Mother of sinners

Fictional men🧎‍♀️ Request are open :)

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Hi there! Welcome to my blog! I hope you're doing okay. Here's the masterlist list and the character I take requests for. Hope you have a good time.

Masterlist 1 (Master of the Air, Band of Brothers, Callum Turner and Austin Butler)

Masterlist 2 (Miguel Diaz, Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz)

Character request list.

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Breaking Point

Richard Winters X Soldier!Reader

Summary: Bastogne is getting on everyone's nerves, but Lieutenant Dike is getting on Y/n's nerves, until her breakin point.

Warning: Swearing/ Mental Breakdown/ Violence/ people getting hurt/ ww2 stuff/ Lieutenant Dike/ bombing/

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: Hi :) Just want to say, i've done some digging on Dike, and in real life, he wasn't that bad. No hate to the real one, just the Bob one.

Snow, fog, trees, cold and freaking cold. Bastogne was hell if hell was frozen. Everyone in the foxholes, freezing their butts off, Lipton making sure everybody was okay, Dike being nowhere to be seen, Germans on the other side of the field and Y/n doing her best to hold it in. Richard Winters was also trying to keep it in, he wanted to fight with Easy Company, he wasn’t made for the desk job. 

“How ya doing sweetheart?” Eugene Roe asked Y/n with his cajun accent, that was his nickname for her. She sighs “Apart from the cold, i’m doing good” she tries to convince herself. Then, he was gone, running around foxholes. George Luz walks closer “Taylor, want some soup?” he asked. Taylor was her middle name. “Yeah sure, thanks Luz” He hands her the small container of soup, it warms her hands momentarily before the cold catches her. “Wanna come to our foxhole?” he asks, she nods and goes to the hole where Guarnere, Toye, Malarkey and Lipton were. “Hi boys” she says as she sits down. 

She was zoned out, the conversation was going, but she wasn’t listening, she was eating her soup. Richard Winters walked towards the small group. “Hey guys” he greets softly, that takes Y/n out of her head. “Sir” she bows her head softly. “Lipton, have you seen Dike?” Winters ask. Y/n scoffs, it was the joke around Bastogne, where was Norman Dike? “Not since the last time you asked, sir” Lipton responds. “We should put a tracker on him,” she mutters. A couple of soft huffs of breath pass for laughter. Guarnere shakes his head. “Waste of a good tracker.”

Winters exhales through his nose, not quite a smile, not quite irritation. “If anyone sees him, tell him I’m looking for him.” “Yes, sir,” Lipton answers. Winters’ eyes linger for a moment longer than necessary on the group, then on Y/n. He doesn’t say anything, but she feels it anyway. Like he can tell she’s wound too tight. He turns and disappears back into the fog.

The day drags on under a low, white sky. Snow piles into collars, boots, rifles. The fog never lifts. Y/n moves when she’s told, digs when she has to, keeps her head down. That’s what you do. You keep it in. During the day, the same question gets heard again, “Where is Dike?”. Y/n’s frustration with the CO kept getting bigger, even the thought of him and his stupid yawns was getting her angry. She was trying to contain her anger when the flares went up. They all barely had time to register what was happening before the first bomb hit the grounds. “TAKE COVER!” Lipton yelled.

The first round landed close enough to knock the air from her lungs, the shockwave rattling through the frozen ground and straight into her bones. Snow and dirt rained down, filling mouths and eyes. Y/n dove deeper into the foxhole, helmet clanging against frozen earth as another shell followed, then another. She lifted her head just enough to look around. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. “Where’s Dike?” someone yelled from down the line. The visceral reaction that came from her was enough to scare any German, she rolled her eyes and groaned, even though it couldn’t be heard from the sound of the explosions.

Joe Toye didn’t make it to his foxhole this time, his leg was blown off, right in front of Compton. When the explosions stopped, she stayed in her foxholes until Toye yelled out for help. Her and Guarnere jumped out of their foxholes to help. “Joe!” Guarnere shouted, skidding to his knees beside him. Y/n dropped into the churned-up snow on Toye’s other side. The sight hit her like a punch to the chest. Joe was white as the snow beneath him, teeth clenched, hands shaking as he tried, and failed, to hold pressure on what was left of his leg. “Oh God,” she whispered. She had to keep it together. Then, another round of explosions, she had time to slide into a foxhole, but Guarnere didn’t. 

She closed her eyes, wanting to be anywhere but in Bastogne, she blocked out the loud noise in her head, she kept thinking about the beach in Maine, where she was from. The lobster smell, the salt in the air, the sound of waves, anything to keep her mind off the explosions happening around her. But when she opened her eyes, horror filled them. Her best friend, Bill Guarnere had his leg blown off, but not completely, she could see the nerves twitching around his bone and flesh. She gasped in horror and with all the air in her lungs, she called Doc Roe. 

“DOC ROE!” she screamed, her voice tearing through the frozen air. She scrambled back toward Guarnere, dropping to her knees in the snow. Her hands shook so badly she had to force them still before she touched him. Blood soaked into the ground beneath him, dark and steaming against the white. “Hey—hey, look at me,” she said, her voice breaking despite her effort to keep it steady. “You’re gonna be okay. You hear me? You’re gonna be okay.” She didn’t feel the tears falling from her eyes. 

After a few seconds-that felt like hours- Bill got carried away in a Jeep. She laid on the tree, in the middle of the blood covered snow, the blood of her best friend and Joe Toye. The engine faded into the distance, swallowed by the fog. Y/n stayed where she was, back pressed against the tree, legs numb beneath her. The snow around her was trampled and stained, red bleeding into white until it all looked the same. She stared at it without really seeing, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Her hands were still red. She rubbed them against her pants, then the snow, then her pants again, but it didn’t matter. The blood felt permanent, like it had soaked into her skin instead of the cold. Someone called her name. Once. Then again. She didn’t answer.

The forest was too quiet now, the kind of quiet that made every sound inside her head louder. The echo of explosions. Guarnere’s voice. Toye screams. Her own voice, breaking when she’d called for Roe. She pressed her forehead against her knees, finally letting herself feel it. The sob tore out of her before she could stop it—raw, ugly, nothing like the silent strength she’d been forcing all day. Her shoulders shook as she cried into her gloves, breath hitching, chest aching like it might split open. A shadow fell over her. She tensed immediately, wiping at her face with the back of her sleeve, trying to pull herself together. When she looked up, Richard Winters stood there. He didn’t speak at first. He crouched down in front of her instead, close enough that she could see the fatigue etched into his face, the same exhaustion she felt clawing at her bones. “They’re alive,” he said quietly. “Both of them.” Her lips trembled. “They shouldn’t have been hurt at all.” she felt the rage in her chest, but took deep breaths.  

Silence settled between them, thick and heavy. He stayed there, didn’t rush her, didn’t tell her to be strong or get back to her post. “I didn’t know what to do,” she whispered. “I just—there were no orders.” Winters’ jaw tightened. “That wasn’t on you.” She shook her head. “Someone should’ve been there.” “Yes,” he said softly. “Someone should have.” He stood then, offering her a hand. She hesitated, then took it, letting him pull her up. Her legs wobbled, but she stayed upright. “You did what you could,” Winters said. “That matters.” She nodded, though she didn’t believe it yet.

The snow had started again when Norman Dike finally showed up. Y/n saw him before she registered what she was feeling—his clean coat, the way he moved like he wasn’t carrying the same weight as the rest of them. He stopped near the tree line, brushing snow off his sleeve, looking around like he’d just woken up. All the rage she tried to bottle up, roared back to life, she couldn’t contain herself now. Then, as if the universe was testing her, Norman Dike walked towards her. She stood.“Where’s Guarnere?” he asked, casual. Too casual. Her jaw tightened. “Evacuated.” “Oh,” Dike said, nodding once. “That’s unfortunate.” She scoffed. “We were shelled,” she said. “Hard.” “Yes, I heard,” he replied, unfazed. “I went to get help.” She laughed. It came out sharp, brittle, wrong. “Help?” she repeated. “From where?”

Dike frowned. “I needed to talk to headquarters. Get clarification.” “Clarification,” she echoed. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “While our line was getting torn apart?” “You don’t understand,” he said, already defensive. “I had to assess the situation.” Her laugh turned into a scoff. “We assessed it just fine from the foxholes.” “That’s enough,” Dike snapped. She looked at him, rage in her eyes. “What? You want to go take a walk again? Are you feeling tired? You want to yawn in my face?! Because war is so hard for you is it?! Strolling around like the motherfucking king of England in his gardens while we put our asses on the line!” she screams in his face. 

The words hung in the air, sharp and ugly.For a split second, no one breathed. Dike stared at her, stunned, his face flushing red with a mix of shock and humiliation. “You will watch your mouth,” he snapped. “That’s an order.” She laughed again, but this time there was nothing brittle about it—only fury. “An order?” she shot back. “From you? You weren’t there to give orders when it mattered.” “That’s enough!” Dike barked, stepping closer. “You’re completely out of line.” “Out of line?” she screamed, her voice cracking now, grief bleeding through the rage. “My friends are missing limbs. We were screaming for leadership and you were gone. You don’t get to lecture me about lines!” Men nearby had gone rigid, eyes darting between them. No one intervened. No one dared. Dike’s jaw clenched. “You think you could do better?” “Yes!” she shouted back without hesitation. “Anyone who actually stays would do better! Every time something happens, you have to take a walk! That’s the equivalent of a baby needing a nap!” she takes a breath “We are in a war! And you-” she pokes his chest “-are acting like it’s an afternoon tea party!” she kept screaming in his face.

“ENOUGH.” Richard Winters’ voice cut through the clearing like a gunshot. He stood a few yards away, posture rigid, face carved from stone. His eyes were locked on her—not angry, but unyielding. “Stand down,” he said, voice low and iron-hard. Her chest heaved. For a heartbeat, she looked like she might keep going. Then training kicked in. She snapped to attention, fists clenched so tightly her hands shook. “Yes, sir,” she forced out, jaw locked, breath still coming too fast. The silence that followed was heavier than the shouting. Snow drifted between them, settling on shoulders and helmets like the world itself was trying to quiet things down. No one moved. No one spoke. Winters turned his attention to Dike. “Lieutenant,” he said evenly. Not loud. Not angry. Worse than both. “With me.” Dike opened his mouth, clearly ready to defend himself, to explain, to justify. Winters cut him off with a single look. “Now.” Dike swallowed, straightened his coat, and nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir.”

They walked away toward the tree line, boots crunching softly against the snow. Winters didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. Y/n fought off the urge to spit on the ground where Dike was. But she couldn’t, as a matter of fact, she was frozen in place. Y/n stood frozen in place, adrenaline draining out of her in a sickening rush. Her legs trembled. Her hands were still clenched into fists, nails biting into her palms, deep enough to make her bleed. Someone behind her let out a slow breath. Lipton stepped closer, not touching her, just close enough to ground her. “You okay?” he asked quietly. She nodded once, though her throat burned too much to speak.

Across the clearing, Winters stopped. His voice carried just enough to be heard, sharp and controlled. “You were not on the line.” Dike’s reply was defensive, rushed. “I went to headquarters—” “You abandoned your men,” Winters said flatly. Silence. “They were shelled,” Winters continued. “They took casualties. They called for orders.” His tone never rose. “And you were gone.” “I was getting help,” Dike insisted weakly. Winters finally turned to face him fully. “They did not need help. They needed leadership.” The words landed harder than any shout. Winters glanced back once, just briefly, toward the line. Toward her. Toward the men standing in the cold. “You are relieved,” he said. Dike stiffened. “Sir—” “Return to headquarters,” Winters finished. “That’s an order.” Dike nodded, pale now, and turned away.

Winters remained where he was for a moment longer, shoulders tense beneath his coat. Then he exhaled, slow and controlled, and walked back toward the line. He stopped in front of Y/n. “Walk with me,” he said quietly. She obeyed, boots crunching beside his. They didn’t speak for a few steps. “You shouldn’t have said it like that,” Winters said at last. Her chest tightened. “Yes, sir.” “But,” he continued, eyes forward, “you weren’t wrong.” She looked at him then, surprised. Winters stopped. Met her gaze. His voice dropped. “This company has lost good men because of that failure.” A pause. “And you’ve been carrying more than you should.”

Her breath shuddered out of her before she could stop it. “You did your job,” he said firmly. “You kept your people alive. That’s what matters.” She nodded, eyes stinging, throat tight. “Get some rest,” Winters added. “As much as anyone can, anyway.” “Yes, sir, but um, my foxhole got blown up” she muttered. 

Winters stopped. He looked at her for a second, really looked at her, blood at her knuckles, the way she was still bracing herself like the ground might shake again. “…Right,” he said. He glanced down the line, scanning the foxholes, the men huddled into the snow. “Lipton.” Lipton straightened immediately. “Sir.” “Find her a place. Somewhere covered. No arguments.” “Yes, sir.” Winters turned back to her. “You’re not sleeping out in the open.”

She nodded, relief flickering across her face before she could stop it. “Thank you, sir.” He hesitated, then added, quieter, “And—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “You did what you had to.” She swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to—” “I know,” he said simply. Winters stepped away, already moving back into the fog, back to the weight of command. Lipton waited until he was gone before gesturing with his head. “C’mon,” he said. “We’ll make room.” She followed him to a foxhole already crowded with men, none of whom complained when she climbed in. Someone shifted to give her space. Someone else wordlessly handed her a cigarette. She took it, hands still shaking too much to light it herself. 

Winters walked the line alone once Dike had disappeared into the fog. The crunch of snow beneath his boots was the only sound, each step heavy, deliberate. The men were silent, huddled into what cover they could find, their breaths fogging in the frozen air. He stopped at the edge of the clearing, hands clasped behind his back, and stared at the expanse of white, dotted with foxholes and the scattered remnants of war. He exhaled slowly, letting the cold air cut through the tension coiled in his chest. His mind replayed everything he’d just done—the confrontation with Dike, the men he was responsible for, the impossibility of it all.

The weight pressed down, and for the first time in days, he allowed himself to lean against a tree, shoulders sagging just enough for the exhaustion to show. The snow fell silently around him, covering footprints, covering chaos, as if the world could pretend nothing had happened. Winters closed his eyes. He didn’t let himself think about who was wounded, who was gone, who might not survive the next bombardment. Not yet. He only let himself feel the exhaustion, the frustration, and the helplessness that came with commanding men who depended on him, and sometimes, like Dike, failed him entirely. He stayed like that for a moment, alone in the snow, breathing, letting the weight settle without collapsing entirely. Quietly, he reminded himself: they were still alive. They had made it through another day. That was all he could hold onto, and it was enough… for now.

Then he turned back toward the line, shoulders squared again, the commander’s mask slipping back into place, ready to keep moving, to keep leading, to keep carrying the burden of Bastogne. But one thing was for certain, Y/n had reached her breaking point.

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

When sparks fly

Bill Guarnere X soldier!reader

Summary: When Bill is faced with a woman who has as much backbone as him, sparks fly. But one night, the sparks light a fire

Warning: Ennemies to lovers trope/ angst/ violence/ swearing/ heavy makeout/ WW2/ Historical inaccuracies/ mention of WW2 related stuff, including violence/ spelling mistakes /

Word count: 4.3k

She wasn’t sure where they were. They were in Europe, they started in Normandy, then somewhere in France, now they were… somewhere. Y/n knew they weren’t in France, because the locals were not speaking french. If she had to guess, they would be in the Netherlands. Tonight was a night off, they cleared the town, and the locals were throwing Easy Company a small party. Which consisted of drinking, playing cards and for the guys to make out with as many girls as possible. She was sitting with George Luz, they were chatting about some topic when he entered the room. Bill Guarnere, the one guy that deeply irritated her. She rolls her eyes as he walks in, a blonde glued to his arm. “So, I wrote her a letter, to ask for forgiveness, Y/n, you listening?” Luz asked, he saw she was distracted. 

He couldn’t remember the name of the blonde, Maisie, Marie, Mandy? Didn’t matter anyway, he took the drink Malarkey was handing him and took a big sip. “What are Luz and Martin talking about?” he asked, nodding towards Y/n and George. Malarkey turned his head and shrugged. “Don’t know, can we get one night of you not annoying Y/n, please” he teased. Bill didn’t respond, he just watched. 

“You should apologize even more, I know you didn’t screw up that bad. But apologize” she explained and then took a sip of her beer. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and glanced up, unfortunately, straight into Bill Guarnere’s stare.

Of course.

He wasn’t even trying to hide it. Leaned against the wall, drink loose in his hand, eyes flicking between her and Luz like he was judging a hand of cards. The blonde on his arm had already wandered off, bored or replaced, Y/n didn’t care which. “What?” she snapped, louder than intended. Luz blinked, confused and surprised at her tone. “What?” “Not you,” she muttered, still staring at Bill. “Him.” Bill smirked, slow and infuriating. He pushed himself off the wall and wandered over, boots heavy on the wooden floor. “I didn’t say nothin’.” he said with nonchalance, which infuriated her more. “You never do,” she shot back. “You just stare like you’re about to start trouble.” “Maybe I am,” he said, tilting his head. “You always seem ready for it.”

Luz cleared his throat and stood abruptly. “I’m, uh…gonna go see if Perconte’s still cheating at cards.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Y/n glared at him, she mouthed “traitor” then looked back at Guarnere. She exhaled loudly, wanting him to hear her annoyance. “What do you want?” she asked. Bill lifted one shoulder in a shrug, eyes never leaving hers. “Can’t a guy walk around his own company without gettin’ interrogated?” “You walked over,” she pointed out. “That’s different.”

He huffed a quiet laugh and took another sip of his drink. “You always this hostile, or am I just special?” “You’re special,” she responded, her voice filled with sarcasm. “Awn, darling you’re boosting my ego” he said, putting a hand over his heart. She scoffed and took a sip of beer. “Honey, you don’t need me to boost your ego, you’re doing fine on your own” she jested. Bill chuckled, low and amused. “Careful, sweetheart. Keep talkin’ like that and I might start believin’ it.” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, the day you doubt yourself is the day hell freezes over.” “Funny,” he said, leaning closer, voice dropping just enough that she had to focus to hear him. “I was thinkin’ the same about you.” She paused mid-sip. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “That you always got somethin’ smart to say.” His eyes flicked to her lips, then back up just as quickly. “Like you’re afraid if you stop talkin’, someone’ll see through you.” Her jaw tightened. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.” “Maybe not,” he admitted. “But I’m tryin’.” She glares at him, confused and annoyed. 

She set the bottle down harder than necessary. “Since when?” she asked “Since I noticed you only get mean when someone gets close.” The words hit too close to home. She straightened. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not close.” He smiled, but it wasn’t smug this time. “Then why you lettin’ me stand here?” She opened her mouth, ready to fire back, then stopped. Because she didn’t have an answer. The music swelled, someone laughed too loud, and Bill took a step back, giving her space she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath over. “Relax,” he said quietly. “I ain’t askin’ for nothin’.” “Good,” she replied, a little too fast. “But,” he added, grin returning, “I’m still gonna sit here.” She sighed. “You’re impossible.” “Yeah,” he said, settling in beside her. “But you don’t seem to mind.” She groaned out of habit, but a tiny part of herself didn’t mind, and that bothered her. Why did the guy she couldn’t stand since the beginning had such an effect on her? She could also blame the alcohol and move on. 

She took another drink, longer this time, hoping it would dull the thought before it could take root. Alcohol was easier to blame than Bill Guarnere. “So,” he said after a moment, voice casual, “are you always this quiet when you’re thinkin’ too hard?” She shot him a look. “You always this nosy?” “Only with people who look like they’re about to punch me or kiss me,” he replied. She nearly choked on her beer. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He laughed, but there was something careful about it. “Hey, I said or.” She shook her head, staring into her bottle. “You think everything’s a joke.” “No,” he said softly. “I think if I don’t joke, I’ll start thinkin’. And I don’t like where that goes.”

She looked down, then back at him. “I heard about your brother, I'm sorry” she mumbled, for once, she put her ego aside. “Heard it messed you up too” she finishes. For once, Bill had to think about what he was going to say. He rolled the bottle between his hands, eyes fixed on the label like it might give him an answer. “People like to talk,” he said finally. “Usually get it wrong.” She nodded slowly. “Still hurts, though.” That earned her a glance, quick, sharp, then softer than she expected. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It does.” She cleared her throat, wanting to stop the heavy silence. “Is that how you got that nickname, Wild Bill?” He just nodded. “Needed to get some steam off, not proud of what i’ve done.” he simply says. She hums while taking a sip of her beer. She looks around, she watches how Luz talks to a woman, flirts with her, that earns her a soft chuckle.

Bill followed her gaze, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You laughin’ at him?” he asked, tone teasing but low. “Maybe,” she admitted, smirk tugging at her lips. “Guy’s smooth. Can’t help but notice.” He tilted his head, studying her like he was weighing her reaction. “You got a funny way of noticing things.” She raised an eyebrow. “Funny how?” “You notice everything,” he said quietly, voice rougher than before, “but you don’t ever let it show. Not till you want to.” She blinked at him, a little thrown off. “I… I don’t know what you mean.” He shrugged, leaning back just slightly, the hint of that crooked grin returning. “Maybe I just like figuring you out.” Her stomach tightened, annoying and infuriating all at once. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice low. “And somehow, you don’t seem to mind.” She had to fight the smile creeping on her face, so she took a sip of beer and looked away. Why did she want to smile? And what was that feeling in her stomach? Why was she attracted to him? Why did she want to smile?! 

After some time, they drifted apart, she ended up with Eugene Roe, talking about some medicine stuff, to be honest Y/n wasn’t paying attention, the feelings she felt for Bill were confusing her. Eugene’s voice faded into the background as her mind replayed Bill’s smirk, the way his eyes had searched hers, the brush of his shoulder when he leaned too close. It made her chest tighten, frustratingly, maddeningly. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. Even when Eugene asked her a question about dosage or bandaging techniques, she caught herself zoning out, thinking, I hate that I even care… And it wasn’t just care. It was… something else. Something she wasn’t ready to name. She downed the rest of her beer, trying to chase the thought away. But the more she tried, the louder Bill’s teasing voice became in her head.

Bill’s laughter rang in her ears, a little too loud, a little too close to another woman. Her stomach tightened, a flutter she hated and couldn’t ignore. “Excuse me,” she muttered, setting her beer down, abruptly standing. She didn’t wait for Eugene to finish. She needed air. Needed space. Needed distance from the chaos of the party, and from him. The cool night hit her immediately, a sharp contrast to the warmth and noise inside. She breathed deeply, letting the quiet settle around her. The lanterns along the cobblestone streets cast long shadows, and for a moment, she allowed herself to think without guilt. The empty streets were a blessing, she didn’t want to explain herself to strangers or other soldiers, she was walking around town. Trying to figure out her feelings for Bill Guarnere. Her thoughts were cut short when she collided with a stumbling figure. “Hey!” a drunk soldier slurred, almost toppling over. “Watch where you’re going, sweetheart. Think you’re too good for the rest of us?” Y/n clenched her jaw. “Excuse me,” she said through gritted teeth, brushing past him. She walked faster, boots clicking against the stones, heat rising in her cheeks, not from the cold, but from frustration. Frustration at him. At herself. At the way she wanted to care what he thought.

“Y/n.” Her heart skipped. Of course it was him. Bill Guarnere, moving easily through the shadows, boots heavy but deliberate. His eyes found hers instantly, concern mixing with that familiar crooked grin. “What are you doing out here?” he asked, voice low, almost soft, carrying a weight that made her stomach twist. “I… needed some air,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah?” he said, stepping closer, and she felt the heat of him even in the cool night. “Or did you need to get away from me?” She froze. Couldn’t lie, not really, not with the way her chest was pounding. “Maybe… both,” she admitted, voice tighter than she wanted. Bill’s grin softened, careful this time. “You know, you don’t have to run from me.” Her jaw tightened. “Maybe I do,” she snapped, frustrated with herself for letting her feelings show. “Because I can’t—because I…” She trailed off, not wanting to admit the truth: that she cared, far more than she wanted to, and that his teasing and smirks and dangerous charm were driving her crazy. He stepped even closer, closing the distance between them, eyes locked on hers. “Because you like me?” he murmured, low, teasing, but not cruel. She looked away, heat rising. “I don’t,” she said, though even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. 

Y/n nibbled on her bottom lip, god, why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it be Spiers or Winters? Why was Bill Guarnere so infuriating, yet, so fucking attractive. Bill tilted his head, that crooked grin tugging at his lips, but his eyes softened, just enough to make her knees feel weak. “Funny,” he said quietly, “how you can hate someone so much… and still want them.” Her stomach flipped. “What, I-” she started, but the words caught in her throat. She hated how true it sounded. He took another careful step closer, the space between them shrinking until she could feel his breath, warm against her cheek. “Look at me,” he murmured. She refused. “No,” she whispered, though her voice wavered. “Y/n,” he said, softer now, patient, but not letting her look away. “Stop running.”

“I can’t!” she started, breathing heavily. “I can’t stop fucking running, from this war, from those thoughts, from… from you!” she blurted out.  She took her head in her hands and try to fight the urge to cry from frustration. He didn’t move away. Instead, he tilted his head, letting his eyes search hers, calm and steady. “You don’t have to,” he said quietly. “Not from me.” Her heart hammered. “You… you don’t get it. You’re dangerous. You… make me feel things I—” “Things you can’t fight,” he finished for her, voice low, teasing, but not cruel. The tension in it made her stomach tighten. She glanced down, then back up, her lips slightly parted, caught between running and giving in. His presence was suffocatingly close, his gaze relentless, yet somehow patient, waiting for her to make a move. “You think I don’t notice?” she whispered, almost inaudible. “You notice everything. You make me feel…” She trailed off, exhaling shakily. “Feel alive?” he murmured, leaning just a fraction closer, enough that the heat radiating from him brushed her arm. “We’re not supposed to feel alive! We’re in a war! We could die tomorrow, I have accepted that, now, you’re making me question everything!” she breathed out. 

Bill didn’t answer right away. That scared her more than if he had. His jaw tightened, eyes flicking away for a brief second, like he was weighing something dangerous in his own head. When he looked back at her, the teasing was gone completely. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s the problem.” She frowned, confused. “What?” “I question it too,” he admitted, voice low, rough around the edges. “Every damn day. And then you come along, lookin’ at me like that, yellin’ at me like I’m the one messin’ things up.” A humorless breath left him. “You think that’s easy?” Her chest tightened. She hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected honesty. “You act like nothing touches you,” she whispered. “Like you don’t care.” He scoffed softly. “That’s the trick, sweetheart. If I didn’t joke, didn’t flirt, didn’t act like nothin’ mattered…” He trailed off, then shook his head. “I wouldn’t sleep at night.”

She swallowed hard.The distance between them felt unbearable now—too close to breathe, too far to touch. She could feel his presence everywhere, solid and warm and terrifyingly real. “I don’t want this,” she said, though her voice betrayed her. “I don’t want to care. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and think about you instead of—” “Instead of dyin’?” he finished gently. She nodded. Silence stretched again, thick and charged. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed. Music drifted faintly through the night, muffled and slow, like it belonged to another world entirely. The empty streets made everything more dramatic, the cold air, making their breath visible in a cloud of mist. Bill lifted his hand, slowly, deliberately, but stopped just short of touching her. Like he was asking permission without words. “Then tell me to leave,” he said quietly. “Say it. I’ll go.” Her breath hitched. Her eyes dropped to his hand, hovering there, close enough to feel the heat. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t tell him to go. His gaze darkened, just a little, realization flickering across his face. “Y/n…” She looked up at him then, really looked at him, and the frustration in her eyes was mixed with something far more dangerous.

“I hate that you know me,” she whispered. Bill’s expression faltered, just a fraction, like her words had struck deeper than she intended. He blinked, swallowed, and for a moment, the air between them felt almost too heavy to breathe. “I… I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly, voice raw, stripped of the usual teasing edge. “But you—” He stopped, jaw tightening, eyes darkening. “You make it impossible to stay away.” Her chest tightened. She wanted to tell him to go. She wanted to step back, slam the distance between them, to remind herself that caring this much was dangerous. But her feet felt rooted, frozen, betraying her every instinct. “I can’t do this,” she whispered, shaking her head, trying to force the words out before tears burned behind her eyes. “I can’t. I… I shouldn’t—” she stuttered. “Shouldn’t what?” he asked, voice low, almost pleading. “Shouldn’t feel anything for me?” “Yes!” she snapped, sharper than intended. The cold night air seemed to burn her lungs. “I shouldn’t care! I shouldn’t—God, you make everything worse, everything!” Bill’s eyes softened, a dangerous mix of frustration and understanding. “I don’t make it worse,” he said quietly. “It’s already bad in here,” he tapped his chest, near his heart, “and you letting yourself feel this… that’s not my fault, Y/n.” Her lip trembled. “I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to—” She broke off, biting her lip, looking anywhere but him. “I’m supposed to survive, not—” “Not feel?” he supplied softly, stepping just a fraction closer. The heat radiating from him made her shiver despite the cold. “Not want something for yourself, even if it’s dangerous?” 

She groaned in frustration. “I don't want to be attracted to you! But I- It’s not something I-” she couldn’t find her words, it was so frustrating. “But somehow, I want you” she confessed, not louder than a whisper, but he heard. The words hung between them like a live wire, unspoken for far too long, and Bill’s hand finally moved, hovering inches from her cheek, trembling just slightly, as if he wasn’t sure he had permission. Her heart hammered, guilt and desire warring in every beat. “I hate that I feel this,” she breathed, voice breaking. “I hate that you—God, you make me feel things I shouldn’t even think about. I hate it. I hate you for it.” Bill’s thumb brushed her cheek lightly, sending a jolt through her. “Then hate me,” he whispered back, low, dangerous, closer than ever. “But don’t run from this. Not now. Not here.” She closed her eyes for a second, inhaling sharply, trying to steady herself, trying to tell herself she could resist. But every nerve in her body screamed in defiance of her own logic. “You’re going to break me,” she whispered, voice trembling, opening her eyes just enough to see him. “Maybe I already have,” he admitted softly, voice almost too quiet to hear over the pounding of her own heart.

The night pressed in around them, cold and empty, but the space between them was electric, charged with every unspoken word, every fight, every glance that had led to this moment. Y/n’s chest heaved, her hands trembling at her sides. Bill’s gaze never left hers, and slowly, almost torturously, he closed the distance. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing lightly over her jaw. The touch was gentle, careful, but it sent a jolt straight through her, lighting something she hadn’t wanted to admit existed. Her breath hitched, and every instinct screamed to push away—but another part of her, the part that had been aching and craving for weeks, urged her forward. Their lips hovered, barely brushing, teasing, testing. Sparks leapt in that instant, subtle but fierce, like the first flicker of a fire catching dry kindling. Her heart slammed against her ribs, every nerve ending alive with the tension between them. She pulled back just slightly, frustrated, angry at herself for wanting this. “I… I can’t—” she began, but he silenced her by capturing her lips again, this time pressing with more intent. The kiss deepened slowly, carefully at first, like a match igniting. Then urgency bled into it, anger, longing, desire, all of it wrapped together. Her hands went to his shoulders, then his chest, feeling the steady warmth of him against the biting cold. Every brush of his lips, every exhale, fanned the sparks into a blaze she could no longer deny. Bill’s hands tangled in her hair, pulling her just a little closer, and she let herself be consumed, letting go of reason, letting go of fear. The fire roared between them, consuming months of tension, frustration, and unspoken feelings, leaving nothing but raw, undeniable need. When they finally parted, gasping for air, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the cold night. Her cheeks were flushed, lips tingling, and her heart refused to slow down.

They walked back to where Bill was put in town, which was a small house couple blocks from the bar. The chill of the night followed them as they stepped back toward the house. Neither spoke; the air between them crackled with the remnants of the kiss. Every glance, every brush of fingers, every heartbeat felt like it could ignite into something uncontrollable. Bill’s hand brushed hers lightly as they climbed the stairs, fingers barely touching, but enough to make her stomach twist. He opened the door to his small room and stepped aside, letting her enter first. Inside, the dim lantern light cast shadows across the walls, making the small space feel impossibly intimate. Y/n’s eyes flicked to the bed, then back at him, heart hammering in her chest. “Bill…” she breathed, voice trembling, unsure if it was fear or anticipation. He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, smirk tugging at his lips. “You sure about this?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge of something softer underneath. “I’m not sure of anything when it comes to you. But I trust you” He stepped closer, bridging the distance between them slowly, deliberately. His hands lifted, resting lightly on her waist, just enough to anchor her in the moment without pressing further. Their breaths mingled, heavy, warm, as he leaned down, brushing his lips against hers in a soft, lingering kiss.

Y/n’s hands went to his chest, fingers tangling in the fabric of his uniform, pulling him closer despite the rational part of her mind screaming don’t. The sparks from earlier flared again, small embers of fire that made her shiver. The air was thick with sexual tension, they needed each other, they craved each other. They spent months yearning for this.  Y/n’s chest heaved as Bill’s hands lingered at her waist, thumbs tracing slow circles that made heat crawl up her spine. “You’re impossible,” she whispered, voice trembling, half frustration, half desire. “And yet,” he murmured, leaning closer, his lips brushing against her temple, “you keep letting me.” She shivered, biting her bottom lip, fighting the urge to tilt her head into him. “I don’t let you,” she snapped softly, though the words were meaningless the moment they left her mouth. Bill’s lips found hers again, teasing, soft at first, a slow dance that set her nerves on fire. His hands slid up to cup her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones as she leaned into him, heart hammering. They walked to the bed, where Bill sat against the headboard and Y/n sat on his lap.

Y/n’s hands clutched at his uniform, hips pressing lightly against him as she tried to steady her racing heart. Bill’s hands stayed at her waist, holding her close but not rushing, letting the tension simmer between them like a live wire. “You know,” he murmured against her temple, voice low and rough, “you could make this a lot easier if you’d just admit you want me.” She froze, heat pooling in her stomach. “I—” she started, but the words died on her lips, useless against the pull of him, the ache she’d been denying for months. He leaned back slightly, smirking, thumbs still grazing her sides. “Don’t even try to lie,” he teased, voice dark with amusement and something softer beneath it. “I can feel it. Every shiver, every breath, every little twitch of yours.” Her cheeks flamed. “You’re insane,” she whispered, though the edge in her tone was gone, replaced with raw want she couldn’t contain. Bill leaned closer, his lips brushing her jaw, teasing, light touches that left her shivering. “Maybe. But you like it.” She bit her lip, eyes fluttering shut for a second, hands tightening in his uniform. “I don’t know what to do with this,” she admitted, voice trembling. “With you.” He cupped her face fully, thumbs tracing along her cheekbones, his gaze intense. “Then don’t think,” he whispered, lips hovering over hers. “Just feel.”

Y/n’s chest heaved. The room felt impossibly small, filled with nothing but the heat between them, the sparks flaring like embers ready to ignite. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, tugging him closer, and he responded instantly, pressing into her with careful insistence, testing the boundary she hadn’t wanted to cross… until now. She leaned in, lips brushing his in a slow, teasing kiss. Electric, tantalizing, the taste of him sparking every nerve in her body. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling lightly, urging him closer, and his hands roamed higher along her back, anchoring her against him, dangerous and intoxicating.

The sound of distant footsteps froze them mid-kiss. “Bill? You in here?” a voice called, sharp, impatient, shattering the heat in the room. Y/n’s eyes flew open, cheeks blazing, and she scrambled slightly, trying to gather herself. Bill swore under his breath, eyes flicking to her, smirk tugging at his lips despite the interruption. “Malarkey,” he muttered, tension easing just slightly. “Guess some fires have to wait.” Y/n groaned softly, burying her face in his chest, both frustrated and achingly aware of how much she wanted more. The sparks between them didn’t die, they just smoldered, promising the fire wasn’t finished.

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Would you be opening to writing more for Speirs? I just read 'Disguise' and it was perfect ! it's so hard to find people who write for him and I would love to see more (a part two to disguise would be amazing). Love your work ❤️

Disguise Pt.2

Ronald Speirs X Soldier!Reader

Summary: After being discovered by Lieutenant Speirs, Y/n decides that she doesn't want to hide anymore. That's what she thought, until military police shows up...

Warning: Historical innaccuracies and of the show/ misgendering/ use of Y/n/ kleptomania/ mention of war related stuff/ swearing/ mention of body parts (not sexual)/ military police stuff/ spelling mistakes (I was tired when I wrote this)

Word count: 3.4K

It had been weeks since Ronald Speirs walked in on Y/n changing. That same night, they were deployed to the town of Foy. Speirs took control of the attack and saved Easy. Now, they were waiting for more orders from someone. Easy didn’t know who gave orders, Nixon didn’t know either. Y/n was sitting on a bunk bed with Guarnere, Luz, Liebgott and Eugene. “Blake, I still find it weird how you haven’t gotten a mustache since we landed on D-Day” Said George Luz while passing the cigarette he was smoking to Malarkey, who joined them. “Yeah, you’re softer than a baby’s ass,” Malarkey chuckled.

She looked at Eugene, he knew she was a woman, and since Speirs knew, she might as well tell everyone. Y/n takes her helmet off and her hair falls on her shoulder, they got long, reaching just over her boobs. “That’s because I can’t grow one” she says in her normal voice. The guys looked confused and shocked. Eugene chuckled at their reactions. “I’m a woman. My real name is Y/n, Blake Reed is my middle and last name. The name I used to enlist” I explain. 

Speirs walked around the tents, when he saw Y/n without her helmet and the guys looking at her, he walked closer. “Lieutenant, you knew about this?” Luz asked, confused. He nodded. “Yeah, I knew since the church, why?” he asked, he thought the guys would have a problem with the fact that Y/n was a woman. Truly, he didn’t care. Like he said to her, she was one of the best soldiers in the company. She risked her life multiple times to save others. So if any men had a problem with her, they’d have to address their complaints to him. The guys looked down and mumbled to themselves “No problem with it, sir.” Guarnere said, grumbling to himself. 

Captain Winters walked by, Y/n became nervous, if he wanted, Winters could have her arrested by MP’s and get her court marshalled. She could face some serious charges. They salute Winters and Y/n nibbles on her bottom lip. “Sir” she said softly. Winters looked at her, like he was analyzing her. “You grew some ovaries overnight, private Reed?” he asked, a hit of amusement in his voice. “No sir, I used my middle name to enlist. I wanted to fight for my country, sir.” she explained. Winters nods, understanding, and frankly, finding it clever. “What’s your real name then?” “Y/n, sir” she says, trying not to smile too much, she had the feeling that Captain Winters wasn’t going to snitch on her. “Nice to meet you, Y/n. Man or not, you’re a good soldier, wouldn’t want you off Easy Company” he extends his hand to shake hers. She smiles proudly “Thank you, sir”

The next day, Winters woke the E company with good news. “Everyone listen up!” Everybody gathered around him. “We got orders, we need to take a small town a few miles from here. We can stay there after to wait for the next orders” he explains. Everyone starts cheering softly. So off they went, Y/n was feeling great about not needing to hide anymore, it was a stress of her shoulder. As they marched, she walked next to Speirs, the silence was comforting. 

Once they reached the town, they killed a few Germans that were there before getting cozy in some building. Speirs and Y/n had to share the same apartment, which had two bedrooms. After taking a shower, Y/n walked back in the room, in her uniform but her hair was wet. “I made some food,” Speirs simply said, pointing to the plate on the table. She smiled and thanked him. Richard Winters knocked at the door. They both turned and smiled. “Hi Capitan” she said softly. Winters sits down at the table. “Good job out there today, both of you” he starts. “I got bad news,” he announces. Y/n looks at Winters. “MP’s are on their way. Somehow, they heard that there was a woman in the ranks.” Y/n’s heart drops. She exhales shakily, who could’ve spilled the secret? They haven't seen any other company since. She looks up at Ronald Speirs, then back at Winters. “What do we do?” Y/n mumbles. 

Winters leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the weight of command pressing into the lines of his face. “We hold our ground. And we don’t panic.” His calm voice didn’t match the dread twisting in her stomach. Y/n tried to remain calm, but it was hard. “Sir, if the MPs take me… that’s it. Court martial, prison—” Her voice cracked. She turned away, blinking fast. Winters spoke gently, “You won’t. Not while you’re under my command.” She nodded, but her chest tightened again. She looked at Speirs. He was staring at her, not coldly, not cruelly. Just… assessing. Like he was already calculating ten different ways to keep her safe.Finally, he spoke. “If they try to take you, it won’t be peacefully.” 

Winters snapped a sharp look at him. “Lieutenant.” Y/n looked between the 2 men. “What? I’m not letting MPs drag her out for doing her job better than half the Army.” He wasn’t raising his voice. But something dangerous simmered underneath. She cleared her throat before speaking. “You could get arrested too,” she said, looking at him. Without breaking eye contact, he responded. “Worth it”

Eugene Roe came into the apartment. “Sir, the MP’s are here” he announced, then looked at Y/n. “They’re looking for a woman in rank,” he said. “Yeah, we know,” she replied softly. She tried to find something to do. Then, it clicked. She got up and looked around, wanting to find a wardrobe. The men look at her, pacing around, confused. Winters frowned. Speirs straightened, eyes narrowing. Eugene watched her with growing worry. “What are you doing?” Speirs asks. “Looking for a dress” she mumbled. But she found one, folded, old, smelling faintly of dust and perfume. A civilian’s. Without hesitation, she began stripping off her uniform jacket. “Y/n, are you sure—” Eugene stuttered. “They’re looking for a woman pretending to be a soldier. So I’ll be just a woman. Not a soldier.” she explained, proud of her idea. 

She stepped into the dress, tugging it up her hips in jerky, rushed movements. Winters turned politely away,  Eugene followed his lead. Speirs… didn’t.  He watched, jaw clenched, eyes dark with something between anger and fear. She braided her hair quickly, fingers trembling.  Found old lipstick in a drawer, dark red, too bold but she smeared it on anyway. Then the heels, one size too small, digging into the backs of her ankles. “They’ll do,” she whispered to herself. Then, she walked out and faced the men. 

Captain Winters blinked in surprise, she looked like someone’s wife waiting for her husband to return from the war. Eugene smiled softly, proud and worried all at once. Speirs… froze. His eyes traced from her hair to the heels, his expression unreadable, but his hands had curled into fists at his sides. “This is your plan?” Ronald asks, not totally convinced that it would work. “If they see a woman, they’ll assume I’m just a civilian. Not a soldier in disguise.” She swallowed hard. “It’s the best chance we’ve got.”

Boots thundered up the stairwell. Roe pulled open the door before they could knock. Two Military Police officers stepped inside, eyes sharp, posture aggressive. “Evening, Captain,” the first MP said, nodding at Winters, though his gaze flicked immediately to Y/n. “We were told a woman was posing as a soldier in Easy Company.” Y/n lifted her chin and forced a polite, curious smile. “A woman? In the army?” she said lightly, faking a french accent. “She must be braver than I am.” Winters tried to joke, to relieve the tension. The MP stared. Squinted slightly. “That so?” he asked, circling her like he expected the uniform to materialize out of thin air. “What’s your name, miss?” Y/n swallowed and took back her fake, forced accent. “My name is Céline, I live in this village,” she says. 

Winters stepped between them smoothly. “She’s a civilian. Lives in the building. My men helped secure the area.” The MP didn’t look convinced. His gaze swept over her face again, lingering. “Funny. She matches part of the description.” Y/n felt her pulse slam against her ribs. “What description?” Winters asked. “The woman we’re looking for? Young. Dark hair. About her height. This ‘Céline’ fits nicely.” one MP explains, with an accusatory tone.  Speirs, from behind, stepped forward, calm, cold, lethal. “If she were a soldier,” he said flatly, “she’d be armed. And I can assure you, she is not.” The MP eyed Speirs warily. Winters got up, cleared his throat and spoke in a calm voice “Unless you have proof, Sergeant, you are harassing a civilian. I suggest you finish your sweep and move on.”  he ordered. 

The MP’s nod, but look at Speirs, then Eugene. “We’ll be questioning the rest of Easy Company, if you’d accompany us, Captain Winters so we can know who we’re questioning” they request. Winters nods and leaves the room with Eugene. Y/n’s knees almost give up, Speirs catches her. “That was close,” she mumbles. Speirs nod. “Yeah, good work with the fake french accent.” he says. 

Speirs helped Y/n sit on the edge of the bed, but his eyes stayed locked on the door the MPs had exited through, sharp, calculating. Downstairs, muffled voices echoed as the MPs began questioning the men of Easy. A moment later, Winters returned, closing the apartment door behind him with a quiet click. His expression had shifted, calm, but carrying an undercurrent of anger. “They’re interrogating the platoons,” he said softly. “Asking if anyone has seen a woman in uniform.” Y/n swallowed hard. “Are… the guys holding up?” Winters hesitated. “Most of them,” he said. “But someone talked.” The air snapped taut. Speirs head turned slowly toward Winters, his voice low, dark: “Who?” Speirs asked, voice sending shivers down Y/n’s spine. Winters shook his head. “They won’t say. But the MPs made it clear. The description came from a paratrooper. One of ours.” He exhaled slowly, controlled but furious. “Someone either panicked… or meant it.” Y/n felt sick, she exhaled shakily and put her head in her hands. “Oh my god.” she mumbled. 

The knock at the door was sharper this time. Harder. Winters and Speirs exchanged a look, one that said trouble without a single word. Winters opened it. Two MPs pushed in without waiting for permission. “Captain Winters,” the lead MP said stiffly, “we need to speak to the civilian woman again.” His eyes flicked to Y/n. “Alone.” Y/n’s heart dropped again. She had to keep a poker face. Speirs stepped forward before Winters could open his mouth. “No,” he said flatly. The MP raised his brows. “That wasn’t a request, Lieutenant.” “It’s still a no.” Winters slid subtly between them.  “What’s this about? And what’s your name?” Winters asked, wanting to know the name of the guy. The guy crossed his arms. “My name is Sargent Bill Henderson. Someone from your company identified this woman.”  He looked directly at Y/n.“Said she’s been moving with your men since Normandy.” Ice rippled down her spine, she could swear she’d gone pale. Winters stiffened. “Who?” Henderson smirked. “He didn’t give a name. But he said she calls herself Blake Reed.” Y/n’s breath hitched, she felt like she was wearing a corset that was too tight. 

Then Speirs spoke, voice low, deadly calm. “Which one of my men said that?”Bill Henderson shrugged. “Didn’t catch his rank. But he said he’s sick of covering for her.” Winters’s jaw tightened. He stepped closer, voice very controlled. “Sergeant Henderson, you will tell us exactly who spoke to you. Now.” Bill hesitated, Winters didn’t raise his voice often. When he did, people listened. “…Private Cobb,” he finally muttered. “Said he saw her without a helmet in Foy. Said he recognized her face.” Y/n blinked in shock. Cobb. Quiet, lanky, always hanging back during drills. She barely knew him. Speirs inhaled slowly, pure restrained fury. Winters put a hand on Speirs's arm, as if anticipating violence. But Bill Henderson and his colleague, Sergeant Brad Wallace weren’t finished. “Now,” Sergeant Wallace said, turning to Y/n, “we’d like to ask her a few questions. Alone.” “She’s staying,” Speirs said, voice quiet and cold enough to freeze the air. Winters stepped closer to the MPs, shoulders squared. “You will do your questioning here. With me present.” The two MPs exchanged a look, but Winters outranked them.

“Fine,” the lead one said. He faced Y/n. “State your full name.” She held her breath. “Céline—” “No accent,” the MP snapped. “Drop the act.” Her heart hammered. Her mouth went dry, the image of her in a military prison filled her mind. She couldn’t end like this. Not in prison. Speirs's hand twitched toward his holster. Winters stepped forward, voice sharp. “That’s enough.” “Captain, we have every right—” “No, you don’t,” Winters cut him off. “You have suspicion. Nothing more.”

Wallace, frustrated, reached into his pocket and pulled out something small. A dog tag. “This was found in Cobb’s bunk,” the MP said. “Buried under his gear.” He held it up. Y/n’s heart dropped. It was hers. The one she lost weeks ago. Brad Wallace turned the tag between his fingers.“Blake Reed.That’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it?” Speirs moved so fast even Winters startled, he stepped right into Wallace's space. “How,” Speirs asked, voice razor-sharp, “did my soldier’s dog tag end up in Cobb’s bunk?” Bill Henderson swallowed under Speirs's stare. “I—I assume she left it—” “No,” Winters said firmly. “Someone planted it.”

The room pulsed with tension. Y/n felt Speirs's presence behind her, steady, protective, ready to burn the world down if necessary. Winters took a breath, kept his calm. “Sergeant, until you have proof, not stolen tags, not rumors, you will not remove anyone from this company.” Speirs leaned in just slightly. “And you will stay away from her.” Bill and Brad were going to argue, but due to the tension in the room, decided to let it go. “Very well, sorry for the disturbance” Brad says as he throws the dog tag on the table, then leaves. 

The second the door closed, Y/n exhaled and nearly collapsed onto the nearest chair.Winters rubbed his temples. “Cobb. I should’ve known he’d snap under pressure.” Speirs's jaw clenched. “He didn’t snap. He talked because he wanted to.” Y/n swallowed. “Why would he do that?” Winters shook his head. “Fear. Jealousy. Resentment. Who knows. But we handle this internally.” Speirs glanced at the door, then back at Y/n, eyes fierce, protective, unspoken vows burning beneath the surface. “I’m not letting them take you,” he said.

While Y/n went to change back into her uniform, Speirs picked up the dog tag from the table, turning it over once between his fingers. He didn’t say a word about it, but he slipped it into his pocket. Once Y/n returned, she tried not to combust under the emotions. She wanted to murder Cobb. “Now that I'm thinking about it, Cobb’s been jumpy since Foy, speaking about Court Martial and stuff” she explains. Echoes in the halls of Luz and Guarnere could be heard. They opened the door. “Y’all seen the MP’s?” Luz asked. “They were here for me” Y/n says. 

The ambiance in the small village was tense. Everyone wanted to hurt Cobb, but Y/n called them off, not wanting more problems. Truthfully, she wanted to handle Cobb herself. Since he was nervous, Ronald Speirs went around the village, stealing cutlery, jewelry, literally anything he could get his hands on to relieve the stress. Y/n was walking outside, when she spotted Cobb. His eyes locked on hers, and she could see the instant flicker of recognition, then fear. He tried to look casual, but his posture screamed guilt. She walked towards him, acting as if nothing happened. “Hello Cobb, beautiful day, isn’t it?” Y/n said as she took a cup of coffee. 

Cobb didn’t know how to answer, he knew what he did. “Um, yeah, the weather's nice,” he stuttered. “Have you seen the MP’s last week? Do you know what they were here for?” She plays dumb, wanting to know how he’ll get out of it. When he couldn’t answer, she sighed. “Listen, I don’t know why you snitched, but you need me on the front. Yes I'm a woman, you’ll have to get over it, because we’re missing men.” she starts, wanting to stay calm. “I-I-I’m sorry” he stutters again. “You better be, because did you even realize what could’ve happened to me?” she asks. Y/n can see Cobb think about what could’ve happened. 

Ronald Speirs was watching the scene from afar. If it was him at Y/n’s place, he would’ve punched the motherfucker. Rage boiled inside him, who did he think he was? Just because she’s a woman she doesn’t deserve her place? Bullshit! Then, Y/n walked towards him, smiling softly. He was smiling proudly, she handled it better than he would’ve. 

The sun was starting to dip behind the rooftops of the village, painting the cobblestones gold. Y/n walked slowly back to the building where Easy Company was camped, Speirs walking beside her. The street was quiet now, the tension of Cobb and the MPs fading, replaced by an almost comfortable silence. “You handled Cobb better than I would've,” Speirs softly says. They were sitting in his room. Even if Y/n had her own, they enjoyed each other’s company. She chuckles softly at the remark. “It was hard not to punch him, but yeah” she smiles softly.  Speirs leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes studying her with that intense, unreadable look. “I’m impressed. Calm, collected… and terrifying when you want to be.” Y/n laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Terrifying? I think you’ve got that covered, Lieutenant.” “Please, call me Speirs, or Ronald, we’re past rank formalities” He asked. She tried to hide the blush on her cheek by looking out the window. She looked down at her hands, then back up at him. “I guess we’ve… earned it,” she said, voice light but with a touch of shyness. Speirs leaned back again, tilting his head. “Earned it?” His voice was teasing, but calm, like he was enjoying seeing her struggle just a little. Y/n chuckled nervously. “Yeah… surviving MP interrogations, stopping Cobb, living through the day without dying… I think that’s earned a first-name basis.” He smirked, a low chuckle escaping him. “Fair point. But I prefer to think it’s… you being clever, not just surviving.” Her lips curved into a soft smile. “Clever, huh? Maybe… thanks to you keeping me alive.”

Speirs’ eyes flicked to hers, sharp but soft at the same time. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the tiny silver ring he’d stolen earlier. “Here,” he said quietly, tossing it gently to her. Y/n caught it, examining it with a soft smile. “What’s this for?” He shrugged, his usual nonchalance slipping into something warmer. “Something I stole. Consider it… a reward. For handling Cobb, for staying alive, and for… being you.” Her fingers closed around it, slipping it onto her finger. She looked up at him, eyes bright. “I… like it.” He leaned back in his chair again, gaze drifting out the window for a moment before returning to her. “Good,” he said quietly. “Because I’m not giving it back.” Y/n laughed softly, shaking her head. “I think I can live with that.”

For a few quiet moments, they sat there together, the room golden with sunset light. War, betrayal, and fear were still out there, but inside this small room, everything felt a little safer, a little softer, and a little… theirs. To think that a few months ago, she was hiding under a disguise to fight in a war. She even created a new personality, but now, with him, she didn’t have to hide anything. Not her name, not her face, not who she was.

Speirs’ eyes flicked to the small locket Y/n always wore around her neck. “Hmm… that looks interesting,” he muttered, voice low. Y/n rolled her eyes with a grin. “Don’t even think about it.” He smirked, settling back in his chair, the ghost of a mischievous smile lingering. “Maybe next time.”

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

hello! i love your writing. i was wondering if you could do a MOTA + BOB crossover? maybe a ronald speirs one or one of the other easy boys where the reader is a pilot or bombardier (on my MOTA bombardier!reader kick i’ll be honest) and they cross paths or are already married? i’ll give you freedom to go however you want with it, angsty or not. maybe to give some inspo songs to base it on,

non angsty: save the last dance for me (i can’t let go of this song😣☝️) or i wanna know (hozier version bc it’s superior icl)

angsty: bruises (can’t let go of this song either) or i’ll never smile again (let’s all be honest will forever hit to deep)

thank you!

Waiting on forever

Eugene Roe x pilot!reader

Curtis Biddick xpilot!reader

A/N: Hey... I'm finally back with this amazing request. I didn't follow it at 100% but Eugene is my favorite and I can imagine him yearn for his girl. So yay. !This is a crossover with Band Of Brothers and Masters of the Air! This fic is long!!!! But it's to make up for the months of silence 🥺

Summary: After getting engaged to Curtis Biddick, Y/n was on cloud nine. But newcomers on the base bring back memories in the form of Eugene Roe, her childhood best friend.

Warning: Historical inaccuracies/ death (Curt)/ grief/ kissing/ mention of WW2 stuff/ blood/ crying/ getting engaged under the influence of alcohol?/ sad/ angst/ yearning/ arguments/ jealousy?/ let me know if I missed any!

Word count: 5.3k

April 1943

It was the second time Y/n came back from a mission where Curt didn’t fly. Somehow, their missions were never together, or one of them would leave or come back earlier than the other, which meant they almost never saw each other. She was trying to find him on the base, the ring on her finger, a reminder of the promises they made to the other. After her debrief, she went around the base trying to find her fiancé. But a lot of new faces were around the base, she found Buck and stopped him in his tracks. “Who are all these people?” she asked him, looking around for Curt. “Paratroopers, 101st airborne division,” Buck explained. Y/n’s face furrowed in confusion. “But what are they doing here? We’re bombing Europe, they’re fighting actual battles?” She was confused. Buck shrugged and continued his tracks. She continued to look around, looking for her fiancé.

She was the only woman in the 100th bomb group. She worked so hard to be able to get her wings, harder than anyone else. While everyone else's silver wings were delivered on a silver platter, Y/n had to mine her own silver and carve it into the wing shape. Sexism was a big part of her life, men telling her that she couldn’t do it, that she was better off in the kitchen and all sorts of insults. Until Curtis Biddick came along. He was a bomber in the 100th, on the base, he didn’t talk a lot. But when the 100th went out for drinks, Curt talked and flirted a lot.

February 1943

Somehow, Bucky convinced her to go out for drinks with the team. So, she ironed her uniform and caught a ride with Buck and Bucky. The bar was cozy, a lot of military men were around, of course, when she came in some men were looking at her like she was nothing. She ignored them and walked to where others were. Curt had probably had 2 drinks when she arrived, which explained why he put his arm over her shoulder and smiled when she came in. “Y/n! I didn’t know you were coming! I would’ve ironed my shirt if I knew.” He mumbled the last part, but she heard him, a smile formed on her face. “You look great” She smiled back. Curt felt heat come to his cheeks, maybe from the alcohol, or the compliment he just received. “You look even better, sweetheart” the nickname rolled off his tongue and brought even more heat to her cheeks.

Many drinks later, she was now a little drunk and Curt too. They had been flirting together all night. Many stolen kisses later, they were outside, they needed air and she was looking at the stars, he was looking at her. Even through the haze of alcohol, something in Curt’s voice was steady—clear. He wasn’t just playing around. Maybe it was too fast, maybe it was crazy, but in that moment, under those stars, it didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like safety. The words came out quicker than his brain could register “Would you want to marry me?” He blurted out. She looked at him with a smile and chuckled. “You don’t even have a ring” she slurred, the alcohol still in their systems. He pulled out a ring from his uniform pocket. “It was my grandmothers, it was supposed to be for luck, but it can still do” He smiled. She looked at the ring, then back at him. “Sure let’s get married” she chuckled as she kissed him again. He put the ring on her finger and he kissed her back.

The next morning, her head was pounding, she couldn’t register where she was, and who she was with and why was there a ring on her finger. She blinked and groaned as she sat up. She put a hand on her forehead because of a headache, she looked around. Why was she in Curtis Biddick’s bed? Why was there a ring on her finger? Curt was already awake, contemplating the events that occurred last night. When Y/n got up, she looked at him and he smiled when he saw the ring on her finger. “What happened?” she groaned. “We got drunk and got engaged, sweetheart” he explained, a smug smile on his face. She let out a gasp at the reveal and her brows furrowed in confusion as the memories came back to her. “Oh my god” She hid her face in her hands.

April 1943

She couldn’t find Curt, but she met a lot of guys from the 101st. Then, her eyes met Eugene Roe, her heart sank, she froze in place, he’s taller now. Broader. Different. The war has carved out something harder in his face, something sharper. But the way he stands, hands in his pockets like he’s trying not to take up too much space, that’s still him. She didn’t know how to talk to him, her breath hitched, chest rising with every shallow inhale.

His feet moved faster than his body, his brain was asking tons of questions. He wasn’t sure if it was her, but that woman had the same walk, same shape of her shoulders, even under the uniform. Her hair’s tucked up under the cap, but he’d know her anywhere. God, he used to imagine this moment a hundred ways, but never like this. On a muddy airfield. In a war. A smile crept on his face, but the closer he got to her, he could tell something was different. Eugene’s eyes went down on her hand and he saw the ring. What? When did she get married?

“Eugene? Is that really you?” she said, looking at him like she saw a ghost. “What… What are you doing here?” she breathed out. He smiled softly when he saw her. “I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing here Y/n, why aren’t you back in Louisiana?” he asked, looking at her, she changed so much, yet not at all. “I’m a pilot, for the 100th” she explained, smiling proudly. He was shocked to hear that. “They let women in now?” she shook her head. “I had to work hard to be here. But-” she shook her head, she finally came to the reality that her childhood friend, her first love, was in front of her- “how are you, it’s been so long” she smiled softly. “I’m great, I'm a medic for the 101st.” he explained, his eyes drifting back to the ring. “What’s that on your finger? Are y’a married?” he asked, wondering why she had a ring on her finger, what could’ve changed so much during the time they were apart. Y/n cleared her throat and nodded. “Yeah, I'm engaged actually, we’re waiting for the end of the war to get married. He’s also a pilot” she smiled when she talked about Curt. 

She was smiling like she used to smile when she talked about Eugene to her parents. The same way her eyes used to lit up when Eugene came knocking at her door to go walk with her. Eugene felt his heart twitch, he was happy for her, but at the same time, he watched her smile while talking about someone else, and the yearning in his chest felt like gravity pulling him in and keeping him frozen at the same time. He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “That’s amazing, I'm happy for you. Is he here? On the base?” he asked. Y/n nodded and looked around. “Yes, I just can’t seem to find him,” she looked around. 

Curtis came out of the medic room, he had arrived from the mission earlier and had suffered a small cut from debris. He saw Y/n talk with someone, his eyes immediately spotting her in the crowd. He smiled to himself before making his way to her. Curt saw a man talking to her, one of the guys from the 101st. He made his way to her. “There you are, sweetheart, I've been looking all over the place for you” he said as he placed a hand around her waist. 

“Oh, hi!” she smiled when she saw him. Curt kissed her cheek and looked at the men in front of him. “Eugene, this is Curtis Biddick, my fiancé, Curt this is Eugene Roe, my best friend from childhood. He’s a medic for the 101st” she introduced the men and watched them shake hands and nod politely their head to the other. “So this is the man that stole your heart” Eugene said with a smile. “Yeah, so you’re her childhood friend?” Curt asked. Eugene nodded and looked at Y/n. “Grew up on the same street in Louisiana,” he explained. Curt nodded, interested in the story. He smiled, but it was thinner this time. “Well, lucky for us, huh? War brings all kinds of people back together.” He tried to joke, they let out a soft, automatic laugh, the social kind people give when they’d rather not offend. Y/n cleared her throat and looked at her watch. “Eugene, it was nice to see you, but we have a mission debrief in a few minutes” She smiled, the cajun nodded. “See you around” he smiled and she nodded before turning and walking away with Curt. 

That same night, most of the 101st and the 100th were in the cafeteria talking to the others. Curt had his arm around Y/n’s shoulders and a drink in his other hand. Curt, Buck and Bucky were talking to Bill Guarnere, George Luz, Ronald Speirs and Joe Liebgott. Bill and Bucky hit it off quickly, trading stories. Speirs and Buck stood slightly off to the side, speaking in low tones. George Luz had the whole table laughing with his impressions, so did Liebgott, who chimed in with sharp one-liners.Eugene was watching from afar how Y/n would laugh at Luz's impressions, how her head would fall back on Curt’s shoulder and how she would fix her hair after laughing too much. He was leaning on a wooden pillar when a guy approached him. “Hey, you alright? I’m Harry Crosby” the man introduced himself. “Eugene Roe-” they shook hands. “Yeah, I'm alright, you?” he asked, taking his eyes off Y/n. Harry Crosby was easygoing, sure a little introverted, but he was nice, him and Eugene hitted off nicely.

Eventually, Y/n got up and walked up to Eugene and Crosby. The smell of drunk men was starting to get to her head.“Hi, Croz, you met Eugene?” Harry nodded and quickly excused himself, leaving Eugene and Y/n alone. “Are you having fun yet?” she asked as she took a sip of her drink. Eugene didn’t know what to tell her. No, he wasn’t having that much fun, because she was engaged to someone else, she was having fun and he wished to be the reason for her smiles. So, instead of telling her that, he simply smiled and looked at her. “Yeah, you?” Her face lit up. “Yes! Your guys are so funny. How is Luz so good at impressions?” she chuckled. Eugene chuckled too and looked at George Luz. “I don’t know, but he used to make this impression of one of our company leaders, Sobel, and it’s so funny,” he smiled.

Curt watched from afar how Eugene was making Y/n laugh, for some reason, he felt a little bit threatened by Eugene. Sure he was Y/n’s childhood friend, but Curt felt like there was something more than friendship than Y/n was letting on. He kept watching from the corner of his eye as he listened to Liebgott speak. Curt got closer to Libgott so they could speak together. He was trying to contain his jealousy, it was stupid of him, he had no right to be jealous. “That guy—Roe. You know him well?” Curt asked. Liebgott looked up, blinking. “Roe? Eugene? Yeah. Quiet guy, good medic. Why?” Curt shrugged, keeping his voice even. “Just curious. Doesn’t say much, does he?” Liebgott snorted. “Nah, not unless someone’s bleeding out. Keeps to himself mostly. Real calm under pressure. A little intense, though. Stares a lot.” Curt gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I noticed.” Curt watched Eugene smile to Y/n, his stomach twisting, but he kept trying to keep his feelings in check. “Have you ever seen him… with anyone? A girl back home? Letters, pictures, anything like that?”Liebgott raised a brow. “You mean like a sweetheart?” He shook his head. “No, not that I’ve seen. Never talks about home much. Keeps things close to the chest.” Curt nodded slowly. “Hmm, alright, thanks for the information” he said as he took a sip of his drink. 

May 1943

Weeks passed, Y/n and Eugene kept talking to each other, rebuilding their friendship. To Curt’s demise, he couldn’t stop the doubt from coming to his mind. The arguments became more frequent, but Y/n couldn’t see what Curt saw. That night, the air hung thick with fatigue and something heavier, something unspoken. Y/N had just returned from a mission, mud on her boots, exhaustion in her limbs. Curt was already there, waiting in the quiet of the hangar, arms crossed, eyes darker than usual. “You were gone a long time,” he said, voice carefully measured. She sighed, brushing a hand through her hair. “Mission ran over. Trouble over Berlin.” He nodded, too casual. “And after that? You didn’t come straight back.” She turned to him, wary now. “I had interrogation, and some stuff to go over. What are you trying to say?” He shrugged, but there was an edge beneath it. “Nothing. Just noticed you and Roe talk a lot lately.” Her spine stiffened. “We grew up together, Curt. He’s my friend.” Curt laughed once, sharp and bitter. “Yeah? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it looks like you laugh at everything he says. Like you’re chasing the sun in his damn smile.” Her voice rose. “Don’t twist this into something it’s not.” But he was already unraveling. “Then tell me what it is. Because I see how you look at him, and you used to look at me like that.” Her silence hit him harder than any denial. “You’re never here,” she whispered. “Different missions, different times. We barely see each other.” Curt’s voice dropped, raw now. “And when you do… are you still looking for me? Or just someone who feels easier to miss?” She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” He stepped back like the air between them hurt. “I want you to tell me it’s still me.” And when she didn’t—couldn’t—Curt just nodded once, heartbreak etched in his eyes, and walked away before she could change her mind or her heart.

The morning was gray and heavy, like the sky itself was weighed down by what was to come. Engines hummed low, but there was an unnatural stillness between the men, a shared, silent understanding that today was different. Curt moved with a rigid calm, but the usual flicker of humor in his eyes was missing. Y/n made her way to him, like they would do before every mission, she got out the car and walked towards him, the tension was heavy. She knew the argument from the night before had shifted something, leaving a crack they hadn’t sealed. She fidgeted with her engagement ring as she made her way to him. She smiled softly to him as he walked towards her. “I’m sorry about last night,” she started. She took a deep breath. “Of course it’s you Curt. I love you and I'm sorry I made you doubt that” she said, her voice breaking a little. Curt put a hand on her cheek and smiled, kissing her forehead. “I love you too, I'm sorry I was so harsh.” He pulled her into a hug, his mouth found her ear to whisper into it. “If anything happens up there… I want you to remember that you were the best part of all of this. You hear me? The only part that ever felt like home.” Y/n felt tears come up her eyes, she shook her head, in denial of the thought of him dying. She pulled away from the hug. “You won’t die. You’ll come back to me” she said, her voice heavy with emotions. Curt admired her features, he didn’t want to die, but for some reason, he had a feeling that something would go wrong. So he took his time to look at her features, taking them all in for, maybe, one last time, and so he memorized her face, just in case.

Y/N stood just beyond the tarmac, the wind tugging at the ends of her flight jacket, her boots heavy in the mud. The roar of engines filled the air as the bombers lined up one by one, preparing for takeoff. Smoke curled from the exhaust, blending into the low, heavy clouds above. The sky still hadn’t cleared, it was as gray and uncertain as the ache in her chest. The paratroopers from the 101st stayed on the base, since the mission was just another bombing. As the engines revved and the first aircraft rumbled down the runway, her eyes locked on the one behind it, Curt’s plane. She could almost feel his presence inside it, the way he always looked back toward her from the window when they parted. But there was no window glance this time. Just the metallic belly of the bomber pushing forward through the wind and smoke, taking him farther from her with every second. From a few paces behind, Eugene watched her. He hadn’t meant to follow, not really, but something about the way she walked out here alone had drawn him like a magnet. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He saw the way her arms stayed wrapped around herself long after the planes had disappeared into the clouds. Saw the way her lips trembled, even when her face stayed still. He knew she was trying to stay strong, to maintain a facade that everything was alright. 

A few hours later

The air inside the hangar was warmer than outside, filled with the clang of tools and the low hum of voices. Y/N had her sleeves rolled up, grease on her hands, focused on helping one of the ground crew with a jammed bomb release lever. It wasn’t her job exactly, but someone had called out for extra hands, and staying busy felt easier than standing still. She crouched beside the plane, gripping the metal bar with both hands. “If you loosen the side bolts first, the whole plate’ll shift easier,” she said over her shoulder. “Didn’t know pilots knew mechanics,” Ken Lemmons muttered.”There’s a lot of things you don’t know kid” she chuckled. She stood and wiped her palms on her trousers, unaware of the two figures moving across the hangar toward her. Buck’s gait was too slow. Too measured. Crosby’s face was pale, lips pressed together so tightly they almost disappeared. 

They stopped a few feet away. Buck didn’t say her name. He didn’t have to. Y/N turned around and saw them both standing there, mud-streaked, grim-faced, eyes too careful. Her heart sank, she saw them do this procedure too many times. Her heart kicked up once in her chest, then stalled. “What?” she asked, but it came out too quickly, too sharp. Buck opened his mouth, but Crosby beat him to it, he tried to sound gentle, he knew the words would break. “There was… flak. Over Bremen. Curt’s plane took a hit.” Y/N didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. Buck stepped closer, hands half-raised like he was trying to reach her without touching. “They lost control. Curt didn’t have time to bail. He went down with it.” No. No, this was a mistake. A mix-up. Curt had probably landed somewhere else, like he had done before and he had called her from a place she didn’t remember the name. He’d show up any minute now with some story and a crooked smile, and they’d all feel stupid for panicking. “ Are you sure?” She asked, the emotions forming a lump in her throat. Breathing was hard, she felt like someone was choking her, but it was her own sadness. Buck couldn’t speak, neither could Crosby, so they just nodded and looked down.

Y/N’s mouth opened like she wanted to respond, but no sound came. Her legs gave out before the tears did, and she dropped to her knees in the dust. 

The sun had started to set, casting long shadows across the base, stretching the barracks in soft, golden silence. Life went on at Thorpe Abbotts, but Y/N didn’t see any of it. She was sitting in the supply room, alone, her back against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest, one hand still stained with grease. Her flight jacket was draped loosely over her shoulders, but she looked small inside it now. Shrunken. Empty. Her eyes were so puffy with tears, probably bloodshot too. She didn’t know how much she cried, but she could tell that it was a lot based on the way her hands were shaking and her throat was sore. She didn’t hear the footsteps at first. Just the quiet knock against the open doorframe. When she looked up, Eugene was standing there with his hands deep in his pockets, face unreadable. His eyes scanned her quickly, quietly, like he was trying to assess a wound he couldn’t bandage. She met his eyes, she probably looked awful right now, a mess, but she didn’t care. “I heard the news,” he said. Y/n didn’t, couldn’t respond. He stepped into the room slowly, careful not to crowd her. He crouched in front of her, elbows resting on his knees, still giving her space.“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” he added, voice low, steady, his medic voice, even now. “I don’t care” she mumbled, her voice was raspy, her tone was numb. “I know,” he whispered.

A long silence fell between them, and she looked away, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.“I told him he’d come back to me,” she said, almost like it was a confession. “Right before he left. I made him promise. And I believed him.” She felt the tears rise up, she didn’t even think she had any left. Eugene felt something twist inside his chest. He reached out slowly, hesitantly, and placed a hand over hers where it rested on her knee. She didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I wish I could bring him back.” Y/n looked up at him, tears, somehow still falling on her cheeks. She was pleading with her eyes, like there was a way to bring Curt back, but Eugene’s eyes told her there was no way to bring him back. He slid down beside her, pulling her into him gently. She didn’t resist. She buried her face against his shoulder, and he held her there, quietly, protectively, like he’d never let go.

Four days later

It had been days since Curt died. The life on the base didn’t stop, for a random soldier, those four days were normal and repetitive. Y/N walked like someone carrying too much weight in her chest. She spoke when she had to, smiled when people were watching. But Eugene saw through it all. Colonel Harding gave her a few weeks to mourn, so that meant she couldn’t go on missions, she was a risk to herself and the others. That evening, she found herself in the same place again, sitting outside one of the supply sheds, staring at the empty runway. The light was fading, casting a soft orange across the concrete. The kind of light Curt used to say made everything look like it belonged in a picture. It took her a day to stop crying, she cried all the tears she had. She was still grieving him, and she still felt sad, she just couldn't cry anymore. She didn’t hear Eugene approach until he sat beside her on the step, just like before. He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat with her, letting the silence stretch. Letting her breathe.“I keep expecting him to walk around the corner,” she said, eyes still on the horizon. “Like this was all some mistake. Like he’s just late.And he would say sorry and make some kind of joke” 

The silence made his way between them again. “You’ve been quiet,” she added, glancing at him. “Even for you.” He didn’t look at her when he answered. “I didn’t know if I had the right to say anything.” That made her turn her head, confused. “Why wouldn’t you?” He rubbed the back of his neck, the way he always did when he was nervous. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Then, finally: “Because I loved you,” he said, quiet and unflinching. “Back home. Long before the war. Long before Curt.” Y/n blinked and took a breath. Eugene kept his eyes on the runway. “I never told you. Figured it wouldn’t matter. You were always smiling at someone else. I thought I’d get over it.” She didn’t know what to say. Her heart stuttered in her chest. “I thought it would fade,” he continued, voice low. “But then I saw you again. On base. And it all came back. Worse than before.” He finally looked at her then, and there was no bitterness in his face. Just sorrow. Honesty. “I didn’t want it to be like this. I didn’t want to feel anything after he died. I swear I didn’t. And now he’s gone, and I hate that part of me is relieved. I hate that… Please don’t hate me for loving you.” 

Y/N’s lips parted, but the words were caught in her throat. Her hand moved slightly toward his, then stopped. She was still grieving. Still in love with the memory of someone she’d lost. And yet… something in her cracked open at his words. A part of her felt glad that he confessed, but another felt angry. Like he was being mean, why would he tell her this now? “Why would you tell me this now?” she asked, voice shaking, sharp with something close to betrayal. “Why couldn’t you wait? Why couldn’t you just let me have this—him—a little longer before pulling me into whatever this is?” Eugene’s eyes widened, startled, but he didn’t speak. He understood her feelings, a part of him was feeling bad for spilling his feelings this early. “I still smell his cologne on my pillow, Eugene.” Her voice broke then, and she looked away fast. “I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe. And now I have to carry your grief too? Your love?” She realized she might sound mean and rude, but her emotions had been a wreck these past few days. He stood then, slowly, his face unreadable. Her words had landed like cuts, but he took them. He didn’t try to defend himself. Didn’t try to stay. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just didn’t want to lie anymore.” And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone with the ghosts, both of the man she lost… and the one who might still be waiting.

June 1943

The rain was coming down in soft sheets outside the barracks, tapping against the windows like a ticking clock. Most of the base had gone quiet for the night, but Y/N sat on the steps, her knees drawn up, shoulders curled in like she was trying to disappear. She didn’t notice Eugene until he was already beside her. He didn’t say anything. Just handed her a mug of something warm and sat down, his elbows resting on his knees. They drank in silence for a while, the only sound the distant hum of generators and the rain on tin. Then, out of nowhere, Eugene said, “Curt once told me you punched a guy in the jaw for saying something crude.” Y/N blinked. A slow, startled laugh escaped her. “That was Crank. He said I’d fly better with a dress on.” Eugene chuckled, and it was the first time she’d heard it since Curt’s death. It was soft, almost shy. “He couldn’t eat solid food for a week,” he added, smiling faintly. “I miss him,” she said, voice low. “I know,” Eugene replied. “Me too.” She looked at him then, and for the first time, she saw it—not just the steadiness or the silence, but the grief. The love. The way his fingers curled tightly around his cup, like holding on to something invisible. “You don’t talk about him much,” she said. “I talk when I think you need to remember him,” he replied. “Not when I need to.” Y/n didn’t reply, she just leaned her head on his shoulder as they enjoyed the silence. 

A few days later

The field hospital was chaos, cries, shouting, the metallic clang of medical trays. Eugene had just finished treating a young soldier, his hands trembling as he closed the soldier’s eyes for the last time. The weight of failure pressed down on him like a suffocating fog. He stumbled out into the cool night air, needing to escape the noise, the grief. His breath came in ragged gasps. Every medic knew death was part of the job—but tonight it felt unbearable. He wandered, unsure where he was going, until he saw her—Y/N—standing alone near the edge of the base, her silhouette softened by the moonlight. Without thinking, he crossed the distance between them. She looked up, surprised to see him so shaken. Her instincts kicked in, and she stepped closer. 

“Eugene?” she whispered. He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for her, pulling her into a tight embrace. For once, neither spoke. No words could carry the weight they both felt. When he finally lifted his head, their eyes met his gaze was raw,  while hers was open, searching. “What’s wrong? What happened?” she asked, worried about him. Eugene’s shoulders shook slightly, a quiet tremor betraying the strength he tried to hold onto. He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “I... I did everything I could. But he didn’t make it. I lost him.” His eyes searched hers, pleading for understanding, for some kind of solace. “I keep thinking maybe if I’d been faster, done something differently… but it’s always the same. The silence when I close their eyes.” Y/N reached up and touched his face gently, brushing a bit of blood from his cheek. “You carry so much, Eugene. Too much.”

He exhaled shakily, eyes dropping—until they caught on her left hand. It was bare. She followed his gaze. Her lips parted, and for the first time, she didn’t look away. “I took it off yesterday,” she murmured. “It felt like I was trying to hold onto a future that… doesn’t exist anymore.” Eugene said nothing at first, his brow furrowed like he was afraid to even ask. But then, quietly: “And what about now? What are you holding on to?” Y/N looked up at him, her voice soft and sure. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I think I’m done waiting on forever.” Her voice cracked. “Because maybe it wasn’t a promise… maybe it was a person. And maybe they’re not the same.” His breath caught. Their eyes held each other for a long second—long enough for both of them to feel everything they’d buried under loss and guilt and silence. And then she kissed him. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow, aching, full of everything that had built between them—grief, memory, and the beginning of something new. Not a replacement. Just… a moment that didn’t hurt to hold onto.

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

I'm sorry I advance for what I'm about to post. I'm paying for therapy...

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Question... are you still here and writing?

Hi! I'm not writing a lot, but I could if someone did a request :)

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Bastogne

Eugene Roe X Nurse!reader

Summary: When Y/n gets assigned in Bastogne to help Doc Roe, she doesn't expect what's about to happen in that cold forest.

Warning: Swearing/ mention of blood/ people losing legs/ violence (it's WW2)/ use of Y/n/ kissing/ mention of trauma (not the word but like, you get it)/

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: I'm back bitches!!!!! Like I said, I'm rewatching BoB, The pacific and Mota, so inspiration is back!!!!! Here is a Doc Roe fic. Love y'all🤍

When she got assigned to Bastogne, she didn’t know what to expect. She knew it was going to be cold, but nothing could’ve prepared her for what she was facing the second she set foot on the frozen ground. Dick Winters introduced her to the soldiers, and her colleague Eugene Roe, the doctor. She was sent by the army as extra hands for Eugene. She was a trained doctor, but since she’s a woman, they gave her the title of nurse. “I’m Y”n Jones, I studied medicine before the war started. So I'm not just a nurse.” she explained to the doctor. “Alright Y/n, got any morphine?” he asked, his voice was thick and had an accent she found intriguing. “Yeah, they gave me some, I also have-” she didn’t finish the sentence, the second she took the scissors out of her pocket, Eugene grabbed them and ran away.

Bill Guarnere was the first to really talk to her. The third night, he invited her into his fox-hole. “How d’ya end up in a shithole like this?” he asked, smoking his cigarette. “I joined the army.” she replied, stealing his cigarette. Bill smirked, watching the woman smoke his cigarette. “Got a husband?” he questioned. Even if he saw her ringless finger, he thought it would make conversation. “Nah, don’t have time for that, y’a got a wife?” He shook his head and pouted a little. “Meh, they’re too complicated,” he said, making Y/n chuckle. Eugene Roe got to their fox-hole in silence. But he crouched on top of them, looking at the woman. “Jones, c’mon, we got our own fox-hole.” he mumbled. “Night Bill” Y/n said as she got out. “Night Y/n!” he responded.

When she met Eugene, she didn’t think much of him. Mostly because he was in such a hurry that they barely talked. Apart from medical directions, Y/n and Eugene barely interacted in the first days. But she decided that if they were going to work together, they had to communicate. So that night, she jumped in his fox-hole, determined to have a conversation with him. “Jones, is everything alright?” he asked, confused by the presence of the woman. “Doc, where are you from? I noticed an accent, but I can’t put my finger on where it's from.” she asked. He had a little smile. “Louisiana, I'm half cajun, where y’a from?” “I’ve traveled around the States ever since I was born. Never really had a home. Loved Louisiana when I went there, except for the gators-” she continued to blurt out every thought she had in mind. Eugene listened happily. It was distracting him for the wounded men he had to treat every day.

It’s been 2 weeks since she arrived. She had to heal a couple of men, but it was mostly Eugene running around. Tonight was one of the coldest nights they had. “Y/n, y’a had any soup?” Eugene asked, taking a spoon in his mouth. “A little, gave most of it to-” The sound of planes flying stopped her. The Germans were sending more planes. “TAKE COVER!” they heard Winters yell before the explosion made her ears ring. Soon after, the chaos started. “MEDIC!” Eugene ran. “ARGH! MEDIC UP FRONT!” Y/n ran. “HELP!” They both ran. The only light they had was from the fire and the explosions. When she turned her head, she saw her friend, Guarnere running to help a soldier.

That’s when a bomb dropped near them. She was in shock, did her friend die? “MEDIC!” she heard him yell. Her body was frozen, not from the cold, but from fear. Still, she blinked and ran to help Bill. He was missing a leg, and he was in shock. “Y/n, i’m fine. Go help others.” he grumbled. She couldn't believe he was still alive. The main artery was served, he was losing a lot of blood, but he was talking and responsive. Her instincts took over, she was treating him, but it wasn’t her. Her body was moving alone. “Get him in town! NOW! BRING A TRUCK FORWARD!” she yelled. For what felt like hours, she and Eugene took care of the wounded and tried to save a bunch of them. They lost men. Y/n had a mix of blood all over her.

“You okay?” Eugene asked. They were sitting in their fox-hole. She had teary eyes, but still she was in shock.When she didn’t respond, he asked again. She still didn’t answer. “Y/n” he firmly asked. She got out of the trance she was in and looked at him. A tear falling on her cheek. “What?” she said, barely louder than a whisper. “Are you okay?” she managed to nod. “I think,” she said. He wiped the tear with his thumb, leaving a little bit of heath on her face. Y/n looked at the hand of the man, then looked at his eyes. “You did good out there.” he said. “Thank you, you did too” she leaned her head on his shoulder. He laid his head on top of hers. “We deserve silence,” she whispered. He smiled and looked at the sky. Their breath was heavy, the silence meant a thousand words.

The day of Christmas was hard for Y/n, it was the first time she would spend Christmas alone. Last year, her brother came to visit her on the base she was training on. Now, in the cold night, freezing her tits off, she was alone. “Merry Christmas Y/n!” Winters said as he handed her soup. “Thank you, you too.” She drank the soup, but she also warmed her hands on the cup. “Y/n.” she heard Eugene call her. So she went into their fox-hole, under the cover, to preserve the heath. “Eugene,” she responded. “Merry Christmas, thank you for helping me like you do.” he handed her a present. “Eugene you shouldn't have. I don’t have anything for you.” She felt guilty. He gave her a bar of chocolate. She loved chocolate. “Oh my god! I love it, thank you so much!” she said with a huge smile on her face, she was really excited about a bar of chocolate. Eugene giggled at the excitement of the woman, he found it adorable. She threw herself on him, hugging him tightly. “I could kiss you! Thank you Eugene!” she laughed. “It’s nothing, Renee gave me bars, and I know you love it, so I asked for extra” he explained. She had a big smile and took his face with her hands and kissed his cheek. “I’ll get you something, hold on.” With that, she ran, fox-hole to fox-hole in order to get Eugene the medical supplies he needed. After 10 minutes, she came back, hands full with morphine, plasma, bandages.

“I wish I could get you something more, but that’s what I could find in 10 minutes” she said out of breath. Eugene laughed. “Come back here,” he said, smiling. “Thank you for these, but y’a didn’t have to.” he said, smiling. “I wanted to. Thank you for helping me every day with the stuff I don’t know about. You’re a really good person, Gene.” she said. It was his turn to take her face with his hand, but he did it more romantically than Y/n. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, with a low voice that made her blush. She nodded and leaned closer to Eugene. Her breath was shaky, she was nervous. She'd kissed before, but it was different with him. When their lips touched, she melted into him, his hand holding her in place. She reached the back of his neck, she tried to get a grip of something. The kiss was passionate and romantic. It said so many things without them actually talking. When they pulled away, out of breath, their eyes were filled with lust and love. She blushed so hard, she was red as a tomato. Eugene was smiling ear to ear.

During their time in Bastogne, they grew close to each other. After a day of running around, they would lean their head on one another and just enjoy the silence. After a while they began holding hands. Just the physical contact of the other was enough to reassure the other. Occasionally, they stole a few kisses from each other. When they got to the church, they sat next to each other, holding hands. “Is it over?” she asked. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. That night, they couldn’t sleep, how could they, after what they saw in Bastogne. They sat in the church, talking about their lives. “You got someone back home?” she asked. He shook his head. “Me either, too focused on school.” she explained. “Good, cause you’re coming back home with me,” he said. She looked at him and blushed.”I ain’t letting you go, you’re mine now.” he said, adding to her smile. “Is that a weird way to ask me to be your girlfriend?” she smiled. “Yeah it is.” he took her hand and intertwined their fingers. “Yeah, I'll be your girlfriend.” she leaned to kiss him. At least, someone got something positive in Bastogne.

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Heyyy 🫣

I know each time I promise to write something soon. But I come with great news! I think I'm really going to post something about Band of Brothers, The Pacific or Master of the Air soon because my father and I started this tradition last year where we watch all 3 series during Christmas.

So inspiration is coming! Feel free to request something to help my brain work. Thank you for your patience my loves.

See you soon!!!! 🤍🪖

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

You haven't posted in a while and I want to make sure you're okay.

Hi anon!

Thank you for your concern, I really appreciate it. I haven't posted in a while because my writers block came back. I have a huge piece for Quinn Hughes but it's not done yet and I don't want to post half the story. Also, school is more intense this year so I'm focusing on that. Thank you for caring I hope I'll post something soon 🤍

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

M.I.T can suck it

Hawk X Female! Reader

!Spoilers for Cobra Kai season 6!

Summary: Hawk needs comfort after training in the forest.

Warning: Swearing/ use of Y/n/ fluff/ self doubt/ suggestive dialogue/ Hawk overthinking a little/

Word count: 530

The door opens to a pouting Hawk, he didn’t make the team, had a literal fight with his best friend and got a little hurt in the process. He just wanted to come home and become one with the couch. But instead, he found his girlfriend reading on the couch. ‘’Baby, what are you doing here?’’ he asked with a smile on his face. She closed her book and got up. ‘’I wanted to surprise you, how was training?’’ she asked, kissing him. Hawk placed his hand on her hip as they sat on the couch. Hawk took a deep breath before taking his girlfriend’s hands. ‘’It was a disaster. It was a capture the flag between me, Kenny, Devon and Demetri.’’ Hawk went on to talk about how him and Demetri fought because he told his best friend that he wanted to look for other colleges. That they literally fought for the flag, and he lost.

Y/n got closer to her boyfriend and gave him a hug, he looked like he needed it. ‘’Listen, I love you and I’m proud of you, even though you’re not going to Barcelona, you’re still my champion. For Demetri, I think you have to give him time. You and him have been talking about going to M.I.T since you were young. He feels betrayed, and even you can get that. But, like I said, you’re his best friend, and he cares about you too much to let this between you.’’ She spoke. Hawk had tears in his eyes, he needed to hear that. ‘’Thank you, I love you too. But what if I apply to M.I.T and don’t get in, he’ll be even more pissed and I- ‘’ Y/n’s lips stopped him before his anxiety took over.

‘’If you don’t get in M.I.T with the grades you have, then M.I.T can suck it. But for now, you just have to trust the process. You want to go to another college so you can party your ass off, then so be it. Demetri will come around; you guys are the Binary Brothers! He needs you.’’ she asked him with a compassionate smile. What did he do to deserve her was still a question in his mind. She was perfect for him, she was able to calm his anxiety and loved him for Eli, not Hawk, but she still loved Hawk since ‘it was a part of him’. ‘’I love you so much, you know that?’’ he said, kissing her passionately. They cuddled for a while before they both got hungry.

‘’If you want, you can go in the shower while I cook dinner.’’ She offered. Hawk had a grin on his face at the mention of the shower. ‘’Do you wanna come with me in the shower, then we’ll cook dinner together’’ he proposed, still with the grin on his face. Y/n tilted her head with a smirk on her face. ‘’Sure, good idea. But keep your hands to yourself, I’m hungry and I don’t wanna eat at 10 pm because you’re horny’’ she chuckles. ‘’I can’t make any promises, princess’’ he teased. She playfully rolled her eyes before they both walked into the bathroom.

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

✨️Masterlist 2✨️

Miguel Diaz:

Cool ass party

Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz

M.I.T can suck it

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Cool ass party

Miguel Diaz X Female! Reader

!SPOILER WARING FOR COBRA KAI SEASON 6!

Summary: When Miguel goes to the frat party, he's far from thinking he's going to get the girl.

Warning: Use of Y/n/ violence/ swearing/ mention of blood/ alcohol/ kinda heavy makeout/ Google translte spanish/ mention of body parts?/

Word count: 1.2k

To be honest, I didn’t know why I followed Miguel, Demetri and Hawk at the college tour. I didn’t even know which college I wanted to go to, but still, I followed the guys while a random dude walked in front of us. ‘’You really think we got a chance at M.I.T?’’ Demetri asked us. I looked at Miguel with an ‘His he for real?’ look in my eyes. ‘’Dude, you guys are the Binary Brothers, if M.I.T don’t accept you, they’re stupid as fuck’’ I exclaim with a laugh in my throat. Hawk smiled as we looked around. ‘’Y/n, are you considering coming with me here?’’ Miguel shyly asked. I take a deep breath as I look at the ground.

Before I can answer, the tour guide gets tackled on the ground by two familiar faces. ‘’Kyler? Brucks? What the hell?’’ Demetri mumbles as we connect the dots. ‘’Rhea? Lip, Lip’s friend? Weird chick?! What are you guys doing here?’’ Kyler exclaimed.

After catching up with our ‘old friends’ and eating, Kyler decided to bring us to our first frat party. I usually avoid frat house’s parties, but since I was with guys that I trusted, I decided to go. I wasn’t dressed to go to a party, but who cared? As we entered the room, I stick with Miguel, plus he was my crush, so it was another reason to stay with him. Frat boys everywhere, sorority girls glued to them, alcohol, smoke and the smell of sex filled my nostrils and my eyes. ‘’That’s something’’ Hawk exclaimed, making us laugh. ‘’Let’s just, lay low, stick together and keep an eye on your drinks. We’ll be fine’’ I try to convince them.

There was a blur between the time we arrived and now, why Miguel was sticking up to Kyler was confusing. But what was more confusing was the way Miguel’s body and mine moved together. The way his hands traveled my body in a sky but sensual way. When I turned to face him, our mouths were almost on the other. I could feel his breath on my skin. The look in his eyes was almost enough to get me to throw my self control out the window. I kept looking at his eyes and his lips, I needed to kiss him. As I leaned forward, something stopped us. ‘’Where’s my vacuum?!’’ The asshole in ‘charge’ of the frat yelled, referring to Kyler. Miguel and I turned our head to our ex-bully. ‘’Men, I ain’t gonna clean that’’ Kyler tried to stand up for himself. My dance partner and I made our way closer to Kyler, in case something happened. We were joined by Hawk and Demetri, who were as clueless as we were. After Kyler tried to tell the guy off, again, things got heated, and Miguel stepped in. ‘’Enough!’’ he yelled, getting everyone’s attention. Someone stopped the music, making it more dramatic. Kyler got up from the floor, cleaned his mouth from the dirty food he picked up. ‘’Why don’t you tell him the truth?’’ Miguel confronted the frat ‘king’. ‘’The truth about what, man?’’ Kyler asked. ‘’Well, we had a good run, but you’re never getting into this frat’’ the douchebag said.

Kyler took a second to think before he grabbed a girl’s drink before pouring it on the guy’s head. I had to refrain a laugh as Hawk ate popcorn because of how good the entertainement was. The douchebag, who’s ego got hurt, tried to punch Kyler, but he was quicker and blocked it. ‘’Bitch, don’t you know, I know karate!?’’ he exclaimed before pushing the guy on a metal pole.

And there it was, another karate brawl. But this time, it was funnier than the others I’ve been apart of. Demetri, Hawk, Miguel, Kyler and I were all working together, it was amazing. But, at one point, guys started to land punches on me. But with the adrenaline, I didn’t feel any of it. ‘’Let’s go before campus security comes!’’ Kyler exclaims. As we all ran outside, I burst out laughing. ‘’That was a cool ass party" I yell, laughing. Miguel, for some reason, puts his arm around my shoulder as we ran across campus.

‘’Oh, you’re bleeding’’ Miguel said as we walked home, I lived two streets away from him. ‘’Your hair was in the way, that’s why we didn’t notice, and your lip too.’’ He says as he innocently touches my lower lip. Realizing what he’s doing, he quickly moves his hand away. ‘’I’m sorry, I, uh.’’ He stuttered. I smile as we arrived in front of his apartment block. ‘’You’re bleeding too, do you need help cleaning it up?’’ I suggest. Miguel nods and leads the way to his apartment. No one was home.

‘’It was a hell of a Superman punch.’’ Miguel complimented as I put butterfly closures on his wound. I blush and look down. ‘’All done’’ ‘’Good, it’s your turn now’’ Miguel orders. I sit on the bathroom counter as Miguel picks what he needs from the first aid kit. I look at him and smile. ‘’What’s with the smile?’’ he asks, smiling too. He delicately starts to clean the blood of my forehead, next the one on my lip. ‘’I enjoyed myself today. It was nice dancing with you’’ I whispered. Miguel blush and gets back to his task. ‘’I enjoyed dancing with you too.’’ He says back, with a flirty tone. While he works on my forehead, I say nothing, the tension in the small bathroom speaks for itself. The way we maintain eye contact speaks for itself. His brown eyes are deeply into mine and my self control is about to expire.

‘’This might hurt’’ he warns before disinfecting my lip. ‘’Y’a know, if I was a random girl, I’d ask how you know so much about fixing lips. But each time you get into a fight, I’m there’’ I chuckle. Miguel smiles. ‘’Yeah, and each time I think you look good kicking everyone’s ass’’ he flirts back. I almost fold, but I love to flirt with people. ‘’You think I look good, Diaz?’’ I reply. Seeing how red he turned when I called him by his last name, it's something I’m going to do again. ‘’Of course, I don’t think there’s anything hotter than you kicking someone’s ass.’’ he moves a little closer to me. His thumb caresses my lower lip as he uses the triangle method on me, which works. ‘’You wanna kiss me, Diaz?’’ He swallows pretty hard, but still keeps his composure. ‘’Please, you have such pretty lips. I really want to kiss you’’ he whispers, millimetres away from my lips. ‘’Then do it, Diaz’’ I mumbled before I lean in, our lips finally touching.

The kiss got heated pretty fast, Miguel’s hands making his was on my body fast. The only time we pull away from each other is to take our breath. The kiss leaves us breathless, our chest rising up and down as his black curls are getting messier and messier. ‘’I wanted to do that for so long’’ Miguel said with his dry throat. Our lips collapse together again, I wrap my legs around his waist as my hands tugs his hair. One of his hands make his way on my thigh, getting dangerously close to my wet core.

‘’Hola, ¿hay alguien en casa?’’ Miguel’s grandma announces as she enters the house. ‘’Shit, my grandma. I thought she was at the grocery store’’ Miguel babbles as he tries to fix himself. I giggle and fix my hair. ‘’Don’t worry, I’ll sneak off by that window.’’ I smile, looking at the small window. He tries to come up with an apology, but I cut him. I slide off the counter and place a quick kiss to his lips. ‘’You can apologize for your grandma later, I’ll leave my window unlock tonight, Diaz’’

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Are you taking requests for Rosie from Masters of The Air? 😊

Sure!!! I take requests for the following characters:

- MOTA ( Bucky, Buck, Curt, Brady, Rosie, Crosby)

- NHL (Hughes Brothers, Trevor Zegras, Cole Caufield, Juraj Slafkovsky, Arber Xhekaj, and others)

- BoB ( Eujene Roe, Ronald Speirs, Bill Guarnere)

- Celebrities (Austin Butler, Callum Turner and others)

-F1 drivers (Lando Norris, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz, Daniel Ricciardo...)

- Fictional characters (Ian Malcolm, Theseus Scamander, Joe Rantz and others)

-Cobra Kai (Eli/ Hawk, Miguel Diaz, Robbie Keen, Dimitri and others)

When I say: and others, that means that I'll take requests for others in this category that I haven't thought about, but I won't do everyone. Please send me your requests. Love y'all.

[brainsanalysis-deactivated20210]

Hello please reblog this if you’re okay with people sending you random asks to get to know you better

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Fame pt.4

Austin Butler X Actress! Reader

Summary: Y/n and Austin meet in L.A, the paparazzi capture their meeting...

Warning: Use of Y/n/ Bad photo editing (I'm trying)/ spelling mistakes.

@Fame.inside:

@Fame.Inside: Actress @Y/n.Y/l/n and actor @Austin.Butler on a date today. Could it be the start of a new relationship?

Liked by 183 281 people.

Comments disabled

-

"They're looking at us." Y/n couldn't care less about the paparazzis. Yes, she and Austin were eating together. Yes, it would be seen as if they were on a date, but she didn't care. She was enjoying her time with Austin, conversation was easy and they had a lot in common.

"You were astonishing in Elvis. I mean it." She praised him. Austin blushed and chuckled a bit. "Thank you, I've been a fan of yours since you did Grown Ups 2" She starts to laugh as she remembers her role in the movie. She was Nancy, the girl Greg had a crush on. "I was like, 18 while filming" She laughed.

Their date went well, except for the paparazzi and what the gossip pages had to say about them.

Paparazzi saw the two of them on what appeared to be a romantic date earlier this week. Y/n and Austin had been flirting for a while before they went out together. Could it be the start of a new relationship?

-

She couldn’t believe how well their dinner went. Even if they got caught by paparazzi. When she came home that night, she giggled like a twelve year old. Sabrina was called immediately, getting informed on details of the "date." Sabrina informed Barry, and he gave the details to Callum.

Y/n felt like a teenager again, kicking her feet as she thought about him. It was a little bit pathetic, but it's been a while since she felt like this. Even though the date was not officially a date, it felt like one.

Austin had a good feeling when he closed his apartment door. Y/n was a wonderful person. Conversation was easy with her, and her laugh was contagious. So, the first thing he decided to do was to send her flowers. To show her that she was more than a friend.

@Y/n.Y/l/n added to their story

Caption: I love flowers even more when they're from Elvis 🤍

-

"Oh, come on! You two are worse than middle schoolers! She liked the flowers, get over it!" Callum signs. Austin has been looking at his phone for 5 minutes straight. Watching Y/n's story as if it was the last thing on earth. Austin glanced at the story one last time before closing his phone. "I know, I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Can we talk about the fact that in Co stars when someone even brought up a possibility of y and Callum being in a relationship Austin immediately shut it down but in fame Callum is just starting rumors about Austin and yn.

Yeah you're right. I didn't even realize. But honestly, I think Callum would be a trouble maker, but would stay respectful if Austin would ask him.