Summary: an oblivious Ronnie does a favor to an intoxicated Winnie in the safety of the Brit's boarding house
Dolls: Winifred Hawthorne & Veronica Valero
Warnings: none?
A/N: WE'RE BACK!!! 🙂↕️ this was born out of @digging-trenches's text "you think Ronnie and Winnie ever kissed?" So they're to blame actually.
The Dolls masterlist
Band Of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
Mid January, 1938
Veronica's and Winifred's heeled shoes landed with a thud a tad too loud somewhere near the latter's room's now locked door. The footwear of both girls had been off since they stepped into the Brit's boarding house, careful not to wake anyone. Winnie wasn't eager to get lectured by Madame Rosalie while the smell of alcohol and smoke still clung to her clothes.
Ronnie, on the other side, would've preferred getting caught by the strict Frenchwoman a thousand times over facing her very much narrow-minded aunt. She loved her niece, of course, but what would she say if she found out her little Veronica wasn't only smoking and drinking, but also frequenting a lesbian-plagued club every week? Good god, the Spaniard didn't even dare to fathom that scenario.
And so, like many other nights, Ronnie found solace in Winnie's temporary home. Since their first priority was making themselves comfortable, the coats followed the shoes' fate, the motion accompanied by the sound of soft laughter and the creak of floorboards beneath their steps.
Ronnie made straight for the window, faintly glowing with streetlight. She popped it open and leaned halfway out, lighting a cigarette with fingers that were slightly clumsy from the sherry. The night air was cool against her hot face.
Winnie flopped onto the bed with a sigh, her cheeks pink with drink and leftover adrenaline from the night. Her curls were a little messier than they had been a few hours prior, and she didn’t bother on fixing them.
"We did not pay for a single drink." Ronnie announced, exhaling smoke into the air like punctuation. "Lesbians are lovely I think."
"When they fancy you." Winnie mumbled into the pillow, her now gloomy mood not quite matching her friend's. "You're a total flirt, Ron."
Ronnie glanced over her shoulder, grinning. “Oh, come on. You are, what do you call it?” She waved the cigarette vaguely. "Uhm... un caramelito. Caramelo?"
Winnie's head popped up to meet Ronnie's furrowed brows ask she struggled to find the term. And so the Brit, who had by now gotten used to Ronnie's mother tongue due to the countless afternoons spent at her aunt's house, tried to bridge the language barrier. "Candy?"
"Eye candy!" Ronnie stated, snapping her free hand's fingers. "That last woman? She wanted to kiss you full on the mouth."
Winnie made a face and stared at the ceiling. Her voice was quiet when she muttered an unconvinced "If you say so."
Ronnie took another drag, sea colored irises judging her friend's wariness to her words. As if she would lie to her about anything. Ronnie wasn't one to try and bloat someone's ego just for the hell of it. Winnie was gorgeous, whether or not she admitted it, and the fancy women at Le Monocle saw it as it was.
"She was very pretty, you know? That woman." Veronica's tone was gentler now, more thoughtful. "You should have kissed her." Winnie breathed out a sentence too low for Veronica to catch, so she asked, "What was that?"
"Nothing."
"Win, come on." Ronnie coaxed the slumped girl with little patience. "You know I don't like when you speak under your breath and then—"
"I said I've never kissed anyone, Ron."
"I know." Veronica deadpanned. She waited for her friend to elaborate, and when she didn't, Ronnie questioned her again. "So what? Someone has to be the first person you kiss, no? At some point. Or you will be one of those old women who don't know how kisses feel like."
Winnie whipped her head around, hand thrown over her face in embarrassment. "Jesus Christ, Veronica—"
"What? Didn't you want to kiss girls?"
"Ron!"
"What?"
"You can't just ask that!"
Ronnie held up both hands in surrender at Winnie's hostility, cigarette still between two fingers. "Alright God. I didn't know we were pretending you did not say that."
"'S not like that."
Winnie fell into yet another silence, hoping Ronnie would understand her obsessive thoughts without her having to properly voice them. She'd die out of embarrassment, she feared.
Veronica was already dissecting her unspoken worries. She turned to the ajar window, took a quick drag, exhaled slowly. Her eyes flicked back to Winnie.
"So… are you scared of kissing… uh…" She waved vaguely, searching again for the perfect term, giving up before properly trying. "Wrong?"
Winnie furrowed her brow, face still pink, now for a whole different reason. "If you mean I’m scared of being a horrible kisser, then yes. That’s it. That’s the problem."
Ronnie snorted and almost choked on smoke. "Joder." She coughed, stubbing out the cigarette on the windowsill and crossing the room in a few steps to stand in front of Winnie, who was now sitting stiffly on the bed.
"I can kiss you." Ronnie said.
Winnie looked up at her, eyes wide behind her round glasses.
"Sorry what?" The Brummie in her voice came out thick and unfiltered — pure disbelief.
Ronnie didn’t flinch. She just repeated it, calmer now:
“I can kiss you. I can be your kissing practice.” She gave a little shrug, and Winnie wished she could be as unbothered as Ronnie was. “I mean, I haven’t kissed a lot of people, but I think I’m good. I can teach you.”
Winnie scoffed, trying to hide how red her ears were. "Bit full o’ yourself, aren’t you?"
Ronnie smirked and sat beside her on the bed, hands resting on her knees. “If you want to kiss girls, this is good practice.”
Winnie wanted to laugh, really, but she didn't find it in herself to do so—not when she was blushing like a schoolgirl over a stupid kiss offer. Her mind ran over a hundred different scenarios, stumbling with each possiblity. She sat up straighter, tugging her legs underneath her and turning to face Ronnie’s side, crossing them neatly. Her eyes narrowed, curious and cautious both.
“You’re not into me, right?”
Veronica snorted. “I should be asking that. I don’t even know if I like kissing girls.” There was a pause — one that Winnie knew by now her friend made after making a joke meant to ease the tension. When Ronnie realized it hadn't landed, she opted for a more candid approach to ground the British girl beside her. She looked at the floor for a second, then back at Winnie. “I don’t like you like that,” a pause stretched, and Ronnie added. “You are my best friend.”
"Alright." Winnie nodded, biting her bottom lip. “How do we…?”
Ronnie gave a dramatic puff and shifted on the bed until she was sitting cross-legged too, facing the shorter girl.
“You kiss me first,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Then I show you how I do it.”
Winnie blinked. Once. Twice. Then, because for better or for worse, she'd trust Ronnie's judgement unconditionally, she took a breath, exhaled slowly and gave herself an encouraging nod.
“Alright.”
You’ve faced scarier things, she thought. Like oil painting critique. You can kiss Veronica.
She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to Ronnie’s in a soft, very deliberate kiss. It wasn’t bad. It was just careful. A little stiff. The kind of kiss that knew it was being judged.
She pulled back an inch and looked at her friend nervously, and was met with Veronica's tilted little smile— the one she put up when she was trying her best to be nice.
“It wasn’t bad. You just need to… uhh…” she wiggled her hands. “Loosen up.”
Winnie puffed out a breath. “AHow’d you do it then?”
Ronnie lifted her brows, like the answer was obvious. “Well, I use my hands.”
Winnie blinked again. “What?”
“Um. To go with the kiss. You know. To touch, too. Like this—”
Veronica leaned in and brought both hands up gently to cup Winnie’s face. Her palms were warm and smelled faintly of tobacco and cold air. Her thumbs brushed lightly over Winnie’s cheeks.
And then she kissed her.
This kiss was different —not romantic, still, but more practiced, natural. Ronnie’s lips parted just slightly, guiding without demanding. Winnie’s fingers gripped Ronnie’s wrists reflexively, needing something to hold onto. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, more out of newness than feeling.
Veronica was the one to pull away first, slow and careful, like she didn’t want to spook her. Her hands stayed right where they were, framing Winnie’s face.
“See?” she nearly whispered. “It’s better to use your hands too. You can’t kiss with just your mouth. You have to kiss with your whole body.”
Winnie sat still for a second, big, grayish blue eyes flicking between Veronica’s. The words filtered through slowly, like she was still catching up with what had just happened. Her lips tingled, and her ears were hot.
She nodded once.
When she leaned in again, it was more deliberate; a quiet sort of bravery had substituted the initial anxious hesitation. Her fingers slipped into the curls at the back of Veronica’s head, careful and soft, and her other hand came up to mirror Veronica’s earlier gesture, cupping her cheek; a little awkwardly, perhaps, but determined to learn.
Veronica’s hand lifted to cover Winnie’s, anchoring it there—a wordless 'I got you covered'—, and Winifred's lips returned to Ronnie's again.
This kiss was fuller; Winnie's mouth pressing with more intent than before. Veronica deepened it the smallest bit —the faintest slip of tongue over slightly swollen lips— enough to show her, not to overwhelm. The British girl startled at first, but soon eased into it, mirroring her friend's doing and finding the right rhythm for the shorter girl to gain enough confidence to take over.
Kissing wasn't so difficult, Winnie thought to herself, thumb caressing Veronica's rosy cheek. Perhaps the fact that she would have trusted Ronnie with her life had something to do with how comfortable Winifred was having her best friend's tongue down her throat.
The kissing per se didn't arise any kind of romantic emotion towards Ronnie, but it did make Winnie's mind drift off to a different set of puckered lips, the ones she had been staring at for a good couple of weeks now.
Nicolette Thibaut —or Colette, as the Parisian insisted on being referred as in class— had claimed a permanent spot in Winnie's head after that first night at Le Monocle. She had appeared so bold and unapologetic, even despite the distance set in the crowded club between them that Winifred had yet to stop obsessing over the crossdressed Frenchwoman. The Brit's big eyes seemed to try and find Colette everywhere now; at Le Monocle, in the streets of Montmartre, during Professeur Vannier's classes, or in their scarce free time at L'école.
And most times Winnie's eyes did find Colette. Colette with her short hair and her fair cheekbones and her rosed lips that Winnie wished was kissing instead of Ronnie's.
Too lost in her own mind, Winnie didn't fully process the moment her friend softly pulled away.
"Kissing was not hard, was it?"
Winnie blinked at the Spaniard's rhetorical question —at least she hoped it was rhetorical.
"Uhm," Winnie pushed the bridge of her glasses up with her index, trying to gather her thoughts despite feeling at loss of words for more than one reason. "I—"
"Oh, do not tell me you fancy me now, Freddie." Veronica deadpanned with a tilt of her head and the most serious expression Winifred had seen of her. Too unnatural to be true, Winnie figured, and so the Brit burst out in laughter half a second before Ronnie did the same.
Both girls folded on themselves over Winnie's small mattress, going breathless in a matter of seconds that could've turned into minutes and hours. Happiness and comfort tended to flourish easy between the two friends, and this odd situation they had gotten themselves into wasn't exempt from that comforting pattern.
The laughs turned into lazy giggles and then melted into amused smiles, with Winnie being the one to break the silence before it fully formed.
"You're a good kisser, Ron."
"Well, thank you very much." The Spaniard singsonged, picking at the pins buried in her curls to set them loose. "You kiss nice too. No need to be scared of kissing other girls, Win." Ronnie must have noticed Winnie's hesitant exhale and the way her doubtful eyes dropped to her crossed legs, because she swiftly added, "Not even Colette."
"What?!" Winnie's head shot back up again, finding Veronica's irises expectant, already sizing up the Brit's reaction with the ghost of a prideful, satisfied grin.
"Oh, you are so obvious, cielo." Ronnie's amused chuckle was cut short by the feather pillow a flustered Winifred tossed at her face.
"I'm not obvious!" Winnie countered in a high-pitched, panicked voice. "Stop laughing! 'S not funny!"
"Shhh! Do you want to wake up that french witch?"
And just like that, the laughter returned to both girls, this time poorly stifled but not less joyous. The pair would eventually fall asleep half unwillingly out of exhaustion, and the late night kissing practice would become one of many anecdotes the two best friends would talk about.
Their time in Paris would be full of those; unbelievable stories, some bittersweet, some hilarious, some even terrifying. Stories that they would hold onto throughout the following years of their lives, in which the horrors of the war would fight to swallow them whole. Stories that would serve as heartwarming candlelights in a world that would soon fall into the deepest darkness.
Tags:
Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny @ecompstolemysoul @torchbearerkyle @easily-obsessed-with-things @fromjupitertocentauri @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @metrofae @jetjuliette
Summary: after entering L'école des Beaux-Arts, Winnie and Ronnie get invited to a peculiar party at Le Monocle, which opens their eyes about the Parisian lifestyle, modern times, and a part of themselves they didn't know existed.
Dolls: Winifred Hawthorne & Veronica Valero
Warnings: alcohol and that's it omg
A/N: another piece to prepare y'all for the hell that's gonna be unleashed on these poor girls during wartime. More sapphic content + a look at the lesbian culture in Paris through the eyes of two 18 year old repressed girls. SPECIAL THANKS TO @annasansh THANK YOU FOR BEING MY FRENCH CONSULTANT<3
The dolls masterlist
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
Mid December, 1937
It wasn't the first time Winnie and Ronnie got invited to Le Monocle. Their fellow colleagues at L'école des Beaux-Arts in Paris—the handful of women who had landed a chance to study there—, had snuck an invitation at Winifred at least thrice in the few months of their first year.
Veronica had gotten one, too; midway through their painting class, from a girl she thought was pretty. She had disregarded immediately.
Ronnie knew about Le Monocle; she'd been living in Paris with her mother's sister for over a year already. She'd walked Montmartre's streets, and she'd seen the women at the cafés sitting together. Her aunt talked about it occasionally—said everything but good things, but for better or for worse, Ronnie rarely listened to anybody.
She listened to Winnie, though. Maybe it was because the shorthaired girl was the voice of reason Veronica very much needed in her life.
The Spaniard hadn't expected to make any friends when she applied for the scholarship. French girls were too different from what Ronnie was accustomed to, and she didn't expect to find anything different in a place like L'école, but she was lucky enough to cross paths with an anxious short Brit who seemed as our of place as her.
There were two main reasons why Winnie and Ronnie had collectively declined the invitations until now. First, Winnie's knowledge of the french language was close to non-existent when the course started—Ronnie having to almost fully translate for her during the first month. Second, Veronica had the tough luck to be born in mid December, which meant that, until that week, she'd been under her aunt's tutelage.
God knows what her aunt would do if she found out Ronnie had been out and about anywhere near Montmartre.
Now that both girls were of age and Winnie's french was decent, they'd decided to give it a shot together.
"If you do it, I will do it." Ronnie had whispered to the British girl between classes.
"Oi," Winnie whispered back, a bit flustered. "why're you puttin' it on me, then?"
"Because I don't want to go alone?"
And so that night they both headed to Le Monocle.
Missing the dress code entirely—the two girls realized the moment they stepped inside. Short-haired women in tuxedos, waistcoats and slacks, some smoking with swagger that looked lifted straight from film reels. A handful of women in dresses and lipstick dotted the room, but it was clear they were the exception.
The two immediately overwhelmed eighteen-year-olds froze in the doorway. Winnie's wide eyes darted around behind her wire-rimmed glasses, her mouth slightly open.
"Bloody hell." she muttered under her breath. God, was she far from Birmingham.
Ronnie tried to shove the whiplash down into her stomach and pull on a mask of nonchalance—as if this was normal for her. Yet, she reached out and caught Winnie's hand as they started down the stairs into the bar.
Winnie leaned in, whispering urgently, "Jesus—is that Colette? From Professeur Vannier's class?" She stretched her neck awkwardly to get a better look at a woman in a sharply tailored tuxedo and slicked-back hair.
"Don't look at her, Winnie! ¡Dios!" Veronica hissed, slapping her friend's fur-covered arm. "Let's just—keep walking."
Before they could reach the bar counter, a woman dressed in a tuxedo stepped smoothly into their path, wedging herself between them and the bar counter. She had the confidence of someone who knew she was beautiful—all angular lines and tailored confidence. Her gaze settled lazily on Winnie, and a smirk played at her lips.
"Quelle charmante demoiselle… J'crois pas t'avoir déjà vue ici, toi."
Winnie blinked. "Pardon?"
The woman chuckled softly and leaned back a little, tilting her head. "J'vais vous laisser tranquille, Ta copine et toi. Installez-vous, prenez l’ambiance… Viens me trouver quand tu veux, beauté."
She winked before melting back into the crowd.
Winnie followed the woman with her startled gaze before turning back to Ronnie, who was doing the exact same thing.
"Wha'd she say?"
"Dios mío… she think you are a…" She leaned closer, almost whispering into Winnie's ear. "…a lesbian."
Winifred felt the blood rush up to her cheeks. "Goodness—"
Veronica straightened up, piercing eyes scanning the room. "This place is full of lesbians."
Winnie turned her back to the counter, opposing Veronica's motion, and replied with, "Well what'd you expect, babs? You said—"
"I did not think there would be this many. Joder, you think Marie thinks we are lesbians? And that is why she invited us? Winnie?"
But Winnie had stopped listening.
Her mouth had fallen slightly open, her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose as she stared across the room.
Two women were sitting on one of the velvet settees, leaning into each other, their mouths locked in a kiss that could've been pulled straight from a movie screen. One of those kisses—slow, heated, the kind with tongue and everything.
Except there was no man. Just two women. And one very overwhelmed British girl watching them with something more than curiosity creeping in.
Ronnie smacked her friends back. "Winifred."
Winnie peeled her eyes off the two women to turn to her friend starstruck. "Sorry, what?"
"Do we look like lesbians?"
Winnie pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, heart thrumming in her chest, mind running wild with a million thoughts at once—the memory of that one girl back home who she wanted to be best friends forever, the one she use to draw.
"What?" Winnie repeated.
Ronnie huffed, flustered but trying not to show it. Before she could say more, the bartender caught her eye. She turned to the counter, forearms resting on the wooden surface, her accent switching gears with difficulty now that she was struggling to regain her footing.
"Deux verres de vin blanc, s'il vous plaît. Et… eh..." She shifted on the spot, moving half a step to the side to put space between her and the two girls courting beside her. "peut-être un peu de citron? si vous avez."
This is normal, she told herself as she handed over the coins. This is normal.
She took the two glasses, nodded a polite thanks, and motioned for Winnie to follow her. They weaved through the crowd, settling onto a small velvet couch tucked behind a pillar.
Before either of them could speak, another woman appeared, smooth and confident, and took the empty space beside Veronica. She was older, probably in her late twenties, with curled dark hair and a cigarette balanced between her fingers like it belonged there.
She leaned close, smiling with the kind of heat that made Ronnie stiffen slightly.
"De si beaux yeux…" the stranger began, voice like velvet. "Comment t'appelles tu?"
Ronnie blinked startled, and surprised herself with how smooth the French came out. "Eh bien, merci. Je m'appelle Ronnie."
"Ronnie. C'est… exotique." The woman's warm eyes skimmed over Ronnie's form. "Comme ta beauté."
Ronnie gave a polite smile, grasping her glass like it might anchor her. "Vous êtes trop aimable." She tried. "Je passe la soirée avec mon amie. Si cela ne vous dérange pas—"
"Je vois," The woman’s gaze flicked to Winnie, who was still staring off in semi-catatonic fascination at the women on the settee. "Ce fut un plaisir, Ronnie." She took Ronnie’s hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and slipped away like a ghost in silk.
Winnie leaned forward slightly, blinking out of her daze. "Did she just… kiss your hand?"
Ronnie huffed again, taking a long drink and avoiding eye contact with anyone who could spot the disorienting haze behind her irises. "I need air."
Winnie didn’t need to be told twice.
The two girls slipped away from the velvet murmur of the crowd and made their way back toward the entrance, glasses in hand. The air there was cooler, quieter — a little more like the world they knew.
For a moment, they just stood. Breathing. Watching. Processing.
Then, in a voice equal parts curious and panicked, Winnie broke the silence.
"Ron. You ever kissed a boy?"
Veronica traced the rim of her glass with her finger, not looking over. "Yes. Two times, when I lived in Salamanca." She took another sip, inquisitive eyes zeroing in on Winnie. "You?"
"Not really." Winnie replied, and quickly added, "You ever think about kissing a girl?"
Ronnie paused, and this time, the silence stretched. "I don't know." She tried not to dwell too long on the question. But she did think of someone—that girl at church, the strawberry blonde covered in freckles who always wore a blue ribbon. She remembered wondering what it would feel like, just once, to touch her face. "Do you?"
Winnie took a breath. Swallowed. "Dunno."
She rocked a little on her heels, a frown pulling at her brows. Her heart felt like it was in her throat. If there was anyone she could say this to, it was Ronnie. After all, she'd come here with her.
So, with quiet determination and her heart threatening to beat out of her chest, she corrected herself. "Yes."
The British girl attempted to read her friend's reaction, but panic bubbled up her throat before she could draw any conclusions.
"You reckon that makes me a lesbian?"
Ronnie finally looked at her then, shaking her head slowly, eyes drifting back toward the stairs where the women were still enjoying themselves, unbothered by the two girls' crisis.
"No, I don't think it does." She half shrugged. "I think every girl feels that. It doesn't make you a lesbian."
But Winnie wasn't just feeling it — she wanted it. Wanted to kiss women. Wanted to know what that meant. The realization hit her like cold water—sudden, shocking, impossible to unfeel.
And yet, just beneath the panic, there was something else; relief.
It took her a second to catch the other thing Ronnie had said. The thing Ronnie didn't seem to hear herself say.
'I think every girl feels that.'
Oh, Jesus, Winnie thought to herself.
This was bad.
Tags:
Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny @ecompstolemysoul @torchbearerkyle @easily-obsessed-with-things @fromjupitertocentauri @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @metrofae @jetjuliette
Summary: Veronica hates hospitals, but that blonde nurse taking night shifts makes a great muse for her US Nurse Corps' article. Or a great muse, period.
Pairing: Veronica Valero x Dolores Holbrook
Warnings: language, mild blood and gore
A/N: silly little drabble I came up with last night for y'all to start getting glimpses of their personalities and dynamics. Enjoy<3
The Dolls
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
Late October, 1943
Veronica hated hospitals. Not because of the stench or the blood or the gore; she hated the place per se. Sterile, echoey, impersonal and now crowded even in the late hours of the night.
Specially in the late hours of the night.
Moribund soldiers whimpered and groaned in every corner of The Churchill Hospital, making it impossible for anyone to sleep.
Ronnie didn't mind that part; if she had wanted to sleep, she would've stayed in Winnie's house—now hers too, she supposed, after three years living there—, in Birmingham. But she chased untold stories, and so she grabbed her camera and her notebook, and took that damn train in the late afternoon to spend yet another sleepless night in the American-commanded hospital.
It was the fifth in a row. Bribing the officers in charge only got her so far, but when the women serving in the US Nurse Corps found out Ronnie was there to write about them—not the officers, not the States, not the Allied forces; them—, they advocated for Veronica to stay.
She had reached an agreement. A week-long permit to observe, interview and photograph the nurses. The had given her a timeslot belonging to the graveyard shift—hoping she would turn it down, Veronica figured—, but Ronnie hadn't complained then, and she surely wouldn't complain now.
The curly haired woman knew half of her article wouldn't make it to the Oxford Mail. Even under a male pen name, her work never fully got through. In order not the get her photographs immediately scratched out of the draft, she'd learn to prioritize beauty over truth.
Lucky Ronnie, on her second night over, she had found the perfect muse for the photograph she'd send. Beauty and truth merged together in a white uniform, adorned with golden locks and bloodied hands.
Dolores Holbrook had introduced herself to Veronica as 'Dottie', even though the Spaniard had used her full name. Veronica hadn't asked why, which the blonde was grateful for. In a matter less than an hour, Dottie had shortened the brunette's first name to a warm 'Ronnie', like they had been friends since childhood.
By the fourth night together, Veronica had learned a lot. Not so much about the Nurse Corps, but about the girl who was now the main subject of her photographs. This article was something Ronnie could've gotten done in two days maximum, but was there any harm in prolonging her time at the Churchill Hospital to get to know Dottie better?
"And is this much different from Chicago?" Ronnie asked absentmindedly, giving the blonde a kick-starter so she could focus on structuring the nurses' answers to her questions.
"Oh, y'know, it's England," she began, her tone soft so she wouldn't disturb her patient; Ronnie looked up from her notebook just in time to see Dottie pull a face. "It's... Y'know."
"Gray and miserable?"
"Yes, thank you." Dottie breathed out, reaching for a pearl white cloth that would soon be stained with pus and blood. "And the Brits—" she huffed, manhandling a man twice her size to turn him around. "I miss the States. And the weather there. And my brother. He's a paratrooper, y'know? Shipped to England too but—" another huff, another rag. "I never see him, which is fucked. We're in the same country, it's not like I'm in America and he's— whatever, it's fucked."
"It is a bit fucked." Ronnie agreed, setting the notebook and fountain pen on a stool beside her. "I don't think I'd miss on the chance of seeing you."
Dottie hummed, said something about Veronica being sweet, and zeroed in on her task.
Ronnie was far from sweet. Yes, she could sugarcoat her words with a honeyed tone and fluttering lashes if she wanted something, but she was not sweet. Dottie thought she was, and she was too stubborn for Ronnie to convince her otherwise.
"Can you hand me that gauze?"
Veronica complied with the request, her fingers purposefully brushing Dottie's bloodied ones with the ghost of an endeared smile, and turned heel to walk back to the corner she had claimed as hers.
"I'm going to take some pictures, alright?" She announced distractedly, setting the parameters of her camera to fit the low lights of the room.
"Can I ask you something?" Dottie started, rubbing her palms against her white apron. Ronnie nodded, stepping closer, and so she asked, "You need these many photographs?"
Veronica pretended to muse the inquiry for an instant, rising the camera up to her face. "Honestly? No." Through the lens, she saw Dottie break an open smile, one of her golden curls framing her cheek.
Snap!
"Then why are you taking them?"
"Because you're pretty," Ronnie stated, rolling the film forward to take another photo. "The public likes to see pretty things."
Snap!
"You're sweet."
Ronnie breathed out a laugh. "No, I'm not."
She was just playing nice, because that's what she did when she wanted something and knew she wouldn't get it by going head on.
Tags:
Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny @ecompstolemysoul @torchbearerkyle @easily-obsessed-with-things @fromjupitertocentauri @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @metrofae @jetjuliette
A lovely little group of six Original Characters that we will be throwing into the BofB fics from now on, so you better look out for them and their very unlucky yet funny arcs <3
★ Winifred "Freddie" Hawthorne
★ Veronica "Ronnie" Valero
★ Elsie Taverna
★ Dolores "Dottie" Holbrook
★ Sandra "Sandy" Wexler
★ Florence "Flo" Taverna
Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny @ecompstolemysoul @torchbearerkyle @easily-obsessed-with-things @fromjupitertocentauri @luvrottt @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @metrofae @jetjuliette
Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.
Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader
Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers
Tags:
Head-to-head: @derersketnoget
Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters
A/N: this took longer than I wanted to because adulting sucks and my life is currently a roller coaster. Not even emotionally, it's just dead ass going off the rails in every way. In case 2024 is being a bitch to you too, have some Liebgott content to brighten up your day, enjoy <3
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Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
"You happy now?" Joe's voice broke the empty mess hall's unusual silence, making me jump ever so slightly before he appeared on my side by the door.
"I gotta put up with you for the night, so no." My eyes landed on him with my last words, making emphasis on my discontentment with the punishment. "I don't get what I did wrong to deserve this."
"Do I spell it out for you?"
"Shut up."
6 Hours Earlier
"Why're you running?"
Running? No, I was not running. The only occasions anyone would see me running were the ones when we went up and down Currahee.
Walking fast? Maybe. Maybe for once I was trying not to get in trouble, even if 'trouble' meant three men choosing to make hell out of my afternoon off just because they knew they could.
"C'mon, doll."
That did it. I planted my feet on the camp's dirt, causing the fastest of the three to bump into me.
"Don't 'doll' me, asshole." I accompanied my statement with a shove on the boy's chest, not strong enough to make him stumble but firm enough to maintain my personal space.
"Feisty one, ain't ya?" The second one to chime into the confrontation circled me to stand by my left. I didn't dignify his prying with my attention.
"What do I call you then, princess?" Bennett, I recalled, was the name of the soldier who was adamant about giving me a pet name.
"Mmm..." I pretended to muse it, my index finger resting atop my lips. "What 'bout you just don't call me? Ever. Problem fuckin' solved."
"Good girls don't swear." I scoffed at the poisonous warning with anything but amusement. "What's funny, doll?"
"Oh, honey, you don't know how good of a girl I'm being right now."
"Ooooh..." He shortened the space between us, hovering as if to make me back against the barracks. Not happening. "Look at her, Smith. So tough."
"Big mouth, but be careful." They were closing on me. It didn't take a genius to see where this was about to go. "Keep running it like that and Easy might find you in a ditch one day."
"Real charmer, aren't you?" The corner of my mouth twitched up briefly, chin held up like I had nothing to lose. "Take it easy, yeah? Might surprise yourself and end up flat on your back."
"That what you think's gonna happen?"
JOE'S P. O. V.
I had been trying to find a half-assed excuse to approach Y/n for a good minute—obviously with no fruition—, when one of the men now crowding her got in her face.
"Goddamn it." I muttered through gritted teeth, tossing my cigarette to the dirt to crush it with my heel before stalking to the group's side. "Back off her! Now."
Y/n's squinted eyes landed on me before I could close the distance. "The hell are you doing?" The tone was quiet and hasty, as if she was ready to start a side fight with me.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" I countered, rising my arm between Y/n and Bennett, not turning my head to him briefly. "Don't even think about it."
"This isn't your fight." My attention returned to Y/n with an annoyed huff when she put my arm down.
"Go back where you came from, Liebgott." I didn't even process Smith stepping to me until his hand collided with my shoulder, causing me to bump against the barracks' wall. "We're just having a chat."
I didn't give give it a second thought before pushing Smith back. Hard. "Try that again."
READER'S P. O. V.
The soldier snarled, giving Joe a taunting up-and-down, and swung a fist toward him.
I was acting out of instinct when, without a word, my hand closed on Smith's collar and landed a hard punch that forced him to back off.
"Nobody touches him." My index finger pointed at Joe in an attempt to regain some control of a situation that had already spiraled.
The remaining privates hesitated for an instant —just an instant— after realizing the confrontation escalated in the middle of camp. One way or another, we all were already in trouble.
I guess that's what Bennett was thinking when he attempted to take a swing back at me.
Joe yanked me back by my arm at the same time as Malarkey and Grant sprinted to put themselves between both Bennett and us.
"Hey! Break it up- BREAK IT UP!" Don yelled, struggling to keep back the two privates, although not as much as Grant struggled to keep both me and Joe at bay. "Toye! Bill!"
In a matter of seconds, Guarnere and Toye took on Malarkey's task so the ginger could separate me from Liebgott. I guess, by now, they knew us too well.
"You try that. See where it takes you." Toye grunted, shoving Bennett to the ground with minimal effort. "Get outta here."
"The hell were you two on now?" Guarnere's question almost sounded as a complaint when he turned around.
"You ask her." Joe spat, shaking Grant off.
"Don't put this on me," I pointed an accusatory finger at Joe. "you threw hands first."
"Did you miss the part where he shoved me?"
"Next time don't play hero and maybe you won't get pushed around."
Joe looked away with a sneer. "You're a goddamn idiot, you know that? Do you even know what was about to happen?"
"Don't put it like it was my fault." I heard a muttered curse from someone on my left flank when I pivoted my body to face Joe.
"Y/n." Malarkey placed his full attention on me in a disguised attempt to deescalate the argument. "What happened?"
"I'm a girl surrounded by assholes who don't know when to quit, Malark. That happened." It wasn't meant to land on Liebgott —it really wasn't—, but he took it personally anyway.
"No, what happened is that you don't know how to shut up." It was Joe's turn to step closer, forcing Grant to halfheartedly press a steady hand on his shoulder as a warning.
"And you do?!"
"You know how fights work?!"
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't!"
"Really?! Three against one?! real fuckin' smart!"
"I didn't ask for your opinion, and I sure as hell didn't ask for your help!"
"Alright, you know what—" Joe slapped Grant's hand away.
"Hey!" A flustered Talbert swept in just in time to take a hold of his friend. "Enough!"
"No, let him." I coaxed Floyd, although my eyes stayed locked with Liebgott's. "You're no better than them, you know that?"
"The hell is wrong with you two?" Don's exasperated gaze ping-ponged between us both. "No, seriously. What's gonna happen when we're out there? We're supposed to be a team."
"Don's right." Toye, who rarely showed any interest in whatever spat Joe and I had gotten ourselves into, sounded fairly worried. "You keep this shit up, you're gonna get someone killed."
"What's going on here?" Nixon's voice, despite not holding any scowl, snapped everyone out of the chaotic haze hanging among us. It barely took him a few seconds to pick up on what was going on. "Oh, for Christ's sake... Liebgott, Y/l/n. With me. Now."
With two quiet 'yes, Sir' Joe and I parted ways from our friends to follow the irritated officer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
My eyes traced, distracted, invisible patterns on the wooden floor beneath my half-laced boots. Across from me, Joe toyed with the buttons of his jacket, fingers methodical, as if the world outside didn’t exist.
Around half an hour must have passed since we both finally were able to return to our bunks.
Neither of us had spoken much. At first, it was due to Sobel's orders —'no talking unless it's related to the mess hall's cleaning'—, but as the night unfolded, Joe and I got caught in the quiet haze of fatigue that made talking feel like too much effort.
Funnily enough, as soon as we got the chance to get the rest we needed, our bodies and minds refused to shut down.
Something about the silence felt stifling now, uncomfortable. Maybe it was the fact that we were the only two people awake, or maybe it was the scarce distance put between us.
"You got a fella back home?" Joe's voice cut through the quiet, his tone casual but clear.
Of course he would go there.
"If I had a nickel for every time one of you asked," I muttered, pulling at the knot of my laces. "I think I wouldn’t need a paycheck."
"Didn’t answer the question." he replied, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes sharp on me in that way of his that made anyone feel like they were being measured.
"No, Joe," my negative was a little sharper than I had intended. "Don’t have a fella. Don't need one."
"Huh." he leaned back again, eyes still on me like he was dissecting my words.
The conversation should’ve ended there, but we were tired, and tired people asked questions they wouldn’t normally ask. I glanced up at him, squinting slightly in the dim light.
"What about you, Liebgott? Got a girl waiting on you?"
His digits, now taking unnecessary time with the cuff of his sleeve, paused briefly. "Not anymore."
The shift in his tone caught me off guard. It wasn’t bitter, but it wasn’t light either. It had weight. Enough weight to make me sit up straighter and watch him a little more closely.
"Not anymore." I repeated, letting the words hang there for a moment before tilting my head. "What's that mean?"
He scratched at the back of his head, fingers combing through his dark hair before resting at the nape of his neck. His gaze stayed casted down on the floor like he was reading something only he could see.
"Eh... Being in love ain't enough sometimes."
"You were in love?" I didn't bother hiding the surprise in my voice.
"Shit, I was married." There was an amused ring to his admission, and even in the darkness of the garrison, I discerned the usual twitch on the corner of his mouth. "What? Surprised?"
I shrugged, kicking off my jump boots. "Wouldn't have pinned you for the married type."
"Yeah, well," he shook off his jacket and bent over to undo his laces. "what about the divorced type?"
His eyes flickered to me, so quickly it might as well have been a trick of my imagination. He wanted to catch my reaction, but didn't want me to do the same with him.
"We were too young. People pull reckless moves when they're hung up on somebody."
A frown he wouldn't catch due to his sudden interest in his boots darkened my expression for an instant. He was justifying himself. Why?
"Won't catch me doing that shit ever again, though."
"What? Falling in love?" After the way his head tilted up to me, I didn't need a verbal answer. "is it that awful?"
It was his turn to furrow his brows. "You never been in love?"
"Nah." I accompanied my curt reply with a denying move before pulling my legs onto the mattress.
"Do yourself a favor," he threw his footwear under the bed and mirrored my posture. "keep it that way."
"Holy shit." I exhaled with a single breathy laugh. "She really fucked you up, huh?" He chuckled, shaking his head without looking at me. "She left you, then."
The loudness of his silence made me wonder if I had pushed it too far. There was no hostility in him, though, only something that could easily pass as discomfort peppered with what I hardly identified as guilt.
"So what? You get burned once and never try again?"
"Damn right." He grunted, laying down and pulling the covers over his lower body. "Love’s a loaded gun. I'm done pulling that trigger."
"You're so dramatic." I murmured with a quiet chuckle, subconsciously following his cue to get some sleep.
Joe propped himself on his elbow to meet my eyes before I could fully recline. "Just wait 'til some douchebag breaks your heart."
"I don't think I'll have time for that anytime soon." I retorted without missing a beat, although there was no illness in my response.
"Smart." He stated after examining whatever glimpse of my frame he could still see. "Smarter than me."
"Don't get cocky, alright?"
"I know."
Joe gave me one last look that seemed more amused than annoyed.
"Night, Liebgott." I simply replied, tucking myself comfortably in my bunk.
Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.
Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader
Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers
Tags:
Head-to-head: @derersketnoget
Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters
Warnings: language, mild allusions to violence? Idk this is surprisingly mild (for now lol)
A/N: in case you couldn't tell, this chapter came out of the notes I had written down for "Poison In Your Coffee". It's one of the snippets I was DYING to flesh out, so here's to a little self-indulgence from time to time. Enjoy<3
Head-to-head masterlist
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
I noticed.
My eyes didn't miss Liebgott's rushed half turn when we were dismissed after our Friday night march. It stood out to me; he didn't wait for anyone, not even Grant or Tipper.
I figured he was just eager to get to the barracks after a long day and didn't think much of it.
At least until our Commanding Officers retreated each to their own quarters, and Talbert hurried to fall into step with Luz, a few feet ahead of me and Shifty. I didn't catch much, but the hushed words 'beaten up' from Tab and 'again' from Luz as the latter tentatively explored the faces surrounding them stirred suspicion in me.
"George." Calling his name was enough to make the two of them slow their pace with mildly concerned faces, allowing me and Shifty to join them.
"You were marching with Liebgott, right?" I nodded in response to Luz's question, Talbert's inquisitive gaze on me. "You saw where he went?"
"Looked like he was headed to the barracks." The way both men scanned the moving crowd of soldiers made me become unsure of my own reply.
"He took a turn." Shifty corrected me, motioning ahead of us before taking off his helmet. "Second on the left."
"What the fuck's his game?" George complained, swinging his rifle over his shoulder. "Malark— hey," he stepped in the ginger's way, making Penkala, Muck and More come to a confused halt. "Mind helping us out?"
"What's wrong?"
"Liebgott's at it again." Tab finally disclosed the obvious, making all of us let out different levels of desperate groans and sighs. "If Lip finds out—"
"Is he tryna get himself kicked out of the Airborne?" Don rhetorically inquired with raised brows. "Where'd he go?"
"Shifty says he turned left. Y/n says the barracks."
More's eyes pivoted from Luz to me. "The barracks? Really?"
"I'm not his babysitter, Alton." I spat, taking off my own helmet to hold it under my arm. "I don't know where the fuck he went."
"Weren't you two marching together?" Muck echoed George's question whilst gesturing at Perconte to join us.
"In case none of you noticed, we don't have the smoothest conversations." I retorted. Just like Talbert was growing tired of covering for Liebgott in front of the other Sergeants, I was growing tired of getting the third degree everytime he disappeared.
"This about Joe?" Perconte chirped in, and without missing a beat, his thumb pointed behind him. "He was in a rush to get to A Company's area."
A flash of realization flashed across George's face, the back of his hand nudging Talbert. "What's his name? Bailey?"
Oh. That one asshole from Able. The one who was double Liebgott's size. Taking a peek among the group sufficed to let me know we all were on the same page.
"To hell with getting kicked out," I blurted out, worry seeping through my words. "he's gonna get himself killed."
"He's an idiot."
Penkala's words were followed by Don's decisive steps. "C'mon, we're no help here."
"Wait," I took a hold of George's sleeve. "you're gonna go to Able's barracks?"
"Got a better idea?"
"Maybe." I mused about it for an instant before striding back. "You guys be careful."
"You're not coming?"
"I'm gonna try the smarter option for a change." I replied to Don's baffled question in a slightly louder pitch before rushing to the Winters' quarters.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Word had spread faster than a forest fire over the weekend about the incident that never happened.
By the time our friends had found Liebgott on that Friday night, he was being led back into the camp —along with Bailey and three other men from A Company— by Winters, Able's First Lieutenant and a couple of privates who happened to be on patrol duty that night.
The eight boys who had gone looking for him hadn't said a word about what they knew, or how they thought the event had unfolded for Liebgott to come back to his barracks in one piece and with nothing to say.
He didn't get to leave the camp that weekend.
None of the men disclosed anything, yet somehow rumors still ran around; whether or not they carried my name in them was up in the air. Of course, it mattered little to Liebgott, who more often than not found a way to tie things back to me.
This time, though, he happened to be right.
JOE'S P. O. V.
It wasn't the violent swing of the mess hall's door that brought some of the men's attention to me, it was the fact that I stood still at the entrance, scanning the place with intent and how I zeroed in on her before making a beeline across between the packed tables.
"You couldn't mind your own business, could you?!" I didn't need to call out her name for Y/n to look up from her breakfast. The way my hands slammed her table as I leaned on across from it made her jump on her seat.
"I don't know what you're talking about." It was barely a mumble and she was trying to make it sound like a careless response.
"Cut the act. You reported me off camp." I looked away with a bitter sneer at her discomfort, my voice loud enough to draw unwanted attention. "Got my weekend pass yanked because you couldn't help being a prissy."
She shifted in place, trying not to look around too much as she struggled to stay composed. "Maybe you shouldn't have been sneaking around where you don't belong."
"That’s rich, coming from you." I snapped, leaning in for only her and the ones close to hear. "I didn’t think you'd stoop to snitching, Y/l/n."
A part of me had expected to be wrong, so when she struggled to even meet my glare and her voice turned quieter, the anger brewing inside me bubbled to the surface.
"It’s not like you didn’t bring this on yourself." She made an effort to gain control in our conversation, but her fidgeting was giving her away. "Maybe you should think twice before picking fights with people twice your size."
Wait, what?
"How the hell did you know about that?"
"You're not exactly quiet." It was an instant, almost unnoticeable, but she averted her eyes. "Don't you think?"
With suspicion, I followed her sight and found Talbert who, unlike the rest of our nosy company-mates, seemed more interested in his breakfast than in the confrontation I was provoking. "You kiddin' me?"
Another hit to the wooden table on my part visibly shook her, and it dawned on me that she wasn't only uncomfortable— she was uneasy.
"What? You want a thank you?"
"I wanted to have breakfast in peace." She snapped, her emotions tilting more towards anger now.
"And I wanted my weekend pass. Go cry about it."
She jolted up and mirrored my stance. The soldiers around her moved away as if being too close to us would get them caught in the crossfire.
"Don't worry. Next time I'll let them take a swing at you." It took longer than she would have liked for her usual temperament to start up. "See if I care."
"That's what you should've done, instead of tampering with someone else's business."
She squinted at me with an irritation that reflected mine. "I think you're just mad someone had to bail you out of trouble."
"And I think you don't know how to stay in your goddamn lane." She had that piercing look in her eyes; the one that only showed up when I had her on the ropes. "I didn't ask for your help."
"Okay, you got your little moment," She grabbed her tray, threw a leg over the bench she had been sitting on. "now leave me the fuck alone."
I scoffed and, unwilling to let her walk away for whatever reason I myself didn't fully understand, I stalked around the table, only to be stopped by Toye's arm, lazily raised to block my path.
"why don't you sit down, alright?" His raspy voice sounded tired.
"Yeah, knock it off, Joe." Malarkey jumped it, a mild concerned on his demeanor.
"Piss off." I countered, smacking Joe's hand away and resuming my walk.
By the time I reached her, the tray had already been returned to its place and she was about to exit the mess hall.
I huffed, trailing behind her. "You don't get to walk away on me—"
The words were knocked off me when she halted dead in her tracks, did a half turn and took a step forward. "After the bullshit you just pulled," her index finger dug into my chest. "I get to do whatever I want." I opened my mouth but no retort came out of it before she clapped back, as if she was reading my mind. "You don't need my help. Noted. I'll make sure to remember that next time you get a whole squad running around to stop you from getting beaten up."
"I didn't say—"
"That you needed their help either, yeah. You're such a tough guy, aren't you?" Unlike me, she wasn't rising her voice, which was just as infuriating to me as the bite in her sentences. "You're a fucking idiot, that's what you are."
I didn't have the chance to follow her out; Lieutenant Winters crossed paths with her, getting a quiet salute from a flustered Y/n before his inquisitive, unreadable gaze fell on me.
"Liebgott." It was a warning disguised as a greeting. I wasn't that stupid.
"Sir." I repeated Y/n's salute and took Winters arched brow as a cue to sit down at the nearby table.
Guarnere, having breakfast by my side, muttered something under his breath after giving me a side glance.
"What?"
"C'mon Joe," Luz sighed, turning from an adjacent table to make eye contact with me. "You really think you would've won that fight?"
"She made you a favor." Smokey clarified.
"She's got no right to make that call." I grumbled, stealing a bite from Perconte's plate, earning a muffled complaint from him.
"Jesus Christ, Lieb." Muck complained, shaking his head. "Bailey could deck you any day. She's looking out for you. We're looking out for you."
"Yeah, can you think about the rest of us for once?" I rolled my eyes at Luz's tell-off. "You know the amount of crap we'd get from Sobel if he ever finds out?"
"Alright, that's enough." I dismissed them with a grimace. "I get it. 'M sorry for the trouble. Jesus."
"Good." Penkala nodded, pointing at the door. "Now apologize to Y/n."
"Don't hold your breath, Penk." I retorted before standing up to grab a proper breakfast for myself before drill training.
Maybe the boys were right and I did owe her an apology. Not that she would ever get it, though.
Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.
Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader
Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers
Tags:
Head-to-head: @derersketnoget
Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters
A/N: okay I'm like three parts into this and it's gonna have the same vibe as this other fanfic (I've been wanting to flesh it out for a while), so if you're not into multiparts and prefer a similar, shorter version, go check that one out. Also, let me know if you'd like to be tagged in this one. That said, enjoy <3
Prologue • Part I • Part II
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
SLAM!
"Jesus!" Malarkey jolted on his bed, the cards Toye, Skip and him had been tossing on the mattress springing for an instant.
Maybe I had shut the barracks' door a bit too harsh.
"Tryna take it off the hinges?" Toye's tease was accompanied by a quirk of his brow and an unamused stare.
"Sorry." I grumbled with a wry face and not much feeling, making my way to my bed. "You seen Roe? Nixon's looking for him."
"I think he's on patrol duty in about an hour— what was that about?" Malark sat up straighter, setting his cards aside.
Before I could dismiss him whilst going through my belongings, Skip jumped into the conversation, feigning concentration in the game. "This is probably about Liebgott." A mischievous grin lit up his face when I looked over my shoulder to glare at him.
"Why would it be about Liebgott?" I hissed, turning to grab the book I was looking for.
Skip raised his eyes from the cards to give me a knowing stare. "Is it not?"
"So what if it is?" The three men shared a half amused, half stale glance and turned to me, the card game forgotten.
"What'd he do now?" Toye's question carried the exhaustion of a man who had listened to the same complaints too many times in the span of a few months.
"He just— ugh!" I threw my hands at the air, throwing my bag back under my bed with too much strength.
"Did he even have time to annoy you this much?" Skip was particularly enjoying this, unlike our two friends.
"Weren't you organizing supplies?"
"Yeah, Don. I was." I retraced my steps, not reaching the door just yet and instead making a stop by the boys' side. "But he was there. For fuck's sake— he's always there." I muttered the last part through my teeth, that anger I had barely gotten rid of growing exponentially at the mere thought of him. "Do you have any idea of how insufferable he is?"
Malarkey and Toye shared unspoken words momentarily before the redhead looked back up at me. "You could say we have some."
"He's not that annoying." Skip's oblivious comment earned him a slap from Don. "What?"
"He's not that annoying to you."
"Here we go." Toye groaned, fully shifting his body to me, knowing this wasn't going to be a short conversation.
"You have no idea of how much of a pain in the ass he can be." I began, already wound up by the not so willing interaction I was forced to have with Liebgott moments ago. "And you know why you don't know?"
"Surprise me." Skip was entertaining me. We all noticed, but I was yet to turn down an opportunity to rant about my own personal torment.
"Because it's not big stuff, it's— it's the endless little things. Like right now, you know what he did?" I didn't even wait for Skip's mock-serious cue. "I'm there, trying to organize the goddamn supplies and he just waltzes in with a shit ass comment about how I'm 'a bit too precise'." I accompanied the last part with a mocking tone and air quotation marks. "Who says that?! It's like he always has to get his two cents in, and I know he does it to bother me— don't give me that look." I warned Don, hitting his shoulder with the book in my hand.
"I didn't say anything!" He complained, trying and failing to hide the amused grin on his face.
"You know you're giving him what he wants, right?" Skip pointed out, taking the cigarette tucked behind his ear to his lips.
"What?"
"C'mon it's Liebgott. He wants to get a rise out of you." He shrugged, lighting up the smoke and taking a drag out of it. "And you're letting him."
"You think she doesn't know that?" Toye scoffed, giving me a side glance which I reciprocated.
"Oh, shut up." I rolled my eyes, plopping down on the bunk besides them. "I'm not gonna... What? Shut up and take it?"
"Have you tried that yet?" Skip asked with a raised brow.
"I'm not gonna try that." I stated, baffled at his suggestion. "That's what he wants. He wants me to go speechless, I just know. It's so obvious, with that damn attitude and the sarcasm and the way he'll just get me going until I run out of things to say— Don, I swear to God."
"I. Didn't. Say. Anything." He followed each of his words with a pause.
"You're looking at me like I'm nuts!"
"He's looking at you like you're stupid." Toye deadpanned taking the cigarette Skip offered him. " 'Cause you're fuckin' stupid, Y/n."
"I'm not stupid, I'm fed up." I hissed back at my friend. "Everyday, Toye, everyday for what? five months?" I stood up again. "He and his stupid jabs that are almost funny— like he's expecting me to, I don't know, laugh at them?"
"So you find him funny?"
"Don't put those words in my mouth." I warned Skip. "I said almost."
"Right."
There was a beat of silence from which I decided to move on, going back to the main topic. "It's not only that. It's the way he has to be right about everything, too. Like- first of all, he's not right about anything. Ever. Second of all—"
"Oh, and you are?" Skip cut me off, a taunting tinge in his question.
"Yeah, when it comes to him, I am." There was an unhealthy pride in my words, and by the look on Skip's face, that's exactly what he wanted. "And even if I wasn't, do you think I'd give him the satisfaction of—"
"Okay, this is ridiculous." He cut me off again, motioning at me whilst looking at our friends. "You noticed, right?"
"Hmm, I don't know Skip. We only had this conversation about a million times." Malark retorted.
"You're not annoyed by whatever Liebgott's doing." Muck spoke as if he had reached some kind of revelation. "You're annoyed because you two have the same playbook."
"I don't have—"
"Yeah, you do." Toye took a drag out of his recently lit Lucky Strike without sparing me a single glance.
"I don't. He's cocky and loud and argumentative and competitive—"
"And you're not." Skip could barely hold back his laugh, his eyes examining the two men's faces.
"I'm... Efficient."
Toye snorted. "That's what we're calling it now?"
"I'm calling it how it is."
"Face it. You're cut from the same cloth and it annoys the fuck out of you." Skip reached for the cards, silently agreeing with Toye and Malarkey that it was best to start over, and began to shuffle them.
"The same cloth my ass. He's an infuriating motherfucker." Don shook his head with a soft chuckle, taking the cards his best friend handed him. "I can't just— I have enough to worry about as it is, and he's out here making me argue over shit I don't even know if it's worth arguing over, just because— I don't know. It's not like he gives me time to think it through anyway."
"So you're also mad because he's quick. Or" Skip raised his pointer finger as if to sush me before I could argue back. "quick enough to keep up with you?"
It was the second time in the span of a couple of hours that I found myself at a loss of words— something I clearly wasn't a fan of.
"Okay, fuck this." I put a full stop on the conversation, muttering a mildly irritated goodbye to the boys before taking the barracks door and heading to the now empty mess hall.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
JOE'S P. O. V.
"I seriously don't get why you like her." I heard a dramatic sigh coming from the adjacent toilet.
"We're gonna do this again?"
What a way to finish such a magnificent day— latrine duty with Luz and Penkala.
"We're gonna do this until I get why you think she's worth anyone's time." I retorted at the Portuguese jokester, moving on to another toilet.
"Because she's as tough as they come." George sounded a bit too tired of listening to me for someone whose personality was based on going on and on about the same topic for hours. "Back me up, Penk."
"She's real smart." Penkala jumped in with a shrug, mopping the far corner of the bathroom. "And quick with words."
"Yeah, she keeps up with pretty much everything."
"Oh, c'mon." I scoffed, sitting back on my heels. "She's just a glorified pretty face."
"You know it's the third time you called her pretty in" Luz checked his watch with an arched brow. "an hour?" I rolled my eyes at his tease, poorly masked as an observation.
"That's all she is. She shouldn't even be here." I cursed under my breath when Penkala accidentally hit me with the mop. "The fuck was that for?"
"You're being a dick." He deadpanned absentmindedly.
"And it's getting old." Luz said, passing behind me to clean a different toilet. "Just admit you're ticked 'cause you found someone who can give you a run for your money." Penkala's quiet laugh put a shit eating grin on George's face. "and it's a girl."
"Yeah, sure, a run for my money. She's all talk, always with her little comebacks. Miss always-gotta-have-the-last-word." My voice was a bitter mock. "Stubborn little bitch."
"Hey!" Luz's palm smacked the back of my neck, making my head snap in his direction with a warning glare. "You're not gonna land her with that shit, y'know?"
"What makes you think I wanna land her?"
Penkala left the mop aside and crouched to help Luz pick up the cloths we had used to clean everything. "You haven't shut up about her since we came in."
"Yeah," Luz breathed out an exhausted groan when both him and Penkala raised to their feet. "you're starting to sound a little obsessed. If it's always like this," George lend me a hand to pull me up, which I gladly took. "I feel sorry for Tab."
"You're so damn funny." I clapped back, sarcasm dripping from my tongue as George pulled me up. "Should start a comedy show."
"So I've been told." We hadn't even left the latrine and Luz was already pulling out his pack of cigarettes. "C'mon Penky," he called for our friend, placing a cigarette on his lips before offering me one from the pack. "we're waitin' on you."
He did the same with Penkala once he joined us to leave for the barracks. I was attempting to light the smoke Luz had given us with my worn out lighter when she walked out of the mess hall.
Luz cursed under his breath, doing a half turn when he noticed Y/n strolling past us like we weren't there.
"A bit late to be wandering around, don't you think?" I called out with the cigarette still in my mouth, loud enough for her to catch it clear as day.
"A bit late to be fucking annoying, don't you think?" Her spat matched my volume, barely throwing a glance over her shoulder without slowing down as she passed by.
"Jesus Christ... Good night, Y/n!" The wind brought us a faint 'Night, Luz!' before we lost her in the camp's pitch black night.
"She's unbelievable." I muttered under my breath, tilting my head down for Penkala to light my cigarette with his own lighter.
Luz shook his head with disappointment. "You're unbelievable."
