privatebullshit

[privatebullshit]

I recently read your Lon hc and I was wondering if you could do more? Like literally any sort of writing about him would be great because so far your hcs are the only Lon writings I’ve been able to find!

Sure thing! Trying to find any sort of reference material for Lon was so difficult. He’s such a good character and deserves way more love. I’ll add him to my character list!

[privatebullshit]

with faith undaunted [part 06.]

— ♡

part 06. deprivation [4.2k words]

summary: y/n y/l/n is a nurse-in-training when she meets joseph j. toye in 1942, shortly after the attack on pearl harbor, at camp toccoa. she's the americana dream, he's a reckless private. what happens when their fates cross paths?

♡ follow along on their journey of love, loss, and hardship as the story progresses in events taking place before, during, and after the war. ♡

warnings: language, general war violence, wound descriptions

a/n: please bear with me here. i know that for the most part, this is joe toye's pov during the war with very little mentions of reader, but i just want to make it clear that this fic is based around how their love for one another changes course during the various points of war. but rest assured, you'll get your moments with joe soon<3

song rec: silver soul - beach house

wfu taglist: @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @fromjupitertocentauri @annasansh @bluecanvasshoe @catbusloki

previous parts: 00. promo 01. remembrance 02. blossoming 03. timidity 04. longing 05. departure

wfu masterlist bofb masterlist

— ♡

They expected to get shot at, that wasn't some secret that was kept from them, but one thing that the infantry didn't account for was the fact that they were headed straight into a blast zone as soon as they loomed over France.

Easy Company trained for this, to jump out of perfectly good planes and land in the soft grass with the comfort of seeing their chute open above them. What they didn't train for, though, was landing in an active battlefield, explosives lighting up the night sky like the Fourth of July.

The first blast was an eye-opener, literally. Joe blinked a few times before looking around at the other guys, they all had the same tense look on their face. The kind of look someone gets when they're trying too hard to stand up straight and hold their breath. Anticipating. Waiting. They had all heard the explosion in the distance.

Before they had any time to brace themselves, the plane shook violently as nearby bombs set off around the other C-47s, knocking some men over, including Joe. The red light sparked on like a bomb of its own, glowing angrily as if it was about to burst.

Joe grunted, listening to Lieutenant Winters tell them to hook up and check their equipment.

"SEVEN OKAY!" he screamed, patting the man in front of him to signal that it was his turn.

A few more blasts rumbled through the aircraft, jerking and throwing the men around like ragdolls, some falling back onto the seats. Other planes could be heard outside of their own, the low buzz of the engines failing making Joe's stomach twist in knots.

"I WANNA JUMP, SIR!" one man shouted.

Winters shouted over the commotion, guiding the men to the door, "Now, listen to me, STAY ON THE PLANE, you're not jumping!"

Joe clenched his jaw as if he was already preparing himself for impact. He was on auto-pilot now, trying to let muscle memory take over from the previous jump trainings that they've had. Slivers of light came in through the increasing number of bullet holes through the plane's body, each one narrowly missing the soldiers by a hair.

He hung onto his clip as they approached the drop zone, but there wasn't any time left. Sure, they would miss the DZ entirely, but the alternative was ending up like most of the other planes, in flames and into pieces.

The pilot flipped the switch, changing the vicious, red jump light to green. There was no coming back from this. It was no longer Camp Toccoa; it was Normandy.

"LET'S GO!" Winters shouted. He made eye contact with Joe briefly, giving him a slight nod before jumping out of the plane without any hesitation. The rest of the men followed, an uncomfortable silence falling over them as they were launched into the air. No screams, no sharp breaths— only acceptance that this is what they were meant to do. They pulled their ripcords, chutes exploding into canopies to bring them to the ground.

The sky filled with the odd beauty of men and their parachutes as they descended. The feeling was somewhat comforting, but in the eerie sort of way due to the fact that they could die at any moment while in the air. During training, they had the luxury of a clear field with no German artillery aimed at them. They had a real chance, save for some small fractures or the occasional concussion. But here? Here, they weren't guaranteed anything— not even a landing.

Some landed in the brush of the trees, suspension lines strangling their limbs as they hung like marionettes, the sick sound of their necks and joints snapping ringing like a gunshot.

Some didn't even make it to the ground, already taking bullets and shells mid-air. Even when their feet touched the enemy land, patches of it were engulfed in flames, and others were infiltrated with high concentrations of Kraut soldiers.

Joe was fortunate enough to land safely, hands ripping off his chute and untangling himself so he could get out of the open. His wrist started to burn, causing him to look down and see the skin stripped off, pink and raw. He didn't even feel it when he first landed, the adrenaline coursing through his veins veiling any sort of immediate pain reaction.

"Fuck- fucking hell," he cursed, realizing that the ropes gave him a severe friction wound. He ripped off some of the silk from his used chute with his M3 trench knife, wrapping it around his wrist as he hissed in pain, tightening the knot with a pull of his teeth.

As he finished, he heard ticking in the distance made by one of the cricket clickers they were given to identify one another, looking around cautiously as he held his M-1 Garand in a ready position.

"Flash!" Someone whispered hastily, the nearby bushes rustling with movement.

Joe turned around sharply, "Thunder!"

From the bushes emerged Malarkey, Popeye, and Guarnere. Joe exhaled out of relief to see at least some of his comrades, hustling over to them to form a plan.

"Good to see you, Joe," Guarnere said, tipping his helmet in acknowledgement.

"Yeah, you too, Bill," Joe replied, nodding back to him and the other two.

"What happened to your wrist?" Popeye asked, gesturing to the now blood-soaked fabric tied around the joint.

Joe waved him off, not wanting to concern about any minor wounds right now, "Rope burn, it don't matter. Where the hell did we land?"

Malarkey answered this time, taking a look at his surroundings, "I don't know, but it's definitely not the fuckin' DZ."

"Aye, there's some tracks up ahead. We can follow 'em, see where they lead." Guarnere gestured to the faint glimmer of the steel tracks, a promising sight since they had not the slightest clue where they were at the moment.

The four walked for a while, on guard at all times just in case they got ambushed by a bunch of Krauts. Joe was itching for a cigarette, fingers twitching against the side of his rifle as if he was mimicking flicking his lighter open. He'd have to wait for now, though.

Joe thought the area felt a bit familiar based on what he'd studied back in Aldbourne, but the reality of the situation was that they were still separated from the rest of Easy.

"I don't remember hearing about any railroads near our objective," Malarkey huffed, continuing to walk the tracks.

Joe glanced at Malarkey, "I'm tellin' you, this is the spur line that runs parallel to the river. We should be comin' up to a road and bridge ahead."

Malarkey scoffed, "Yeah, how would you know?"

"Because I studied the sandtails, alright?

Popeye suddenly signaled for them to stop moving as he crouched down, Joe and the others quickly followed suit, inching forward slowly.

Malarkey started to whisper, "Probably a friggin' train or—"

"Shh!"

"Flash!" Came a voice from behind them, the four turning around in alert.

"Thunder!"

"Lieutenant, is that you?" Malarkey asked.

"Malarkey?" Winters approached them, all exchanging greetings with each other.

Joe followed as they ventured farther down the tracks, stopping when they heard distant gunfire and the sound of a German cart nearby. Winters specifically told them to wait for his command, but Guarnere opened fire on the band of Germans in an angry frenzy, everyone else firing their weapons shortly after.

"That's enough Guarnere! Everyone okay?" Winters shouted.

"Yes, sir," Joe replied.

Guarnere's little blow up could've cost them big time, especially since Winters and Lipton didn't even have any weapons except knives and some explosives. Joe looked down at one of the horses that was still twitching and whinnying in pain, the sound too painful to keep listening to.

He took out his pistol and shot the poor animal, his face contorted into a repulsed expression at having to do it. They moved out from the area, walking even when the sun started to rise.

"Did you see him? He just sat there," Guarnere complained as they walked through the shallow water. Their boots were soaked with mud and algae, the moist friction becoming more unbearable by the minute.

Joe shrugged, "He didn't have a weapon. What's he gonna do? Shout at 'em?"

"Shouts at me for killing Krauts," Guarnere grumbled back, stomping his way through the mud.

Joe tried to reason with him once more, "He just wanted you to wait for his command."

"Joe, he don' even drink!"

They reached a point to grab supplies from dead soldiers, navy aircrafts raging up above. They had to move fast since the landings were starting. Once they reached the Battalion HQ, they realized that many of the men were still missing.

Joe lit up a Lucky Strike, finally inhaling the sweet taste of tobacco as he took a seat. It wouldn't be long until they had to start moving again, but damn, it felt good to just take a break for a minute or two.

"Toye! Get over here, Winters needs us up front."

Joe tipped his head back and groaned, getting up with a grunt as he made his way into the barn. They talked battle strategies and mapped out where the German guns are firing.

Joe was to be part of the main assault line, so he stubbed out his cigarette and started to collect ammo to get ready for battle.

During the Brécourt Manor assault, Joe nearly got blown up by grenades twice. He was surprised he even made it past D-Day at this point.

"Jesus Christ, fuckin' twice," he muttered, slightly dazed from his concussive state.

While securing the second German gun, one of the Krauts started blabbering while putting his hands up in surrender.

"Shut up," Joe growled.

"No make dead! No make dead!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Joe repeated, shoving his rifle in the German's face.

"No make dead!"

Finally having enough, Joe punched the guy hard, his knuckles adorned with the brass knuckles y/n gifted him. The metal made a clinging sound upon colliding with his face, Joe smirking slightly at the little victory. So, his girl helped him knock out a Kraut indirectly. That was more brag worthy than killing 20 POWs, in his humble opinion.

At nightfall, they had an hour to rest before having to move again, finding peace in the back of a little truck. Joe sat with Buck, Malarkey, Guarnere, Lipton, and Liebgott, and another soldier, having a bite to eat and taking sips of French wine.

Liebgott escaped Malarkey's rancid farts, the rest of the guys choking on the gross air as Malark laughed at them. Winters came to exchange a few words with them, even sharing a drink, much to Guarnere's surprise. After Winters left, they talked among themselves for a little while they could spare a moment.

"So, Lip, how's the wife?" Buck asked, shoveling another spoonful of food into his mouth.

Lipton smiled a bit as he looked at his wedding band, "Jo Anne? She's good. I got a letter from her a few weeks ago. Come to think of it, she mentioned y/n, too." Lip looked over at Joe as he said that, Joe's eyes widening in surprise.

"Y/n? How is she? Is she alright?" Joe asked, leaning forward.

Malarkey and Guarnere laughed hard, "You're so smitten with her, Joe! It ain't like she's on the front lines with us."

"Shut up, I just- just want to know how she's holdin' up," he grumbled, staring at his mess tin.

Lipton smiled warmly, "Jo Anne said that y/n is doing just fine. She's working hard around the hospitals apparently. There's mentions of transfers happening soon."

Joe's expression softened a bit at the fact that his love was doing okay, but he was curious about the transfer situation.

"Transfers? To where?" he asked.

"They're going to ship out some of the nurses to England, from what I've heard. They needed help with the wounded over there," Lip replied, the others nodding their heads.

Joe was silent for a moment, biting his lower lip before he released it, "How is it? Being married."

Lipton leaned back, giving Joe a knowing look as his mouth quirked into a slight smirk, "It's special, Toye. I miss my wife every damn day I'm away from her."

Buck leaned in to join the conversation, "Hell, I shoulda put a ring on my girl's finger before we left to get into this mess."

"Why, are ya thinkin' 'bout marryin' y/n?" Guarnere asked, taking another sip of wine.

Joe hesitated, his heart skipping a beat. Sure, he's thought of it, and he obviously told Harry back in Aldbourne that he wanted to marry her, but now, with a bunch of the other guys, he felt embarrassed all over again. Joe was usually quick to act, his brazen toughness and mentality making all the decisions for him.

But when it came to love and marriage, he was a deer in the headlights. Malarkey noticed his apprehension to answer, "Hey, man, it's okay if you don't have it all figured out. But between us—all of us—I think we can all agree that war is uncertain. If you don't decide soon, a bullet or some damn grenade isn't goin' to wait for you to."

Lipton nodded in agreement, "I knew my wife was the one I wanted to come back home to after the war, that's why I married her. I didn't want to be stuck in a trench wondering why I left home without making her 'Mrs. Lipton.'"

"I. . . guess I'm just thinkin' about it, y'know?" Joe said, continuing when the other guys hummed for him to go on. "I mean, she's the perfect woman, you all know how she is. It's- this goddamn war."

Guarnere placed a supportive hand on Joe's shoulder, "Joe, we'll say it for you; you want to marry that girl."

"Yeah, make her yours, Toye!" Malarkey said, pumping his first in the air.

"Put a ring on it, Toye."

"Come on, Joe, just admit you want to marry her."

"If you don't, I will."

"Shut up, no one wants to marry your stinky ass, Malark."

Joe chuckled at his friends' banter, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, "Yeah, I do."

Lipton grinned, raising an eyebrow, "Do what, Joe?"

Joe flushed slightly, voice lowering to a sheepish murmur, "I do want to marry her."

"There you go, atta boy!" Buck laughed, clapping Joe on the back. The back of the truck erupted in cheers and shouts, all of it making the warmth in Joe's heart spread even more.

— ♡

The days after D-Day were filled with intense battles and taking over several towns, including Carentan. Joe wasn't a mortarman, neither did he do things like snipe like Shifty or arm the bazookas like Tipper, but he was a damn good rifleman, and intense when he needed to be.

He followed Guarnere as he called out commands, the other men in the squad following close behind as well. The Battle of Carentan was only a taste of how the rest of the war would go, soldiers getting flanked left and right with machine guns and artillery. Doc Roe was scampering around the whole town trying to help those who screamed for him.

Joe was fortunate enough to make it out unscathed, the company successfully securing Carentan as American tanks pulled through. The men were headed back to England, having been taken off the front line for the time being.

Joe decided that he needed to send another letter to y/n, tell her all about what he'd been through so far, and that he was finally back in England for a short break.

What he didn't know, of course, was that she was writing him a letter around the same time. Y/n had been chosen as one of the nurses to be sent to England to help the wounded at the aid stations there, since they were extremely shorthanded and needed extra support. All the soldiers that had been wounded in France immediately flowed into English hospitals, the amount becoming overwhelming for the staff there.

So, y/n had packed her bags and got ready to go to England, not even knowing that Joe was there, but only for a short time.

Joe sat down next to Harry as he pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil from the inside of his jacket, the latter giving him a goofy grin and nudging him.

"Writin' again, lover boy?" Harry chuckled, leaning his elbows on the table to get a better look at what Joe was writing.

"Leave me alone, Welshy," Joe retorted, but his voice failed to have any real annoyance in it, only causing Harry to laugh harder.

"It's a damn good nickname for me, and I love it because Kitty loves it," Harry said proudly, flashing a toothy smile at the thought of Kitty. Joe that it was tooth-rottingly sweet that the slightest mention of Kitty managed to make Harry into a sappy, lovestruck fool.

"You love anything that she does, huh?" Joe said, starting to map out his letter. He treated it like he was writing a battle report, much to Harry's disappointment.

"Y'know, you're not one of those behind-the-desk, upper echelon typists. You can add a bit of feelin' into the letter." Harry took the paper from Joe and studied it.

"Toye, this can't even be considered a love letter."

"Whatever, it's. . . hard for me. Could you help write it again?" Joe asked, a slight tinge of guilt in his voice. He was a grown man, he should know how to do things like this on his own. He wrote letters to his parents all the time while in basic training, but he guessed nothing was enough to prepare him for writing things with feelings in them.

Harry sighed dramatically, "Fine, but you owe me one. Now, start out with this. . ."

Within a few minutes, thanks to Harry's help, Joe wrote a nice letter just for his lovely girl. This was the first letter to be sent to her since Aldbourne, so any previous skills that he gained in love letter writing had diminished, but he was quite proud of how he did this time

To My Darling Y/N,

I am now back in England after dropping in Normandy and spending several weeks there. The D-Day invasion was incredibly difficult, but I managed to make it through safely. I even survived two grenades and punched a Kraut with the brass knuckles you gave me. Isn't that crazy, my love? We also secured the town of Carentan, but many of the men were either killed in action or severely wounded.

I'm sorry that I haven't gotten the chance to write until now, the days have been long and tiresome. It all sort of feels like a blur. But one thing is for certain, I miss you. And I miss you dearly. Every time I see your picture in the locket, my heart aches to see you again.

I love you very much, my little nurse.

With love,

Your Darling Joe

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it, Joe?" Harry gently squeezed his friend's shoulder, noticing the obvious tense state that Joe was in. His hand was gripping the pencil so tightly, Harry thought it was going to snap in half.

"Yeah- no, it wasn't. I'm gonna get this sent out, thanks, Harry," Joe mumbled, getting up from his seat to search for Vest.

"Vest, hey, Vest!" Joe called out to the younger male, the boy turning around from where he was standing.

"Oh, Joe! I was looking for you actually," Vest said, hands rummaging through his bag.

"Why? Did I get somethin'?" Joe asked, hands still tightly clutched around the letter for y/n.

"Yeah, here." Vest handed him a letter addressed to Joe. "Is that going out? I'll take it." Joe gave him the envelope, thanking him again before going to a quiet corner to sit and open the letter for him.

It was from y/n, and as soon as he registered that clearly, he stood up out of surprise. He didn't expect anything from her— in fact, he didn't expect anything from her at all. He was happy to just exist in her little world. That was enough for him.

But alas, she sent something anyway, and that made his heart grow in ways that one would've thought impossible. He gingerly took the letter from the envelope, hanging onto every word and kiss that clung to the page.

To My Darling Joseph,

I haven't heard back from you in a while, so I'm sending you this in hopes that it gets to you safely. I've just been told that I'll be transferred to England to work at one of the aid stations there. I'm not quite sure where you are right now, but I miss you, and I hope you're doing alright.

I love you so much, Joe.

With love,

Your Darling Y/N

Joe couldn't believe what he just read. A letter she must've wrote a couple weeks ago that he just received, which could mean that she was on her way to England right now. But the worst part was that his letter that he just gave to Vest won't even get to her right away.

They had every chance to see each other, but also the chance that they would miss each other all the same. Joe's heart thumped in anticipation, silently praying for a miracle.

Sergeant Lipton stood in the front of the room, announcing to the men that he had something to say. Joe felt a lump in his throat as he realized the inevitable— they were going back to the front lines.

"Listen up, all weekend passes are cancelled. We're not coming back to England, boys. We’re moving out at 0600," Lipton announced, disappointed groans coming from all sides of the building. Joe’s heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach as he clutched y/n’s letter.

They were going to drop into Holland soon, and the war would continue from there.

— ♡

Y/n was shipped out to England via ship alongside other nurses from her department, boxes of medical supplies surrounding them. She gripped her aid bag tightly, thumb brushing over the coarse fabric. The war had taken a toll on her— seeing the wounded men’s hopeless gazes, hearing their soft cries for help or mercy, some wanting to be put out of their misery and some screaming out of desperation for the nurses to not let them die.

She’d pulled out more bullets and shrapnel pieces than she could count, injected flailing bodies with morphine that offered them the slightest bit of relief. It broke her heart whenever they’d hold her hands, their eyes watery and filled with the fear of being alone.

She treated each of her patients with gentle care, tending to them as they needed. Y/n wanted to help them as she hoped someone would help her darling Joe if he ever got hurt. Amidst the uncertainty that the war dawned upon everyone, she made it her mission to save as many soldiers as she could. But now, trudging across the seas to reach England made her stomach churn with the nagging thought of seeing more violence and bloodshed.

Upon her arrival, she was thrust into the nearest hospital and began working quickly.

“I need morphine! What happened to our supply boxes?” y/n screamed, struggling to keep a hysterical soldier on the bed as he thrashed around in pain.

“We’re already low! We can’t keep up with the amount of wounded coming in here!” shouted another frantic nurse whose apron was stained dark red with blood.

As weeks passed, this was their normal. Every day became a chaotic whirlwind of agony and anguish for soldiers and nurses alike. Y/n had finally gotten a moment to catch her breath, her head resting on an empty hospital bed. Her entire body was trembling with leftover adrenaline from a previous encounter that morning. A young boy’s face was nearly split open with large pieces of shrapnel sticking out from the torn flesh.

She couldn’t save him. A boy whose life was taken far too soon by this damn war. Y/n didn’t know whether to scream in anger or cry out of frustration. And yet, she stood silent, not even having enough energy to emit a sob.

“Miss y/n?”

The voice startled her, causing her to jump and let out a small gasp.

The delivery boy bowed his head in apology, walking closer and extending his arm to hand her a letter. She took it gingerly with a soft “thanks,” the boy scurrying out quickly.

She recognized Joe’s handwriting right away, immediately opening the letter with her bloodstained fingertips. Every word only pulled the knot in her stomach tighter, her heart aching with the weight of not being able to see her beloved.

They had missed each other by a week. A fucking week.

Y/n laid her head back down, a raw, guttural wail ripping from her chest and up her throat. No one ever really won in war— not even two lovers hundreds of miles apart.

[privatebullshit]

how are you? miss you 🫶

aw anon :( im doing good,, I really miss it here. actually having stuff to do irl is so surreal, it feels like a century ago that I was dishing out fics and stuff every day (or every other day). ugh, I’ll be back soon <3 im yearning to post too much not to.

love u all sm !!

[privatebullshit]

demure [drabble collection]

a/n: the demure collection features the beloved, pfc edward j. tipper jr., easy company's sweetheart<3

fem reader, uses y/n, second person pov

just a tiny bit of tipper x reader x liebgott!!

to @joemazzelloswife, @fromjupitertocentauri, @rogue-durin-16, @luvrottt, @metrofae, enjoy my dears ♡

— ♡

01. daisies

Soft white petals with a pale yellow center, dirt-ridden fingers gently clutching the green stems, arm extended shyly as if he was trying to keep you at a distance. Tipper was offering you a small bouquet of daisies, as much of a bouquet they could be, that is. The flowers were of different sizes and shapes, a little bit bent, but all the charm put into the effort was still there.

"Are those for me, Tip?" you asked, smiling at the boy's obvious blush that spread from his neck to the tips of his ears.

"Y-yeah, they're for you. I know they're not the best; I got them from the sidewalk. I hope you don't mind, I really—"

"Tipper, Tipper," you cut him off, placing a gentle hand on his arm, taking the daisies with your other hand. You brought them to your nose, inhaling the sweet floral smell, "They're lovely, thank you."

Tipper's cheeks flushed even more, scratching at the back of his neck sheepishly. He was quite the sweetheart to everyone, but more so to you. You knew he had a crush on you (it was too obvious to go unnoticed), but you wanted to hear the words come from his mouth.

"Well, 'm glad you liked them, I thought they were pretty. . .j-just like you, y/n," he mumbled, eyes finally meeting yours. He was surprised to see the bright smile on your face, eyebrows raising in awe of the twinkles in your eyes.

You brought one of the flowers up to his ear, tucking it safely in his hair, "I think you're very handsome, Tipper."

"Me? Handsome? No, I—"

You pulled him down by his dog tags in one swift motion, his arms immediately snaking around your waist as you pressed a kiss to his soft lips. He was your shy lovebug, and you were his pretty little daisy.

— ♡

02. my aldbourne girl

Aldbourne became home for many of the soldiers in Easy company, including Tipper, instantly being quartered with families and getting to training as soon as possible. Tipper liked where he was living for the most part, but what really hooked him in England was the girl next door.

She was absolutely beautiful, always kind to him whenever they interacted, had the voice of an angel, and you didn't know it, but that girl was you! Little did Tipper know, you also had a massive crush on the boy.

Every time he stepped out in his clean uniform, you could practically feel your heart thumping against your chest as if you just ran a marathon. Sometimes, you'd sneak out to watch him train in the open fields, soft sighs escaping your lips as you admired him.

One day, Tipper was heading out around the same time as you, a little startled as you came into view.

"Oh, hi!" Tipper said, wincing at his overly excited greeting.

You flushed instantly, nearly tripping over your own feet as you turned to face him. He looked so charming, yet so nervous, and it made your heart skip a beat.

"You're the soldier next door," you said, mentally facepalming at you awkwardness.

Tipper nodded, a shy smile on his lips, "And you're my- I mean, you're the Aldbourne girl!"

You blinked once. Then twice. And then an embarrassing squeak came from your mouth as you realized that he almost called you his girl.

"Y-you know, I don't think I'd mind being your Aldbourne girl. . ."

Tipper's eyes widened as he started to grin. He absolutely didn't mind either.

— ♡

03. excuse me, nurse?

Tipper had a bad stomach ache from a bad batch of K-rations that were given to him, the poor boy clutching his stomach in discomfort as he stumbled to the aid station. It was bad enough that he had to run Currahee today with a full stomach, but now his food was spoiled too.

“Excuse me, nurse?” he asked, stopping just in front of the aid station you were at. You’re one of the head nurses for the Army Nurse Corps in Camp Toccoa, having been familiar with most of the men. Tipper didn’t stop by too often, he was way too nervous to even get his temperature taken, but when he did, he always sat like a good patient.

“Oh, Tipper, what brings you here?” you acknowledged him, finishing up putting some bandages away.

“Well, ma’am, my stomach don’t feel so good. . . Do you have any nausea medicine or anything?” He winced as his stomach started to ache again.

“Sit here, I’ll see if I can get you something,” you said, taking his hand and leading him to one of the beds.

His hand burned where you touched him, his tummy filling with butterflies, the ache slowly melting away as nervousness filled him instead. You hand him a canteen of water and a couple of antacids to ease his discomfort, watching him take them.

As he sipped from the canteen, his eyelashes fluttered as his gaze went upwards to look at you. He held such adoration in his eyes, his pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed. You noticed the look on his face, your heart starting to beat faster. He put the canteen down with a small “ah,” patiently waiting for something else.

“Do you feel better?” you asked, trying to avoid his puppy eyes.

“Yes, ma’am, so much better,” he said softly, shifting around slightly.

“Everything okay, Ed? You’re fidgeting a lot— like you’re nervous.”

You placed a hand on his forehead, checking his temperature. He was hot to the touch, causing you to frown, “You’re burning up.”

“I-I’m quite fine, Miss y/n,” Tipper flushed.

“Alright, if you say so. Do you need anything else?”

Tipper fidgeted with the hem of his jacket, “A kiss?”

“I’m sorry?” You were taken aback, a bit startled by his request.

“A kiss, ma’am. It might cool down the. . . fever.”

You hesitated for a second, but you were fond of Tipper, so you gave him a small kiss on the cheek. Safe to say, his whole face glowed bright red, warmth radiating from him as you laughed.

— ♡

04. carentan comfort

You were the only female medic in Easy Company, working closely with Doc Roe to treat wounds whenever the soldiers were in battle. As more of the male medics were being taken off the line or killed in action, the Army had asked for volunteers from the nurses on base to train as a combat medic. You didn't hesitate to volunteer for the war effort. Now, you find yourself in Carentan, running like a madman to avoid being shot as you were being called for.

"MEDIC!" one of the soldiers yelled; it sounded a lot like Liebgott, but the strain of being in pain wasn't evident in his voice, so it must be for someone else.

You rushed over to where Liebgott was, heart sinking when you saw Tipper in his arms, his legs broken and right eye was completely destroyed. He was quivering in fear, and all Joe could do was try to keep him calm so he didn't go into shock.

"Hey, Tip, it's Doc y/l/n, I'm gonna fix you up and get you out of here, okay?" you said softly, already starting to inject him with morphine.

He whimpered and nodded, hiding his face in Joe's neck. Joe frowned slightly, feeling bad for Tipper as he stroked his hair.

"Lieb, help me get him to the aid station, we'll have to carry him fast," you said, looking around for any snipers or incoming mortars.

"Yeah, fuck, on three. One, two, three!" Joe helped you lift Tipper, brows furrowing when Tipper started to cry.

"We've got you, Tip," you shushed him gently, getting to the aid station without much hassle. You started to make a splint for both his legs, instructing Joe to get you supplies as needed. About 10 minutes later, you two worked swiftly to stop the bleeding and minimize Tipper's discomfort.

"Lieb, can you watch him? I need to get back," you said, wiping the blood from your hands onto your pants.

Joe nodded, "I'll stay with him, don't worry."

Tipper let out a loud whine, making both you and Joe rush to his side in concern.

"Tipper, what's wrong?" Joe asked, pushing the hair from Tipper's face.

"Stay. . ." Tipper mumbled, his lips in a deep pout. His good eye was glistening with tears, your chest panging at the sight. You looked at Joe, and he looked at you back. You knew Roe had things covered outside, but you also felt guilty about not being out there with him.

“Please, stay,” Tipper whined again, his hand reaching out to you. He looked over at Joe, “both of you.”

You held his hand, not being able to say no, “Okay, we’re here, Tip.”

Joe moved to sit on the edge of the cot, Tipper instantly moving to place his head on Joe’s lap. The latter ran his fingers through Tip’s hair, cooing at him quietly. You held Joe’s other hand, squeezing it as a sign of reassurance. He squeezed your hand back, giving you a faint smile as you both kept comforting Tipper.

— ♡

05. still pretty

Tipper was discharged from the hospital after the wounds he sustained in Carentan, but because his right eye was removed, he was quite insecure about how he looked.

He felt so bad that he could no longer see your beauty with both eyes, and was even more upset at the thought that you no longer found him pretty. Of course, that wasn’t true in the slightest. You still found Tipper incredibly attractive when he came home to you, but he was so dead-set on the idea that he refused any sort of compliments.

“Tipper, my love,” you cooed, caressing his cheek with the back of your hand.

“Hm,” he responded half-heartedly, looking away from you.

“Mm-mm, look at me,” you said, tilting his chin to you.

He let out a soft huff, quirking an eyebrow at you as he watched your movements.

“You are still so fucking pretty, love.” You kissed him just above his right eye, then kissed below it.

He cracked a half-smile, burying his face in your tummy to hide his blush.

“My pretty boy.”

— ♡

06. my darling soldier

Tipper had used one of his weekend passes this week to leave Camp Toccoa and come see you in town, but it was to be a surprise!

You heard a knock on the door, your body jolting at the sound. You got up slowly, using the peephole to see who it was. You weren’t expecting anyone, and you didn’t receive a letter from Tipper that said he was going to visit, so you were quite shocked when you saw your boyfriend standing on your doorstep.

You audibly gasped, yanking the door open to throw yourself into his arms.

"Edward!" you screamed, squeezing him tight.

He laughed and picked you up to spin you around, "My love!"

"You didn't tell me you were going to visit!" You playfully smacked his chest, pulling him in once more to bury your face in his neck.

"I wanted to surprise you," he said, nuzzling your hair.

"Well, consider me surprised, my darling soldier."

— ♡

07. barracks kisses (a tinge of spice)

You snuck into the men’s barracks late at night to visit Tipper, the other men bunked with him didn’t really care because you bribed them with cigarettes and special magazines. Tipper pulled you in as soon as you knocked on the door, hoisting you into his arms as he walked to his cot.

You exhaled sharply as his lips attached to your neck, leaving hot, open mouth kisses in his wake, reaching your collarbone. He whined against your skin, tugging your uniform jacket off.

“Please, kiss me, Ed,” you whispered, cupping his face in your hands.

His face was red, lips glossy and parted as he nodded obediently, pulling you flush against him to kiss you properly. He kept whining into your mouth as you bit his bottom lip, so you pulled back slightly to shush him.

“Tip, you need to be quiet,” you murmured, caressing his cheek.

He nuzzled into your palm, “I can’t— I- I need. . .”

You understood and moved your thumb to his lips, watching as he immediately quieted down with your fingers in his mouth.

“Oh, Tipper, you’re such a good boy.”

— ♡

08. please, don't go

If you were to be anything, it was to be Tipper’s sweetheart. Now, it seems if that dream is starting to fade as you watch your boyfriend put his uniform on, adjusting his hat in the mirror before turning around to face you.

“How do I look?” Tipper asked, giving you a half-smile.

“Like a soldier already, love,” you replied, clutching the fabric of your dress. Your heart was aching already, the dull thud in your chest that dropped to your stomach at the realization that he’d be gone soon hurt more than you’d like to admit.

Tipper exhaled, taking a seat beside you on the bed, drawing you closer to his side. No words were exchanged, just the uncomfortable silence that the situation brought about, a few sniffles coming from the both of you.

“Please, don’t go, Ed,” you whispered, smoothing out the creases in his pants.

“I have to,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. You melted against him once more, hugging his neck as you let out a shaky breath.

“There’s enough brave men out there.” You played with the soft hair on his nape, your cheek resting against his shoulder as a tear slipped onto his skin.

Tipper took one of your hands and brought it up to his lips to kiss, rubbing the back of it with his thumb.

“Look at me,” Tipper said softly, tilting your chin to him.

Your head followed, vision blurring with unshed tears that desperately wanted to spill. Tipper used his thumb to wipe under your eyes, kissing your forehead after.

“I’ll come back to you, sweetheart.” He brushed your hair from your face, giving you one more kiss before letting you go to stand up and adjust his tie. You could see the fear written on his face, but he turned and closed the door gently behind him, leaving you to miss him already.

— ♡

09. letter from tipper

To My Dearest Love,

I’ve been away from our hometown for so long, I’m beginning to get homesick just from thinking about you. I want out of this war, out of the Paratroopers, but I want to fight for my country all the same. I miss you more than anything; I can’t wait to go back into your arms.

Promise you’ll bake me my favorite cherry pie and have it ready with a kiss when this is all over?

I love you dearly.

Sincerely,

Your Boyfriend, Tipper

— ♡

10. tipper's heart

Tipper was someone who followed his heart most of the time, but what happens when it’s split between two people? On one hand, you were the most perfect girl anyone could ask for, and on the other, Liebgott made him feel all flustered and confused.

He liked girls, right? Tipper had always crushed on pretty girls at school, but something about the way Lieb looked at him and spoke made his heart flutter. It was definitely something foreign to him.

You were sitting with Liebgott, sharing a cigarette and talking about random things— gossip, music, and. . .Tipper! You both liked Tip a lot, not like the poor boy knew that, and you mutually agreed to not fight over him. Instead, you two often just admired him from afar while also indulging in your attraction to each other.

“Hey, look who it is,” Joe said, hands lazily trailing up to your ribs.

You hummed, tilting your head in the direction Joe was looking, smiling when you saw Tipper.

“It’s our boy,” you grinned, waving Tipper over.

Tipper made a beeline for you, his eagerness making you and Joe give each other a knowing glance. Joe beckoned Tipper closer with his finger, patting his lap after.

“H-huh?”

“Sit.”

Tipper didn’t need to be told twice. He sat on Joe’s lap, your arms snaking around his waist as he yelped in surprise at the action.

“Tip, we’ve been noticing you noticing us lately,” you purred, watching as the blush darkened on his cheeks.

“And we decided that we wanted to share you,” Joe added, rubbing Tipper’s thigh.

“Share me?” Tipper fidgeted slightly, making Joe squeeze his eyes shut and swallow hard .

“Yeah, what do you think, honey?”

Tipper’s heart skipped a beat, finally realizing for once in his life that he didn’t have to choose between the two. ♡

[privatebullshit]

AHHHH I GOT TAGGED TY SETH!!

favorite color: baby pink (ugh but I love any color tbh)

currently reading: the song of achilles

currently watching: the pacific (again)

currently craving: grilled cheese and tomato soup

coffee or tea: tea!! (chamomile, green, jasmine, floral)

@pinknooniie @annasansh (if u want to!)

get to know your moots tag game ! ✶ answer the questions, then tag six people

favorite color ꕀ green and brown last song ꕀ tú by maye currently reading ꕀ the luminaries by susan dennard currently watching ꕀ the great british baking show currently craving ꕀ massaman curry. like always. and like. alcohol and a couple cigs HAHA. a break too :P coffee or tea ꕀ always tea! i don't like coffee

ty for the tag @saltcxrcle ! tagging: @lelapine @toadspondofwhimsy @outof-spite @h0neyst4rz @hhoneylemon @our-lady-of-venom

[privatebullshit]

with faith undaunted [part 05.]

— ♡

part 05. departure [3.8k+ words]

summary: y/n y/l/n is a nurse-in-training when she meets joseph j. toye in 1942, shortly after the attack on pearl harbor, at camp toccoa. she's the americana dream, he's a reckless private. what happens when their fates cross paths?

♡ follow along on their journey of love, loss, and hardship as the story progresses in events taking place before, during, and after the war. ♡

warnings: language, guarnere during the ship scene

a/n: ugh, another kinda sad one. . .

song rec: smoke signals - phoebe bridgers, video games - lana del rey

wfu taglist: @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @fromjupitertocentauri @annasansh @bluecanvasshoe @catbusloki

previous parts: 00. promo 01. remembrance 02. blossoming 03. timidity 04. longing

wfu masterlist bofb masterlist

— ♡

The troop ship was a floating boiler room, the smell of iron and sweat mixing in the damp, unmoving air as the men crowded the bunks. The moisture clung to Joe's skin and dripped from his hair, causing him to wipe his face with the sleeve of his uniform.

Skip was going on and on about the Pacific and naked native girls, the image making several men encourage him to keep talking, their excitement becoming more apparent. Even Perconte was on board with the idea. This was going to be a long journey.

Joe rolled his eyes, "Hey guys, I'm glad I'm going to Europe." He pulled out his jump knife, popping the blade open, "Hitler gets one of these right across the windpipe, Roosevelt changes Thanksgivin' to Joe Toye Day, and pays me ten grand a year for the rest of my fuckin' life." Joe grinned to himself at the thought; that would be enough money to go anywhere, buy a nice big house, get his sweetheart a ring— Jesus, he was thinking about marriage already.

Some of the men chuckled at his comment, one soldier asking, "What if we don't get to Europe? What if they send us to North Africa?"

Guarnere took his cigarette out of his mouth, "My brotha's in North Africa. He says it's hot."

Malarkey looked up from what he was reading, "Really? It's hot in Africa?"

"Shut up. Point is, it don' matta where we go. Once we get into combat, the only person you can trust is yourself and the fella next to ya," Guarnere replied with a shrug. Joe hummed in agreement, looking over to the side as George started to climb to the top of the bunks.

"Hey, as long as he's a Paratrooper," Joe said, sitting up and leaning against his folded arms.

"Oh, yeah?" George said, still climbing, "And what if that Paratrooper turns out to be Sobel?"

Another soldier responded, "If I'm next to Sobel in combat, I'm moving on down the line— hook up with some other officer, like, uhh, Heyliger or Winters." Several of the other men murmured in agreement.

Guarnere spoke up again, "I like Winters; he's a good man, but when the bullets start flyin'?" He shook his head skeptically, "I don' know if I want a Quaker doin' my fightin' for me."

Skip popped his head out from the bunk above, passing his cigarette to Malarkey, "How d'y'know he's a Quaker?"

Guarnere shifted to sit on the edge of his bunk, taking a second before standing up, "He ain't Catholic."

Joe raised an eyebrow, wondering where this was going.

"Neither's Sobel," someone reminded Guarnere, causing him to scoff and take another drag of his cigarette.

"That prick's a son of Abraham."

Oh, shit. This wasn't gonna end well. Joe's eyes flicked over to Liebgott who had a defensive expression on his face.

"He's what?" Liebgott asked.

"He's a Jew," Guarnere sneered.

Liebgott threw his cigarette to the floor with an "oh, fuck," jumping off his bunk to get up in Guarnere's face. The other men quieted down to listen to what he had to say.

"I'm a Jew," Lieb said, standing threateningly in front of the Italian.

Guarnere looked him up and down, disgust evident on his face, "Congratulations. Get your nose outta my face."

Within seconds, Liebgott hooked his fist at Guarnere, starting a frenzy as men got up to split them apart. Joe got up too, hands latching onto uniforms in an attempt to break the scuffle.

Lieb narrowed his eyes at Joe, pushing off the men holding him back, "This ain't any of your business, lover boy."

Joe scooted his way through the other men, standing tall in front of Liebgott, "Yeah, well, you made it everyone's goddamn business when you decided to start a fight."

Silence fell upon the ship, George giving Joe a warning look. Joe exhaled sharply through his nose, deciding it wasn't worth it to argue with Liebgott again, turning to settle back on his bunk. Before he could fully, Lieb's high-pitched voice rang through his ears.

"How's that broad anyway, Toye?"

Joe turned back around slowly, men parting to create a clear path between him and Liebgott.

"She's not a broad, she's my woman," Joe said gruffly.

"Yeah, fuck. What makes ya think that she's gonna wait for ya while we're out fightin' the Krauts?" Liebgott asked, lighting up another cigarette.

Joe's teeth ground against each other as he clenched his jaw, "I trust her, so fuck off. I shouldn't even have to explain myself to you."

Liebgott took a step forward, blowing his smoke in Toye's face. Joe's hands balled into fists at the action, but he restrained himself from doing anything rash.

"Well, don't start cryin' when you get a 'Dear John' letter. Give it a few months, she'll be openin' her legs to the next man in uniform," Liebgott jeered.

And so, it was a blur as Joe tackled Liebgott to the floor, throwing blows to his head as the latter tried to fight back. The men shouted around them, trying to get them to stop before one of the officers came down. Lieb's lip busted open, blood trickling down his chin as he pinned Joe, hitting him in the mouth back, causing Joe to bite his own tongue with a pained grunt.

The two grappled on the ground for a bit, shrugging off the hands that tried to stop them. Joe pushed Liebgott off, knee against his stomach as he yelled at him and protected y/n's reputation from Lieb's defamatory statements. It took Luz and Guarnere to pry Joe off of Lieb, the bigger man trembling with anger.

"I told you not to talk like that about her, Liebgott," Joe warned, his voice seething with irritation. His teeth were coated in a thin sheen of blood as he scowled, hair messy and out of place, some strands sticking to his sweaty forehead.

"Fuck you," Liebgott retorted, wincing as he wiped the blood from his busted lip. A few of the guys escorted him away, leaving Joe to collapse back on his bunk, licking away the metallic taste on his teeth.

"Jesus Christ, you two are gonna kill each other before we get to England," Luz mumbled.

"I don't fuck around when it comes to my girl, Luz," Joe said gruffly, the scowl still etched onto his face.

"Listen, Joe, we're with you on this, but you can't leap at Liebgott's throat every time he riles you up. You're gonna get yourself in trouble with one of the officers, or worse, Sobel," Perconte spoke up, brushing his teeth lazily.

Joe let out a sigh of exasperation, running his hands down his face, but he knew Perconte was right. The last thing any of them needed was a punishment while they were on the brink of war. He closed his eyes and drowned out the loud chatter of the men, managing to somewhat rest as the ship continued to sail.

— ♡

Aldbourne, England, circa late 1943

Joe managed to stay out of trouble while training with Easy in Aldbourne. They worked on different fighting tactics, learned how to dig fox holes, and were taught all sorts of different terms for the field. He adapted quickly, each day getting closer to when they were supposed to drop into France. His stomach churned in knots thinking about it, but he tried to push the uneasiness aside.

Joe was sitting on the steps on the outside of one of the bakeries, watching people pass him by. He chewed on the end of his cigarette gently, trying to make the most out of it before lighting another. He had used one of his weekend passes to go to London so he could find something to send y/n, just like he promised. He tossed his dead Lucky Strike to the ground, standing up to walk across the street to a fancy store. He picked up a magazine from the rack outside, flipping through the pages.

He'd never had to buy for a lady before, so he was quite lost while staring at a popular fashion catalogue. Joe eventually had to push away his pride and ask a saleswoman to help him choose a few beauty items.

"What does your lady fancy?" she asked Joe, holding back a laugh at his confused expression.

"Uhm, she wears some stuff on her cheeks, and lipstick, I guess," he replied sheepishly, looking around the store.

"What does she do?" the lady turned to face him, inspecting the picture in his locket that he'd taken out. "She's a lush lass."

Joe flushed, nodding in agreement, "She's in the Army Nurse Corps, my y/n."

The woman's eyes lit up, letting out a hum of acknowledgement as she went to the back of the store to fetch something. She came back with a small, but beautiful kit that was specifically made for servicewomen. It was compact enough to fit in the pockets of their uniforms.

Joe held it in his hands, inspecting the contents. It had rouge, powder, lipstick, a mirror, a comb, and some other things a man like him didn't quite recognize. He fished some money out of his pocket, fumbling with the unfamiliar currency, finally paying for the perfect gift for his love.

He sought out Vest when he returned to Aldbourne after his pass expired, handing him the kit without much context.

"This for me?" Vest joked, beginning to box it.

Joe let out a low chuckle, "Y'know who it's for."

Vest nodded, "Your darling, yes, you never fail to mention her. Are you going to send any sort of letter with this?"

See, Joe would've, he really would've, but he was unsure of how to write a proper love letter. It was embarrassing to admit, so he shook his head, taking out a small piece of paper with the words "Love, Joe," scribbled on it.

"Just this," he admitted, causing Vest to laugh.

"Jeez, Toye, very romantic," he said, earning a bop on the head.

"Let me know if she sends anythin' back, thanks," Joe placed a pack of cigarettes on the counter, which Vest took eagerly.

About a few weeks later, he had received a letter addressed to him from y/n, hands trembling with anticipation as he opened it carefully.

To My Darling Joseph,

I received the makeup kit in the mail, and it's the most thoughtful gift that I've been given so far. Thank you, my love. I do miss you to tears, and I find myself busy these days with work at the hospitals here. I've gotten in touch with Sergeant Lipton's wife, she said that you all are in Aldbourne now.

How I wish I could be with you, my Joe. You're in my prayers every day, don't forget that. I love you, please write to me soon.

With love,

Your Darling Y/N

Joe's heart fluttered as he read the letter, hugging it to his chest afterward. On the bottom, next to her intricate signature, was a kiss mark in the same shade of the lipstick he bought her. He melted as he pressed his lips to it, sighing in content.

His stomach did a flip as he realized he would have to write back sooner rather than later, but he wasn't keen on asking for help— his stubborn attitude hindering his progress.

He hunched over a piece of paper with a pencil in hand, hovering over the page as he wracked his brain for the right words to say. He must've sat there for a good twenty minutes or so; he didn't even notice Welsh standing beside him.

Harry watched with a gap-toothed smile as Joe tapped his pencil on the blank paper repeatedly, mumbling to himself about how to start a letter. There was a furrow in his brow as he resorted to gnawing on the end of the pencil in thought.

"Havin' trouble there, lover boy?" Harry laughed, making Joe jump slightly in surprise as the former took a seat next to his friend. Joe gave him a lighthearted eyeroll, "Is that seriously my nickname now?"

"Yep, and ya sure look like you could use some help," Harry leaned in, pretending to inspect the page.

"Oh, fuck off. I'm not used to these things like you are," Joe huffed, abandoning the pencil to light up a Lucky Strike with the gifted lighter. He wasn't good with romantic words, or whatever the hell Harry was sending Kitty in those letters every other week. He was silent for a bit, noting Harry's cheeky expression as he stared at the lighter.

"Did y/n give you that?" he asked, pointing to the engraved silver.

Joe nodded proudly, splaying his palm to give Harry a better look, "She sure did, part of my lucky charms."

"Charms? Plural? What's the other one?"

Joe dug into his shirt, pulling out the locket. He opened it to show Harry, who admired it with an awe-filled gaze, a sappy smile returning to his face. He pulled out a photograph of his dear Kitty from his breast pocket, his expression turning sickly sweet as he showed Joe his pride and joy.

"Ain't our girls stunnin', Joe?" Harry said, a dreamy sigh escaping his lips as he flipped the photograph over, fingers tracing her cursive handwriting on the back, which read: "To my Welshy."

"Mhm, I wouldn't trade her for the world," Joe replied, putting the locket back under his shirt.

"So, why're ya havin' trouble with writin' a letter? Just say what you feel."

"I dunno. D'you think you could help me?" Joe muttered, slapping the other man on the back as he doubled-over in laughter again. Joe's face was flushed in embarrassment once more, which seemed to happen every time he was trying to do something lovey-dovey for his sweetheart.

"What was that, Toye? The tough, Liebgott-punching, sonovabitch needs my help writing a letter to his dearest darling love?" Harry snickered boyishly, his immature attitude coming back.

Joe scowled at him, raising a threatening fist before going back to sulk over the blank page. He finally sputtered out a laugh, twirling his cigarette between his fingers as he clutched his stomach.

"You know about me punching Liebgott?" Joe asked, taking a long drag, passing his carton of smokes to Harry. The latter took a stick, using his own lighter to burn the tip, inhaling lazily.

"Everyone knows, but everyone also agrees that it was deserved," Harry shrugged.

Joe hummed, pushing the cigarette to the corner of his mouth as he picked his pencil back up, looking to Harry for directions. Harry grinned, guiding Joe through the basic motions of writing a love letter. Soon enough, he had something written in decent handwriting, his signature at the bottom.

To My Darling Y/N,

The days are long and hard without you; every day apart is another blow to the chest. Indeed, we're in Aldbourne, but soon we're to leave for Upottery. I miss you more every second I breathe; I can't wait to see you again.

You wouldn't believe it, but Captain Sobel is no longer the commander of Easy Company. After all this time, I was sure we were going to make the big jump with him. Lieutenant Meehan from Baker Company is his replacement now, so we'll see how that goes.

Keep working hard, my little nurse. I love you so. Thank you for your prayers, they keep me strong in these times.

With love,

Your Darling Joe

(P.S.: I've been thinking about using some brass knuckles, what do you think?)

The cursive was a little shaky, but Joe thought he pulled it off quite well. Harry clapped him on the shoulder, shaking him playfully, "You did it! Congrats on your first official love letter, lover boy."

Joe couldn't help but chuckle, sealing the letter in a fresh envelope. He held it in his lap, turning to Welsh, "Are you gonna marry her?"

Harry stubbed out his cigarette, nodding enthusiastically, "My Kitty girl? Hell, if I could give her a ring for every day I was away from her, I would! But, yeah, after the war is over, granted that I make it out alive. . . that's my goal."

Joe could see the sadness in Harry's eyes as he said that last part, humming thoughtfully, "Me too. I want nothin' more than to put a ring on y/n's finger, get a house, start a family— no more of this bullshit."

Harry looked over at his friend, "Then that's what we'll do, Toye. Finish this war and get back home to our women."

Joe nodded, thumb rubbing over the back of the envelope, he'd give it to Vest later to have it mailed, "We'll be at each other's weddings, yeah?"

"Yeah, buddy, of course."

— ♡

Upottery Airfield, mid 1944

Joe paced around, complaining about the amount of stuff that they'd have to bring with them in their leg backs, "Three-day supply of K-rations, chocolate bars, Charms candy, powdered coffee, sugar, and matches, compass, bayonet, entrenching tool, ammunition, gas mask, musette bag with ammo, my webbing, my .45, canteen, two cartons of smokes, Hawkins mine, two grenades, smoke grenade, gamma grenade, TNT, this bullshit, and a pair of nasty skivvies!" He slammed the underwear down, ripping off his gloves.

Perconte looked up from his spot, "What's your point?"

Joe huffed, "Y'know, this stuff weighs as much as I do. I've still got my chute, my reserve chute, my Mae West, my M-1."

"Where are you keeping your brass knuckles?" Perco asked, beginning to get up.

Joe watched him walk away, "I could use some brass knuckles. . ."

"Sergeant Martin!" Vest shouted, carrying an armload of mail.

"Hey, Vest, anythin' for me?"

Vest almost passed Joe, retracing his steps and looking down, "Actually, yes. Just came in, lucky bastard. Here."

Joe grabbed the letter and small box that Vest handed him, heart rate increasing as he recognized the familiar handwriting on the envelope. Since the first letter he sent, he mailed out many more. He had gotten a response to his previous letter just days before they were supposed to jump, he really was a lucky bastard.

To My Darling Joseph,

I hope this gets to you before the big jump, Lord knows I'm praying hard for it to get there in time! I wish you all the best, I know you'll make it to the ground safely. Just keep your head as level as you can, I know how jumpy you can get sometimes.

I'm here waiting for you, Joe. Come home soon. Say 'hi' to the boys for me, I miss them too. I love you so much.

With love,

Your Darling Y/N

(P.S.: I hope you like your gift.)

Joe blinked away the tears that threatened to spill, putting the letter in his coat pocket and grabbing the small box, cutting the tape with his jump knife.

And there they were, brass knuckles, just like he had dreamed of owning, and how she got them, he had not the slightest clue. He laughed out loud, trying them on and slicing the air with them. He quickly put the knuckles somewhere safe, considering them his third lucky charm.

Sergeant Lipton's voice rang through the airfield, "Alright, listen up, listen up! If you did not sign your GI life insurance policy, you go on over and see Sergeant Evans at the headquarters company tent. You boys don't let your families miss out on $10,000."

Joe swallowed hard, brushing himself as he stood up. The reality of the situation hit him as his legs carried him to the tent Sergeant Evans was at. He cleared his throat, entering the tent, Sergeant Evans looking up at up from his paperwork. Joe saluted him, Evans giving him a salute back.

"Corporal Toye, good to see you. Here to sign your GI?" Sergeant Evans asked, already putting the paperwork together.

"Yes, sir, that's right."

"Have a seat then," Evans gestured to the empty seat beside Joe.

Joe took a seat, grabbing a pen as Evans pushed some papers towards him. He skimmed the pages, heart sinking at the words, "in the event of death. . ."

"I'll need you to fill out these portions and then sign here and here," Evans said, leaning back in his seat as he waited for Joe to complete the policy.

Joe took a breath, beginning to fill out the basic information. Most of it was pretty easy, but his eyes landed on "beneficiaries," the people that would get the ten grand if Joe was killed in action. He put down the names of his parents, of course, but something nagged him in the back of his mind.

He clicked the pen nervously, finally scribbling down one last name.

y/n y/l/n

If anything, he wanted her to have a share of his life insurance money, making sure she was taken care of even in his death seemed better than not being able to provide for her at all. He didn't want to get emotional in front of the Sergeant, so he pushed the papers and pen back to him after signing quickly, standing up after.

Evans reviewed the paperwork, letting out a satisfied hum as he authorized it. Joe saluted him one last time, exiting the tent with a heavy heart. He joined the other guys outside just in time to hear Meehan shouting.

"Easy Company, listen up! Channel coast is socked in with rain and fog. No. Jump. Tonight."

Joe and the other guys groaned in disappointment and impatience. They shuffled towards one of the screen room tents, deciding to watch a movie for the night.

On June 5th, it was finally time for the big jump. Joe boarded the C-47, plopping into his seat as they waited for the other men to file in. Soon enough, it was time for their departure. The engines roared, filling his ears with the awful rumbling.

As they ascended into the air, Joe couldn't help but feel more emotional than ever, clutching the locket in his palm. He brought it up to his lips, whispering prayers to it, eyes closed as he shed tears he didn't realize were spilling out. D-Day would be fast approaching, and anything could happen.

Joe didn't want to be scared, he didn't want to fear being shot or blown up, but he was afraid of not keeping his promise. He wanted, needed, to come back home to y/n. It wasn't something he had control over, but damnit if it's in God's will for him to have his darling in his arms once this is over, then he'll stay a believer.

It's her, it's her, it's all for her. Everything he does, he'll tell her all the time. Heaven is a place on Earth with her.

"They say that the world was built for two, only worth living if somebody is loving you." - lana del rey

[privatebullshit]

with faith undaunted [part 04.]

— ♡

part 04. longing [2.9k+ words]

summary: y/n y/l/n is a nurse-in-training when she meets joseph j. toye in 1942, shortly after the attack on pearl harbor, at camp toccoa. she's the americana dream, he's a reckless private. what happens when their fates cross paths?

♡ follow along on their journey of love, loss, and hardship as the story progresses in events taking place before, during, and after the war. ♡

warnings: language

a/n: this one is gonna sting a bit, sorry ya'll

song rec: once more to see you - mitski, i'm your man - mitski

wfu taglist: @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @fromjupitertocentauri @annasansh @bluecanvasshoe @catbusloki

previous parts: 00. promo 01. remembrance 02. blossoming 03. timidity

wfu masterlist bofb masterlist

— ♡

Early 1943

Joe and the other Easy Company men had completed their jump training out of the C47 aircrafts, which marked that they were officially Paratroopers and were bound to receive their jump wings. Y/n and Joe hadn't seen each other in a while, all too busy with their training to share a moment with one another. The big jump wasn't too far away now, and the war effort would soon demand more out of them.

But now? Hell, it was time to celebrate! The company was currently in one of Fort Bennington's pubs, chugging beers and slamming down the empty glasses, listening to old records, and shouting heartily, all of their tension melting away. Joe was having the time of his life, but the only thing missing was her.

He leaned against the counter, waiting for George to shut his yap so he could get a beer. When the latter finally turned around, Joe had to listen to his bullshit before getting a drink.

"Corporal Toye," Luz said, mimicking Sobel's infuriating voice, "there will be no leaning in my company."

Joe rolled his eyes, but stood up straight anyway, humoring the idiot for the time being.

"Are those dusty jump wings?" Luz asked, causing Joe to look down and blow hot air onto the wings, polishing them with his thumb. "How do you expect to slay the Huns with dust on your jump wings?"

Having enough of Luz's imitations, Joe grabbed him by the lapel of his uniform, pulling him in just enough to speak lowly, "Luz, just give me a drink."

George grinned widely, laughing to himself as Joe let him go, "Hell of an idea, Joe. There ya go." He placed a tall glass of cold beer in front of Joe, who took it and raised it to toast with George.

"Three miles up, three miles down," George said, Joe nodding in agreement as they clinked glasses and took a sip.

The moment was cut short when the sound of the record scratching rang through the air, followed by a loud "Ten-hut!" Every soldier put their glasses down, standing at attention as Colonel Sink came into view.

"Well, at ease, Paratroopers," he spoke warmly, the men following his instruction and standing in a relaxed position. "Good evening, Easy Company."

"Evening, sir!" they responded.

A few more words and a glass of beer was exchanged, Colonel Sink raising his glass and shouting, "Currahee!"

All of Easy eagerly exclaimed "Currahee" back, cheering and whistling in congratulations to them all. As Colonel Sink went elsewhere, the men started to have fun once more, playing drinking games and betting packs of smokes.

It wasn't until the record scratched again that everyone had to stop what they were doing, but there was no call to stand at attention, no heavy steps made by boots of important officers, just the soft click clack of heels against the wooden floor. In fact, it was just that a pretty woman had walked in, dressed in her starched and ironed nurse uniform, a Red Cross armband now adorning her left arm.

Joe turned his head to find the source of the sudden silence, his eyes widening and jaw going slack as he saw y/n standing in the doorway. She looked like she was looking for someone, and his heart couldn't help but thump at the fact that it might be him she's searching for. He placed the now warm glass of beer on the counter, meeting her halfway as they both waded through the sea of enlisted men.

Everyone's heads were turned as they stood in front of each other now, gazes full of soft admiration and mutual pining that only those two couldn't figure out. Joe's hands trembled as he took hers, raising it to his lips to press a soft kiss to her knuckles, letting it fall back to her side.

"Joe," she breathed out, her voice filling his ears with a sweet melody that the record couldn't dare to recreate.

"Y/n, you're here," he responded, shock and relief lacing his voice. Y/n nodded, still gazing up at him as if he was the only Paratrooper in the room.

"I wanted to say congratulations. . . on becoming a Paratrooper," she spoke softly, adjusting her headscarf slightly.

Joe reached out to tuck a piece of hair that fell out of place behind her ear, "Thanks. You too, y'know, on becoming an official nurse for the Army Nurse Corps." His heart ached to take her far away from here, away from the prying eyes of the Easy men, where no officer would intrude on their shared moment.

"Thank you," she smiled, hers causing Joe to smile back. The men around them started to murmur, never before seeing Joe act so gentle with anyone before.

George pushed his way to stand next to the two, flashing a charming grin as he wrapped his arm around y/n's shoulders, earning a tense squeak from her and a glare from Toye.

"Well, if it ain't our favorite nurse! I thought that was you, y/n," Luz snickered, drawing her closer to his side.

Soon, some of the other guys got up and started to greet her, showing off their jump wings proudly.

"See, this here is a real man's pair of jump wings!" Skip said, earning a smack on the back of the head from Malarkey who said, "Every man has the same pair of jump wings, you moron." Penkala laughed in the background, wrapping an arm around his two best buddies.

Y/n's cheeks flushed at the attention, letting out a string of giggles before gasping slightly when she felt someone's arm snake around her waist. Joe had a gentle but firm grip on her, leading her to the middle of the room.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, holding one of her hands in his.

She averted her gaze to the pins on his uniform, "You already have me." He couldn't disagree, but it still made him flush like a boy. The two danced, ignoring the protests and groans from the other guys that clearly wanted to dance with her.

"We're off to North Carolina in the mornin'," Joe said, looking like he was starting to miss the girl in his arms already. "Where will you be?"

Y/n pressed her cheek against his chest as they danced slower, Joe bringing a supportive palm to the small of her back, thumb rubbing small circles on the fabric of her uniform. She was silent at first but eventually gave him an answer.

"The same place, at least, that's what I've heard so far," she murmured, her grip on his hand subconsciously growing tighter. He squeezed her hand back in a reassuring manner, letting her know that he heard her and he was there.

"A little more time together then," he said, placing his chin on top of her head. They stop moving, y/n moving her head back just enough to look into Joe's eyes. Ask anyone in the room and they'd say the two were beginning to be more than they'd like to admit, but that's not something they wanted to talk about it just yet.

"I'll see you there, Joe," she whispered, fingers slipping from his grasp as she moved back, a sudden chill passing over Joe as her warmth retreated from him. It nearly split their hearts in two, but they did what had to be done.

— ♡

Camp Mackall, N.C.

Easy Company had been training nonstop for the upcoming invasion, pouring out blood, sweat, and tears as Captain Sobel made continuous mistakes because he couldn't read the damn map. It pissed Joe off to no end, but alas, Sobel was their CO, so it wasn't like they could do anything about it for the time being.

Y/n had been working tirelessly, continuing to train as a nurse while also helping the men whenever they sustained a reckless injury. Time was nearing for them to pack up and go again, this time to a place where y/n couldn't follow. Both she and Joe dreaded the day to come, lingering glances holding more weight than words could at the moment.

As y/n stood around the aid station taking inventory, she heard someone clear their throat, instantly turning around and expecting to see Joe. When she was met with Doc Roe standing there, holding his helmet sheepishly, she was surprised but offered him a warm smile.

"Roe, it's good to see you," she said, putting down her clipboard.

Roe nodded politely, "It's good to see you too, Miss y/n. I came to say goodbye before we leave." He shuffled around, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Y/n could recognize the tone of his voice, taking a few steps closer to him and placing a gentle hand on his arm.

"It was nice training with you, Eugene. You be careful out there, alright?" she said, enveloping him in her embrace, Roe instantly melting against her.

"I will," he whispered, sniffling quietly.

Y/n reached into her apron and pulled something out, holding it in her palm, "Let me see your hand."

Roe pulled back, extending his right hand to her, watching as she placed the object in his palm. It was a beautiful pair of scissors, tiny, intricate details etched in the bows and shanks. He felt her wipe away a stray tear, pulling her back into his arms to hug her once more.

"For the world's best medic," she said quietly, rubbing his back.

"For the world's best nurse," Roe said back, placing a kiss to the top of her head.

Two close friends in the same field, separated by the uncertainty of departure and war.

— ♡

In the dead of night, y/n found Joe smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the outside of his quarters. She approached him quietly, the leaves crunching underneath her Mary Jane heels, causing him to look up.

He took one last drag of his cigarette before throwing it on the ground and putting it out with his boot. His arms reached out for her, and she found herself in them immediately. Words bubbled up in her throat and threatened to spill out, but they only came out as a soft sob.

Joe shushed her softly, caressing the top of her head as he held her close, looking to the stars as he wondered if and when he'd get to hold her like this again.

"I know, sweetheart," he said, twirling a strand of his hair around his finger.

Y/n muffled her shaky voice in his chest, "I'm gonna miss you."

Joe's heart cracked into a million pieces, each piece containing something he adored about her. He wanted to stay in the States; to bring her home to Pennsylvania so she could meet his parents— his mother would love her dearly— and to hold her while the war raged on elsewhere. The only battle that mattered in this moment was the one between his duty and his darling.

"Don't go, they have enough soldiers to fight," her voice wavered, his shirt becoming damp with tears.

Joe sucked in a trembling breath, clutching her tighter, but carefully, as if she was made of porcelain, "I have to, y'know I have to, angel. But I'm gonna come back home to you, I promise."

He was teary-eyed too now, gritting his teeth to hold back broken sobs as he buried his face in her hair, "I don't wanna leave my girl."

Y/n lifted her head to look at him, eyes rimmed red and cheeks wet with tears, "I'm your girl?" She spoke the question so softly into the air, Joe could hardly hear it, but he did. And that was what made his resolve crumble, a cry escaping his lips as he nodded.

"You're my girl. You've been my girl since the day we shared that cab together," he mumbled, kissing her crown.

After they managed to calm down, now slumped on the ground and against the wall, y/n curled up on his side and Joe's arms around her, they were silent for a bit. They would have to part soon before anyone saw them together so intimately, but for the time being, it was their safe sanctuary while the crickets chirped around them.

"Remember when I went out one weekend back in Georgia?" y/n muttered, fingers tracing lazy patterns on Joe's arm.

Joe hummed, "Yeah, why?"

"I got you something, I just didn't know when to give it to you," she admitted, fishing two things from her apron. She placed one in Joe's hand, Joe lifting it up to his eye level.

It was a beautiful silver lighter with a Bible verse engraved on the front, which read:

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.

Joshua 1:9

"I know you're a devout Catholic," y/n whispered, her fingers tracing over the letters on his dog tags. "I figured it would be a moment of peace every time you lit a cigarette."

Joe held the lighter tightly, tilting her chin up to kiss her forehead, "It's perfect, angel, thank you." He tucked it into his breast pocket where he kept all his cigarettes.

"This is for you, too. For good luck," y/n said, placing a gold locket in his palm next.

Joe's eyes widened, thumbs gently prying open the locket. Inside was a beautiful picture of y/n smiling, Joe's heart leaping from his chest. He was quick to put it around his neck, hiding it underneath his shirt for safe keeping.

"It's beautiful," he whispered, "I'll send you somethin' from Europe, hon'."

She nodded because she trusted him, but she was scared all the same. Joe was scared too, afraid to leave his promises broken and empty, afraid to leave his one and only. She smoothed her lips against the underside of his jaw, earning a soft exhale from him as his hands tangled in her hair.

For now, this was enough, something to hold onto when all seemed hopeless.

— ♡

"Aw, bring it in!" Luz chuckled, drawing y/n into a crushing hug as Easy Company boarded the train headed to New York.

"See you, Luz. Don't annoy Joe too much," y/n smiled, patting his back.

Soon, she hugged every man in the company, some longer than others, and some definitely more emotional. Sergeant Lipton smiled as he approached her, giving her a tender hug, "Take care of yourself, kid."

"I'm not a kid," she protested. "I'm a fully capable nurse now!"

Lipton's shoulders shrugged up and down as he laughed, "That you are, but you'll always be our little girl in here." He placed a palm on his chest where his heart is, vision blurring just a bit.

She gave Lipton a sad smile, patting his hand and watching him go to the other officers with a heavy heart.

Joe was one of the last men to board the train, halfway inside the door before he dropped his bag, running to lift y/n into his arms, spinning her in a circle. He set her down, pressing his forehead against hers as he sighed, "I'm gonna miss you so goddamn much."

"I'll wait for you, Joe. Come back home to me," she spoke against his skin, kissing his cheek softly.

Joe returned the kiss to hers, pulling back when he heard the guys shouting for him to get on board before they left without him. Shit, if the guilt wouldn't kill him, he'd let the train pass him by so he could stay with his beloved.

He smiled at her before hopping onto the train, moving so he stood in front of one of the open windows, his buddies crowding around him. Y/n looked around, eyes widening as she heard the train's whistle signaling their departure. She quickly got an attendant's attention, kicking off her heels.

"Can you lift me up to that window right there?" she said frantically, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

The attendant, who's gone through this more times than he could count, smiled and nodded, "Up you go, girl, onto my shoulder— there you go."

She was lifted onto one of the attendant's shoulders, Joe reaching out to steady her with a laugh in disbelief, "What are ya doin', sweetheart?"

"This," she said, holding his face in both of her hands as she kissed him, lipstick-coated lips pressed against his, Joe cupping the back of her head to bring her closer. All the men inside the train cheered and whistled for the two. The kiss felt like it lasted forever, but it was only a second before they had to part, the attendant setting y/n down to her feet.

The train started to move slowly, and she ran as it picked up speed. Joe leaned out of the window, watching her struggle to keep up, tears filling his eyes.

"Will you write me?" she called out, breathless but determined.

"Like it's the last thing I'll ever do!" he shouted back, watching her figure get smaller and smaller as the train reached a speed she could no longer keep up with.

"I love you, Joseph John Toye!"

It was faint, but he could hear her scream it in the distance, his heart panging with longing. He leaned back in his seat, reaching into his uniform to pull out the locket around his neck. He held onto it tightly, letting out a quiet sob as the men around him placed supportive hands on his shoulders and back.

"That's a girl worth fightin' for, Joe," Guarnere said.

"So, ya best make it home, huh?" George added, everyone agreeing with him.

Joe let out a sad laugh, opening the locket to see her beautiful face once more, "I love you, too, y/n y/l/n."

[privatebullshit]

with faith undaunted [part 03.]

— ♡

part 03. timidity [3k+ words]

summary: y/n y/l/n is a nurse-in-training when she meets joseph j. toye in 1942, shortly after the attack on pearl harbor, at camp toccoa. she's the americana dream, he's a reckless private. what happens when their fates cross paths?

♡ follow along on their journey of love, loss, and hardship as the story progresses in events taking place before, during, and after the war. ♡

warnings: language, throw up, time period sexism, liebgott (you'll see why), harassment

a/n: pic is not a face claim for y/n! just what her and joe would look like talking to each other<3

song rec: anything - adrianne lenker, bluebird - lana del rey

wfu taglist: @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @fromjupitertocentauri @annasansh @bluecanvasshoe @catbusloki

previous parts: 00. promo 01. remembrance 02. blossoming

wfu masterlist bofb masterlist

— ♡

Apparently, nearly everyone had been getting promoted today— Joe included, so he sat outside of his quarters with a needle and thread in hand. He carefully sewed the double chevrons onto his uniform sleeve, cursing whenever he accidentally pricked his fingers. Sure, he used to watch his mother sew back at home, but he never quite learned the art of it.

Y/n had just happened to pass by while carrying a stack of medical field manuals, her headscarf fluttering in the wind. Joe looked up to see her walking, hand stilling its movements as he called her name.

"Y/n!"

She jumped at the sound of his voice, fumbling with the books as she looked his way. Y/n looked like she was about to chew out whoever yelled her name, but upon seeing that it was Joe, her jaw unclenched and her brows began to unfurrow slowly.

"Oh, Joseph. Hello," she greeted him with a nod, walking a bit closer. She inspected his uniform top, laughing slightly at his sewing skills. There were long threads askew, visible stitches, and some parts of the patch that were unstitching itself. She took pity on Joe, setting the manuals down as she took a seat beside him, sliding the top from his lap to hers.

"I was almost done," Joe muttered, embarrassment creeping into his tone. It was bad enough that she saw his poor stitching, now she was going to help him with it.

Y/n looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before reaching to pluck the needle from his thumb and forefinger, "Consider it a congratulations on your promotion, Corporal."

She smiled at him, digging her hand into her apron to fish out a pair of scissors, cutting away at the previous stitches. She made quick work of sewing on the new chevrons, making it look easier than words could muster. Joe watched as her fingers nimbly rethreaded the needle with precision he could only hope to have. Each pull of the needle and thread was like a pull on his heartstrings, finding himself completely enamored— even if he didn't realize it fully just yet.

Y/n snips the remaining thread after making a strong knot, holding up the uniform to admire her work.

"Here you go, Joseph," she said softly, a proud smile making her whole face light up beautifully.

Joe swallows hard, taking the top and tugging it on. His ego bloomed at the fact that he was wearing chevrons that y/n sewed on herself, but he bit his tongue to prevent any nonsense from slipping out of his mouth.

"Where'd ya learn to sew like that?" he asked.

Y/n looked to the ground, "Nurse training. They teach you how to stitch people up, so doing it on some clothes is really nothing."

Joe nodded, silent for a moment before speaking again. "Thank you, I really appreciate it, y'know?" he said, thumb rubbing against the fabric on the bottom of his fatigues.

"It's no trouble at all. I'm happy to help," Y/n responded, beginning to stand up.

Joe caught her wrist before she could fully stand, pulling her down just enough to wrap his arms around her shoulders in a hug. Y/n let out a small squeak at the sudden closeness, but brought her arms around his neck hesitantly, drawing him closer.

He breathed in the scent of her, perfume filling his senses and making his mind hazy. But the moment was fleeting, Y/n wriggling out of his grasp and stepping back, grabbing her books once more.

A soft sigh escaped Joe's lips, disappointment striking him in the gut. He understood her apprehension, as much as it pained him to go another second without feeling her skin on his. He was forbidden to let her know how he truly felt, the blossoming, raging feelings for her growing more each day. He wanted nothing more than to say that he adored her so, but the path they chose in life stopped him.

Y/n gave him a quick nod before hurrying off to complete her duty, leaving Joe alone again. His finger traced the chevrons, a million thoughts clouding him at once.

Luz spotted Joe sitting alone, striding over to the man, "Ya look like a kicked puppy there, Joe."

"Shut up, Luz," Joe muttered, scoffing as he stood up.

"What? I'm just sayin'. Every other man in the company has noticed except for you," George laughed, hitting Joe's arm playfully.

Joe scowled, his tough exterior returning, "Notice what? Fuck off with your bullshit, Luz."

George put his hands up in surrender, still looking at Joe with a grin, "Are you sayin' that you don't have any idea what I'm talking about? At all?"

Joe's jaw clenched as he shook his head. He hated being oblivious to his own behavior, but he especially hated being obvious.

George's grin falters slightly as he puts a supportive hand on Joe's shoulder, "You've got it bad for that chick, Joe. It's written all over ya face!"

The taller man rolled his eyes, but he couldn't exactly deny the truth in George's words.

"She's everything," Joe admitted quietly, his usual gruffness lacing his voice. "But we can't be together."

George sighed, nodding in understanding, "I know, bud, maybe if things were different. . ."

Joe nodded in agreement this time.

Had they been two normal civilians instead of him enlisting in the army and her in the Army Nurse Corps, maybe things would've been different— but maybe they would've never met at all then. Maybe.

— ♡

Joe wasn't the only promotion, of course, word of Sobel reaching Captain status quickly spreading. As a "celebration," Captain Sobel allowed the men to have a spaghetti meal for dinner. Joe got his plate of noodles with sauce splattered on top, taking a seat next to his buddies.

"This is army noodles with ketchup," Perconte said in disgust, still helping himself to a mouthful anyway.

Joe chuckled, shoveling food into his mouth. It had been forever since they had a decent meal that was worth going crazy over. Thank God for Sobel's promotion, he guessed.

Well, shit, he guessed wrong.

A loud whistle blew through the mess hall, the sound of harsh footsteps following, "Orders changed. Get up!" Sobel shouted as the men stood up and at attention.

Sobel continued, "Lectures are cancelled. Easy Company is running up Currahee."

The men stood still and slowly chewed whatever food was left in their mouth. Sobel turned and and screamed at the men, "Move, move!"

All of Easy shuffled out of the mess hall, groaning in discomfort as they went to go change into their PT gear. Joe cursed Sobel under his breath, catching up with Guarnere and Perconte.

"That sonuvabitch, I should've known," Joe huffed, rushing into their quarters to change.

"I ate two servin's of that crap, Jesus Christ. . ." Guarnere spat, holding his stomach as if he was ready to throw up already.

Perconte made a face, nauseated by the thought, "Well, don't aim it my way, Gonorrhea."

They ran Currahee while Captain Sobel screamed at them, telling men that they were pathetic for throwing up all over themselves. Joe felt sick, but he swallowed down the warm spit that collected in his mouth.

Luz started to sing to bring back up morale, eventually the whole company joining in, Joe's voice booming as well.

"We pull upon the risers, we fall upon the grass. We never land upon our feet, we always hit our ass. Hidee tidee, Christ Almighty, who the hell are we? Zim, zam, goddamn. We're Airborne Infantry!"

Without a doubt, Joe dragged himself to the aid station after completing all six miles of the run. He found a bunch of the other men there like Webster, Liebgott, Malarkey, Muck, and Penkala. Safe to say, even with a stomach ache, they were enjoying getting fussed over by the nurses, including y/n.

Webster was pretty quiet, but his eyes shone with pure adoration as y/n gave him some nausea medicine, placing the pills in his palm and instructing him to take them with a good amount of water. He thanked her before nearly stumbling over his feet trying to get out of the tent, cheeks and ears pink.

Liebgott apologized for his friend's behavior, leaning against one of the stacks of crates as he shamelessly looked y/n up and down as her back was turned.

"Say, doll, what made you want to join the Army Nurse Corps?" he asked, eyes flitting over to Joe before returning back to y/n's back. She turned around, his gaze roaming over her chest without a second thought.

"First, I'm not your doll, and secondly, I wanted the same thing as you— to join the war effort. Is that a good enough answer for you?" she snapped, haphazardly putting away boxes of medicines for the medics in training. Joe had never seen her so ready to rip someone's head off.

Liebgott scoffed and smirked, pushing himself off the crates to grab her chin, "Nah. The only answer I need is hearin' the pretty noises you're gonna make for me once I get ya alone."

Joe's blood started to boil, taking a step forward and ready to interfere, but y/n handled it on her own.

She smacked Liebgott's hand off of her, starting to scream, "STOP BOTHERING ME!" So it must've not been the first time Liebgott's been there and said things like that. Muck, Malarkey, and Penkala slowly backed away from the tent, the three Stooges scampering away in fear.

Liebgott didn't budge, his shit-eating grin still on his face, "C'mon doll, no one will know. You're lucky I'm even lookin' your way."

That did it for Joe, he couldn't just stand there anymore. Fuck his nausea, Liebgott's behavior made him more disgusted than anything else.

"That's enough, Liebgott. Leave her alone," he hissed, taking a step in front of y/n, shielding her from Lieb's gaze. Liebgott barked out a sarcastic laugh, a cocky eyebrow raised at Joe.

"You're protectin' the broad, yeah? Why? Are you hopin' that she'll let you fuck her real good if you do?" Liebgott crossed his arms, awaiting a response from the other man.

Y/n saw another side of Joe that day too, gasping as she watched Joe swing at Liebgott's face. He had hit the latter square in the nose, earning a pain groaned from him and another swinging fist. Soon, the two were brawling on the aid station's floor. She knew better than to get involved directly, so she quickly fetched some of the other guys to help.

"Hey, Liebgott and Toye are fighting! Can someone come break them up before they mess up my aid station?" she screamed at a group of men consisting of Luz, Guarnere, Roe, and Powers. The men hurried into the tent, two each pulling one man off of the other who were still spitting insults at one another.

"If you dare touch her or say anythin' like that again— if you even fuckin' look at her again, Liebgott— I'll fuckin' kill ya!" Joe shouted, struggling against Luz and Roe's grips, the two telling him to shut up and quiet down.

Liebgott, whose face was fucked up and bloody now, laughed, "I'd like to see you fuckin' try, lover boy. You can have her. No bitch is worth this much trouble."

Joe started to scream at him again, both men being dragged away to their respective quarters. Roe stayed behind, letting out a disgruntled sigh, turning to y/n.

"I'll take care of their injuries later. Are you alright?" he asked, his thick Cajun accent soothing her in the moment.

Y/n nodded, thumbs rubbing on her apron. She looked a little shaken up and a tad bit guilty, as if she threw the first punch.

"Hey, hey, look at me," Roe said softly, dipping his head to look at her face better. Her eyes met his, a slight pout on her face.

"It's not your fault. Liebgott was being a couyon," he reassured her, placing a friendly hand on her shoulder as comfort.

She gave him a half-smile, grateful for his words and respectful touch, but her little smile fell as she thought about Joseph.

"I don't want him to get in trouble," she said, hushed and guilt-ridden.

Roe's brows furrowed at first, wondering who she was talking about before piecing it together, "Who? Toye?"

Y/n nodded, exhaling softly, "He was just. . .defending me."

Roe hummed, "Maybe that's something you oughta talk to Lieutenant Winters about. In the meantime, I'll go see what's going on, okay? Take it easy."

He gave her shoulder a light pat, turning on his heel to go scold the two men and take care of whatever bruises they sustained.

Y/n chewed on her bottom lip before brushing herself off and deciding to head to the officer area, looking around for Winters. Sergeant Lipton spotted her, walking over to see what she needed.

"Miss y/l/n, it's good to see you. You look lost, can I help you with something?" Lipton asked, standing in front of her now.

She looked up at Lipton, lips still in a slight pout, unsure of what to say. She really didn't want to get anyone in trouble; she was scared. Y/n's hands wrung in circles before Lipton reached out to take them in his, stilling her nervous fidgets.

"Y/n, what's going on?" he asked more cautiously this time, eyes scanning over her distressed expression. Y/n leaned in to whisper what happened and why she needed to talk to Lieutenant Winters, Lipton's eyes widening.

If anything, Lipton didn't stand for harassment in the field, or at all, for that matter. He quietly escorted y/n to Winters' office, knocking on the door.

"Enter," Winters called out.

Lipton saluted Winters, the latter saluting him back before telling him to be at ease.

"How can I help you, Carwood?" he asked, hands folded in front of him on his desk.

Lipton sucked in a breath, turning his head, "Go on in, honey, it's okay."

Winters raised an eyebrow, putting it back down when he saw y/n enter from behind Lipton, standing beside him. She gives him a timid salute, earning a soft chuckle from the man before he saluted her back.

"At ease, come here, what's wrong?" he asked, motioning for her and Lipton to have a seat.

She explained the situation to Winters, watching as his expression went from relaxed to concerned to angry in seconds.

"Thank you for telling me, y/n. I'd like you to know that we take this very seriously here, and Liebgott will be reprimanded as we see fit," Winters said, running a hand down his face.

"I- I do have one request, sir," she spoke, fingers tapping along the armrest of the chair.

Winters hummed, urging her to continue.

"Please don't punish Toye, he was only trying to defend me. And if you must, just— nothing too harsh, please."

Winters looked at Lipton who merely raised his eyebrows, signaling for him to make a decision. The former hummed once more, eyes going back to y/n's, "I will respect your request, Miss y/l/n. Toye will be given latrine duty for fighting with another enlisted man, but nothing more."

Y/n nodded gratefully, "Thank you, sir, and you too, Sergeant Lipton."

They both nodded, Winters standing up as she did, "Dismissed. Get some rest, y/n, you deserve it."

She thanked him before scurrying off to the women's quarters, ready to get into bed and forget everything else for a few hours.

— ♡

A week later

Y/n had been getting ready to use her weekend pass to go into town for a bit to get some fresh air and buy a few things that the commissary didn't offer. Joe caught her just in time, running to meet her before she passed the gate.

"Y/n, wait! Wait up. . ." he panted, slowing down to a stop as he stood in front of her.

"Joseph," she said, looking at the man with a gentle gaze.

"The one and only," he grinned, standing up straight as his chest continuing to rise rapidly.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, setting her bag down.

Joe ran a hand through his hair, clearly not thinking that far ahead, "Uhm, well, I came to say thank you, y'know, for talking to Winters. And also, to ask how you were doin', I can't imagine what's it like to be talked to like that by a man." He clicked his tongue, remembering the fiasco.

"Oh right, of course. It was only right of me," she said, eyes darting past him, not wanting to make direct eye contact. "I'm fine, thank you for asking."

Joe nodded, his mouth dry with words that he wished to say. He wasn't quite sure how to string a sentence together with her there.

"Right, so where're you headed for the weekend?" he asked, glancing at her overnight bag.

"Just going into town for a bit. . . sight see, go shopping, you know."

Joe nodded once more, letting out a hum of acknowledgement. He wanted to go with her, to hold her hand as they walked around the shoppes, to buy her whatever she wanted with the money he's earned so far. But he couldn't, he had to stay on base.

"Have a good weekend, y/n. I'll see you soon," Joe said, taking a step back to let her leave.

Y/n looked at him, her longing expression causing Joe's breath to hitch.

"See you soon, Joseph," she whispered, taking a few steps closer to him. His breathing became uneven as she looked around before pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek, stepping away before anyone could see.

She turned and started to walk, leaving him dumbfounded as he touched the spot she kissed with his fingertips. Before she passed through the gate, he called out to her.

"It's 'Joe!'"

She faced him and tilted her head, puzzled, "Sorry?"

"'Joe'. You can call me 'Joe,'" he said, a sense of yearning coating over his words like honey.

She smiled softly, "Then, I'll see you later, Joe."

Never before had Joe fallen for someone as hard as he did for her, now standing like a lovesick fool as he watched her fleeting form.

[privatebullshit]

with faith undaunted [part 02.]

— ♡

part 02. blossoming [2.2k+ words]

summary: y/n y/l/n is a nurse-in-training when she meets joseph j. toye in 1942, shortly after the attack on pearl harbor, at camp toccoa. she's the americana dream, he's a reckless private. what happens when their fates cross paths?

♡ follow along on their journey of love, loss, and hardship as the story progresses in events taking place before, during, and after the war. ♡

warnings: language, time period sexism

song rec: every girl gets her wish - saint avangeline

wfu taglist: @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @fromjupitertocentauri @annasansh @bluecanvasshoe @catbusloki

previous parts: 00. promo 01. remembrance

wfu masterlist bofb masterlist

— ♡

As they watched the cab shrink into the horizon in the distance, the small cloud of dust from his departure still lingering in the air, Joe tilted his head downward to look at the girl beside him. He cleared his throat slightly, trying to gain her attention for a minute or two.

Her eyelashes flutter just a bit as her gaze shifts upward to meet his, Joe's heart panging with an unfamiliar feeling of warmth. She looked at him curiously, the intense stare making Joe want to look elsewhere— the ground, the sky, anywhere but her damn pretty face.

"Yes?" she finally asked, a hint of a laugh ghosting over her lips.

Joe snapped out of his daze for the second time of the day, lips threatening to curl into a half smile at the sound of her voice.

"Thanks for lettin' me tag along," he said, pausing when he saw her nod enthusiastically. He continued, his voice less gruff and more reserved, "Name's Joseph. Joseph Toye."

"Joseph. . ." she repeated, testing out the sound of his name on her tongue, and he adored it. She gave him a warm look before extending her hand to him, "I'm y/n. y/n y/l/n!"

Joe felt his usual cold demeanor melt away to a helpless puddle beneath his feet, his hand grasping hers gently. She shook his hand excitedly, but firmly, earning a soft chuckle from the man.

"It's nice to meet ya, y/n," Joe said, reluctantly retracting his hand, the calloused pads of his fingers brushing against her liquid smooth palm.

She didn't notice the lingering touch, or she chose not to, but if Joe had been paying close attention, he would've seen the sunlight illuminating the faint blush on her cheeks— which could've been easily mistaken as getting overheated from being outside.

But alas, Joe's brain was everywhere and nowhere at once, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other clutching the strap of his duffle bag.

"I guess this is 'goodbye,' huh?" He studied y/n's face for a second, admiring her features as if he was going to be quizzed on every single one. He managed to stop his eyes from drifting to her lips as she started to respond.

"'Goodbye' seems like forever, I'll see you later, Joseph," she smiled, collecting her bags from off the ground as she gave him once last glance. She started to walk away to the open gate of Camp Toccoa, and Joe was standing there like fool that got shot by Cupid's arrow.

Y/n turned her head to look over her shoulder, letting out a stifled giggle and waving to the ever frozen Joe one more time.

Joe lifted a hand back in acknowledgement, shaking it side to side a bit before letting it drop, "Yeah, see ya later, Y/n."

— ♡

About a month later

Joining the Paratroopers required a lot more effort than Joe initially thought, merely volunteering for the extra cash at first. He was quickly assigned to Easy Company and he met some of his closest friends there. The PT was hell on Earth and so was running Currahee. First Lieutenant Sobel barked at the men of Easy Company to train harder, faster, and longer, every damn day.

"Jesus, is he gonna make us run this bullshit mountain again?" Joe huffed, addressing one of the other men named Bill Guarnere.

Guarnere laughed heartily, "Hah, yous will get used to it. All us boys have ran up and down the mountain more times than we can remember."

Joe nodded gravely, taking a deep inhale as Sobel started to shout.

"You people are at the position of attention!"

Joe quickly clicked his heels together, standing tall and stone faced. Sobel went around and started to reprimand some of the men for minor infractions. Perconte got blasted for blousing his pants over his boots, Luz had dirt in his rifle's rear sight aperture, a thread on Lipton's chevrons were too long, there was rust on Malarkey's rifle, and Liebgott had a rusty bayonet.

Joe's eyes followed as Sobel tossed the bayonet into the soft ground, but he heard a slight giggle in the distance, causing him to turn his head in the direction it came from. He was sure it was y/n's laugh, his stomach doing flips as he looked for her. And there she was.

It had been a few weeks, maybe even a month, since they last saw each other. And now, she stood far away with the other nurses-in-training in her uniform that adorned her quite nicely. She looked like a proper nurse already and poor Joe was distracted. So distracted that he didn't even see his commanding officer standing in front of him.

"Private! Are you even listening to me?" Sobel shouted, hitting the top of Joe's helmet with his knuckles.

"Yes, sir!" Joe responded, snapping his eyes away from where y/n was.

Sobel's eyes narrowed as he circled Joe, "Then what did I just say, private?"

Joe couldn't come up with a good enough excuse in time, not that Sobel would take any excuse at all.

"Name?" Sobel asked bitterly, standing before Joe once more.

"Toye, Joseph J., sir."

"Toye," Sobel muttered. "And what had you so distracted that you stopped listening to your commanding officer?"

"Nothin', sir. . . er- no excuse, sir," Joe responded, unsure of himself as he felt the eyes of the rest of the company on him.

Sobel's gaze drifted over to the medical tent where y/n still stood, now organizing a bin of bandages and medicines. He let out a low, amused hum, looking back at Joe.

"So, a broad, hm?"

Joe knew better than to talk back or defend her against Sobel's word, so he muttered a simple, "Yes, sir."

"You better get your priorities straight, Toye. I don't need your lack of attention infiltrating my company. Fix it, or get out," Sobel sneered.

"Yes, sir," Joe repeated.

Sobel moves to stand in front of the company, "Now, thanks to these men and their infractions, every man in the company who had a weekend pass... has lost it. Change into your PT gear, we're running Currahee."

Lieutenant Winters ordered everyone to get to the barracks and change within two minutes maximum, Toye's steps dragging in embarrassment. He couldn't believe how badly he got reprimanded.

Toye changed into his PT gear quickly, avoiding the eyes of the other men. One of them finally breaks the silence, George Luz, who also got told off by Sobel earlier, "Hey, man, don't worry about it too much."

Joe clicked his tongue and shook his head, "Yeah, but my starin' must've been too fuckin' obvious, huh?"

Luz grinned and shrugged, "Listen, we've all been through it. Ya ain't the only man in Easy with eyes, ya know?"

Joe gave George a puzzled look, silently asking what he meant by that as they exited their barracks.

"Y/n's a real sweet lookin' girl," George laughed, nudging Joe's side, earning a low growl from the latter.

"So, you know her?" Joe scoffed.

"Everyone knows y/n, Joe. We go to her or one of the other nurses-in-training when we're not feelin' our best," George responds, noting the jealous expression on Joe's face. "But she's definitely our favorite."

Joe shoots him a quick glare before meeting up with the other Easy men outside, "Yeah, whatever."

He should've known that he wasn't exactly special. Of course the other guys would know her and get to ogle at her in that damn uniform. It just made his chest pang a little too much, a sting that wouldn't go away no matter how much he willed it too.

All he could do was run alongside his buddies up Currahee mountain, listening to Sobel scream, "HI-HO SILVER!"

— ♡

Two months later

Now, Joe finds himself at the aid station's tent flap, shifting his weight from side to side. He had gotten into a bit of a disagreement with one of the men from Dog Company, earning a set of bruised knuckles and a bloody nose that he attempted to clean up.

He shouldn't be like this, nervous with a racing heart, but the thought of seeing y/n again to be treated made him all dizzy. He extended a hand to the zipper of the tent, opening it half way.

"Excuse me?" Joe called out, looking around for anyone that might be there.

One of the more seasoned nurses stepped into view to greet him, her neat eyebrows raised in a skeptical manner upon seeing his state.

"May I help you?" she asked, knowing the obvious answer was "yes," but she figured that he was looking for someone else.

"Uh, yes ma'am, is- is y/n here?" Joe was thankful for the darkness above, shadows casted over the apparent redness on his cheeks.

The nurse chuckles through her nose, shaking her head in amusement, "She's just around the corner. I'll go get her for you."

Joe thanked the nurse profusely, still awkwardly wiping away at the blood leaking from his nose. After a few minutes of waiting, y/n silently approached Joe. She was told that "some soldier desperately need to see her." She didn't expect to see him tonight, or at all, for that matter. When they parted ways at the gate upon first arriving here, she was sure that was it. But here he was, a couple months later.

"Joseph?"

Joe's eyes widened and softened simultaneously, drinking in the fact that y/n was standing in front of him now. He'd never get tired of seeing her, each time making the warmth in his chest spread more and more.

"Y/n. . ." Joe whispered, a soft grin appearing on his face.

"It's quite late, isn't it?" Y/n said, glancing at him before noticing his bleeding nose. "Never mind that, let's get you cleaned up."

Joe's heart nearly burst as she grabbed his hand to lead him into the tent, setting him down on some crates while she flitted to and fro, grabbing supplies.

"Well, ya should've seen the other guy," Joe said lowly, eyes darting as he followed her movements. He heard her scoff and mutter something about him being "reckless." Y/n came back over and leaned down a little, examining his bloody nose with tender care. Joe started to feel a bit warm now at the proximity, but nothing could've prepared him for what she was about to do next.

She held his face in her hands, cleaning his nose gently with a warm cloth, "You really ought to be more careful, you can't go around fighting whoever." His fingers ached to cover hers, to lace their digits together against his cheek.

Joe resisted the temptation to lean into her palm, lips parted slightly as he gazed up at her. She had this cute furrow in her brow as she worked and scolded him, though he was barely listening. He must've had a goofy grin on his face because she stopped what she was doing to look at him.

"What's that expression for?" she asked, grabbing an ointment for cuts.

Joe shrugged, "You're cute when you're focused."

Y/n chucked a roll of bandages at him, scoffing, "Am not." She took Joe's hands in hers, applying ointment to his bruised knuckles. He hissed at the slight sting, lip between his teeth.

"I know, I know," she murmured, blowing cold air on them gently before wrapping his hands with a thin layer of bandages.

"All done," she said, taking a step back. She couldn't deny that Joe was quite handsome, his dark features on his tan skin creating a portrait fit for a museum.

"Thanks, but ya forgot one thing," Joe said cheekily, giving her a half-grin.

"Which is?" Y/n looked at him with confusion, crossing her arms.

"Ya need to kiss it better, or else it won't heal," Joe chuckled at her reaction, the flush on her cheeks growing bright with embarrassment. "I'm kiddin', I'm kiddin'!" he protested as she shooed him out of the tent.

"Just go back to your quarters, Joseph!"

Joe turned before exiting fully, raising a hand to move some hair out of her eyes, "Alright, alright. Goodnight, y/n."

His fingers lingered for a second before he stuffed his hands into his pockets. She opened her mouth and closed it, unable to find the right words to say. She finally spoke softly, a glimmer in her eyes that Joe couldn't quite place, "Goodnight, Joseph."

Joe wanted to say more, to do more than just brush her hair out of the way, but he couldn't. He didn't want to risk his chances of becoming a Paratrooper, and he certainly wasn't going to get y/n in trouble either. The repercussions on her were bound to be worse.

He simply nodded, turning again to walk back to his quarters. Y/n hesitated for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek in thought.

"Joseph!" she called out, causing him to turn immediately. She couldn't hear it, but his heart was thumping against his chest wildly, as if he just ran Currahee all over again.

"Yeah?" he responded, his eyes meeting hers.

"Try not to get into another fight, okay? I can't always waste bandages on you." Y/n's words caused Joe to grin again, laughing breathlessly as he shrugged.

"No promises, sweetheart."

And with that, he bid her another goodnight, both of them just as flustered as the other.

[privatebullshit]

with faith undaunted [part 01.]

— ♡

part 01. remembrance [1.6k+ words]

summary: y/n y/l/n is a nurse-in-training when she meets joseph j. toye in 1942, shortly after the attack on pearl harbor, at camp toccoa. she's the americana dream, he's a reckless private. what happens when their fates cross paths?

♡ follow along on their journey of love, loss, and hardship as the story progresses in events taking place before, during, and after the war. ♡

warnings: bastogne :(, general angst, language, yk how it goes

song rec: i know the end - phoebe bridgers

wfu taglist: @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @fromjupitertocentauri @annasansh @bluecanvasshoe @catbusloki

previous parts: 00. promo

wfu masterlist bofb masterlist

— ♡

Present - Bastogne, Belgium, January 3rd, 1945

Joe Toye is a man of many things— an original Toccoa man, part of Easy Company, a devout Catholic, tough as nails, and absolutely smitten with the woman he left back home. Sometimes he can't bring himself to believe that last part fully, it seemed too unreal.

But now, as he lies motionless in the snow, staring at the sky that was weeping tears of ash, that's all he can think about. His gloved fingers dug at the sleet and dirt as he scrambled to get up with a pained grunt, each vertebra of his spine refusing to move the way it should.

It all moved too fast. The way the Earth spun on its axis at this moment. The barrage of Kraut artillery still raging in the distance. His breathing as he took a quick glance at his mangled leg.

And yet, the only thought filling his mind was of his darling, y/n, how she must be scrambling at the hospital she was stationed at. Her silky hair, the furrow in her brow as she worked, her steadfast determination to help as many people as she can. He wondered if she was thinking about him too.

"I gotta get up," he cried out, dragging himself backwards with breathless exhales. He watched as the blood from his severed leg seeped onto the white canvas of snow, gut churning as the metallic smell hit his nose.

Trees fell around him as he collapsed back onto the ground, heaving a winded cough as he closed his eyes for just a moment. Just to see her face in the back of his mind. One shaking hand reaches deep into his jacket pocket, eyes opening once he hears that sweet sound of crinkling paper.

He grasped his sweetheart's recent letter tightly, pulling it out of the pocket as his eyes skim it quickly, landing on the last few sentences.

"Do you remember when it all started? Back in Toccoa, while I was just a nurse-in-training, and you, nothing but a reckless private, always in my aid station?"

"I remember. . ." he rasped, eyes stinging with tears that were tinged with dirt and sweat. "I gotta get up, I gotta get back home," he cried out once more, clutching onto the letter like a lifeline.

He attempted to crawl to safety again, head falling back when hopelessness and fear sunk into his bones. Joe was never scared; people feared him instead. But he was scared of never getting to see y/n again, the woman he adored the most, the woman that brought out the best and most gentle out of him— the woman he intended to marry after this goddamn war was over. And now his chances were cut slim, a sliver of hope waving like a white flag that threatened to be blown away by the harsh wind.

He stared at the gray clouds above, hot tears running down his cheeks, reminding him that he was still alive. He allowed himself to remember, warmth from the memories enveloping him just for this moment.

It all flooded back to him in one emotional wave. He could see her face in his mind, her gentle, nearly angelic glow as she gazed at him from his memories. The faintest smell of her perfume filled his nose as a gust of wind passed over him. It was like she was there. All he ever wanted to be was with her— where she sat, where she worked, wherever she was. That was home.

"I'm coming home."

— ♡

Past - Camp Toccoa, Georgia, circa late 1942

The train to Georgia made multiple stops before it reached its destination. Joe watched as people got on and off at their own leisure, filtering past other passengers as they managed to squeeze their way through the crowded aisles.

His hands ghosted over the fabric of his duffle bag, uncertainty making his hands tremble as the train inched closer to the Southern state. He lets out a sigh as he places his head against the window, letting the speed rattle his head as he gazed at the blur of colors rushing past him.

Joe didn't even remember falling asleep, but when he woke up, only a few other men were still on the train with him as it came to a halt. The wheels strained and squeaked, making him wince, as the sign for the Georgia Railway came into view. He supposed that it was time to get up, but something kept him glued to his seat.

Since most of the other passengers were gone now, he could see a few seats ahead of him, his eyes landing on a girl around his age— maybe a little younger. He wondered what she was doing in Georgia. Was she moving here? Were they headed to the same place? Well, that would be absurd, right? A girl wouldn't be going to Camp Toccoa like him. At least, that's what he assumed.

His eyes stayed glued to her frame as she moved to collect her bags, standing up without much effort as she made her way to the train's exit. Her y/h/c hair swayed with her gently as she walked— which was more tantalizing to him than he'd like to admit.

Without seeming like a creep, he stood behind her in line, noting that she was a little shorter than himself. Joe didn't know why he was overanalyzing every little thing about her. He wouldn't be seeing her anytime soon.

And yet, poor Joe found himself listening to her conversation with one of the cab drivers.

"Where're ya headed, sweetheart?" the cab driver asked, his cigarette pushed to the corner of his mouth.

"Camp Toccoa, sir!" she chirped, placing her bags in the trunk of the cab. Joe couldn't even believe what he was hearing. Why the hell would she be heading to Toccoa, Georgia?

Apparently, the cab driver thought the same, giving her a gruff laugh before raising his eyebrows as he saw the serious expression on her face, "Oh, yer serious. Camp Toccoa, huh? What's a pretty thing like you going there for?"

The girl stared at the driver intensely, obviously not liking the condescending tone of his voice, "I'm going there to be a nurse-in-training at the camp."

The driver hummed in amusement before catching a glimpse of Joe in the corner of his eye. Joe's eyes widened a little, averting his gaze to another group of people to pretend like he wasn't just listening in.

"And where're ya goin', son? Camp Toccoa, too?" the man chuckled, flicking his cigarette down and stomping on it with his shoe.

Joe's gaze returned to the man, but not before taking a discreet glance at the girl too, "Yes, sir. To volunteer for the Paratroopers."

The driver nodded thoughtfully, tilting his head towards the girl in silent questioning. The girl seemed to understand his expression and nodded as well, "Since we're both headed the same way, why don't you join this cab instead of waiting for another?"

Joe was grateful, but hesitant to accept her offer. It wasn't every day that a pretty lady asked if he wanted to share a ride.

"I wouldn't wanna burden ya," Joe responds, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

The girl waved him off, "It's no trouble at all. We can split the fare, okay?"

Joe sighed but nodded in almost reluctant agreement. He placed his bag next to hers, standing awkwardly like he was waiting for a command.

"Don't be so stiff, boy. Let's go," the driver said gruffly, nodding towards the cab, "Oh, and the lovely lady gets shotgun."

Joe nodded once more, and just like the gentleman he was raised to be, he opened the front door of the cab for her to slide into. Time nearly stopped when he got a whiff of her perfume as she brushed past him to get inside. She tilted her head slightly, eyes glimmering in the sunlight as she gave him a polite smile.

"Thank you."

His hand gripped the top of the door, blinking at her like a fool. He heard her laugh and he snapped out of his daze.

"Are you going to shut the door now?" she asked, her smile now a little bigger.

Joe let go of the door as he mentally facepalmed himself for getting so distracted, "Right, sorry." He closed the door with a soft push, opening the back door to climb in himself.

The cab driver looked at Joe through the rearview mirror, eyes shining with a knowing look. Joe chose to ignore it and the slight fluttering feeling he felt in his gut. He was going to be a Paratrooper; he couldn't afford to get distracted by a beautiful soon-to-be nurse.

They'd be in different areas, different mess halls, different sleeping quarters. It won't matter, he probably won't even see her at all once he starts training— at least, that's what he hoped. But the slightest twinge in his chest told him that he hoped for the opposite. Another chance to see her again at the camp.

Joe saw her head pressed against the window of the cab, body slumped and relaxed. She must've fell asleep, and the two men surely won't going to wake her until they reached their destination.

He'd have to properly introduce himself before parting ways, of course. It was the right thing to do since she was kind enough to let him share her cab. He wanted to put a name to a face, you know? And Joe bet that she had a pretty name that matched all her features too.

Staring out the window, the drive to Camp Toccoa was silent. The only thing running through his mind were different guesses of what her name could be— each one making the flutter in his chest more prominent.

[privatebullshit]

with faith undaunted masterlist

summary: y/n y/l/n is a nurse-in-training when she meets joseph j. toye in 1942, shortly after the attack on pearl harbor, at camp toccoa. she's the americana dream, he's a reckless private. what happens when their fates cross paths?

started: 5/8/25 last updated: 7/4/25

— ♡

♡ main story ♡

00. promo

01. remembrance

02. blossoming

03. timidity

04. longing

05. departure

06. deprivation

˚₊ · »-♡→ extras

୨ৎ question and answer

[privatebullshit]

promo for 'with faith undaunted' [a joe toye x nurse! reader series]

— ♡

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction based on the actor that portrays the real life hero, joe toye, in the hbo miniseries 'band of brothers.' this is not to disrespect any veterans/active duty members at all. it is purely for the enjoyment of the fandom.

summary: y/n y/l/n is a nurse-in-training when she meets joseph j. toye in 1942, shortly after the attack on pearl harbor, at camp toccoa. she's the americana dream, he's a reckless private. what happens when their fates cross paths?

♡ follow along on their journey of love, loss, and hardship as the story progresses in events taking place before, during, and after the war. ♡

wfu taglist: @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @fromjupitertocentauri @annasansh @bluecanvasshoe @catbusloki ♡ please comment below if you'd like to be added to the list ♡

wfu masterlist bofb masterlist

— ♡

To My Darling Joseph,

I hope this letter finds you well amidst the war. The hospitals have gotten busier and more frantic these days. Wounded soldiers are pouring in faster than we can keep up with. Our supplies are very low, and so is our morale. I just pray every time I see another man brought in. . . that it isn't you, my darling soldier.

I'm to be transferred to the army hospital at Atlantic City, New Jersey, in a few days. I hope you'll be able to write back to me soon, it's been quite a while since I last saw you in England for the injury you sustained in Operation Market Garden.

One of the nurses in Bastogne, Renée, wrote to me about your recent arm injury. Don't you dare take that sling off before it heals, Joseph.

Anyhow, I've been quite reminiscent lately. Do you remember when it all started? Back in Toccoa, while I was just a nurse-in-training, and you, nothing but a reckless private, always in my aid station?

Let those memories keep you warm in Bastogne's frigid cold. I love you dearly, my Joe. I'm praying for you.

With love,

Your Darling, Y/N

[privatebullshit]

bared teeth [a speirton fic]

summary: what'll it take for a rabid dog to stop showing his canines, teeth bared as he snarls at all that cross him? who's gonna tame the one that doesn't know why he bites?

a/n: implied lime, not super descriptive. 1k+ words.

—

Captain Ronald Speirs was the most feared and respected man in the battalion, stories being whispered from company to company of his violent acts. He's a looming presence in all simplicity— one hushed murmur and he stood right behind the person who dared to let his name roll off their tongue. The cold, stone-faced kleptomaniac who didn't blink as he ran through Foy and relieved Dike of his duty. The man that scared privates by offering them cigarettes with a calculated gaze.

"Supposedly Speirs shot one of his men for being drunk."

"There's another one about him giving cigarettes to 20 POWs before killing them."

"He shot 20 POWs? I heard it was 30."

Some men are all bark and no bite, but Speirs? Hell, his growl is as sharp as his teeth, ripping through tendons and marrow until there's nothing left. That's how he gets things done. One could say that he's a violent man, carnal and crazed in nature, his bloodlust seeping through the snow he leaves tracks on.

But now, in the warmth of the church where the choir sang like angels weeping from heaven, sat the man with a reverent expression. He looked deep in thought, which would have been rather normal given all the shit he's been through— but Ron never harbored things for long.

Beside him was First Sergeant Carwood Lipton, another well respected man, specifically in Easy Company. Here was someone that everyone trusted and gravitated towards. He was a lot like Speirs, but his bites were soft-mouthed, growls constrained to low grumbles in his chest.

Maybe that's why Speirs admired the man. Maybe that's why, at this very moment, the only thing warmer than the church itself are the hearts of the two canines who gaze at each other like they each hold the secrets of the universe.

There's an unspoken connection, a singular red thread on each of their pinkies, tied in a knot like the ones in Lipton's stomach as he looks at Speirs now. The man now stood in front of him, never once breaking the eye contact that made Lip's knees want to buckle and quake.

"You don't have any idea who I'm talking about, do you?" Speirs asks, shaking his head slightly in amusement. It was somewhat funny to see Lipton so confused, so guarded yet trusting— who is Speirs talking about, and why did he yearn for it to be him so bad?

Lipton could only muster out a quiet, "No, sir," with a shake of his head too, mirroring the former man's actions.

"Hell, it was you, First Sergeant."

And the world turned upside down, and the church turned into a hearth, and for the first time in any universe, in any damn timeline, Carwood Lipton saw Ronald Speirs smile. No one else, not any of the remaining men, not any other officer, not the nuns, and not the girls in the choir, got to see that smile.

It was for him. Jesus Christ, it was for him. And Speirs felt the same because for the first goddamn time in any time, he wasn't baring his teeth. No, there was no snarling or ugly growls, there was no blood coating his molars in a thin sheen of red. No bark. No bite.

Just Speirs and the way his eyes crinkle as he gives Lipton a boyish smile as if he just met his childhood hero that he's only ever seen in cartoons. Lipton would endure Bastogne all over again if it meant he got to see Speirs smile just like that once more. The cold that punctured his veins like a dirty needle seemed to melt away, becoming a puddle that pooled in his stomach, now warm and fuzzy as it traveled up his arms, and up his neck, and spread to his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Speirs said a few more things, each one dumbfounding Lipton even more than the last, but all he could do was answer back, his voice barely above a whisper:

"Sir?"

And fuck, did Ron fall all over again. As many times as he's told Lip that there's no need for such extreme formalities, he still addresses him so politely anyway. It made Ron feel important— and really, fuck the rest of 'em, because as long as Lipton called him "sir," he couldn't care less.

Lipton watches Speirs walk away, presumably heading back to battalion, but this time he follows. Like a dog following their owner's footsteps, Lipton's only a few paces away from reaching out to grab Speirs' hand.

Ron turns his head slightly, another smirk blessing his features, "Are you coming along?"

Lip could only nod, his mouth had gone dry by now, but he manages somewhat, "Yes, sir."

Speirs took the lead, but he knew his place; only ever tame when Lipton was within the same vicinity. And so they find themselves in an empty room in the convent, hands fumbling as they try to reach underneath layer upon layer.

No bark. No bite. Only hushed whines and pants, a mutter of praise, gentle pets with calloused hands on disheveled hair. Well, there was some bite, but not carried out through harsh words or glares, instead a simple question of restrained longing.

"May I bite you, sir?" Lipton whispers against now sweaty skin.

"Ask me like that again and I swear—"

Soft-mouthed bites hurt the most when each one is trying to be quiet. Soft-mouthed bites felt the best when they were shared in secret, behind closed doors in a place of worship, in an arrangement considered unacceptable in society's prying eyes.

But in this moment, they didn't care. This is their place of worship, this is how they participate in confession. Whispers against necks and into ears about things that seem so fucking sinful, but all was holy when the act was carried out.

If Speirs was a rabid dog, Lipton was his leash. Why would he stop snarling at others now if it meant he was to be tamed later? They needed each other carnally, that's just how it was to be.

[privatebullshit]

lon hammond hcs ☆

a/n: requested by @pinknooniie. he deserves sm more love. enjoy!

—

Ah, the good-natured, hardworking, intelligent Captain Lon Hammond Jr. There never was a man that seemed to be perfect from every angle until Lon came along. A veteran and lawyer coming from old Southern money, one could only dream what he'd be like as a lover. Let's find out, shall we?

Lon is well-versed in etiquette and how to sweep ladies of their feet. A gentlemen's gentleman, if you will.

So, it's no doubt that you were head over heels in no time.

He's smooth with his advances at first— a bouquet here, a simple bracelet there. You always look forward to seeing him and the pretty package he brings along to give you.

When he finally asks to formally court you, of course you say yes! He's charming, he's handsome, and he's proven to be so much more than his money.

He takes you on simple, but lavish dates. Think picnic on the beach as you watch the sunset, a nice restaurant with reservations only he could snag, or even a nice walk into the town shoppes.

Always opens doors for you, letting you in first, like a proper gentleman.

CHIVLARY CHIVLARY CHIVLARY CHI—

Absolutely spoils you with whatever your heart desires. Need a new outfit? He's already got it bagged up and placed on your doorstep. You want to do your nails? Already taken care of.

He likes it when you hold his arm as you two walk anywhere. It makes him feel cherished and needed.

Appreciates whenever you call him handsome.

CHEEK KISSES. Ugh, this man will pepper your cheeks in kisses all day, any day.

He isn't huge on big PDA, but he likes to hold your waist or the small of your back, kiss your knuckles, and tell you how stunning you are.

He feels like the luckiest man alive when he's around you— you're practically his pride and joy.

Dotes on you all the time to family, friends, and colleagues.

Husband material 100% no questions asked. He's got the bills paid and dishes washed.

Loves it when you dress up for him. Like he will literally melt at the sight of you coming downstairs to greet him at the door, ESPECIALLY if you're wearing an outfit he bought you. Gosh, he'd scoop you up and plant kisses all over.

NEEDS NEEDS NEEDSSSSS your lipstick mark on his cheek, neck, or collar. He wants to let the world know that he's yours and you're his.

He's smitten, what more can I say?

things he'd say to you

"There's my darling! How are you today, sweet?"

"Wear that lipstick that I like, yeah?"

"Thank you, pretty girl."

"Come on now, don't throw a fit. Be good for me and I'll buy you a new dress, hm? Does that sound good, darling girl?"

"I got you something special, sweetheart. Close your eyes for me, okay?"

"Come here, beautiful, I want to see you."

[privatebullshit]

«Joe blindly grabs at the collar of George's shirt, tugging him down closer. George teeters, his weight lurching towards Joe as he plants his hand on his chest to keep himself from falling on him. »

You were absolutely trying to kill me with this

yes, yes I was.

[privatebullshit]

colors [a webgott fic]

summary: joseph liebgott— hot-headed and loud-mouthed, but one of the most damn loyal soldiers easy co. has ever had. david webster— the intellectual, sometimes air-headed harvard boy. what color do the two make when they mix, and sometimes clash?

a/n: it's webgott, it's bound to be tragic. inspired by colors by halsey. a bit slow burn, but bear with me. light implications of lime later, but nothing too descriptive. 2.3k words.

—

The only thing that Webster couldn't read was a room; seemingly oblivious to the haggard, downcast looks of the men from Easy Company. He walked with a smile, never faltering even as some of the other soldiers scowled at the clean shaved, well fed, and still warm-blooded David Kenyon Webster.

As he went from vehicle to vehicle, Web's stomach twisted in knots as he realized he's getting the "replacement treatment," even though he's a veteran of D-Day and Market Garden. It wasn't entirely his fault that he couldn't make it back in time for the campaign in Bastogne, but several of the men would've disagreed.

He spots a few familiar faces from 2nd Platoon, his eyes landing on Joseph Liebgott. Now, it was no secret that the two didn't exactly mix; they were practically polar opposites in terms of personality. It was worth a shot to rekindle at least some form of friendship in Haguenau.

"Hey guys, some lieutenant told me to report to 2nd," Web says, forcing a hint of a smile on his face as he addresses them.

The men in 2nd Platoon look at him, a mixture of disdain and annoyance on their faces. Webster's smile fades just a bit, but he tilts his head to one of the soldiers sitting on the right.

"Your name's Jackson, right?"

The soldier in question, Eugene Jackson, gives Webster a gruff response, "That's right."

Webster asks yet another question, curious about what he missed since Holland, "Who's leading the Platoon?"

"Sergeant Malarkey is," Jackson responds, to which Webster immediately asks, "What, no officers?"

Liebgott finally speaks up, the sound of his voice making Webster turn his head in his direction.

"I guess you didn't hear," Liebgott rasps.

"No, what's that?"

Liebgott gazes off into the distance, giving Web a half-hearted answer, "They're makin' Malarkey a lieutenant."

—

After a patrol that was deemed successful, but took Jackson's life too soon, Webster returns to the billeted house that several of the men occupied. Tensions eased slightly, Web now being accepted back into the company as he once was.

He leans on one of the bunks, letting out a sigh as he runs his hand through his tousled hair. He spots Liebgott on the the top bunk, cigarette between his lips, a far away expression on his face.

"What is it, Web?" Liebgott asks, tilting his head up and to the side so he could see Webster's face more clearly.

Webster looks directly at Liebgott, shaking his head, "Nothing."

"You're thinkin' too hard," Liebgott mumbles. "I can hear your thoughts from here, Harvard."

This earns a chuckle from the taller man who walks around to lean on the wall next to Liebgott's head. He's offered a cigarette, which he declines with a slight wave of his hand.

"You don't smoke?" Liebgott asks, taking another long drag, watching the smoke swirl as he exhales it. Webster was watching it too, silent as he contemplates his next words.

"Not really," he finally answers, looking at Liebgott who's now sitting up slightly, raising an eyebrow.

"You look like you could use a smoke, Web," he says, a lazy smirk on his face.

Webster simply shakes his head, "I won't even finish one, so don't waste it on me."

Liebgott is quiet for a moment before he motions for Web to come a little closer to the edge of the bunk with his finger. Web complies, of course, looking at the way the Lucky Strike hangs from Lieb's lips ever so slightly.

“I’ll share with you, c’mere,” Liebgott says lowly.

“Lieb, I’m fine, you don’t need to—”

Liebgott shushes him, cupping the back of Webster’s head gently. Web wanted to tremble, to melt against the hand that held him, but he restrained himself, only opening his mouth when Liebgott placed his used cigarette between his lips.

Webster inhales, maintaining eye contact as Lieb whispers, “There ya go.”

He exhales, the smoke swirling and spiraling in front of Liebgott who takes a subtle inhale of the cloud.

"Is your head empty yet, Web?" Lieb asks, fingers dancing around the hair on Web's nape.

Webster nods, cigarette still between his teeth, "Yeah, thanks."

Truth is, Web's mind had filled with a lot more thoughts— but they were no longer about the patrol.

—

When Easy Co. arrives in Germany, it's a relief for many— including Webster and Liebgott. It was the first time in months that the men were able to rest in regular beds, eat warm food, and take showers.

Web and Lieb find themselves bunking together in another billeted house which was large and spacious, owned by a wealthy German. Liebgott had just finished taking a shower, only dressed from the waist down as he scrubbed at his hair with a towel.

"Finally, you were starting to smell," Webster laughs.

Lieb rolls his eyes, chucking the damp towel at Web, "Fuck off."

Web places the towel down on a nearby desk, leaning against it as he studied Liebgott. The sun was coming through the second-floor windowpane, golden rays illuminating Lieb's bare torso. God, he looked so angelic, even if his ribs showed just a bit.

"What are you starin' at?" Lieb asks, tilting his head towards Web, pieces of wet hair still sticking to his forehead.

Web sucks in a breath, exhaling through his nose, "You look. . . ethereal."

Liebgott's face twists in confusion at the unknown word. Webster registers this after a bit, a smile adorning his face as he picks up the fact that Liebgott doesn't understand. Lieb didn't understand most of the big words Web uses sometimes.

"Ethereal. It means you look—" Webster chooses his next words carefully. "You look handsome in the sunlight, Lieb."

Liebgott turns to face Webster fully, a hint of surprise on his face now, "You think I'm handsome?"

Webster nods, crossing and uncrossing his arms, a little unsure of himself as Lieb gazes at him. Liebgott walks closer, stopping just in front of Webster, his chin tilting upward to meet Web's gaze.

"What's so handsome about me, Web?" he asks softly, a hand coming up to rest on Web's bicep.

Webster looks down at Liebgott, nearly crumpling at the genuine question. He looked so delicate here, like the war never touched him, like he was never scarred. But in Web's eyes, the scars only made him more beautiful.

Web's hands hesitantly move to cup Lieb's face, who turns to putty as he melts in the calloused fingers that stroke just above his cheekbones.

"Everything, I don't know, all of you. You're perfect, Lieb," Webster says back, his voice gentle but serious.

Liebgott is silent, only turning his head to kiss Webster's palm. The two make eye contact once more, but the moment is quickly wrapped up when they hear the officers calling out orders. They were to head off to Landsberg to deal with the Waffen-SS.

—

Liebgott curls into Webster's arms, letting out a choked sob after just having to tell the Jews, Poles, and Gypsies that they'll have to be put back into the camp— not as prisoners, but to monitor them.

"I- I didn' want to tell them, Web. . . I- they're my people. . ." Liebgott whispers, clutching onto Webster's uniform like a lifeline.

Webster strokes Liebgott's hair, shushing him softly as he rocks him back and forth, "I know, Liebling, I know."

Lieb shakes his head, indicating that Webster didn't know. He didn't know what it felt like to tell your people that they have to be locked back up. He didn't know what it felt like to see hundreds of eyes on him, glistening with tears, and have his ears filled with their protests and sobs.

Webster didn't know, and he knew that. But he knew that Liebgott needed to be held and that's what he did. He could see the color drained from Lieb's face, the lifeless stare that he gave when he lifted his head to look up at Web.

Web looked around, but no one was really looking; in fact, no one would have really cared anyway. Not here, not now.

He presses a chaste kiss to Liebgott's forehead, muttering soft reassurances in German.

"Es wird alles gut," he whispers against Lieb's skin.

—

Easy Company moves swiftly into Austria after hearing the news about Hitler. Liebgott was still bitter and resentful, Landsberg taking a significant toll on his mental well-being. He was more snappy towards Webster, no longer waiting on explanations for big words or phrases he didn't understand.

"Shut up, Webster," Liebgott seethed, pushing Web out of the way as they marched into another German neighborhood.

"Liebling," Webster starts, but is thoroughly cut off.

"Don't fuckin' call me that," Lieb snarls before walking away.

Webster is left to walk alone with his thoughts, and it wasn't until nightfall that he was able to talk to Liebgott again. He found him in one of the houses, angrily pacing around and throwing things that belonged to the previous occupants.

"Liebgott," Webster calls out. When he didn't respond, Web tried again, but it was of no use.

"Joseph."

Liebgott looks directly at Webster, eyes wide and upset, "What do you want?"

"I came to check in on you," Web sighs. Lieb stands in the middle of the room, pausing his pacing as he taps his foot on the ground.

"I don't need someone to check on me," he snaps.

Webster puts his hands up in defense, swallowing hard as he takes a hesitant step towards Liebgott. Seeing this, Liebgott moves back, putting more space between the two.

"I know you're upset, but—"

"Leave me the fuck alone, Webster!"

Webster's face falls, Liebgott's shout slicing through his chest down to his gut. His fists clench and unclench at his sides now, taking a deep breath.

"Okay," was the last thing Webster said before turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

Liebgott stands there, a mixture of regret and longing panging in his chest. It was too late to take back what he said, and he was far too prideful to run after Web.

—

In the middle of the night, Liebgott wakes up from an unsatisfying rest. He looks to the other side of the bed, wishing there was someone to fill the space. That someone being Webster, of course.

He walks out of the bedroom, rubbing his tired eyes, when he spots someone sitting on the plush couch.

"Webster?" Liebgott whispers questioningly, peering into the dark with a squint.

"Yeah, it's me. I know you told me to leave you alone, but I came back, in case you had night terrors or needed me. . ." Webster mumbles sheepishly, closing the book he was attempting to read via lighter flame.

Liebgott sits next to him on the couch, pressing against his side as he leans into Webster.

"There you are, liebling," Webster says in a hushed voice.

Web scoops up Lieb, cradling him in his arms as they lean back onto the couch. The only sound is their breathing mingling together and the occasional chirp from the crickets outside.

"I. . ."

Webster hums in question, stroking Lieb's arm.

"'m sorry, Web."

"It's alright, I understand. I do," Webster responds, kissing Liebgott's temple.

Liebgott shifts in Web's arms, turning to face him fully. He shakes his head slowly, wrapping his arms around Webster's neck.

"It's not. Can I. . . make it up to you?"

Webster's hands land on Liebgott's thigh and the small of his back. In the scarce moonlight, everything is gray— his hair, his smoke, his jeans. Being devoid of color for so long made Liebgott feel as if this war wasn't worth the pain he'd been through and have seen the other men endure.

But Webster? Oh, fuck, Webster was blue. Webster was the sky, the ocean, the stars. Webster was the crescent moon hanging way up above; the only sliver of color that Liebgott wanted in his life.

Web places his lips on the scar on Lieb's neck, tongue tracing the pattern that the shrapnel left long ago. Liebgott's breath hitches slightly, fingers gripping the hair on the back of Web's neck.

"David. . ." he whines.

And that's all Webster ever needed to hear.

—

The next few days in Austria were rocky for Webster and Liebgott. They had their spats, and they made up pretty quickly, but when Liebgott went off to kill a German officer out of spite and revenge, things take a nasty turn. Lieb even went as far as asking Web: "Were you at Landsberg?"

"SHOOT HIM!" Liebgott screams at Webster, his voice going high-pitched and cracking. Webster doesn't budge, but flinches when Sisk shoots the running officer instead.

"Officers don't run," Liebgott sighs, looking at Webster.

Webster looks at him too, "The war's over, anybody would run."

On the ride back, Webster places a reassuring hand on Liebgott's knee as he looks to the blue sky. Liebgott looks away from the road for a second, eyes darting to Web's hand— and suddenly, everything was blue. . . his hands, his jeans. Webster. And now Liebgott was covered in the color and being pulled apart at the seams.

He's blue. Webster is blue. And all Liebgott wanted to do was have his soul unraveled by the Harvard boy, have his lips pressed against his neck as Web recites a poem that he read.

This goddamn war took away everything, but Webster replaced it in full. Web's hand moves to Liebgott's, intertwining their fingers and bringing Lieb's hand up with his to press a soft kiss to the back of his hand.

Sisk was already dazed in the back, snoozing as the sunlight hit his face.

"Liebgott?" Webster says, causing Lieb to hum in acknowledgement.

"I adore you."

Liebgott is quiet before he breaks out into a soft grin. He squeezes Web's hand, "I adore you too."

Everything is blue.

[privatebullshit]

shut me up [a 5+1 luztoye fic]

summary: the five times joe told george to shut up, and the one time he made him.

a/n: mentions of throwing up in the beginning. 1.7k+ words.

—

Currahee Mountain, Camp Toccoa

This wasn't the first time that Joe had to tell George to shut his mouth, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but it was the catalyst that sparked something new between them. George thought that pushing Joe's buttons was funny, to put it simply. He saw it as a challenge on how far Toye's limits could be stretched.

As Captain Sobel barked at the men of Easy Company to run Currahee again, George saw it as the perfect opportunity to make Joe see red. He was already agitated about the fact that he had to run six miles with two full helpings of army spaghetti feeling like a block in his stomach, and Luz was about to make it significantly worse.

"Hey. Hey, Toye," George says, running next to the now-scowling man.

"Whaddaya want, Luz?" Joe grunts. He looks over at the smaller man and the way his dark hair plasters to his forehead, face damp with sweat as he runs. If he wasn't so damn annoying, maybe Joe would find him cute— maybe.

George's face breaks into his signature grin, eyes crinkling at the irritation in Joe's voice. He lets out an airy laugh, a bit breathless from all the running.

"Just sayin' 'hi.'" Which earns him an eyeroll before continuing, "You look a little sick there, Joe."

Joe almost smacked George upside the head, but his stomach started to churn, making it impossible to do anything but focus on not hurling the contents of his dinner.

"What? Don't tell me you're gonna throw up," George snickers. He gives his friend a light pat on the shoulder.

"Luz, shut up," Joe says through gritted teeth. He didn't have the patience to deal with the jokester's antics, not right now. And if it weren't for this godforsaken mountain and the other men surrounding them, maybe Joe would've shut George up instead.

—

Barracks, Camp Toccoa

Luz hadn't settled down to sleep yet, chattering his bunkmate's ear off late into the night. He was talking about trivial things, not really making any real points or comments that were worth striking a conversation over. Most of the other guys were already snoring, but Joe couldn't sleep peacefully with George's whispering right above him.

"Luz," he grumbles, kicking the bed up top, causing George to shift around.

"Yeah?" George leans over the top bunk, peering down into the dark where he could faintly make out Joe's outline. He could imagine the scowl on Joe's face that would be clear as day if there was a lamp on.

Joe lets out a tired huff, mumbling lowly, "'m tryna sleep here."

He heard George laugh quietly, followed by the sound of feet hitting the ground. Now, George was sitting on the edge of Joe's bunk, apparently looking down on him.

"Ya can't deny that ya like my talkin'," he whispers, bed creaking slightly at the shift in his weight.

"I can, because I don't like it," Joe whispers back bitterly, but he was doing a bad job of having any real bite to his words.

"Come on, Joe. . . I'm not that bad to listen to, right? I mean—"

Joe blindly grabs at the collar of George's shirt, tugging him down closer. George teeters, his weight lurching towards Joe as he plants his hand on his chest to keep himself from falling on him.

He could swear that he heard Joe's breath hitch ever so slightly as the both of them went silent. The hand on his collar slid up the side of his neck and cupped either side of George's jaw.

"If you know what's good for you, you're gonna shut your mouth," Joe hisses, applying the slightest bit of pressure.

George lets out a soft gasp before Joe's hand drops, allowing the other to scamper back to the top bunk— conflicted, but grateful for the way the darkness of the barracks concealed the slight pinkness on his cheeks.

—

Fort Bennington, Georgia

The men of Easy Company were celebrating receiving their jump wings at the pub, spirits high as they drank, joked around, and yelled. Joe leaned on the bar counters, facial expression neutral as he stared at George's back. For some reason, he made mental note of the way George's back curves and twists as he moves, passing out glasses of beer to fellow enlisted men.

A small smirk tugs at Joe's lips, but he quickly drops it when George turns around. He could've sworn he saw George's eyes light up just a bit when he saw him.

"Corporal Toye," George starts, imitating Captain Sobel, earning an exasperated sigh from Joe, "there will be no there will be no leaning in my company. Are those dusty jump wings?"

Joe straightened up and looked down, brushing his thumb over his jump wings to polish them to the best of his abilities.

"How do you expect to slay the Huns with dust on your jump wings?"

George barely got out the last word before Joe gripped his uniform and pulled him in, their faces dangerously close.

"Luz, just give me a drink," he mutters, a slight edge to his voice that left George's mind wandering. Any closer and his lips would be ghosting over his.

Shaking the thought from his mind, George grins as he locks eyes with Joe, eyelashes fluttering slightly, "Hell of an idea, Joe."

Joe's eyes dart down to George's lips for a split second before he released him so he could get his beer. George bends down to get another full glass, handing it to Joe as their fingers brushed for an electrifying moment.

"There ya go," George says a bit softer now.

Joe didn't know why, but he mumbles the words "shut up" before taking a sip of the cold beer.

—

Upottery, England

It was the day before their jump into Normandy and the men were currently packing their leg bags. George watches as Joe lists off all the things they'll have to carry and how it weighs just as much as he does.

"Say, Joe, are ya gonna pack your bag, or keep complainin' about it?" he asks, grinning from ear to ear as he tosses in a few cartons of smokes to the already large pile of items.

Joe turns to look at George, eyes narrowed and warning.

"Shut up before I use the brass knuckles on you instead," he scowls, raising a threatening fist to shake at George.

This earns a loud laugh from George as he walks over to where Joe is standing.

"You're so uptight, hell if I didn't know ya, I'd say you're Captain Sobel's son!" he barks out another laugh, wincing once Joe smacks the side of his head.

"If the Krauts don't get you first, I will," Joe growls.

George gets a mischievous glint in his eyes as he steps closer, lowering his voice just enough for Joe to hear, "is that a promise?"

What once was a threat vanishes into thin air as Joe's jaw slacks ever so slightly at George's sudden boldness. He could've been joking around, as usual, but the sultry tone that laced his words mimicked something other than teasing.

Joe clenches his teeth once more, going back to pack his leg bag as George snickers in the background, flooding his mind with thoughts of shutting him up.

—

Mourmelon, France

"Seven Sinners" starring John Wayne and Marlene Dietrich was being projected on the screen that the men were staring at as they enjoyed some rare downtime in France. George couldn't help but say something stupid; it was in his nature.

He lights up a Lucky Strike and wraps his lips around it, inhaling the familiar taste of nicotine and exhaling the smoke.

"Look at me, I’m John Waye. The costume department set me up with these great navy whites, whaddaya think?" he says openly, a bit too loud for the two in front of him.

Joe turns his head and glares at George, "Luz, shut up."

Lipton joins in on silencing him, "I'm trying to watch this."

George simply shrugs, cigarette between his index and middle finger. "I've seen this movie 13 times, okay?"

A scowl flashes over Joe's face, "Well I haven't, so shut up."

The other grins at him again— that stupid, charming grin that Joe wanted to wipe off his face. Joe grumbles and curses George under his breath, letting the image of his smile in his mind get under his skin. God, he could punch him, or kiss him— but he's not quite sure why he thought of that.

Later that day

After being told to return to their barracks and talk to their platoon leaders, George and Joe were some of the last ones to leave the screen room. They walk side by side, George finally silent after the movie was shut off.

"Got a smoke?" Joe asks, looking down at George who's already extending a Lucky Strike to him. He takes it with a soft "thanks," placing it between his lips.

He's quiet as they walk out before he asks another question, "Got a light?"

George smirks and chuckles at Joe, "Ya never stop askin' for things, do ya?"

Joe takes a deep breath, restraining himself as George lifts the flame from his lighter to the tip of the cigarette.

"Why dontcha get your own lighter, Joe?" George asks, pocketing his own as he stops and glances at him.

To be honest, Joe's irritation with George was through the roof, so he grabbed his wrist and tugged him towards an empty barracks. George couldn't even protest before his back was pushed against the wall in the far corner of the room, Joe gripping his uniform with both hands.

"Joe—"

"Shut up," Joe cuts him off. "You never know how to shut up, huh?"

George looks at him with fire in his gaze, opening his mouth to make another snarky comment.

"Make me."

Without hesitation, Joe presses his lips against George's, earning a sharp gasp from the latter.

George brings his arms to snake around Joe's neck, entangling himself in his embrace as Joe lets go of his uniform to cup the back of his head. It was just to make him shut up at first, but after hearing George whine just a little, Joe was determine to make him do it again.

After all, George sounded prettier when pressed against Joe.