#bob fanfic
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More Than Enough [Bob Floyd x Reader]
A Single Dad Bob Fic
Summary: The first two times Bob Floyd ends up in your emergency room he’s a mess. You never expected him to return a third time. But when he does, it changes everything.
Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x OC
Warnings: Medical setting, blood and needles, cursing
Word count: 4.4K
Bob Floyd masterlist here
“We’ve got another one.”
You sighed, lifting the hair from the back of your neck and fanning it before clipping your hair up and straightening your scrubs. “Be there in a second, Liz.”
Your charge nurse nodded, waddling away from the desk and you pushed back from your chair, wandering down the hall, knocking lightly before walking through the door on the right.
“Hi,” you said, grabbing the chart from the folder on the wall and stepping further into the room. “I’m Y/N, I’ll be your nurse today.”
“Hi.” You looked up. His voice was deep and gravely and insanely sexy despite the fluorescent lights of the ER and the sterile aesthetics of the triage room. The patient on the bed had sandy blond hair that was combed back neatly and a pair of wire glasses that slid down his pert nose. His pink lips were curled up in a delicate, shy smile, large hands spread out on either side of his body. “How are you?”
You laughed, skimming the clipboard chart one more time before setting it down near the sink. “Better than you, Mr. Floyd, by the looks of it. Says here you have a hook in your foot.”
The man nodded, lifting his left leg and you saw it immediately: an old fishing hook sunken into the flesh toward his ankle. You grimaced while putting on a pair of gloves.
“And how did this happen?”
“Playing football on the beach,” he said as you poked at the skin around the hook. “Just stepped somewhere I shouldn’t have, apparently.”
You nodded. “Well, Mr. Floyd–”
“Bob,” he said.
You smiled. “Bob. I’m going to give you a shot for tetanus. We’re not sure where this hook has been, so better safe than sorry.”
Bob winced as he watched you dip the syringe into the glass vial of medicine.
You sat down on the rolling stool and reached out, pushing up the sleeve of his shirt from his upper arm, rubbing a circle spot with an alcohol swab. “So beach football. That sounds fun.”
“I, um, I play with my team.” Bob closed his eyes as you slid the needle into his skin, pressing the depressor slowly.
When you pulled it out, covering it with a fresh cotton ball, reaching for a band-aid, he kept his eyes closed. You patted his arm softly. “Mr. Floyd, you’re doing just fine.”
His eyes shot open and he smiled, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m a major wuss when it comes to needles.”
“Most people are,” you said, examining his foot. “What kind of team? Like a rec league?”
“Oh, no,” Bob said as you cleaned around the entrance of the metal hook on his foot. “My squadron. I’m in the Navy.”
“Really?” You pressed down on the top of his foot, looking up at Bob. He caught your eye.
He nodded. “Aviator, ma’am.”
“What’s that like?” you asked. Just as Bob opened his mouth to reply, you yanked on the hook, eliciting a sharp grunt from him. You shook your head with a sad smile. “Sorry, better not to see it coming.”
“Think you’re right about that,” Bob said, his voice a little higher than before.
You smiled sweetly up at him, pressing against the wound with cotton to stop the bleeding. Bob laid back against the bed, looking a little more pale than before. “Mr. Floyd?”
“Bob,” he gasped.
“Bob,” you repeated. “Are you feeling dizzy?”
“Not a fan of blood, either,” he muttered and you looked down to see that blood had soaked through the cotton you were holding. You quickly switched it out.
“Lay back for me,” you said softly, “and close your eyes.” Bob did as he was told and you wrapped his foot gently once the blood had stopped flowing from the wound. You ran the sink with cold water, dampening a towel and folding it up, placing it gently on Bob’s forehead. He sighed audibly. “There. Just try to relax, OK?”
He chuckled. “Not a very good first impression, huh?”
You smiled even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ve had worse.”
Just as you were about to open your mouth and ask about his personal life, the door swung open and a beautiful brunette entered the room with a little girl on her hip. Your heart sank in your chest as she set the toddler down and watched as the toddler rushed to the bed. “Daddy!”
Bob’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled brightly. “Hi Sugar.”
“She insisted we follow you,” the brunette said. She was gloriously tan and chiseled, wearing just a black sports bra and a pair of small athletic shorts. She turned to you with a grin. “How’s our boy doing?”
“He’ll be just fine,” you said, trying your hardest not to be jealous of this perfectly kind stranger who just happened to be the wife of your patient. But you also wanted to claw her eyes out and claim him as your own.
“Daddy, you fainted.” The little girl had her hands on the sheets where she could reach and Bob leaned over, trying to scoop her up, but couldn’t quite reach her.
“Here.” You crouched down next to the little girl. “Want me to help you get on your daddy’s bed?”
She nodded enthusiastically and you smiled, lifting under her arms, plopping her against the sheets and Bob’s waiting arms. You watched as Bob enveloped her in his embrace, veins and muscles on his arms rippling as he held her tight.
The brunette cleared her throat. “Floyd, I can take Andie home, depending on how long you’ll be here?”
Bob turned to you. “Y/N?” he asked and you liked the way he said your name instead of nurse or hey you or even ma’am. “How long do you think?”
“I just want to keep you here another fifteen minutes or so, make sure you’re reacting OK to the vaccination and you’re no longer a fainting threat, and then we can get your discharge papers completed. Won’t be more than an hour.”
Bob nodded. “I’ll take her home, Nix, don’t worry about it.”
The brunette put one hand on her hip. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. You want to stay with me, Sugar? Or do you want Auntie Phoenix to take you home?”
Andie clung to Bob’s side. “I want to stay with you, daddy!”
You caught the auntie part of the conversation. As you swapped out his gauze for a bandage you looked quickly.
No wedding ring.
Things were looking up. You smiled as the brunette leaned over, kissing the top of Andie’s head. “OK sweetheart, you can stay with your daddy. Floyd, I’ll check on you later. Bradshaw will drive you home, OK? He’s in the waiting room.”
Bob nodded. “Thanks. Tell him we’ll be out soon.” Bob turned to you as Andie settled in his arms, her gaze already on the TV in the corner. “Sorry, that’s my pilot, Natasha.”
“She’s pretty.”
Bob flushed. “I, um, I was going to say the same thing about you.”
You loved that he was flustered. In his arms, Andie stirred. “Daddy? How much longer?”
“Just a little bit, honey,” he said. “Do you want to wait with Uncle Bradley?”
She shook her head. “No, daddy, want to be with you!”
“OK Sugar,” he said, looking up at you sheepishly. “Sorry, she’s three and a little antsy.”
You waved one hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it. She’s adorable.” You finished your note on his chart. “Well, Mr. Floyd, you’re going to be just fine. In about fifteen minutes, the floor nurse will come in and get you the discharge papers and you two will be free to go.”
Just as you were about to turn on your heel, Bob’s voice caught you. “Y/N?”
You turned. “Yes?”
He looked down at Andie’s blonde head and then back up at you and sighed. “Um, thanks. For everything.”
You smiled but it was thin. “Of course, it’s my job.” You waved. “Bye sweetheart.”
“Bye!” Andie’s sugary voice rang out in the sterile room.
You turned on one heel, flattening yourself to the hallway after shutting the door, letting out a breath. For a moment, you had thought he was going to ask you out. But of course he wasn’t. Who were you kidding? A gorgeous pilot with a daughter? He was surely off the market, even if he wasn’t wearing a ring.
You opened your eyes just in time to see an incredibly beefy guy slide down the hallway, his brown eyes landing on yours. He grinned, white teeth, slightly crooked smile. Fuck, he was beautiful, too. What was going on?
“Hi,” he said, stopping in front of you. “I, uh, I’m looking for Bob Floyd’s room?”
You hooked a thumb to your left. “Right there,” you said.
He grinned. “Thanks.” He didn’t make a move to leave.
You pushed yourself off of the wall and nodded. “Anytime.”
The mustache man followed you with your eyes as you walked away from the room, as far as you could get from the tiny little corner of the hospital that was inhabited by the most beautiful people you had ever laid eyes on within a ten minute span.
Back at the nurse’s station, you collapsed into your chair.
“I know that look,” Liz said, eyebrow raised.
“What look?”
She shook her head, grabbing for her water bottle. “Watch out, sweetie. There’s only one reason you could possibly look like that?”
“And how do I look?”
“Fucked.”
***
You hadn’t been able to get Bob Floyd out of your head. That’s why, two weeks later, when he rushed into the ER in the middle of the night, you blinked rapidly, convinced that the night shift was melding with your subconscious somehow.
“Hello?” he called out into the hallway and you rushed forward, noticing that he had Andie in his arms, her face pink with anguish. “She won’t stop crying and throwing up and oh my God, I don’t know what’s happening.”
“Put her down here,” you said, leading them to a bed and drawing the drapes tightly. Andie rolled onto her side, clutching her abdomen. “Hi honey. I’m just going to take a look at your belly, OK?” She nodded, but continued to cry as you lifted up the hem of her pajama top, touching her distended belly gently as she cried out. You looked up at Bob. “It’s most likely appendicitis but we’ll need a CT scan to confirm.”
Bob ran a hand through his hair. He looked much more disheveled this time and you almost wanted to sling an arm around him, pull him into a hug. He looked like he needed it.
“Let me call down to radiology, we should be able to get her in immediately.”
You stepped toward the phone on the wall, speaking quickly, eyes on Bob as he hovered near Andie’s bed, whispering softly in her ear.
“Another nurse will come and take her down in a minute,” you said gently.
Bob looked up. “Can I go with?”
You shook your head and his face fell. “I’m sorry. But you’ll get to see her before she goes into surgery.”
“Is there anything you can give her for the pain?” he pleaded. “I just, I don't know what to do.”
You nodded. “We’ll give her some medicine before the procedure and after.”
A knock on the door stole both of your attention. “Mr. Floyd? I’m here to take Andie down to radiology.” A short nurse with her hair tied back smiled at the door. “Are we all set?”
“Yes.” You looked at Bob and Andie. “It’ll only be twenty minutes, I promise.”
He nodded, leaning over and kissing Andie’s head. “I’ll be right here, baby, I promise. Be good for me, Sugar.”
“Daddy!” she cried and you saw how it gutted him.
He swallowed the pain. “It’s OK, honey. You’ll feel better soon.”
And then they were wheeling Andie’s bed out of the room and Bob collapsed onto the chair near the wall, head in his hands. You waited a moment before walking over, squatting down and pressing one hand to his knee gently. “Hey. She’s going to be OK, I promise.”
Bob looked up and you saw tears in his blue eyes. He wiped at them. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing scarier as a parent than rushing your kid to the ER in the middle of the night.”
“Don’t be sorry,” you said softly. “I can’t even imagine.”
“Do you have kids?”
You shook your head. “I don’t.”
Bob sighed. “I never thought I wanted kids,” he whispered, like a confession. “And then Andie came along and she changed everything.” He paused. “She’s my entire world. I can’t explain how helpless I feel watching her in pain knowing it’s out of my control.”
Your hand was still pressed against his knee. “She’s going to be alright,” you said. “I promise, nothing bad is going to happen.”
“Thank you.” The two of you hovered there for a moment, eyes locked on each other. And then the door swung open and you stood up quickly.
“It’s a ruptured appy,” the nurse said. “We’re taking her down to OR two.”
“You have to let him talk to her first,” you said and Bob looked at you, surprised. “He has to tell her it’s going to be OK. She’s scared.”
The nurse nodded hastily. “Fine, but do it quickly. Dr. Roberts is already scrubbing in.”
The three of you trailed down the hallway to where Andie laid in a bed near the elevator, another nurse speaking with her quietly. Her eyes flicked to Bob immediately, widening with recognition and comfort. He reached out, stroking her hair. “Hi Sugar,” he whispered and you could hear in the pits of his voice how much he was holding back. “Listen, the doctors are going to make you better and when you’re done with your nap, I’ll be waiting for you.”
“With a toy?” she asked, her voice light and soft.
Bob smiled. “Yeah, honey, with a toy.”
“Promise, daddy?”
Bob nodded. “I promise. Be right here when you’re done, OK?”
Andie smiled and Bob pressed a kiss to her forehead before she was wheeled down the corridor, through the double doors at the end of the hallway. He turned to you with sad, wide eyes. You were an ER nurse – technically, you needed to hand over Andie as your patient to the surgical team. You would go to the nurses station and finish the chart, have it signed off by the attendings who completed her surgery after it was done. But something about the frazzled way that Bob looked and how his leg had felt beneath your palm made you throw everything else to the side.
“Come on,” you said, putting one hand on his arm gently. “Let’s get a coffee. It’ll be an hour or two.”
He frowned. “You don’t need to see more patients?”
You shrugged. It was three in the morning on a Tuesday. Only one bed was filled. “It’s quiet. They’ll cover for me.”
“Are you sure?”
You nodded. You didn’t want him to be alone. “Besides, I know where the good coffee is.”
That’s how you and Bob ended up on the third floor doctor’s lounge sipping out of mismatched mugs, the sun still asleep beneath the blanket of the horizon.
“So a pilot, huh?” you asked. “That must be exciting.”
Bob smiled but it was quick. Tight. “Yeah.” He took a sip of coffee and looked up. “Actually, can I tell you the truth?”
“Of course.”
“People always say that and I always respond the same. Yeah, it’s exciting. Yeah, it’s cool. But the truth is, it’s fucking terrifying. Going up in jets every day not knowing if I’m going to be able to pick my daughter up from daycare later or not.”
“So why do you do it?”
“Only thing I’ve ever been good at,” he replied.
“That can’t be true.” Your eyes wandered over Bob’s strong hands, the way the coffee mug was engulfed by them. The wire glasses slipping down his nose. The way he carried himself. Like he was too much of a burden to compete for space in the room, even though there was no one in there besides the two of you.
“Being a dad,” he said softly. “I’m good at that. I think.”
“You are.” He lit up. “The way Andie looks at you? You’re her hero.”
Bob put his coffee cup down. “You’re just saying that.”
“You don’t know me,” you said, “but I don’t really make a habit of lying just to make people feel good about themselves.”
He laughed. “So that’s why you became a nurse, huh?”
“That and an oppressive need for academic validation. Plus I look cute in the uniform.”
Bob smiled at you. “True.”
You blushed. In the dim light of the lounge, you could see Bob’s profile and he was even more beautiful than you had made him to be in your head. “So, Andie’s mom?”
He shook his head. “She’s not in the picture.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“I am, too,” he said quietly. “For Andie, not for me. We were never good together. Right now, I’m just trying to be enough. I’m doing everything I can, but I know that one day she’s going to grow up. And I am going to be useless when she comes home asking me to buy her a miniskirt or what dress to wear to prom or how to put her hair in French braids for some costume party.” He smiled at you sadly. “I just know that I won’t be enough.”
“The fact that you’re already thinking of that tells me you’re more than enough,” you replied. “She’s lucky. And I’m not just saying that.”
Bob chuckled lightly. His voice was deep and silky. “Do you give all your patient’s parents the VIP treatment?”
“Nope,” you said, setting down your coffee cup and turning to where he sat in the leather chair next to you. “You’re special.”
“Oh yeah?” Bob murmured, leaning forward over the arm of his chair, his face dangerously close to yours. “Why is that?”
“Because–” Just then, your pager beeped. You leaned back and pulled it off your waistband. “It’s Andie’s surgery. She’s in recovery.”
Bob jumped up, cheeks flushed. “And?”
You smiled. “No warnings. It must have gone perfectly.”
“Oh, thank God.” The relief coming from his voice could sooth a thousand wounds.
You grinned. “I’ll take you down to her room.”
As you turned to head out toward the hallway, Bob stopped you, his hand on your wrist, fingers circling yours. “Y/N, I–”
“I know,” you said softly, letting his hand slide into your own. “We should go, Andie’s waiting.”
You understood what people meant when they said their ovaries were going to explode the second you saw Andie and Bob reunite in the post-op room. Her tiny face lit up as she watched Bob walk through the door, her little arms reaching for him instinctively. The way he cradled her head to his chest, patting her back softly, kissing her temple. There was a warmth spilling out into the room, radiating off of the two of them like an aura. You stood in the doorway as the sun crawled over the horizon and watched father and daughter reunite.
After a while, you stepped up to the bed. “Hi sweetheart, heard you did great in there,” you said softly and Andie beamed. “I’m going to let you and your daddy get some rest, OK? Someone will be back in a bit to check on you.”
“Bye!” Her small voice was like a thousand little violins.
Bob turned to you, one hand still touching Andie, making sure she was there. She was safe. “I can’t thank you enough,” he said quietly. “Is this the end of your shift?”
You checked your watch. It was six thirty. You had been off for thirty minutes. “Yeah, it is.”
“I, um.” He looked down at Andie, her baby blue eyes tracking him. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow if we’re still here.”
You smiled. “You two will be released by then, I’m sure.”
“Oh.” There was something dejected about the way he said it. You shuffled from foot to foot. “It was nice seeing you again. Bob.” The way his name felt on your tongue. It was fuzzy and soft and you wanted to hold onto it for as long as you could.
“You too, Y/N,” he said softly.
You turned, heading for the door, before spinning back around, digging in your pocket, pulling out a tiny stuffed penguin on a keychain. Your niece had given it to you a few months ago for your thirty-first birthday and you had almost forgotten it was still in your pocket from where you had scooped it up earlier after it fell out of your bag onto the locker room floor as you were rushing for a code. “Bob,” you said quietly and he turned, eyes bright. You slipped the toy into his hand quietly so Andie wouldn’t see. He looked down then back up in surprise. You grinned. “You promised her a toy, remember?”
His fingers lingered over yours before finally you pulled away, the heat of Bob’s stare warming you from your core like lava. “Thank you.”
You smiled. “Bye again.”
This time you did leave, your chest tight as you shut the door softly, turning down the hallway, putting as much space between you and Bob Floyd as you could. Because you knew that if you didn’t, you’d embarrass yourself. You’d run back into the room and beg him to take you out. To kiss you. To talk to you with a fraction of the love that he spoke to Andie with. That would be enough.
It would be more than enough.
***
It was the end of a long day. You sat down at the nurse’s station with a sigh, kicking your feet up on the desk, closing your eyes. Only a few seconds passed before someone was tapping your shoulder incessantly.
Your eyes snapped open and you groaned. “What?”
“You’re going to want to see this,” Kirsten said. She had one hand on her hip, head tipped toward the lobby area.
“Bloody?” you asked excitedly.
She shook her head. “You’re nasty. No, it’s better.”
“If it’s not a bloody accident I don’t want it.”
Kirsten rolled her eyes. “It’s better so just shut up, put a smile on that face and maybe puff out your boobs a little, you’re looking saggy.”
“What?”
She laughed as you stood up, fiddling with your scrub top, frowning as Kirsten pushed you around the corner toward the lobby doors. You stopped dead in your tracks.
Bob Floyd stood in the atrium of the hospital, still wearing his green flight suit, blond hair perfectly combed back, wire glasses slightly askew. He had a bouquet of pink roses in his hands and a brilliant white smile when he spotted you.
“Hi.” His voice wobbled a bit as you approached.
“Hi back,” you said quietly. “I hope those are for me,” you said, gesturing to the flowers, “because you really need to stop showing up with emergencies, Bob Floyd.”
He laughed, a throaty sound that eclipsed all other laughs in your memory. Now, anytime you ever thought of a laugh it would be like what Bob Floyd sounded like on a random Thursday evening. “Well it is the ER. Besides, how else would I be able to see you?”
“You'd see me if you ever asked me on a date.”
Bob flushed. “Well, that’s why I’m here.”
“Oh yeah?”
He nodded, thrusting the flowers out to you. “I, um, I wanted to ask you out the first time we met. But that didn’t really turn out like I planned. Practically fainting in front of you wasn’t what I had in mind.”
You smelled the flowers. They were clean and crisp and you couldn’t remember the last time a man bought you flowers, let alone went out of his way to see you. You stepped closer. “It was kind of charming,” you admitted.
Bob laughed again, that sweet chuckle that was quickly imprinting itself in your mind. “I’ll take it. So what do you say, will you go on a date with me?”
“I don’t know, what can beat stale coffee in a doctor’s break room?”
“What if I cook you dinner?” Bob offered and your eyebrows shot up. “What’s your favorite dish?”
“Eggplant parmesan,” you said automatically. It tumbled out of your mouth.
“Done.”
“So you can cook?”
“No,” he said and you laughed. “But I can Google it.”
“You’d go to all that trouble just for me?”
Bob stepped in closer, reaching out one hand, tucking a chunk of hair behind your ear. His touch was warm and it practically electrocuted you with the fervor that started to course through your veins as his skin brushed against yours. Bob let his hand linger on the side of your neck, cupping you gently. “It’s no trouble,” he murmured. “Besides, Andie keeps asking about the pretty nurse who gave her the penguin doll.”
You grinned. “Did she like it?”
“She sleeps with it every night. But apparently, Mr. Penguin has requested that you come by the house to read him a bedtime story. So what do you say? Dinner and a book reading?” he asked.
You locked eyes with Bob, nodding. “Is it weird to say I’m glad you got a hook in your foot and ended up in my ER?”
Bob chuckled. “Is it weird to say I’d do it again every day if it meant I got to see you?”
“Honey,” you whispered. “No need to stab your foot again. I’ll be at dinner any night of the week. Just say the word.”
He held out one hand. You slipped your fingers into his. It was enough. It was more than enough.
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Dinner Plans
Requested: yes
Summary: You may have forgotten to mention to your husband that his friend’s were coming over for dinner. What could go wrong?
Word count: 1.0k
Warnings: allusions to smut.
Pairings: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Wife!reader
The smell of fresh biscuits was the first thing that Bob noticed when he stepped into his house. The delectable scent calmed him slightly. He allowed the stress from today’s training to roll off him in waves. With a sigh, his eyes slipped shut as he let his duffel bag thud as it slipped from his fingers. “I’m home Honey!” A few seconds later you rounded the corner with a towel in your hand. Bob relaxed even more as you flashed him a large, warm smile. His arms wound around your waist and he breathed in the comforting scent of your raspberry and vanilla perfume.
He softened like butter when you began to play with the short hairs at the back of his neck. Your husband released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding before he nuzzled his face into your neck. There was a soft smile on your face as he peppered kisses across your skin. “How was your day, Baby?” You whispered, pecking his jaw afterwards.
Bob groaned lightly into your neck causing you to coo quietly. The feel of his arms tightening around your waist sent butterflies into your stomach. You loved that even after years of being together, he could still make you feel as if it were your first date all over again.
Kissing your neck one last time, your husband pulled back. He offered you a tired smile as he slipped his sweater off. “I think I’m going to head out to the garage for a little bit.” You nodded softly, patting his forearm with a gentle smile. He placed a chaste kiss to your cheek before heading off toward the garage.
You moved back into the kitchen, smiling when you heard the familiar sound of your husband's drums fill your home. Your phone chimed in your pocket causing you to jump slightly. Grinning at her text, you quickly sent Phoenix a thumbs up. She and the boys would be here in the next twenty minutes or so.
Your music filled the kitchen once more, drowning out the sound of your husband letting out his frustrations. There were only a few more things that you needed to do to finish off dinner. After checking on the large pot of stew on the stove, you switched off the burner. You moved to set the table, double-checking that there were enough plates for everyone. The last thing you had to do was take the biscuits out of the oven.
Humming quietly along with your music, you moved the stew to the pot holder in the center of the table. After that, you transferred the biscuits onto a larger plate and moved it to the table as well.
It was then that you heard the ringing of the doorbell. The fact that your husband may not have heard it slipped your mind as you headed toward the door. You grinned widely as you opened the door, accepting the hug from Phoenix as she threw her arms around you. Bradley, Jake, Coyote, Fanboy, and Payback all offered you small smiles as they moved into your home. Jake closed the door behind him while you rushed forward with Phoenix, animatedly chatting about the recent gossip at your work.
Everyone gathered around the kitchen, the boys helping themselves to the beers in the fridge. A few seconds later everyone grew silent, focusing on the steady beating of the drums coming from the garage. You watched as the boy's jaws dropped. Phoenix just smirked. Of course she knew that her WSO was an expert at playing the drums.
Rooster turned to you with a shocked look, his eyes darting between you and where the noise was coming from. You could only grin as you lifted one of your shoulders in a shrug. Before you could stop them, every single one of the male aviators began rushing toward your garage causing you and Phoenix to sigh. She rolled her eyes at her friend's childish behaviour. The two of you followed after them, stopping at the door to your garage.
Your husband had a large blue covering his cheeks. When the boys had burst into the room, Bob had instantly stopped drumming. His sticks had clattered onto the ground as he froze in his spot. He wasn’t exactly trying to keep the fact that he could drum from the boys, he just didn’t want to deal with the teasing that he knew would come with them knowing. You offered him a shy smile, watching the blush rise further onto his cheeks as the boys started asking questions.
Bob sighed as he stood up. He answered a few of their questions as he made his way to you. When he reached you he smiled slightly, cocking an eyebrow as he glanced around at his friends. “Sorry honey,” You whispered with a sheepish smile. He only shook his head lightly, pressing a chaste kiss to the apple of your cheek. Phoenix nudged you gently when he pulled back. She shot you a teasing smile as you glared at her.
You rolled your eyes as she snickered quietly. Leading the group to the kitchen, you all sat down around the table and began dishing up. You sat down next to your husband after grabbing a glass of water. Bob set his hand on your thigh and squeezed softly.
The rest of the meal passed relatively easily. Conversation flowed smoothly, everyone seeming to have forgotten what happened in the garage. That was until Jake spoke up from the end of the table. “Why the drums, Baby on Board?” Sighing as the rest of the group laughed quietly, your husband took a bit of his biscuit before responding. His response left everyone gasping quietly before breaking out into laughter. Jake was left with a beet-red blush on his cheeks.
“Well,” He started before sipping on his water. “I figured it would be better to bang something other than my lovely wife to let my frustrations out. Maybe you’ll understand one day, but I don’t wanna break her, Bagman.” Your husband smirked when he was finished. You stared at him with a look of amusement and shock. That definitely was not what you were expecting him to say.
#top gun#top gun fanfiction#top gun x female reader#top gun x reader#top gun fluff#top gun maverick#bob fanfic#bob floyd fluff#bob floyd#top gun bob#bob fluff#robert bob floyd x reader#robert bob floyd#bob floyd fic#bob x reader#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd fanfiction#bob floyd imagine#bob floyd x you#robert floyd x you#robert floyd x reader#robert floyd#robert floyd x y/n#robert floyd x female reader#top gun imagine#maverick top gun#top gun x you#top gun x y/n#bob x you#bob floyd x wife!reader
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Saccharine - Dick Winters x FemNurse!Reader
Saccharine - Dick Winters x FemNurse!Reader
Word Count : 1.9k
Warnings : mentions of war, wounds, slight jealousy (barely)
Summary : Three Times Dick Winters Wanted to Confess His Feelings and The One Time He Did
A/N : Hello, the next fic after this will be the winner of the WIP poll. This one was tickling my brain though, so I had to write it! This fic is based on the fictional depiction in the miniseries Band of Brothers, not the real veterans. I hope you enjoy it and as always, pls like and reblog if you’d like to see more <;33
Shortly After You Met
You were quickly wrapping bandages, stocking the medics’ bags, making sure morphine was ready, and generally cleaning house. Keeping clean conditions was a little more difficult in the position you were all in, but you liked to make sure the medics felt even partially clean and organized.
“Well look at that..” you hear a voice behind you and you turn slightly, recognizing Dick Winters. You smile at him, eyes lighting up when you register that Doc Roe is standing next to him.
“Just the men I wanted to see.” You hand a fully stocked aid kit to Doc “At the ready for use.” You lower your voice. “Don’t tell anybody but I gave my favorite company medic a few extra bandages.” Roe nods thoughtfully with a little laugh and takes his aid kit from you.
Your eyes slide to Winters, smile brightening for him. “Hello Lieutenant Winters.”
Dick pauses for a moment before answering you, your smile disarming him. Never had he seen you smile so brightly at him. He would have figured you would have reserved such sweet smiles for someone like Doc.
Doc was looking between the two of you, eyebrows scrunched together a bit. Lieutenant Winters wasn’t a very talkative man, sure, but he seemed dumbstruck by you.
“Hello, Nurse.” Dick says quietly. “Always a pleasure to see you.” He gives you a small, polite smile. You duck your head slightly, trying to hide the scarlet blush creeping up your cheeks. Dick pretends not to notice, but is secretly very pleased that he’s had this effect on you.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Such kind words for such difficult times bring me great comfort.” You fiddle absentmindedly with the spare piece of gauze in your hand, your calloused fingers looking so rough, but your touch being so gentle.
“Nurse!” You hear someone call. “NURSE!” You head turns quickly and you notice a young man dragging his half conscious friend behind him. You drop the spare gauze in your hands and rush over, immediately pushing yourself under the unconscious young man’s other shoulder. You can see his lower leg is torn up, the blood mingling with his shredded trousers. You guide both men to a cot and as you reach for the makeshift curtain you lock eyes with Dick Winters, who looks as if he wants to say something to you. Before he opens his mouth, you close the curtain, turning to the wounded soldier.
“I need a surgeon!” You yell, beginning with staunching blood flow. Once another nurse arrives, you pause, wiping your hands quickly and ripping open a sulfa powder packet with your teeth, sprinkling it on the unconscious man’s leg.
Dick watches you from afar, admiring how you seem so sure of yourself. He can barely tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. He shakes himself out of his reverie and exits the aid station with Doc Roe.
2. When He Just Happened To Walk By
You were standing outside the aid station, taking a small breather. You knew you were meant to help people, it had just seemed like a calling, but watching men take their last breaths takes a toll on a person, and you needed to leave the stuffy confines of your post for a moment.
“Oh. Hello.” You hear, and you look up, surprised to see Lieutenant Winters. “I just happened to be walking by and thought I would come say hello.” What you didn’t know is that he had given himself a papercut on purpose so he could come speak to you directly. Finding that you were already there, he forgot all about his self-inflicted cut and approached you carefully.
You can’t help but smile at him. Of course, you smiled at many of the men, but something about Winters made you want to smile whenever you saw him. “Hello, Lieutenant Winters.” You say politely. Dick arches an eyebrow and looks down at you.
“Please, call me Dick.” He says, one corner of his mouth quirking up at you, and you grin at him. His heart feels like it seized a bit, and he realizes that seeing you is something he keeps finding himself seeking out.
“Okay.” You say sweetly. “Nice to meet you, Dick.”
Now it’s Dick’s turn to grin at you. “Nice to meet you.” His blue eyes sparkle at you and you turn back to look at the road.
Dick clears his throat. “You know, I -“
You turn to look at him again and he falters. He’s too nervous to tell you just how much he enjoys seeing you.
“Never mind. I seem to have lost my train of thought, Nurse.” He looks down briefly at the finger with the paper cut and you notice, gently taking his hand in yours. Dick’s heart skips a beat and you examine his finger.
“Just a small paper cut. Do you want a bandage?” You say, looking up at him with what he swears is the sweetest expression he’s ever seen.
He shakes his head slowly at you. “No, no. Save it for a man who needs it.” You notice that he doesn’t move his hand out of yours right away, and you like it. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a small crush on the lieutenant, and when it felt like he sought you out just to say hello, you were elated.
“You’re a noble man,Lieutenant. Braving that paper cut all by yourself.” You tease him, lowering both your hands gently. You bring your hand up and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, aware of his eyes on you.
“Well, someone has to do it.” He jokes lightly back.
The two of you stand outside the aid station, a small smile playing on both your lips.
3. The Ricochet
You would be lying if you said you weren’t panicked. There was a rumor running through that Dick Winters had been shot, and you were running around the station, gathering whatever it was you thought might help. The other nurses glanced between themselves, knowing that Winters was important to you, even if you wouldn’t admit it.
You make sure there’s a cot ready, waiting to see Doc Roe rush in, yelling at the others that a surgeon was needed, that Dick was losing too much blood, that he might not make it.
When Dick walks in, limping, you stand there, shocked.
He was standing upright.
Dick raises his eyes and notices you, limping towards you. “Just the nurse I need to see.” You stare at him, unsure how to react, what to say. If your silence wasn’t embarrassing enough, you could feel tears pricking at your eyes. “Are…are you alright?” You look as if you may faint, and Dick reaches his hand out to cup your elbow gently.
You blink a few times, looking up at him. Then you look down at his feet, remembering that he had limped over to meet you. “I…oh my, I’m so sorry.” You say, guiding him to a chair. Sitting opposite him, you just shake your head. “I…um. They told me you had been shot. That it might be bad.”
Dick’s eyebrows raise, now understanding why you seemed to be worried. “Oh, no. No, sweetheart, it’s just a ricochet wound.”
You pretend not to notice the “sweetheart” that slipped from his lips as he lifted his leg for you to examine. It truly wasn’t as bad as you had been told, and you clean and bandage it quickly. “You need to try and stay off this leg.”
He shakes his head at you. “I can’t.”
You smile sadly at him. “I know.”
He leans forward and smiles softly at you, lifting your hand and bringing it to his lips. “Thank you, nurse.”
4. The Night George Luz Asked You To Dance
Dick didn’t know why his stomach felt like someone had reached into and grabbed it with an iron fist.
But Nixon did. As he follows Dick’s gaze he notices you, happily dancing with George Luz. He sees you throw your head back in a laugh and swears he sees Dick’s jaw jump.
The men and most of the nurses were drinking, dancing, having a general good time before everything crumbled and went haywire. It almost felt normal, but what about war could ever be normal? Dick clears his throat and looks down at his feet briefly, noticing that the song had slowed down considerably, and you were now in Luz’s arms, swaying slightly to the soft music in the background.
Nixon is still glancing at Dick when he sees his friend cross the room and cut in, taking you in to the same slow dance you had just been dancing with Luz.
Dick looks down at you. “You look lovely tonight.”
You smile up at him, blushing slightly. “How many pretty nurses have you said that to tonight?” You see his eyes soften considerably and he chuckles.
“Only one.” You blush openly now as Dick draws you in, his cheek resting gently against your head as you sway to the music.
“How’s your leg doing?” You ask quietly, and you hear Winters hum.
“Sore. I’m just lucky I had such a tender nurse.”
You pull your head back to look at him, finding him ready to meet your eyes.
“I have to confess that it’s easy being a nurse to such a kind man.” You say, and Dick smiles at you.
“I have to confess something as well.” He says, his eyes searching yours. “I think you are the nicest girl I’ve ever met.” He pauses, turning you slightly as the two of you sway to the song. “And I find myself thinking about you more and more.”
You swallow, your eyes flicking across his face. “Is that so?”
He nods, watching your face. You feel his arm around your back gently pull you closer again. He’s always gentle with you, like he thinks you might break.
“I’ve thought about you a lot too. I think you may know that I care about you…given my reaction to your wound.”
Dick’s heart skips a beat at this confession, and he takes his hand to softly cup under your chin, pulling your eyes to meet him. “When this is over, let me take you dancing properly.”
“Does that mean you’ll stop dancing with me now when given the chance?” You ask, eyebrows scrunched together in fake anguish.
Dick laughs, gently lifting your chin again. “May I kiss you?”
You can’t speak, you just nod. He leans in, his lips touching yours ever so gently.
It was saccharine, and when he pulls away from you, you can’t help but grin widely at him as he rests his forehead on yours. “What’s that pretty little smile for?”
You shrug slightly. “Just terribly happy that you think about me as much as I think about you.”
“I have ever since I first laid eyes on you, sweetheart.”
You smile to yourself, feeling like you might burst with the butterflies that were fluttering in your stomach.
From afar, Lewis Nixon stands with a drink in his hand, a small smile on his lips, happy that Dick had finally plucked up the courage to gather you in his arms.
#dick winters x reader#dick winters#band of brothers fanfic#band of brothers#bob fanfic#bob hbo#george luz#lewis nixon#doc roe#dick winters fanfiction#Richard winters x reader#band of brothers x reader
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Two Halves of a Heartbeat, Beating as One
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙
Merry Christmas @currahee! I'm your secret Santa!
Request: a character who assumes they won't get a gift for Christmas, only to be pleasantly surprised.
Pairings: Ronald Speirs x f!reader
Warnings: Death, depression, probably swearing, kissing
A/n: Hey! I've never seen your account prior to this, so I'm glad to have you as my designated Secret Santa gift receiver!! I hope this is tailored to your liking, and I hope you like this! Merry Christmas and happy new year! :)
Taglist: @inglourious-imagines || (If you'd like to join my taglist; submit a form here!
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥
The days slowly melted past one by one, very scarce new events occurring. Every day was a repeat of the one before. Countless shelling from the artillery located just across the clearing. The never ending supply of dead soldiers soaring as morale stooped to an all time low.
Everyone was on the verge of their breaking point.
Through the harshness of Sobel in Toccoa, all the way to Holland, the 506th had been through so much death and destruction yet had remained steadfast throughout it all.
But now, in the company's arguably darkest time, the regiment became ever-fragile. The exhausted soldiers couldn't handle any more of this.
False promises of the war ending before Christmas had become what kept the 506th going, but as the day ticked closer and closer that hope began to dwindle.
Everyone, no matter the transparency each individual experienced as the thought dawned on them, knew they weren't going home for the holiday. They never were.
Dragging yourself from those wretched thoughts, you exhale softly, your breath creating a thick fog that rises and dissipates nearly as fast as it first appeared in the cold afternoon air. Even now, where all you could focus on was the numbness of your fingers, the air held a certain briskness to it that made your throat and nostrils burn when you inhaled.
‘Now is not the time for such dark thoughts’ you think to yourself, shaking your head as if to knock some sense into yourself.
Those thoughts, the one that let reality set in a little too far, were killers. Even just a mere drop in a soldier's ability to keep strong mentally on the frontlines ultimately affected their physical well-being aswell. In a time as dire as war, a drop in strength translated directly to a meaningless death.
In the distance, you could hear the crunching of feet on snow growing increasingly closer.
“Sergeant,” The voice is firm, yet recognizable. You glance up at the mysterious figure who approaches, once again ripped from the storm of endless thoughts brewing within your very mind.
Ronald Speirs.
You instantly recognize Dog companies CO. An intimidating man surrounded by rumors he'd never bothered to confirm nor deny. Yet, a handsome man. His face is one of chiseled beauty, like a Greek god. Something you'd been sure to notice over your countless interactions. Since you'd known him, Speirs had treated you equally despite being the only female in the 506th. Something you admired.
Ever since your first weeks at Toccoa, you’d taken a special interest in Speirs, and naturally you’d gotten a lot closer.
Speirs isn't one to dawdle, so he gets right to the point, “Sergeant, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“Go ahead,” you reply through chattering teeth, sore from clenching them closed so often.
"What are your plans for Christmas this year, if we go back to the states?"
Even in the cold, you can feel your cheeks flushing red. He wants to know what you're christmas plans are?
Not answering immediately, letting the words sink in as you formulate a response, “You don't seriously believe that?" You chuckle dryly at last, "I thought of all people you'd be the most sensible."
"No, I don't," he replies after a moment of silence, "but everyone at least has some plans this holiday. A hope. I wanted to know what yours was." You could've sworn you'd seen him shift his gaze away momentarily, but his face was shadowed by his bulky helmet, obscuring your vision of his beautiful face.
"That everyone wouldn't be me, then," you avert your attention momentarily to his lips, but shake your head in disgust at yourself, what were you looking at? He was your superior! "What about you, captain? Any plans yourself?"
"I was going to visit family if we went back. But, seeing as that isn't happening anytime soon, I thought I'd settle on a gift for someone here." He responds.
“Who would that lucky person be?” You ask, curious who the CO might be referring to. You think back to the town of Bastogne, the town a few klicks away, and all the people for him to choose from.
“I'm still not sure.” he shrugs, standing abruptly and moving away silently, leaving you puzzled and alone.
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙
Christmas day had arrived grimly, the promise of being home by this day long forgotten and farfetched.
The Germans on the other side of the clearing were fortunately nice enough to halt the bombing for the day, leaving the front lines oddly quiet for the first time in weeks.
Despite this, morale wasn't very high. Nobody in the 506th wanted to be in the frozen-hell they were right then.
Standing and unable to withstand the boredom of your foxhole any longer you left to relieve yourself momentarily.
Upon standing, your limbs ached, stiff and sore from the cramped position you'd stayed in for multiple hours, and your feet numb while you stumbled the first few steps. You remembered Doc Roe's countless warnings to the 506th about trench foot. Something you wanted to be certain you wouldn't catch. Perhaps you should invest more time in moving about.
It didn't take long to finish your business, and you figured you ought to head back to the safety of your foxhole soon. Afterall, you never knew when the next shelling would occur, the Germans were unpredictable. You wouldn't doubt they'd go beyond cruelty and bomb the 506th on a day like today. And that was something you absolutely didn't want to be out of your foxhole for. You'd seen the destruction left in their wake countless times.
Your feet crunching loudly in the fresh snow was all you could think of as you retraced your steps back to the front lines. Along the way you passed a few E company members, smiling a little at them and wishing them a short ‘Merry Christmas’ as you trudged past.
Ahead, your empty foxhole beckoned and as you drew near your excitement at the small warmth it provided grew rapidly. You prepare to jump in, but pause at the sight of a small cardboard box nestled at the bottom. The peanut-coloured box appeared as vibrant as blood in the dull white and gray surroundings.
Jumping into your hole, you're careful not to crush the delicate box while you move into a sitting position, pulling it into your lap.
Curiosity consumes you as you open it carefully, revealing a small silver object, a thin wool blanket and a pristine white letter.,
Taking the necklace out you raise it to your face for examination. The pendant was long, and had a natural shimmering silver allure to it. At one end, a small, smooth heart was suspended by the lengthy yet elegant chain. It was beautiful. You gasped as you moved it around in your palm, a large smile pulling at your lips.
Carefully, you fastened the necklace around your neck, looking down to admire it settled against your collarbone once more. Not wasting any more time, you moved onto the next object. An army-issued blanket. Something the company should've been guaranteed before it came to Bastogne, but was never supplied. You took it out, taking care not to lose the letter you had yet to open. How did your mystery sender manage to get their hands on this? However they did it must've been tough, they were in demand everywhere. The material was wool, and you could almost imagine the warmth it provided.
After a short examination of the blanket you were eager to move to the last object, a letter. Grabbing the object and letting your fingers run over the grainy surface momentarily before pulling open the seal to reveal the neatly-folded contents.
Unfolding the letter you're stunned at the lack of words, but regardless begin reading;
Dear Sergeant,
I hope you enjoy these gifts. Merry Christmas.
Signed, Ronald C. Speirs.
Speirs got you these? Hardly containing your smile, you close the letter once more, slipping it into your pocket and getting out of your foxhole, leaving the blanket and box behind.
It took every ounce of strength you had to not run as fast as you could to his assigned tent, instead maintaining a brisk walk. However, something you couldn’t contain was the dopey smile that tugged itself onto your face as you moved, your heart pounding in your chest and your face flushed a bright scarlet.
As you drew near, your pace quickened ever so slightly, your mind urging you to move faster than your legs would allow. You were itching at the prospect of seeing him. Finally reaching the sepia coloured tent, it’s walls faded and worn from the harsh uses it had endured throughout the war, you say “Permission to enter, sir?” from the other side of the tent wall.
His husky voice answers from within the tent, allowing you entry immediately after your request. Without further ado, you step in, blinking to readjust your eyes. In the shadowed room, you make eye contact with Speirs. “I wanted to thank you for the gifts, sir.” You say, not quite sure how to properly thank him.
“Please, just call me Ron,” he corrects, smiling softly at you. A sight so beautiful and rare you can't help but stare in awe. He stands when you enter, maneuvering out from behind his desk.
“Then call me Y/n,” you counter, mirroring his smile.
After a moments pause where nothing is said, you resume, “Ron, do you mind me asking why?” You say hesitantly, unfamiliar with the use of his true name, seeming like all formalities were tossed aside, “Why me?”
He looked at you with an odd unnamed emotion, yet so familiar. It seems like a millenia passes before he replies, “I have admired you since we've met, Y/n.” He pauses to allow the words to sink in, watching your expression closely, “Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I've always been set on you. You drive me crazy. When you step into a room, you're all I can look at. Everything else is irrelevant. When you talk, your voice echoes in my ears all day like a mothers lullaby.
“I've never wanted another woman so badly as i've wanted you before. I didn't care for the dames of Eindhoven like most men. I wanted you. And only you. I've come to the realization I love you, and I couldn't wait another day for you to carry on, not knowing.” he stops to drink in your features before he allows himself to continue, “It's alright if you don't feel the same. I know how terrible the timing is. I can't believe I allowed myself to become so vulnerable in a state of war.”
Without missing a beat you reply, “I feel the same.”
Truthfully, you can hardly believe your ears. It's like a dream come true. You'd loved Ron since he'd done that daring act with Dog Company and the batteries, and you swear you could've felt your own heart stop when he leaped out of that trench and ran, exposed, into the battery, guns blazing. You'd heard the rumors about him too, but they didn't scare you. In fact, they almost drew you in closer, with hopes of unravelling them yourself.
Without even noticing it, you and Ron had begun moving closer to each other, pulled by some other-worldly gravitational force. Drawn to each other like a moth to flame.
When he was within reach, he lifted up his hand, cupping your cheek while the gap grew smaller yet, your faces hovering inches from each other, “Can I kiss you?” he asks, eyes flitting down to your lips only to return once more to your eyes.
You couldn't speak, only administering a nod before he closed the gap.
His lips tasted of lucky strikes, something you wouldn't have thought to expect at first, and they pressed against yours passionately, releasing his inner tension. Your lips moved against his in a synchronized dance, two lovers moving against each other like twin moons in the sky, orbiting the same center. Like two halves of a heartbeat, beating as one.
Reluctantly, he pulled away breathless, resting his forehead against yours.
“I've never wanted more than to kiss you,” he sighs, “I love you.”
“I love you more, Ronnie,” You whisper back
#hbowarsanta23#ronald speirs x f!reader#ronald speirs x reader#ronald speirs#dog company#band of brothers#hbo war#bob#easy company#iceman-kazansky#fanfic#band of brothers fic#bob fic#bob fanfic#band of brothers fanfic
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It’s All About Trust
Joe Liebgott X Fem!Reader
Warnings: Angst, war, fluff (an attempt anyway I think), swearing, Briefly mention of reader being a medic, reader has a shit ton of siblings (relatable), not that many physical descriptions if any, mentions of death, normal Band of Brothers stuff
Sorry if this is bad. I’ve never written any BoB fanfiction and really have like hardly any writing experience at all so hopefully this isn’t horrible. Please give me feed back if you want. Thank you! Also sorry for the ending. It’s kinda abrupt but it’s the best I could get lol
Bois Jacques is hell. A very very cold hell. Nothing could truly combat the cold that seeps into everyone around me. Not even the plainish slop they feed us in an attempt at food. Or in the current case, cold, hard “pancakes”, or that’s what Domingus says they are.
Don pokes at his and calls after our ever so kind cook, “Joe these smell like my armpit!”
“At least your armpit is warm.” Skip grumbles from Malarkey’s side as he holds his pancake up for emphasis.
“You want syrup with that?” Domingus sasses back to him.
“Joe, be honest, what’s in these things anyway?” Don asks the retreating man.
“Nothing you won’t eat, Malarkey.” He replies.
“I won’t eat Malarkey.” Spina shoots back quickly causing us all grouped up to let out a chorus of laughs.
Julian brings back the topic of Babe and Spina’s run in with a German on their search for 3rd Battalion. “Hey, maybe Hinkle would like your share, huh?”
This happens to hit my funny bone and I let out a snort leading to the rest of the men’s laughter to only further increase until Peacock comes around looking for Dike.
“Try battalion CP, sir.” I tell the man. The rest of us wait for him to walk away on his hunt for the company CO before we break our into giggles again.
“Try Paris.” Skip laughs.
“Try Hinkle.” Malarkey adds, only increasing our laughter and before I know it tears are pricking my eyes.
Spina begins his less than great German impression and I have to leave before I piss myself laughing.
I seem to run into a brick wall in my way back to my foxhole, tears of laughter still stinging my eyes.
“Sorry ‘bout that (y/n/n).” A deep southern voice speaks from above me.
I take a look and send a smile at the blonde who’s got me held by the shoulders.
“You’re all good Bull, no harm done.” I tell him as I step out of his hold. “Sorry about that.”
“No harm done.” He repeats before walking away with a smile sent to me.
I continue to make my way back to my temporary home of a frozen foxhole. I look down to find none other than Joseph Liebgott.
I’ve always had a soft spot for the rageful Jew. I don’t think it’s any specific thing that made me so drawn to him but rather his whole entire being.
On the other hand he’s never shown any direct attraction to me. Sure nearly all the men of Easy have sent me a glance at least once but I don’t blame them, I’m one of the few women they’ve interacted with past a single night in around 2 years. But past a glance none of the boys have soberly tried anything.
Especially Joe. He’s not unfriendly to me but he’s never really gone out of his way to interact with me. Not until now.
He’s sitting alone in my foxhole, hands tucked under his armpits, gun leaning in the dirt next to him, and his eyes intensely trained on the line.
“Joe? Did you get lost?” I ask him with a small laugh.
“Uh?” He looks up at me and gives me a small smile. “Not lost, just looking for someone to talk to.”
“Luz’s hole is like 2 over that way.” I told him pointing in the direction of the jester’s own hiding place.
“Well good thing I wasn’t looking for George then, yeah?” He says with his trademark smirk. “I can leave if you’d like me to, though.”
"You're fine, but can I ask a question?" I asked as I began the short descent into the frozen foxhole.
"Shoot away (y/l/n)." The Californian told me, looking back at the line across the cold, white field.
"Why are you talking to me? I'm don't mean to be rude but you've never put any effort into having any interaction with me." I asked sitting across from him and stuffing my frozen hands into my jacket pockets.
"I'm just trying to be friendly. No time better than the present, right? Do you have a problem with that? I can leave if you need me to." Joe had begun to get a little defensive but that's hardly surprising when he'll jump at a chance to be upset, whether isn’t reasonable or not.
"Why now? There's hardly a point in making friends when fucking Babe and Spina barely just ran from a Kraut fucking foxhole so excuse my confusion at your extremely sudden olive branch when we're all about to be sent home either on a stretcher or in an enveloped as a piece of shitty metal with our names stamped into it!" I grabbed my dog tags and shook them for emphasis. It took all of my self control to not start yelling or crying, but I could feel the sting of unshed tears at my eyes. "We're all going to be blown to kingdom come by all of this damned artillery." I whisperd.
"Hey. That's not true. We've made it this far but look at us. Sitting in this frozen hell hole and you're alive, I'm alive, and so is Bull and George, Don, Babe, Doc, Skip, Penkala, Perco, and Buck and Lip." He began listing some of the guys we had been with for so long. "I know it's scary and there's not a single thing I can promise you to make anything seem ok, because I'm scared and I have no clue what's going to happen even 10 seconds from now but one thing I can tell you that might make you feel slightly better is that you've made it this far. You made it through Sobel's shitty personalty, Normandy, Carentan, and I know that if you have made it this far without a scratch then what can take you down? You’re what, one of nine kids back at home, you managed to talk and work your way into the airborne and then continue to be an absolute badass throughout boot camp and combat!” He took a break to really look at me and I took that as an opportunity to defend myself and my feelings.
“I’m really flattered but don’t you think I’ve been too lucky? I’ve come so far with nothing more than a bruise and I’m sure the next thing you know I’ll be blown to pieces! I don’t know why I thought I could do this, Joe! I’m fucking terrified and there’s no where to go!” I can feel the tears beginning to well in my eyes and in a sorry attempt to stop them I look to the sky. “I don’t know what I’m doing here anymore.”
“Hey, you can’t go thinking like that. You’re going to make it out of here alive. I need you to believe that because trust me when I say that you are the toughest damned woman I’ve ever met in my life.” He scooted closer to me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side.
The tears couldn’t be held any longer and the dam broke, salty waves rolling down the sides of face into my hair line. A sob escaped my lips before I could muffle it with a fist that had been stuffed between my lips only seconds too late.
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry, (y/n), we’re all feeling it, you’re the only one brave enough to let anyone see it.”
I let out a scoff. ‘Brave’ is not the right word to use. “I’m pathetic. I’m sitting here crying, doing nothing to help anyone around me who has it worse. I’m a a medic for fuck’s sake, I shouldn’t be crying when I routinely see how bad I could have it.”
Joe had only pulled me closer and wrapped his other arm around me, essentially cradling my shaking form. “Don’t you see? That’s what makes you so brave, (y/n). You see all these men in so much pain and put yourself in harms way to make sure they get patched up and safe. You are completely allowed to be overwhelmed and scared and cold and any other feeling a person can have. Not one man here would blame you for being upset right now. They know that as long as you are safe so are they, because when shit goes down you’re always there to help us.” He was talking so softly and so gently that I couldn’t help but cry harder.
“Oh fuck.” I muttered , wiping at my eyes. “I’m sorry Joe.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for Doll.” He gave me an affectionate pat. “Just know that you are such a light in the dark here, and not one of the men in these woods would judge you right now.”
I gave him a weak smile and sniffed, wiping at my eyes and nose. “Thank you, Joe, really. I’m forever grateful.”
“Oh don’t mention it, just don’t go telling anyone that I give out cuddles, I can’t have my reputation ruined like that.” Joe snickered with his smirk and a pat to my side.
“Your secret is safe with me as long as you don’t go telling people I cry.” I tittered and wrapped my arm around his neck.
“Your secret is safe with me, (y/n).”
“How do I know you’re not lying to me?”
“It’s all about trust. I trust you, you trust me; that’s how this has to work, yeah?” I was nearly bumping noses with him and if I wanted to I could just lean in a little and kiss him. The thought quickly crosses my mind but part of me knows better.
“I trust you, Joseph Liebgott.” I meant it, with more of my heart than I thought was still there.
#band of brothers#hbo war#easy company#joe liebgott#joe liebgott x reader#bob fanfic#bob fandom#bull randleman#donald malarkey#medic reader
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for the meet cutes: number 1 is so bob it hurts
writing this had me giggling twirling my hair blushing so bad <33 enjoy angel my love!!!!
1. losing something and the other picks it up and calls after them
word count: 1.2k
When you’d been called back to TOPGUN with the other graduates, you’d looked forward to long days of training up in the jets, pulling off feats of aviation that left bystanders appalled, late nights out at the Hard Deck, and early mornings on the carrier, overlooking the water.
What you hadn’t looked forward to was a seven-in-the-morning call time for a long-as-balls briefing that went over by at least forty-five minutes.
When Maverick finally dismissed you all to get geared up and get down to the tarmac, you were very tempted to just stay at your desk and fall asleep. You’d been the last pilot to get in last night because—irony of ironies—your flight had been delayed, and you could already tell that the exhaustion that lined your eyes was different from the exhaustion that lined your teammates’.
You knew it was customary to meet up at the Hard Deck the night before a new mission starts, but you’d just been too tired, and you were already paying for it. It was clear everyone had spent the night before making introductions and getting acquainted, and they already had little in-jokes and shorthands. It didn’t help that seemingly half the recruits called back had graduated from the same TOPGUN class.
Your spirits weren’t very high as you suited up and headed out to the tarmac with your gear. A cluster of maybe five or six recruits were all walking ahead of you, laughing and chatting like old friends. Even the quietest one at the end was still getting included in the conversation, like the other ones were making sure he had the opportunity to speak if he needed it.
You climbed into your jet, for the first time in your naval career feeling a bit sorry that you hadn’t been assigned a backseater. Instead, you were a solo flier paired with Payback and Fanboy. They were nice enough, but as the sun began to kiss the tarmac and you pushed up into your seventy-second push-up, you could only find them irritating.
When Maverick finally let you all go and get changed, you didn’t even bother looking back. You were tired and sore and annoyed with your teacher, who had decided the best way to start off three weeks of training was by proving that he was a better flier than all the rest of you. Not a single one of the best pilots the navy had to offer had been able to shoot down Captain Pete Mitchell. It was an insult on top of injury.
You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn’t hear your callsign being said until the person calling you was right behind you, a hand falling gently on your shoulder and nearly scaring you half out of your wits.
“Jesus!” you swore, putting a hand over your heart. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry,” said the pilot in front of you with a sheepish smile, gesturing a ways back down the tarmac. “I was calling you for a while. Guess you didn’t hear.”
You shook your head. “A lot on my mind. Sorry….”
Embarrassed, you realized you didn’t even know his name. He was tall, and the only pilot called back to wear glasses—what did they call them in basic? Birth control goggles? But behind the glasses was a keen, perceptive pair of big blue eyes. His hair was tousled from a day of flying, but you couldn’t help but think it suited him. He shifted nervously in place, and you glanced down, seeing his helmet held in his hand.
“Bob?” you said, more surprised than anything.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. That’s me.” He glanced down to the helmet and shrugged.
“That’s your callsign?” you asked skeptically.
“Um…yeah.” He blinked. “You weren’t at the Hard Deck last night, were you?”
You pursed your lips and shook your head.
“Sorry!” he said quickly. “That wasn’t—I just—they all kind of heard the shpeal before, I just figured—I didn’t see you—I would have recognized you—”
“It’s okay,” you said, holding out a hand to get him to stop talking. “How can I help you, Bob? Or were you just stopping me for some small talk?”
He jumped like he’d also forgotten that he was the one to flag you down and reached into the pocket of his flight suit, riffling around for a moment before pulling something out and holding it towards you, saying, “You dropped this.”
You took the item carefully, holding it up. “A…pen?”
The apples of his cheeks turned a bit rosier, but that might have just been the setting sun on the horizon hitting the desert. “Yeah, after the debrief. It fell and I grabbed it and I just never got a chance to—”
“You’ve held onto this since the debrief?” you asked, your voice small. You couldn’t even look at him; your eyes were stuck to the small pen in your hand. It was nothing special, just a basic black-ink ballpoint Bic. You had to have at least a dozen more in your bag back at your bunk. But he’d grabbed this one, and kept it in his pocket while he flew in a F/A-18F all damn day, and now he was giving it back.
He shifted nervously in place now, his mouth pulled back in a tight line, like he was worried you were going to toss the pen back and just walk off.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
“Oh,” he said, somewhere between confused and worried by your overly-touched reaction. “It’s not a big deal. I just—I know I go nuts losing pens all the time. Like, where do they go, right?”
“I know where this one went,” you said with a smile, tucking the pen back into one of your own pockets.
“There you go,” said Bob, finally starting to smile shyly. He looked at you then, his eyes examining your face, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. The noise—small as it was—seemed to wake Bob up from some sort of reverie, because he shook himself and said, “Um, well, that was some great flying up there today. You were the only one who came close to taking Mav down.”
You snorted, turning and beginning to walk back to the barracks, beckoning for Bob to walk with you. “That’s not true. Rooster came pretty close, too.”
“Yeah, but Rooster wouldn’t have done it anyway,” said Bob.
“Did you know him before today?” you asked.
Bob shook his head. “Just heard things from Phoenix. And you pick up quick on things when you’re in an environment like this.”
You nodded, slowing to a halt as you reached the barracks, knowing you and Bob had been given different rooming assignments. The both of you stood there for a moment, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, trying to think of something to say. Finally you pulled the pen out and said, “Thanks again. For the pen.”
“No problem,” he said quickly.
“I hope I can repay the favor someday,” you said.
He shook his head. “I mean, I’d appreciate it, but there’s no need. It’s just the right thing to do.”
“Right,” you said, fighting back another smile. “Okay. Well. I’ll see you tomorrow, Bob.”
“See you,” he replied, offering a three-fingered wave as he pushed open his door and disappeared within, leaving you with the warmth of the setting sun at your back and the hope that maybe this assignment wouldn’t be so terrible, after all.
#bob floyd#robert bob floyd#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x you#bob floyd fic#bob x reader#bob x you#bob floyd fanfic#bob floyd fluff#bob fluff#bob fanfic#robert bob floyd x you#robert bob floyd x reader#top gun maverick fanfiction#bob floyd blurb#bob floyd imagine#vinny fics
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Rusty pt. 2 |Lewis Nixon|
---SMUT AHEAD--- 18+
Nixon knew better than to respond to her words with the force of every kiss he had stopped himself from planting on her full, pouted lips over the past three years. There were moments where he was so intoxicated (both figuratively and literally) by her that he thought he may reach his breaking point. Had he known there was a similar eagerness within her, this day may have come far sooner.
The way she looked up at him through her long lashes caused a tension in his lower abdomen that she would soon feel the result of, pressed so close against her form. He surveyed the room, taking inventory of just who in the company was even paying attention to the heat radiating from the pair of them in the center of the room. With a war won and a store of alcohol to last them years, they were little more than just furniture for the rest of them to oscillate around.
“Nina…” Nixon spoke gently, leaning forward so his lips were nearly against the shell of her ear. “Tell me I’m dreaming.”
She giggled at the softness of his breath on her skin, “meet me upstairs in five minutes.” When she moved away from him, he immediately felt the ghost of her against his body. There was not a single man in Easy Company, despite how chivalrous they had always been to her, that would not shoot off a toe to be in his position.
Five minutes was both five seconds and five lifetimes while he attempted to make his way naturally towards the doorway of the main room. Grateful for his tendency to disappear to a footlocker full of booze, he realized that it was not likely that many would notice his absence anyway. As he climbed the stairs, he wondered if there was going to be a moment where she would realize that it was him that she was taking to bed, not some other more decorated man from the Company. It was only when he missed a step at the top of the staircase that he reminded himself that wallowing could happen any other inebriated night of his life. Tonight, he steeled himself, he was going to get the girl.
Two light knocks on Nina’s bedroom door with the back of his knuckles was as coy as he could play it. When she said “come in” from behind the oak barrier, he found the knot in his stomach clench.
“Why do you look so pale, Nix?” Nina giggled. She was standing at the dresser in the bedroom, slowly unpinning her hair from its once meticulous place. As he watched each curl bounce free, he felt the heat in his neck and ears. The intimacy of watching a woman take down the trappings of pristine femininity to their natural state was something that had only occurred in his marital bedroom. Never before, never since.
He watched as she placed the pins in a trinket dish on the dresser, crossed the room in her bare feet, the line she drew in her stride slightly askew from the alcohol. He felt the effects the liquor had on himself as well, hopeful that it would not impede his performance--should he make it that far.
Nixon watched as Nina’s tongue wet her lips, watched as they parted into a sweet smile. She reached up and gently touched the hair at his forehead, tucking it back to the side. His eyes studied her face as if he was going to be tested on the slope of her nose, the freckles on her cheeks, the slight gap between her two front teeth, the scar in her right eyebrow.
“Kiss me,” she whispered. Her voice took on a tone he had never heard from her before. He had heard her scream, yell, cheer, and laugh, but the siren song he was hearing in that moment was something entirely new. As new as the flicker that darkened her eyes.
The moment Nixon leaned down to close the space between them, it was if every inch of self doubt had been resolved. The way she hummed against his mouth let him know that she was just as hungry for him as he had been for her. He reached up and held her jaw softly, his other hand tracing her back and down over her hips. She flicked the softness of her tongue into his eager mouth and he felt a twitch grow into a throb in the confines of his uniform. Never in his life had he felt himself light ablaze under the simplest of touches.
When Nina pulled back, she was breathless. Her swollen lips were parted, ghosts of red lipstick on both of their mouths. She gripped his shirt in a fist that loosened as she composed herself.
“Lew…” She breathed, it was only the second time she had ever used his first name, the first time it had been shortened by her affection for him.
“I can’t tell you how fucking long I’ve waited to do that,” his confession bubbled from his lips before he could tell her. Drunk on liquor or passion, he couldn’t tell where one stopped and the other began.
“Well, if you can’t tell me,” she breathed, reaching up and starting to unbutton his shirt with delicate fingers. She looked up into his eyes and smiled coyly, “can you show me?”
“Fuck,” he sighed as she ran her fingertips down over his chest, just the undershirt between them. “Absolutely.” He smiled, leaning down to kiss her deeply.
They worked together to get his shirt over his shoulders and onto the floor. His undershirt was soon after. Every muscle that she had watched move beneath his uniform was exposed. Every single one she had considered in her idle time over the last three years were soon to be hers to touch.
There was a beat between the two of them where he checked her eyes for any hesitation while his fingers gently toyed with the zipper at the back of her dress. She nodded, a small smile of appreciation at her lips. When he started to pull down the zipper, his fingertips traced over the exposed skin over her spine. Her skin erupted in goosebumps under his touch. She bit her lip and pulled her shoulders in as he worked to get the fabric down over her arms. With every piece of her that became more and more exposed, he felt his heart start to race.
There was a part of her that worried about the amount of women he had undressed and how the curves of her body compared. Before the war, there had only been one other man to peel away both physical and emotional layers to her to connect so deeply. She wondered if the significance of the fire they were dancing dangerously close to meant just as much to him. One thing was certain, she decided, Lewis Nixon’s hands were the only hands she wanted on her body from this moment forward.
When her dress hit the floor and she stood there, vulnerable, in front of him, Nixon felt something animalistic ignite in him. It took everything in him not to tear the remaining fabric from her body and cover every inch of her with his mouth. In attempts to avoid acting on this instinct, he met her lips in a deep, hungry kiss. He guided her backward toward the bed, her hands working deftly on the buckle of his belt. She groaned when her hand made contact with the anticipation growing in his pants. He sucked in a breath and bit playfully at her lower lip. He left a trail of eager kisses from her lips down over her jaw, feeling the giggle that resounded in her throat vibrating against his mouth.
When his pants hit the floor, he felt the immediate relief from the confines of the fabric. She toyed with the elastic of his boxers, watching him shudder in response. He reached up and tangled his hands in her hair, pulling her close for another kiss to distract her. If she got too handsy, he may not make it to the main event. When he kicked himself out of the legs of his pants, he reached around and skillfully unclasped her bra.
There was no sexy, coordinated way for Nina to get herself back onto the bed. As she crawled, Nixon admired her figure from behind, wondering what he had done in his lifetime to find himself this lucky. Unable to tally it, he shook away the thought and watched as she giggled, laying herself back on the pillows, her hair fanning out around her. Unconsciously, he adjusted the length in his boxers, pulled his socks from his feet, and followed her onto the bed.
“God,” he let his eyes dance over her in appraisal. “You’re incredible.”
Nina rolled her eyes, the heat in her cheeks was not foreign to her. Lewis Nixon had a way of making her flush pink that had been a noteworthy occurrence Easy had not let her forget. She often told them it was only his rank that made her nervous, not the man himself. But God, it was everything about him.
“So,” he leaned down and kissed her lips tenderly, “god,” he kissed her cheek, “damned,” he kissed her neck, “beautiful.” She giggled when he pressed the kiss to her shoulder, his hands cupped both of her breasts. When his thumbs simultaneously brushed against her nipples, she whimpered softly, arching up into his palms. Her hand gently, toyed with his hair, running her fingers back through it as he leaned down and took her nipple into his mouth. Slowly circling his tongue in an effort to elicit more gorgeous new sounds from her parted lips.
Nixon groaned as he worked his tongue, lips, teeth, and fingers over her exposed chest. At the same time, the placement of his body between her legs encouraged her hips to connect with his, calling forth a growl from his throat he had not anticipated. He was beginning to recognize the need he had for her was something wildly foreign and exciting to him. The fear that lingered in the back of his thoughts would have to be tended to in the moments following the plans he had to explore every inch of her body.
When he kissed down over her stomach, he started to feel her muscles tense in her abdomen under his lips. He looked up at her as he toyed with the waistband of her underwear, searching for permission. She bit her lip, eyebrows furrowed with concern.
“What is it?” He asked, gently placing a hand on her thigh. He traced a delicate pattern on her skin.
“I..” There was that pink in her cheeks he had often worked so hard for. He smiled gently and kissed her hip.
“You can talk to me,” he repositioned himself so that he was at eye level with her once more.
“I’ve never had anyone…” She nodded down toward her underwear, where Nixon idly was toying with the satin bow at the elastic. “Use their mouth.” Nixon’s eyebrows raised and he grinned. He leaned down and he kissed her temple gently, his hand reaching up and fingering a strand of her hair. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to…” He couldn’t help but let out a throaty laugh. He rolled on top of her, brushing his nose against hers, then his lips against hers. “You can’t make me do something I’ve spent half the damn war thinking about.” He captured her lips in an urgent kiss, his hand slithering down over her stomach and dipping confidently into her underwear. “Mmm,” he groaned, the moment his finger dipped into the heat between her legs. When she gasped, he caught it in a kiss, greedily swallowing every sound that he earned with the deft work of his fingers.
#fan fiction#fan fiction update#fanfic#fanfic update#band of brothers#BoB#band of brothers fic#band of brothers one shot#band of brothers imagine#band of brothers preference#band of brothers fan fiction#band of brothers fan fic#band of brothers fanfic#BoB Fanfic#BoB fan fiction#BoB fic#BoB one shot#BoB Smut#band of brothers smut#band of brothers smut fic#lewis nixon#lewis nixon fic#lewis nixon one shot#lewis nixon smut#hbo war#hbo war fic#hbo war smut
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Your Braids Like a Pattern (BoB OFC One-Shot)
Nora Price doesn’t want to admit that her deteriorating hair in the Ardennes is bothering her. Luz and the boys offer some much-needed TLC.
Word count: 1820
Warnings: None! Platonic unless you squint ;)
A/N: My best friend finally joined the BoB fandom, and she dragged me back with her head-first. Thanks @indigo-graves! Check out her writing, too!
Nora knew that her hair was ruined. She knew it when her French braid had turned into an indiscernible mass of frizz. She knew it when the braid got wet and shrank into a sopping bird’s nest, which then turned into a dry and brittle bird’s nest. She knew it when Luz and Lipton’s eyes flitted upwards whenever she took her helmet off.
Lipton had tried to say something— in his own way. Take care of yourself. Why don’t you visit Nixon and Winters’ tent? They’ve got more amenities over there.
He and Luz— her foxhole mates— had been whispering about her for days now, and she had a feeling it wasn’t just about her hair. She had been brushing off the men’s concerns left and right. She was sleeping in a foxhole. She’d be damned if she was the one worried about her hair. She was fine.
Then, the wrong man had made the wrong comment on the wrong day.
It was midday, and the men had all congregated near a low fire where Malarkey had whipped up a pot of beans to distribute for lunch. Nora had spent the day making house calls to different foxholes to check that the men were changing and airing out their socks in a rotation that would prevent trench foot.
“Here, Nora,” Guarnere greeted, handing her the tin cup of beans that he had just received from Malarkey. She nodded her thanks as he grabbed another for himself. Babe came up next to her, a pair of socks slung over his shoulder.
“I can’t tell if these are drying or just freezing,” he said, gesturing to the socks.
“As long as they aren’t on your feet…” Nora murmured around a mouthful of beans. “You could get them away from my food though.”
She said it with a tired but teasing tone, taking a step away from the younger man, and he scoffed. “Yeah, better step back anyway— I wouldn’t want your hair to start eating me.”
Nora’s posture tensed as she became suddenly very aware of herself. The men nearest them had gone quiet, noticing the change in her demeanor, and after taking a few more bites of her beans, she handed the tin cup off to Malarkey.
“I’ll be in my foxhole if anyone needs me — gonna try and catch some shut-eye in case there’s any shelling tonight.”
She excused herself and Luz, who had been happily chatting with Muck and Penkala, groaned.
“Jesus, Babe!” He griped. “You had to bring up the hair?”
“What?” Babe said, his eyes wide as he looked around at the disapproving faces of his companions. “She ribbed me, and I ribbed her back.”
He was met with a chorus of chiding from the other men as Luz went after Nora.
When Luz arrived at the foxhole, Nora was attempting to yank a comb through her matted locks.
“Woah, easy there,” he said, dropping into the hole next to her. She grunted with frustration as she tried to remove the lodged comb; her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“Hey, Babe didn’t mean anything by that, you know,” he said, grimacing as he watched her.
“I know,” she said between greeted teeth. “I don’t care. It’s just hair.”
“Yeah,” Luz agreed, despite the fact that she very clearly did care.
She struggled with the mess for another minute before finally freeing the comb and taking in its broken teeth. Her face began to crumple, and Luz tensed.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“I’m gonna have to cut it all off,” she said. Her voice had the tiniest waver to it, though he knew she was trying her hardest to hide it.
“What?” He scoffed. “You’re crazy! No one’s cutting it off.”
He gestured for her to turn her back to him, and he got on his knees behind her, assessing the damage. He was glad she couldn’t see his face. He prodded at it a bit. “This is—yeah, we can work with this.”
He held a beckoning hand over her shoulder, and she reluctantly surrendered the comb to him. “You think so?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Luz said as he started picking at the mass with the comb’s remaining teeth. “We’ll get you sorted.”
“Thanks,” Nora replied, and he felt a pang in his chest when her voice came out small. “I know it’s stupid…”
“It’s not stupid,” said Luz. “What’s stupid is this comb.”
The two were quiet for a long while as Luz worked through the knots. He hoped he wasn’t doing more damage than help.
“Maybe I should just cut it off,” Nora whispered. “Braiding it to keep it out of the way is what got me into this mess.”
“Nope,” said Luz. “I promised that not a hair on your head would be harmed on my watch, and that includes…well, your hair.”
Nora laughed and sniffled. Her shoulders had relaxed considerably since he started. “How’s it going back there?”
Luz sat back on his heels to survey his work. “I think we’re gonna have to take it in stages.”
Three hours later, they were starting to see some progress, but not nearly as much as Luz had led Nora to hope. When his arms grew tired, Lipton, who had returned to the foxhole, took a shift with the new comb he had sourced.
Nora’s scalp was starting to feel tender, and she made a point not to look at the comb to make note of how much hair was coming out.
“It’s only because your hair’s so thick,” Luz assured her. “That’s a good thing.”
Nora winced as he pulled as a particularly difficult tangle at the top of the matted section. Joe Toye, who was passing by their foxhole on the way to watch the line with his rifle slung over his shoulder, made eye contact and tipped his chin in acknowledgement. Nora waved, cringing when she felt a particularly taut hair release from her scalp.
Toye slowed, lingering near the hole for a few moments wordlessly as he watched Luz work.
“Everything okay?” Nora asked, wondering if he needed medical attention. He glanced in the direction of the front line and back as if debating with himself. His tongue was pushed into his cheek in that perpetual expression of frustration he wore.
“Luz, the Germans would be gentler than that,” He groused.
“Hey, what do you want from me?” Luz said between clenched teeth as he placed the comb in his mouth and attempted to work the knot between his fingers instead. “I’m tryin’ here.”
“You gotta start at the bottom,” Toye said. Luz’s movements paused as he processed the instruction.
“Brush up?” He said. “How does that make sense, Joe?”
“No, you gotta—” Toye growled, glancing around before taking his rifle off his shoulder and propping it in the side of the foxhole. “Move over.”
Luz ceded to the man, moving to sit on the edge of the foxhole. Toye knelt behind Nora and took the comb from Luz with a glare. He started at the bottom of the matted section, picking at it in short, downward movements. “You still comb down, you just do it like this and work your way up.”
The relief was almost instantaneous, though Nora didn’t say anything out of respect for the comfort Luz had been trying to offer. Toye continued to work gently at her hair, and when Lipton returned to the foxhole to see that progress was finally being made, he offered to take Toye’s spot on the line while he worked.
After Nora’s original panic had passed, she continued to feel self-conscious about the attention that was being paid to her problem. She had dreaded the other men teasing her friends for “doing her hair,” even in good fun, but the company seemed to be united in sympathy for her struggle. That, and she suspected Toye’s eyes were daring them to say something.
Even Nixon and Winters came in to check on their progress when they heard about the effort. Nixon crouched in front of Nora and pulled out a bottle of hair tonic. “I don’t know if it’ll help with the detangling, but it should help with some of the damage.”
She thanked the Captain profusely as Luz took the bottle and began dousing her hair in it. Toye and Luz bickered over her head about the best way to distribute it into the matted section. When Toye needed to head back to the line, Luz took up his post again with a much gentler touch now that he had been shown some technique. Toye had uncomfortably brushed off her heartfelt thanks, and she made a mental note to source a pack of cigarettes for him instead.
It wasn’t long before Babe came along with his tail tucked between his legs. “Hey, Nora,” He said with a nervous chuckle. “Lookin’ good!”
“Relax, Heffron,” she said. “I’m not mad.”
His relief was palpable. “Oh, phew! Cause, you know I didn’t mean it. I was just razzing you.”
“I know,” said Nora.
“If you’re really sorry, why don’t you grab a comb,” Luz said, gesturing to the extra that Lipton had left laying on his pack. Babe did just that, plopping down next to Luz. The three of them chatted and laughed as the two men continued to chisel away at the loosening mass, and Nora, for the first time in weeks, felt more like herself.
After eight hours and several rotating shifts, Luz shoved at Nora’s back. Nora, who had been drifting to sleep sitting up, pitched forward and turned to look at him. “What? Shelling?”
“No, not shelling,” Luz said, smiling. “Watch this.”
He pulled her closer again and placed his comb at the crown of her head, dragging it from root to tip with no resistance. His face was open and anticipatory as he watched for her reaction.
Nora reached back to run her hand over the hair, gasping at how silky it felt. She had anticipated much worse for the end result. She laughed, her eyes tearing up with unshed tears of relief. “Luz, you’re my hero.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, waving a dismissive hand despite the proud glow on his face.
“I’m serious,” she said, refusing to let him brush this off. “I don’t know what I would do out here without you.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, swallowing. He glanced again at her hair, which she had now pulled over her shoulder to run her fingers through, and then back at her face. She could tell by the look on his face that he wanted to say something serious, but true to his nature, he landed on a joke instead. “Want me to braid it for you now?”
She shoved his shoulders, fighting a smile as she watched him throw his head back in laughter. “Alright, too soon. How about you just leave that down? It’s cold out here.”
#band of brothers#hbowar#hbo war fic#band of brothers fanfiction#bob fanfic#bob fandom#george luz#joe toye#babe heffron#fanfiction#carwood lipton#nora price#we'll meet again#merry luzmas
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dancing in the moonlight | robert ‘bob’ floyd x pilot!reader
summary: an admiral’s daughter gets a confession after receiving unsolicited remarks.
warnings: mentions of drinking/drunkenness, hangman being a dickhead (i’m sorry), small use of y/n
word count: 1.5k
reader’s callsign: Glacier
author’s note: my first fic??? omg??? just a little warning, english is not my first language, so there will most likely be grammatical errors. however, i strongly believe that everything is a learning experience, so if you see anything that needs improvement, please let me know!
——————————
Only the best of the best are going.
You dressed up in your decorated khaki uniform and pulled your hair into a low bun.
Drinking? On a night before work? For you, that was a hard no. One man, and only one man, is the sole reason you're going: Bob. You two shared many interests and quickly grew close when you both joined the navy.
You didn't give your feelings for him any thought, until one drunken night when he changed your sheets and helped you clean up after vomiting. It wasn't until the next morning when you had that 'Oh. Oh,' moment when you saw him sleeping on your couch.
It would be an understatement to say that you miss Bob. It’s been months since you last saw each other. While you stayed in San Diego, he went back to Lemoore. You thought your feelings for him would go away, but, truth be told, they only grew stronger. So, when you found out that he was being called back too, you were over the moon.
"Dad, I'm going to the Hard Deck to meet everyone," you informed your father, Admiral Tom "Iceman" Kazansky.
Proving to your fellow naval aviators that you are just as good as they are, if not better, was a big challenge. Being Ice's daughter sure has its perks, but if there's one thing you stand for, it's achieving something without having someone pull strings for you.
Take care, Y/N, he typed on his monitor. Don’t come home with a drunk man, understand?
“Yes, dad. Don’t worry. I know how to handle dickheads,” you giggled at his remark before kissing him on the cheek and leaving.
A few recognizable people greet you as you walk into the bar. As you move through the sea of mildly inebriated naval aviators, you spot him. The one and only. Robert “Bob” Floyd.
Filled with excitement, you yelled, “Robby!”
Setting his most precious peanuts aside, he turned his head after recognizing your voice. “Glacier! How are you?” he welcomed you with a hug. A tight one. His hands encircled your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
“I’m good. I’m good,” you reply, still in his embrace. He doesn’t see it, but you have a smile on your face that could light up the whole room.
Despite being in uniform, you can feel the warmth emitted by his body. Your hearts parallel to each other. You waited so long for this. The hug lasted for god knows how long, exchanging a lot a few “hi’s” and “hello’s”, and earning stares from almost everyone in the room.
“Oh, look,” a southern voice interrupts. “If it ain’t daddy’s little princess.”
Breaking away from the hug, you turned towards Jake Seresin, crossing your arms, your smile disappearing. “Hangman,” you greet him in a flat tone.
"Tell me," he grins as he walks closer to you, "how does it feel to have everything served to you on a silver platter? No offense intended.”
Bob knows how much you hate comments like this. He puts a hand on your shoulder, letting you know that he’s there to back you up if you need him to.
“Yet somehow, you always manage,” the WSO contested.
“You know I’m right,” the blonde counters.
“Seresin. I don’t know much about you, but based on how you treat women, I know for a fact that you sleep with one beside you,” you pause. “But wake up all alone.”
Hearing a few chuckles from Fanboy and Payback, Hangman straightens his back, “Speaking from experience, Glacier?”
All you managed to blurt out was an annoyed "whatever" because you know better than to satisfy a self-absorbed son of a bitch. Hangman winked at you as he walked away.
“Well he hasn’t changed,” Bob complained.
You agreed, “He definitely hasn’t.”
After then, there was a brief moment of silence to let the tension dissipate. You had been looking forward to seeing Bob again for months, only for it to be interrupted by Hangman.
“Can we ta—”
Before you could continue your conversation, a chorus of "boo's" and "hey's" filled the bar after someone unplugged the jukebox.
The complaints turned into cheers as Rooster began playing the piano intro to "Great Balls of Fire.” The pilots and the rest of the crowd drew closer to him. All but you. Bob tried calling your name but failed as he got dragged into the clump that is Rooster's audience.
As the crowd sang, you swiftly made your way outside.
Despite how much you detest them, "silver platter" remarks never get on your nerves. You know you're a great pilot; you worked your tail off to get here, but now, you're holding back tears.
Perhaps it's because Hangman is one of the best pilots in the game and he thinks you didn't put any effort to get to your rank. Or maybe it’s because there’s a hint of truth in what he said. Maybe.
Body numb, you closed your eyes and let out a deep heavy breath. As water began to collect at the bottom of your eye, you feel your head hurt. Your brain is telling you that you’ve been holding your tears for too long. It’s time to let go.
You sat down on the veranda, knees pulled to your chest, sharply sucking in a breath. Training hasn’t even started, yet you’re already tired. I don’t deserve to be here, you thought.
“Hey,” a comforting voice said as you felt a hand on your shoulder.
Bob.
Oh, sweet Bob.
“Come here,” he says, offering his hand to help you stand up. You took his hand, propelling yourself upwards. Seeing your tear-stained face, he took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped it down.
“I’m a mess,” you uncontrollably sobbed.
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he took your hands again and pulled you closer to him. Your bodies were so close you could hear his heartbeat.
Inside the bar, the jukebox was plugged in again, and “Dancing in the Moonlight” by King Harvest was now playing.
He placed your right hand on his shoulder and held your left one tight, placing it against his chest. Putting his left hand on your waist, he started swaying slowly.
We get it on most every night
“Just sway to the beat, okay?” Bob said quietly.
When that moon gets big and bright
You stared deep into his eyes. Those bright goddam eyes that are so easy to get lost in. You can see a faint reflection of yourself on his glasses, lightly fogged up by his and your breath.
It’s a supernatural delight
“But you hate dancing,” you stuttered.
Everybody’s dancing in the moonlight
“I know, but there’s this girl I like, and I think she’s the only one who can make me dance like this,” he confessed.
Bob, who watched reruns of your favorite show until it became his favorite too, likes you. Bob, who will leave the lights on on the tiny balcony of his apartment to let you know he’s there if you need a place to crash, likes you. Bob, who will place a hand on your shoulder when you’re down, likes you.
Bob, the person you like, likes you back.
And oh so carefully, you lean in. Your lips brush against his a few times, breath fanning across each other’s faces.
Then, he fully closes the gap between the two of you. Placing your hand on the back of his neck, you pulled him impossibly closer towards you. Your need for him becoming more and more obvious.
His lips are softer than anything you can imagine. It felt like fire. Burning. Igniting. But, it also felt like water. A need. A necessity. Life.
A small gesture, enough to let you know you can’t live without him. Enough to let you know he’s yours forever.
When you finally decided to pull away, all of the things you wanted to say to him made their way towards the unknown. You couldn’t utter a single word, as if your brain was malfunctioning.
All you needed to say was in that kiss.
“I missed you,” he began.
“Yeah. Figured that one out,” you smile, looking at his lips. “I missed you too.”
—————-
BONUS!!
It was 2 AM.
Sneaking a boy into your house used to be a piece of cake. Bob tried his best to make as little noise as possible, but he couldn’t help but giggle at your current situation. You both felt like high schoolers.
Your room was on the ground floor of your house, meaning you wouldn’t have to tip toe for too long. Just as you were about to reach the door handle, Bob froze as a voice gnarled.
Ahem. Your dad.
“Admiral.” Bob salutes.
“Dad, I thought you were already slee—”
“Shh!” Tom silenced you.
He walks closer towards the both of you, your heart beating faster and faster. Much to your confusion, your dad sniffs.
“Oh my G—,” you laughed as you came to a realization. “He is not drunk!”
#top gun#top gun: maverick#top gun maverick#bob floyd#robert bob floyd#robert floyd#bob imagine#bob x reader#bob x y/n#bob x you#bob fanfic#top gun fanfiction#kazansky!daughter#bob x pilot!reader#Spotify
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“Are you family, sir?”
“Boyfriend.”
To Be Played At Maximum Volume by @churchkey
#To Be Played At Maximum Volume#i have this scene in my mind#winnix#bob fanfic#origin: Fort Bliss#ron livingston
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What Are You Thinking?
Summary: Bob Floyd is a quiet man. Sometimes you have to ask him what he’s thinking just to know what wheels are turning inside of his head. He always gives you a response, until one day, years into your marriage, he turns the question on you.
Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader
WC: 1.3K
Warnings: Cursing, death, pregnancy
Tell me what you’re thinking, you asked softly.
Bob smiled and pulled you in closer, the heat of his body warming the blankets as you snuggled closer to him in the bed you shared. I’m thinking that I love you. And that was the best damn pie I’ve ever had in my life.
You giggled as he pressed his soft lips to yours, one large hand coming around to cup your head gently.
For seven years, Bob had never once dismissed your question. You asked it all the time, always trying to read the quiet aviator. Even after years together, marriage and children, part of you always needed to know exactly where his mind was at.
What are you thinking, you had asked Bob the first night you met. Standing outside the Hard Deck, the cold wind whipping at your bare shoulders. You were in a sundress, and Bob shrugged off his jacket and laid it gently on your shoulders, letting his fingertips hover lightly on your arms before he pulled back. When you had walked in two hours before, Rooster had set his sights on you, but you had turned down his offer of a free drink, waltzing over to the quiet bespeckled man in the corner, sliding into the empty seat next to him, laughing softly as he fumbled his words and his cup full of peanuts. Asked him to dance like no one was watching. Felt his warm hands on your waist. Laid your head to rest on his chest as he moved you in slow circles around the bar dance floor. Turned your face up toward his and smiled. Nodded when he asked you to go for a walk on the beach. Pressed your chest against him, trailed your fingers up to behind his neck, pulled his lips down to meet yours, felt his hands roam the expanse of your back before landing on your waist, grip so tight it would leave bruises that you wanted tattooed across your skin to seal in the memory.
I’m thinking I never expected this to happen for me, he replied and you wound your arms around him and pulled him in tight and you knew from that moment on you belonged to him.
What are you thinking, you asked the first time he met your extended family back in North Carolina. They were loud and brash and there was always the smell of coffee lingering in the mornings in the house and the sound of thundering footsteps of your nieces and nephews and music flooded the air and you watched as Bob sat quietly and patiently in the living room as your relatives flocked around the handsome aviator, peppering him with questions about the Navy and his intentions with you.
Bob smiled back at you, eyes sparkling. I’m thinking I can’t wait for them to be my family, too.
What are you thinking, you asked, turning to Bob where he sat next to you on the sandy beach as the sun slid low on the horizon, casting a sherbert-colored spray across the skyline.
That I want to spend all of my sunsets with you. He turned to you and smiled. Marry me?
You cried as he slipped the thin band onto your finger.
A year later, Bob cried as you walked down the aisle in a satin dress in front of only a handful of family and friends.
What are you thinking, you whispered nervously as Bob stared at the small test inside of the gift bag. You had rushed to shove it in there, not even bothering to fill the rest of the bag with tissue.
He pulled it out and held it up, squinting at it, before turning to you, his beautiful face breaking out into a smile. I’m going to be a dad! He pulled you into his arms and you cried as he pressed his forehead to yours and told you how excited he was to see you as a mother.
What are you thinking, you sobbed once the doctor had left the room after explaining they needed to do more testing to rule out genetic disorders after what she had seen on the ultrasound.
Bob held your hand in his, pressed a kiss to your temple. Whatever the tests say, we can handle it.
When they placed your son in his father’s arms for the first time, you smiled up at him, exhausted. What are you thinking?
Bob gazed down at his squirming son. That he’s perfect. And he looks like you.
What are you thinking? Bob had just been assigned a mission. Something so incredibly dangerous they had been told to prepare not to come home. Bob found you weeping next to the side of the bed, your son playing in his room with his legos, blissfully unaware that his father had just been called for assignment.
Bob knelt down and wiped the tears from under your eyes. I love you, he whispered softly. I’m coming home to you, no matter what. You two are my life.
And he did come home, two months later. He grabbed his son as he leapt into his arms. His eyes widened as you approached him next, belly already rounding out with the second child he didn’t know had been his parting gift to you before the mission. Bob gave you a questioning look and you nodded, and he laughed, tossing his arms around you, pulling you both in for a hug.
You didn’t have to ask what he was thinking when you saw the doctor place your daughter into Bob’s arms after the C-section. It was written across his face.
It was the way he looked at you that first night on the beach. The way his eyes locked onto yours as you walked down the aisle, blurring out everyone but him. The way he softened at your touch and how he gazed on your son when he returned home from deployment.
Three years later, Bob was the one to ask you what you were thinking as you sat down on the couch in shock.
He took your hands into his own. What are you thinking, Bob asked.
That I’m not ready to do this alone.
He nodded sadly, face stricken with grief. I know, baby. I wish you didn’t have to. God, I’d give anything to make sure you didn’t have to.
In the end, you didn’t even have to say it. The words were frozen on your lips, as the machines beeped quietly in the background, Bob’s hand gripped tightly in yours. He was weak, but he was still there.
I love you, he said and you looked up through the tears. His voice was hoarse, barely audible. That’s what I’m thinking sweetheart. I love you and I love this life we’ve built and I am so sorry that I can’t be here to see it through.
His eyes caught yours and for the first time, you didn’t have to talk to know what he was thinking. Bob Floyd was the man of your dreams.
The sun beat down on your shoulders. Everyone else had left. Your son’s hand was warm in your own, your daughter hiked onto your hip, her chubby legs pulling at the black fabric of your dress.
What are you thinking, your son asked and you smiled down at him. He was too young to understand, but old enough not to forget. He looked so much like Bob when the sunlight caught him just right.
How much your daddy loved you, you whispered to him. Now blow daddy a kiss. It’s time to go.
You watched your son press his hand to the casket, leaving a handprint on the glossy wood.
If Bob had been there, he wouldn’t have had to ask what you were thinking. He would just know.
Tag list: @double-j @hangmandruigandmav @momc95 @minamisulemisa @shawnsblue @blue-aconite @brehonodea @crthurston @angelbabyange @jason-toddsthighs @secretsicanthideanymore @taytaylala12 @mizzzpink @showmethewayhomehoney @wkndwlff @mygyn @tvjunkie08 @sadpetalsstuff @shanimallina87 @averyhotchner @oneelleandaneye @seresinhangmanjake
#robert floyd#bob floyd fanfiction#bob floyd fluff#bob floyd x reader#robert bob floyd#bob floyd imagine#bob floyd x y/n#bob fanfic#one shot
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Surprise
Requested: Yes
Summary: The Dagger Squad learns about Bob’s engagement in an unusual way. For him, at least.
Word count: 0.7k
Note: Join the celebration!
Warnings: none
Pairings: Robert ‘Bob’Floyd x fem!reader
“As I live and breathe,” Jake murmured, staring at his phone in awe. The pilot was sitting in his living room, surrounded by Phoenix, Rooster, and Coyote. Javy raised his head at his friend's words, moving closer so he could see his screen. His jaw dropped when he saw the pictures. Phoenix and Bradley shared a look before moving behind Jake as well. In a matter of seconds, their expressions matched that of the two pilots in front of them. On the screen in front of them, all pilots could clearly see the new post that Bob had made. It was the first post that they had seen containing you, which would have been less of a shock had you not had a large ring on your finger. “Looks like Baby On Board got himself a fiancé.”
The four of them continued to stare at the screen for the next few minutes. “So do we ask him or not?” It was Bradley who asked the question. No one responded for a few minutes. Then, Phoenix nodded her head. She had only met you a few times and had no idea that her WSO was planning on proposing to you. After a brief discussion, they decided that they would question Bob tonight at the Hard Deck.
A few hours later the small group was sitting around the pool table. Jake tapped his foot against the ground impatiently. It seemed as if these days Bob was always showing up late, no longer scaring the hell out of them when he would randomly appear next to the group. Maybe that had something to do with his recent engagement. Phoenix was staring at the door intently. She was prepared to give Bob an earful about not telling her about his new relationship status. While she respected his privacy, she wasn’t going to miss out on an opportunity to show her WSO exactly what she thought of his secrecy.
Just as the group was starting to lose hope that Bob would even show up, the bell above the door chimed loudly. Four pairs of eyes snapped up to watch Bob walk through the door with you on his arm. They stared at you two as you walked toward them. Phoenix was trying to get a look at your left hand, wondering why she hadn’t seen you wear your ring before. That proved harder than she thought as you had your fingers tangled with your finacé’s, hiding any view of your new ring.
When the two of you finally reached the group Bob sat down on a bar stool before pulling you into his lap. You giggled quietly in response. At the feeling of four pairs of eyes on you you turned your eyes to face your fiancé’s friends. They all quickly averted their eyes, causing Bob to cock an eyebrow. Jake was the first person to look back. “So,” He started carefully, eyes darting back and forth between the two of you. “We saw your post.” He left it at that, waiting for Bob to explain.
Neither of you said anything, causing Bradley to speak up. “Congratulations.” He murmured. You turned to face Bob, nuzzling your face into his neck as you tried to contain your giggles. You knew that your now fiancé wasn’t the oversharing type, which is why when you saw the post he made about your engagement, you couldn't wait to see the reactions of his friends. This is exactly what you thought would happen.
Bob did his best to hide his own grin, failing miserably when he felt you giggle against his skin. He could only shrug his shoulders in response to Jake’s statement. He knew that all of them were wondering why he did it. And the honest truth was only because he felt like it. So that was exactly what he said. “I don’t know, I just felt like it,” He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Why? You got a problem with it, Bagman?” Suddenly all the attention was on Jake, the question causing him to turn as red as a tomato. The once cocky pilot only shook his head quickly, causing loud laughs from your group to float through the bar.
#top gun#top gun fanfiction#top gun x female reader#top gun x reader#top gun fluff#top gun maverick#bob floyd#bob fluff#bob floyd fluff#bob floyd fic#bob x reader#bob floyd x reader#top gun bob#robert bob floyd#bob fanfic#robert bob floyd x reader#robert floyd#robert floyd x you#robert floyd x reader#bob floyd fanfiction#bob floyd x you#bob floyd imagine#top gun phoenix#top gun fic#top gun fan fic#top gun fandom#top gun x y/n#top gun x you#Lewis pullman#maverick top gun
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Wonderstruck Pt. 2
(Pt. 1)
Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide
Summary: In following her out into the night after her hasty exit, Joseph Liebgott has flipped Alix's entire world on its head. But maybe, just maybe, she doesn't mind.
A/N: THERE'S A PLOT, I PROMISE, THERE'S A PLOT!!!!
Dedication: To my dear friend @brassknucklespeirs who encourages my bad behavior. Consider this your payback for hurting my heart & calling me out with "No Shame"🤭💖
WARNINGS: SMUT (18+), Hurt/Comfort, Unsafe sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT, Y'ALL, OR I'M COMING FOR YOUR KNEECAPS 🤬🤬🤬), Trust issues, Implied abuse (nothing graphic), everybody cusses like a sailor but y'all knew that
Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @holdingforgeneralhugs
8 Months Earlier: January 8th, 1944. Aldbourne, England.
It wasn’t until Alix made it outside of the lobby and into the icy chill of the English winter that she realized she’d forgotten her coat.
The wind was harsh, stinging her bare skin, and she rubbed her arms in a vain attempt to ward off its bite as she began the long walk home.
“Kinda hard to 'go for a smoke' without your cigs, ain’t it?” a familiar voice called into the night as the door squeaked shut behind him, forcing Alix to stop in her tracks.
Goddamn it.
The agent huffed, gathering her courage before turning to face Joe, the small cloud of her breath still hanging in the frosty air behind her.
She'd intended to speak but no sound came out.
After all, what was there to say?
“I lied and ran off because I’m scared to get involved with you, in case you’re already involved with someone else?"
Yeah, that would go over like a ton of bricks.
A Martinelli doesn’t show weakness, Alix remembered her father scolding her when she’d dissolved into tears after Clay’s numerous, public infidelities. Not now, not ever.
So she said nothing, arms crossed, her ruby-red lips pressed into a tense line as she studied the paratrooper who'd come out after her.
Joe was standing just outside the building's overhang, hands shoved deeply into his pockets as he leaned against the building's outer wall, Alix's navy-blue coat draped over one shoulder.
His deep brown puppy eyes traced over her features so softly, as though there was something worth seeing in them…in her…
Alix crossed her arms even tighter around herself, dropping her gaze to the cobblestones. Anything to avoid those sweet, puppy-dog eyes.
She hated the way he looked at her, like she was the sun: something brilliant, worthy of kindness and reverence, and a million other sweet sentiments she didn't feel she deserved.
How could anyone look at her like that after the things she'd done?
∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆
4 Years Earlier: August 18th, 1940. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
With a shout of obscenities in Italian, her father Emilio, had burst into their parlor, slamming a stack of men’s magazines and pinup calendars down onto the mahogany coffee table in front of her with such force that the whole table shook.
“What in God’s name is this?” he demanded, stabbing an accusatory finger at a Beauty Parade drawing of her in a slinky evening gown cut practically down to her navel, her cleavage nearly spilling out as she leaned on a piano.
“And this!” A page torn from the Esquire calendar depicting a provocatively-posed Alix as Miss July, lounging on a beach towel in an impossibly tiny two-piece.
“And this!” A Titter centerfold featuring a blushing Alix with the skirt of her sundress snagged in a door, revealing her garters and a tantalizing flash of white lace panties.
“Is this what you've been doing while you're away?” her father bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. “We send you to Richmond for finishing school and you become a prostitute?!"
"No, Pa, I-"
"Basta! Non dire cazzate, you got that? Don't fucking bullshit me!"
"They're just pin-up drawings! It's not like I'm naked-"
"You think that makes it better?!"
Her father grabbed one of the calendars off the table and waved it in front of her face.
"Do you see this shit? This is the shit roughnecks carry with them out to the oil fields every day! Is that who you want to be, Alix, some workmen’s tart for them to gawk at, like a piece of meat?! You want your name– OUR name– associated with the likes of them?!"
"I didn't even use my real name for those!” Alix shot back, her temper flaring.
Her parents were strict but even still: she’d had a taste of freedom and she’d be damned if she’d be caged ever again.
“Pa, I’m careful, I swear! I give false names every time! Hell, I’ve even worn wigs!"
"And what, you think that's going to keep people from recognizing you?! Ci fai o ci sei?!"
"No, I'm not stupid, Pa! Look, I-"
"Zitta! We did not name you after royalty so that you could parade around like a whore and humiliate this family! We’ve got a reputation to uphold and I am not about to have it ruined because of you! Capisce?"
Without waiting for an answer, he threw the calendar down onto the ground and began to pace across the floor, muttering and massaging his temple with his hand.
“Santa Maria,” he all but spat, shaking his head at his prodigal daughter with disgust.
“We can only pray the Hearsts don’t hear of this. Because who in God’s name would want to marry you now, knowing the…the filth you’ve involved yourself in?!”
∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆
8 Months Earlier: January 8th, 1944. Aldbourne, England.
Joe broke the tension first, clearing his throat uncomfortably, and Alix jumped at the sound.
Tentatively, he draped her coat around her shoulders, as though she were a bomb set to detonate any second.
Just like everybody else in the company.
Alix drew the dark material tightly around her for protection from the elements.
“How’d you know?” she asked softly, glancing up to him nervously before her eyes darted away again.
How did you know that was my coat?
How did you know where I’d be?
How do you know me so well without ever having known me?
Joe rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.
“I ain’t a spy or anythin’ but I ain't fuckin’ blind either,” he remarked, attempting a smile but it came off more as a grimace of self-loathing.
“I noticed you when I came in. I remembered the coat you wore. It…”
He huffed for a second, his breath clouding the frosty air, before finishing simply, “It looked good on you.”
“Thanks,” Alix murmured before retrieving her cigarettes and glancing back up to Joe, extending an olive branch.
"You want one?"
He cocked an eyebrow and hesitated for a moment, before asking, "What kind?"
"Chesterfields," Alix replied with a half-smile, passing the white and gold carton over to him. "I'm under contract."
Was it just the dim lighting of the street lamps or did she see the ghost of a smile cross his face?
"Ya got good taste," he remarked simply before plucking a cigarette from the carton and retrieving a lighter from his pocket.
He leaned over to give hers a light first, the both of them painfully aware of how close their faces were once again.
The unacknowledged memory of the almost-kiss from earlier lingered between them like the rolling fog over the crop fields and Alix wondered if he could hear the thump-thump-thumping of her heart at the thought, even now.
“You coulda just told me, y’know," he mumbled after the first drag, sounding so unusually quiet and hesitant, so unlike the brash, cocky front he tried to keep up, that for a second, his words didn't even register.
"Told you what, Joey?"
The agent flinched at the way her voice sounded. Brittle, like broken glass.
But she couldn't help it. Her resolve was waning.
As she took a drag to steady herself, Joe's head jerked up in surprise at her words, brown eyes wide.
"Joey, huh?" he repeated, ignoring her question as the corner of his mouth starting to quirk up in his trademark goofy grin. "Nobody's ever called me that before."
Alix started to apologize automatically but Joe shook his head.
"Don't," he chided gently. "I like it. But-"
He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Think I'd like anything that comes outta that pretty mouth of yours."
"Awful quick with the lines tonight, aren't we?" Alix tried to sound nonchalant but there was a notable edge to her voice that caused Joe's brows to knit with concern.
"That a problem?"
"Of course not," Alix replied coolly, the smoke from her last drag curling into the air between them like a momentary barrier.
"I just know your type is all."
Joe gritted his teeth at her insinuation.
"Yeah?” he asked tersely. “And what type's that?"
“The type that gives their girl back home the runaround while they're off chasing tail and chasing glory."
A vein popped in his jaw at the insinuation.
"You think you got me all figured out, huh?” he snapped tersely. "Well you don't. I've never gone steady with anybody, okay? I don't have the fuckin' time!"
He shook his head in frustration.
"I been workin' two jobs, helpin' out my folks and lookin' out for my siblings since I was a fuckin' teenager. Yeah I slept around a little bit here and there, I'm not gonna bullshit you, but I never gave anybody the fuckin' runaround, okay? I'm not Skinny and I sure as fuck ain't Tab."
Alix blinked in shock at his outburst as she absorbed his words, but Joe wasn't done.
"And y'wanna know why I joined the Airborne?" he demanded.
He took a quick drag, the exhale coming just as fast.
"Wasn't for shits and giggles, lemme tell ya. It was so I could save enough money to put a fuckin' down payment on a house for my folks. That's why. Not glory, not girls, okay? My fuckin' family.
He took another puff of his cigarette, golden-brown eyes now studying the darkened landscape behind her before discarding it under his heel.
Alix tensed. Taking a slow drag off her own cig, she hoped quietly that the slightly bitter, hazy taste would clear her racing thoughts. But it didn't.
Boy, did she feel stupid.
"Look, Joe, I-I'm sorry," she mumbled, staring at the ground and tossing her cigarette away, her muscles taut as she braced for some sort of fight.
Conflict was a regular feature of her life growing up. Her father was a wild and wealthy womanizer and her melancholic mother socially prominent and heavily religious. When they clashed, which was often, the walls of their estate shook with the bellowing, doors slamming, and glass breaking.
A marriage of convenience, yes, but a match made in hell.
Her first real boyfriend…her former fiancé…had been much the same. Alix had learned very quickly that Clayton Hearst did not tolerate mouthiness.
That was probably why her father had chosen him for a match— to keep his wayward daughter in line. It hadn't stopped Alix from fighting back but it made for some very rough arguments.
Fortunately, Clay had left for the Marines while she was still in school, allowing Alix a small reprieve from their near-constant fighting.
The Dear Jane letter she'd gotten in the mail a month later had only proven to her what she'd already known deep-down:
Clay had never loved her. Hell, he'd never even liked her. The still-healing bruises from their parting arguments were proof enough of that. And just like her father, he'd rather spend his leave time cavorting with other women instead of remaining faithful to the one he was supposed to love.
The soft percussion of boots on pavement shook Alix out of her reverie and she jumped. But to her surprise, Joe's approach wasn't angry. Not at all.
Instead, she felt calloused fingers gently tilting her chin up to look him in the eyes and she flinched. But instead of the fury she'd come to expect, she saw only concern reflected back at her.
“I don’t know what asshole taught you that that’s how men are,” he said softly. “But I can fuckin’ promise you, that ain't how I am. You'll see."
Alix knew she shouldn't but the sincerity in Joe’s tone tugged at her heartstrings in a way she hadn’t expected and even with all her reservations, she couldn't help but believe him.
She was suddenly, painfully aware of his proximity, his face so tantalizingly near that she could smell the dizzying sweetness of the alcohol on his breath mingling with the faint smoke of his last cigarette.
Alix's eyes raked across his features: the intensity of his warm caramel gaze, his finely-drawn cheekbones, his strong aquiline nose, and she couldn't help but linger on the smile tugging at his lips, each thud of her heartbeat chanting the same thing like a mantra:
Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him.
"You gonna kiss me or what?" Joe teased softly, as if he could read her mind.
The slight gravel of his voice sent a tingle of pleasure down her spine and Alix knew then, as surely as she knew her own name, that kissing Joe Liebgott would be sealing her own fate, allowing herself to need him in a way she hadn’t wanted to need anyone ever again.
But in that moment, a decision was made:
It would be worth it.
So in response, Alix gave in to her impulses and pressed her lips earnestly to his with all of the sweet desperation that had been building up inside her since their eyes had first met days earlier.
Before she’d even known his name, a part of her had wanted to do this and the fact that it was actually happening had her head spinning in the best way.
Joe’s lips were soft, far softer than she’d expected them to be and they moved instinctively against hers in perfect synchronicity, anticipating her needs as naturally as he had on the dancefloor.
Alix reached up and ran her fingers through his thick copper hair, the intoxicating musk of his cologne and the feel of his arms sliding around her waist sending warmth blossoming through her like a blazing hearth in the winter chill.
Deepening the kiss, her tongue tentatively prodded his half-parted lips and he tangled a hand in her hair, intensifying their embrace.
Kissing Joe was like a drug, the syrupy-sweetness of the alcohol on his tongue and the searing heat of his mouth on hers stirred something in her she'd never before experienced.
The warmth between them was slowly building, spreading like a wildfire, and even the sudden, frigid downpouring of sleet couldn't sour the elation they felt in each other's arms.
“You gotta be shittin’ me,” Joe chuckled in between kisses, deftly flipping the collar up on his jacket with his free hand.
“What’s wrong, flyboy?” Alix quipped, her hair now coated in the frozen slush. “Afraid of a little winter weather?”
“Nah," he scoffed with a teasing nip at her bottom lip. "But if I catch a fuckin' cold ‘cause of it, I’m makin’ you take care of me.”
"Yeah?" the agent joked, returning the nip playfully. "Why me?"
"'Cause I ain't foolin' around with Roe."
Alix couldn't even respond, reluctantly having to tear herself away due to her uncontrollable shivering.
"I should p-probably get g-going," Alix managed from between chattering teeth.
Both her coat and dress had already been soaked through with the freezing water and the harsh wind was biting at her through the trees.
"B-Before it g-gets worse."
"Not like this we're fuckin' not," Joe declared, gently guiding Alix under the overhang. "We'll catch our deaths."
"You-You don't have to come," Alix replied, wrapping her arms around herself in a vague attempt to conserve whatever body heat hadn't already fled.
"Like hell I don't," Joe responded stubbornly, crossing his arms to keep himself warm as well.
"If you think I'm gonna let you walk home alone in the middle of the night, and in this weather on top of it, you're outta your fuckin' mind."
He was shivering too but he still took off his half-soaked coat and wrapped it around Alix's already-soaked coat anyway.
"What...What do you recommend then?"
Instead of answering, Joe opened the door to the White Rose again.
"Lemme take care of it, dollface." he called over his shoulder as he slipped inside. "Don't miss me too much."
∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆
About five minutes later, Joe reappeared, dangling a room key with a triumphant grin on his face.
"C'mon Ziskeit," he urged, wrapping an arm around her and guiding her inside where it was warmer. "I told ya I'd take care of it!"
"How did you manage that?" Alix asked incredulously, once she'd stopped shivering so violently. "They don't rent to unmarried couples, do they? It'd be improper!"
As if to answer her question, when they passed the concierge desk, the clerk gave them an enthusiastic parting wave.
"Enjoy your Honeymoon, Corporal and Mrs. Liebgott!"
Alix turned to Joe, wide-eyed.
"Joey, you didn't-!"
But Joe shot her a wink.
"What can I say? I got creative."
∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆
Their room at the White Rose was a bit on the smaller side, right next to the first floor stairwell, and most importantly, it was warm but Alix wouldn't have noticed the difference if it had been a suite at the Waldorf.
Joe's lips pressed urgently against hers and together, they stumbled as one through the doorway in a frenzy of desire, each kissing the other as though their lives depended on it.
"You been drivin' me crazy all night, y'know that?" Joe mumbled haltingly against her lips as he fumbled blindly for the door knob.
"Have I?" Alix asked innocently, lightly nipping at his bottom lip before peeling off her coat and tossing it to the ground.
“Don’t fuckin’ play with me, Zees," he cautioned, pressing her back up against the closed door, which rattled its complaint.
"But why, Joey?" Alix purred seductively, reeling him in by his tie just to brush her lips tantalizingly against his and slip away before he could kiss her.
"It's so much fun to tease you."
"Yeah?" She could hear the smirk in his rough voice but what she hadn’t expected was to feel him behind her.
Catching her hand as he spoke, Joe deftly tugged her back to him and she yielded, allowing him to pin her against the opposite wall instead with a dull thump, caging her between his arms.
"’Cause I bet it's gonna be a whole lot more fun to tease you.”
He started with her jawline, his kisses torturously gradual as he made his way down her arching neck, the heat of his breath sending goosebumps prickling down her limbs.
Locating her sweet spots with relative ease, he latched on, sucking a small trail of love bites into the delicate skin, pulling a breathy moan from Alix’s throat before she could stop it.
He was smirking against the blossoming bruises, she could feel it, and she eagerly nipped a row of matching marks into his neck in return, around the chain of his dog tags, the resulting guttural groan from him making her a little weak in the knees.
His kisses traveled further down at a maddening crawl, making Alix squirm with impatience.
He was keeping her caged against the wall on purpose, forcing her to allow him to take the lead and for an agent so used to being the pursuer, the honeytrap, in-command at all times, she could’ve screamed in frustration.
Sensing her impatience, he captured her mouth in another desperate, heated kiss and she pressed her whole body flush against him with an almost-feline grace.
Slow as pouring honey, she dragged herself agonizingly against him, making sure he felt every inch of her from her breasts to her hips and ass up against him.
She could feel the curve of his hard cock straining through his trousers as it lightly prodded her thigh–– and the sensation inflamed her like a cat in heat.
Tugging him nearer by his tie a second time, Alix leaned just close enough for her warm breath to ghost along the shell of his ear.
“Fuck, I need you, Joey,” she moaned breathily, running a teasing hand over the bulge in his pants and making him shudder from the contact. “I need you so bad.”
“Okay now that,” Joe groaned at her touch. “That’s just fuckin’ cruel.”
“Then do something about it,” Alix purred and that was all the paratrooper needed to hear.
Joe could be a very petty and proud man, but even so: he wasn’t superhuman.
Scooping her up in his deceptively-strong arms, Alix let out a small yelp of surprise as Joe moved her away from the wall and began backing her towards the bed, their lips crashing against each other’s again and again as they stumbled to it, throwing off their clothes as they went.
Joe’s tie, her dress, his shirt, her heels, they all were strewn somewhere on the way but neither of them noticed where.
The backs of Alix’s knees hit the bed and Joe gave her a gentle push, easing her onto it, the mattress springs creaking softly.
But for all his earlier cockiness, the paratrooper was rendered completely awestruck by her nearly-naked form, and he took a step back for a moment, simply standing there in his skivvies, gazing at her in pure disbelief.
“Fuckin’ Christ,” he whispered finally, his eyes roving down her lounging body on the mattress, absorbing the image as though he couldn’t quite believe she was real.
Alix propped herself up on her elbows to give him a better view. Her bra was long gone– tossed to the floor nearby– and all that remained on her were her black garter belt, and matching stockings.
Suddenly, Alix found herself feeling more nervous than she ever had before. Modeling was impersonal. This wasn’t like that at all.
None of the artists had ever looked at her the way Joe was looking at her now, so…so reverently and yet so ravenously at the same time.
Come to think of it, no man she’d ever met had looked at her like that before, with such a mixture of carnal desire and awestruck admiration, and it was driving her wild in the best way.
She needed him. In whatever way he wanted, Alix knew she needed him.
As if he could read her thoughts, he walked to the edge of the bed and gently nudged her legs apart with his hand.
Alix must’ve looked surprised because he gave her a playful wink and settled between her thighs as though he'd always been, the look of pure desire in his eyes sending a tingling sensation to her most sensitive parts.
Shifting the pillows so she could have a better vantage point, Alix could see even from there that Joe’s pupils were blown with lust and she could feel herself reddening under his gaze.
“You just sit back and relax up there, Ziskeit,” he entreated her, the old cocky, flirtatious Liebgott grin she’d seen earlier in the evening returning once again.
“This is gonna be fun.”
“Joey, you don’t have to…” Alix began softly but the feeling of his lips nipping and kissing the inside of her thighs killed the rest of the words in her throat.
God, he was good.
He left a burning path of love bites from her hip bones down her inner thighs, causing her to whine impatiently at the dull ache blooming between her legs.
He was driving her crazy and he knew it too, damn him.
Alix’s breath hitched as Joe eased her panties to the side with a finger.
"God, you're fuckin' soaked," he breathed and Alix felt her heartbeat quickening at the lewdness dripping from his words.
But even underneath the obscenity and voraciousness of his tone, there was an underlying sweetness too.
“You sure you wanna do this, Ziskeit?” he asked tentatively, meeting her eyes and suddenly seeming almost nervous.
“We don’t have to, y’know…I’ll understand, if you don’t…”
Alix frowned.
Had she misread his signals the whole night? Was he just here because he was mollifying her?
“Do you not want to?”
His eyebrows shot up immediately and he sat back on his knees.
“You kiddin’ me? Of course I want to! I just didn’t want you to think-”
“I don’t,” Alix interrupted, knowing instinctively what he was going to say. “I don’t think that, not at all.”
He nodded his acknowledgement and returned to his prone position between her legs.
"Oh, by the way," he remarked nonchalantly, looking up with a positively sinful grin.
"You're gonna be cumming at least twice before we do anythin’ else."
Alix’s eyes must’ve looked like saucers.
“U-Uh,” she stammered, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt now that her face was a deep crimson.
“One thing, before you start. Um…I’ve never…y’know…Not from this…or anything, really. I don’t even know if I can…”
Joe’s eyes were as round as hers as understanding set in.
“Wait, never?” he asked incredulously and Alix shook her head with a nervous titter, suddenly feeling extremely shy.
“Nope.”
Clayton had never been the type to care about her pleasure and the others had been similarly apathetic.
Truthfully, she hadn’t even known sex was supposed to be enjoyable until Lavinia from St. Mary’s had shared stories of her romps in the woods with one of the boys from St. Ignatius.
“I, uh, I hope that’s not a problem, Joey.”
Recovering from his momentary trance, Alix saw something flicker in the golden flecks of his eyes, like 24Karat gold dust…was it affection?
“Don’t worry ‘bout it, dollface,” he reassured her with an easy smile as he nudged her panties to the side once more.
“Just lay back and lemme make you feel good.”
Alix obeyed eagerly and he hooked his arms under her thighs, draping her legs over his shoulders before descending on her heat like some kind of starving animal.
“Oh fuck,” she whimpered, feeling a bit pathetic at the way a few well-placed laps of Joe’s tongue already had her head feeling light.
Tangling her fingers reflexively in his thick, lush brown hair, Alix swore she could feel him smiling as he devoured her, reveling in the way he was making her come undone in a way no one else had.
Minutes later, she was trembling. The assassin everyone was so in awe of was quivering like a leaf in the breeze at every broad stripe of Joe’s well-practiced tongue.
He knew what he was doing, that was for sure.
Her free hand gripping the sheets, she could feel the muscles in her stomach clenching, bracing for each wave of pleasure that Joe’s tongue sent rushing through her.
“Shit, you taste good,” Joe mumbled, greedily lapping at her core like a man starved, burying his tongue so deeply within her that Alix had to scrunch her eyes shut to keep from falling to pieces right then and there.
“So fuckin’ sweet for me, aren’t ya, Zees?”
“O-Oh God,” Alix gasped out, tugging at Joe's hair desperately.
The pooling warmth in her stomach was getting stronger, deeper, her legs trembling as the waves of pleasure began to build, filling up like a balloon seconds from bursting. “Joey, I-I think-"
Joe groaned in excitement, lapping steadily at her core, before beginning to suckle on her clit, causing her vision to flash momentarily white.
Alix let out a strangled cry, her back arching clear off the mattress and involuntarily thrusting her breasts into the air.
“Oh-Oh fuck, Joey,” she mewled, her voice carrying clear across the room as the dam broke. She tried to press her quivering thighs together, the overwhelming sensitivity like a tsunami of bliss completely flooding her senses, but Joe wasn’t done with her.
Not even close.
“Louder,” he urged as he coaxed her through her first orgasm, giving quick kitten licks to her most sensitive spot and teasing her slick entrance with a finger.
“C’mon, Zees, I wanna hear you.”
“Joey, if you keep this up, the whole hall is gonna hear me,” Alix half-sobbed, the pleasure so overwhelming that she could feel her vision swimming.
Joe pressed a soft kiss to her knee before slipping a second finger inside her, sending her keening his name so loudly that she was sure even the clerks at the concierge desk could hear.
“Good,” he affirmed, beginning to scissor his fingers inside her core as her breathing quickened to ragged, blissful gasps.
“Besides, we’re newlyweds, remember?”
He shot her a wink.
“We’re ‘sposed to be at it like rabbits.”
∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆
Alix had always thought the phrase “seeing stars” was just an expression but after the third or fourth orgasm Joe had ripped out of her, she was pretty sure there were lights dancing before her eyes after all.
“You doin’ okay, Zees?” The paratrooper perked his head up from between her legs, the evidence of her arousal glistening on his chin.
His bangs were stuck to his forehead, the both of them covered in a sheen of sweat, but he looked as satisfied as she felt.
“You need a break or somethin’?”
Alix gave him a reassuring smile and shifted her still-trembling legs off of Joe’s shoulders.
“I’m good, Joey.”
He cocked his head and sat back on his heels, eyeing her inquisitively, a note of concern in his husky voice.
“You sure?”
Alix nodded.
“I promise.” She let out a shaky laugh. “I’m just taking a quick second to recover, that’s all.”
Satisfied with her answer, the paratrooper crawled up beside her, back against the headboard, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he searched the face beside him intently for a reaction.
“Pretty fuckin’ good, huh?”
Alix giggled.
“If you couldn’t tell from me screaming your name for however long it’s been, yes, it was ‘pretty fucking good’.”
Joe gave her a playful nudge with his shoulder.
“Just checkin’. Can’t leave Mrs. Liebgott unsatisfied on our honeymoon, y’know. What kinda husband would I be?”
Alix knew he was just joking but the reference still made something in her flutter with delight.
This paratrooper…This technician with the warm smile and the quick wit, who seemed to read her better than anyone else, he intrigued her like no one ever had.
He was an adventure, a revelation, an epiphany, everything she hadn’t known she’d been missing, all wrapped up into one charismatic person.
Feeling something stirring deep inside her again, Alix found herself gripped by a primal urge she couldn’t shake.
She needed him, all of him. Now.
Rolling over onto her side so that she was facing him completely, she could see the taut muscles of his thin, wiry frame, tensing like a panther as he looked at her.
How could he always read her mind?
Giving him a once-over, the spy glimpsed the same salacious shape straining against his underwear.
Leaning over, she began to toy with the waistband of his skivvies, causing Joe's hips to buck up involuntarily as her smooth fingertips dipped below.
“C’mon, Ziskeit,” Joe cajoled, those deep brown eyes full of unspoken pleas for release as Alix resumed kissing down his neck. “Don’t be a fuckin’ tease.”
“If I recall,” Alix murmured against his skin as she grazed her nails down his abs, making him inhale sharply.
“A certain person made me beg for a full five minutes…”
“Well that person's a fuckin’ idiot," Joe grunted desperately.
As he was speaking, Alix slid his skivvies off and took him into her mouth, delicately tracing the head with her tongue.
"And I'm sure he – Oh fuckin’ Christ!” Joe hissed, tangling a hand in her hair desperately to keep some self-control as she went about her work, taking him deeper into her throat.
“Fuck, I’m sure he knows better now."
Alix smirked, hollowing her cheeks and taking him still deeper, pushing him further down, savoring the taste of him, and she could feel his hips starting to buck.
“God, you’re fuckin’ perfect,” he growled but as she deep-throated him again and again, he released her hair, his hands hurriedly finding their way to her shoulders.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Zees,” he choked out, pushing her away gently and it only took that warning tone for her to release him at once with a lewd pop.
“You okay, Joey?” she asked, her turn to be concerned, and he laughed nervously.
“Uh…” he chuckled, sheepishly running a hand through his hair.
“I…I wasn’t gonna last too much longer, if you kept that up. That was… Christ, that was somethin’ fuckin’ else.”
Alix hummed appreciatively before swinging a leg over and straddling his lap.
“Can we try this then?” she murmured, ghosting her fingers up and down his strong arms.
"Jesus Christ," Joe whispered almost reverently from his half-propped position against the headboard, his heavily-lidded eyes roaming every inch of her nude form, still admiring her as though she was a priceless Caravaggio.
"You sure you're not a fuckin' dream or somethin'?"
He slowly reached out, his fingertips ghosting across the valley of her breasts in mesmerized disbelief, as though he was afraid she might disappear at any moment if he was too rough with her.
"I'm real, tesoro," Alix assured him, guiding his hand to squeeze the supple flesh, sending a flood of warmth through her and she could feel him twitch beneath her, prodding her inner thigh with his arousal.
“I promise, I’m real.”
Carding a hand through his hair, she captured him in a long, passionate kiss which he returned just as fervently, the pair moaning deeply into each other’s mouths as she sank down on his cock.
She gasped as he bottomed out, the slight burn filling her with ecstasy, and he groaned deeply.
“Oh fuck, you feel so good.”
Alix didn’t even have the words to reply. The feeling of fullness Joe supplied was unimaginably euphoric, blanking out her mind completely.
Relying on animal instinct alone, she began to roll her hips, rutting against him as desperate keens and gasped curses fell from both their lips like prayers.
Joe wrapped both arms around her waist, burying his face in her breasts with a deep, rumbling groan of ecstasy, gripping her to him as though she was a lifeline, the lifesaving driftwood to a drowning man.
“Madonna mia,” Alix breathed, the fervent motion of her hips stuttering momentarily at the feeling of him latching onto the sensitive skin of her nipple.
She rutted against him desperately, needing more and more of him, tugging on his hair in a silent plea for everything that only he could give her.
“Hey Ziskeit,” he murmurs seconds later, his voice husky with arousal, and she could feel her walls constricting around him tighter and tighter. “Goddammit, I think I’m gonna cum soon...”
Her pace twice as insistent now, Alix bore down on him, Joe’s dog tags jingling musically against her chest as she rode him into oblivion.
“Fuck, Joey, I need you," she murmured, chanting the last three words like a prayer as she felt herself teetering on a precipice for another time.
“Don’t say that," Joe gasped out, his grip around her hips so insistent that she was sure bruises would form later. "Don't fuckin' say that unless you mean it."
He was bucking up against her too, matching her rhythm, every stroke so intense in her core that she was left a whimpering mess.
“I mean it, Joey,” Alix moaned as she pressed his face to her chest, "God, I fucking mean it."
“Oh shit, Jesus Christ!” Panic and pleasure twisted Joe’s handsome features, his voice raising frantically. “Uh, Zees, I- FUCK!”
His warning tone reached a fever pitch just as his orgasm jolted through him, ripping a guttural sound from his throat and leaving him slack-jawed and panting as his cock pulsed.
Alix was seconds behind him, burying her face into his shoulder with a broken sob as another orgasm overwhelmed her, plunging her instantly into white-hot bliss as he held her, murmuring praises in English and what she assumed to be German.
Joe lolled his head back against the headboard, his murmuring voice farther and farther away now. Alix was too fucked out to think anymore and she found herself slumping over on top of his chest like a ragdoll as she drifted off.
∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆
Surfacing from sleep around 1am to find Joe still buried comfortably inside her, the pair of them still tangled in each other’s arms, Alix gently eased herself upright, wanting to take in the scene for a moment, not knowing if she’d ever have the chance to again.
Was this a one-night stand? God, she hoped not. Was it her imagination or was there something more between them?
A spark? No…a flame. More than a flame. An inferno.
In one night, Joe had shown her an entirely different world, an entirely different life than the one she’d been trapped in before.
How could she just go back to normal now, as if she hadn’t been completely and totally changed? As if her entire world hadn’t been rocked by one cocky paratrooper with puppy-dog eyes?
Their clothes, still damp from the sleet, lay discarded in messy bunches along the carpet like autumn leaves.
Thinking back on it, Alix couldn't remember how long it had been since they'd begun but the chill of the remaining frost that had coated them both at the start was long gone by now, replaced with the sticky-sweetness and feverish heat of sweat and sex.
Joe wasn't like Clay or any of the handful of guys she'd been with before, she mused.
They'd all been selfish lovers, entirely focused on chasing their own wants while denying her hers. She was merely a vessel for them to get off, nothing more than a doll to be used and discarded once her purpose had been fulfilled.
In one night, Joe had treated her like the complete opposite.
He was still as full of fire in the bedroom as he was out of it, but for once, it was only for Alix to see. He had been chasing her all night but not in the way the others were. For the first time in her life, someone seemed hungry to please her. The thought was so foreign that it sent another shiver of pleasure through her.
Even in his sleep, Joe’s breathing hitched at the sensation of her walls contracting around him and she couldn’t help but giggle into her hand.
“Whassofunny?” Joe mumbled, cracking an eye open.
“Nothing, cucciolo,” Alix assured him, running a hand through his sex-tousled hair. “Go back to sleep. You need it.”
“I fuckin’ don’t,” Joe insisted doggedly, starting to sit up, but when Alix started to lift herself off of him, he hissed and shook his head.
“Not yet, Ziskeit,” he pleaded, his words still running together a bit in his after-sex haze. “A little bit longer.”
“Then go back to sleep and I'll stay put,” Alix countered.
“Can’t,” Joe yawned. “Can’t sleep much normally, ‘cept after…y’know.”
He made a vague gesture to their situation and Alix cocked an eyebrow, dark eyes sparkling with mirth.
“If that was your way of trying to come onto me again,” she commented drolly. “I appreciate the creativity. I don’t think ‘Fuck me to sleep’ is a line I’ve heard before.”
“Wasn’t a line,” Joe responded with a shrug. “I really can’t sleep for shit."
His warm brown eyes were boring into hers again and she could feel the playful chuckle he was trying to suppress in his voice when he added slyly,
“But y’know, just outta curiosity… if it had been a line, would it’ve worked…?”
She was now hyper-aware of his hands resting gently on her bare back as he held her, the roughness of his calloused fingertips sending sparks dancing deliciously across her soft skin.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, flyboy,” she teased with a soft roll of her hips, but the slight catch of desire in her voice when she felt him stiffen betrayed her.
"Shit," Joe grunted at the sudden movement, pupils blown with desire. "You're such a fuckin' minx, y'know that?"
"Am I?" Alix blinked innocently before clenching the muscles in her core around his cock in a vise grip, making him hiss. "I hadn't noticed."
"Okay that's it," Joe hissed, the rasp in his slightly nasal-tenor coming out as almost a primal growl. Keeping one hand steady on her back, he pulled out and flipped her over, pinning her firmly underneath him.
Alix sunk her nails into his back to keep herself from moaning needily as he buried himself within her once again, rougher this time, the heavenly ache between her legs as he bottomed out causing a small whimper to escape.
“Gotta be quiet now, dollface,” he mumbled, crashing his lips to hers to keep himself from groaning out loud.
“People’re probably sleeping. Like we would be if you weren’t so goddamn gorgeous.”
“Such a charmer, cucciolo, I- Oh fuck!”
Working up speed, Joe began pounding into her mercilessly, seemingly determined to make her pay for teasing him so cruelly earlier, and Alix wrapped her legs around him, craving him impossibly closer to her.
“Tesoro, fuck, I think–” she whimpered from beneath him. “I think I might-”
“Yeah?” he grunted, the vigor of his pace only increasing.
Thinking back on it, his dog tags had been clinking so loudly against his Star of David pendant that Alix hadn’t even heard the door open.
“Real sorry I took so long, Pops,” a soft-spoken but familiar voice rang from the entrance. “But Doc said-”
Shifty Powers, the sweet-faced trooper who’d waved to Joe in the lobby earlier, was now frozen dead in his tracks, his eyes dinner-plate wide as the tall glass of water he’d been carrying slid from his hands, shattering into several glistening chunks on the floor with a CRACK!
He was beet-red but rooted to the spot, his horrified gaze dropping down to the shattered glass at his feet and then back up to the still-intertwined Alix and Joe like he was tied to the tracks of an oncoming train.
“Shit,” he mumbled, stammering out excuses and apologies, half to himself and half to the couple as he immediately dropped to his knees and began busying himself with trying to collect the glass shards. “I- This-this isn’t…and y’all aren’t…But I thought-”
Alix lunged for the comforter, which she hurriedly wrapped around herself like an oversized towel.
“Don’t worry about the glass,” she reassured him kindly, his eyes glued firmly to the ground. “We’ll take care of it. You just get where you need to go.”
“A-Are y’all sure?" He was speaking entirely to the carpet, head dipped to avoid any more accidental views.
If it hadn't been such a humiliating situation, Alix might've giggled.
"I wouldn’t wanna cause y’all any trouble.”
“It isn’t any trouble,” Alix insisted. “Isn’t that right, Joe?”
Joe made a skeptical noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a cough and a grunt, but the glare she shot him could’ve wilted even fake flowers and he finally relented.
“Yeah sure,” Liebgott replied, dulling the sharpness of the irritation in his tone. “No trouble at all.”
“Well alright, if y’all are sure…” Shifty mumbled, his face still a bright cherry red. “I’ll, uh, I guess I’ll just see y’all around. I'm just gonna-"
With that, he fled the room like a bat out of hell, leaving a disgruntled Joe and a mortified Alix in his wake.
"God, I cannot believe that just happened." Alix squeaked into her palms, wishing that the Earth would just swallow her whole.
Even the exquisite soreness between her thighs wasn't worth that.
Joe meanwhile, was muttering to himself as he stepped over the glass shards strewn along a small patch of carpet.
"Going somewhere?" Alix asked with a cocked eyebrow.
“Yeah," Joe grumbled. "To latch and lock that goddamn door.”
#lowkey the little details of their interactions even when Doing the Do just absolutely 🤌🏽🤌🏽🤌🏽#Sorry for making y'all read this filth but I promise THERE ARE REASONS IN THERE FOR IT#Also I'm dropping little hints here & there of Things To Come 👀#FireOnFire#FOF#Joelix#Band of Brothers fandom#Band of Brothers smut#Band of Brothers fanfiction#Band of Brothers fanfic#Bob fanfic#BoB#FOFChapters#HBO War#HBO War fanfiction#Joe Liebgott x OC#Joe Liebgott x reader#Joe Liebgott imagine#Joe Liebgott oneshot#Liebgott smut#Joe Liebgott smut#Shifty Powers#my sincerest apologies to you sir
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4 times Donald Malarkey Wanted to kiss you , the one time he did.
Pairings: Donald Malarkey x f!reader
Requested by: none, just an idea I had :)
Warnings: Bastogne, Mentions of depression, character death, Donald being flustered, uhh tons of switches of POV's but just read it and be happy.
A/n: reallllyyy didn't like this. I mean, I like the Toccoa part (#1) but I felt like it gradually decreased in quality as it went on. Also, my first ever band of brothers fic so be weary.
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙
1. Close call in Toccoa
Malarkey, shamefully, had noticed how much his thoughts were about you. He found you occupying his mind about anything and everything. Something you said yesterday, your smile when Luz had mocked Coronel sink, your eyes and how they shined in the dark moonlight during the notorious night march, your hands when you'd accidentally brushed your knuckles against his during breakfast this morning.
All the little things nobody else would care to notice Malarky cherished like it was religion. Of course, Malarkey's best friends, Muck and Penkala, had caught wind of his obsession when he spoke just a little too much of the woman within the company.
They teased him for it, as all friends do when they learn their best bud is crushing a little too hard on a girl.
Sitting in the cafeteria, Malarkey was subject to that teasing. "Whatcha dreaming about larkey'?" Warren asked, a cheeky smile stretched across his face.
"You already know it's Y/n, so why'd you ask?" Alex was quick to respond, Warren nodding in fake thoughtfulness.
"I imagine Malarky sits and dreams all about kissing Y/n. I saw him staring at her yesterday. Ain't that right Malarky? What were you thinking about then?" Warren's smile grows even larger and he puckers his lips, "mhmm" He groans with a mock high-pitch voice, "y/n, Please kiss me! You're so pretty! I really, really love you y'know!"
The ginger flushes red from embarrassment, Although, Donald won't lie to himself, he does think of the softness of your lips more than he'd like to admit… but that wasn't the point. He thinks to himself while he swats his friend harshly from across the table, trying to shut him up before the whole company learns his secret. "Can it, will you?" He whisper-yells, kicking Warren in the shins full force to which causes the blond haired boy to exclaim in agony.
"It's true! I swear, you probably think about kissing her–" Warren is cut off by a very familiar voice and Malarkey's stomach drops in fear.
"Who's thinking about kissing who?" You say, plopping down in the seat next to Malarky innocently, while the poor ginger turns as red in the face as his hair on his head.
Theres a few beats of stunned, awkward silence before finally Alex answers "Malarky thinks about kissing-" Donald shoots him a warning glare and a hard nudge of his foot, "-Margaret. Yeah, a girl back home whom he knew. A real broad, that one."
Malarkey doesn't notice the way your face falls at the mention of someone at home, "Y-yeah" He stutters out. "Margaret. Real pretty." Or the way you go silent and your shoulders slump.
"Sounds real nice." You half mumble while you shovel a spoon of oatmeal in your mouth.
Muck and Penkala glance at each other with looks that say 'oh fuck' while everyone resumes eating breakfast in an awkward silence.
Oh fuck was right.
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙
2. Thunder and flash
Malarkey hit the ground with a thud, his white parachute settling on the ground behind him while he worked on cutting himself free and condensing the fabric into a tight roll.
It was dark, with sounds of gunfire in the distance. A rustle in the bushes caused Malarkey's head to snap in that direction. "Thunder?" He called out hesitantly, cautious not to be too loud.
The bush moved, followed by "flash" in response and a silhouette stepped out.
With the limited lighting Malarkey was squinting to see who he had reunited with. Was it Liebgott? Toye? Winters? Was it you?
It didn't take long to get an answer when the person made themselves known, stepping into a thick beam of moonlight, face illuminated by the white light.
Malarkey was beyond relieved. He had found you. Even better, still alive and breathing. He doesn’t know what he would've done had it been your body, strung up in the branches of a tree.
"You're alive." He all but whispered.
"What'd you think was gonna happen? Really thought the Krauts got the better of me?" You chuckle, a warm smile on your face, "Have a little faith, will you?"
Oh how he wanted to cup your cheeks and kiss you.
Malarkey wanted to reach forwards, grab your face with his hands, and plant his lips on yours. He wanted to show you how worried he was. How sickeningly scared he had been that you were dead before he'd even jumped from the plane.
There is a silence while you move to embrace each other, eyes staring into one another's in an emotion you both can't quite name, something you'll find out later when feelings unravel themselves.
Malarkey doesn't notice the way you both subconsciously had begun leaning into each other, faces inching closer. A thought flashed across Malarkey's mind. He could kiss you. He could ruin his friendship.
Little did he know, none of that would need to be decided as A voice calls from the bushes "Thunder?" immediately met with you calling out a quick 'flash!' And pulling away.
Begrudgingly, Malarkey realizes he must find easy company, there's no time to sulk, he finishes packing his parachute into a tight ball and stands to join you and the new soldier they joined with.
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙
3. Drunken confession in the times after Carentan
The bar was deafening and unorderly. Soldiers of all ranks and ages were drinking, a golden yellow ale were being thrust into the air in cheer over the recent win in Carentan.
Malarkey and his best friends, Warren Muck and Alex Penkala were seated in a small booth towards the back of the bar with each of them having an ale on the table.
Malarkey excuses himself, going to grab another drink, he blows a sigh through his lips and begins pushing himself through the mass of people and to the bar.
When he finally got to the counter, two bartenders were rushing between calls for another beer. He was going to be here for awhile.
While standing patiently waiting for a drink, a figure approaches. Malarkey recognizes it as Lieutenant Winters and immediately is straightening himself out when he approaches. "Sir?" He questions when the red-headed lieutenant stops in front of him.
"Malarkey. I think it'd be best for sergeant Y/n to be off for the night. Except, she won't listen to me."
Donald smiles at the Lieutenant, peeking over his shoulder in the direction he came, sure enough seeing a drunken you, half asleep and nearly falling off your chair. "Will do, lieutenant."
"Have a good evening, Malarkey." And with that the man was off.
Making his way over to you, the ginger tapped you on the shoulder gently, prompting a grunt in response. "C'mon y/n, we gotta get you to bed."
Attempting to stand you nearly topple over, Malarkey's hand reaching out to grip your forearm, a giggle escaping your drunken lips. After stumbling out into the warm summer air and across camp, Malarkey had you nearly in bed and was ready to leave you to your own.
He draws in a deep breath and leans down hesitantly. Malarkey places his lips lightly on your cheek for a moment, hunched over your half-asleep form.
Moments pass where you stay like that before he whispers a soft "good night" and exits the room promptly.
when he leaves he can feel the giddiness running through his veins, a smile pulling itself onto his lips.
Oh god he was in for it.
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙
4. Bastogne; frozen hell
Malarkey wasn’t sure what to do anymore. There was a dull ache that filled his chest, a sensation that he could only describe as a leech sucking the life straight from the organ that pumped blood throughout his body. He was a man stranded on an island, unable to get off.
Muck was gone. Penkala was gone too. Gone as in, He’d never talk to them again. Bodies blown into oblivion by a direct hit of a mortar. If he’d known the last words he had spoken to them would've been so soon, he would have told them a whole lot more. Told them how good of friends they had become and how dear they had become to him. But he'd never get that chance because they had been taken from him all too soon. Like a bandaid being pulled off a fresh wound, much to early to fend off the infectious depression threatening to poison him from the brain. Kill him with his own emotions.
Oh god, he wanted to break down. He wanted to be held in the arms of the person he loved. Wanted to cry so hard all his worries went away. But Malarkey wasn’t supposed to do that; wasn't allowed for he was a man in a time of war.
Malarkey was perched on the edge of the cot he was assigned, elbows resting on tired knees and supporting his head while he stared meaninglessly at the floor. His eyes traced over the brown cracks etched into worn floorboards, following each individual splinter and fissure, curious to where they ended up.
“Malarkey?”
He knew it was you, in the back of his mind your voice clicked, but he didn’t have it in himself to look up or respond in fear he would break down. He didn’t want to seem so vulnerable in front of you.
“Don?”
Malarkey could feel a piece of his cold, lifeless gaze peel away with the soft mention of his name, the syllables falling delicately from your perfect mouth. And when he looked up, his crestfallen gaze meeting your concerned one, he felt the strong want to cry. The emotion must've crossed his face more prominently than he’d have liked, as something flashed in your gaze and immediately you were ready to comfort the grief-stricken man.
“Oh, Malarkey.” You say, breath no louder than a whisper, immediately seating yourself beside him on the bed and wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into the most delicate hug he’s ever had.
He finds it comforting how it reminds him of his mother back home. How she used to wrap him up in her arms and whisper sweet nothings into his ear when he would cry. Malarkey thinks about a lot of things while lying in your arms. He thinks about Muck, teasing him about something stupid he had done while Alex laughs from the side, adding on to the playful mocking they induce. He thinks about home, about his brothers John and Bob and his sister, Marilyn, or his mother and father, how they were all waiting patiently for his return to the states.
“I’m so so sorry.” You mumble into his hair, rocking the boy gently, “I know how much they meant to you.”
Malarkey doesn’t respond, he just cries silently into the comfort of your shoulder. He weeps onto your clothed arm, snot and wet tears soaking into the worn green fabric of your tunic– not like you mind.
When he feels like he's had enough, he's pulling away, red eyes puffy with tears and staring at you. "Thanks." It's quiet, such a low whisper before Malarkey is pulling away and standing up, leaving the tent.
˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙
5. A broad named Margaret
Malarkey was done with war, done with the horrors forever etched into the fabrics of his very brain, done with firing a hot round of smoking gunpowder and bronze metal into a German's body and watching them fall to the ground.
He never thought he could have been happier when he received the news that the last of the German army surrendered.
The first thing he did was go looking for you, asking his fellow easy company boys if they'd seen you. After many, 'I Don't know, sir,' Liebgott was his savior and pointed out you were in a building just across the street.
Malarkey, bursting with joy, raced across the street and into the house, nearly running into you as he threw open the door.
He didn't even think, he just grabbed you and kissed you out of glee. He pulled away shortly after, barely recognizing the fact he probably ruined a good friendship out of his own moments of joy, and you looked like you were about to short circuit, pure surprise painting your face, "The Germans surrendered, the war's over!"
Malarkey is smiling down at you when your fist grab his collar harshly and yank him back down into a kiss.
He blinks in surprise, taken aback by your boldness, before melting into the kiss.
Yours and his lips move in sync, the world muted around the both of you, and the only sound was the beat of your hearts. The kiss was sweet as honey, soft and gentle, but full of love and affection. The taste of his lips lingered on yours, like a memory etched in your soul that you would never forget.
"Im sorry-" you splutter out shortly after.
"Sorry? About what?" Malarkey asks, a look of shock melting into his features.
"About Margaret– you love her, not me, and I just ruined that.. oh my God you probably hate me right now! Im just–"
Malarkey smiles and crashes his lips onto yours to silence your rambling, "You don't know how long I've wanted that." He whispers when he pulls away and leans his forehead against yours.
"B-but Margaret?"
"Oh silly," He chuckles, "Margaret was never real. We were talking about you."
"You were… thinking about kissing me?" A look of confusion paints your face while Malarkey laughs.
"Yes, sweetheart." He says before kissing you again.
If Malarkey thought he was happy about the end of the war, boy was he wrong. This made his whole life a greater place that he'd describe as a sunny meadow with white clouds scuttling across a vast blue sky and a colorful array of daisies and red eyed-susan's that blow gently in a breeze tainted with a smell of salt that wafts from the nearby ocean. That was his dream. To live there, in that place, with you. Luckily for him, the war was over, and you were both going home, together.
#x reader#female reader#angst#y/n#iceman kazansky#band of brothers#Donald Malarkey x reader#donald malarkey#ww2#bastogne#carentan#toccoa#millitary#band of brothers fanfic#band of brothers x reader#bob#BoB fanfic#easy company
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WIP WEDNESDAYS
10/18/2022
I have 11 WIPS on my masterlist and no self-control so we'll see where this goes. the tagging on this is going to be a nightmare
wait for it [rooster x gold star kid reader]
= (gold star child: someone who has lost a parent in active service) i saw a tumblr post a set of images related to this song and you cannot tell me that "wait for it" from Hamilton is not the most bradley "rooster" bradshaw song ever.
my mother was a genius / my father commanded respect / when they died they left no instructions / just a legacy to protect
and everything hangman says about him "waiting for the perfect moment that never comes". this would probably be a series that starts in high school to post uranium mission. anyways they're both hard-core achievers and perfectionists because where they're headed, a little mistake could mean death, something they both know very well.
[angst, friends to lovers slowburn, hurt/comfort, some character death]
at my worst, I worry you’ll realize you deserve better. at my best, I worry you won’t.
= definitely a bob or hangman standalone, maybe both. someone says something particularly harsh to hangman and he starts to wonder why you love him, and if you were just settling for him in the first place. bob is shy and not actually insecure most of the time, but surrounded by pilots that are more open and confident, he's worried he isn't good enough for you.
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE AU
= HOLY CRAP @jupitercomet's "je te laisserai des mots" little women inspired fic is so GOOD. I like little women but pride and prejudice with jake. imagine it. reader would either be a jane type or lizzie type, but I'm way better at writing jane types (see: I am not very witty but I am very kind). you and your sisters have to try and marry rich so that you can save the family from extreme poverty when your father dies and you happen to meet jake at the ball where your first impressions of him are actually horrible. definitely a series.
[enemies to lovers, banter, fun dagger squad relations, period drama pride and prejudice au]
I've also updated the description on a phoenix fic "two birds" that won't be actually be coming soon, coming much later but I'm still hyped as hell for it so stay tuned. it'll have aspects of coming out and sexuality crises which I love to experience myself /sarcastic. I think hangman's standalone "wish you were sober" will be the first to come out, maybe halloween unless I come up with something else shorter by then? I'm 3k words in you guys.
#jake seresin x reader#bradley bradshaw x reader#natasha trace x reader#bob floyd x reader#jake seresin#natasha trace#bradley bradshaw#bob floyd#phoenix fanfic#hangman fanfic#bob fanfic#rooster fanfic#tgm fanfic#top gun fanfiction#dagger sqaud#pride and prejudice au#jake hangman seresin#natasha phoenix trace#bradley rooster bradshaw#robert bob floyd#tgm fanfiction#hangman x reader#phoenix x reader#rooster x reader#bob x reader#wip wednesday
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sky and stars
summary: you’ve been seeing wso bob floyd for a while now, and you finally convinced him to sneak you onto one of topgun’s two-seater f-18s for a joyride. but when you get to the tarmac, the night doesn’t exactly go as planned.
word count: 2.5k
a/n: hii<33 this is my first top gun fic and my first x reader fic in... a very long time lol. so i hope you enjoy!! no real warnings i think, just a lot of fluff and some smooching. this is an f!reader, but i tried to keep it gender neutral for the most part.
The sun was very low, with just the barest aurora of light left shining on the hills in the distance. The indigo sky was rich and clear, with a few white pinpricks just beginning to make themselves known. The three-rung belt of Orion stood out clearly overhead, and the ruddy red glow of Mars twinkled down as you and Bob pulled off the dry dirt road and got out of the car.
You took the lead, enjoying the feeling of the dry, warm summer-night air against your bare legs. You had a thick fleece blanket slung over your arm, but it wasn’t to keep the chill out. Not yet, anyways. Your sneakers kicked up little puffs of dust as you jogged towards the gate, Bob following behind.
The two of you didn’t really have a name for this thing blossoming between you. He was away so much, and you were so busy finishing up your graduate degree, it felt silly to try and settle down. But you knew he wasn’t seeing anyone else, and he knew that you knew that he wasn’t seeing anyone else, and he knew that you weren’t seeing anyone else, and every time he came back to base, you spent every spare moment in each other’s company. It was nice this way. It felt light and carefree, and you both very badly needed more light and carefree things in your lives.
Bob’s voice cut across the dry night, low and cool. “We’re really, really not supposed to do this.”
You smiled, turning around so you could see him as you walked confidently backwards. “Relax—what’s the worst my dad could do?”
Bob wrinkled his nose at the mention of your father. “Respectfully, I think the US Navy has a few more important people than your dad.”
“I’ll tell him you said that,” you teased, coming to a stop at the fence.
“Please don’t.”
Your dad. Warlock. People figured that he went easy on you and that’s why you hung around TOPGUN and the Hard Deck and everywhere else pilots happened to be. But that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. From the time you were born, your dad had been adamant: no pilots, and no flying. So, of course, that had been all you’d wanted to do. And you’d almost made it, too. But then you realized it wasn’t the planes or even the pilots you found so appealing—though they were all very sexy—but the sky itself.
So you decided to become an astrophysicist, and your dad breathed a little easier. Until you got into university just outside Fallon, and his rule of ‘no pilots, no flying’ became nearly impossible to follow. It wasn’t your fault that all the post-grads frequented the Hard Deck, hoping against hope that they’d be able to catch the eye of a man in uniform.
That’s how you’d met Bob, almost two years ago now. When he found out you were Warlock’s kid, it had scared the hell out of him. But over time, your teasing refrain of “You’re not technically a pilot” started to ease his nerves, even if you knew it wouldn’t make a hell of difference to your dad.
But still. No pilots, no flying.
Until tonight.
“Are you gonna give me a hand or just stare up my skirt?” you asked, tossing the blanket up over the top of the chain link fence and starting to climb.
Bob blushed. “I thought you were doing pretty well all on your own.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling in spite of yourself. “Wow. Such a gentleman.”
He started to climb after you, saying, “Well, I would’ve given you a boost if you’d just wait a second—”
“Okay, okay, keep it down!” You giggled, slinging one leg over the blanket. “Careful for the barbed wire, Bobby.”
The look he gave you was so unamused that it made you want to laugh. You managed to keep it together and swing your other leg over, shifting awkwardly for a few moments before letting go and dropping to the dirt on the other side. You’d made it into TOPGUN.
Above you, Bob gave a strangled yelp and slid sideways, landing with an oof on the ground next to you. After a moment, the blanket landed on top of him.
“Very smooth,” you said, helping him to his feet.
“You know it,” he wheezed back, adjusting his glasses and neatly folding the blanket back up. He cast a look over his shoulder at the fence, and you knew he was staring at the very big and scary NO TRESPASSING sign.
“We’ll be fine,” you reassured him, reaching over and squeezing his hand. “You’re, like, the golden boy. You’ve never done anything wrong in your life.”
He smiled, but was clearly still a little nervous. “Then this is a pretty ambitious start.”
Something about the look on his face made you pop up on your toes and quickly press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. His hand snagged at your waist, trying to pull you closer, but you’d already pulled away and started to jog towards the tarmac.
“You’re gonna kill me,” Bob complained.
“Just making you work for it,” you corrected him. “Come on—aah!”
Your banter fell away when Bob ran at you, all nerves forgotten. You knew you should keep it down and move carefully so as not to attract security, but when you were with Bob, it all went away. Your laughter filled the sky as the two of you ran back and forth across the tarmac, having the soppiest dogfight of Bob’s naval career. He’d reach for you and catch hold of your sleeve, and you’d duck backwards under his arm, spinning out of reach again. Then the whole chase would start again. It was juvenile and it was silly and it was beautiful.
The heat from the day was still soaked into the asphalt, and the bottoms of your sneakers seemed almost sticky with heat by the time Bob finally caught you around the middle, lifting you into the air as you squealed and kicked uselessly. He set you back down gently and you turned in his arms, lacing yours around his neck and leaning fully into him. The blanket was somewhere forgotten on the tarmac, a blue lump of tattered cloth scattered across the dark surface.
Both of you were out of breath, but smiling. Bob’s glasses were crooked, so you reached over with one hand and adjusted them. Your fingers stilled on his face, his eyes fixed so hard on you that it made your breath catch in your throat. You loved when he looked at you like that, like he didn’t know when he’d see you again and was stocking up on every detail he possibly could. It made you feel less guilty for doing the same.
You brushed at a curl that had come loose from his dutifully styled coif, your fingertips lingering on the freckle there at his hairline.
Bob moistened his lips. “I—”
You interrupted him, capturing his mouth with a kiss and swallowing whatever it was he had to say. He made a contented, soft sound deep in his chest, his arms tightening around your waist. You felt dizzy, light-headed and unsteady on your feet. You’d felt that the first time he kissed you, waiting out front of the Hard Deck, and you still felt it now. You were convinced you’d never stop feeling it.
Bob pulled away first and said, “I’m not taking you flying.”
You blinked, your brain still fuzzy. “Wh-what?”
“But it’s okay,” he rushed on, “because I’ve got this fun night planned, we just have to get back to the car and—”
You kissed him again, just long enough to get him to shut up. “Bob,” you said when you pulled away, “I don’t give a damn about an airplane.”
His brow furrowed, and it made you want to keep kissing him senseless, but you restrained yourself. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Of course I am. If I cared about the jet, I’d have just asked Rooster to take me.”
“Oh—low blow.”
Bob started to pull away, smiling in spite of himself, and you planted a kiss on his cheek. “I’m just teasing!” you insisted. “Seriously—I didn’t even dress for flying tonight.” You stepped out of his arms and spun around, showing off your sundress.
“I did wonder,” admitted Bob.
You started to walk back towards the discarded blanket and Bob followed. Over your shoulder, you asked, “What changed your mind? Or was this whole thing a ruse?”
He waited for you to start folding the blanket before taking a corner and saying almost sheepishly, “I’m not a pilot. You said it yourself.”
You froze. “Oh—Bob—that’s just—”
“I know, I know,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “I just mean—I wouldn’t trust myself in that seat up there. Not when I knew you were sitting behind me.”
You found yourself grinning despite the downcast look in Bob’s eyes. After a pause, you said, “You know, you’re a bit of a softie, Floyd.”
His mouth scrunched up into what might have been an embarrassed smile. “I think you knew that a long time ago. Hey, what are you doing?”
You tugged the blanket out of his grip, shaking it out over the tarmac before laying it gently down. Getting on your hands and knees, you smoothed out any creases before rolling over and laying flat on your back, staring up at a bewildered Bob.
“Um,” he said.
You patted the blanket beside you, inviting him to come sit down.
“Oh, thank god,” Bob sighed, quickly doing as you instructed. “I thought—I mean—sex on the tarmac, very hot, very cool, I’m open to it, but I don’t know if tonight is the—”
“You are such a dork,” you said, kissing him hard before laying back down, propping your head against his chest. His arm wrapped around you, his hand splaying across your hip, his thumb moving absently.
“So…what’s this?” he asked finally. “I mean, it’s nice, but—”
“That’s Orion,” you said, pointing to the sky, “and that’s Mars. Jupiter was just in opposition with us last month, so it’s still bright. Follow my finger—there it is. That’s Jupiter.”
“Seriously?” he asked, half-lifting his head. “You know that just by looking?”
You smiled, curling into his side. “It’s kind of my job.”
You heard more than felt his mouth pull up into a smile, and his arm tightened around you just the tiniest bit. “I have the smartest girlfriend,” he said softly.
After a brief pause, you adjusted yourself in his embrace, shifting onto your stomach and propping an arm on each side of Bob’s torso. His eyes went wide behind his glasses, his expression almost concerned. “What?” he asked nervously.
“You called me your girlfriend,” you said matter-of-factly.
Rosy splotches bloomed in Bob’s cheeks. His voice was soft when he said, “Is that okay?”
You twisted your mouth sideways, trying hard to fight off the smile threatening to take over your face. Finally, when you felt fit to burst with excitement, you nodded. “Yes,” you said, letting out a breathless little laugh. “Yes, that’s okay.”
“Okay,” he whispered, staring at you again in that way that you loved so much. Like he didn’t even need to kiss you, like he’d be content to spend his days looking at you and drinking you in with nothing to show for it.
Three words pushed at your tongue, but you bit them back. Not tonight. That would come later. Your relationship with Bob was, in a word, cautious. You wanted to keep it that way. To keep yourself from spilling every little secret of your heart out onto the tarmac, you dipped down and pressed a slow, soft kiss to Bob’s lips. He responded gently, like he always did, letting you take the lead. His hand came up to the back of your head, tilting sideways to kiss you deeper, steal the breath from your lungs.
You decided that you’d be content to do nothing but this all day long. If you could survive on kissing Bob Floyd instead of food and water, you would do it in a heartbeat.
You shifted on top of him, bringing one leg over his thigh so that your bottom halves were perfectly slotted together. Bob hummed in the back of his throat, his other hand finding your waist now. Your heart began to race with excitement, the tempting realization of what was about to happen hanging heavy in the warm night air. You reached up, gently pushing Bob’s glasses up and off his face.
Then brilliant white light blazed to life overhead, nearly blinding you.
You and Bob gasped, pulling apart as you shielded your eyes, looking around wildly to see what the hell had happened. The floodlights over the tarmac shone brilliantly down over the both of you, illuminating your little tryst for all who cared to see.
“Wh-what?” mumbled Bob, squinting and fumbling for his glasses. “What’s happening—”
“Oh my god,” you said.
“Hey, kids,” said your dad from his spot on the tarmac, maybe ten feet away.
Bob made a noise that sounded remarkably like a computer short-circuiting. Your mouth dropped open and embarrassed heat flooded your face and neck.
“Having a good time?” Warlock asked conversationally.
“Pretty good,” you replied dumbly, your mouth dry.
“Good evening, Admiral,” said Bob, still trapped under you. “I’m Lieutenant Robert Floyd.”
“I know who you are, Lieutenant,” said Warlock coolly, turning his eyes to you. “Got a neat explanation for this?”
“No,” you admitted.
You weren’t sure what to expect. You’d never been caught this badly before. Your dad had certainly never gone easy on you when you’d disappointed him in the past. So when he dropped his head and chuckled softly, you nearly fell over.
“Come on,” Warlock said, looking up again and shaking his head slowly. “I’m taking Lieutenant Floyd back to the barracks. And I’m taking you home.”
“Sir?” you said, cautiously confused.
“I think he’s letting us off the hook with a warning,” Bob whispered.
“A very stern warning,” your father corrected. “Get up, Lieutenant.” He turned and began to walk back towards the base, but paused and added, “And fix your pants.”
“Oh my god,” whispered Bob, his expression going beyond mortification and straight to dismay. You glanced down and met his eyes, and you knew that you should jump to your feet and hurry after your dad before his patience ran out—but then you laughed. And Bob laughed. And you grabbed his shirt and buried your head in his neck and waited for your fit of the giggles to pass.
“I said let’s go!” shouted your dad irritably.
You knew you’d get a very stern talking-to later, but as you and Bob shuffled after Warlock like naughty school children, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Bob was holding your hand, his palm rough and warm against yours; you’d call him later tonight and talk on the phone for far too long about everything that had happened; and tomorrow, or maybe the next day, you’d see him again. And you’d laugh some more. And you’d kiss some more.
And you’d say those three words that you knew in your heart to be true.
tagging the brainrot squad: @harringtonbf @spideystevie @almightyellie
#vinny fics#bob floyd#bob floyd x reader#robert bob floyd#bob floyd x you#bob x reader#bob x you#bob floyd fic#bob floyd fanfic#bob floyd fluff#bob fic#bob fanfic#bob fluff#ough i forgot that tagging fics is like.. a process
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