thesewordsareallihavetogive

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

I'll be home for Christmas - Bob Floyd x reader

Summary: 1.4k words. Your husband has been deployed for 5 months. The holiday season is in full swing and you’re missing him. This is my entry for @lewmagoo's holiday celebration!

Warnings: language? Pining, angst, fluff & some more fluff

a/n: I wrote most of this in one sitting LAST MONTH. aaaaand then finals season descended upon me like a hoard of rabid locusts. so y'all get this holiday fic now, where it's technically still Christmas in some time zones!

One hundred sixty-seven days.

It’s been 167 days since you last saw your husband.

Rather appropriately, the U.S. military wanted to ensure its service members and their families could celebrate Independence Day. 

July 4th at the Floyd household was truly a sight to behold. Penny brought half a dozen pies, Bradley’s family brought Carole’s famous potato casserole, and the rest of the squad brought beer. Lots and lots of beer. Phoenix, however, had more taste than the rest of the boys–as you had repeatedly told them over the years–and brought over your favorite drink to share. Natasha helped you and Bob decorate your humble bungalow early that morning and helped you with food prep throughout the day in anticipation of the 4th of July cookout.

On the surface level, the party you hosted was simply to celebrate the national holiday. It was arguably also a send-off party, given that half the aviators illuminated by fairy lights in your backyard would be shipped off to an undisclosed location less than 24 hours from that moment.

167 days is equivalent to 4,008 hours or 240,480 minutes, according to your recent Google history.

December 19th welcomed you with a cold embrace and increasingly painful longing. In defense of December and the holidays and all the commercialism you found yourself falling willing victim to, you kind of did this to yourself. At no point were you required to watch three and a half hours straight of shitty Hallmark movies over peppermint bark and eggnog. But you did, as was your right and freedom as an American citizen, you mused to yourself against the lip of the lukewarm mug.

Uncle Sam was not your best friend as of late.

Being away from your husband for five and a half months didn’t make for the most pleased military spouse.

You normally counted your blessings when you could. At least during this deployment, you were able to have semi-regular and reliable contact with Bob. Unlike some of his other deployments, the worst being the 10-week stints with no contact or details whatsoever. But now, as you watched the female lead–who looked like every other holiday Hallmark leading lady you’d seen today and yesterday and the day before and the day before that and–who left her impressive job in the city kiss her generically handsome high school sweetheart in front of their small town’s Christmas tree farm, you were not counting 4,008 consecutive hours away from your husband as a blessing.

Bob’s initial deployment orders ensured he’d be home by the beginning of December. Some classified delays that were above your level of security clearance pushed that date back to December 23rd. When Bob had the misfortune of sharing this news with you, he thought the Facetime connection had frozen from how long your jaw remained dropped.

The daily countdown displayed front and center on the fridge was reminiscent of a prisoner’s tally marks.

The second worst part of long deployments like these was the funk you’d fall into. You were a strong independent woman, dammit. But you were also a woman who was deeply in love with her husband. You aren’t ready to accept it yet, but you’re nearly certain this specific deployment has deepened some wrinkles and brought forth a few strands of grey hair.

“You are beautiful, my love,” Bob would tell you, sweet as ever, anytime your thoughts crept toward self-consciousness.

You were still young and hip enough to go out on a Thursday night, right? The thought quickly left your head as you inspected the old sweatpants you wore and the nearest clock reading well past 10 p.m.. Bedtime. You didn’t want to get up off the couch and do the dishes or fold the blankets or turn off the TV or do anything, but because you’re a responsible adult, you at least start the Sisyphean tasks.

A shrill ringtone emanated from the living room and you damn near tripped over said blankets while sprinting to pick up the phone before it’s too late. With soapy hands, you swiped to answer–unsuccessfully at first; the dish soap suds were evidently plotting your downfall–and were relieved to hear the signature soft static of the connected call.

“Hi, honey,” Bob greeted gently. He was tired, you could hear it in his voice and you knew you’d be able to read it on his face too.

“Bobby!” A grin brighter than you’d felt in days broke out across your face. There is comfortable silence just for a moment where the two of you enjoy each other’s presence. You know his time for phone calls is limited, so you cherish every moment. Even the quiet ones. You spared a glance at the time, knowing now that it is unequivocally past bedtime. Not that any concept of time mattered right now.

“What time is it where you are?” you ask him, prying for details you don’t have the security clearance for. You both know better, but he still humors you.

“It’s getting a little late…” he says smugly, scratching the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick, one that you can’t see at the moment. You hum in response. He can rarely tell you any specific details about where he is or what he’s doing. After years of this, you still bug him. He will swear until the day he dies that his greatest pleasure in life is being bugged by you.

You tell him about the shitty Hallmark movies you’ve been watching. You catch him up on the drama with your coworkers. Bob doesn’t want any kind of drama in his life, but he does indulge in some gossip about people that he’s never met. You tell him about the weather, about the shelter pets you’ve almost adopted close to ten times now, but agreed Bob should meet the fluffy friends too before welcoming them to their forever home. He listens as you review the final touches you’ve placed on the Christmas decorations, highlighting the anniversary ornaments hung proudly on the tree and the row of photographs from Christmases past with any and every Santa impersonator the two of you saw out in public. Because it’s totally normal for two adults to have a collection of such selfies.

There’s shuffling on the other end of the line and you’re half-worried you’ve rambled the man to sleep and the phone slipped from his grip. He hadn’t responded in a while–he was content to let you speak, or maybe he was snoozing.

“Bobby?” You say softly, hoping to get his attention, but not wanting to rouse him if he fell asleep. He deserves the rest.

Before he can answer, there’s a knock on the front door. What the fuck? You’d certainly considered ordering a pizza for delivery as dinner part 2, but you hadn’t actually placed the order. Or so you thought?

“Hold on, Bobby. Someone just knocked on the door…” you trail off, hesitantly tip-toeing toward your home’s entrance.

“Huh. That’s weird,” Bob remarks. You peer through the peephole and your heart stops. The phone clatters to the floor–the screen might’ve cracked, but you could not care less–as you wrench the door open, revealing the tall, handsome man you’ve been missing for 240,480 minutes.

“I can’t imagine someone would come to the door at this hour. It’s a little late, don’tcha think?” He says cheekily. You all but launch yourself into his arms. You bury your face into his warm neck and can’t stop the steady stream of tears flowing down your flushed face. Bob squeezes you tight like he’ll never let you go. His glasses are crooked on the bridge of his nose from the force of your body meeting his like a magnet, but he couldn’t see anything through his tears anyway. Eventually, you pull back, gasping for air as your eyes dance wildly across every inch of his body, making sure he’s really there and you aren’t dreaming. The feel of his firm lanky frame dressed in khaki and the way he simply smelled like home confirmed that for the first time in a long time, you felt complete.

“You’re here! You’re home!” you squeal, capturing his lips in a kiss that would have your neighbors clutching their pearls. Bob smiled into the kiss, every second of it rich in love and passion and making up for lost time. “I told you, honey,” Bob begins, punctuating every few words with kisses across your face. “I’ll be home for Christmas.”

a/n: Happy holidays!! Reblogs & comments are much appreciated 🥰

Find more of my writing on my master list.

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snoopy of the day

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laugh out loud y'all are about to get a Christmas fic at the last minute. It's probably still December 25th in some time zone somewhere. get ready for some Bob fluff for @lewmagoo 's holiday celebration ❤️💚

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see 0 note flop posts aren't that bad when they're personal but 0 note fandom posts feel literally so bad. like if you don't wanna play toys with me anymore just say that. i'll pack up my super cool awesome things and go and i'll sit on the other side of the playground by myself and i won't even look at you. fuck

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i love reader. idc if she’s a bimbo or a crybaby or a little unhinged. good for her tbh. i love her in all shapes and forms. she is barbie. she is a doctor and a student and a barista and she can take five dicks at the same time. what a beautiful world we live in.

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MERRY CHRISTMAS!

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Amelia: Hey, if I ask you a boy question, do you promise not to be weird? Rooster: I promise. Amelia: There’s this guy at school, and-- Rooster: You can do better.

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MILES TELLER in THE GORGE (2025)

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oh okay- yeah no that's fine.

this man is just walking on earth. breathing air.

that's okay! sure yeah no- I'm fine.

im

fine.

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While I'm sitting out here freezing my ass off I was just thinking you know Bob Floyd gives off The vibes that he would thrive in cold weather like he's just made for colder weather like I could see it in my head you know head to toe, timberlands boots, jeans and a big ol winter plaid coat and beanie, if y'all have seen that one photo of Lewis in the snow then you know what I mean