary eclipse. Speirs nodded. Roe nodded. The moment ended.

Accounts from his memory of catching glimpses of Roe during D-Day and the days after were hazy at best. He wasn’t sure if they were accurate or simply his mind filling in the blanks of soldiers passing by in the heat of battle and maybe it didn’t matter. Having caught a flash of his dark eyes and darker hair as he sprinted across the field in Carentan, Roe felt much like an omen. The moon caught his eye in the same way overnight, in passing with a glowing reassurance Speirs didn’t have the time nor the energy to consider. 

The air in Aldbourne was different when they returned. Heavier, smokier, weighed down with the breath of devastation and heartache at what the military called a “mighty-successful mission.” Speirs could agree with that, and with the firm feeling of experience lodged in his chest at what he and D-company had accomplished. The familiar nagging of curiosity pushed him to find out what Roe thought about the whole matter, what he had emerged from the other side of D-Day with. If it had cracked him further, if he still clung to those rosary beads like they were the answer to the wreckage they’d been through.

They found each other eventually, coming together in an easy silence that provided some familiarity despite the fact that everything had changed with their first taste of combat. Speirs had flourished under the pressures and stress while Roe looked as if he were clinging to the semblances of normalcy, his hard eyes crinkled under the pressing crease of his downturned brows. Roe never volunteered tales of what he had been through and Speirs never asked. He could see them written on the creases of Roe’s face and oh God was it beautiful. The unease decorated Roe’s face like a veil and the horrors he had seen adorned his demeanor like the armor he wore to battle. Speirs found resolve in himself to dig himself under that armor, to work out the weak spots and dig his fingernails in until he drew blood.

The first few drinks Roe ordered were stronger than anything Speirs had ever smelt on his breath, but that didn’t last long. Roe just wasn’t a drinking man and that was one of the little quirks that made Speirs even more desperate to know him. One of the nights, after the other troopers got a bit too rowdy for his liking, Roe slammed his glass on the table and considered Speirs for a moment, eyelids heavy. “I’m gonna go on a walk.” He announced quietly, though he didn’t move.

It was an invitation. Speirs accepted it without a word, swinging his legs over his chair and yanking his coat off the back of it. Roe’s movements followed afterward, albeit with less gusto, which gave Speirs the time to shrug on his jacket and remove Roe’s from his own chair-back for him. Roe’s hands were tucked deep in the sleeves of his sweater, so Speirs simply draped his light jacket over his shoulders and struggled not to admire the way it hung over him. Roe mumbled a quiet thank you and they departed the little pub.

There was relative quiet in the streets. The distant shouts of drunk men clambering around the sidewalks hardly compared to the gunfire that had rang through their ears through the past few months. If a passerby were to guess by sound, they’d assume Roe was alone; Speirs’ footsteps were entirely silent, even and sure like a prowling cat. Roe fumbled for the pocket on his coat, unsuccessful as he battled his oversized sweater and the awkward settling of his coat where it was draped over his shoulders. “What are you looking for?” Speirs asked, amused.

“Smokes.”

Speirs obliged without another word, digging into his own pockets to retrieve a carton of cigarettes. “Not a drinker, but a smoker?”

“Yessir.”

Speirs chuckled and withdrew a lighter. He handed Roe a cigarette, which he promptly tucked between his lips. They paused in their steps, turning toward each other as Roe looked up at Speirs expectantly. Speirs raised the lighter to Roe’s mouth, crowding forward to block the wind from blowing the flame around as he lit it for him. For a long moment, Speirs’ eyes were locked in concentration on Roe’s mouth. He felt Roe startle slightly as he glanced up, sharp gaze boring holes into those storms like the sun breaking through clouds, before he looked back down to make sure the light caught. It had.

He moved away and they continued walking as Speirs began to fish out another cigarette for himself. “Uh, I don' mind sharin’. I’d hate for you to waste two at a time since you gave me one.” Roe’s voice was thick with…something.

That sharp pitch of delight returned tenfold and Speirs grinned down at Roe. “Alright.”

They continued their walk to anywhere and nowhere in the quiet amongst the stars. Roe’s fingers had escaped from the sweater to pinch at the cigarette, hands shaking from a nonexistent chill, skin calloused and warm as it brushed against Speirs’ hand when he passed it over. Speirs lingered for a moment. The thought of slipping his hand up the sleeves of Roe’s sweater and touching skin invaded his vision, enticing and unbearable. He wondered what he would find— what scars Roe was hiding, old and new. 

Their hands pulled apart and Speirs took the cigarette into his mouth. It was slightly damp with Roe’s saliva and Speirs relished in the way inhaling burned. When he glanced over at Roe, he was watching him, eyes transfixed on Speirs mouth. That Cheshire cat grin returned as he parted his lips to let the smoke escape his mouth like the gasp of a prayer, head tilted back to the starry sky. When his eyes caught Roe’s figure again, his hand had fumbled for his rosary beads in the absence of the cigarette. 

Speirs plucked the cigarette from his own lips after a few puffs, content to coast on what little nicotine he had gotten just to see it return to Roe. The medic stopped his fussing over the beads and accepted the cigarette graciously, with another brushing of hands and Speirs’ eyes tracking it as Roe put it back in his mouth. He closed his eyes when he inhaled, feather-light lashes fluttering against the rolling hills of his cheekbones.

A few blocks down the road, after contemplating in the silence, Speirs spoke again. “Do you pray often, Roe?”

“For my company, yes. For my patients.”

How honorable. “Do you have a favorite prayer?”

Roe recites it into the night and the ink bleeds through the folds of Speirs’ brain— he can feel it enter his bloodstream and crackle electricity through his bones. The rolling tone, the thick accent, “With all my heart.”

Perhaps, Speirs can understand the allure of worship. Vulnerability on the knees. This thought spurs on contemplation in him and he decides that maybe he does need that cigarette after all. Roe doesn’t comment as he fishes another out, but stops and turns to offer to light it for Speirs. He takes the invitation readily, though he goes about it differently; he tucks the cigarette into his mouth and dips his head to light it against Roe’s. The ember in Roe’s cigarette flares as he exhales sharply, those creases creeping out to dance across his skin as he furrows his brow and finds fascination in the tops of his shoes. “Thank you.” Speirs says, straightening his posture.

He takes a step to continue walking and it takes Roe a moment to catch up, taking a few large strides to walk beside Speirs again. They listen to the whooping of paratroopers down the road, a clattering, and the shattering of glass and Roe rolls his eyes. There are no screams of agony to indicate some sort of accident he has to attend to, and so he simply ignores the antics.

Speirs walks Roe back to the house he was assigned to, the family he’s bunking with long asleep at this point with all the lights off in the house. “Hope I didn’t keep you out past your curfew.” Speirs comments, teasing, as they pause at the door.

The corner of Roe’s mouth quirks up and he shakes his head. “No, sir. Somethin’ muss’ve convinced them that I’m capable. Maybe they heard there’s a war on.”

Speirs grinned and dug into his pocket once again. He grasped the lighter and dropped it into Roe’s pocket, knuckles brushing against his chest through the fabric of Roe’s shirt. “In case you need to light your own cigarettes next time.”

Roe opened his mouth to protest as Speirs spun on his heel to walk away, but Speirs raised a hand and, not too loudly, called out, “Get some rest, Doc. There’s a war on.”

Market-Garden is a resounding defeat. Nuenen more closely resembles Easy and Dog company being shot at like fish in a barrel than any military movement being executed. The death and destruction leaves bodies scattered in the streets that Roe is loath to ignore; the idea that a man can look dead but is still alive enough to be saved if he’d paid just a second more attention haunts him at night. He wonders how many men he’s left behind to die already, despite his oaths to leave no man behind. He wonders if the bloodstains will ever wash from his hands— he’s spent far too long over basins scrubbing his hands raw to not have an answer for that. He thinks he’ll feel it for the rest of his life. He wonders if the rosary around his neck is meaningless now with the ghost of a coating of blood preventing him from truly grasping it again. He wonders if he’ll ever feel clean again, if anyone will ever consider him clean again.

There’s plenty to do when they settle in one place after retreating. There were countless men injured, a limitless supply of bodies to keep Roe’s hands busy. He’s stitched more wounds than he can keep track of, soothed burns, removed shrapnel, and thrown sheets over the faces of men whose names he can’t even remember. And by God, despite all the bodies, it’s the loneliest work Doc Roe has ever done.

It isn’t until nightfall that he eventually gets a break, fully reliant on whatever amalgamation of supply crates stacked behind him to keep him up. He’d propped himself against them not five minutes ago, head tilted back against the harsh corners as he tried to breathe past the iron scent that clung to the inside of his nose. Back in his training days the smell of blood made him nauseous. The first three days he had real patients he couldn’t eat a single meal, couldn’t even bear the smell of food. Those days had passed and there was no other option than to push past the way his stomach turned if given the opportunity for a meal.

Captain Winters handed him something edible as he passed by, commenting on Roe’s good work. It didn’t feel much like good work but he nodded and thanked Winters nonetheless— at least with Winters he knew he wasn’t being bullshitted for encouragement, and that meant something to Roe. He ate whatever it was, lukewarm and stale-tasting, slowly as he tried to cycle through the casualties he confronted that day. There were far too many bodies, nameless bodies, for him to pray for them all, and it had become far more realistic for him to pray for the ones he could still protect. Captain Winters and Nixon. The rest of Easy company. A few faces outside of it. The nurses on the frontlines. He could pray for them.

Like a prayer answered, one of the faces outside Easy company materialized through the dark. Speirs was led by what Roe could only assume was one of his men, a strip of fabric pressed to the side of his face. A strip of fabric soaked in blood.

Roe’s dinner was tossed aside, dish and utensil clattering to the ground as he darted up from where he was sitting and stalked toward them, adrenaline running cold through his veins. “Get ‘m in here.” Roe commanded, voice louder than it had been in weeks.

Speirs seemed to perk up at the familiarity of Roe’s voice, though that disoriented glaze to his eyes and movements never shook off. The man assisted Speirs into the medic’s tent and promptly scattered when Roe pointed to the flap, stony-faced. The moment the man left Roe shifted his full attention to Speirs and covered the hand Speirs was using to hold the cloth to his face. “I’ve gotta take a look.” He said softly.

Speirs looked up at him, hazy and unsure, the amber of his eyes scanning Roe’s face. Despite what seemed to be a form of trauma—mental or physical, Roe wasn’t sure yet��Speirs was still on guard with rigid posture and his muscles locked into place as he sat before him. Roe dug into his pants pocket and produced the lighter Speirs had given him, holding it close to Speirs face so he could get a good look. “Figure it’s about time I return this to you.” 

When Speirs finally focused on the lighter, his posture relaxed slightly. He said nothing, but allowed Roe to finally pull his hand and the cloth away from his face. It was an active fight to quell the rise of panic that struck Roe when he got a good look at Speirs; there wasn’t a part of the left side of his face that wasn’t covered in blood, parts of it thickening and turning dark. For once, it seemed the sharp horror had made itself evident on Roe’s face as Speirs finally spoke, “You gonna pray for me, Eugene?” His voice was breathless from previous exertion.

“No need, sir, you’re gon’ be just fine.”

“What if I ask nicely?”

The lilt of his smile showed the blood on his teeth and Roe did his very best not to stare at the man’s canines, their sharpness giving him the image of a cottonmouth waiting to strike. Roe swallowed and looked away, finding reassurance in the fact that Speirs’ left eye seemed to be working just fine judging by the way he was staring down Roe. “I’m gonna start cleanin’ this up and you let me know if any parts hurt worse than others.” 

“Sure thing, doc.”

Roe retrieves a clean-ish cloth and some fresh water and begins swiping the blood off Speirs’ face, starting with the line of his jaw where the blood had begun trailing down his neck. The running hypothesis was that Speirs’ had a shallow head injury and was more concussed than anything; head wounds bleed like hell and if Roe had kept any sort of grip on himself when Speirs came in, he would’ve remembered much faster. It wasn’t until he began swiping up close to Speirs’ temple, along his hairline, that Speirs flinched away from his pressing hand. “There.” Speirs announced through gritted teeth.

“Gotta clean it up to get a good look at it. Sit tight.”

The previously clean bucket of water was turning a murky pink with every dip Roe made. He did his best to ignore the way Speirs sucked air in between his teeth every time Roe got a touch too close to the gash. He would need stitches, but it wasn’t dire, much to Roe’s relief. “The hell happened out there?” He asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

“Couple men couldn’t make the retreat from Nuenen. Had to go back and get them.” Speirs answered.

“Any others injured?”

“It was just me.”

“Lucky you.”

“I was the only one who went.”

Roe’s hand froze mid-swipe, resting against the sharp cliff of Speirs’ cheekbone as he stared down at him. The eclipse of their eyes left Roe vulnerable, open for Speirs being able to watch every emotion cross his face at the same time. Finally, Roe settled on one and worked his jaw, grinding his teeth together before he began cleaning again. There was a beat of silence, and then, “You’re angry with me.” Speirs said, his voice breathy again, this time with awe.

He stared up at Roe with a sort of delight in his eyes that would send any other man running with horror, that grin plastered firmly on his face. “No, sir.” Roe said firmly, dragging the washcloth along the water a little too aggressively— water sloshed over his shoe and he paid it no mind.

“Why are you angry with me, Eugene?”

He was prying. “Permission to speak, sir?” Roe asked, teeth still gritted.

Speirs waved him off with a lazy hand, though he was paying rapt attention. “Never had to ask before.”

“I just think we’ve lost a lot of damn good men today, sir. And I understand you need’ta do right by your men, and it’s an honorable thing, but what if you had died?” Roe tossed down the cloth with a force that sent the bucket reeling, refusing to look Speirs in the eye again.

Speirs shrugged. “And what if I die? We’re already dead.”

The fury blazing in Roe’s eye as he looked up again left Speirs delightfully cold, his head tilted back as he basked in it. “Not to me.” He paused. “Not to me, sir.”

With that finality, he turned and began prepping the needle and thread for Speirs’ sutures. Speirs slid off the makeshift stretcher he’d been sitting on, taking the few steps he needed to stand behind Roe. Roe could feel his presence looming over him as he worked, it was hard not to, but he ignored him. Sure it was petty, but if the man could go run behind enemy lines on a solo-suicide mission, he could be a little petty. “Eugene.” Speirs said quietly as he placed a hand on Roe’s shoulder.

Roe turned with a ferocity he wasn’t aware he possessed, indignant. “You coulda died!” 

“I know.”

Roe gripped his jacket, rising to inches from Speirs’ face. “You coulda died and then what?”

“What do you mean, ‘gene?” Speirs’ tone was soothing, the way you spoke to a stray you’d hit with your car before you put it out of its misery.

“What the hell was I supposed to do if you’da died?”

Roe punctuated his sentence with halfhearted shoves to Speirs shoulder and chest, damp with his blood. Speirs caught Roe by his shoulders and pulled him into his chest, wrapping his arms around Roe’s biceps to stop his protesting. Roe folded into him immediately, accepting defeat as his body shuddered against his will. Muffled by Speirs’ uniform, “What the hell was I supposed t’ do?”

“I’m sorry, ‘gene.”

The reckoning that ran through Roe’s body was like an earthquake, the kind of world-shattering event that sent prayers to the lips of atheists and Speirs just held him like he never considered any other option. When the fear subsided, Roe pulled back and ducked away from Speirs, shoving his fists across his eyes. “Still have to stitch that.”

“Alright, Eugene.”

Speirs sat patiently in place as Roe prepped his materials. He wordlessly handed the lighter back as Roe mindlessly searched for it to sterilize the needle, something he’d done countless other times that day with the same lighter. There was an irony in the concept. Roe used the lighter to sterilize needles to save mens’ lives, while Speirs had used it to light cigarettes before taking lives. Perhaps it was all about balance.

The stitching went smoothly, yet uneasily, as Roe tried not to flinch every time Speirs grunted in pain. The morphine had long run out— if Roe had known this was going to happen, he would’ve stashed just a little, but he hadn’t known Speirs would be so stupid as to do what he’d done. When it was finally clean and bandaged, Roe stepped back and looked him up and down. “Anything else?”

“Nah, ‘gene, I’m okay. A few bumps and bruises, but that’s all.”

Roe rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I’ve gotta make sure you don’ have a concussion. You gettin’ back to Dog company?”

Speirs hesitates, sly. “I could leave before daylight to get back.”

Roe nodded. “Alright. Stay here, then. I’ll wake you up every coupl’a hours, make sure you’re not gettin’ worse.”

“Anything you say.”

Roe began cleaning up and as he passed Speirs to dispose of the bloodied cloth, Speirs caught him by the bicep. “Hey, we okay?”

“Yessi— yeah. Yeah, we’re— yeah.”

“Good.”

“I should let Captain Winters know y’here for the night. He’ll be wanting to know what happened.”

“Alright. I’ll be here.”

Roe nodded and ducked out of the tent.The moment the canvas flap fell closed, Roe’s hand darted out to shove it back aside. He crossed the space in a few quick strides and his mouth pressed hard against Speirs’, chapped and cold as he lifted his rosary beads over his neck and placed them around Speirs’ instead. When he pulled back, huffing, he said, “So you think twice about gettin’ your damn self killed.” And he ducked back out of the tent.

The time they got in Mourmelon-le-Grand was bliss. Speirs had nothing but Roe wrapped up in blankets. He pulled sighs from his mouth and swallowed them whole, spent his nights pressing his lips to every inch of the medics skin, and played his hand at worship that was foreign to him but felt so familiar nonetheless. They had never been so efficient in the few duties they did have, eager to get back to each other at the end of the day.

As Speirs leaned over Roe, propped up on his side in the bed they shared, Roe’s rosary beads dangled from Speirs’ neck and skimmed lightly over Roe’s chest. Roe reached up and touched them, stormy eyes fascinated by the way they reflected the light from the setting sun in the window. “Jesus fucking Christ.” Speirs uttered, his palm coming up to rest against Roe’s cheek.

Roe leaned into it, “What?”

“You.”

A flush spread across Roe’s face like the reds of the aurora borealis, painting him with watercolors Speirs would kill to see over and over again. Speirs ducked his head to capture Roe’s mouth with his, as he’d found the taste of Eugene Roe was the only thing that satiated that nagging curiosity he’d held for so long. Speirs’ fingertips skimmed over a smattering of scars on Roe’s side, dancing over the taut skin of his stomach that seized at his attention— he was slightly ticklish, Speirs had learned. God above he was soft, too, where the war hadn’t gotten to him and Speirs especially loved to prod at those places, to dig in and find a home there. Roe invited him in with the warmth of his arms and the plush of his thighs and the bruised bones of his knees as they folded together, Speirs’ face buried in Roe’s neck.

“Y’ comfy, there, Ron?”

Speirs’ reply was indecipherable, his mouth pressed against the warmth of Roe’s shoulder. There wasn’t anything in the world that could drag him out, not even the man himself, and Roe laughed. It was a sound that Speirs would’ve marched through hell and back a million times to hear, rolling like thunder and just as deep. Roe was a storm in the sweltering summer, all dark clouds and warm rain and Speirs had dove in and he was drowning. It was the easiest thing he had ever done.

Roe’s hands held firm against Speirs’ back, the tips of his fingers calloused from all the suturing needles and the rough handle of his knife. Speirs groaned at the feeling, one he prayed he’d never grow used to for fear of it becoming unremarkable to him. A foreign concept, sure, but he still hoped it would never happen. “Could stay here forever.” Speirs mumbled.

“What? Y’ gotta—” Roe pushed his face to the side slightly so as to hear him.

“Could stay here forever.”

Roe sighed wistfully and stared up at the ceiling. “Well, there’s a war on, y’know.”

Speirs, decidedly over the turn the brief conversation had taken, dug his fingers into Roe’s hip and pulled them both backwards. At this angle, he could admire the man in a new light and hell it was a glorious one. Roe’s hair looked best mussed up with no regard to regulations, dark strands hanging in his face as a curtain of black clouds to the eye of the storm. The light caught his features much like it had back in Aldbourne, the first night they had met and Speirs had been cautiously intrigued by the sullen medic. Roe kissed him again and he breathed deep, memorizing every level to the way he smelled. Clean, of soap since they’d gotten to Mourmelon-le-Grand. There was a tinge of sweat from their activities an hour earlier. And hours before that. And there was a note of petrichor, so distinctly Roe that it put an ache in Speirs’ heart.

Yes, Speirs’ heart was something that had never before been seen by the rest of Dog company or Easy company. A novel concept, indeed. The rosary beads that hung around his neck and the cross that fell just above his heart would’ve been frozen from the cold if not for the way his body heat compensated for the ever-persistent chill. He wondered often if Roe was keeping warm. Where he was. From what Speirs had gathered, he spent his time deep within a foxhole or busy on his feet trying to keep men alive that seemed so determined to die in this frozen hellhole. Speirs mulled over the last time he’d been given the opportunity to press a kiss to those frozen hands, praying that the brief contact had breathed a warmth into Roe that wasn’t physical.

In the limbo between Dog and Easy company, Speirs paused and breathed. At this point, if any head of raven hair popped above the ground, he’d see it in easy contrast against the landscape as it suffocated in snow. He was smart enough to promise himself not to wait long. It would do no one any good if he were to get distracted, waiting in the tundra of the woods freezing to death in the search for a glimpse of his medic. The one saving grace for his lack of excuse to be out there was the fact that not many people would be willing to question Speirs on his actions.

He thought over, ever so briefly, what they’d do if they got back. There’d be a ring, most likely. They’d never discussed kids, but that seemed to be the sort of thing Roe might like if they could sort out all the shit in their head first. Before anything, though, Speirs wanted a year of uninterrupted nights with Roe trapped within his arms. Peace. Warmth. He’d follow Roe anywhere in the world if he could get a glimpse of peace in the man’s eyes.

Speirs felt the urge to fumble with the rosary beads and was reaching toward his neckline when a shifting caught his attention. There was a stirring along Easy’s line, men poking their heads aboveground— likely relieving themselves with others on watch. No one wanted to die in the snowy Bastogne woods with their dick out. He paid no mind to their stirring until a whistle sounded out and, “Incoming!” was shouted.

There was no Eugene or Ron in that moment, when Speirs ducked below ground into one of the scattered foxholes that stretched between the two lines. The cover was hardly adequate, but it was better than being stuck above ground as the artillery rained down. The rattling of the Earth had felt like the end of days the first handful of times he’d experienced it, but Speirs was jaded and simply focused on keeping track of himself and not dying. Hunched in that foxhole, he escaped without injury. The assault slowed to a stop, the telltale whistle of incoming missiles vanishing just as quickly as it came.

Speirs hauled himself aboveground and did a quick check of his own personal inventory. He didn’t appear to be missing anything, literally or metaphorically, and straightened up as he prepared to march back to Dog company line and take account of his men. It was as easy as breathing, to begin that march. And then someone called, “Medic!” and, “He is the fucking medic, you dumbass!” and Speirs realized he had never experienced anything close to Earth shattering before that moment.

He was sprinting before he could realize what his body was doing. It was possible that it wasn’t Eugene— Easy company had more than one medic. He could be senselessly charging into a different company’s lines like the entire German army was on his heels for no reason. Not to be crass, but he didn’t much care if it wasn’t Roe, and it was entirely possible it wasn’t Roe. The medic was probably hustling around his own company taking care of those injured and would greet Speirs with an incredulous look of, what are you doing here?

There was so much blood. The snow soaked it up like a sponge, accepting the neon red dye like it was a right, and Speirs had never been so angry in his life. Sharp pain careened through his knees as he crashed to the ground. “Eugene. Eug— fuck, Eugene!” He didn’t know what to do with his hands, hovering them above the medic. Useless.

Eugene was sprawled in the snow, jaw slightly ajar as he stared up through the canopy of trees at the falling snow. It wasn’t a direct hit or an amputation, he knew, but something had gone so terribly wrong as he’d rushed to help a member of Easy company that had tripped on their way to a foxhole. It was somewhere in the cacophony of a falling tree, and he was distantly aware that he was surrounded by his men as they stared down at him. Useless. “Where the fuck is Spina!”

Spina. Hm. Resigned, Roe put his energy into turning his head, fumbling his hand with the fabric of Speirs’ pants where he kneeled beside him. Useless. “Hi.” His voice was garbled, not his own.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eugene. Someone get Spina over here right-fucking-now!”

The other Easy company members had sat back in horror. They knew what Roe would say if he weren’t the one on the ground at that very moment. There was no point. No one survived having a tree branch launched through their middle, impaling them to the ground. “What’re y’ doin’ here?” Roe asked Speirs, confused.

All Speirs could summon were curses and the horror of tears. His eyes were wide and wild, sending Easy company members scattering backwards as he looked up and around. “Where the fuck is the other medic?” He yelled.

“Speirs.” A voice came from behind him. “Speirs. S— Ron.” 

It was Winters, a hand on Speirs shoulder as he forced himself not to look away from the state of Doc Roe. “There’s morphine in his jacket.”

“Fuck.”

The exhale of the curse breathed out any of Speirs’ hope with it, the pit in his chest growing by the second as the blood around Eugene pooled further and dissipated into the snow. “It’s—” Roe’s inhale was rattling. “S‘kay. Don’... feel it.”

Speirs hated the calming storm. He hated the way Roe’s grasp on his pant leg felt feeble at best, hated the way his own hand shook as he took Roe’s hand carefully and resigned himself to a new form of death, one he had never considered but a thousand times worse. Speirs descended into the bloodbath as he lowered himself onto his side beside Roe, desperate to see his face, unmarred by blood. Roe’s eyes were rolling in his head, unclear and unfocused, but he was doing his goddamn best as Speirs’ face hovered over his own.

Speirs’ icy hand found its place on Roe’s cheek once again and he leaned down to press a frozen kiss to Roe’s furrowed brow bone. Roe groaned as he tried to shift and failed. “‘m sorry.” He exhaled.

“Fucking hell, ‘gene, don’t you dare apologize. You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for, baby.”

Roe’s laugh was more of a wheeze as his eyes roamed Speirs face. “Baby. Tha’s new.”

“Thought I’d try it out.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Another wheeze. The rattling of Roe’s breath was a horror Speirs had become familiar with over their time at war. He’d heard it a million times before and this was the only instance in which it’d haunt him for the rest of his goddamn life. His throat felt raw from screams he was hardly holding back, the wrenching of his gut urging him to upend his insides until it all stopped hurting. Roe’s hands traced upward, fumbling and weak, before they reached the base of Speirs’ neck. The beads hardly poked above his collar but Roe found them anyway and tangled his fingers in them, blood coating the rosary. “Christ above, Roe, you should’ve kept them.” Speirs choked out, wanting to be angry. Angry was better than this. 

Roe attempted some approximation of shaking his head. “No. They’re yours.” came out more along the lines of “N… th’yers.”

Speirs fumbled his own hand upward and captured Roe’s, bringing it to his lips. He kissed each bloody knuckle, ignoring the iron taste in his mouth and the stain it’d leave on his skin before he leaned down and pressed his lips to Roe’s forehead. His brows. His cheeks. Like lipstick marks, Roe’s blood planted itself on his face with each press of Speirs lips. “I’ve got you, ‘gene. You’re alright, baby.” His voice was softer than it had ever been, softer than it ever would be again.

“Lo’...” The exhale Roe let out was final.

Speirs hands shook so badly he couldn't grasp properly. The fight to get the scarf off his neck was one he nearly lost; it seemed all he could do in that moment was lose, over and over again. Carefully, gingerly, he pushed it under Roe's head and wound it around him. Winters spoke up, “Speirs, he's…”

“I know.” Speirs bit out. “I just—I don't want him to be cold.”

“Okay. That's— that's good, then. You did good by him.”

The Earth shattered apart below their feet.

Speirs wore that rosary through the rest of the war and beyond. His eyes stayed wild, his tactics unimaginable, the rumors crass and vicious. He was no man of religion, but he was a man of storms. Other troopers pointed out just how crazy he was, considering he took every chance to stand out in thundering rain, gasping as the rain pelted his skin and washed him anew. Even with the weight of the rosary and two sets of dog tags, it was never enough. He’d left his heart in the frozen ground of Bastogne, under a Sycamore with E.R. carved into it. None of it would ever be enough again.

[mccall-muffin]

Oh snap it's been a while since I've requested a fic. Can I have Doc Roe? But something Romantic? Fluff and a bit of...spice? I feel like we need something other than resting-concerned-face Roe.

Hello, dear anon :)

Thank you so much for your request. I hope I did it justice and covered everything you asked for! "Guess I did" (using Gene's voice here)

xx

You oughta know // Doc Roe x Reader

Summary: It's not always easy speaking up to your superiors, and Doc is usually not the one who does so. But when he does - well, he does it right. And he's so goddamn pissed this time that you are probably the only one who can calm him down.

A/N: Weheelll, I actually never written Doc Roe before, so I tried my best! And thank you, bestie @liebgotts-lovergirl, for the preread, as most of the time!

Warnings: Language, Fluff, and... spice ;)

October 31, 1944 -Nijmegen, Holland

"God fucking damn it!" you hear someone swear as you're just coming back from guard duty. You recognize the voice immediately. As you round the corner, you see Gene jumping off a jeep and cursing angrily.

"Whoa, what's gotten into you?" you ask, looking at him. He lifts his eyes, and when you see the look on his face, he almost turns you on a little. You've never seen him this angry before. "Officers," he then grumbles under his breath. Frowning, you walk up to him and then notice that he is covered in blood. "What happened?" you ask, taking out your smokes before handing him one.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

Together you walk a few steps and then sit down on a staircase. Then he tells you what happened with Heyliger. "You'd think they'd know damn well better! They oughta know better!" he gets loud again.

You sit down behind him on the next step and start massaging his shoulders. "Hey... They probably just did what they thought was the right thing," you try to reassure him. Gene turns his head so he can look you in the eye. "Would you have acted that way? So irresponsible?" he asks directly, and you falter. "I-I don't know."

Gene sighs and hangs his head. "I'm sorry. I don't even want to take my frustration out on you," he says a little more calmly. You press your lips together and rest your head against his. "It's okay. I know you don't mean it."

"It's just so frustrating. These stupid accidents are unnecessary and endanger a good man's life because you overdose him with morphine."

"Hey," you say again, sliding a little to the side and turning Gene to face you. He's still sitting between your legs, but now he can look at you properly. "You can't blame yourself under any circumstances, understand? You're the most amazing person I know, Gene. What you've already done for us is incredible! You always act like you don't want to be close to all of us, but actually, you are."

You look into his blue eyes, which are also studying yours. Suddenly Gene puts his hand on the back of your neck, pulls you down, and kisses you. Surprised but not averse, you return it. When he pulls away from you, he still has his eyes closed and his forehead resting against yours.

"Y/N," he breathes. It's the first time you've heard him say your first name. "We shouldn't be doing this."

You pull back a few inches from him to look at him again. "Then why did you?" you whisper back, and your eye contact holds. You can tell he wants to say something, but he holds back. "Gene..."

Gene kisses you again, but this time with more firmness. You slide off the top step and are now sitting next to him. One leg is over his, and you kiss passionately.

"Jesus, I'm so weak," Gene whispers against your lips. "You're not. You're the strongest man I know." "Then why can't I stay away from you?" Gene gently caresses your cheek. "I've tried. I've really tried. From the very beginning. Don't get me wrong, I've tried to imagine you dying and how that would make me feel and that giving in to my feelings for you would only make it worse."

Surprised, you look at him. "You have feelings for me?" Gene lowers his eyes. "From the beginning." He sighs. "I should never have told you. We can't do this. We're not allowed to do this. What if-?"

A smile creeps onto your face before you place your hand under his chin, forcing him to look at you. Again, you look him in the blue eyes and cut him off. "I'm glad you told me," you whisper before this time it's you who kisses him.

You run your fingers through his dark hair and slide onto his lap. You kiss passionately, and Gene's hands roam over your back. "Does that mean-?" he asks, and you nod. "From the beginning," you smile as you repeat his words.

May 15, 1945 - Zell am See, Austria 

You sit outside in the sun and enjoy the warm rays on your face. After Bastogne, you never thought you'd get warm again, but a particular person put you through that hell.

"Y/N?" you hear your name and open your eyes. Gene is standing in front of you. "Hey," you greet him with a smile. He reaches out his hand to you and pulls you to your feet. "Well, how about a walk?" he asks, pointing toward the lake not far from your accommodation. "Always," you say and follow him.

You walk side by side silently as long as you are still within earshot of other soldiers. Gene reaches for your hand when you reach the little path that leads around the lake. He gently strokes it with his thumb and smiles at you from the side. You smile back, and then he clears his throat.

"I've been thinking," he says, and you look at him in surprise. "Thinking? About what?" "Us," he says directly. You wait to see if he continues. "The war in Europe is over, but not yet the one in the Pacific. I'm afraid it will be worse there," he explains. "Gene... We don't know when or even if we'll be deployed." "I know that, but... We survived the cold hell. Even though I still can't explain how. Now we have to survive tropical hell, too."

He sighs, and you stop. "What are you saying, Gene?"

He looks you in the eye. "You are the most important thing in the world to me, Y/N. And should we finally get home... Then - then I want to marry you. More than anything else. You belong to me, I just know it." Gene gets down on one knee and pulls a ring from his breast pocket. "Before we get deployed, I have to do it. Y/N, will you marry me?"

Tears glisten in your eyes as you quickly look around to ensure no one sees you. "Nothing in this world would make me happier," you then smile and pull him to his feet to kiss him. "Dieu, Je t'aime!" whispers Gene against your lips, and you smirk. "Et je t'aime aussi!" "Someone's been studying," he grins, nudging your nose before sliding the ring onto your finger. The wide grin on your face, nothing can wipe away now. "Jesus, you don't know how much I love you, Eugene Roe!" "Not as much as I love you, Y/N."

Hand in hand, you walk on. The ring glitters on your finger, and you almost burst with happiness. Suddenly you come to a part of the lake that screams out to be bathed in. You turn to Gene, who already suspects evil, grin at him and then walk towards the lake. "Y/N? What are you up to?" asks Gene, slightly panicked, because he knows what you're up to.

"What does it look like I'm up to?" you ask, tossing your jacket carelessly on the ground before unbuttoning your shirt. Gene looks around. "Do you really think this is a good idea?" he asks, and you've already taken off your shoes and are pulling the shirt over your shoulders. "Come on, Gene, be a little... spontaneous for once," you say before taking off your pants and undershirt and wading into the lake in just your underwear.

Gene looks after you with wide eyes. "What are you waiting for?" you call out to him with a laugh. Hesitantly, Gene begins to undress and then wades into the water with you. When he's deep enough in, you swim up to him and wrap your arms and legs around him.

Happily, you smile at your new fiancé. "Well, what did I tell you? It's just beautiful." Gene eyes you and then kisses you. His hands are on your thighs, and he squeezes you against him. "You're beautiful." As his gaze moves down, you realize that even your underwear doesn't leave much to the imagination, and then you look back at him. His eyes have darkened.

The mood changes as if on cue, and you tenderly stroke the back of his neck with your fingertips. "Y/N..." "Shhh...," you interrupt him immediately and then place your lips on his. Your tongue moves into his mouth, and you slowly rock against his hips. Gene's hands, meanwhile, explore your entire body. Your back, your butt, your belly, and your breasts. It doesn't take long until you feel something hard pressing between your legs.

Gene seems to notice it too, but being the gentleman he is, he pulls back from you a little and looks at you apologetically. "I uh..." he says hesitantly, scratching his head as if he doesn't know what to do. To help him decide, you reach between the two of you and gently stroke along the hem of his underpants. "You wanna do it?" you ask directly, and he looks at you in surprise. "I uh - well, do you wanna do it?" he asks back, and you laugh before biting your lips.

"I think so..."

Gene looks at you for a moment before kissing you again passionately. "But only if you're sure, yeah?" You take his face in your hands. "I've never been more sure of anything."

You watch Gene swallow, and then his hand disappears into the water, and a moment later, you feel it between your legs. Tenderly he strokes your middle, and your breathing quickens. And then you feel him. "Are you really sure?" he asks again, and you look at him admonishingly. "Gene, please!"

He unceremoniously pushes your panties aside and caresses your most sensitive spot with his finger. Even at the first touch, you moan slightly. Then, as he sinks his finger inside you, you press closer to him. "Holy shit!" you curse, then look at him. A sly grin appeared on Gene's face. "You okay?" You nod. "Fine," is all he says, and without much warning, he inserts a second finger. "Oh my God," you moan, and Gene knows precisely where to put his fingers.

Gene caresses you with his fingers until he almost drives you to climax. "Oh my god, Gene. I'm about to cum." Closing your eyes, you throw your head back when the time comes.

As the orgasm slowly fades, you're still pressed against Gene. "Wow, that was..." "Not all of it yet," he interrupts, placing you slightly around. You feel him at your entrance, and with a gentle tug, he enters you. "Gene," you moan, slowly getting used to his size. Then he starts to move, and again the lust and desire ignite in you.

Again and again, Gene penetrates you until he seems pretty tense. "Honey, I don't know how much longer," he breathes in your ear. "It doesn't matter, just keep doing it," you return, panting, and Gene does as instructed. It doesn't take long, and a second orgasm overtakes you. Because of your tension around him, you drive Gene over the cliff.

Breathing heavily and panting, you slowly come down from your high and look your lover in the eyes. "That was... Wow. Just..." "Beautiful," he finishes your sentence. "Yes," you agree.

"I love you," he whispers against your lips, kissing you tenderly. "And I love you." "Now, I won't let you go, I hope you know that." You raise your hand with his finger on it, grinning. "I think you've made that abundantly clear."

[liamgssunshine]

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 90’𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒

* smut

~ request

- not complete

LIAM GALLAGHER:

oneshots:

columbia*

makes me cry

[babe-heffron]

June 7th 1944 - George has spent the past 24 hours wandering northern France alone, until he isn't anymore. Toye's alive, he's alive, and he'll take what he can get.

[sleepisforcowards]

‘my little dove, why do you cry?’ - Joe Liebgott

Warning- Heavy angst, character death, gore/injury, sad Leibgott, swearing, NOT PROOF READ WHATSOEVER

inspired by Fourth of July by Sufjan Stevens (such a sad song oml I’m gonna cry) and youth by daughter

didn’t think it’d be this sad ngl

Numb.

That’s what Joe Liebgott was after you took your last breath…

The snow crunched under his feet as he walked, the cold nipping at his already bright red nose and fingertips as you both made your way back to your fox hole.

“Oh yeah..you’re funny, real funny” your giggles where music to his ears, causing a warm sensation through his system.

a contrast to his tone as you turned back to look at him, rifle hanging loosely in your grip.

You perked an eyebrow at him, a grin still on your face.

“Aw come on Lieb, don’t be a prude.” your choice of words earning a snort from the man which in return widened the beam on your face.

At the sight of your smile he felt his heart swell and he thought he’d never felt warmer despite the freezing temperatures.

“Besides I personally think I’m quite the comedian-”

The rest of your sentence was cut off as a large explosion at your feet throws you both back.

His ears rung as he found himself face down in the white snow, his body aching from the impact.

Blinking his eyes, he slowly pushed himself up and upon seeing a small, blurry lump surrounded by scarlet, scrambled up from the ground.

His mind was racing as he stumbled onto his knees next to you, snapping out of it as you meet his gaze.

“Your gonna be okay.. your fine,” he soothed you before whipping his head round, “MEDIC!”

He turned back to you, you where lying on your back, face smeared in blood from cuts littered across your complexion.

The worrying thing however, was the several patches of blood seeping through your ODs and more noticeable your right leg or rather what was left of it.

“ , Look at me, N/n. You’re gonna be fine okay?” He whipped around again, “MEDIC! ..for fucks sake.. DOC!”

You looked at him in confusion, eyes glazed over as you looked around “wh-who needs a medic Lieb? I- I need to get up…”

“Hey, hey..” he soothed you as you attempted to get up.

“Why are you looking at me like that.” Joes chest tightened as you looked down and realisation hit you, just as Eugene Roe rushed over to you two.

“Hey y/n. I need you to stay calm for me okay?” Roe rummaged through his medic satchel but Joe paid no mind, just continued to look at you.

“Keep looking at me okay y/n? Don’t look down there” he attempted to soothe your panicked state.

Your head shot up to him, “I got no leg Lieb.. it- it’s gone”

“Shh it’s okay n/n, you’ll be fine.. I promise”

You nodded slowly at him, fear clouding your vision as you gripped onto him, “promise?”

“Course n/n.. you’ve still gotta meet my sisters remember?” A forced smile made its way onto his face, as he looked down at you. Your eyes where doe-like, looking widely up at him. Your body continued to shake and whither as gene worked on your leg and stabbed morphine into the opposite one.

“Im scared Joe..” your usually energetic voice sounded small now, broken.

“fuck y/n… you’re gonna be alright okay?” His teeth gritted together and tears welled up in his vision.

Joe barely registered the quickly approaching footsteps of Lipton as he crouched down on the other side of your head.

“How are we doing, L/n?”

He watched as you turned to Lip, your gaze faltering, “h-hanging in there sarge” .

Lip then turned to Roe, who met his gaze with a small shake of his head as he continued to attempt to stop the bleeding, clearly growing frustrated.

Joe looked between the two with narrowed eyes, “fucking help her doc!” only scoffing when gene chose to ignore him.

You tugging on the front of his coat brought his gaze back to you. You’d gone paler, jaw clenched in obvious pain and tears welled up in your eyes, seconds away from spilling.

“It’s okay Leib..it’s okay..” you whispered the words to him, voice raspy as you smiled sadly.

The tears spilled then, running down his cheeks as his head shook, “No no no.. don’t say that y/n, don’t you fucking dare”

“Shut your trap and listen to me for once you f-fucking dick” you managed out, successfully silencing him.

“I- I love you okay.. so much”

He shook his head, “don’t.. for fuck-.. please n/n”

“I- I” your stopped, eyes drooping slowly as your grip on his uniform loosened.

Joe stared at your lifeless body, “no. No.. NO NO” he gripped your face in his hands, searching hopelessly for any signs of life, ignoring the pitiful look from Lip behind him.

The realisation washed over him as he realised he never said it back.. he hoped you knew. Hoped that in your last moments you felt his love for you, felt comfort. He knew that wasn’t true though. You had breathed your last breath curled into yourself in the snow, bathed in blood and dirt and withering in pain.

He should’ve said it. He should’ve told you how much you meant to him, how he wouldn’t have survived this far without you by his side. But he didn’t, and now you where dead, believing that your love was unrequited, unwanted.

Joe doubted he’d ever forgive himself for that.

A/n-

Darker than I thought it’d be but oh well

[ithinkabouttzu]

BoB reaction to you changing in front of them for the first time

genre; suggestive fluff

warnings: a little dirty, suggestive

description: Their reaction to you (their s/o) changing in front of them for the first time.

Dick Winters

His immediate reaction is to look the other way, he doesn’t want to be rude or disrespectful your privacy at all and will ask you if you would like for him to leave. He would be SHOCKED when you tell him that you want him to watch you change. He would be like slowly turning his head back to you with his face beet red, but he would be watching the whole time, he could literally not take his eyes off you and after its needless to say that he was impressed and also a little excited.

Carwood Lipton

I think he’d also try and look away as soon as she saw you changing, maybe even put his hands over his eyes just because you caught him so off guard. I think out of instinct he would just head for the door before you stopped him, “Stay, please” If you felt his heart in that moment it would’ve jumped out of his chest. He could’ve sworn he had a minor heart attack watching you change, like he was nervous but also so excited? Boy was grinning so hard for the rest of the day

Lewis Nixon

His eyes get so freaking big, like when he sees you changing, a smile just appears on his face and his cheeks get all rosy, “You want me to stay?” He would ask you just out of respect for you and would be even more shocked when he hears you say, “Watch, keep your eyes on me” Man if his smile could get any bigger in that moment it did. He would he watching you the whole time in complete awe. He’d probably get excited watching you and would ask for some assistance to the problem once you got finished changing. Let’s just say that wherever you guys had plans going to, you guys were DEFINITELY late.

Joe Toye

When he sees you changing the biggest smirk appears on his face and his eyes turn dark so quick, you could definitely feel his eyes on you the whole time and when you looked back at him he would make you so nervous with his gaze. He could not take his eyes off you even if his life depended on it, and the look on his face was almost priceless, Once you were fully naked while changing he would ask you, “Do a turn for me baby, let me see all of you” In his deep raspy voice OMG. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t extremely turned on by seeing you change. Before you could start changing back into your new clothes he was all over you, kissing and hugging all over your body.

Joe Liebgott

Seeing you change just made his day 100 times better then before. He would lean back into his seat and just watch you undress very closely, “You want some help taking off those, sunshine?” Ugh and let me tell you how you would notice an extreme difference in his voice too, it’d be so much deeper and sexy after seeing you change. He would help you take and put back on your clothes, kissing at least one part of your body before putting on each of your clothing, and reminding you how beautiful you are. The whole point was to turn him on but you end up being the one going crazy tbh. (dw tho he definitely will help you out if you ask )

Bill Guarnere

“What are you doing?” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth while giving you a smirky smile. He won’t even give you time to answer before he’s behind you, kissing your neck and shoulder up and down while caressing your almost naked body. “Why don’t you change later huh, come sit with me?” Before you gave into his words, you wanted to tease him at least one more time, so in return you make him sit down, not able to touch you, while taking off the rest of your little clothing left as slow as possible. By the end he was 100% frustrated and had a huge problem in his pants. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable because you won’t be able to walk after he’s done with you.

George Luz

You just made him the happiest man on the planet. You’d be painfully slow the whole time, maybe even throwing your shirt at him for him to catch. He would have his eyes on you like a baby with candy right in front of him. “You’re real gorgeous, y/n, beautiful.” He would stare at you in pure awe. He’d definitely have to hold back his excitement the whole time, maybe even putting a pillow in his lap so you wouldn’t see the raging tent in his pants. He would be so respectful though, just watching you in peace unless you asked him something. after he would try to ignore it like it didn’t turn him on but later that night be ready for some pay back LOL

Eugene Roe

His reaction would also be to look away, “Y/n, do you want me to give you some privacy?” You could tell just by the tone in his voice that you made him flustered. “No, watch me change” He would get so red when you said that, it’s almost like a switch flipped inside of him when you said that though because then he started staring at you with dark sexy eyes, not taking them off you for one bit. “You’re so easy to look at darling” AHH OMG HES SO AMAZING. For the rest of the day he’d be clinging on to you, holding and kissing your body gently, he would be so sweet and perfect just reminding you how beautiful you are to him too 😭

Bull Randleman

He would be suprised to see you just changing in front of him like that. He would get up and walk towards the door, to give you your privacy until you ask him, “You sure you don’t want to stay and watch?” You would say in the most sulky voice ever. He would run back to his seat so fast, eager to watch you change into your pretty clothing. “Are you sure? I can leave if you want me to.” HES SO RESPECTFUL OMG, Like you actually would make him nervous, the way you were taking off your clothes he’d be ready for your every move, once you were finish, he’d clap jokingly before wrapping his arms around you, “I’m so lucky to have you”

Floyd Talbert

He’s been waiting for this moment the entire relationship, literally. “You want some help with that, hon?” He’d say with a cocky-ish grin on his face. “No, just watch me, okay?” You’d really be torturing this man by making him watch and not help you, like he just thinks you’re so beautiful, and him not touching or feeling you is literally driving him crazy. “You’re so damn beautiful y/n” He would be enjoying every single second of it too. He keep on giving you praises until you were fully changed into your other clothes. “Next time let me help you,I could make it a lot quicker” he’d whisper into your ear before leaving the room.

Skip Muck

His jaw would literally drop seeing you change so casually in front of him for the first time. “Do you want me to leave, or?” He would be as still as a ghost almost, literally unable to move in shock. “Watch me” His heart rate would pick up so fast when you said that. Like almost giving him a heart attack LOL, he would keep his eyes on you the whole time, and it was easy to say that you turned him on. He would have his hands in his lap trying to hide his problem without trying to make you feel uncomfortable. You would notice this and ask him, “Do you want some help, baby?” he was completely gone after that, you literally had him in a trance for the rest of the day.

Don Malarkey

his first reaction was to turn his head and put his hands over his eyes, his cheeks were almost as red as his hair when you told him that you’d like for him to watch you change instead. He would watch you change respectfully but also hoping that he would get to see more of you as you changed. He just cannot believe his eyes right now. “You look good, pretty” ugh i love him sm. He just thinks you look absolutely gorgeous in that moment, he feels more than lucky that you’re his. When you’re finished he will be more than happy to praise you on how beautiful you are to him. Like he’s so sweet about the whole thing omg

Babe Heffron

His eyes would pop straight out of his head. “What are you doing?” He’d feel so much excitement just from watching you change. Like mans is just in LOVE with your body. He will remind you the whole time of how gorgeous you are to him. The whole plan was to make him nervous but he’d probably end up making you the nervous one LOL, “Do you know what you’re doin to me doll?” He would say, smirking up at you with dark eyes. He wouldn’t even let you fully finish changing before coming up to you and attacking you with kisses, he absolutely cannot get enough of you or your body.

Shifty Powers

When you start changing he covers his eyes IMMEDIATELY and will ask if you’d like him to leave and give you some space. When you tell him that you’d like him to stay his heart speeds up so quickly and he gets so nervous. He thinks you are so beautiful he is just speechless, even though you said he can stay, he tries to be respectful and turn his head anyway, (not for long though because he just can’t help himself at all) “You look nice y/n” He’s so respectful and cute about it too. When you’re finished he will have the biggest blush on his face and a slight smile, looking at you like you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen.

Frank Perconte

Are you trying to give this man a heart attack? Literally because when he sees you just taking off your clothes right in front of him he becomes so shocked and speechless (in the best way ever though) “You want me to go?” “No, just watch” Okay now you’re really trying to give him a heart attack now. He would not leave his eyes from you for not one second. By the time you were done changing he was already kissing on you and hugging on your body, let’s just say that if you guys had any sort of plans or places you guys needed to go to, you guys cancelled that day.

Ronald Speirs

He would stare at you blankly at first, not knowing what you were doing until you took all of your clothes off, he would get the message totally wrong, and start taking his clothes off too LOL, thinking that you were trying to initiate something. Then you would explain to him that you just wanted him to watch instead and he would be so confused. “Why watch you put on clothes if i’m going to be taking them off of you later?” AHHH OMG you would look at him questionably before giving in and taking all of the little clothes that you did have on, off. Lets just say you didn't put any clothes back on until later that day ;)

Make sure to like and reblog if you enjoy! :)

[indigo-graves]

This Dance | Joe Liebgott

It wasn’t often that the bulk of Easy Company had privileges on a weekend. Evelyn convinced herself it was absolutely because she had threatened all of the men within an inch of their life. If she had to spend one more weekend at camp, she would surely short circuit. So when they made it through the end of training on Friday, she was able to let out what felt like a breath she had been holding all week. 

When she exited her separate living quarters, several of the company’s other members were waiting for her. Talbert let out a whistle, earning himself a smack in the back of the head from Toye. Evelyn rolled her eyes in response, giving Toye a smile of approval. 

“Ready, darlin’?” Bull Randleman, her dearest friend, questioned. She nodded. Briefly, her eyes locked with Liebgott, who was biting back a smirk, quickly distracting himself with the cigarette he could put between his lips.

“Ready,” she said, smoothing her skirt decisively and turning on her heel. She had hoped they would mistake the blush rising in her cheeks as rouge. 

Three drinks in, the blush in her cheeks was permanent. The bar they had found themselves comfortable in was hot. The Georgia heat mingled with the warmth of too many bodies in a small venue. The wafting clouds of smoke from cigarettes only thickened the air. She was thankful to sit lower than the rest of them in her seat due to her petite stature, most of it traveled over her head. 

“Fifty bucks says I get the first Kraut kill when we hit Europe,” Guarnere spoke confidently. His accent only seemed to get thicker with each beer he downed. 

“Bullshit,” Toye challenged, slammed a hand down on the table, causing all of their drinks to rattle. Chuckles echoed in response. 

“Yeah?” Guarnere grinned, “you gonna get to ‘em before me?” 

“There’s not a doubt,” Toye lit a cigarette casually. “One gust of wind and your ass will end up in the middle of the Atlantic while I’m on Hitler’s doorstep.” He jabbed at the smaller man. The table roared with laughter and Guarnere chuckled through gritted teeth. 

“I’ll take both your money and take your broads out to dinner with it,” Luz spoke confidently, throwing his hat in the ring. 

“Whatdya say we get a dance in while these boys get out their measuring tape?” Bull nudged Evelyn with a smile. She chuckled, threw back the rest of her drink, and got to her feet. 

As the next song started to play on the jukebox, the two of them found space in the section of the room that was being used by a few other soldiers and their female partners. She felt Bull pull her close, surprised that he was so keen on dancing. 

When Liebgott surveyed the room, he felt a drop in his guts. Through the haze of cigarette smoke and crowd of patrons, he watched as Evelyn moved gracefully in the arms of Bull Randleman. He watched Bull’s hand, splayed at the small of her back, and remembered what it felt like the first time she let him touch her. He thought about the way her breath tickled his ear and neck when he held her that close. The things she had told him. Even more, the noises he had drawn out of her when they were flush against one another in that same way. 

He watched her rhythm, knowing it so intimately himself. The way he held those same hips as he guided her into that same rhythm in their most passionate moments. He thought about what it sounded like when she stifled herself, bit at her lips, his shoulder, the pillow, in attempts to keep their dance so secret. And here, he had to sit back and watch as she so publicly danced with someone else. 

“Liebgott,” there was an elbow in his lower ribs. 

He turned to Talbert, realizing the cigarette in his hand had burned down to a nub in neglect. Talbert furrowed a brow but asked now questions. Liebgott got to his feet and excused himself from the table, leaving his fourth beer nearly untouched behind him. 

When the song ended, Bull let go of her waist and thanked her for the dance. She scrunched her nose with a smile at him. He tried to escort her back to their table, stating that surely some of their other company members would want a chance to dance with her. She provided him with a kind excuse, letting him know she was going to get some air and she’d be right back. Only twice did she have to argue that she would be just outside the door, where she had seen both Winters and Nixon standing. He agreed, only content when knowing she had chaperones. Rolling her eyes at the endearing concern, she navigated the compact crowd of people toward the door. 

Anyone in their sober mind would have clearly observed the level of intent she had seen in Liebgott’s stare for the majority of her dance with Bull. There was an anger that had ignited in her that made it difficult to focus on Bull in those moments. Liebgott had made her a lot of promises, many of them in the throws of passion, that she had not taken with more than a grain of salt. But when she made him promise to keep the extent to which they had become acquainted to himself, she was sure he understood the severity of the matter. 

Liebgott stood outside of the bar, his back resting against the building next door at the mouth of an alley. He knew he could only get away with a few minutes away from the company. Someone would come shouting for him before too long. 

He was surprised when he saw Evelyn exit the bar with a relieved sigh. She nodded to Winters and Nixon, who were standing just to the right of the entrance, enjoying the much less congested air. They addressed her in kind, Nixon held up a glass toward her with a small smile. A less raw version of himself would not have had the intrusive image of himself taking a set of brass knuckles to Nixon’s straight, white, Yale-boy grin. A better version of himself, maybe. 

When Evelyn’s eyes connected with his, her smile fell. The hard line that set along her lips let him know that whatever it was that she was going to share with him, it was not going to provide any solace to his bruised ego. 

“You,” she gritted her teeth as she got closer to him. She glanced over her shoulder to assure herself that there were no interested ears. “You have got to get it together, Joe.” Liebgott bit the inside of his cheek at the sound of his name on her lips. He had only heard it when it bubbled up from deep in her chest in her most vulnerable, passionate moments. God damn, she was so fucking beautiful. 

“What?” He was genuinely confused. How was it that he was getting in trouble for her dancing with Bull? 

“You,” she shoved his shoulder. It was then that he smelled the liquor on her breath. She had been close enough to him that he had also caught the sweetness of her perfume. Something in him ached. “Looking at me like that.” 

He chuckled a little at her. How threatening she was, how powerful. But he knew her soft edges. He knew those vulnerable moments. He knew her fear. He had swallowed it whole for her with the slip of her tongue. He knew her. 

“Looking at you like what?” He asked. His voice teased her in a way that drew goosebumps to the surface of her skin. He stepped forward, daring her to close the distance between them. Her eyes fluttered in response, her tongue tied. She did not respond. He smiled slyly, not able to help the shift between them. This was his place. Standing before her, teasing her, flustering her. Did Bull fucking Randleman do that? 

“Don’t do that to me,” she snapped out of her daze. She steeled herself, squared her shoulders, put a step of distance between their bodies. The haze of the moment passed and she remembered just how public a venue he had started this dance in. 

“Do what?” Those coy responses were what got Evelyn into this mess in the first place. He wanted her to get drunk on him. Addicted to him. 

“If you get us caught, you know what will happen,” she threatened. Joe nodded in response. There were no playful replies to bite back when the reality of what they had gotten themselves into was brought up. She had told him the conditions of her presence with the company. Should anyone catch wind of anything unsavory, she was done. 

She knew he understood how much her career meant to her. She knew he respected it. Respected her. He, however, knew that maybe his deepest fear was that he did not know if he would ever see her again. And that reality was even more frightening than what he had waiting for him on the other side of the ocean. 

Joe nodded, clenching his jaw. They stood at the mouth of that alley, wordlessly standing in the mud of their own making. She reached over, the softness of her fingers against his, caused him to jerk his head up in response, looking over her shoulder at the officers just ten feet from them. She boldly stroked the inside of his palm with her delicate fingers. The same way she did when they laid lazily in her bed under the cover of darkness, sweaty, glowing, and drunk on one another. 

“Don’t make this end before it has to,” she squeezed his hand. “Please.” 

Joe met her eyes. The dimensions of light and dark in them were picked up by the streetlamp. He wanted desperately to wrap his arms around her, tighter than Bull or any man could ever fucking hold her. He wanted to kiss her, taste every unsaid word on her lips. To touch her in ways that would leave her gasping, begging, crying out for more of him. He wanted to tell her that his days started and ended with her. Every single one of them since the moment his mouth tasted hers.

“Evie!” There was a shout from behind them. She pulled away from him with a jolt, her curtain of dark hair whipped around her shoulders. 

“You’ve got a line of men in here wondering when they’re getting their dance!” Nixon called, speaking for the masses he was gesturing to inside the building. 

“Yes, sir!” She responded, smiling brightly. She turned to Joe briefly. He swallowed the ball of fire making its way up from his belly. ‘Be good,’ she mouthed at him. She turned on her heel, the sweet smell of her perfume wafting behind her as she made her way back to the bar. Joe let out an exasperated sigh and reached into his pocket for a cigarette. 

[lenisoldi]

First Kiss

Donald Malarkey imagine

Important: This should not disrespect the real soldier in any way! This is just about the character on the HBO show!

Warnings: Fluff

Masterlist

Don’s pov:

It was a sunny day in 1946, the war had been over for one year, and I was back home. My hometown Astoria in Oregon hadn't changed much since I left; it was still a small, busy city with nice cafes and some quiet places by the water. I stopped by a café on my way to the next grocery store. I entered and looked around before I went to the counter. A beautiful girl came out of the back of the cafe, and as she looked at me, I couldn't believe my eyes.

"Good morning, how can I help you, sir?" she said, bringing me out of my trance. "Good morning, I'd like to buy a chocolate cake." "A whole cake?" she asked, smiling. "Oh no, just two pieces," I said a bit nervous but still smiling. "Alright." She put the two pieces in a bag, put them on the counter, then went to the checkout and said after a few seconds: "That's one dollar, please." I took out my wallet and gave her the money. Then I took the bag and wanted to go but then decided to stay.

"Ma'am? Excuse me, but is there any chance that we know each other?" The girl behind the counter looked at me a bit surprised. "Oh, I don't think so, I'm sorry sir." A small smile appeared on her face. "No, I think we know each other. You went to John Jacob Astor Elementary School, don't you?" I asked, and she looked even more surprised than before and nodded. "Yes, that was my school. How do you know that?" "I went to that school too. I was the boy who jumped from their house with an umbrella in 1933. You probably heard that story. It was a big thing in school." I hoped she remembered that embarrassing story when I wanted to practice a parachute jump with an umbrella. "Oh yeah, I remember. Then you're Donald Malarkey, right?" She chuckled a bit as she remembered the story. "Exactly. I wanted to ask if you would like to go out together. Maybe a picnic or to the movies?" "Um, yeah sure. A picnic sounds great, maybe by the water. When do you have time?" My smile grew from minute to minute. "When does your shift end?" "I will have my break in twenty minutes, do you wanna wait here?" I thought about it for a minute and then nodded.

"Okay, we can go now," she said as she came from the back of the cafe, not wearing an apron anymore and her hair was also freshly combed. She was holding a basket in her hand. I stood up quickly and offered her my arm which she gratefully took. I walked her out of the café and to my car. During the car ride, we both said nothing much. I watched her while she mostly looked out the window.

The place we picked was a quiet, not busy place under some trees with a good view of the water. "It's a beautiful place," she said. I looked at her and took the basket out of the car before we walked a bit on the beach. We easily found a spot to sit, and so we did. "Do you want a piece of the chocolate cake?" I asked. "I'd love to," she replied. I gave her the cake, and then we ate leisurely. "It's really hot today," I noticed. "Yeah, maybe we should swim a bit. I mean, we are at the beach." I looked at her with a surprised expression. "But I don't have any swimming clothes." "So what? Neither do I. I think it's warm enough that our underwear will dry quickly." she replied. Now my surprise grew. "Okay, then let's go." I said and removed my shirt. 

Just minutes later, we approached the warm water and went in. I laughed slightly as I noticed that she had trouble finding the ground. As we continued to swim out, she tried to stay on the bottom of the sea, becoming more and more panicked. I watched her as she tried to stay above water but failed. I immediately lifted her up again and held her in my arms. "You can't swim, can you?" "No, I can't," she said, trying to catch her breath. "I'll hold you, don't worry. Wrap your legs around me, it'll be easier for me." She did as I told her and I held onto her waist. "Thank you." She still had a little trouble breathing, but it disappeared with every second that I held her. Now, our bodies were so close together that our faces came closer and closer too. I looked into her eyes, then to her lips, and then to her eyes again. We both closed our eyes, and some seconds later, I felt her soft lips on mine. Our kiss lasted until we had to separate due to a lack of air. We grinned at each other and I brought us back to the beach where we lay down on the blanket.

"You look so beautiful in the light of the sunset," I said. "Thank you." My compliment made her shine.

We stayed on the beach until midnight and then I drove her home.

—————————

First post like this.

Don is such a sweetheart

Requests are open btw

If u wanna write about anything else I’m happy to hear it too!!!

[inglourious-imagines]

Coming Back to You (Donald Malarkey x GN!Reader)

Summary: After Bastogne, Malarkey is more distant than ever, barely talking to you anymore. But we don’t give up on those we love, right?

Requested by: @love-studying58 (Your last Malarkey post I requested got me in the feels and I’m requesting a similar one cause Malark is my fav. )

Prompts: 85 – “He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it.” (used as a setting, not as words being said) & 8 – “I said I’m fucking fine.”

Warnings: just some swear words

A/N: Finally wrote it, yayy! Hope it's alright.

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @teenmagazines @meteora-fc @eugenesmorphine @band-of-brothers-cz @real-fans @not-john-watsons-blog @tealaquinn @ok-roemanov @mrseasycompany @punkgeekchic @wexhappyxfew @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @rayofshanshine @mavysnavy @easynix @georgeluzwarmhugs @easy-company-tradition @immrsronaldspeirs @snafus-peckuh @curraheewestandalone @warrior-healer @justamadgirlinabox @happyveday @order-of-river-phoenix @whoahersheybars

.

.

.

The internal debating whether not-knowing or knowing would be worse is slowly taking its toll on your mental state. Ever since your Company heard the news about the patrol and the rumours that Malarkey is the one to lead it, you’ve been anxious and terrified beyond words.

It is almost evening, and you’re sitting with other Easy Company soldiers in a basement of one of the buildings in Hagenau, slowly sipping on the liquid the army so casually likes to call coffee. But it’s hot, and it warms your cold shaky hands. Even breathing is hard now, anxiety spreading to every part of your body like an infection. You’re terrified and you’re not even supposed to be on the patrol. All because of your heart that clings maybe too hard onto a broken soldier with a green beanie.

Your eyes scan the room, trying to find him but he’s nowhere to be seen; part of you wants to get up, find him, tell him all the things you’ve been dying to say since Toccoa, the other part keeps you glued to the old wooden chair and it seems you are stuck at dead end, neither of the sides taking the initiative.

“Don’t you look like Webster when the Krauts shot him,” George laughs as he plops himself on the chair next to you. You know very well he’s just trying to cheer you up, knowing exactly what’s gotten you down, but to say you look like David when shot? That’s a bit far.

“Fuck you too, Luz,” you retort, but a smile tugs at your lips anyway.

George puts up his hands in a surrender-like manner, grinning like a kid. “Well, maybe not, but you do look terrible.”

This time you let out an amused chuckle. “You sure know how to compliment a person. Thank you.”

“Come on, now, Y/N, you know what I mean.” George says as his face slowly gets more serious but the soft smile of his never disappears. “Someone should go talk to him,” he continues, his voice gentle and somewhat soothing, and you, for a split of a second, let yourself believe that this is your older brother giving you relationship advice. That thought warms your heart more than the coffee ever could, and you pick up your gaze at George, offering him a sincere smile.

You don’t have to ask, for George already knows your next move.

“Walk up the stairs to the first floor, then the first door to your left.”

You pat his shoulder while getting up, leaving that cup of unfinished coffee on your chair. “Thanks, G, I might just let that earlier insult pass after all.”

---

You slowly walk up the stairs, with each step losing a bit of the sudden courage you felt before, but you don’t stop, you simply can’t. The doors are slightly opened, so when you peer in, you can see Malarkey quietly discussing something with Babe. You don’t want to disturb them, for both of them seem deep in thought, serious and so tired, so you slowly step back.

You don’t have to wait too long, in a few moments, Heffron is standing in the hall next to you. He gives you a sympathetic smile and without a word leaves you be. You don’t know it yet, but almost every soldier from the original Easy Company squad knew about your little crush that apparently is reciprocated, even though somewhat badly and without words so you have no idea. George will tell you, once you reach Germany, about all the secret bets concerning you and Malarkey, that even some of the officers are in on them. And you will laugh, rosy cheeked, and George will laugh too, saying how bad of a secret agent you would make.

Malarkey is looking out the window when you enter the room.

“Hi,” you say quietly to announce your present and take some steps towards him. “Are you okay?

“I’m fine,” he immediately answers without looking at you or even turning his head a bit.

You sigh, “You can talk to me, Don, if you’d li-“

“I said I’m fucking fine.”

That makes you stop in your tracks. Malarkey has never been harsh to you and even though it might be just fatigue and stress talking, his words hurt you. You reckon he wants to be left alone, to deal with whatever’s coming at him on his own, so with a heavy heart you turn your back to him.

But then he speaks again, this time his voice is soft and gentle. “Wait.”

You let out a sigh, knowing you would do anything he asks you to. So you turn to face him and the sight breaks your heart. He looks more exhausted than ever, the war aging him, making him look a lot older than he actually is.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and without any warning, Malarkey crosses the distance between you two and brings you in for a desperate hug. You’re taken aback, the sudden show of emotions isn’t something you’re quite used to with Malarkey, so it takes you a few moments to truly comprehend the situation and wrap your arms around his torso.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his voice so quiet you can barely hear the words. He’s clinging onto you like the drowning to a life vest, like his life depends on it and he’d break if he let you go.

You know he’s been hurting but it isn’t until now that you can physically feel his pain through his touch. Your eyes water but you forbid yourself to cry, focusing on Donald’s heartbeat to help you to remain calm.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you finally answer.

“Yes, yes, I do,” he’s quick to retort, his grip on you only tightens and it is slightly harder for you to breath now, but you don’t complain, how could you, when his touch is also the solution to all your problems.

“I finally realized something I should have realized long ago,” Malarkey continues but pauses right after. Then he’s suddenly pushing you away, gently, with the words: “I need to look at you when I say this.”

Your heart is in your throat by now. You try to calm yourself down but Malarkey grabs your hands and you’re dizzy again, but the good kind, the kind that makes you feel like you can do anything you want.

“I realized that if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it through this war. You’ve always been by my side, through Currahee, through the jump, through Bastogne and I know I haven’t appreciated you enough for it and for that I am truly sorry.”

His voice is stronger now as he gains more confidence in his words. Your cheeks are red as tomatoes, and you can feel yourself smiling like a little child.

“And if your feelings haven’t changed, I’d like to spend all the moments I have left proving to you, that you, Y/N, are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Malarkey pauses for a second, his eyes fixated on you, a soft smile lightening up his face. “The truth is, my Y/N, I lov-“

“Don’t say it!” you interrupt him, surprising him and yourself. He looks at you confused and hurt that it almost breaks your heart again, but you know you have to say this.

“You can’t confess that to me, not yet, not before the patrol. I wouldn’t be able to let you go.”

His shoulders visibly relax a bit and the wrinkles leave his face.

“Come back to me,” you smile at him, “come back to me and then you can have all my moments, all of them will belong to you, they always have.”

And then, after such long years, Malarkey is finally smiling, no, grinning happily, and you see the three years younger man in him, just like when you met him in Toccoa, Georgia. His face lightens up and he’s hugging you again, saying, “Then I shall come back. I’ll come back.”

You’re laughing as he spins you around in his arms and suddenly it is very hard to contain all the joy, luck and love in your heart.

“I’ll always come back to you.”

[serendipitysae]

Band of brothers

Guys. I have officially entered my band of brothers era. I'm coming for you all.

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Wonderstruck Pt. 2

(Pt. 1)

Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: In following her out into the night after her hasty exit, Joseph Liebgott has flipped Alix's entire world on its head. But maybe, just maybe, she doesn't mind. A/N: THERE'S A PLOT, I PROMISE, THERE'S A PLOT!!!! Dedication: To my dear friend @brassknucklespeirs who encourages my bad behavior. Consider this your payback for hurting my heart & calling me out with "No Shame"🤭💖 WARNINGS: SMUT (18+), Hurt/Comfort, Unsafe sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT, Y'ALL, OR I'M COMING FOR YOUR KNEECAPS 🤬🤬🤬), Trust issues, Implied abuse (nothing graphic), everybody cusses like a sailor but y'all knew that Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @holdingforgeneralhugs

8 Months Earlier: January 8th, 1944. Aldbourne, England.

It wasn’t until Alix made it outside of the lobby and into the icy chill of the English winter that she realized she’d forgotten her coat.

The wind was harsh, stinging her bare skin, and she rubbed her arms in a vain attempt to ward off its bite as she began the long walk home.

“Kinda hard to 'go for a smoke' without your cigs, ain’t it?” a familiar voice called into the night as the door squeaked shut behind him, forcing Alix to stop in her tracks.

Goddamn it. 

The agent huffed, gathering her courage before turning to face Joe, the small cloud of her breath still hanging in the frosty air behind her. 

She'd intended to speak but no sound came out. 

After all, what was there to say? 

“I lied and ran off because I’m scared to get involved with you, in case you’re already involved with someone else?"

Yeah, that would go over like a ton of bricks. 

A Martinelli doesn’t show weakness, Alix remembered her father scolding her when she’d dissolved into tears after Clay’s numerous, public infidelities. Not now, not ever. 

So she said nothing, arms crossed, her ruby-red lips pressed into a tense line as she studied the paratrooper who'd come out after her.

Joe was standing just outside the building's overhang, hands shoved deeply into his pockets as he leaned against the building's outer wall, Alix's navy-blue coat draped over one shoulder. 

His deep brown puppy eyes traced over her features so softly, as though there was something worth seeing in them…in her…

Alix crossed her arms even tighter around herself, dropping her gaze to the cobblestones. Anything to avoid those sweet, puppy-dog eyes. 

She hated the way he looked at her, like she was the sun: something brilliant, worthy of kindness and reverence, and a million other sweet sentiments she didn't feel she deserved. 

How could anyone look at her like that after the things she'd done?

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

4 Years Earlier: August 18th, 1940. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

With a shout of obscenities in Italian, her father Emilio, had burst into their parlor, slamming a stack of men’s magazines and pinup calendars down onto the mahogany coffee table in front of her with such force that the whole table shook.

“What in God’s name is this?” he demanded, stabbing an accusatory finger at a Beauty Parade drawing of her in a slinky evening gown cut practically down to her navel, her cleavage nearly spilling out as she leaned on a piano.

“And this!” A page torn from the Esquire calendar depicting a provocatively-posed Alix as Miss July, lounging on a beach towel in an impossibly tiny two-piece. 

“And this!” A Titter centerfold featuring a blushing Alix with the skirt of her sundress snagged in a door, revealing her garters and a tantalizing flash of white lace panties.

“Is this what you've been doing while you're away?” her father bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. “We send you to Richmond for finishing school and you become a prostitute?!" 

"No, Pa, I-"

"Basta! Non dire cazzate, you got that? Don't fucking bullshit me!"  

"They're just pin-up drawings! It's not like I'm naked-" 

"You think that makes it better?!"

Her father grabbed one of the calendars off the table and waved it in front of her face.

"Do you see this shit? This is the shit roughnecks carry with them out to the oil fields every day! Is that who you want to be, Alix, some workmen’s tart for them to gawk at, like a piece of meat?! You want your name– OUR name– associated with the likes of them?!"

"I didn't even use my real name for those!” Alix shot back, her temper flaring. 

Her parents were strict but even still: she’d had a taste of freedom and she’d be damned if she’d be caged ever again. 

“Pa, I’m careful, I swear! I give false names every time! Hell, I’ve even worn wigs!"

"And what, you think that's going to keep people from recognizing you?! Ci fai o ci sei?!"

"No, I'm not stupid, Pa! Look, I-"

"Zitta! We did not name you after royalty so that you could parade around like a whore and humiliate this family! We’ve got a reputation to uphold and I am not about to have it ruined because of you! Capisce?"

Without waiting for an answer, he threw the calendar down onto the ground and began to pace across the floor, muttering and massaging his temple with his hand. 

“Santa Maria,” he all but spat, shaking his head at his prodigal daughter with disgust.

“We can only pray the Hearsts don’t hear of this. Because who in God’s name would want to marry you now, knowing the…the filth you’ve involved yourself in?!”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

8 Months Earlier: January 8th, 1944. Aldbourne, England.

 Joe broke the tension first, clearing his throat uncomfortably, and Alix jumped at the sound. 

Tentatively, he draped her coat around her shoulders, as though she were a bomb set to detonate any second. 

Just like everybody else in the company.

Alix drew the dark material tightly around her for protection from the elements. 

“How’d you know?” she asked softly, glancing up to him nervously before her eyes darted away again. 

How did you know that was my coat? 

How did you know where I’d be? 

How do you know me so well without ever having known me?

Joe rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“I ain’t a spy or anythin’ but I ain't fuckin’ blind either,” he remarked, attempting a smile but it came off more as a grimace of self-loathing.

“I noticed you when I came in. I remembered the coat you wore. It…” 

He huffed for a second, his breath clouding the frosty air, before finishing simply, “It looked good on you.”

“Thanks,” Alix murmured before retrieving her cigarettes and glancing back up to Joe, extending an olive branch.

"You want one?"

He cocked an eyebrow and hesitated for a moment, before asking, "What kind?" 

"Chesterfields," Alix replied with a half-smile, passing the white and gold carton over to him. "I'm under contract."

Was it just the dim lighting of the street lamps or did she see the ghost of a smile cross his face? 

"Ya got good taste," he remarked simply before plucking a cigarette from the carton and retrieving a lighter from his pocket. 

He leaned over to give hers a light first, the both of them painfully aware of how close their faces were once again. 

The unacknowledged memory of the almost-kiss from earlier lingered between them like the rolling fog over the crop fields and Alix wondered if he could hear the thump-thump-thumping of her heart at the thought, even now.

“You coulda just told me, y’know," he mumbled after the first drag, sounding so unusually quiet and hesitant, so unlike the brash, cocky front he tried to keep up, that for a second, his words didn't even register.

"Told you what, Joey?" 

The agent flinched at the way her voice sounded. Brittle, like broken glass.

But she couldn't help it. Her resolve was waning.

As she took a drag to steady herself, Joe's head jerked up in surprise at her words, brown eyes wide. 

"Joey, huh?" he repeated, ignoring her question as the corner of his mouth starting to quirk up in his trademark goofy grin. "Nobody's ever called me that before." 

Alix started to apologize automatically but Joe shook his head. 

"Don't," he chided gently. "I like it. But-" 

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Think I'd like anything that comes outta that pretty mouth of yours."

"Awful quick with the lines tonight, aren't we?" Alix tried to sound nonchalant but there was a notable edge to her voice that caused Joe's brows to knit with concern.

"That a problem?" 

"Of course not," Alix replied coolly, the smoke from her last drag curling into the air between them like a momentary barrier.

"I just know your type is all." 

Joe gritted his teeth at her insinuation.

"Yeah?” he asked tersely. “And what type's that?" 

“The type that gives their girl back home the runaround while they're off chasing tail and chasing glory."

A vein popped in his jaw at the insinuation.

"You think you got me all figured out, huh?” he snapped tersely. "Well you don't. I've never gone steady with anybody, okay? I don't have the fuckin' time!" 

He shook his head in frustration.

"I been workin' two jobs, helpin' out my folks and lookin' out for my siblings since I was a fuckin' teenager. Yeah I slept around a little bit here and there, I'm not gonna bullshit you, but I never gave anybody the fuckin' runaround, okay? I'm not Skinny and I sure as fuck ain't Tab." 

Alix blinked in shock at his outburst as she absorbed his words, but Joe wasn't done. 

"And y'wanna know why I joined the Airborne?" he demanded.

He took a quick drag, the exhale coming just as fast.

"Wasn't for shits and giggles, lemme tell ya. It was so I could save enough money to put a fuckin' down payment on a house for my folks. That's why. Not glory, not girls, okay? My fuckin' family. 

He took another puff of his cigarette, golden-brown eyes now studying the darkened landscape behind her before discarding it under his heel. 

Alix tensed. Taking a slow drag off her own cig, she hoped quietly that the slightly bitter, hazy taste would clear her racing thoughts. But it didn't. 

Boy, did she feel stupid. 

"Look, Joe, I-I'm sorry," she mumbled, staring at the ground and tossing her cigarette away, her muscles taut as she braced for some sort of fight. 

Conflict was a regular feature of her life growing up. Her father was a wild and wealthy womanizer and her melancholic mother socially prominent and heavily religious. When they clashed, which was often, the walls of their estate shook with the bellowing, doors slamming, and glass breaking.

A marriage of convenience, yes, but a match made in hell. 

Her first real boyfriend…her former fiancé…had been much the same. Alix had learned very quickly that Clayton Hearst did not tolerate mouthiness.

That was probably why her father had chosen him for a match— to keep his wayward daughter in line. It hadn't stopped Alix from fighting back but it made for some very rough arguments. 

Fortunately, Clay had left for the Marines while she was still in school, allowing Alix a small reprieve from their near-constant fighting. 

The Dear Jane letter she'd gotten in the mail a month later had only proven to her what she'd already known deep-down: 

Clay had never loved her. Hell, he'd never even liked her. The still-healing bruises from their parting arguments were proof enough of that. And just like her father, he'd rather spend his leave time cavorting with other women instead of remaining faithful to the one he was supposed to love. 

The soft percussion of boots on pavement shook Alix out of her reverie and she jumped. But to her surprise, Joe's approach wasn't angry. Not at all. 

Instead, she felt calloused fingers gently tilting her chin up to look him in the eyes and she flinched. But instead of the fury she'd come to expect, she saw only concern reflected back at her. 

“I don’t know what asshole taught you that that’s how men are,” he said softly. “But I can fuckin’ promise you, that ain't how I am. You'll see." 

Alix knew she shouldn't but the sincerity in Joe’s tone tugged at her heartstrings in a way she hadn’t expected and even with all her reservations, she couldn't help but believe him. 

She was suddenly, painfully aware of his proximity, his face so tantalizingly near that she could smell the dizzying sweetness of the alcohol on his breath mingling with the faint smoke of his last cigarette. 

Alix's eyes raked across his features: the intensity of his warm caramel gaze, his finely-drawn cheekbones, his strong aquiline nose, and she couldn't help but linger on the smile tugging at his lips, each thud of her heartbeat chanting the same thing like a mantra:

Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him. 

"You gonna kiss me or what?" Joe teased softly, as if he could read her mind. 

The slight gravel of his voice sent a tingle of pleasure down her spine and Alix knew then, as surely as she knew her own name, that kissing Joe Liebgott would be sealing her own fate, allowing herself to need him in a way she hadn’t wanted to need anyone ever again. 

But in that moment, a decision was made: 

It would be worth it. 

So in response, Alix gave in to her impulses and pressed her lips earnestly to his with all of the sweet desperation that had been building up inside her since their eyes had first met days earlier.

Before she’d even known his name, a part of her had wanted to do this and the fact that it was actually happening had her head spinning in the best way.

Joe’s lips were soft, far softer than she’d expected them to be and they moved instinctively against hers in perfect synchronicity, anticipating her needs as naturally as he had on the dancefloor. 

Alix reached up and ran her fingers through his thick copper hair, the intoxicating musk of his cologne and the feel of his arms sliding around her waist sending warmth blossoming through her like a blazing hearth in the winter chill.

Deepening the kiss, her tongue tentatively prodded his half-parted lips and he tangled a hand in her hair, intensifying their embrace. 

Kissing Joe was like a drug, the syrupy-sweetness of the alcohol on his tongue and the searing heat of his mouth on hers stirred something in her she'd never before experienced. 

The warmth between them was slowly building, spreading like a wildfire, and even the sudden, frigid downpouring of sleet couldn't sour the elation they felt in each other's arms. 

“You gotta be shittin’ me,” Joe chuckled in between kisses, deftly flipping the collar up on his jacket with his free hand.

“What’s wrong, flyboy?” Alix quipped, her hair now coated in the frozen slush. “Afraid of a little winter weather?” 

“Nah," he scoffed with a teasing nip at her bottom lip. "But if I catch a fuckin' cold ‘cause of it, I’m makin’ you take care of me.”

"Yeah?" the agent joked, returning the nip playfully. "Why me?" 

"'Cause I ain't foolin' around with Roe." 

Alix couldn't even respond, reluctantly having to tear herself away due to her uncontrollable shivering.

"I should p-probably get g-going," Alix managed from between chattering teeth.

Both her coat and dress had already been soaked through with the freezing water and the harsh wind was biting at her through the trees.

"B-Before it g-gets worse." 

"Not like this we're fuckin' not," Joe declared, gently guiding Alix under the overhang. "We'll catch our deaths."

"You-You don't have to come," Alix replied, wrapping her arms around herself in a vague attempt to conserve whatever body heat hadn't already fled. 

"Like hell I don't," Joe responded stubbornly, crossing his arms to keep himself warm as well.

"If you think I'm gonna let you walk home alone in the middle of the night, and in this weather on top of it, you're outta your fuckin' mind." 

He was shivering too but he still took off his half-soaked coat and wrapped it around Alix's already-soaked coat anyway. 

"What...What do you recommend then?" 

Instead of answering, Joe opened the door to the White Rose again. 

"Lemme take care of it, dollface." he called over his shoulder as he slipped inside. "Don't miss me too much." 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

About five minutes later, Joe reappeared, dangling a room key with a triumphant grin on his face. 

"C'mon Ziskeit," he urged, wrapping an arm around her and guiding her inside where it was warmer. "I told ya I'd take care of it!" 

"How did you manage that?" Alix asked incredulously, once she'd stopped shivering so violently. "They don't rent to unmarried couples, do they? It'd be improper!" 

As if to answer her question, when they passed the concierge desk, the clerk gave them an enthusiastic parting wave. 

"Enjoy your Honeymoon, Corporal and Mrs. Liebgott!" 

Alix turned to Joe, wide-eyed. 

"Joey, you didn't-!" 

But Joe shot her a wink. 

"What can I say? I got creative." 

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Their room at the White Rose was a bit on the smaller side, right next to the first floor stairwell, and most importantly, it was warm but Alix wouldn't have noticed the difference if it had been a suite at the Waldorf.

Joe's lips pressed urgently against hers and together, they stumbled as one through the doorway in a frenzy of desire, each kissing the other as though their lives depended on it.  

"You been drivin' me crazy all night, y'know that?" Joe mumbled haltingly against her lips as he fumbled blindly for the door knob.  

"Have I?" Alix asked innocently, lightly nipping at his bottom lip before peeling off her coat and tossing it to the ground.

“Don’t fuckin’ play with me, Zees," he cautioned, pressing her back up against the closed door, which rattled its complaint.

"But why, Joey?" Alix purred seductively, reeling him in by his tie just to brush her lips tantalizingly against his and slip away before he could kiss her. 

"It's so much fun to tease you."

"Yeah?" She could hear the smirk in his rough voice but what she hadn’t expected was to feel him behind her. 

Catching her hand as he spoke, Joe deftly tugged her back to him and she yielded, allowing him to pin her against the opposite wall instead with a dull thump, caging her between his arms.

"’Cause I bet it's gonna be a whole lot more fun to tease you.”

He started with her jawline, his kisses torturously gradual as he made his way down her arching neck, the heat of his breath sending goosebumps prickling down her limbs. 

Locating her sweet spots with relative ease, he latched on, sucking a small trail of love bites into the delicate skin, pulling a breathy moan from Alix’s throat before she could stop it.

He was smirking against the blossoming bruises, she could feel it, and she eagerly nipped a row of matching marks into his neck in return, around the chain of his dog tags, the resulting guttural groan from him making her a little weak in the knees. 

His kisses traveled further down at a maddening crawl, making Alix squirm with impatience.

He was keeping her caged against the wall on purpose, forcing her to allow him to take the lead and for an agent so used to being the pursuer, the honeytrap, in-command at all times, she could’ve screamed in frustration. 

Sensing her impatience, he captured her mouth in another desperate, heated kiss and she pressed her whole body flush against him with an almost-feline grace.

Slow as pouring honey, she dragged herself agonizingly against him, making sure he felt every inch of her from her breasts to her hips and ass up against him.

She could feel the curve of his hard cock straining through his trousers as it lightly prodded her thigh–– and the sensation inflamed her like a cat in heat.

Tugging him nearer by his tie a second time, Alix leaned just close enough for her warm breath to ghost along the shell of his ear. 

“Fuck, I need you, Joey,” she moaned breathily, running a teasing hand over the bulge in his pants and making him shudder from the contact. “I need you so bad.”

“Okay now that,” Joe groaned at her touch. “That’s just fuckin’ cruel.”

“Then do something about it,” Alix purred and that was all the paratrooper needed to hear. 

Joe could be a very petty and proud man, but even so: he wasn’t superhuman.

Scooping her up in his deceptively-strong arms, Alix let out a small yelp of surprise as Joe moved her away from the wall and began backing her towards the bed, their lips crashing against each other’s again and again as they stumbled to it, throwing off their clothes as they went. 

Joe’s tie, her dress, his shirt, her heels, they all were strewn somewhere on the way but neither of them noticed where.

The backs of Alix’s knees hit the bed and Joe gave her a gentle push, easing her onto it, the mattress springs creaking softly.

 But for all his earlier cockiness, the paratrooper was rendered completely awestruck by her nearly-naked form, and he took a step back for a moment, simply standing there in his skivvies, gazing at her in pure disbelief. 

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he whispered finally, his eyes roving down her lounging body on the mattress, absorbing the image as though he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

Alix propped herself up on her elbows to give him a better view. Her bra was long gone– tossed to the floor nearby– and all that remained on her were her black garter belt, and matching stockings.

Suddenly, Alix found herself feeling more nervous than she ever had before. Modeling was impersonal. This wasn’t like that at all.

None of the artists had ever looked at her the way Joe was looking at her now, so…so reverently and yet so ravenously at the same time.

Come to think of it, no man she’d ever met had looked at her like that before, with such a mixture of carnal desire and awestruck admiration, and it was driving her wild in the best way. 

She needed him. In whatever way he wanted, Alix knew she needed him.

As if he could read her thoughts, he walked to the edge of the bed and gently nudged her legs apart with his hand. 

Alix must’ve looked surprised because he gave her a playful wink and settled between her thighs as though he'd always been, the look of pure desire in his eyes sending a tingling sensation to her most sensitive parts. 

Shifting the pillows so she could have a better vantage point, Alix could see even from there that Joe’s pupils were blown with lust and she could feel herself reddening under his gaze.

“You just sit back and relax up there, Ziskeit,” he entreated her, the old cocky, flirtatious Liebgott grin she’d seen earlier in the evening returning once again.

“This is gonna be fun.” 

“Joey, you don’t have to…” Alix began softly but the feeling of his lips nipping and kissing the inside of her thighs killed the rest of the words in her throat. 

God, he was good. 

He left a burning path of love bites from her hip bones down her inner thighs, causing her to whine impatiently at the dull ache blooming between her legs. 

He was driving her crazy and he knew it too, damn him.

Alix’s breath hitched as Joe eased her panties to the side with a finger. 

"God, you're fuckin' soaked," he breathed and Alix felt her heartbeat quickening at the lewdness dripping from his words. 

But even underneath the obscenity and voraciousness of his tone, there was an underlying sweetness too.

“You sure you wanna do this, Ziskeit?” he asked tentatively, meeting her eyes and suddenly seeming almost nervous.

“We don’t have to, y’know…I’ll understand, if you don’t…”

Alix frowned. 

Had she misread his signals the whole night? Was he just here because he was mollifying her?

“Do you not want to?” 

His eyebrows shot up immediately and he sat back on his knees. 

“You kiddin’ me? Of course I want to! I just didn’t want you to think-”

“I don’t,” Alix interrupted, knowing instinctively what he was going to say. “I don’t think that, not at all.”

He nodded his acknowledgement and returned to his prone position between her legs.

"Oh, by the way," he remarked nonchalantly, looking up with a positively sinful grin.

"You're gonna be cumming at least twice before we do anythin’ else." 

Alix’s eyes must’ve looked like saucers.

“U-Uh,” she stammered, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt now that her face was a deep crimson.

“One thing, before you start. Um…I’ve never…y’know…Not from this…or anything, really. I don’t even know if I can…”

Joe’s eyes were as round as hers as understanding set in. 

“Wait, never?” he asked incredulously and Alix shook her head with a nervous titter, suddenly feeling extremely shy.

“Nope.” 

Clayton had never been the type to care about her pleasure and the others had been similarly apathetic.

Truthfully, she hadn’t even known sex was supposed to be enjoyable until Lavinia from St. Mary’s had shared stories of her romps in the woods with one of the boys from St. Ignatius. 

“I, uh, I hope that’s not a problem, Joey.” 

Recovering from his momentary trance, Alix saw something flicker in the golden flecks of his eyes, like 24Karat gold dust…was it affection? 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, dollface,” he reassured her with an easy smile as he nudged her panties to the side once more.

“Just lay back and lemme make you feel good.”

Alix obeyed eagerly and he hooked his arms under her thighs, draping her legs over his shoulders before descending on her heat like some kind of starving animal. 

“Oh fuck,” she whimpered, feeling a bit pathetic at the way a few well-placed laps of Joe’s tongue already had her head feeling light. 

Tangling her fingers reflexively in his thick, lush brown hair, Alix swore she could feel him smiling as he devoured her, reveling in the way he was making her come undone in a way no one else had. 

Minutes later, she was trembling. The assassin everyone was so in awe of was quivering like a leaf in the breeze at every broad stripe of Joe’s well-practiced tongue. 

He knew what he was doing, that was for sure. 

Her free hand gripping the sheets, she could feel the muscles in her stomach clenching, bracing for each wave of pleasure that Joe’s tongue sent rushing through her. 

“Shit, you taste good,” Joe mumbled, greedily lapping at her core like a man starved, burying his tongue so deeply within her that Alix had to scrunch her eyes shut to keep from falling to pieces right then and there. 

“So fuckin’ sweet for me, aren’t ya, Zees?” 

“O-Oh God,” Alix gasped out, tugging at Joe's hair desperately. 

The pooling warmth in her stomach was getting stronger, deeper, her legs trembling as the waves of pleasure began to build, filling up like a balloon seconds from bursting. “Joey, I-I think-"

Joe groaned in excitement, lapping steadily at her core, before beginning to suckle on her clit, causing her vision to flash momentarily white. 

Alix let out a strangled cry, her back arching clear off the mattress and involuntarily thrusting her breasts into the air.

“Oh-Oh fuck, Joey,” she mewled, her voice carrying clear across the room as the dam broke. She tried to press her quivering thighs together, the overwhelming sensitivity like a tsunami of bliss completely flooding her senses, but Joe wasn’t done with her. 

Not even close. 

“Louder,” he urged as he coaxed her through her first orgasm, giving quick kitten licks to her most sensitive spot and teasing her slick entrance with a finger.

“C’mon, Zees, I wanna hear you.”

“Joey, if you keep this up, the whole hall is gonna hear me,” Alix half-sobbed, the pleasure so overwhelming that she could feel her vision swimming. 

Joe pressed a soft kiss to her knee before slipping a second finger inside her, sending her keening his name so loudly that she was sure even the clerks at the concierge desk could hear. 

“Good,” he affirmed, beginning to scissor his fingers inside her core as her breathing quickened to ragged, blissful gasps.

“Besides, we’re newlyweds, remember?” 

He shot her a wink. 

“We’re ‘sposed to be at it like rabbits.”

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Alix had always thought the phrase “seeing stars” was just an expression but after the third or fourth orgasm Joe had ripped out of her, she was pretty sure there were lights dancing before her eyes after all. 

“You doin’ okay, Zees?” The paratrooper perked his head up from between her legs, the evidence of her arousal glistening on his chin.

His bangs were stuck to his forehead, the both of them covered in a sheen of sweat, but he looked as satisfied as she felt. 

“You need a break or somethin’?” 

Alix gave him a reassuring smile and shifted her still-trembling legs off of Joe’s shoulders. 

“I’m good, Joey.” 

He cocked his head and sat back on his heels, eyeing her inquisitively, a note of concern in his husky voice. 

“You sure?”

Alix nodded. 

“I promise.” She let out a shaky laugh. “I’m just taking a quick second to recover, that’s all.”

Satisfied with her answer, the paratrooper crawled up beside her, back against the headboard, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he searched the face beside him intently for a reaction.

“Pretty fuckin’ good, huh?” 

Alix giggled. 

“If you couldn’t tell from me screaming your name for however long it’s been, yes, it was ‘pretty fucking good’.” 

Joe gave her a playful nudge with his shoulder. 

“Just checkin’. Can’t leave Mrs. Liebgott unsatisfied on our honeymoon, y’know. What kinda husband would I be?”

Alix knew he was just joking but the reference still made something in her flutter with delight.

This paratrooper…This technician with the warm smile and the quick wit, who seemed to read her better than anyone else, he intrigued her like no one ever had.

He was an adventure, a revelation, an epiphany, everything she hadn’t known she’d been missing, all wrapped up into one charismatic person.

Feeling something stirring deep inside her again, Alix found herself gripped by a primal urge she couldn’t shake. 

She needed him, all of him. Now. 

Rolling over onto her side so that she was facing him completely, she could see the taut muscles of his thin, wiry frame, tensing like a panther as he looked at her.

How could he always read her mind?

Giving him a once-over, the spy glimpsed the same salacious shape straining against his underwear. 

Leaning over, she began to toy with the waistband of his skivvies, causing Joe's hips to buck up involuntarily as her smooth fingertips dipped below. 

“C’mon, Ziskeit,” Joe cajoled, those deep brown eyes full of unspoken pleas for release as Alix resumed kissing down his neck. “Don’t be a fuckin’ tease.”

“If I recall,” Alix murmured against his skin as she grazed her nails down his abs, making him inhale sharply. 

“A certain person made me beg for a full five minutes…” 

“Well that person's a fuckin’ idiot," Joe grunted desperately. 

As he was speaking, Alix slid his skivvies off and took him into her mouth, delicately tracing the head with her tongue.

"And I'm sure he – Oh fuckin’ Christ!” Joe hissed, tangling a hand in her hair desperately to keep some self-control as she went about her work, taking him deeper into her throat.

“Fuck, I’m sure he knows better now."  

Alix smirked, hollowing her cheeks and taking him still deeper, pushing him further down, savoring the taste of him, and she could feel his hips starting to buck. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ perfect,” he growled but as she deep-throated him again and again, he released her hair, his hands hurriedly finding their way to her shoulders. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Zees,” he choked out, pushing her away gently and it only took that warning tone for her to release him at once with a lewd pop.

“You okay, Joey?” she asked, her turn to be concerned, and he laughed nervously.

“Uh…” he chuckled, sheepishly running a hand through his hair.

“I…I wasn’t gonna last too much longer, if you kept that up. That was… Christ, that was somethin’ fuckin’ else.”

Alix hummed appreciatively before swinging a leg over and straddling his lap.

“Can we try this then?” she murmured, ghosting her fingers up and down his strong arms. 

"Jesus Christ," Joe whispered almost reverently from his half-propped position against the headboard, his heavily-lidded eyes roaming every inch of her nude form, still admiring her as though she was a priceless Caravaggio.

"You sure you're not a fuckin' dream or somethin'?" 

He slowly reached out, his fingertips ghosting across the valley of her breasts in mesmerized disbelief, as though he was afraid she might disappear at any moment if he was too rough with her.

"I'm real, tesoro," Alix assured him, guiding his hand to squeeze the supple flesh, sending a flood of warmth through her and she could feel him twitch beneath her, prodding her inner thigh with his arousal.

“I promise, I’m real.”

Carding a hand through his hair, she captured him in a long, passionate kiss which he returned just as fervently, the pair moaning deeply into each other’s mouths as she sank down on his cock.

She gasped as he bottomed out, the slight burn filling her with ecstasy, and he groaned deeply.

“Oh fuck, you feel so good.” 

Alix didn’t even have the words to reply. The feeling of fullness Joe supplied was unimaginably euphoric, blanking out her mind completely. 

Relying on animal instinct alone, she began to roll her hips, rutting against him as desperate keens and gasped curses fell from both their lips like prayers. 

Joe wrapped both arms around her waist, burying his face in her breasts with a deep, rumbling groan of ecstasy, gripping her to him as though she was a lifeline, the lifesaving driftwood to a drowning man. 

“Madonna mia,” Alix breathed, the fervent motion of her hips stuttering momentarily at the feeling of him latching onto the sensitive skin of her nipple. 

She rutted against him desperately, needing more and more of him, tugging on his hair in a silent plea for everything that only he could give her.

“Hey Ziskeit,” he murmurs seconds later, his voice husky with arousal, and she could feel her walls constricting around him tighter and tighter. “Goddammit, I think I’m gonna cum soon...” 

Her pace twice as insistent now, Alix bore down on him, Joe’s dog tags jingling musically against her chest as she rode him into oblivion. 

“Fuck, Joey, I need you,"  she murmured, chanting the last three words like a prayer as she felt herself teetering on a precipice for another time.

“Don’t say that," Joe gasped out, his grip around her hips so insistent that she was sure bruises would form later. "Don't fuckin' say that unless you mean it." 

He was bucking up against her too, matching her rhythm, every stroke so intense in her core that she was left a whimpering mess.

“I mean it, Joey,” Alix moaned as she pressed his face to her chest, "God, I fucking mean it."  

“Oh shit, Jesus Christ!” Panic and pleasure twisted Joe’s handsome features, his voice raising frantically. “Uh, Zees, I- FUCK!” 

His warning tone reached a fever pitch just as his orgasm jolted through him, ripping a guttural sound from his throat and leaving him slack-jawed and panting as his cock pulsed.

Alix was seconds behind him, burying her face into his shoulder with a broken sob as another orgasm overwhelmed her, plunging her instantly into white-hot bliss as he held her, murmuring praises in English and what she assumed to be German. 

Joe lolled his head back against the headboard, his murmuring voice farther and farther away now. Alix was too fucked out to think anymore and she found herself slumping over on top of his chest like a ragdoll as she drifted off.

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Surfacing from sleep around 1am to find Joe still buried comfortably inside her, the pair of them still tangled in each other’s arms, Alix gently eased herself upright, wanting to take in the scene for a moment, not knowing if she’d ever have the chance to again. 

Was this a one-night stand? God, she hoped not. Was it her imagination or was there something more between them? 

A spark? No…a flame. More than a flame. An inferno. 

In one night, Joe had shown her an entirely different world, an entirely different life than the one she’d been trapped in before.

How could she just go back to normal now, as if she hadn’t been completely and totally changed? As if her entire world hadn’t been rocked by one cocky paratrooper with puppy-dog eyes?  

Their clothes, still damp from the sleet, lay discarded in messy bunches along the carpet like autumn leaves.

Thinking back on it, Alix couldn't remember how long it had been since they'd begun but the chill of the remaining frost that had coated them both at the start was long gone by now, replaced with the sticky-sweetness and feverish heat of sweat and sex.

Joe wasn't like Clay or any of the handful of guys she'd been with before, she mused. 

They'd all been selfish lovers, entirely focused on chasing their own wants while denying her hers. She was merely a vessel for them to get off, nothing more than a doll to be used and discarded once her purpose had been fulfilled.

In one night, Joe had treated her like the complete opposite. 

He was still as full of fire in the bedroom as he was out of it, but for once, it was only for Alix to see. He had been chasing her all night but not in the way the others were. For the first time in her life, someone seemed hungry to please her. The thought was so foreign that it sent another shiver of pleasure through her.

Even in his sleep, Joe’s breathing hitched at the sensation of her walls contracting around him and she couldn’t help but giggle into her hand. 

“Whassofunny?” Joe mumbled, cracking an eye open. 

“Nothing, cucciolo,” Alix assured him, running a hand through his sex-tousled hair. “Go back to sleep. You need it.” 

“I fuckin’ don’t,” Joe insisted doggedly, starting to sit up, but when Alix started to lift herself off of him, he hissed and shook his head. 

“Not yet, Ziskeit,” he pleaded, his words still running together a bit in his after-sex haze. “A little bit longer.” 

“Then go back to sleep and I'll stay put,” Alix countered.

“Can’t,” Joe yawned. “Can’t sleep much normally, ‘cept after…y’know.” 

He made a vague gesture to their situation and Alix cocked an eyebrow, dark eyes sparkling with mirth. 

“If that was your way of trying to come onto me again,” she commented drolly. “I appreciate the creativity. I don’t think ‘Fuck me to sleep’ is a line I’ve heard before.”

“Wasn’t a line,” Joe responded with a shrug. “I really can’t sleep for shit."

His warm brown eyes were boring into hers again and she could feel the playful chuckle he was trying to suppress in his voice when he added slyly, 

“But y’know, just outta curiosity… if it had been a line, would it’ve worked…?” 

She was now hyper-aware of his hands resting gently on her bare back as he held her, the roughness of his calloused fingertips sending sparks dancing deliciously across her soft skin. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, flyboy,” she teased with a soft roll of her hips, but the slight catch of desire in her voice when she felt him stiffen betrayed her.  

"Shit," Joe grunted at the sudden movement, pupils blown with desire. "You're such a fuckin' minx, y'know that?" 

"Am I?" Alix blinked innocently before clenching the muscles in her core around his cock in a vise grip, making him hiss. "I hadn't noticed." 

"Okay that's it," Joe hissed, the rasp in his slightly nasal-tenor coming out as almost a primal growl. Keeping one hand steady on her back, he pulled out and flipped her over, pinning her firmly underneath him. 

Alix sunk her nails into his back to keep herself from moaning needily as he buried himself within her once again, rougher this time, the heavenly ache between her legs as he bottomed out causing a small whimper to escape. 

“Gotta be quiet now, dollface,” he mumbled, crashing his lips to hers to keep himself from groaning out loud.

“People’re probably sleeping. Like we would be if you weren’t so goddamn gorgeous.”

“Such a charmer, cucciolo, I- Oh fuck!” 

Working up speed, Joe began pounding into her mercilessly, seemingly determined to make her pay for teasing him so cruelly earlier, and Alix wrapped her legs around him, craving him impossibly closer to her.

“Tesoro, fuck, I think–” she whimpered from beneath him. “I think I might-”

“Yeah?” he grunted, the vigor of his pace only increasing. 

Thinking back on it, his dog tags had been clinking so loudly against his Star of David pendant that Alix hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Real sorry I took so long, Pops,” a soft-spoken but familiar voice rang from the entrance. “But Doc said-” 

Shifty Powers, the sweet-faced trooper who’d waved to Joe in the lobby earlier, was now frozen dead in his tracks, his eyes dinner-plate wide as the tall glass of water he’d been carrying slid from his hands, shattering into several glistening chunks on the floor with a CRACK!

He was beet-red but rooted to the spot, his horrified gaze dropping down to the shattered glass at his feet and then back up to the still-intertwined Alix and Joe like he was tied to the tracks of an oncoming train.

“Shit,” he mumbled, stammering out excuses and apologies, half to himself and half to the couple as he immediately dropped to his knees and began busying himself with trying to collect the glass shards. “I- This-this isn’t…and y’all aren’t…But I thought-”

Alix lunged for the comforter, which she hurriedly wrapped around herself like an oversized towel.

“Don’t worry about the glass,” she reassured him kindly, his eyes glued firmly to the ground. “We’ll take care of it. You just get where you need to go.” 

“A-Are y’all sure?" He was speaking entirely to the carpet, head dipped to avoid any more accidental views.

If it hadn't been such a humiliating situation, Alix might've giggled.

"I wouldn’t wanna cause y’all any trouble.”

“It isn’t any trouble,” Alix insisted. “Isn’t that right, Joe?” 

Joe made a skeptical noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a cough and a grunt, but the glare she shot him could’ve wilted even fake flowers and he finally relented.

“Yeah sure,” Liebgott replied, dulling the sharpness of the irritation in his tone. “No trouble at all.”

“Well alright, if y’all are sure…” Shifty mumbled, his face still a bright cherry red. “I’ll, uh, I guess I’ll just see y’all around. I'm just gonna-"

 

With that, he fled the room like a bat out of hell, leaving a disgruntled Joe and a mortified Alix in his wake. 

"God, I cannot believe that just happened." Alix squeaked into her palms, wishing that the Earth would just swallow her whole.

Even the exquisite soreness between her thighs wasn't worth that.

Joe meanwhile, was muttering to himself as he stepped over the glass shards strewn along a small patch of carpet.

"Going somewhere?" Alix asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“Yeah," Joe grumbled. "To latch and lock that goddamn door.”