32F. Korean in the US. My fave thing to do is curl up on the couch and scroll the net using my phone.
PLEASE DO NOT PUT MY CONTENT THROUGH ANY AI ENGINES. I am deadass serious about this. I DO NOT SUPPORT AI.
Masterlist of fics towards the bottom of this post.
Minors do not interact (Please be 18+). YOU WILL BE BLOCKED IF YOU ARE AN AGELESS BLOG OR SHOW THAT YOU ARE A MINOR. I DO NOT PLAY. DO NOT FOLLOW ME IF YOU ARE NOT 18+ OR HAVE AN AGELESS BLOG.
oOo
MASTERLISTS (UPDATED 06/15/2025):
You can also search the tag "gazlight's writing:<FANDOM>" to see all of my fics for a particular fandom; for example, for CoD, you would search for the "gazlight's writing:CoD" tag. The list of <FANDOM> value substitutions are:
BoB: Band of Brothers
TP: The Pacific
CoD: Call of Duty
Band of Brothers:
Click here to go to a separate masterlist post
The Pacific
Click here to go to a separate masterlist post
Call of Duty:
TF 141 x Gender Neutral Reader:
Their Favorite Positions as Lovers/FWB
Very hungry reader
The blokes didn't trim up
Good Boy
Domestic Headcanons
Ghoap x Female Reader:
Zombie Apocalypse AU
Some Headcanons Part 1
Some Headcanons Part 2
Solution
Outlaw!Simon and Marshal!Johnny
Regency Era (Duke Riley & Duke MacTavish)
Regency Era (punishing Viscount MacTavish and Duke Riley)
Ghoap x Gender Neutral Reader
Halloween(ie) (Ghoap x reader towards the end)
Ghoap:
Nobody Asked
A/B/O Trope
Simon x Female Reader:
Oil Rig Welder!Simon
Brute/Hitman!Simon (the followup to this is Brute/Hitman!Johnny x Female Reader fic)
Simon Says
Simon x Gender Neutral Reader
Baby (Southern (US) reader)
Soap x Female Reader:
You're Not on Birth Control
Soap likes it real nasty
Brute/Hitman!Johnny (this is the followup to a Brute/Hitman!Simon x Female Reader fic)
Out Loud (Technically also considered as Johnny x Female Reader, sequel to "In My Eyes", which is a Gaz x Female Reader fic)
Lying virgin female reader
Soap x Plus Size Female Reader
Highland soldier!Johnny
Soap x Gender Neutral Reader
Halloween(ie) (has ghoap at the end, but mostly Johnny x reader)
Oh. Hell. No.
Worth
Gaz x Female Reader:
You're Not on Birth Control
You're Kyle's Girl
In My Eyes (the sequel to this is "Out Loud")
Out Loud (Technically also considered as Johnny x Female Reader, sequel to "In My Eyes")
Some Headcanons
Suburbia Dad Outfit
It was all a dream.
Gaz x Plus Size Female Reader:
She Thicc
Precondition
You ask him to be rougher
Gaz x Female Reader x Price:
1. How They Sleep With You
Gaz x Female Reader x Johnny:
Play Nice
You've Got a Problem With That?
You run away
But I Thought We Were Bros! Part 1
Johnny is too much, and Kyle wonders when he took it upon himself to be his handler.
Gaz x Gender Neutral Reader
Domestic HCs
John Price x Female Reader
Divorce
John Price x Plus Size Female Reader
Older JP and Female Reader Part 1
Older JP and Female Reader Part 2
John Price x Gaz
Kyle
John Price x Gender Neutral Reader x Simon Riley
John Lets Simon Take Care of You
King's Knight!John and Mercenary!Simon
John Price x Female Reader x Simon Riley
Pregnant!Female Reader
Nikto x Female Reader
все
жена
NSFW Alphabet
Nikto x Black Female Reader
какао
Nikto x Gender Neutral Reader
мужчина
Halloweiner
All Bite and No Bark
Konig x Female Reader
Before and After (the sequel to this is "The Moment, Truth")
The Moment, Truth (which is a sequel to "Before and After")
[PROMPT] Reminiscing on how it all started with Moe. Looking back at it, seemed like what was a big disappointment turned out to be the best thing that happened.
[A/N] Wrote this based off of my post asking about rare characters in the bofb x reader space. Inspired to write some more listed in that post in the future, so stay tuned. 👀
tw// mdni (18+), mature and adult themes, some angst, descriptions of smut, webgott, tiniest amount of spierton
"So, is this a joke, or?"
"Sorry, Doll, it's real. Babe's taken," Liebgott replied back without missing a beat. He leaned back in his chair before crossing his arms against his chest and nodding at a general direction you really wished you could avoid looking at. "As you can see for yourself."
"Okay...But, like, you know, is he just taken for tonight? Maybe he's not taken for real—"
"Who we talkin' about? Babe's new girl?"
Ugh. What a day. What a shitshow at hearing yet another one of the boys confirm what you feared most. You turned around to look at the new offender, who greeted Joe with a pat on the shoulder and a new pint of beer.
Oh, great. Just who you needed the most. The one joe out of the group who made pinpoint observations that were unfortunately never wrong, and with enough bite in his words that you couldn't simply forget the knowing condemnation. Dark eyes, dark hair, dark stubble, and a tall frame that loomed over the both of you with that iconic flash of white teeth.
"Well, well, well: If it ain't my boy, Moe Alley," Joe sardonically stated, grinning up at his fellow paratrooper as he accepted the new drink. "Come to pay your dues, I see."
"No, Sir, just came here to see why you're still botherin' that pretty lady there without makin' a move" was his smooth response, and he slid onto the empty barstool without missing a beat. Dash him for how utterly buttery that was. Couldn't say you were nonchalant with it, with how your cheeks heated up from that comment that surely didn't mean a thing to a cad like him. "Now, what were we on about? Oh, yeah. Babe's new sweetie pie."
"Her? A sweetie pie? You thought Sobel was bad, wait until you see how she can be when things don't go her way."
You blinked and looked at Liebgott. "So she's not decent?"
"Decent? That's the last fucking thing you need to worry about when it comes to her," Joe scoffed out after he took a deep pull of his beer. "The chick can smile at you one minute, and the next, suck the ever living chrome out of a tailpipe and leave you for dead—"
"What he means," Moe suddenly interrupted, swatting at the other man's head, "is that perhaps the lady is a bit challengin'." He leveled a chiding look at the scowling infantryman and shook his head before looking at you. "Don't tell me a smart belle like you is pinin' for a sucker like him?"
"...First off, you don't need to act proper or make the boys be like that, Moe. And second..."
He didn't seem to buy your statement, but nevertheless, he entertained your upcoming words creeping up past your impending doom. "And second?'
Yup, and it wasn't a sheer matter of can't compared to the crushing defeat of your stupid little crush on Babe Heffron. Not going to lie, it hurt, even if your affections were budding. And it sure didn't help that your unending curiosity had you finally looking over at the man you wanted, his gleaming red hair and pressed uniform looking sharp under the lights of the bar.
She was in his lap, a giggling blond bombshell straight out of a Titter magazine. Red lips, perfectly set pincurls, and manicured nails currently busying themselves with playing with Babe's hair and face. For a tough grunt who took no shit from anyone, he seemed perfectly okay with the buxom harpy manipulating him into acting like a lovesick fool.
Okay, maybe harpy wasn't a nice word. You didn't really know her like that, but something about Johnny and Bull's body language, and Bill looking out of place seemed quite concerning. You thought you'd see more easygoing jokes, some offers to play darts, get more drinks, laugh things up, but Guarnere stood there rubbing the back of his neck, and Martin and Randleman turned towards themselves to talk to each other. Compton seemed confused, and Malark didn't even bother to butt into the group as usual, keeping to Skip Muck and Penky at a table too far to call a coincidence.
How strange. You took a sip of your beer and one last look at your crush. Well, she was gorgeous, you had to give her that. You could see the envious and hungry looks from the other joes at Babe Heffron bagging a live pinup girl like her, save for the ones from his friends. They looked like they'd rather be doing P.T. than hang around the bar, which was crazy considering the last few firefights that had you rethinking your life.
Couldn't crush that instinctual envy. The sadness. So he didn't think of you ever in that way, just as a friend. You thought...that maybe there was a little something there. Something in the way he smiled at you, genuine and welcoming, and how you adored him even with blood and grit all over his face, gore coating his machine gun. He was always helpful when you came to get the wounded to the field clinic. He was kind. He fit every description in what you wanted in a man: tough, resilient, charitable, a good listener...
And soul-crushingly cute. You sighed. What a great start to your weekend. Was now a good time to go skulk off back to your cot and lick your wounds in peace?
"I'm gonna call it a night," you muttered, and you didn't care anymore if dejection was prominent in your voice. "See you guys tomorrow."
Liebgott raised his brow. "Doll, you just got here—"
"I'll walk her back," Moe interjected suddenly, already up and out of his seat. There was a strange look he shot Joe, culling a quick retort and having the latter scan the both of you before leaning back and giving a shrug.
What was that about?
"C'mon, pretty lady," he said the same time you frowned in confusion. "I promise I won't bite."
Liar?
"I can walk myself back to the clinic."
"But why do that when I have shiny jeep to transport us both?"
Well? You looked out the window and did note how the rain wasn't coming in as hard, but it was still inconvenient enough to squelch all the way back to medical without cringing at wet socks and muddy calves. Should you have had the opportunity to indeed be dry the whole way there, there was no doubt that your walk would've been some mopey ordeal feeling way too sorry for yourself. Was that what a hardworking woman needed on a Friday? Get down and depressed over another heartbreaker?
The hell were you thinking, letting yourself fall for any of these joes? You needed someone stable. A sweet man who wasn't a liar. Who wasn't a player. Someone normal and caring and sane and wasn't a crazyass paratrooper who grinned at the sight of death and blood. Never a gambler. Who didn't smoke like a chimney or drink liquor like water and let throngs of women hang off of him. Someone far from being okay with being a heathen.
Basically, none of these damned boys! Especially not one of these cursed infantrymen from Easy Company. None of them were aspiring saints, much less normal men. To fall for one was a joke on your own naive character.
To accept an offer, therefore, would be your undoing. You looked at the large hand outstretched to you and hesitated. Bits of scars, burns, and calluses marred the surface. This was a man's hand, all right, hands of a man doing hard shit in war. There was no refinement or anything dainty about it. The hand was an extension of the giant that its owner was, and an equally labored set of eyes fixed themselves on you.
Your undoing. Your call. Didn't want to look again at Babe Heffron. Didn't want to cry in the rain. Didn't want to save face. Didn't want to expose your hurt and your hesitation and your own hands that weren't so pretty since you answered the call of duty.
"Pretty lady", huh? Didn't feel that way.
"I have to get my umbrella," you shakily said, slowly placing your hand in his. Did you seal your fate in any way? Who knew. But somehow, it felt that way, and you knew you'd signed up for part two of the Devil's dealings when an appreciative smirk graced you.
"Already got it, Pretty Lady" was his response, and with one last look at Joe Liebgott's mysterious stare, you let yourself be led out the door.
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He was smooth with it, yet again. So smooth, that you didn't even realize what you'd agreed to until the jeep he also smoothly "acquired" from Lieutenant Speirs was rumbling down the street. It was only when you plopped down on your bedding that things began to make sense.
Make sense? Apparently, you had none. No braincells were present when you'd agreed on a date with him. Him. James Alley. Moe. Said he didn't want to spoil it for you, but you'd be treated right like the "pretty lady" you were. Didn't rip on Babe, didn't express any vices. Had opened the door of the jeep and waited with his hand out once again, waiting to escort you from the car to the door of the building being used as a medical post.
No pressure or mention of a kiss, either. Just gave you a charming grin as you bid him goodnight and closed the door. From the third floor, you observed him getting back into the car and driving off like some corny sailor's wife watching her man go out to sea. Your head ward's sharp request to close the window and report to her office was what broke you out of your trance.
"Am I...an idiot?" you whispered out loud, after piecing together tonight's events. Damn. You really agreed to it. You really, really agreed to go out with Moe Alley. "I'm..."
"You're about to be one when that old crone catches you muttering to yourself in the dark," your fellow medic mumbled out sleepily. "Go to sleep, Girl."
"R-Right."
There was no point in freaking out about it, right? What was the harm? Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe this was what you needed to get over Babe. Every other medic and nurse here had their little "goings-ons" here, save for you. This was your time. A man had expressed clear interest in you. It was time for you to stop being some glum nun and get to living.
Even if he was another one of those Screaming Eagle cads?
Lord.
You could always just give this a go and break it off if things weren't going to work out...Right?
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"MMhmmm. And you had the time of your life, lemme guess? You don't look like you're haunting a house on a hill, anymore, by the way," Liebgott said with no filter. "Finally got some, huh?"
"Web, how do you tolerate this asshole?" you replied instead, watching Dave owlishly blink back at you after breaking free of the trance put on him by his book about sharks. "Actually, what about him do you like so much?"
"Hmmm? Oh? Uh...Well, contrary to belief, underneath that prickly, cold, uncaring, evil, hateful, spiteful, and dead heart, he's actually very loyal and—"
"Ah, fuck you guys," Lieb retorted with no malice, and you snorted as he leaned back while chewing on a toothpick. He grabbed ahold of Dave's earlobe and wagged it back and forth in punishment.
Ugh, the lovebirds. You didn't miss how gentle he was with the action, and how playful. Crazy to think how psychoass Joe Liebgott who collected immoral war trophies could have such a tender side. And David Webster seemed okay with everything, the sun was shining, the world was turning, and he went back to enjoying the birthday gift Joe got for him in excited silence.
You sighed. As much as you wanted to throttle your brother from another mother, you did owe him a lot. Especially after Moe got hurt. Thanks to him and Lesniewski, you and the med folks were able to treat him.
Yeah. Especially after Moe got hurt...
Another sigh joined the previous. Damn. Time had passed. Moe was okay now, ever the gentleman who deemed himself responsible for keeping up your spirits, but you couldn't get his bruised and bloody face out of your mind. He laid there, bloody and broken, but with eyes still full of resolve, of the will to fight and tear and give the enemies hell. So much emotion since then. So much of your hands shaking when you realized who showed up in that wretched stretcher.
"I-I can't. I...I-I-I c-can't—"
"You can. You fucking can, Doll!" Joe shot back out, steadying your hands as you laid them on top of the man who you had just shared a gentle kiss with two days before. You'd seen hundreds of the enlisted, officers, women and children, hopeless civilians, like this; had treated body after body, ignored your wounded mine time after time, again and again, but somehow, at that moment, it felt impossible. "You fucking can!"
The head nurse said he'd make it. That was what you thought you heard, but how could you have dismissed the catatonia, the chill eating into your bones? Sleepless nights weren't from the influx of the wounded. They were instead from watching them take his body away to a better place, a real hospital, away from your own frozen body.
And now?
"You know what, scratch that. He's doing the 'honorable thing' and laid no pipe."
You should really beat Joe up with a baseball bat.
"A woman's got her intuition, but a man's got his tellings."
If he wasn't so...right.
Because he was. Unfortunately. Or did you really think it was that? You flushed with heat. Web, as always, played his keen observation safely and picked at his pretzel Joe ordered for him. It was a good thing this restaurant was relatively rowdy. Else, you really would've put Liebgott's ass on blast if other patrons caught wind of your interrogation.
It was all truth. Since that night, Moe had been courteous the whole time, with just the right amount of seduction that had you reeling and desperate and ready to jump on his tall frame and go to town. He'd taken his time with it: First date being a relaxing stroll through town, gotten you flowers, with a nice dinner. Second date was the movies, and when he'd put his arm around you, you thought he'd lean in and have liberties with you in the dark, and then you'd have to resist and get mad at him and storm off—
Except he didn't do that. The arm was around your seat, all right, but there were no indecent measures taken. He'd walked you to the jeep to each date and back, then to your door. Third, fourth, and fifth dates were you gnawing on your nails thinking you weren't all that.
Was this just another rogueish distraction for him? Did he feel sorry for the wallflower of a medic who had a pathetic crush on one of the big stars of Easy? Were you not as...desirable? A girl didn't bother with makeup, what with getting blood and gore constantly on her near daily, and for James Alley, she'd actually purchased cosmetics in order to doll up for...whatever this was.
"By the way, Hoobler said he could hear you guys fucking all night, and Smokey said he could see your pale, flat booty flap in the wind when you're at it," you nonchalantly stated, getting up to go work your shift. Big apologies to Web, who began to choke on his food when you said what you said. You finished your jab right in time before Joe's own face finished contorting to rip you a new one.
"Might wanna tone down your piping before Lieutenant Speirs kicks the door open. Lip can only hold him back for so long."
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The timing was terrible. But what good time was there really in war? Everything in reality that was funny or peaceful felt like little tidbits to be tided over with before the ugliness of war made you crazy. And, such, under the loss of dear friends, was when you had your first kiss with James Henry Alley Jr. of the 506th PIR.
Wasn't ideal. Guarnere joked as he lay there, bleeding and half-conscious, that Moe needed to man up and kiss you already. Joe Toye ("Shit! They finally fuckin' got me, and we still didn't see a damned mack. Pathetic!") gave a half-pitying, half-annoyed look at you and Doc Roe before they were taken away.
You didn't find Malark until it was too late. Lip had already delivered the news, and it was hard to get the image of James' tears at Jackson out of your head before then. Snow, dirt, blood, bullets, snow, dirt, blood, bullets, Moe, Moe, Moe, Bastogne, life continuing as if nothing was amiss; such cruel irony.
You'd never be able to tell Penky and Skip about your glorious fictional kiss. Never hear their "atta Girl" when you'd tell them "Babe, who?". Too little too late. Your head nurse said she wanted you to go pick up laundry, and when you headed in, you turned chicken at seeing Malark stand there, lost in his sorrow at the laundress reminding him to pick up clothes that would never be worn again by their owners.
Quiet was the kiss. Sudden. Quiet and much too polite, like it was the right thing to do on this Monday afternoon at 1800 when he was delivering field supplies. For who exactly? And for what reason? Warm lips on yours, chaste and finite, him clearing his throat awkwardly as he stood back and righted your rigid shoulders. Was it to comfort you? Or was it to comfort him? Those dark eyes seemed cloudy and unsure, loners in their honesty compared to the rest of his body, which protruded masculine confidence.
You'd be lying if it wasn't clinical. And if it were any other time, maybe you'd crack a joke about it. Rag on him that it was most improper to suddenly kiss a "pretty lady" like that while she was working, much less in a private storeroom. What took a man like him so long to make that move, Mr. More-Rogue-Than-Gentleman? Or maybe you'd take it the other route so you could vent your anger and frustration and intolerable sadness that you sure as hell couldn't get a therapist for. Get right at him and call him an asshole and say he was just like all the other players out there needing a physical distraction—
"You're an amazing woman," he bluntly said, and if you weren't there to see how dark the circles were under his eyes, you'd swear you never heard him say a word. "You're a hell of a woman. You hear that, Sergeant?"
Am I? You wondered how muddy and ugly your eyes looked. How much worse off you were, and yet, not a single mark or tear could bring back and restore how everything was before the hell that was that winter's fray. You couldn't save your boys. You couldn't protect them. You didn't believe in yourself.
But yet: "I heard you loud and clear, Sergeant Alley," you whispered back, tenderly cupping his cheek with an unsure hand, the hand which he turned to kiss in a way that had you on the brink of bawling. "I heard you loud and clear."
And, such, under the belief given to you when you yourself had none, was when you had your second kiss with James Henry Alley Jr. of the 506th PIR.
There were no hesitancies about giving him the third.
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"The hell is this, some weird inspirational sap story? The man could really hold out like that? Damn."
"He's doing the proper thing, Joe, unlike yourself, giving up your dick on the first second of the date," you shot back casually as you helped spread melted Hershey's chocolate on some madeleines. "Good job, Web. Yours look better than mine. Very cute."
Dave smiled at you, accepting your compliment, before going back to decorate his madeleines with the rest of his hand-created chocolate toppers. The guy could be frustrating at times, but he had a purer heart than the asshole slapping a card face up on the table. You couldn't believe you agreed to help fancy-up confectionaries for Joe Liebgott of all people, all because some lover-boy with a tender heart wanted to do something nice for his very chokeable man. A disbelieving sigh came out of you just as Ralph grinned and spread out a royal flush.
"Sorry, boys, but it looks like yet again, the Doc Spina is undefeated," the jovial man laughed out loud, cheerfully raking in everyone's money pool towards himself. "Thank you all for your generous donations. If anyone wants to fork over more of their dough, feel free to do so right now."
"I swear this joe got some sly hand moves goin' on," Perco muttered.
"Anyone seen Captain Winters?" Tab randomly asked.
"I'm gonna rat you out to Doc Roe. No way you're not cheating" was Garcia's, but with the usual banter in the tone.
"So, anyway," Joe said, turning towards you as he naughtily scarfed down one of the finished confectionaries, "About your Prince Charming—Damn, Baby, this shit good as hell. Didn't know you could cook like that. I'm impressed."
Maybe you should've left early. You exasperatedly looked on as Web thanked the other man and the two flirted for an entire five minutes, completely ignoring your presence. Unintentional for Dave, of course, with that attention span. Joe, however, knew what he was doing.
"Not done with you yet. Get back here."
Well, you were done. And 1600 couldn't come sooner. Then, Moe would pick you up, take you on a date he said was a surprise, and—
And, and, and!
You turned around to look at some of the joes casually hanging around, smoking and drinking, and then at the two chocolate-covered lovebirds.
They were happy. Well, happier. As much as you hated the saying, time may not heal all wounds, but it made terrible things somewhat bearable, if one could tide the growing pains. Lieb was gaining some weight back, and Dave began to talk more, all changes since Bastogne.
And you?
Well. Shit was better. Time passed. It did some stuff. Less crying, but still more dying, yet breaking over losing the hearts of Easy wasn't having you simper every five minutes. A girl lived.
Grown woman, you reminded yourself. Because when you were with James, you felt that with every inch of your being. A man like that, pure and unadulterated in his masculinity, brought that out of you without effort. Grownass woman. With a man man. A real one.
"Speak of the devil: Look who's comin' to pick you up," Liebgott stated sardonically, smirking as you all turned to see a tall figure make his way towards you guys. A body like that. A face like that.
Yeah, that stuff did a loooooot of healing for a grownass woman.
"Catch you later boys. Looks like my ride's here."
With a grin most content, you welcomed Moe's arm staking claim around your waist as he led you both out of the mess hall. Had enough time passed to heal part of your heart? What could explain hot need taking ahold of you when he swiped your lips, tasting the leftover chocolate in his waiting mouth? What indeed could?
You may not know the answer to that, but you knew enough time passed that you wanted more. You wanted much more, and you wanted him in a way that only a grown woman could. You wanted him in a way that only a grown man could to set things straight and make everything better than okay. He was past a friend, more than a lover, a fellow soldier, a damned good NCO.
He was more than Moe. More than Jim to you. More than those innocent kisses you shared, and more than life as you knew it. When he slid his hand on your thigh as he drove, you knew you wanted more than what you'd ever imagine ever having outside of this war you hoped had ended years ago.
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"I want you. You have no damned idea what you do to me, Woman. I want you.
"I've wanted you for the longest time."
"Then have me, James," you shakily replied, leaning back into the bed. You didn't care if you weren't coy with it or smooth. You didn't care if you looked silly, and hiding evident desperation...That ship had sailed way too long ago. You gave no fucks anymore.
"Pussy so good, the man fucking proposed right after the first night," Joe incredulously said out loud, shaking his head as he moved his piece. "Incredible."
More like Moe had prepared the ring before you decided to rip your clothes off and demanded that he stopped being decent, but you decided to keep that sweet fact to yourself.
"Yes, Joe, goddamn tell everyone my business. Could you speak a little louder? I don't think Major Winters heard you."
"Definitely heard those two ding-dong perverts fucking last night," Malark muttered towards Lieb, scowling when the latter chucked a pack of c-rat crackers at the back of his head. "Ow! The hell was that for?"
"Don't be jealous about getting none. The women here don't like pretty boys like you."
"Oh, I'm definitely telling Lip to let Speirs tear you a new asshole."
"Wait, so Lip is finally getting some from Officer Pitbull?"
The folks at the table chattered on and let the ribbing continue. Web moved his piece and patiently waited for Lieb to do his part in their game of checkers. Malark malarked. Smokey and Tab went eye-to-eye in their drinking game and let the little crowd egg them on. If Hashey and Christiansen didn't turn away more women, they'd be completely buried in mounds of buxom beauties; or maybe that was what they intended.
Enjoying the people-watching you were doing, you chuckled and leaned back into your fiancee's hold and relaxed. The drinks were flowing, food was good, and the late spring air was boosting everyone's morale. Eagle's Nest had long been taken, and V-E Day had been celebrated—
That night. On that bed. On that big, luscious bed. All man, all want, all need all over your body. Taking what he'd long been striving for, he whispered as he bore into you, kissing you deeply. So, so deeply.
And giving. Lots and lots and loooots of giving. You discovered muscles you didn't even know you had. Had him splayed compliantly on those nice hotel sheets, got on top, and took you both for a ride of your lives.
You'd sucked the southern gentleman out of him. Turned him "real mean-like", he joked with a laugh that had morphed into a delicious groan when you did devious things with your breasts and tongue.
"I could be meaner than that, Moe," you cooed, letting those hips work up and down, around and around, your hands using his clenching abdomen as leverage. "I could be a lot meaner."
"Pretty Lady, you could be as mean as you like. That don't scare me none."
And he'd started toying with your clit with those big fingers of his, and you guys had done very adult things until the crack of dawn. Things that had you questioning where the hell he even learned that. Could vocal cords recover in time before you reported for duty? Was your pussy going to be okay? Was it valid to say that you were fighting for your life—
"The ring is really nice. Congratulations again," David said to you, and you awkwardly coughed out a thanks as you broke out of your very indecent reverie. "Nice to hear that Father Maloney will marry you both."
"You know I owe you a big one, 'specially for helping me find the rock, Webster. When I said all the drinks you want from now on are covered, I really mean it." You smiled as Moe spoke up and shook the other man's hand, ignoring Lieb's eye-roll. "You're a good fella. Anytime you find yourself in Arkansas, holler and we'll be there."
Joe shook his head and finally moved his piece. Web won the checkers game yet again, judging by his victorious grin. "Don't give him any ideas. He's gonna make my ass drive us there the whole way and play passenger princess."
"Yeah, a road trip with Lieb. Could you imagine?" Don interjected, successfully dodging a stray fry hurled his way. "Eugh."
"You do one goddamned favor for me and now you wanna chap my ass, Malark."
"Still waiting for you to get your dildo and lube outta my bunk, Liebgott."
Okkkayyy. What a convo. Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, watching the petty banter go back and forth as you leaned into James. You looked into his playful gaze and reached up to toy with his five o'clock shadow. "Please tell me again that you did not blow up your entire paycheck for the ring."
And there it was: That smile. The crinkle around his eyes, the gaze so kind and true on a face you loved the most. The edge gained from war and bloodshed would never go away, and you knew yours wouldn't either. But that was what made it really count. Had you smiling back, accepting a teasing kiss that no amount of protest from the boys could quell.
"Anythin' for my pretty lady."
(The karats glinted in the lights of the bar. The diamond shone brightly, enough for you to register a pair of eyes that looked at you, at Moe, and then you both.
Enough, but never enough, and much too late for one Edward James Heffron. Through your kiss, you finally saw the gaze that never fell upon you, looking dead at you through the preening body of another woman using his lap as a throne.
A former girl's crush. And now a bygone for a woman. You'd never know what he was thinking, why he looked at you in such a strange way, the blank stare. You'd never know.
And you were more than okay with that.)
----------------------------------------
"Shit, I was damned nervous. Thought I was gonna drop my balls when you finally said yes."
"You did not, James," you laughed aloud, shaking your head for the millionth time as he ran through how it all started for the both of you. Recalling events was becoming more and more incredulous at hearing his inner thoughts during each one. "You were too smooth with it. So smooth, I nearly wanted to end it because I thought I was just another girl on your roster."
"What? How did you not see that I was sweatin' more than a whore at church? And I swear my voice cracked like some randy teenager far too many times." It was now his turn to shake his head. "Had to 'calm myself down' every time after our dates. Once you were okay with kissin', shit was over for me."
Narrowing your eyes, you coyly fixated your view on the giant that was your husband and ghosted a hand over his belly before you began to play with the hair on his chest. A woman liked doing that when she had to think.
Hmm...Interesting, but not unexpected. Real southern gentleman, here. Still, it was indeed a surprise to find out that the Big Jim, Mr. Steal-Your-Woman-While-Doing-Nothing, Staff Sergeant Moe Alley, wasn't pulling wool over your eyes and actually tried to do the proper thing. Strange behavior for a cad like him, but he seemed to have no hesitancies about his reformation.
If he ate that pussy again like he did just fifteen minutes ago, you were willing to 'forgive' him again and again. Round two, round three, seven, ten and twenty. If he held you like this, a face so jovial despite all the gore of war it witnessed, hands still callused from hard labor he continued even after he'd laid down the big guns in Europe, you'd never complain. Not that there was much to complain about, in the first place.
If he wanted to, he really would.
"And all this time, a woman was worrying about why her man wasn't trying to take her to bed," you stated with a mischievous harumph. "Was she not what he wanted, or—"
"Believe me, you did not wanna peer into my overactive mind, Pretty Lady."
Did you not? He clearly didn't know you well enough, it seemed, and you flipped over to suddenly rise above him, straddling his abdomen with full intention to teach him a lesson. He welcomed your dominance with a surprised but lazy grin. The fact that he raised his arms to lay up near his head, helping you pin his wrists down, was to be unmentioned in the grand scheme of things.
He was a big guy. Give a girl a break. After all, you weren't going to give him one soon. Maybe then he'd realize your "pretty lady" mind could be much naughtier than he imagined. He did know you were an avid reader of certain types of romance novels, right?
"Oh, I dunno, Sergeant Alley," you teased aloud, already sliding your ass down his body to expose a very eager part of him that was straining against the covers. You kind of missed when he used to have his dog tags around that thick neck of his. He very much enjoyed when you pulled on them, especially when calling him by his rank while asserting your control. For now, that gulping Adam's apple would have to do, an oblivious muse bobbing for more.
"Believe me, you did not wanna peer into my pretty overactive mind."
Zussman x Reader x Aiello love triangle? Think with me here: Grunt against grunt. Territorial men beefing type shit. High egos, declarations about how reader is better off with one man compared to the other, drunken nights and bar fights and even drunker wagers. Meanwhile, reader is busy trying not to lose their wits about falling for an oblivious Pierson, who is still unable to forgive himself about losing Turner.
Everyone’s congratulating Daniels for being a daddy, but the man’s too preoccupied with thoughts about reader and how he feels about them. He’s down for them. Bad. And now, with the baby…Shit, he was really a father now, meant to live life with a sweet woman waiting for him back home. Instead, he was invariably looking at the profile of someone he wished he could make his.
Lieutenant Turner and Sergeant Pierson: The backbone and forefront of the platoon. Reader is an avid supporter and admirer of their lieutenant, also they respect Pierson’s history and prowess, they can’t stand his attitude towards Turner. Think enemies to lovers type situation, especially once Turner asks them to run recons with Pierson. When unthinkable tragedy hits, reader and Pierson bond over their loss, slowly kindling the tiny flame that almost gives out from the stress of the war.
During a night of partying, reader and Stiles awkwardly kiss in the heat of the moment, an even more awkward scenario taking place when spotted by Daniels, Zussman, and Aiello. No amount of “I can explain”s can prevent the catcalls and acknowledgements that the two of them are perfect for each other. While sputtering to redeem yourself, Stiles comes to a revelation that they’re…right. The kiss. Their eyes. Their smile. The way they felt in his arms. This whole thing is right. Cue Stiles taking it upon himself to win reader over, including their distrustful stray cat.
Zussman doesn’t get it. They came back for him. They really did. Especially reader, who, during the war, had a bite harsher than Pierson. Instead of saying goodbye, reader frequently visits him at the hospital, keeping him company while he recovers, showing a tender side of them that Zusmman now wants to see everyday. Picture a post-war recovery slow burn here.
After the war, Pierson can’t stay away. Off to Korea he goes. He’s always meant to be a soldier, even if it means it’ll mess him up even further. Or maybe the real reason he’s slinging lead is because reader wants to serve their country, and he can’t stand watching his childhood friend go off to war alone. Just friends, huh? The two idiots. He doesn’t know that reader wants to go fight because they know Pierson won’t ever resist the call of duty. Once again, the two blockheads, unable to admit their feelings for each other, fight to help each other survive, all the while warring with the feelings that grow every day.
[PROMPT] Bonding over cigarettes and earning a kiss.
tw// (16+), kiss scenes, some mature and suggestive themes
SPEIRTON
"Lip. You've got a pack of cigarettes?"
Of course he did. The question wasn't if he had any. Captain Speirs knew that. He knew that. There was knowing in the way his superior regarded him in silent expectation, those dark eyes reflecting in the sheen of his gun and boots.
Lucky Strike or Chesterfields? Pall Mall, Old Gold, Camel? He wasn't so primitive to ever present Wings or Kool. Captain Speirs would smoke a twig before he smoked those, and Lip noted the unique reactions for every single brand consumed. He knew. He always knew.
Not that he was being a creep about it, though!
Not.
"Of course, Sir," he immediately responded, fishing in his chest pocket for a brand new pack of Lucky Strikes, with artwork on it that he knew his superior hadn't seen before. He'd paid double for that in the commissary. He'd paid double, and he'd sure as hell be willing to pay triple, if it meant the stealth of hand would lead to it being in Captain Ron Speirs' collection.
(And wouldn't he want that so bad? Having it harvested like this. Collected. Like a curator in a grand museum, collecting only the best pieces and met with such praise, acceptance. What Carwood Lipton wouldn't say was what Carwood Lipton wanted to see: His offering, his tribute, displayed in that neat velvet-lined case of cigarette art.
Was he crazy to feel such joy at a mutt offering its most beloved stick to its owner?)
"You know it's just us, Lip." It wasn't only when it was just them that Lip obediently brought spark to flame, and lit up his captain's cigarette. "It's just us."
Yet, here and now, It was just them. And he got his just rewards, looking into dark eyes crinkling at the edges in humor, before firm lips pressed to his, and awe and veneration and war and grit and losing good men so young were consumed by the haze that wasn't from the glowing tab. He was transfixed, heady. Following a sure lead with blind trust, trust he'd given to the man that had him swearing eternal loyalty from the first time he'd stared into that knowing gaze, and he'd run right into direct fire without question if he was told to.
"Attentive as usual. My favorite," his captain whispered against the scruff of his cheek, and that lack of clarification on exactly what, the cigarettes or, daresay, himself, had him itching, hungering, hanging onto the end of every word.
"You always did know what my favorite was."
WINNIX
"My watch, my compass, notepad, flask," Nix wryly noted, unable to stifle a grin at Dick's dry expression at the last item mentioned. "What?"
A resigned sigh was his primary response. "Nothing, Lew. Nothing."
"Yeah, yeah. Okay.
"Anyway. Flask—Hah! Found it. Good." Good enough to shove into the inner pocket of his coat. But not good enough to be by itself, an identical twin making its way into the pocket of the other side. "Matches, cash, and cigarettes—
"Cigarettes. Where the hell are my smokes?" And his mood instantly turned awry. Not so much that it was a total turn, but enough to mar his face, and Dick looked on in drawn out silence before he was unable to resist.
No rest, no discipline, no measure of control was enough to ironically control himself. When it came to Lewis Nixon III, saying no was harder than any warfare he could ever bear. He'd never been able to say no since those piercing eyes grabbed ahold of him with no mercy, and when exactly was that?
Day one, of course. The first minute. Looking at him like he knew what Richard Winters was going to be, where he was going to be, who he was going to be, and how. Knew that they'd end up with here, with Captain Dick Winters being okay with blood on his hands, if it meant Captain Nixon would never have to fire a single bullet at all.
He couldn't ever resist. And that was how he succumbed to a kiss that started off as a reward, a tantalizing "good boy" whispered against his jaw, when he presented a sealed pack of smokes, bought immediately with his paycheck from the officer's club. He wasn't a smoker. Hell, he abstained from everything the joes consumed in order to fill the void, and approving of the consumers was something he'd never do, either.
"Parliaments, and just for me?" Oh, you shouldn't have. That Cheshire grin of approval was what made him do the "should have" invariably, and they both knew it. "A man after my own heart."
If only Lew knew how far he was willing to go after it.
"Don't forget an extra pair of socks, Lew."
BABEROE
"Menthols. The bastard tried to scam me with menthols. The hell I look like? Some desk jockey?" Babe ground out after stubbing out his smoke, a fresh one already crammed into his mouth without reprieve. "If Bill didn't stop me, I'd have gutted that fucker and let those first battalion dogs clean that shit up."
"Béb, don' forget now what I done said to you before. You know dose boys ain' trutful upfron'. No means messin' wi' dem for anytin'." Eugene sighed for the twentieth time. "Yet, you went off and listened none, sounds like."
There was that sheepish look. An apologetic flash of teeth tinged with the lack of regret. He wasn't sorry about nearly killing a man for a deal gone bad, but he was sorry about making his doc worry, and worry did Eugene Roe ever when it came to Edward James Heffron. It was the "boys will be boys" type of scenario, and was he to be the maman resigned to watch the wild child wreak havoc with a glint in his eye? Seemed like it.
Well, no point in fighting it, he supposed. He raised a brow at the bandaged cut above the other man's own brow, and fussed with the dressing that Spina haphazardly slapped on. Intentional, of course, understood with a sly wink at his sloppy job, allowing himself to get chided by his fellow medic until Eugene realized it all too late. He saw those five bucks Babe slipped the other man, and if he wasn't bandaging the last grunt at 0400 from the giant inter-company fight, he'd have given all those idiots a good donner le diable until he saw the whites of their eyes.
And yet.
His eyes fell on the cause of all the chaos in the first place. A simple carton of smokes, but with contents that reminded him of the place he desperately longed for. Hand-rolled tabs of Perique tobacco, right from St. James parish. Only a good pipe would do it full justice, but just having the smell, the comfort of something so unique from his people, was enough for him to remember his home so vividly.
Enough for him to forgo whatever ego he had and slot his lips over eager ones that mimicked his intentions, followed his direction. A kiss of worry. A kiss of scolding. A kiss of "don' you ever do dat again." A kiss of "Doc, I can't make any promises."
But mostly, a kiss of thanks. A kiss that conveyed gratitude, if not humorously flavored with exasperation at the lengths Babe went to impress him, and the other man seemed to have a swell time with accepting such chiding if it meant they could mack all night. He cracked one tired open and got right back to bandaging another cut right where Babe never noticed.
"Ow! Shit! The hell that come from?"
Eugene snorted and soothed the inflamed spot with a gentle rub. He wasn't sorry about letting Babe learn a hard-earned lesson, but he was sorry about not being able to light up one of the enticing cigarettes immediately.
"Sit still and be a good bow 'til I'm done. Ya heard me?" And he sure wasn't sorry enough to keep the bayou from slipping into his voice.
RANDLEMARTIN
"They say the smokes'll keep you slim and trim, but it sure as hell ain't doin' too much for a guy like me," Bull remarked offhandedly, and if John wasn't so in tune with the big fella, he'd have thought nothing of it. "Not sure if I should smoke some more, or if these leaves just ain't workin' on me in general."
Something was up. There, they lay, smoking, him snug as a bug in a rug against Bull's bare chest, and somehow...the other man seemed not as snug. Not at ease after the night they had: full on drinks, good food, getting involved in some random fistfight Guarnere wanted to randomly get them all involved in, and a private hotel that was pretty cushy. There was something there biting, and Johnny wanted to know what. What was the thorn bothering them on this rare leave?
What was, on deeper thought, with every deeper pull of his smoke, the bit that had Denver not going to town at dinner? Had him smoking like a damned chimney. Watchful in ways that Martin didn't want him to be. He wanted the big guy to be worry-free, always grinning, doing whatever he wanted, peaceful. He wanted himself to have all the doubts and the flak for being some negative bastard. Not Bull Randleman.
Bull deserved to just be without a furrow in his brow. And it was that deserving that had Johnny already knowing. He knew, all right. He knew. He knew, and he didn't agree, and the only thing he really thought about was how to thrash someone to high heavens for even polluting such a pure mind.
"Who put that idea in your head, Bull? I'll kill 'em," he said without missing a beat. He was serious. Bull seemed taken aback, somehow making himself seem smaller than the stature he currently had. "Tell me their names and you'll never have to deal with 'em for good."
"You won't have to deal with the aftermath, either, so why don't you go on right ahead and tell me the perps' names?" He looked back and up at the gentle giant, who was at a loss for words and couldn't help to mitigate a hidden anxiety marring his usual countenance. He didn't like that. Didn't like that one bit. "Don't worry. It'll all be very discreet—"
"It's all me," Bull suddenly interrupted, and Johnny paused in his maniacal thoughts of getting away with murder. "It's just that...When I...When I see you with the others...Welp.
"You're in great shape, Johnny."
What?
Denver raised up an arm and began to rub the back of his head, an instinctive habit he did when things weren't right and words were failing him. "You're lean and trim...and the other joes: They're like that, too."
"More like I'm like a skinny shortstack, as Bill said, but all right."
"What? No. You're perfect. Now, do I have to go and kill Bill?"
"Not if you give the names of the bastards I have to kill first."
"Martin."
"C'mon, Baby," he cooed at Bull, gingerly bringing down the hand expressing doubt to hold it in his own. "What do you mean by that?"
"Why do I have a feelin' you already know what I'm gettin' at?"
"Words, Baby."
"All right, all right," the other man said after a good bit of silence he could never maintain. He seemed to slump into the pillow he used to prop the both of them up against the headboard. Johnny once again didn't like that one bit. He wanted to nip that shit in the bud as soon as possible. "Captain Winters been havin' that photographer 'round, takin' pics of everyone doin' whatever they're doin'. Took some particular shots of you and Toye and the other grunts goin' through P.T.
"Said that y'all looked good, 'cause the leaner the better. Won't be no bulkies or joes outta shape."
As he suspected. He stubbed out his stick into the ashtray on the nightstand and turned to look fully at Bull. Such vulnerable and unsure eyes. So this was what was eating him up?
"I looked at the pics and I thought...Maybe he was right. There was that one pic where I was talkin' to you about somethin', and if I'm bein' honest, can't say I looked too good compared to you when you're with the other boys."
More like this was what had him smoking like a damned freight train and not eat? He knew. He definitely knew, but getting the confirmation in this way was not doing himself any favors, and ire rose in his gut, which he controlled at the last minute before it broke out onto his face. If he mean mugged, poor Denver would think his doubts were right, and then withdraw into himself. Sure as hell didn't want that.
He carefully cupped Bull's cheek and held his face into place, stroking the scruff emerging on his jawline with full affection. Such a caring and gentle man. His beautiful mind all ruined by some officer still high off chasing the ass of some rich boy with daddy issues.
"So the person I have to kill is Captain Winters."
"Martin."
Bigger challenge than he expected. "Okay. Not as easy as I thought, but still possi—"
"There'll be no fraggin'."
"Hm..."
"Promise me, Martin."
No promises, Baby. "Only if you understand that you're perfect the way you are."
There was a pregnant pause. A cigarette slowly extinguished on the ashtray besides his last smoke. And then, finally, the bid for reassurance that Johnny was more than happy to accept, in the form of a sudden kiss.
"...You really mean that, Johnny?"
When did I ever think otherwise? "You want me to prove that to you right now, Baby? Because I'm very in the mood to right now if that's what you want."
Very.
"Matter of fact," he suggestively stated, arms caging in a very surprised, and very delicious, Bull Randleman, "why don't I prove it to you just how much I mean what I say."
[PAIRING] Mortar Boys (Skip Muck, Don Malarkey, and Alex Penkala) x Reader
[PROMPT] If one gets a kiss, the others have to have it, too.
tw// 16+ for descriptive kiss scenes and more mature themes
"All right, all right," you snorted, tenderly rubbing Skip Muck's chin. You gave him one last light peck on the lips before turning to Don, who had a look of utter want and appreciation at how you kissed the other man. "I'm getting to you, too, Donnie."
Turning more towards him, you accepted Skip's arm staking its claim around your shoulders, its owner's hand settting on your collarbone after he fished out a cigarette and tucked it into his mouth. Penky instinctively took out his lighter to light his friend's tab, all smooth with it, as always. He ghosted his hand over your thigh before he withdrew to relax next to Don, who impatiently waited for you to give him his own set of kisses.
“You and Penky will both get your turn, boys.”
“Just making sure, Baby.”
“Mmmhmmmm, sure.”
Rolling your eyes, you leaned back into Skip’s embrace and crooked a daring finger at the grinning man in front of you. He expectantly followed your cue and readied himself for your reward, eyes expectantly closing as he got closer and closer. Instead, he was met with a conniving giggle and a digit chiding him on his lips. What else could he do but play along and give a playful nip at your finger? Your ploy was as weak as your defenses when he took initiative and swooped in to taste you the way he longed for all damned day.
He took his time with it, kissing you softly at first, teasing nibbles here and there, making you gasp and follow his lead. Had a confident hand snake up your side, bringing goosebumps up along your arm where he asserted his presence. And then it wasn’t so much of a light reward as much as it was a full conveyance of his need, his hunger, his desire for a show for his boys, and it sure was a show, all right. One that the other two men eagerly watched, their drinks and cigarettes being poor distractions for their itching mouths and eyes.
You couldn’t tell how long he’d taken you for a ride. Just that you were treated to an experience that had you in a complete haze, and your condition had nothing to do with the emissions from all the lit tabs around you all in the bar. Had nothing to do with the liquor and dim lights and the saucy music from the Victrola. But it had everything to do with the four of you sitting together on the couch at the back, shrouded in darkness and daring and intimate tension that mounted higher and higher as the days passed. It had everything to do with a kiss that had you winded as the two of you broke apart, a low whistle coming from Muck at the heated conclusion.
“Damn,” Penky uttered, taking one final drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the ashtray on the coffee table in front of you all. He scrubbed at his mouth in masculine anticipation at what was to come. “You good, Brother?”
“Could go for more, but I could wait for seconds” was his response from Malark, and Alex chuckled at that. He raised his tankard and tipped it in agreement, downing his entire drink in one go before setting his gaze on you. He raised his brow and gave you a dastardly grin.
“Baby, I’ve been the most well behaved out of us all.”
You blinked yourself out of your stupor and cocked your head. Regaining some semblance of poise, you returned his flash of teeth and noted how Don nonchalantly placed his hand on your upper thigh, the other now around your shoulders. Skip had generously allowed his friend to assume the position, and without a break in his movements, he slid your body on top of his lap, which he conveniently oriented to face Penkala. Pride and the budding passion of the moment prevented you from exercising propriety in the form of vocal protest at the blatant display of dominance.
Instead, you were the one who eagerly waited impatiently. There, you sat, in Don Malarkey’s firm hold, situated in a way that presented you as an offering more than a reward, and you wanted Alex’s kiss as your own boon. To hell with poise.
“C’mon, Penky. Aren’t you gonna get your reward?”
“Now, now, who’s the impatient one?” Don teasingly stated, gently tweaking your nose. “Thought us boys were the naughty ones.”
You blew a raspberry and shrieked in laughter when you ducked his mocking attempt at stealing another kiss. The sudden sound made several of the other patrons at the bar turn to look. You should’ve been more embarrassed than what you felt, but frankly, with everything that you all survived this past week, you couldn’t really care, anymore. The few seconds of attention were nothing compared to what was going on back here, that was way more reward than risk.
Most of the patrons were the rest of the Easy Company joes, anyway. Them and their...well...throngs of both men and women, so scandal was one of the last things considered here. After all: It was after duty, after hours, and after when good, sensible people took leave, and the gritty Americans with too much gall stayed behind.
Who the hell cared if and when things got carried away? Not especially when the drinks were flowing.
"Here you go, Baby."
"Awww, thanks, Skip."
You helped yourself to a pull of fresh beer, courtesy of Skip, who held his tankard to your lips, before enjoying your very comfortable seat. From the corner of your eye, you caught Babe Heffron's eye, and he paused as he looked at you, speaking to Bill Guarnere about something before tipping his head all with a sardonic smile. Bill looked up from his turn at shooting pool and winked, wagging his brow in suggestiveness. You certainly didn't miss Joe Toye nodding at you all before he was once again engulfed by a horde of women who were desperate to get to “know him better”.
Should you be mortified? Maybe. Did you, once again, care? No, not really. Not when Alex was suddenly very, very close, and he seemed fascinated with how you jumped under his steady touch on your knee. More distracted than anxious, and definitely more in the mood for more than you bargained for.
"Don't embarrass me, Donnie." You pouted in jest and pressed your back to his front. "I want my reward, and I want it, now."
"You heard our boss," Penky said with a chortle, his eyes twinkling with a racy edge that had you purring. "I'm not one to disobey."
"Gimme, then."
"Of course, Baby. Of course."
And now, you were the one without the means to taunt, because you were desperate for the carrot on the stick with how light he was with his lips on yours. Brushing, then withdrawing when you leaned up for more, then delving in with the most minute amount of delicious tongue. He made you crave it, want it so bad that you tried to push your body into his, but Malark's stern hands collaborated with his dear friend, and had you rooted in place.
He kissed you at his own pace. This was his just reward, his turn. All three of your boys had different ways they liked to kiss you, and out of all of them, Alex had the patience of a monk. He savored it. Took his time with it. In fact, nothing ever phased him or persuaded him to derail off of his original agenda.
They said in battle he was different. Chop-chop. All killer, no room to spare for niceties. When he wanted shit done, shit would be done, and he wasn't afraid to rain extra mortars to prove his point. You'd seen him handle his fair share of machismo-related fights, especially after male ego and alcohol were involved in a crowd of antsy G.I.s, and juxtaposition was too weak of a word to summarize that side of him and Alex Penkala smiling into your frustrated incline for more.
"Shhhhhh, let me have you the way I want," he whispered into the warmth of your cheek, and you pleaded at him with your eyes he loved so much. "Baby, you can't cheat like that."
But you so could, though? "I'm not cheating. I'm making full use of my resources."
"You know how I feel about those pretty eyes. That's cheating."
"Yup, that's cheating," Malark faithfully chimed in.
"That's definitely cheating, all right," Skip also added, making you direct exaggerated glares at the two minions behind you. "What? It is. I'm sorry."
"You don't sound very sorry."
"Eh, yeah, well, you know how it goes."
And Penky chuckled in that way that was hitting your ears in the right spot, with that perfect amount of gravel and depth in his tone. You knew he did that intentionally. Or did he not know? No, there was no way that he didn't do that on purpose. There was no way he didn't know what that particular laugh did to you.
"Okay, and now, you're cheating?"
He cupped your cheek and hovered his lips a hair's breadth away from yours, tracing the softness of your skin. "I'm not cheating. I'm making full use of my resources."
"Hey—"
Lord, he could cheat all day if he wanted to. If that meant he finally kissed you deeply like this, with one hand buried in your hair, the other sliding to hold your back, maybe subjecting yourself to such torture was more than worthwhile.
Because it was more than worthwhile. No tameness, no more prelude. They were full-bodied kisses. Kisses that had you pressing up against his chest instinctively. Kisses that had you blissfully unaware of the world around you, unaware of prying eyes and appreciative murmurs and where the hell you were. Kisses that had you clinging onto the lapels of his uniform jacket, and you swore you were levitating in space and into his arms.
Kisses that lead to more and more kisses, and more and more and more, and much more. Until, ever so gradually, they came to a gentle end, and you thought you were weeping at its finale. You trembled at the last press of his lips on yours.
When you opened your eyes, you weren't sure what or who or when or how of anything and everything.
"Damn, okay. Just show off and set the bar high like that, huh, Penky?"
You think that was Skip?
"Geez, tough guy. Save some for the rest of us, Man."
Donnie?
"Don't know what you're saying, guys. Thought Skip was the most dramatic out of all of us."
Now that wasn't true, Alex! And you know it—
Well, actually...
Okay, so maybe Skip made Liberace look like a novice, especially tonight.
Still, though.
"I'm...I'm..." Blinking several times, you reoriented yourself in the room and paused. The boys continued to rib each other as you began to slowly collect your hibernating braincells after Penky put them all to sleep. You bemusedly sighed and settled down into Don's arms.
"Don't think I didn't time that shit. So Don got two minutes and forty-seven seconds, and Penky got a whole four minutes. Meanwhile, I only got two minutes and twelve seconds. Therefore," you heard Skip announce, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "I deserve another round that lasts at least four minutes, to keep up with Penky."
What?
"Buddy, you know how this goes. You get a turn, then I get a turn."
"And so do I," Alex followed up after Malark, smirking as Don snorted while he sorted through his chest pocket and produced a Hershey's chocolate bar, which he gave you without breaking eye contact with the other men. You took it while still confused, but also not confused, and began to peel and eat the confection absentmindedly. "What one gets, the others get, too."
No brainer, it seemed. Skip flashed a grin in agreement at Penky and ruffled Don's hair, the man next to him scowling at the action when he got caught trying to sneak a kiss from you. "Looks like it's back to my turn again, then."
Warnings: Explicit - 18+, smut, unprotected sex, first person POV (female)
Summary: You and Joe go from best friends to more than friends...
Notes: I honestly thought that I'd never finish this, and it's definitely not my favorite thing I've written, but with the uptick in people joining the fandom and reading my fics, it seemed like an appropriate time to get it done and posted. It never hurts to have more content out there, so hope you enjoy, anyway.
Fic is inspired by/fic title is taken from: Temporary Insanity by Alexz Johnson
P.S. It's been so long since I've posted a fic that I had to look back at my setup for these 😅
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You and Joe Liebgott had become fast friends when you met at Toccoa, and it didn't take long before you became best friends. You spent all of your time together - during training, as well as in your free time and on most weekend passes (when Sobel didn't revoke them.) If you were being honest, it surprised everyone in Easy Company that Joe would be so close to the only girl there; they all figured that he'd feel like you don't belong. And the truth was, he admitted to you that he did feel that way when you first arrived, but only briefly, because not only did you quickly prove that you could keep up with the boys, but the two of you were so similar. You both had the same sass and attitude, and while it caused you to bump heads in the beginning, you quickly learned that you understood each other better than anyone else ever had.
You two were inseparable - to the point where people would tease you about being a couple. Especially when the guys invited Joe to spend the weekend off base, and he chose to stay with you instead. Joe even shared his cigarettes with you when he was really possessive over them with anyone else (touch his cigarettes at your own risk). You never really thought anything of it, though, and laughed off the teasing. Sure, he was good-looking.... but you two were just close friends, and him staying behind on the weekends with you wasn't much of a shock because once a week, you'd put on a little concert for the guys at the bar on base, and Joe was always the one helping you practice or listening to a new song that you wrote. So, of course, he'd stay on base with you. ...Right?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You were all supposed to earn your jump wings soon, and you started writing a song to perform at the celebration. The weekend before, you still weren't happy with it, and it was making you panic. You wanted at least a week to be practicing performing it to Joe before you did it for everyone else. The guys had their own celebrations in mind and kept inviting Joe off the base with them again for their weekend pass, but he refused so that he could stay and help you.
"Ugh!" You groaned and put your head in your hands, frustrated with yourself that you couldn't get the song right.
Joe rubbed soft circles on your back to try to comfort you. "It's okay, sweetheart."
"No, it's not!" You threw your hands up in the air now. "I've been working on this forever, and it's just not... ugh!"
Joe inhaled through his nose. "Why don't we take a break?"
You side-eyed him, annoyed by the suggestion. "I don't have time for a break."
"There's always time for a break." He smirked.
You exhaled through your nose as you stared at him. That face of his could always convince you, but you didn't give in just yet.
"Plus..." He continued as he reached for something that he had clearly been hiding under the bunk that you two were sitting on. "I have this." He held up a bottle of vodka.
He knew that you weren't a huge fan of whiskey, and vodka was not a very accessible option.
"Where did you get that?!" You reached for the bottle. "And how did you get it under my bunk without me noticing?" Your eyes narrowed.
He chuckled and then shrugged. "Talent." He said matter of factly. "And I pulled some strings." You scoffed at his vague responses but didn't push further. He was watching you scan over the bottle. "The plan was to show you and then save it for when we get our jump wings, but... Why not have a little now? Get the creative juices flowing." When you looked up at him, he winked.
You looked at him as you briefly pondered the idea. "Mmmm... okay." You smiled.
"Atta girl." He smiled back.
You handed the bottle back to him to open it. "You do the honors."
"Okay, but you're doing the honors of taking the first sip." He smirked.
You chuckled. "Okay, deal."
He opened it and handed it back to you. You smiled again and grabbed it from him. He watched you with an anticipating smile on his face while you took a sip straight from the bottle. You damn near choked on it.
"How is it?" He asked, amused.
You grimaced. "Tastes like straight up rubbing alcohol... it's great." You handed him the bottle.
He chuckled as he grabbed it from you and then raised it to you. "Cheers." He took a swig and made a face. "I think I'll stick with whiskey."
You laughed. "More for me, then." You grabbed the bottle back from him, but he quickly pulled it away again.
"Oh, no, you don't. It'll do just fine for tonight."
You playfully rolled your eyes. "Okay, fine. But it's still my turn."
He chuckled as he passed it back to you. He seemed to be admiring you as you took another sip, but you didn't point it out. You made another face. "God, that shit's strong."
He was still smiling at you as you passed the bottle back to him. "Feel those creative juices flowing yet?" He winked.
You huffed a laugh. "No."
"Then you must need another sip." He handed it back, smirking at you again.
"I really don't think this is going to help, Joe..." You said as you grabbed it and took another swig, anyway.
"Clearly, that's not stopping you." He chuckled.
"Oh, shut up. But seriously, if I drink too much, then I won't be having any coherent ideas at all."
"At least it will relax you. You're annoying when you're frustrated." He teased and playfully kicked your boot with his.
"Oh, and you're not?" You let out an amused huff.
He shrugged.
You laughed and playfully kicked his boot now. And maybe it was just the vodka talking, but you kept your gaze on him a moment longer. He looked at the vodka bottle still in your hand.
"Hey, no hogging the bottle." He took it from you, and you finally looked away from him, but as he took a sip, he kept his eyes on you. After lowering the bottle from his lips, he offered it to you again.
"Nah, I'm good for now." You answered without looking back at him, but you could tell from the corner of your eye that he kept his eyes on you a few moments longer.
"You're a cheap date."
You finally looked at him again, and he was smirking.
"Good thing this isn't a date, then." You replied.
"Right." He huffed a laugh and then looked away.
"Okay..." You exhaled. "Let's try this again..." You picked up your notebook to take another crack at songwriting. Joe was taking another sip of the vodka. You playfully smacked him on the arm. "Hey. Don't go getting drunk on me. I need your help."
"Don't worry about me, sweetheart. I'm not a cheap date like you." He smirked again before taking another sip just to prove a point.
"Oh, shut up, and just give me another sip."
He chuckled as he handed the bottle back to you. Then, you finally got back to work.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Half a bottle, some progress, and a lot of laughs later, you put your notebook down.
"Okay, I think that's enough work for tonight. At least we finally made progress."
"You made progress. I was just here for emotional support."
"Tsk." You rolled your eyes. "You were also here to tell me if anything sounded stupid or didn't make sense."
He shrugged it off. "I'm just along for the ride, doll."
You watched him for a moment as he got up off the edge of your bunk before finally standing up yourself. He started walking towards the door when you noticed the vodka bottle on the floor. "Oh, wait. Don't forget the vodka."
"You hang on to it. Sobel is less likely to come rummaging through your shit, anyway."
You chuckled. "True." You followed him to the door. "Thanks again."
You looked at each other for a second before you saw his eyes flicker to down to your lips. The next thing you knew, he leaned in and kissed your lips softly. When he pulled away, he looked at you for a brief moment with a crooked smile before winking and saying, "Anytime, sweetheart. Goodnight." He turned and opened the door.
"... Goodnight, Joe..." Your voice was quiet as you tried to process what he just did.
As he walked away from your cabin, he lit a cigarette and never looked back. You watched him shuffle away for a few moments before closing the door and leaning against it. You were wondering what that was about... And wondering what the hell you were feeling....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next day, you were even more confused... To be honest, you were up most of the night and barely dragged yourself out of bed. When you went to the mess hall for breakfast, you didn't look for Joe like you normally did; you just began heading for the food line.
"Hey, doll." Joe suddenly bumped your elbow with is. "I've been lookin' for you."
"Huh?" You half-heartedly turned to him and then looked away again as you grabbed a food tray. "Oh, sorry. I got here late... I figured you were already sitting with some of the guys... I was gonna... get some food and then look for you..." The words came out slowly as you formulated an excuse on the spot.
"Well, I did save you a seat, but I haven't grabbed any breakfast yet." He grabbed his own tray to get in line behind you.
"Great." You tried sounding pleased, but your tone was flat.
You spent the rest of your time in the food line in silence. When the two of you got your breakfast and sat down with the guys, you didn't even join in on the conversation. Joe kept trying to get you involved, noticing your unusual silence.
"Huh?" You replied when he said your name, looking up from your plate, but you suddenly couldn't even seem to form sentences around him. You were in the middle of incoherently saying that you had nothing to add when Sobel interrupted breakfast to get you all started on drills early - something you were grateful for for once.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At the next two meals, you made sure the two of you were sitting in a big group again, and it was obvious that Joe still noticed you being unusually quiet, but he didn't say anything. During dinner, you somewhat abruptly excused yourself early to go work on your song. When you were putting your dirty tray by the trash barrel, you heard Malarkey ask Joe if he wanted to join them for poker tonight.
"Nah, I'm good. Maybe next time, fellas." He jogged to catch up with you. "Hey, wait up."
"You should go play, Joe."
"Why? I thought you wanted to work on the song..."
"Yeah... I'm actually a bit tired... probably had too much vodka. I think I'm going to skip practicing tonight..."
He suddenly looked concerned. "...If this is about last night... we can just forget it ever happened."
"No." Your response was probably suspiciously quick. "No, Joe. It's not. I really just need to lie down. I've been struggling to stand all day, and Sobel starting drills early didn't help."
He hesitated a moment as he scanned your face as if he were looking for answers. "Okay, doll..." A pause before he tried to lighten the mood. "Told you that you're a cheap date." He smirked, winked, and playfully elbowed you.
You chuckled anxiously. "Yeah, you're right... That must be it. I'll, uh, see you later, Joe." You turned to begin walking to your cabin.
"Yeah... See ya later, doll..." He watched you walk away for a moment before finally heading back to the guys to tell them to count him in for poker night after all.
The truth was, you lied to him; it was about last night, and you couldn't figure out why he was being so nonchalant about kissing you... You, on the other hand, were having a lot of trouble deciphering your feelings right now, and you honestly just wanted to sit alone and write a song to help you work through it.
Unlike the other song you were writing, this one basically wrote itself, and you originally weren't planning on doing anything with it, but everyone decided to have a little party the night before the final qualifying jump, and they asked you to perform to help everyone relax a little bit. You agreed, and for whatever crazy reason, you decided to perform that one. Maybe not the best time to potentially cause problems between you and Joe, you thought... but he is the one that kissed you, after all...
When you got on the little stage of the camp bar, Joe was, as always, front and center of the audience. He smiled at you as everyone began clapping. You gave him a soft, unsure smile back as you sat down on the barstool with your guitar.
"Thank you." You spoke softly into the microphone.
You wasted no time; you just wanted to get this over with. You took a breath and began:
"Da Da Da Da Da Da...
What just happened?
Did you kiss me?
Cause that's a place we've
never been until now
And I don't know how it's
gonna be after this
Do we pretend these feelings
don't exist at all?
Or do we fall?
My confusion shows
whenever you get so close
I stumble, I stutter,
forget what to say
I'm nervous, I wonder why
I'm acting this way
It's temporary insanity
What's going on with you and me?
Is it real, or is it fantasy?
Forever or just temporary?
You made a move, don't change your mind
Too much to lose, we've crossed the
line between friends
And something more...
Was it all a big mistake?
And if it was,
it's much too late to undo
And I don't really want to
Let you go, but I still don't know
How I feel about you
What this really means
It's crazy to want you
Is it meant to be?
It's temporary insanity
What's going on with you and me?
Is it real, or is it fantasy?
Forever or just temporary?
Oh, what you do to me?
What comes over me, oh?
If this is crazy,
there's nothing I'd rather be...
Da Da Da Da Da Da...
It's temporary insanity
What's going on with you and me?
Is it real, or is it fantasy?
Forever or just temporary?
...
Losing my mind
Losing my mind
Losing my mind
Losing my mind
Losing my mind
Losing my mind
Da Da Da Da Da Da..."
You tried not to look out into the crowd too much while you were performing, but when you did, it was obvious from everyone's glances at Joe that everyone knew who you were singing about. Joe's own face was a mixture of shock and unease, but when you concluded, he still stood and clapped along with everyone else.
"Thank you." You said quietly into the microphone before you got up and hurried off the stage. You left the bar and headed towards your cabin in a speed walk.
"Hey, y/n! Wait up!" Joe called after you, but you didn't slow down. He jogged to catch up with you as you reached your barracks. "Hey." He grabbed your wrist to stop you. "So that is why you were avoiding me."
You sighed. "I just..." You closed your eyes for a second as you paused. "... needed to work through my thoughts on my own."
"But yet you thought it was a good idea to put it on display in front of the whole camp?"
You looked down, ashamed. "Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking..."
"Fuck..." He exhaled. "You could have just performed the song for me."
"I know, Joe. I'm sorry, okay??"
He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Can we just talk? Please?"
You were almost relieved that he wasn't pissed at you. "Yeah. Come in."
You both entered your barracks and stood there looking at opposite walls for a moment in silence before Joe finally spoke.
"So you don't want to pretend it never happened?" He turned to look at you.
After turning your own head in his direction, you stared at him for another moment before replying. "No."
He looked down briefly as he nodded softly. "But you don't know how you feel?"
"No? I don't know. I mean... do you?? Like... what was that even about? Why did you kiss me?" The words came out quicker than you intended.
He shrugged. "I just wanted to."
You stared at him again, feeling even more confused, which he obviously picked up on.
"What if I... kiss you again? Now that you know it's coming, and you can... figure out how you feel?"
You raised an eyebrow at him like he was crazy but exhaled and agreed anyway. "Okay..."
"Okay?" He seemed almost surprised by the response.
"Okay." You repeated and nodded.
He slowly walked up to you and put his hands on your hips, which caused your breath to catch slightly for some reason. He leaned in and kissed you softly on the lips for a few moments. When he pulled away, he looked at you. "Well?"
You didn't reply. You just quickly took his face into your hands and pulled him back in as you kissed him again. The kiss turned more passionate instantly; the two of you exploring each other's mouths with your tongues as he slowly backed you up until you bumped into the wall behind you. When he pressed his body against yours, you could already feel a hard bulge in his pants.
You pulled away from the kiss to speak, breathlessly. "You're already hard for me..."
He pulled back further to look at you, his eyes flickering over your face. "Well, yeah... You're gorgeous, doll."
He didn't wait for a reply before leaning in and kissing down your jawline. When his lips reached your neck, he slowly slipped a hand into your pants and down to your slick opening.
"And you're already wet for me..." He muttered against your neck.
"Well, yeah..." You exhaled. "You're gorgeous..." You repeated his words back to him.
He pulled back to look at you again, a little surprised, before giving you a pleased smirk. Suddenly, he slipped his hand out of your pants and slid his hands down to your thighs instead, and lifted you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist as you kissed again as he carried you to the bed.
He laid you down and climbed on top of you and began kissing down your neck again as his hands slid down to the hem of your shirt and underneath the fabric. He slid his hands up your sides, and you lifted your arms, prompting him to pull back and quickly slip your shirt off of you and toss it aside. He took in the sight of you for a moment before he leaned down to kiss your lips, pushing his tongue into your mouth again. You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair, causing him to let out a low groan onto your lips before pushing one of his knees in between your legs and pressing his body down onto yours. You could feel his hard bulge against your thigh as he continued kissing you and running his hands up your bare sides.
A split-second thought of 'but this is Joe... are we really doing this?' ran through your mind, but it just felt right... So you pushed the thought away and, instead, grabbed the hem of his shirt this time. He didn't miss a beat as he immediately took the hint and pulled back just enough to quickly slip his shirt off and toss it to the floor.
He climbed back over you just as quickly but then suddenly paused. With a hand resting on each side of your head, he stared down at you for a moment before his right hand moved to brush a stray hair out of your face. You stared up at him, your eyes roaming over his face in return. You spoke when he still hesitated.
"Something wrong, Joe?"
"No."
"Then why'd you stop?"
"Are you sure you wanna do this, doll?"
He was still hovering over you, looking down at you as if he was searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation.
"Not if you don't..."
He huffed a laugh. "You serious?"
"You're the one that stopped."
"Sweetheart, you're the one that freaked out because I kissed you the other night. I'm just making sure this is what you want."
"I did not... freak out."
He chuckled and nodded his head. "Whatever."
"Just shut up and take my pants off."
"Wow, the romance is dead already." He smirked at his teasing comment as he sat back on his knees and reached for the waistband of your pants as you rolled your eyes at his comment in return. He looked back at your face as he unbuttoned and unzipped your pants. "I saw that... brat." He punctuated the last word by quickly yanking your pants and panties down in one swift motion, causing your breath to hitch as a rush of excitement ran through you.
He seemed to admire your exposed pussy for a moment as he quickly pulled off your boots and finished pulling your pants off.
You had your knees up, and your legs spread as he knelt on the bed in front of you. You bit your lip and watched him reach for his own waistband. While your gaze was on his hands, his gaze was on your face, watching your anticipation. He swiftly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and yanked them and his boxers down in one quick movement. Without even fully taking his pants off, he hurriedly settled his hips in between your thighs.
You took his face into your hands as he began kissing you passionately again. You noticed him shifting as he grabbed his stiff cock and guided it to your wet entrance. He pushed inside of you, slowly but firmly. You both broke the kiss - you with a pleasured gasp and him with a groan at the feeling of your tight, wet heat. He buried his face in the crook of your neck.
After bottoming out, he kept his hips still for a moment as you both adjusted. He began kissing your neck as he started slow, deep thrusts. You tilted your head and ran your hands up his back and into his hair, causing him to let out another low groan against your neck when your fingers tangled in the strands.
His hips picked up their pace slightly as his lips moved to capture yours again. You spread your thighs further and moaned into his mouth, sliding your hands down to his grip his ass cheeks and guide his thrusts into you. He takes the hint and thrusts deeper and harder, groaning at the changed rhythm.
You broke away from the kiss with a moan. "Oh, god... right there."
Your praise made his hips snap even harder, determined to keep hitting that right spot. You couldn't help but grip his ass tighter, still encouraging his thrusts.
You tossed your head back. "Oh, god... Joe!"
He buried his face in your neck again, his hips thrusting faster now, losing rhythm, as he gets lost in the pleasure.
"Joe... Joe!"
The repeating of his name encouraged him even more. He raised his head to look down at you, to watch the pleasure on your face. With his hands braced beside your head, he fucked you harder.
"Oh, god. Don't stop!"
His thrusts became relentless, his hips jerking as the building climax made it harder to keep control.
"Oh, god... oh, god... oh, god... Joe!"
He tossed his head back as his thrusts became erratic. "Shit."
He was on the edge with you; you were about to cum together, and you could tell from the way his hips seemed to be fighting between continuing to thrust deep into that spot for you and back off a little, that he was conflicted about pulling out during your orgasm. So, you tightly held his ass pressed into you, encouraging him to stay inside of you during his own climax. Taking the hint, he continued to thrust deep into you for a few more erratic thrusts until you both simultaneously let out a pleasured groan. You clenched and released, cumming all over his cock, as his hips stuttered into you while he coated your insides.
He lowered himself onto you as your walls still throbbed around him. His head was resting on your shoulder; you were both panting for air as you realized that no man had ever made you cum that quickly before.
"You've gotta be kidding me." You said breathlessly. "That's what I've been missing??"
He chuckled against your skin before kissing your shoulder and pulling out, rolling over to lie next to you. He lifted his hips slightly to pull his boxers and pants back up, but he didn't button and zip them yet. You were both staring up at the ceiling, still catching your breath.
"I think I just fell in love with my best friend..." You spoke before turning to look at him.
He turned to look at you in return and smirked. "Oh, yeah?" He turned his body towards yours and pulled you towards him, smiling and speaking against your lips. "Does that mean I can kiss you all the time now?"
"Guess so." You chuckled.
"Are you going to write a song about it?" He teased.
"Shut up." You say as you playfully hit his shoulder.
"Make me, sweetheart." He smirked.
To your surprise, your stomach fluttered at the pet name that he's used so often with you. Then, he finally kissed you again, deeper and slower than you expected. You melted into the kiss.
When he pulled away slightly, you both smiled, your noses brushing. You spoke against his lips. "If this crazy, there's nothing I'd rather be."
Genre: Post-War, Established Relationship, PTSD, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft Smut, One Shot
Words: 857
A/N: Can't believe the last day of @luztoyeweek is here ;v; this has been such a great week and I can't wait to catch up on everyone's wonderful works!!!
-
AO3
or
Most nights, Joe can put up with the tossing and turning.
He’s guilty of it too, maybe even more than George, but tonight there’s an edge to George’s movements. An aggressiveness that grates along Joe’s spine.
“Will you stop?” Joe spats over his shoulder.
The room is dark, a small sliver of moon cutting through the curtains.
“Fuck off,” George mutters.
He throws the covers off, sits on the edge of the bed. Joe glances at the stiff frame of George, the hunched shoulders.
A good night’s sleep is hard to come by, the nightmares hide in the corners of the room. Phantom pain is Joe’s sworn enemy, but he often finds himself thinking he’s had it easy. He didn’t see the camp that George did.
George pushes off the bed, mumbling to himself as he leaves the room. Joe watches him the entire way, flinches when the bathroom light flicks on.
The orange light stretches across the small hallway, into the bedroom, and the hiss of water breaks the otherwise still night.
Joe reaches for his crutch, foregoing his prosthetic to get to George sooner. The bathroom door is open just a crack and Joe sees George, head bent down, hands gripping the edge of the counter.
George doesn’t look up when Joe pushes the door open, doesn’t move when Joe stands behind him.
“I’m sorry,” Joe’s voice comes out scratched and raw.
He reaches out with his free hand, squeezes George’s bicep. There’s hardly any space between them, but it’s not close enough. George remains still, quiet, and Joe leans in to place a small kiss in the crook of George’s neck.
A sigh leaves George, rattling, before he places a hand on top of Joe’s own.
“Hell are you apologizing for, Joe?”
Anything, everything. Joe wants to take George’s fears away, the grief forever hovering under the surface. He wants to be a better lover, a better friend.
Joe doesn’t say any of this. He chooses instead to press his cheek against George’s hair, holding tight to him. George is slow to turn in his grip and when they’re face to face, he rests his hands on Joe’s shoulders.
“Take me to bed, Joe. Help me sleep.”
With a nod, Joe does just that, guiding George in front of him and back to the bedroom. He barely remembers to turn the bathroom light off, his crutch clacks on the wood floor as he catches up with George.
George lays down on the bed, the very middle, blankets and pillows a pile underneath him. Once Joe is free of his crutch, he slides down in between George’s legs, kisses at the exposed skin above his waistband.
Joe eases George’s lower layers off, just down to mid-thigh, and he smoothes his hands against the thick muscles, the slight softness of George’s stomach.
A soft sigh leaves George, he presses up into Joe’s touch. Joe could keep him like this forever, but the hardening cock steals his attention. Joe mouths at the base, gives small nips up the length. A lick to the tip makes George jolt and Joe takes that as his sign to swallow him down.
George’s moan fills the room, a hand tangles in Joe’s hair. He doesn’t push, never does, and Joe sucks as much as he can. It takes a few tries but soon he has all of George inside and he hollows his cheeks.
“Fuck, Joe,” George squirms.
Joe's hands fly to George’s hips to keep him still, his mouth moves at a pace that he knows drives George mad. The whimpers, moans, relax Joe like no other and he repeats the same, slow action again.
“Please, fuck, please, Joe,” George begs into the quiet night.
Joe can never deny George, so he slides his mouth along the length faster, pressing his tongue against the thick vein. George is a writhing mess, he doesn’t kick Joe in the ribs this time, but he comes close more than once.
He moans Joe’s praises, tugs at his hair. He won’t last much longer now and Joe makes a point to lick and suck just the way George likes it.
“Joe, god, I love you, Joe,” George pants and with a strangled cry, he finishes inside Joe’s mouth.
Joe doesn’t hesitate to drink all of George down, to massage him through the aftershocks. It’s with a small whine from George that Joe pulls off and he kisses his hip before pulling his clothes back into place.
He rolls George onto his side, curls up behind him and wraps a tight arm around his waist.
“What about you?” George wiggles, sleep dripping off his words.
“Don’t worry about it,” Joe kisses his temple, nuzzles under his ear.
George tries to protest, but not a moment later, his eyes are closed, breathing soft and even. Sleep is still a ways off for Joe, though he doesn’t mind. Not when it’s like this.
While George rests, Joe gets to hold him close, kiss everywhere he can reach. Right now, nothing can touch them and Joe is able to protect George in the only way he knows how.
[PAIRING] Nikto x Female Reader x Sebastian Krueger
[PROMPT] In which Krueger finds you and Nikto hiding away somewhere, and he wants in. Whether you both agree or not.
Honestly, this is just a short smutty threesome fic.
tw// mdni (18+), adult content, sexual content
"Latvia, huh?"
You immediately froze up at that familiar, dreaded voice. The coma-induing latte tasted sour at feeling a certain presence that you desperately tried to avoid. You now felt cold instead of cozy. Were your socks wet inside your boots? Suddenly, you were mindful of the time, and you wondered if Nikto was back from some pitstop he had to make; the details were best not to be asked about, but in this case, you wanted to ask how the hell Sebastian Krueger found your little hideout.
Well, it was Krueger, after all. A bloodhound. No doubt he already knew where you and Nikto were going to post up for R&R.
The bastard.
"Can I have a cup of coffee, too? Just plain? Bitte?" he smoothly asked, dusting snow off of his parka like he belonged here. Like he was also included in this romantic getaway in the snowy mountains of northern Europe. Like he was meant to sit next to you, invading your personal space, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket before lighting it in front of your disgruntled face.
You continued to stare at him as he covered your hand with his own and raised the pink unicorn cup to his lips, taking a careful dram. He made no move to remove his hold even after he put the mug back down on your lap and minutely grimaced at the taste. Served him right. Maybe he'd go away if you shot a canon of sugar at him and played atrocious pop music.
Maybe he'd stop staring you, in turn, with hidden amusement at your obvious scowl at crashing your party.
"Ja, it's too sweet. I'll need another cup. Plain.
"You know, Liebling, you should be careful drinking too many of these. It's maybe why your sleep is so poor."
You glared at him at his sudden audacity. "Fuck off—"
He was quick. As always. He knew, tightening his grip on your trembling hand right before you pulled it away.
"Nein, I'd rather fuck you instead."
----------------------------------------------
Nikto made you lose your fucking mind, but Krueger took you like you never had a brain, to begin with.
Your pussy had gone numb ages ago, and that ass was broken. You weren't sure if you were screaming, crying, or throwing up, but you sure as hell knew that your voice was shot, and you were akin to a rag-doll, the way they manhandled you.
You just took it because you had to. They were both see-sawing in and out of you at their own pace, their own manner, holding you up as you went boneless. What orgasm number was this? Number seven? You couldn't tell or remember, and you weren't sure whose fingers were rubbing your clit again.
You could only wail as your cunt clenched, along with your asshole. A deep, masculine grunt behind you massaged your brain. If you had one, that was. All you could think about was choking on dick and the dick that was enjoying your pussy for the fifth time.
Okay, so maybe you could think a little bit. But if Krueger's giant fingers kept plugging in and out of your asshole while he beat your cunt up from behind, you'd be down to one percent of one braincell. There wasn't really a way to process information if Nikto had you plugged on his end, also. There was only feeling and sensation and spit and cum and sweat and bodies on bodies on a bed that had half-collapsed onto the floor. There was the smell and the taste of man, hoarse grunts and wicked praise.
Euphoria. Dark mascara and lipstick smudged on the sheets and your face, and yet, Nikto looked down at you with silent adoration. Nothing but that. Even while you were fighting for your life, you inwardly purred at his gaze of veneration, of how gentle his hands were, even though thick inches had your lips stretched and drooling. Your little connection. Your little secret. There was no doubt your face was a mess with cum and drool and spit and mussed makeup, but the way he looked at you...
God, he fucking wanted you. And that was the true euphoria. That was what made this all worth it—
"MMmmmmph!!!"
Well, that and Krueger's need for constant interruption. Had you squealing when he took his body down to cover yours, fucking you prone-bone, one hand toying with your clit, the other squeezing your tits like he owned them. Because that was how it was, how he laid it all down. You were a goner once you shakily took his hand and agreed to this devilry as a curious cat that had to know what he seductively promised. You let the devil in.
Didn't you know the devil had his own terms?
"Krueger," Nikto finally spoke. More like warned, because it was a warning. The devil may have had his way, but no one outsmarted the devil's devil, the man who wrote the contract. "Ei."
"All right, all right. Not so rough. I get it. Relax. I got carried away maybe."
Liar!
"I'll be gentle."
Liar!!!!
He was a liar! And you meant to convey your objections to Nikto, but those fingers were going crazy on your clit, and that cock was beating up your guts like never before. Hot breaths fanned your cheek as he dropped his head down to utter filth into your ears. He wanted you to scream. To let them both know how you liked your titties played with and how much you liked dick and how much he loved your pussy and how he'd wanted to be buried in you forever and he'd give you everything you wanted—
How he was going to fuck you all night long during your R&R, and he'd give up everything to watch Nikto cum in you over and over and over and over...
----------------------------------------------
"Nikto, he's touching me!" you whined, swatting Krueger's hand away from your waist. "He's touching me!"
"Liebling, putting eight packets of sugar into your coffee is a sin." You hissed as the uncaring brute diluted your super special high octane coffee monstrosity with more java. He ruined it! And he didn't even care as he did so, drowning your sprinkles into the depths of the drink. "Hier. This is much better."
How was this much better? The latte was no longer a latte. It was nearly all black, and your whipped cream had deflated. You glowered as you begrudgingly took the drink so you could scramble up next to Nikto on the couch, gagging as you tasted it. Yup. It was indeed ruined. No more sugar, no more joy, no more colorful arrangements.
Just black coffee. Like the soul of the man over there, walking around in the nude in the open air. For a man who was very secretive about showing his current mug, he sure didn't care that he was as naked as a jaybird in the middle of winter. Didn't care that he'd interrupted yet again another R&R.
And you yourself couldn't resist his lurid call to work his way into your panties, all the while kissing Nikto. You had the worst self control on the planet. Everyone knew this. Nikto knew. Krueger knew especially. Yet this game of being coy and modest carried on, the pretense before getting your innards rearranged by some serious inches.
Maybe it was time to get a therapist. You sighed into the cloudy skies, snuggling closer to your man as you took in the mountainous view on the private villa's balcony.
You were never going to admit how sore you were. Nope. Never going to admit that the sore was most delicious, and you discovered new muscles and positions you'd never seen.
Never going to toss that horny dog a bone, especially.
"Haven't been to Estonia in a while, Nikto," Krueger casually stated, plopping down next to you, with a good chunk of his weight intentionally pressing into your side. He took a sip of his coffee and stretched out an arm before letting it stake its claim around your shoulders. "Not a bad idea to come here."
Nikto regarded him in silent amusement. "You know there are cameras here."
"Ja, ja. Das ist gut. You know, I don't mind giving you both free souvenirs. I'm a very generous man." A confident smirk graced the both of you, his brown eyes crinkling in dark humor, so much so that you bet they were darker than his cursed cup of coffee. "Feel free to finger yourselves to me all you want."
You wanted to clobber this idiot.
"But, it's just that," he lazily continued, smoothing callused fingers over your cheek, not even Nikto spared from his touch, "when the two of you fuck while watching me, and I know you both will, I want a camera there. Send a poor soldier a gift while he's hard at work.
"I'll be waiting."
Rolling your eyes, you glowered at the grinning buffoon, who nipped at your ear and playfully rubbed at Nikto's head. You heard Nikto snort and return to drinking his coffee. It was going to be a long, long series of days with Sebastian Krueger.
This R&R was a lot more complicated than you expected.
when is the luztoye fic comin out????????? are u gonna submit it for the luztoye week thingy? 👀
it's uh...being worked on, I promise. I'll try to get it in at least before the end of the luztoye week grace period. 🥴 And, yes, it has some smut in it. Because...because that's what I do. 🫡
Here's an excerpt. :)
He gathered George's shirt and passed it to him. "Still a good two hours before everyone comes back. You wanna go out to the bars with the rest of the boys, you can. I'm just gonna sleep here."
"...Joe, what's wrong?"
Everything.
"You...you mad at me?"
There it was. The offer. The opportunity to angrily chomp at the bit and wring out an answer. It made Joe's gums ache. Tested him. But, no, he promised he'd never lash out or bite. No, never. Not ever at Luz, who, even with his bemusement, looked at him all starry-eyed like was Jesus at the second coming.
It'd be damned equivalent to choking out his own self if he ever did. He didn't want that. He never wanted that. But patience, once again, was never his strong suit.
"Look, George. I'm gonna be real with you: You want this, or not? You want me?"
“Y-Yeah? Of course I do.” The bit dangled in his face. “Of course, Joe.”
All right, then. But why the hesitation? Why the nervous tension in his shoulders, bleeding into his eyes? Shit, his mouth itched for a cigarette, but he knew that shit made him more aggressive, got him going. He didn’t want to show any of his temper and confusion at George. Man didn’t deserve it.
[PROMPT] This is just smut. You tease Luz and he's way too down for it. For that someone who requested George Luz smut ages back. 😎
tw// mdni (18+ age mentioned in your bio to interact with this post/follow me), adult content, sexual content
"Wow, George. Worn down those pages through and through when it came to your favorite ones," you dryly remarked, flipping through the pages of the magazine one-by-one. "I can see you have a distinct type."
There was a hitched breath that weakly hissed out from the man laying beneath you. Skin hot, flesh trembling underneath your cradled chin, the body belonging to none other than your Georgie-Boy. You languidly lounged your cheek against his quivering abdomen while you browsed through the catalog that you pilfered from his ruck.
Well, it wasn't necessarily stealing if he was the one who said "what's mine is yours and what's yours is yours", grinning like an eager dog as he agreed to anything you said in order for you to scritch behind his ears some more. So one conventional leave later, as you lovingly folded his freshly washed clothes into his ruck, you found a most amusing article tucked in front of a miniature bible.
"Bunny ears. That page in particular seems well worn. And then after that...Oh. What are those? Cat ears? With a little swishy tail. All black lace, huh?"
You tsked and slowly kicked your legs up and down, intentionally letting bits of your ice cream dribble onto his stomach. The instant, reactive pull he gave his abdominals was delicious, even more delicious than the sweet treat that was melting in your hand. You thought about just dropping the cone right onto his happy trail and completely ignore his cries for help, but he'd inevitably end up coming immediately, and this was meant to be a punishment session.
Which was what he was very into. That and being ignored while you did wicked things to him, judging by how red and strained his leaking cock was.
Nonchalantly, you either gave into your whims, or you decided to play nice, but you smudged your confectionary at the top of his happy trail and slowly moved it down until it began to melt around his belly button. He winced, a choked groan escaping from his lips, and instinctively shot his hand out to bury itself in your hair as you licked the puddles slowly making their way down to his crotch. You swatted at his fingers and gave a harsh, warning clamp to his dick.
"Shit!"
"Language, George."
A muffled groan was your only response. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, you flicked out your tongue and tasted the sweetness on his skin, moving lower and lower. You gently sucked and lathed at his balls, avoiding where he needed you most, and took your time exploring. He could handle it. His cock couldn't, but the rest of him could.
He was a big boy.
"I'm! Baby, put my outta my damned misery and suck me off—"
You rolled your eyes. Never mind.
What a big baby.
Once again ignoring him, you propped up your upper body higher on his torso and went back to viewing the magazine. He didn't want to listen, nor did he say please. If George Luz, Sr. thought he could get his way just by flexing and using that gravelly tone with you, he was wrong.
"Querida."
Okay, once he pulled out the Portuguese, he turned a little more right.
Still, though.
"You didn't answer my first question, George," you said as you nibbled on the top of a yummy iliac crest. You noted a new scar, either from mortar or bullets, marred that side of him. It was still a tad pink, and you quickly dodged the area once you found out.
A little bit of guilt ate at you. Why didn't he say anything? It probably still stung. Feeling apologetic, you softly soothed the puckered skin with your lips and rubbed at his thigh.
When his cock sprung to even stricter attention and nearly took out your eye, you suddenly forgot how sorry you were.
"George. Luz."
"It's not mine! It's not!"
You flicked at his sobbing erection. He looked like he was going to pass out.
"It's...It's..."
"Uh huh?"
"It's...Malark's!"
You blinked. Then stared at the well-worn Titter magazine in your hand, and then stared at George. Then stared at the messy scrawl of his name on the right-hand corner of the cover, and the incriminating look on his face that screamed that he didn't even believe his own words.
But not entirely, judging by some semblance of innocence. Perhaps, he was partly right. Your Georgie never could lie to save his life.
Okay...So maybe Malark was indeed involved. Your Luz was always such a generous man. There was no doubt he would've shared his fair share of magazines with the boys if they asked.
That could explain some of the neater dog-eared pages and some of the models who seemed different than the majority that seemed well looked at. You thought for a moment, enjoying the view of his straining cock reaching for relief, before humming in mock boredom.
He got off to that shit. Swear it made his erections harder, last longer, had him laying pipe like a damned drill once you let him go, so maybe you liked that, too. Did it on purpose. Something about you having power over him, the feigning of boredom...It did something to your George. Turned a tough paratrooper from America's best to a begging fool.
The both of you loved it. Through the haze of frustration clouding his skin and eyes, you could see the pleasure that built up in him, your soft hands toying with his dogtags around his neck. Gone was the Class A uniform, the boots, the sharp edge of an infantryman. In place was just a man on his back, clutching onto the sheets for bare life, as his muse entertained herself with his manhood while enacting psychological torture.
Fun.
"Okay," you mischievously continued, barely covering your grin as a playful poke on the head of his cock had him lowly groaning, "who is going to buy that, Mr. Luz? I thought you gave up all your naughty magazines a while back after I let you suck my tits for your birthday all night long?"
"Uhhhnnn...I-I...Oh, shit."
Couldn't be mean for too long. Or maybe this was part of being mean. You wrapped a manicured hand—mani and pedi paid for by your man, of course— around his dick and gave a slow pull up. His Adam's apple bobbed ever so deliciously. Unable to help yourself, you cooed as you mouthed over the area before licking a clean stripe across the expanse of his neck. Just by that alone, you could tell he was close to getting off, and you had to make a crucial decision.
Let him come by your little game, or finally 'suck him off' as he wanted? You pondered your choice while you played with him, smearing precome all over your hand and his cock, freeing your breasts from your bra with one hand to also toy with your nipples. Choices, choices. What to do? Bringing yourself to your knees to lean further over him, you brushed your taught buds over his clenched abdominals for nothing other than to sate yourself.
Oh, he was but a mere moment before finishing. You knew. As utterly satiating sexually as that was, the man before you was going to unnecessarily come himself regardless, so you had to be quick. You were at a crossroads, if you will. You were at a—
"Guess I'll be nice."
Damn it all. He wasn't the only impatient person in the hotel room. Your breasts felt heavy and full, and the pleading in his gaze was too hard to ignore. As much as you loved to tease him, and how he let you do your worst, he was still all man, all soldier, all at the end of his patience, and the husky rasp of his voice roaring in your ears did wondrous things to your clit. You were absolutely soaked through the panties he had just bought you as a gift. There wasn't much staving off you could do to your own orgasm.
So with zero tact, you brought your mouth down around the head of his cock.
And swallowed him whole.
"Fuck!"
He came with a choked moan that triggered your own release.
Gone was the magazine, tossed to the wayside. Your hands were on his groin, digging into his skin, with your nose embedded into hair of his genitals, lips stretched wide at the base of his cock as you took him all in. Sucked and swallowed, sucked and swallowed, with full suction and bobs that had his fingers buried into your pinned locks. You screamed out as you came from humping the sheets underneath you, and a most delicious blur cascaded through your veins while you rode out your high.
It was sinful. It was delicious. And if you weren't so tame in your thrall, you would've had the awareness to prevent strong hands from gripping your ass and hauling you on top of an eager body. A soft "Oh!" left your lips at feeling the sudden shift in weight, and then a softer sigh at warm fingers sliding up to cup your breasts and massage them. Plucking at your taught nipples. Rolling them and caressing them. Giving pure, unadulterated worship and utter marvel at your flesh. You let yourself gently lean down to hover over your man before capturing his lips.
He cast himself as a silly guy. A most willing court jester. A clown. Good natured with good jokes and of good character. A funny man.
"I could tell you waited for me and didn't touch yourself like I asked, Tec Luz," you cooed after a kiss most scandalous. You planted your hands on his chest and reveled at the musculature, that yummy angle of his jawline that required you to dip low for a taste.
"And I.—" Kiss. "—like" Another kiss. "—that a lot." You licked a fat stripe up from the bottom of his Adam's apple to his bottom lip, teasing his pecs and sliding your hands to rest on his shoulders. "I love that you always listen, Tec Luz."
You smirked, knowing that calling him by that title, all the while pulling at his dog tags, did the trick. The Old Boy was springing back to life behind you, making its presence known under the fat of your ass, and he craned his head up, desperate for his own taste.
Of himself. Because he was as freakishly nasty with it as much as he was silly, and that revelation invariably brought your carnality out in full force. The two of you deeply kissed again, swapping tongue and spit messily, you purring as one hand staked its claim on your behind, the other letting its fingers slide past the fabric of your panties, teasing the pucker of your asshole, and then rubbing at the lips of your sex. Grinding onto his fingers, you moaned into his mouth and sucked on his tongue, tasting him tasting you after you swallowed him. Drop after drop after drop. Giving him all that you got, because he loved that shit, and would any other joe out there be willingly pinned to the bed like this, offering himself up without a demand for masculine dominance?
"I wanna suck on this pussy so badly, Querida." Two hungry fingers delved in deeply and rubbed along your walls, coaxing a throaty groan out of you. "Let me taste you. C'mon, Baby, would you give it to me?
"I want it bad."
No one else but the best. No one else but George Luz, and it was no surprise that a coy nod from you had you manhandled to his liking. Your thighs around his head, messy pussy sitting right on his mouth, and he'd lost his grip in the cushiness of the fat of your back. He lovingly sucked on the slick gusset of your drenched panties before he slid them to the side and began to eat.
And, boy, did he need to eat.
Bad.
And you laughed as you arched your body back in elation. Because there was nowhere else that you belonged, nowhere else you'd rather be, and as you keened out in ecstasy at a starving man feasting for his dear life, you caught sight of a waffle cone and Titter magazine strewn to the side. Dim hotel lights and the tinny sound of the Victrola. Dog tags and your pretty lingerie wet from spit and cum, and a dick leaking onto an abdomen you could lick and lathe at for the rest of your life.
The face of the man that'd taken a bullet for you, defied orders to be able to crawl in the dark just to hear your voice, a funny mimic to the world, yet never a man who could lie and forgo his true intentions. Your George Luz, always at your beck and call, forever devoted to your mercy. What else could a satisfied woman do but make it known to her world that he was her favorite seat since she'd claimed him for herself?
After all, there was no one else but the George Luz who wouldn't let his ego get to his head. Maybe it'd get to his other head, which you now looked back longingly at, and was waving hello to you again. But your George lived to please, and you knew you weren't going to get off of this bicycle in a long, long, time. So, what harm was it to toss your doggy a bone?
"Oh, George. Yeahyeahyeah! You're doing such a good job—"
------------------------------------------
After you'd given him the ride of your life—
Actually, after he'd dicked you down so fiercely that you were concerned at how numb your lady parts were and crying out for help...which then warranted a "concerned" inspection and thus led to his tongue up your ass, you'd somehow got to thinking.
Apparently, being bedbound and full from room service, snuggled up to your man, got the brain juices flowing. Funny how this combination worked.
Careful, now. Else, he'd think he didn't do good enough of a job and needed to "prove himself" again, and you really couldn't handle how tangled your hair and sensibilities already were. Pussy was beat up, throat sore, you were scared to look at yourself in the mirror, and your lingerie had gotten mauled beyond repair. Two months of being apart with no jacking off, as you demanded, had made him insatiable.
What the hell would beyond three months look like? You were scared to know.
But also very curious.
"George?" you languidly asked, waiting like an expectant spoiled cat at her human servant to address her majesty. Your man did so immediately, which pleased you at seeing his zealousness, even though you hollowed his soul from another hurricane of a blowjob. "I was thinking...you sure those dogeared pages in the mag aren't yours?"
"Wouldn't lie to you, Querida. I don't look at those things, anymore. I'm pretty sure Malark stuffed the one I gave him into my ruck as a prank, the bastard." His reply was immediate and steady, devoid of the hell of a show he put on earlier of being a nervous mutt caught for doing something naughty. You could tell he was telling the truth. "Besides."
You quirked an eyebrow at him questioningly. "Yeah?"
"Why'd I need that stuff if I got real prime material right in my arms?"
Snorting at his cheesiness, you rolled your eyes, unable to keep from grinning at Easy Company's comedian who waggled his brow in good humor. He was in the best of moods, after all. A long furlough, good food and drinks and fine cigars, and his woman in his bed in the nicest hotel he'd dished out an entire paycheck for. The hell else did a man need, especially one who laughed when the bullets went flying?
"Hmmmm. I don't think I'm done with my punishment just yet, Tec-Four George Luz," you cattily replied back, although your actions betrayed the attitude in your voice. You gently played with his hair before cupping his cheek, stroking his skin.
"Don't think I didn't see the other magazines in your ruck, Mister."
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"I'm sorry. This is a lot different than what I expected. I can't do this, anymore. Goodbye."
The door closed over an hour ago, but the thud still rung in his ears, as if time had come to a standstill.
This wasn't the first time. But he'd make sure it wasn't the last.
"Take it easy, Son," Captain Price gently said to him, patting him on the shoulder with that fatherly look he gave when any of the boys were going through it. "Don't feel rushed. The right one is out there for you. A fine lad like yourself is bound to meet some who will take good care of you. It'll happen all in due time. Take care of yourself."
No. No, he wasn't fucking taking good care of himself; no, he wasn't going to risk it again; no, he wasn't going to be able to take another straight shot to the heart like this, anymore; and, no, he would never get his hopes up again.
Ever. Again.
He was tired. So very tired. The red blaze emitting from his alarm clock seemed all too ominous, glaring back at him in the dark as he slouched back on his couch. He'd smoked his tab to nothing with only the remnants of smoke dying in the ashtray. Old and stale Chinese takeout boxes littered his usually neat table.
You left him.
It wasn't so much as having someone leave him this time as it was the fact that it was you.
It'd be different this time. He believed that shit all too easily because it was you, and by God, it was only you, and it was you who'd make everything neat and tidy and not have him staring a empty liquor bottles rolling around on the floor. You who had proven him wrong, that there really was someone out there for him, and he'd been anxious about picking out the diamond ring for weeks. It was all worth it. You were all worth it. Everything he'd dreamed of to come; the end all be all.
"I'm sorry, Kyle. I'm sorry. I—I'm sorry.
"Take care of yourself."
It was you. That was why he didn't. He fucking didn't. He went wild as soon as you rolled out that door. Insane. Pressed his face to the ground, as if he could still see the marks left in the invisible dust by your suitcase, and dashed everything to hell when reality set in. He'd gone mad. Drinking and partying and whoring and taking extra missions like he didn't give a fuck, anymore.
He grinned because shit wasn't a big deal. That was the image he wanted to portray, that Kyle Garrick always had his wits about him, and that he was never ever wrong. Life was as it was before. He just had some stupid fluke.
Then why was Soap looking at him like he didn't really buy his laugh in the shattering lights of the club? Ghost kept sitting by him in silence, as if his presence wanted to be served as a constant. Price, too. And if Gaz wasn't so dead inside after lost sleep, he'd gut himself at the way his captain gave him that all too knowing, sad, pitying look.
"Kyle." Not Gaz. "Would you like to come over for dinner?"
No.
"Yeah? What's up, Cap?"
He hated himself.
They all looked at him like he was a wreck. He knew he was. He was a fucking wreck, but he didn't know how to stop the ship from sinking. It was pure delusion to think sleeping around, throwing money at fast cars and liquor and superficial distractions, and working himself to the bone was enough pitch and board to plug further water dragging him into the abyss. It felt good for bit. And then it was pure hell, and he'd raged and drank and drank and drank and stared into the dark corners of his room as he lost himself to his thoughts.
Sometimes, it wasn't even his own room. Somebody's room. Disgust clawed up his throat each and every time he left without a word, alone and never sated. Never fully sated like he was with you, never lying in warm and familiar arms, never letting his eyes smile, keep everything neat and tidy and very Kyle Garrick, successful in life, successful in finesse, successful in money and his military career, and successful in love.
He'd been nervous and giddy and a willing fool in love, slowly putting together the ceremony for the ring. He'd designed it himself, feeling like a randy teenager in love for the first time as he worked with the jeweler, unable to hide his smile when it' finally arrived. His boys teased him too much, but he'd let their affectionate ribbing play on while he daydreamed about the day.
Daydream to nightmare. He wished he was blind when you looked at the ring, his awkward self one one knee at your feet, and that look.
He wished he'd never seen the way you saw him. What was it really...What was the right word for your silence? The falter in your steps. Panic. A nightmare. He felt like a failing bulwark at how he tried to keep up his pleading smile, his previous words of devotion feeling hollow then like lead after he uttered his question. You'd stood like a rampart in the sea that was his growing despair.
"I...I'm sorry, Kyle."
"I'm sorry."
You'd left him, went out that door for the last time of his home, in twenty-eight minutes and forty-five seconds. Turned to look at him one last time, with a look he couldn't fully describe, and said your goodbye.
"I'm sorry. This is a lot different than what I expected. I can't do this, anymore. Goodbye."
And Kyle Garrick knew this wasn't the first time. But he'd make sure it was the last time he'd ever invite someone into his heart ever again.
