#bfob x reader

He's pretty hairy, especially his chest and abdomen (google Eion Bailey shirtless, guys. 👀). Sometimes, when you're bored, you'll braid his body hair or make tufty volcano formations. He'll forget to flatten and undo your handiwork at times; when he takes his clothes off to change back at the field, the men laugh their assess off at your creativity. He just shrugs and says that at least he's got someone waiting for him who doesn't require an hourly rate. That usually shuts most of them up for good.

A machine gun isn't necessarily the lightest thing in the world, and it sure as hell weighs more than the average rifle the other grunts carried. Combat and lugging around a weighty contraption is hard work. You fuss at him to eat all of his c-rations so he doesn't get too lean, especially since under stress, he'll forgo food. But Mr. City Slicker has always been a picky eater, and you know he abhors the rations. “You can’t just live off of Hershey bars, Web.” He doesn’t believe you.

He sleeps stick straight and doesn’t snore. There’s not much pillow talk, at all, since he falls asleep in five seconds, sometimes when you’re rambling about something random. You just sigh and cuddle into his chest, bringing his arm around you.

The first time he sees you is when he wanted you. Walked straight up to you, gun in tow, blood and grit mucking up his uniform, and he’d awkwardly introduced himself. Said his name’s Dave Webster, an American. Did you need help carrying your groceries? And…hello…Meanwhile, you remember wanting to scream and run away, especially with his face covered in camo grease paint, looking like a ghoul. Worked out in the end, and the memories do make you laugh, but he gets confused over your humor. He says he tried his best. You chuckle and continue to play with his hair as he lays on your bosom and continues to read his book on prehistoric ocean animals.

He’s an expert in swimming. Cares not about stripping down naked and flinging himself into any lake or river you guys visit. Even the ocean. You like hitching a ride on his back as he paddles lazily around, your arms looping around his shoulders. You also enjoy watching him emerge and exit the water in his birthday suit. His body, his mind, is an utter work of art. When those water droplets make their way down his arms and chest, his abdomen…W. H. E. W.

He looks utterly handsome in his army greens. He has to wear them, along with the rest of the men, when they visit towns on social calls. His hair is properly done, boots shined, face shaved and clean. When he shows up at your doorstep, it takes about a good ten minutes of you pulling on his lapels, kissing him for dear life as you drag him in. Satisfaction is felt through your hands gripping his back as he gathers you near and returns his ardor. He’s funnily quick to learn how you want to be held and kissed, showing mastery of his knowledge with utter precision. Okay, then, Mr. Harvard. Those brains aren’t for nothing.

“Web, would you love me if I was a worm?” you cheekily ask. Any other man rolls his eyes, but not David K. Webster. He thinks for a minute. Then ten. Then another half day before he presents to you a carefully written set of pages about how he exactly feels about you, and that, yes, he would take great care of you as a worm. No doubt about it. It just depends on what exact species of worm you will be, from what continent and time period, and what your natural habitat looks like–

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Also, for those who wanna see some more David Webster x Reader content, here's what I wrote so far including him. Yes, the majority is Webgott x reader. ^_^ I'm planning to write some other David Webster x reader stuff in the future.

David Webster x reader

Sexually Frustrated headcanons

Webgott x male reader

Could Be Me. Or Us.

Webgott x reader

Soviet Reader

Delusional headcanons