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keeryhours · 4 months ago

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coming home to you - sam (warfare)

Sam (Warfare) x female! wife! reader

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Summary:

Sam is heartbroken to leave his pregnant wife home when he’s deployed - but he doesn’t expect things to go quite so wrong.

Warnings:

Smut (18+), unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (m receiving), movie spoilers, pregnancy, war, gore!, death, serious injuries

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N:

I’m really excited to write my first Sam fic! I hope you guys like it. If details are wrong, I’m so sorry, I know nothing about the navy but I did rewatch the movie and research as best as I could. His last name is O’Brien in this. Endless thanks to @glassbxttless and @peachyproserpina for answering a million questions, reading over this, and hyping me up, and @getaapologist for feeding us with screenshots!! Also ignore that I hit the image limit so the dividers stop :))

The night before Sam shipped out, he spent it in bed with you, holding you close. You couldn’t let go of him, scared it would be the last time you ever held him. He held you just as tightly, his hand stroking through your hair, rubbing your back, breathing in the smell of your soap and shampoo and committing it to memory.

As you drifted off to sleep, head rested on Sam’s shirtless chest, he lay awake. Thinking. He wanted to savor every moment he had with you, even if it meant he slept the whole flight tomorrow. His hand drifted down to press against your stomach, still as it always was. You were days from the positive pregnancy test, barely 6 weeks. Still so new, still made Sam’s heart beat wildly in his chest when he thought too hard about it. Especially when he thought about how he wouldn’t be there for the birth, or even the beginning of their life.

He knew that, god willing, he’d be coming home to a son or daughter, already a year old. A child who would be too young to understand, who he would be a stranger to. That scared the shit out of him, even more than going overseas. He didn’t know the first thing about being a father. His own father was fine, a little strict, but being a father himself was something else entirely. There was no preparing for it, and he would be thrown right into it when he returned.

You still hadn’t told anyone yet. When you came running to Sam, tears in your eyes and a positive pregnancy test in your hand, Tommy and Erik had been the first people Sam wanted to call. He was ecstatic, although terrified, and wanted to share the news with his brothers right away. But you stopped him, a huge smile on your face and your hand on his chest.

“Not yet,” you’d said, feeling his heartbeat thudding beneath your palm. “Let’s keep this our little secret just a little bit longer.”

It had been hard for Sam to keep his mouth shut, but he enjoyed having that private thing to share between you. When you were around the guys, he felt so giddy, like it could spill out at any moment. When you’d decline a beer, you’d meet eyes for only a moment, a huge smile on Sam’s face.

But now it was time to leave, and the reality was setting in. His stomach was in knots. He’d never been so nervous to ship off, not even his first time. He didn’t want to miss any of this. He wanted to see your belly grow, to go to doctors appointments, to hold your hand when your baby was born. He wouldn’t get any of that. He had always been sad to leave you for tours, but this was worse. Now he was leaving two people he loved more than anything.

He couldn’t remember when he finally fell asleep. But the next thing he knew, his alarm was going off, and he startled awake. The sun had barely risen, the sky barely turning blue through the bedroom window. You were still tangled up around him, sleeping soundly. He carefully, reluctantly, untangled your limbs from around his own and lifted himself from the bed, the springs creaking slightly. He turned back in time to see you snuggling into his pillow, holding it much like you’d held him.

He dressed in his uniform, grabbing his bag that had already been packed. He slung the heavy pack over his shoulders, looking back at you sleeping peacefully in your shared bed. He walked over, smoothing his hand over your hair. You stirred slightly but remained asleep. He bent down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Your eyes fluttered open, barely awake. “Leaving?” you asked, your voice still weak with sleep.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, baby. I’ve gotta go.”

You frowned, sitting up in the bed and wiping at your eyes. “Okay,” you croaked. You placed your hands on either side of his face, pulling him in for a long, passionate kiss. He returned it, the kiss stirring something in his chest that he had to push away for now. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said. “So much.” He rubbed a hand over your abdomen. “Both of you. Take care of yourselves. I’ll write you every week.”

“I know you will.” You kissed him again, shorter this time. “Bye, Sammy.”

He grinned at the nickname. “Bye, sweetheart.”

You laid back down, falling back into your slumber quickly. Sam stood, walking towards the bedroom door. He stopped by the dresser. He looked down at his hands, smoothing his thumb over his gold wedding band. Then he reluctantly slipped it off his finger, laying it gently on the table next to your jewelry. He knew it would be waiting right there for him when he got back.

He took one last look at you, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed and kiss you breathless. But instead he opened the door, heading out into the rest of the house before slipping out the front door and locking it behind him, leaving you alone.

You wrote to Sam every week. Every letter included a whole breakdown from your pregnancy books, the fruit size comparison and a breakdown of how you’d been feeling, what the doctor had said, ultrasound photos and bump pictures you took in the mirror. Sometimes a private photo just for Sam’s eyes, ones he’d hide in his belongings and pull out only when he was alone. It was what kept him going.

Waiting to go home to you felt like a lifetime, although he kept busy with OP1. He felt a lump in his throat every time he pulled out a photo to see you having grown bigger. He felt like he was missing the most important event of his life.

He was sitting in the barracks, laughing with Erik, Tommy, and Elliott, when the mail was brought in for the week. He sat up straighter, eyeing the bag of mail as it was distributed, impatiently waiting his turn.

“Excited to hear from your girl, O’Brien?” Elliott teased, sly grin on his face. “Let me know if she sent any good photos this time.”

Sam shoved his friend hard in the shoulder, but they both laughed. He knew those photos were for his eyes only, anyway, although the guys liked to tease him about his hot wife back home. He knew his wife was hot, but still.

When Sam was handed his mail, he found the one with your name on it and immediately tore into it. He pulled out the letter and watched as a couple photos fell out, landing facedown on the table. He would look at those after.

He immediately began reading the letter, his heart thudding faster when he saw the ��20 weeks” scribbled at the top in your handwriting. He knew what that meant. You had been talking about how excited you were for this appointment in your letters for weeks. This was it.

He read your letter, talking about how things had been on the base with the other wives, how you’d been feeling, what you’d been up to. Baby the size of a mango. How your mom had come for a visit and drove you crazy for a week. He loved hearing all the mundane things happening back home, but his heart was thudding in anticipation for the news he was waiting for.

The letter ended with your usual - Hope you enjoy the pictures! All my love. - and your name signed in swirling script. His gaze dropped down to the photos. One was very clearly an ultrasound photo - he was familiar with them by now. He reached for the other first.

One of you in the mirror like you sent every week. You had really popped, he thought as his eyes widened. Your belly was perfectly rounded, your hand resting at the bottom as you posed for the photo in the mirror that hung on the back of your closet door. You had a bright smile on your face. You looked beautiful.

His eyes dropped down to the upside down ultrasound photo. He reached for it slowly, as if he were scared. He lifted it with a shaking hand, then finally, finally turned it over.

He had yet to see an ultrasound where the baby looked so much like a baby. It nearly took his breath away - and that was before he noticed the writing typed onto the photo.

It’s a girl!

“Holy fuck,” Sam muttered, in total disbelief. “Holy shit!”

“What?” Erik asked, looking over at Sam’s shocked yet elated expression.

Sam looked up, seeing the whole room of his brothers looking at him. “It’s a girl,” he said. “It’s a girl!”

The whole room erupted into cheers, patting him on the back and congratulating him, pushing him around playfully and making comments about how he’d have his work cut out for him as he smiled bigger than he had since he’d left home. He couldn’t believe it. He was having a daughter.

As your pregnancy progressed towards the end, Sam grew weary. He missed you. Seeing the photos you sent made him long for you like he never had before. He wanted to take care of you - something about seeing you pregnant made him extra protective, and here he was, overseas and only able to communicate with you through letters. He longed to feel the baby kick, to help you set up the nursery, to tell you to go sit down and rest while he took care of things.

As you reached the last couple weeks, his anxiety was at an all time high. He was on a mission from weeks 35-38, and every day he worried the baby would come and he wouldn’t know. So when they returned to the base and he caught up on your letters, seeing the babe was still safely growing, he felt immense relief.

It was a week after they had returned when he got a letter that was thicker than usual. His chest tightened - he knew before he even opened it. He stared at the unopened letter, frozen and face pale.

“What’s wrong, man?” Erik had asked, but then he looked at the letter the other man’s eyes were locked onto. His eyebrows raised. “Is that-?”

“I think so,” Sam muttered.

“Well, open it!” Elliott said, the guys all crowding around, waiting to see.

With the courage of his brothers surrounding him, he ripped open the letter. He pulled out the letter itself and a large stack of photos - the one on top featuring the most beautiful baby he had ever seen.

A birth announcement. A newborn baby girl laid wrapped in a blanket, her eyes closed, a head full of brown hair. She had your nose and lips, Sam’s hair and eye shape. He swore his heart stopped beating. At the bottom - Olivia Claire O’Brien. The name you had decided on after a long back and forth in letters, the name that somehow fit her so well.

Sam stared at the photo in shock, barely able to hear the cheers and commotion around him. He couldn’t believe it. He had a daughter waiting for him back home now - a real, living, breathing daughter. His daughter.

“She’s beautiful, man,” Tommy said, flashing a genuine smile as he clapped Sam on the shoulder. Sam somehow pulled himself together, muttering a bashful thank you to his brothers.

“Congrats dude,” Elliott contributed, rubbing the top of Sam’s bald head.

“You’re gonna be a great dad,” Erik said, and that made him feel better than anything he’d ever heard. Now, he just had to get through the rest of this tour so he could get home to his girls.

It was supposed to be a standard surveillance mission.

Things had never gone so horribly wrong.

Elliott had gotten hit by shrapnel from a grenade, and he needed a CASEVAC. They were supposed to just escort him out to the tank then get back into the house - but an IED had gone off.

Sam had woken up disoriented, his head pounding, ears ringing. He didn’t know what the fuck had happened. Then, the pain crept in. He looked down and saw his right leg twisted the wrong direction, small fires burning his pants and skin.

“Oh my god,” he said, his voice trembling. “Oh my god, fuck! Fuck! Oh my god!”

He didn’t know what the fuck had happened but the next thing he knew Erik was stumbling over, patting his leg to put out the flames. “Ow, ow, ow,” he said, still coming back to himself, nausea and fear roiling in his stomach.

He looked over to his left, seeing a body completely blown in half. Panic rose in his chest, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

Erik began dragging Sam back into the house - and that’s when the pain became the worst thing he could possibly imagine. He screamed, a loud, guttural scream of terror and pain and pure misery. He felt like his leg was still on fire, like it was going to rip right off.

Erik pulled him into the house, laying him on the ground. Sam was relieved to not be moving anymore, but once the pain had kicked in, it didn’t stop. He groaned loudly, moaning in pain, desperate for some kind of relief. He barely noticed Ray and Tommy pulling an unconscious Elliott into the house behind him.

“Two rooms deep!” somebody yelled, and then he was being dragged again, screaming. When he stopped moving he unbuckled his helmet and pulled it off, tossing it to the side. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Ray began checking him over. They rolled Sam onto his side as he gritted his teeth, still moaning in pain. It felt better being back on his back, but not by much. Ray grabbed a pack of gauze and stuffed it into the wound in Sam’s leg, and again - he screamed. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced in his life. He thought he was going to be sick.

Sam heard Ray speaking into the radio. “We have two severely wounded. We need another CASEVAC as soon as possible. Be advised an IED caused the injuries, over.”

Even more panic rose in Sam’s body. He wasn’t sure he heard Ray right, until he related it into the radio again “We have two severely wounded. We need another CASEVAC.”

“Who’s the severely wounded?” Sam asked, grabbing onto Ray’s arm. “Is it me?”

“No, it’s not you,” Ray lied, trying to calm his friend. “It’s not you.”

“Then who is it??” Sam asked, getting more worked up by the minute. “Who is it?? Who the fuck is it? Who is it?”

“You’re okay, calm down,” Ray said. “You just think about that beautiful baby girl, okay? And that hot wife of yours, remember? They’re waiting for you. They need you, okay? You’re gonna get home to them, okay?”

Sam took in his words, his mind flipping through images of you, of his daughter. “Okay,” he said, calming the slightest bit. “O-okay.”

Ray reached into the front pocket of Sam’s uniform. His brothers knew what he kept there. He pulled out the photo of you holding Olivia, and pressed it into Sam’s shaking, bloody hand. “You’re going to see them soon, okay? You focus on them. That’s what fucking matters.”

Sam nodded, taking the photo and holding it where he could see it. He had smeared blood onto it, dust now coated it and made it slightly harder to see, but it was you. It was you and it was Livvy and that’s what he focused on, trying to push the pain out of his mind with thoughts of coming home to you both.

You sat in Sam’s recliner in the living room, rocking a sleeping Olivia in your arms. She was 6 weeks old now and had been fussier than usual. It was hard to take care of her without any help, but you loved it. You loved her. And you knew Sam would, too. Hell, he hadn’t even met her yet and he was already obsessed with her.

You rocked gently as you watched TV with the volume on low. You were barely paying any attention, your eyes heavy. You’d been running on little sleep. Erik’s wife and your best friend, Viv, had been by nearly every day to help. She loved the baby time and you loved the cherished rest it afforded you.

The large framed wedding photo on the wall caught your eye. It had been the happiest day of your life - tied with the day Livvy had been born. Sam wore his dress uniform, looking handsome as ever. You wore a gorgeous white dress with long lace sleeves. In the photo you clutched onto his arm, a smile taking over your entire face. Sam looked equally elated. Surrounding the large portrait were smaller photos, the both of you with your families and your wedding party.

The sound of the phone ringing brought you out of your reminiscing. You grabbed it quickly, hitting the answer button before it had time to wake Olivia. She stirred, but remained asleep.

“Hello?” you answered, keeping your voice quiet.

“Mrs. O’Brien?”

You froze. Panic crept beneath your skin. “Yes?”

The man over the line introduced himself. “I’m a Casualty Assistance Calls Officer.”

Your blood ran cold. Casualty? Oh god. Oh god. You felt as if you might be sick. You tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder and stood, walking to the other side of the room and laying Olivia in a bassinet. “Is- is Sam-“

��Petty Officer O’Brien was injured in combat,” the man said. That’s when your knees gave out, your body dropping back down into the chair. “He was involved in an IED explosion. He sustained serious injuries to both legs. He’s currently receiving treatment on base, but will be shipping home in the next few weeks.”

Sam was hurt. But he was alive, you thought as relief rushed through you. He was alive and he was coming home. But how would this change his life?

The officer gave you little more information, but promised to be in touch with updates regularly. You asked if you could speak with him, but were told he was heavily medicated for the time being. When you hung up the phone, you felt as if your entire world had been tipped on its axis. Everything felt shifted, like nothing would be the same.

You wanted nothing more than to run to him, to be by his side. But you were helpless to do anything but sit and wait.

Sam was out of it for a while. He had life saving surgeries overseas before he was finally sent back home to continue care and rest in his own bed, his own house, with his family.

His family.

All he could think about on the flight home was seeing you again, and meeting Livvy. If he was honest with himself, he was terrified. Being a dad was a new kind of challenge, one he didn’t know if he was prepared for. What if he fucked it up? What if he couldn’t be a good dad because of his injuries? What if he couldn’t run and play with his daughter?

His legs ached as he sat through the hours long flight. He took some of his pain medication, which helped a bit and allowed him to get a little sleep. He rested his head against the window, watching the clouds pass by until the pain waned and he drifted off.

The plane touching down woke him from his slumber, jolting him awake. He looked around, recognizing the base. He was back home in Coronado. He felt a weight off his chest.

That anxiety came back when he was helped off the plane and into his wheelchair. He hated it. He always hated feeling weak, and now he physically was. He knew it wasn’t his fault, and the doctors promised he would regain the ability to walk eventually. It was just going to be a long journey.

He was pushed away from the plane and through the base, his stomach churning. This was it. He fidgeted with the material of his pants as he looked everywhere for you.

Then - there you were.

You spotted each other at the same time. Erik’s wife, Viv, stood next to you, and in your arms was the most beautiful little girl he’d ever seen. You held her at your side, your hand against her back for support. You handed her to Viv and then you were running.

As you got closer, Sam could see the massive smile on your face, the tears brimming in your eyes. He reached out for you, a matching smile on his own lips. You pulled him into an embrace as you reached him and he held you back just as tightly, laughing in relief that he was home, he was here, he was holding you.

You pulled back slightly before pressing your lips to his. God, it had been over a year since he’d kissed anyone, over a year since he’d even seen a pretty girl in person. He wanted so badly to pull you onto his lap and kiss you deeper.

You pulled back and held your hands on either side of his face, as if you weren’t convinced he was real. He felt the same way about you, his hands gripping onto your waist. You looked even more beautiful than when he’d left, if that was possible. There was a kind of motherly glow about you that made his heart beat wildly.

“You’re here,” you said, still smiling as a few tears escaped, and he laughed.

“I’m here, baby,” he said. He pulled you down for another quick kiss, and then his eyes were drawn behind you.

You turned to see Viv holding a fussing Olivia, then faced Sam again. “Want to meet your daughter?”

His mouth went dry - but yes, he wanted that more than anything. You stepped behind his wheelchair and pushed him over. As he got closer, he could see the little girl better. She looked like the perfect mix between the two of you. She was perfect.

“Hey, Sammy,” Viv greeted with a smile as you stopped his chair. Sam greeted her back, but he was barely paying attention. You were taking Livvy from her arms, and then you were gently setting the baby in Sam’s arms.

“Livvy,” you cooed to the baby. “This is your daddy.”

Olivia looked at him curiously. Seeing her so close, being able to hold her and touch her, took Sam’s breath away. “Hi, baby girl,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. He rubbed his thumb over the soft skin of her chubby cheek, then pulled her close and placed a kiss to the top of her head.

Livvy smiled at him, reaching for his nose. Sam laughed, pure joy coursing through his veins. He pulled her in for a hug, and she laid her head on his shoulder. He rubbed her back as she was content to just be held by her dad. Viv snapped pictures in the background, but he hardly noticed.

He had his family back.

—

Sam spent the day playing with Livvy as well as he could. She adored him already, clinging to him and laughing so hard every time he’d make a funny face or play peekaboo. Sam was overjoyed. He had never felt so content.

That night, you rocked Livvy to sleep in the recliner while Sam watched, a warm smile on his face. When she was out, you carried her gently to the nursery and laid her down. She didn’t wake, just rolled onto her side and settled.

You walked out into the living room. Sam sat on the couch, his wheelchair against the wall. The TV played some cable movie with the volume on low, but he wasn’t paying much attention.

He was watching you. You walked over with a playful smile, your little sleep shorts hanging low on your hips. Sam licked his lips - god, it had been so long since he’d seen you in person, so long since he’d been able to touch your body. He reached for you and you went to him.

His hands found purchase on your hips, thumbs rubbing the exposed skin between your shorts and shirt. His breath caught in his throat. All the blood in his body rushed down south, like he was a teenager and this was his first time touching a girl.

“Want you so bad,” he mumbled. He pulled you closer, and you leaned down and kissed him.

“I wanna take care of you,” you whispered. “Can I?”

Could you? Hell fucking yes.

Sam nodded, nipping at your bottom lip one more time before he watched you sink down to your knees in front of him. His cock was filling out his sweatpants, so eager for you to touch him he could hardly stand it.

You eyed the outline of his cock through his grey sweats, mouth watering, core aching as you thought about having him inside you again. It had been so long.

You reached for his waistband and gently pulled them down. His already hard cock sprung free, tip red and leaking in anticipation. “Baby…” he muttered, his pupils blown as he watched you between his legs.

You could see the scars on his thighs, making your heart ache, but you turned your attention back to where he needed you most. He threaded his fingers through your hair as you wrapped a hand around his shaft, making him hiss.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his cock throbbing in your grip.

You moved forward and wrapped your lips around his tip, tongue teasing over his slit. He groaned, head dropping back against the back of the couch.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned. “It’s been too fuckin’ long. Need you so bad…need your mouth.”

You couldn’t resist his pleads. You took more of him into your mouth, tongue tracing the vein on the underside as you took him down your throat. Sam’s grip tightened in your hair, another low groan spilling from his lips. You set a slow pace, letting him savor the feeling of your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck yeah,” he breathed. His free hand grabbed onto the couch cushion. “So good, baby. Feels so good.”

You hummed around his dick, which drove him crazy. He was panting above you, barely able to hold on. He’d been dreaming of this, especially when you’d send those photos that were for his eyes only. If only he could see more of you.

He watched the way your lips wrapped around his girth, the way you’d look up at him through your long eyelashes, looking so innocent despite what you were doing to him. He bucked his hips up as much as he could without hurting himself, wishing he could fuck your face like you sometimes let him do. Fuck, he loved that.

You gently cupped his balls, massaging them in your hand as his cock twitched in your mouth. He was breathing heavier now, his legs starting to shake. His hold on you was a little rougher, his moans a little more desperate. You knew he was close.

“G’na cum,” he groaned. “I’m so close.”

You lifted off of him, working his shaft with your hand instead. “Where do you wanna cum, baby?”

“On your face and tits,” he answered quickly, his voice strained. “Please. Please.”

You stopped long enough to pull your sleep shirt over your head, revealing your bare tits to him, the cold air making your nipples harden in the dim light of the living room. His cock twitched again and then he was moaning as you wrapped your mouth around him once more.

You sucked him off, taking him all the way to the back of your throat. He was losing his mind above you. When he started throbbing against your tongue, his moans getting a little higher, thighs and hands trembling, you knew he was right there. You pulled off of him once more, jerking him off quickly while you looked up at him.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh god, oh fuck,” he moaned. “Gonna…oh shit-“

He let out a choked moan as he came, his cum spurting onto your face and chest, covering you in his spend. He watched with wide eyes, thinking he had never seen anything hotter in his life. You looked perfect like this.

When he had finished, he sat there breathing heavily while you cleaned yourself up with some tissues. You smiled at him playfully - and he beckoned you over. He tucked himself back in his sweats and pulled you down to sit next to him, cuddled against his chest.

“I fucking love you,” he said, before leaning in and kissing you hard. You returned it, hand resting on his strong chest.

“I love you too,” you said, and god, did you.

—

Recovery was slow. Sam was still in a lot of pain. He had multiple more surgeries to go through, and a rigorous physical therapy schedule. But he was determined to keep his legs, and determined to regain the ability to walk. He felt useless as he was. He knew he would never be active duty again, but he wanted to do something.

The only bright spots in his life were you and Olivia. He loved playing with his daughter. She loved sitting on his lap, watching Sesame Street with her dad. He’d watch kids shows all day long if it meant he got to spend time with her.

It took Livvy no time at all to warm up to Sam. She adored him. It’s like she knew the second he held her that that was her dad. “Dada” was her first word, and any time anyone else held her, she reached for him. She hardly ever took her eyes off him.

Sam still had bad days. Some days the pain was significantly worse than others. Some days his mental state was what he struggled with.

This was one of those days where he struggled with both. He had been feeling down, although he wouldn’t admit it, it was obvious to you. You wanted to do something to make him feel better.

You left Sam in bed taking a nap after his physical therapy. You had called Viv and asked if she wanted to watch Livvy for the night - she said yes, of course, and was excited for a sleepover with her and Erik’s goddaughter. Viv came by during Sam’s nap and picked her up. You gave your daughter a million kisses before you allowed her to go, but you knew she would be safe.

When Sam awoke, it was already 7pm. He called for you, still unable to do much on his own. You walked into the room to find him there, still looking as if he hated himself.

“Do you need some help?” you asked him softly, brushing your hand over his hair that was slowly growing out.

“Bathroom,” he mumbled, not meeting your eyes.

You grabbed his crutches from against the wall and helped him stand. Once he was situated on them he was able to hobble into the bathroom while you waited for him. When he was done, you helped him lay back down.

You crawled into bed next to him, cuddling up to his side. He wrapped his arm around you, holding you close. “Where’s Livvy?”

“Sleepover with Auntie Viv,” you said. “Just us tonight.”

Sam smirked down at you. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you giggled. “What, you have something you want to do?”

“Maybe,” he teased. He shifted so he could face you better, then he tilted your head up, leaning down to kiss your soft lips.

His tongue traced your bottom lip and you happily let him in, your own meeting his as he pressed his body into yours. His hand rested on your waist and he pulled you closer, bringing you onto his lap.

“Are you sure?” you asked, gently straddling him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” Sam mumbled, kissing down your neck and nipping at the spot that always made you gasp. Your hands tightened on his broad shoulders. “I want this. I need it.”

You and Sam still hadn’t had sex since he’d been home. You were scared he was still in too much pain - and for a while, he was. But now he was healing, and he wanted more than anything to be inside of you.

You reached down between you and lowered his sweatpants, large cock springing free, already hard and needy. It throbbed between you, so desperate to get in your pussy he could hardly stand it. You lifted yourself up and pushed your shorts and panties down, Sam helping.

He grabbed the base of his cock and dragged it through your folds, already soaking wet just from the thought of fucking him again. He lined himself up at your entrance then gripped onto your waist as you held onto his shoulders and lowered yourself down onto him.

You did it slowly, both so you could adjust and so you could watch Sam’s face for any sign of pain. You saw none - in fact, his face contorted in pleasure, his head falling back against the headboard.

“Christ,” he groaned. “Just as fuckin’ tight as I remembered.”

You whined as his girth stretched you - it felt like your first time again. His hands were trembling where they held you. His eyes went wide when you landed flush against him, finally buried completely in your tight heat.

You slowly, experimentally, rocked your hips against him. “Is this okay?”

“Oh yeah,” he grunted, using his hands to guide your hips a little faster.

You were nervous, but you knew he’d let you know if something didn’t feel good. You let yourself bring your hips down against him harder, the curls at his base rubbing against your clit just right.

“Sammy,” you moaned, starting to carefully bounce on him. He kept his guiding hands on you, encouraging you to go a little harder, a little faster.

“You feel so good, baby,” he said, his voice low and laced with desire. “I needed this so fuckin’ bad. You have no idea.”

You thought you did have an idea, because you felt the same way. You were keening, head thrown back as you bounced on him, the curve of his cock pressing perfectly against that bundle of nerves at your front walls.

He began thrusting up into you, grunting with every movement of his hips. The bed frame creaked with your movements - it hadn’t seen any action in a good while. Sam ran his hands up your front to pull your shirt off then grab at your tits, his thumbs rubbing against your hardened nipples. In this position they were bouncing right in his face, just like he liked them.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. “I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you in my whole fucking life.”

You smiled, looking down at him. “You sure you’re not just saying that because I’m riding you right now?” you asked him, breathless.

“Doesn’t hurt,” he teased.

You grinned, bouncing a little faster. He hissed, fingers tightening on your waist. You stopped immediately. “Are you okay?”

“Just hurt a little,” he said, though you could tell he was downplaying it. “Don’t stop though. Maybe just a little slower.”

Hesitantly, you rocked your hips again, watching him carefully. When he seemed alright, you worked back into a steady rhythm. He was letting out quiet little moans, leaning forward to wrap his lips around your nipple and pull your body against his.

“Sammy,” you moaned. “I’m so close.”

“Cum for me,” he begged. “Please. Need to feel you squeezin’ around me. I want you to cum on my cock, baby, please.”

It only took a few more rolls of your hips before you were crying out, your head falling forward onto his shoulder as you rocked against him, pussy clenching around him and pushing him over the edge. He wrapped his arms around your waist and held you flush against him, groaning your name as he thrusted up with every release, filling you the way he liked.

You just held each other like that, breathing heavily. A sheen of sweat covered your skin. Sam kissed your shoulder affectionately. “I love you. More than anything.”

“I love you too, Sammy.” You kissed his lips one more time before carefully sliding off his lap. You cuddled up against him under the covers.

Things were different now. But you were happy.

part 2 soon

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whatsupsonnyboy · 5 months ago

Text

the first time || Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: The first time you and Joe meet, something clicks—quiet but unmistakable. Like the start of something that doesn’t need to be explained. And really, who were you trying to fool?

wc: 7.3K

warning: smut (mdni!!), p in v sex, protected and unprotected sex, fluff, midly slow burn (but not really lol), there's just lots of sweet boy joe and amazing sex

a/n: hey, so as i've already post about, i've been writing a bunch of one shots of how it might feel (in my mind ofc) to be in a relationship with this golden boy... so here it is, the first one. I'll post more eventually, it’s not really a story with parts but more like a collection of scenes that pop into my head (find the rest here). They’re not directly connected, but they all belong in the same universe. Hope you enjoy it! ��🏾

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open | masterlist

You hadn’t planned to stay long.

Just a drink or two. Say hi to Wes. Smile politely, maybe sneak out before midnight with the excuse of a fake early morning.

But then he was there.

You didn’t even notice him at first—just another face in the mix, half-shadowed by the glow of string lights and the low thrum of music. But then he laughed. God, that laugh. Low and rough and golden around the edges. And when you turned to look, really look, he was already looking at you.

That was the first hit. The first crackle of something electric and new.

Wes introduced you. Casual. Effortless. And suddenly you were standing closer than necessary, drinks in hand, eyes locked, trading names like they meant something more.

He was funny. Way funnier than he had any right to be. And warm. Charming in a way that wasn’t performative, but lived-in. Like he didn’t need to impress anyone but couldn’t help doing it anyway.

You asked about his work—half curious, half testing. He didn’t dodge, didn’t show off. Just smiled, scratched the back of his neck, and said, “I love it. Even when it’s a mess. Maybe especially then.”

You nodded, because you got it. Because you were already thinking the same thing about him.

Time blurred after that. Drinks refilled. Conversations spiraled—music, books, worst dates ever, the best breakfast food after 2 a.m. You laughed so hard at one of his stories you had to cover your mouth with your hand, and he just grinned at you like you were his new favorite thing.

When people started leaving, neither of you moved. You were leaned into each other now, shoulders brushing. His fingers drummed absently on his glass. Yours curled around the edge of the sofa like they wanted to close the space.

So when he offered to walk you home, it didn’t feel like a decision.

It felt like the natural next breath.

You walked through the quiet streets, city humming softly around you, your conversation dipping into silences that weren’t awkward, just charged. Your arms bumped once. Then again. And neither of you apologized.

By the time you reached your building, the air felt thicker somehow. Like it knew.

You paused outside the door, keys in hand, heartbeat tapping like a warning or a dare.

“Do you wanna come up?” you asked.

And he—of course he did.

The elevator was quiet, slow, and small enough that your shoulder brushed his again. This time, he didn’t pretend it was an accident.

He looked at you—really looked at you—and that was it.

You kissed him.

There was no hesitation. No awkward pause. Just the sharp inhale before your mouths collided, hot and eager, like you’d both been waiting for permission all night.

His hand cupped the back of your neck. Yours slid into his hair. You kissed like the elevator could betray you at any moment, like you only had seconds, and every one of them mattered.

When the doors slid open on your floor, your lips were still touching, your breath caught between kisses.

And you have no idea what you were doing, but it felt so right that questioning yourself about it wasn’t even an option.

The door clicked shut behind him, but he barely registered the sound. Your hand was still in his, and your smile—soft, a little crooked—was the only thing anchoring him.

You tugged him gently into the apartment, fingers laced with his like it had been that way for years.

No small talk. No tour. No hesitation.

Just the unspoken hum that had been building all night, finally breaking the surface.

When you turned to face him, your lips already parted, he didn’t wait. He kissed you like he needed to. Like the moment he’d felt your mouth in the elevator hadn’t been nearly enough.

You tasted like wine and something sweeter he couldn’t name. Your arms circled his neck, pulling him closer, and he groaned into your mouth when your hips pressed into his.

It hit him all at once—how good this felt. How easy. The way your bodies seemed to move in sync, like instinct, like muscle memory from a dream he hadn’t realized he’d been having.

You gasped into his mouth, and that sound—sharp and breathless—lit him up like a live wire.

His hands found your waist, then your back, then slid lower, gripping your ass as he pulled you closer. He was hard already, pressed up against you through his jeans, and when you shifted just right, grinding into him with a little roll of your hips, he swore under his breath.

“Fuck, okay,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded, mouth dragging down to your neck. “You—god, you feel insane.”

You laughed, but it caught in your throat when he bit gently just beneath your ear.

Then everything sped up.

Your jacket hit the floor. Then his. His fingers were under your shirt, warm and demanding, tracing up your spine as if memorizing you. You didn’t hesitate—you lifted your arms, let him peel the fabric off you like a second skin.

He stared.

Because shit.

You stood there in a bra that barely held you in, chest rising fast, eyes blown wide. You looked wrecked already—and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

“You’re...” He exhaled hard. “Jesus, you’re unreal.”

And when he kissed you this time, it wasn’t sweet. It was starving.

He backed you into the couch, hands everywhere—pushing, pulling, gripping, needing. You tugged at his shirt until it was gone too, and your hands ran across his chest like you couldn’t decide where to touch first. He loved that. The urgency. The want in you.

When your mouth landed on his jaw, then slid lower, biting down on the edge of his collarbone, he groaned—loud, filthy.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he panted, rutting against your thigh without even meaning to.

Your hand dropped to his waistband, teasing. “Yeah?” you whispered, voice wrecked and dangerous.

He nodded, helpless.

“Then let me.”

The way you said it—it wasn’t a question.

You palmed him through his jeans, slow and confident, watching the way his breath hitched, the way his eyelids fluttered. He wasn’t used to being this undone this fast. But you had him—already.

His hands slid behind your back, unclasped your bra with practiced fingers, and when the straps slipped off your shoulders, he barely gave you time to react before his mouth was on you. Tongue and teeth and lips, worshipping, making you moan—fuck, that sound, he’d chase it forever.

The way you arched under him, like every touch was too much and not enough.

The way you gasped his name like it was the only word you remembered.

It was pure heat. Messy and fast and real.

And when you whispered, breathless, “Come to bed,” your lips swollen, pupils blown wide, he didn’t even hesitate.

He didn’t care about tomorrow. Or what this was. Or where it might lead.

All he knew was that he needed to feel your body under his. Needed to hear you fall apart.

And if he was lucky, he’d get to wake up beside you.

You led him by the hand, your steps quick, your breath even quicker. The apartment wasn’t big, but every second it took to reach the bedroom felt like an eternity stretched tight with want.

The moment you were through the door, you turned to face him, pulling him in again like you couldn’t stand the distance. Your back hit the edge of the bed and you kissed him like you meant to steal the air from his lungs.

He smiled against your lips when you fumbled with the button of his jeans, your fingers slightly clumsy in your rush. You cursed softly, laughed under your breath.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“Don’t be.” His voice was low, rough. “It’s perfect.”

And it was.

Every little misstep, every shaky inhale, every wide-eyed second of wonder—it was perfect.

His jeans hit the floor. Then yours. You tugged at each other’s underwear with a mix of eagerness and surprise, and when he finally kicked his off and you stood in front of him completely bare, his breath caught in his throat.

You were stunning. Not just beautiful—though, fuck, you were—but alive. Lit up from within. Chest rising fast, lips parted, looking at him like he was something you couldn’t wait to taste.

And god, he wanted to be tasted.

You lay back on the bed, pulling him with you, and he followed without hesitation, settling between your legs, both of you skin-to-skin for the first time. It was overwhelming. It was right.

Your hands roamed his back, his shoulders, your mouth brushing along his jaw, and he felt everything. Every inch of contact. Every trembling breath.

And when he dipped his head to kiss your chest again, slower this time, your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips lifted into his without thinking.

“I don’t have—” he began, breath hitching.

“In the drawer,” you whispered.

He reached blindly, found the condom, tore the wrapper with shaking fingers. You helped him roll it on, your touch so tender it nearly broke him.

He looked at you once more, one hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“You good?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want this.”

Fuck. So did he. More than he could admit out loud.

The second he pushed into you, slow and deep, your mouth fell open with a gasp that echoed straight through his chest.

“Fuck—” he groaned, breath catching, head dropping against your neck. You were tight, so wet around him it was almost unbearable. His fingers dug into your hips, like anchoring himself was the only way not to lose it too fast.

And you—you arched into him, legs curling higher around his waist, nails dragging down his back.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, voice already wrecked. “So fucking good.”

Joe swore under his breath. He could barely think. Could barely hold back. The heat between you was blinding, raw, something feral clawing at his insides.

He pulled back, thrust in again, and your body met his with such perfect rhythm that his control slipped a little—hips snapping harder, breath rough in your ear.

Your hands roamed down his back, fingers brushing the dip of his spine, then slipping between your bodies until they were there—on your clit, teasing yourself as he fucked into you.

“Oh fuck, yes,” you moaned, back arching, head thrown back. “Right there, just like that—”

Joe looked down at you, eyes dark and hungry, and the sight of your hand moving against yourself while he was buried deep inside you… it undid him.

“Jesus, you’re gonna kill me,” he growled, grabbing your wrist, replacing your fingers with his own. “Let me.”

You whimpered, hips jerking as he rubbed slow circles, watching you unravel for him. Your face. Your breath. The way you bit your lip to muffle the sounds that wanted to break free.

“Let them hear you,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Don’t hold it in. I want every fucking sound.”

You obeyed.

You moaned like the world was ending. Like no one had ever touched you right until now. His name on your tongue, over and over, like a spell that made you shake.

He was losing it.

You clenched around him, again and again, dragging him deeper, and he couldn’t stop the filth that poured out of him.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So perfect. Taking me like you were made for it.”

You whimpered beneath him, hips rolling in rhythm with his, and then your hand was on him, cupping the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss you like it was the only way to stay grounded.

You kissed him open-mouthed, messy, tongues sliding together, both of you panting, slick with sweat, chasing something neither of you could name.

When you broke away, your voice was hoarse, breathless.

“Harder, Joe. Please—fuck, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

He grabbed your thigh, lifted your leg higher over his hip and started thrusting harder, deeper, until the sound of skin against skin filled the room.

You cried out, high-pitched and desperate, and your walls tightened so suddenly around him he swore.

“Oh my god—” you gasped, and then you were falling apart, shaking, clenching around him so tight it pulled a raw, broken moan from his chest.

Your orgasm hit you like a wave, and he felt it—watched it—his fingers still working your clit through it all, not letting up.

“Fuck, you’re so—so fucking perfect—” he stuttered, barely holding on. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—”

Your mouth brushed his ear, breath hot. “Come inside me, baby. Come for me.”

And that was it.

He came with a groan, hips stuttering, pulse racing, holding you so close he thought he might crush you. You took every second of it—his shaking, his panting, the broken way he whispered your name like it was salvation.

Then silence.

Then breath. Tangled limbs. Sweat. Skin against skin.

And the most beautiful fucking quiet.

He stayed inside you, forehead resting against yours, both of you trembling.

You exhaled a shaky laugh. “Holy shit.”

He smiled, dizzy and wrecked. “Yeah. Holy fucking shit.”

Your breathing was still uneven when he collapsed beside you, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. His skin was warm and damp, and yours probably wasn’t any better. But when his arm instinctively reached for your waist and pulled you closer, it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

There were no words. Just the soft rustle of sheets and your fingertips drawing lazy, invisible patterns over the curve of his bicep. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head—gentle, almost reverent—and you let out a quiet sigh, one of those that come not from tiredness, but from fullness. Overwhelmed in the best possible way.

And you stayed like that. Breathing together. Letting your bodies cool down but your connection settle in deeper. There was nothing awkward. No pressure. Just warmth. Familiarity. His thumb brushing your side. Your knee nudging his softly under the sheets.

You didn't mean to fall asleep. But you did.

And somehow, when your eyes blinked open hours later, he was still there.

The light was pale and golden, sneaking in through your curtains. Your bedroom looked dreamlike, still hazy with sleep and the remnants of the night before. You turned slightly and found him already looking at you, face resting on the pillow, eyes still heavy-lidded, hair a mess of curls flattened on one side.

And it didn’t feel weird. Not at all.

“Hi,” you whispered, voice still raw from sleep.

He smiled, lazy and crooked, and it made your stomach do something ridiculous.

“Hi,” he echoed, voice low and warm and sleepy. “You drool a little, you know.”

You gasped, pushing at his chest with the back of your hand, laughing despite yourself. “You liar.”

“Swear on my life.” He grinned. “Just a little. Cute though.”

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow, but he only laughed, that soft, raspy morning laugh that already felt too intimate. Too familiar.

Like you’d heard it a hundred times before.

When you peeked out again, he was still watching you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize something.

“I usually hate sleeping next to someone,” he murmured.

Your heart skipped.

“But with you…” He shrugged slightly. “Didn’t even notice. Slept like a baby.”

You smiled then—slow, genuine, a little unsure. Because what were you supposed to say to that?

He shifted closer, his forehead gently bumping yours, and you felt his hand stroke slowly up and down your arm. His thumb brushed over a spot on your shoulder, then traced lazy circles on your skin.

Neither of you said anything else. There was no need.

Eventually, you turned, slow and careful, until your back was pressed to his chest and his arm slipped around you without hesitation. His hand settled on your stomach, warm and still.

You let out a soft sigh and nestled into him, your legs tangling under the covers. For a moment, everything was quiet—breath and body, shared warmth, the steady thud of his heart against your spine. Then his fingers shifted, just slightly. Slid lower.

The first thing you felt was heat—his chest pressed against your back, the slow roll of his hips, still half-asleep but already there, already hard. Your breath caught as his hand skimmed your stomach, fingers brushing lower, exploring like he hadn’t had his fill last night. Like he’d only just begun.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick, scratchy with sleep. “You’re already—”

“Yeah,” you whispered, shifting your hips back against him, shameless.

He groaned, the sound low and desperate, and you could feel it vibrate through your spine. His lips found the spot behind your ear, open-mouthed, warm, lazy like everything about that morning, but hungry in a way that made your pulse spike.

“You sure?” he murmured, fingers sliding between your thighs now, stroking through the wetness he found there, drawing a sound out of you that was all need.

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes, and he looked wrecked already—his curls a mess, his gaze still soft with sleep but blown wide with want.

“Yeah,” you breathed, not hesitating. “Just finish outside.”

He stilled for a moment. Just a beat. Long enough for the gravity of it to flicker in his eyes. But then you reached back, guided him to you, and that flicker turned to fire.

“Fuck—okay. Okay.”

The first push inside was slow, careful, but deep—achingly so. You both gasped, your body stretching to take him, his hand gripping your hip like it was the only thing anchoring him to the planet.

“Jesus… you feel amazing” he whispered, half in awe, half in disbelief.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, forehead dropping to the pillow as he began to move, drawing back, then pressing in again with that maddening control. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

And he didn’t. He couldn’t have even if he tried.

It wasn’t frantic—this wasn’t a race. But it wasn’t slow either. It was deep. Focused. Like he was trying to memorize every inch of you from the inside. His hand slid under you, fingers finding your clit, stroking in tight circles as he thrust, eyes fixed on the spot where your bodies met like it might disappear if he blinked.

“You take me so fucking well,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So good like this. So—shit—warm. Wet. Fuck.”

Your mouth dropped open, hands gripping the sheets as the pressure built, deep and consuming. Every snap of his hips sent sparks up your spine, every stroke of his fingers wound you tighter.

“Joe—”

“Say it again.”

“Joe—oh my God—”

He bent over you, his chest flush to your back, lips brushing your shoulder, your neck, your ear.

“Feel how deep I am?” he murmured, cock pulsing inside you. “I can feel you gripping me, baby, fuck—don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”

You came with a strangled cry, your body locking around his, muscles fluttering, your whole self unraveling in waves. He thrust once, twice more, desperate now, but then pulled out with a groan—messy, hot, and helpless as he came on your lower back, one hand braced on the mattress, the other gripping your hip like it might keep him from flying apart.

His breath was ragged, your name half-formed on his tongue, and for a second, all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears and the high-pitched whine of satisfaction in your bones.

You lay there, both of you trembling, panting, your bodies still joined, sweat cooling between your skins.

There were no words. Just the beat of your hearts, too fast and completely in sync.

He kissed your shoulder, once, twice. You reached back to touch his thigh, his hip—anything to anchor him to you. To keep him right there.

And for a moment, neither of you moved. No guilt. No fear.

Just skin. Breath. Fire. Somehow, trust.

You lay there, breathing together, warm and safe beneath the quiet weight of morning. Your legs tangled again. His hand resting on your hip. His thumb started drawing circles along your arm as he could memorize you by touch.

And when you finally started drifting off again, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, he pressed one last kiss to your temple.

Soft. Unthinking. Like second nature.

You smiled against his chest.

Neither of you meant to fall asleep again. But you did.

And somehow, that felt like the most intimate part of all.

The second time you woke up, it was to the scent of coffee and the quiet sound of someone humming off-key in your kitchen.

For a moment, you thought you’d dreamt the whole thing—until you stretched, and the ache between your thighs reminded you vividly that you hadn’t.

You reached for a hoodie, padded barefoot into the living room, and there he was—standing by the stove in nothing but his boxers and one of your oversized mugs in hand. His curls were still a mess. His back was turned, but when he heard your footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

“Morning, again,” he said, handing you the mug without missing a beat.

You took it, fingers brushing his for a second too long. “You made coffee?”

He shrugged, modest and smug all at once. “Well, I didn’t burn anything, so technically I made magic.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and sat on the edge of the couch as he poured his own cup.

It was easy. Too easy.

The kind of morning where you both felt like you’d skipped a few steps. Like you were already past the awkward stage. You talked about nothing in particular—your mutual distaste for early mornings, how Wes never mentioned either of you to the other (the bastard), the fact that you both hated people who didn’t rinse their dishes before putting them in the sink.

He made you laugh. A lot.

And at some point, still barefoot, hair wild and shirtless, he leaned against the counter and said, “Last night was… not what I expected.”

You looked up from your coffee, raising an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”

“God, no,” he said immediately, then softened. “It was just—better. More. You know?”

You nodded. Because you did know.

There was something about it. About him. About this. And you could both feel it pulsing under the skin, but neither of you tried to name it.

Eventually, the time came. He went to grab his things—shoes, phone, jacket—and you trailed after him, not quite ready to say goodbye, but not wanting to be that person either.

He stood by the door, pulling his jacket on, one arm still half out of the sleeve, when he turned to you with a smirk.

“So… am I allowed to ask for your number, or is this one of those magical one-night-stand rules where I disappear like a gentleman and we pretend we don’t exist?”

You blinked, then laughed, genuinely caught off guard. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Flattering,” he replied. “But I’ll take it as a yes?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your phone. “Give me yours. I’ll text you.”

He rattled off the digits, and you sent a simple “Hi” before he even finished spelling out his last name.

He looked at his screen, smiled, then looked back at you like he was about to say something else—but didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed your cheek. Soft. Warm. Familiar, again. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“See you around,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the edge of your jaw.

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut, and the silence he left behind was anything but empty.

It was full.

Full of something unnamed but very, very real.

You never had the talk.

No labels, no declarations, no drawn-out conversations about what this was or where it was going. It just was.

He texted you that same afternoon. Something dumb and funny. A meme you still had saved in your camera roll. You answered. And he answered back. And suddenly, you were talking every day. Not constantly, but consistently. Steadily. Like the kind of tide that always comes back to shore.

The first time you met up again, it was spontaneous. He was nearby. You had an hour to kill. You grabbed coffee and sat in the park. He stole your cookie. You punched his arm. He kissed you mid-laughter, with your cup still in hand, and just like that—there it was again.

That thing.

And then came the nights. The way his hand would slide against the small of your back as you opened the door. The way he’d kiss you like he’d been waiting for days, even if it’d only been hours.

You’d fuck on the couch. In your kitchen. Sometimes barely making it to the bedroom.

It was intense. Messy. Addictive.

But never rushed.

He made you laugh mid-moan. You pulled his curls just to hear the sound he made when you did. He always made sure you came first—sometimes second—and then held you like he couldn’t stand the idea of leaving. Sometimes he stayed. Sometimes you did.

You shared breakfast. Showers. Bad TV. Inside jokes. His hoodie. Your leftovers.

Somehow, he learned how you liked your tea. You learned what cologne he wore. He kept a spare toothbrush in your bathroom. You found one of your scrunchies on his nightstand once.

And none of it felt like a big deal.

It was just natural.

You’d text him something random at 1AM. He’d reply with a voice note that made you laugh out loud in bed. You'd call him when your day sucked. He'd show up at your door with snacks and that face that made everything easier.

You never talked about exclusivity. You never needed to.

Because even if no one had said it aloud, you both already knew.

It wasn’t casual. Not really.

And still, neither of you used the word "relationship."

But it didn’t matter.

Because every time he kissed your forehead before leaving, every time he whispered “sleep tight” like a secret, every time you caught him staring like he was still surprised you were real—something in your chest softened.

Something in you knew.

And maybe you weren’t officially together.

But your hearts hadn’t gotten the memo.

He didn’t really notice when it started to change. Maybe that was the point.

There was no sudden shift, no dramatic realisation. Just a quiet accumulation of small things that began to matter more than he expected.

Like the way his phone would light up and he already knew it was you. The way your name on the screen felt like a hit of dopamine—something in his chest unclenching without him even realizing it. The way the days stretched a little too long when he didn’t hear from you.

He started keeping snacks you liked in his apartment without thinking. He started recognizing your routines—how you stole his hoodie when it got cold, how you took your coffee with oat milk and exactly one sugar, how you always asked if he’d eaten after a long shoot. He noticed the way you hummed softly when brushing your hair, and how your laughter lingered in his apartment long after you'd gone.

He hadn’t planned to stop seeing other people. It just happened. Not out of obligation. Out of instinct.

You stopped replying to those flirty messages. He stopped swiping right out of boredom.

It wasn’t something you ever discussed. There was no awkward conversation, no labels. Just a quiet understanding—like turning down the volume on a song that didn’t hit the same anymore.

One night, Wes texted him asking if he was going out to their usual bar, and Joe found himself replying, “With her tonight.” He didn’t even think twice.

“You seeing her now?” Wes asked.

He stared at the screen for a while. Not officially. Not technically. But yeah. Yeah, he was.

And maybe the most surprising part was that none of it scared him. Not like it used to.

There was this night—you were curled up on his couch in his shirt, eating cereal at midnight, laughing at something stupid he’d said. And he watched you, spoon halfway to his mouth, thinking, Fuck. I really like her.

He didn’t say it. Of course not. But it was there. In the way he touched your back without thinking, or the way he waited for your laugh to fade before kissing you.

He got used to you without realizing.To the way your shoes sat by the door when you stayed over. To the way you wrapped yourself around him in your sleep, like his body was where yours belonged. To the way the silence between you didn’t press down—it settled around you both, warm and easy, like a shared blanket.

He hadn’t realised how much space you'd taken up in his life until he was scrolling through his photos one night and found more of you than anything else. Pictures you didn’t even know he’d taken—your head thrown back in laughter, curled up with a book, sleeping against his chest.

He remembered waking up before you one morning, the light slipping through the blinds, your arm thrown across his stomach, your hair a mess, your face half-buried in the pillow. He just laid there, watching. Not because he was having some big epiphany. Just because it felt nice.

Then came that Tuesday. You were in the bathroom, hair up in a messy knot, brushing your teeth with one hand and scrolling on your phone with the other, wrapped in his old t-shirt like it belonged more to you than him. Joe sat on the edge of the bed and watched.

Not in a creepy way. In a shit, this feels good kind of way. In a please don’t let this go anywhere kind of way.

You caught him staring—of course you did. You always did. Mouth full of toothpaste, you raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He just grinned. “Nothing.”

But he meant everything.

Because it wasn’t just the way you looked in the morning, or how you always denied stealing the blanket.It was the way you’d become his soft place to land. It was the cardigan draped over his chair. The mugs in the sink with your lipstick on the rim. The playlist on his Spotify titled hers.

The lines between you and him had blurred so gently, it didn’t even feel like change.

It just felt right.

And no, he hadn’t said it out loud yet. But when you fell asleep with your head on his chest and his arm pulled you closer like instinct, he didn’t need to.

You probably already knew.

He’d been pacing around the apartment for most of the afternoon, fingers stained with ink from scribbled notes, corners of scripts folded and dog-eared, empty mugs lining the coffee table like some modern art installation of a man losing his grip. The flat smelled faintly of coffee, highlighters, and the Thai food box he had grabbed in that small local in front of his gym and barely touched.

His phone buzzed earlier—your name lighting up the screen like a small calm in the storm.

“hey, out for a bit but I’ll swing by around eight?”

He’d smiled when he read it. A quiet kind of smile, the kind that tugged at the corners of his mouth even as his eyes were half-glued to a page of dialogue he couldn’t get right.

“Perfect. I’ll order pizza.”

And then he forgot about it. Not you, exactly. Just the time. The waiting. The worrying about whether you’d show or not. You’d said you’d come, and that was enough. You’d always done what you said so far. He trusted that. Trusted you. It was himself he didn’t quite trust lately.

The new script was a minefield. The director intimidating. The pressure building behind his temples like a storm he couldn’t quite outrun. Somewhere between scene fourteen and seventeen, he pulled his hair back into a tie and rubbed his face with both hands, muttering something half-human under his breath.

He hadn’t even realized the sun was already setting when Wes’s name lit up on his screen.

“you bailing on us tonight?”

He blinked, thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Had plans. Next time i swear”

A beat. Then another buzz. Wes had sent a photo.

Dim pub lighting. Clinking glasses. And you—laughing. Head tilted toward someone familiar. Keith. A friend of a friend. All easy charm and textbook good looks. The kind of guy who always had too much confidence and not enough shame. His arm wasn’t touching you, not exactly. But it was close.

“well… maybe you should reconsider”

And that—that—was when it hit.

A flash of something ugly and electric shot straight through his gut. Not quite anger. Not quite panic. Just that instinctive, animal sting of I don’t want anyone else that close to her.

He tossed the phone onto the couch, harder than necessary.

Fuck. He didn’t want to care. Hadn’t planned on caring. You weren’t his girlfriend. You hadn’t talked about exclusivity, or commitment, or any of that. You were just… seeing each other. Spending time together. Sleeping together.

But still.

He ran a hand over his mouth and stared at the photo again.

Just a few hours ago, he hadn’t had a single thought like this about you. You were the one thing not stressing him out.

Now, you were burning a hole in his brain.

He flipped his phone face down. Then face up. Then picked it up again. He’d stared at the photo so long it had burned itself into his vision. The way you were laughing, the exact curve of your shoulder leaning toward Keith. The lighting didn’t help. It could’ve been a casual moment, an ordinary conversation. But in his head, it had already become something else. A whole story.

Keith. That charming asshole with an ego bigger than his biceps. The kind of guy who calls waitresses “princess” and still manages to get dates. It wasn’t jealousy—at least, not exactly. It was a sharp, nagging sting of insecurity. Of fear. Fear that you were out there realizing you could be with someone easier. Less complicated. Someone who didn’t have their brain split between you and a script that read like ancient code.

He stared at a fixed point on the floor, leaning back on the couch, arms crossed, legs tense. The script beside him felt more like a threat than an opportunity. The notes he’d taken—now scattered across the table—looked like pieces of a mind that didn’t know where to begin.

He went to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, stared at himself in the mirror. Didn’t like what he saw. Came back to the living room. Sat down. Stood up. Turned on the TV. Turned it off. Checked the time: 8:04 p.m.

Not late. Not really. Four minutes was nothing. But to Joe, it felt like a century.

He walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge without knowing what he was looking for, then closed it again. The pizza he’d ordered—maybe a little too early—was already getting cold. Like him. Like everything.

He forced himself to sit back on the couch. Put on an old record—one of those he used when he needed to focus. But the needle barely hit the first chords before he got up again, restless. He went to the window. Pulled back the curtain. You weren’t there. Closed it. Opened it again. Closed it once more.

8:11.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. He didn’t want to be that guy. The one spinning drama in his own head. The one building stories before the movie even started.

But there he was.

And the knot in his chest was pulling tighter by the minute.

Everything about the new film was overwhelming him. He wanted to scream at the ceiling. Throw the script against the wall. Nothing made sense. And the only thing that did—was you. It was you, goddammit. The one thing that didn’t need decoding. That felt simple, and somehow, impossibly huge at the same time.

That’s why it hurt. Because exactly for that reason, the idea of losing you—or worse, realizing you weren’t as in it as he was—felt unbearable.

And then, at 8:16, the doorbell rang.

His heart did this stupid little jump. He got up too fast. Felt that ridiculous urge to pull himself together, to act normal, to pretend he hadn’t been falling apart on the inside.

He wanted the sound of your arrival to reset everything.

But it wasn’t enough to quiet the noise. Not when the doubt was already echoing in his throat.

And when he opened the door… he didn’t know if he wanted to pull you into his arms or put you on the spot. If he wanted to kiss you or yell.

And that—exactly that—was what pissed him off the most.

You knew something was wrong the moment you saw his face.

It wasn't the kind of wrong you could smooth over with a kiss or a joke about the pizza going cold. It was the kind of wrong that sat heavy in the air, thick in your throat.

"Hey," you said, stepping inside. Smiling, out of instinct, even when your gut already knew better. "Sorry I’m late. I stopped by the pub for a bit, lost track—"

"Yeah," Joe said. Short. Sharp. Already turning away.

You shut the door behind you, heart picking up speed. The living room was a mess hunched over, papers scattered around him like a small, personal storm.

He laughed, low and humorless. "I didn’t know if you were still coming."

You blinked. "I told you I was."

"Right," he muttered. "But maybe you were grabbing pizza with Keith instead"

You stared at him. "What?"

He grabbed his phone from the couch, tossed it onto the table. The screen still lit up with the photo: you, standing close to Keith, laughing over something stupid, a drink in your hand. Frozen mid-smile.

"Are you checking up on me now?" you said, a little sharper than you meant.

"Wes sent it." He raked a hand through his hair. "He was concerned."

Your stomach twisted. "No. You were concerned."

He laughed, but it was hollow. Bitter. "Yeah, well maybe I was, especially when I saw you smiling at him like that."

You stared at him, anger flickering up, hot and defensive. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to throw that at me when we never—"

"I know!" he cut you off, standing up suddenly, voice breaking. "I know we never said anything, okay? I know we were both just... assuming things and pretending it was all casual and cool and whatever the fuck, but it's not. Not for me."

The words hung there, raw and electric.

You stepped back, heart hammering, because it was true for you too. You just hadn’t said it. Hadn't dared.

"I’m not seeing anyone else," you said, almost without thinking. "I haven’t even thought about it since you."

He stared at you like you’d just said something unbelievable. Like maybe he didn’t deserve to hear it.

You swallowed hard. "And yeah, I was talking to Keith. Didn’t realize that’d be a fucking crime”.

Joe closed his eyes for a second, like the weight of it physically hit him. When he opened them, he looked wrecked. And beautiful.

"I’m sorry," he said, hoarse. "I’m fucking scared, alright? I’ve got this project that’s swallowing me whole and half the time I think I’m gonna fail, and you’re the only thing that makes me feel like maybe I won't. Like maybe I’m not a complete fuck-up."

You felt your chest tighten, emotions crashing all over you.

"Then don't push me away," you said, stepping closer. "Don’t look for reasons to doubt this when I’m standing right in front of you."

He shook his head, almost helpless. "I don't want anyone else," he said, voice rough. "I don't even see anyone else anymore. It's just you."

You could feel your throat tightening, that sting behind your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay steady.

"It's you for me too," you whispered.

The silence felt thick and heavy and full of everything you hadn't said before tonight.

Then Joe moved — fast, almost clumsy — closing the space between you, pulling you into him like he couldn't bear the distance for a second longer. His mouth found yours in a kiss that wasn’t soft or careful — it was desperate, claiming, full of everything that had been burning between you for weeks.

And you let him. You let yourself fall into it, finally, completely. Because you knew. He knew. It was real.

You didn’t make it to the bedroom. You barely made it past the couch.

Joe kissed you like he meant it now. Like every inch of his mouth on yours came with a promise. No more holding back, no more ifs. Just you and him, here and now, and whatever the hell this was that had already swallowed you whole.

He pressed you against the wall, hands threading into your hair, breath hot and ragged against your cheek. "Fuck, I missed you," he groaned, like the hours apart had been unbearable.

"You had me yesterday," you gasped, tugging at the hem of his shirt, needing him bare, needing him now.

"Not like this." He pulled it over his head and dropped it to the floor, eyes hungry and tender all at once. "Not after hearing you say it."

You stilled for a second, chest rising too fast. "Say what?"

He leaned in, mouth brushing your jaw, your cheek, your ear. "That you wanted me. That you weren’t going anywhere."

You cupped his face in your hands, staring into those stupidly beautiful, frantic eyes. “I didn’t say it tonight, Joe.”

He blinked.

“I’ve been saying it every time I’ve come back.”

And then he lost it.

He picked you up, hands under your thighs, your legs wrapped tight around him, and carried you blindly through the apartment until you crashed into the edge of the bed. He didn’t even bother pulling the covers down.

Clothes disappeared like they were on fire.

His mouth was on your neck, then your chest, then lower—devouring, tasting, worshipping. You were already shaking by the time he slid inside you, both of you gasping like it hurt, like it healed.

“Jesus—fuck—you feel like home,” he choked out, burying his face in the crook of your neck, thrusting deep, slow, relentless.

You grabbed at his back, his hair, anything to ground yourself. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop.”

He didn’t.

He moved like you were the only thing keeping him together. Like if he stopped touching you, he’d fall apart entirely. The rhythm grew rougher, faster, but still so full. Not desperate. Claiming.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You gasped, eyes wide and wild. “I’m yours, Joe—fuck—I’ve been yours.”

He groaned into your mouth and slammed into you harder, and it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was real. It was raw and feral and exactly what both of you needed.

Your orgasm hit like a wave you didn’t see coming—hot and electric and blinding. And he followed almost instantly, moaning your name like it was a sacred word, collapsing on top of you, chest heaving, heart pounding against yours.

Silence.

Just the sound of breath and skin and the world finally slowing down.

You felt him shift, just enough to look at you. His eyes—open, vulnerable, like he’d just been cracked wide.

And then, softly, so softly—

“I love you.”

You blinked, breath still uneven.

And smiled.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I love you too.”

And just like that, there were no more questions.

Only answers written on skin, on sighs, on mouths still swollen from too much kissing.

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hoult-nicholas · 9 months ago

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Joseph Quinn starring in "Warfare" (2025)

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megalony · 3 months ago

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Have Mercy On Me

This is my first time writing for Sam O'Brian from Warfare, thank you @bib200 for the request.

I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005 @mbioooo0000 @amara-mars @shypy92 @nikfigueiredo @sabsthedoll @rach2602

Joseph Quinn Masterlist

Summary: Sam is back home, but he can't adjust to the pain his injuries are causing him. And he can't handle the overwhelming pain the concoction of meds won't cure. (Y/n) tries her best to help him.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something soft yet overwhelming flooded through (Y/n) when she nudged open the bedroom door.

So many times she had stood on the threshold, staring into an empty room that she wished was occupied. She had stood there hundreds of times, clinging to the door with her eyes closed and her mind working on overdrive to create the sound of Sam's voice. His laugh. That guttural edge to his voice when he was passionate about something and going on a rampage.

She had looked across at an empty bed and wished for someone to be laid there, to hear the sound of his soft breathing or the occasional snore.

She wanted to see Sam more than anything in the world. Each time he went on tour or off on training, (Y/n) told herself she was prepared for this. That she was ready for the lonesome nights, the short phone calls, the static, blurred video chats every once in a while. The cooking for one, the empty bed, the talking to herself because she sometimes forgot that she was alone.

But each time that Sam went away, it all crept up on (Y/n) and showed her that she could never prepare herself or feel truly at ease while he was away.

And now, as she stood on the threshold looking at her husband who looked more like a mirhage than a reality, she couldn't get her mind to believe it.

He was home early, he wasn't supposed to be back yet but that was what sick leave was for. No way could he remain out with his troop, his team, his other family, when he could barely stand up. He would be a sitting duck over there, a target that would get them all shot. And he couldn't sit in the med base and wait for a recovery that would take weeks.

Having him home was something between a dream and a nightmare. It was a relief to have him safe, have him right here where her arms could wrap around him at any time of day and reassure herself that he was alright. Having him home safe was all that (Y/n) ever wished for.

But him being home early, so tattered and fragile and in agony, that was the nightmare. If his tour was finished, if his time over there was up then this would have been easier to handle. But Sam knew he wasn't supposed to be home yet and coming home early felt like he had failed, like he was letting down the rest of his team that had managed to remain.

(Y/n) tried to shake those thoughts from her mind as she slowly walked into the bedroom.

Her arms crossed over her chest and her hands ran up and down her exposed arms and her head angled to one side as she approached Sam.

(Y/n) never knew how to react, those first few days when he came home. She didn't know whether he wanted space or comfort, whether he needed to talk or to process. It was easier to let Sam set the pace and get him to tell her what he needed and trust that he would open up if he needed to.

He had been home two days now and he was unsettled. He hadn't had any nightmares yet, but (Y/n) figured the morphine he'd been given at the army hospital and the meds he was having now he was home were stopping him from gaining insomnia or those bad dreams.

He hadn't said much about what happened, he seemed more intent on trying to ask what he has missed than what he had been through.

Her gaze stayed settled on Sam, who looked like he was in some kind of sleepwalking state or a trance.

He was sat on the side of the bed with his head hung down and his bare feet idly tapping against the carpet. His hands were clasped together in front of him and for a moment (Y/n) thought he was praying, until she realised he was clinging to his name tags around his neck.

His eyes were still open but he wasn't looking at the name tags, he was staring down at the carpet.

Sometimes it was like a dance, trying to approach Sam without panicking him or unsettling him or even annoying him if he thought she was treating him like he was made of glass. But right now, Sam looked like he was in his own world, and that world might not be such a loving place.

Her arms dropped from her chest and she held her breath as she stepped towards him and crouched down beside his leg. She curled her hands over his knee and perched her chin on her hands, looking up at him softly.

It took Sam a few seconds to register her touch which brought him out of the deep trance he seemed to have put himself in. But when he turned his head to look down at her, a small trace of a smile flooded his lips which made (Y/n)'s heart soar in her chest.

"Hi, you ready to come downstairs?" (Y/n) danced her fingers across his knee while she reflected his smile back up at him.

"Yeah… here, keep 'em safe."

Sam carefully pulled the silver chain over his head and looped it around the back of (Y/n)'s neck instead. He liked how the tags looked against (Y/n)'s chest and how they seemed to amplify the light around her like she had a halo.

Whenever he came home, he gave his tags to (Y/n) and she wore them until he was deployed again. He said she gave them luck and they became his lucky charm once he was away. He usually placed them around (Y/n)'s neck the moment he came home, but he had been so out of it from the medication and the flight home that he forgot.

He traced the pad of his finger across the tags once they were hanging from (Y/n)'s neck and something flickered across his eyes that made her breathing change.

If he had been a foot closer to that explosion, those tags might have been the only thing to identify him. Those tags might have been all that was left; all that came back home to (Y/n).

It was hard to try and rid those thoughts from his mind, but Sam tried as he pressed his palms down into the bed to try and push himself up. He shifted his weight to try and push up on his left leg. His good leg. The only one that seemed to work under his control at the moment.

His teeth sank down into his tongue sharp enough that it sent electric volts running through his nerves and his muscles tensed up once he was on his feet. His right foot bent so only his toes were pressing into the carpet and his knee was bent forward to try and stabilise himself. It was hard trying to gain his sense of balance when he had to lean mostly to the left and hardly put any weight on his right leg at all.

From the beginning of his thigh down past his knee, his right leg was tattered. Littered with stitches, swollen skin, cuts, suture strips and puncture marks from all they had done to save his leg. And not forgetting the burns that made it hard to move, bathe and sleep when every item of clothing or bedding seemed to stick to his raw, healing skin.

His fingers twitched at his sides as he tried to remain steady on his own feet- or foot, considering he wasn't really putting his right foot down on the floor.

But his body froze when he suddenly felt (Y/n) reach out for his right hand. She looped his arm around the back of her shoulders and curved her arm around his waist, taking some of his weight without him asking her to.

He didn't want to lean on her. He didn't want to be asking for help. He was the one who had been out in the battlefield. The one who had fought for his life and been through training to void him of panic and keep him level headed. He'd had guns shoved in his face and looked death in the eyes. Sam wasn't supposed to be this frail and relying on (Y/n) to help him. He should be looking after himself.

Sam couldn't help but hang his head down as he tried turning towards the door, but he found himself wobbling to the left in a vain attempt to keep his weight on his own rather than leaning on (Y/n).

The pair of them awkwardly shuffled out of the room before (Y/n) sighed and dug her fingers into Sam's waist to get him to stop.

"Sam, baby you're not exactly a dead weight. Let me help."

His sigh was enough of an answer to show (Y/n) that he wasn't exactly thrilled, but he would relent because she had asked. He slouched to the right, dropping some of his weight down onto (Y/n) which allowed him to lift his right foot from the floor and keep it in the air between them.

His hand reached out for the bannister and with (Y/n) gripping his waist and holding him up, they hopped down the stairs together. It was a lot easier this way than how Sam had tried to hobble and crawl up on one leg. And subsequently shuffle down on his bum when he was being defiant and tried not to accept (Y/n)'s help last night.

Once they were downstairs, they veered towards the living room and made a slow walk towards the sofa.

A wince flooded Sam's face when he flopped down onto the sofa with (Y/n)'s hands on his waist and arm, trying in vain to soften the blow. His hands scrunched around the sofa cushion beneath him and his eyes closed tight as he held his breath to try and settle his system. Ignoring the pins and needles coursing through his leg was hard, but he tried his best. He had to try, he couldn't let the pain get hold of him or it would consume him whole.

He didn't notice that (Y/n) had disappeared until she was suddenly back, perched on the arm of the sofa and holding one hand out in front of him like she was offering him a little piece of magic.

His head tipped back against the sofa and his brows furrowed as he looked up at her before glancing down at her hand to see what she was holding out to him.

Medication.

Powdered gold. Magic remedies that would cure his aches and pains and the severe, itching and aggravating sensations he kept feeling. At least for a few hours.

"Which ones are these?" There was almost a sense of joy in Sam's voice as he reached out for the pills and swallowed them dry. (Y/n) knew he wouldn't bother with a drink to wash them down, he was so desperate for relief from his agony that he would just force down any tablets he was handed.

"Tramadol and the antibiotics."

God only knows what kind of infections and illnesses that Sam had been exposed to out there, and with his leg being cut open so viciously and charred by flames, they had to be careful. They didn't want him developing an infection or sepsis so he was on broad antibiotics for two weeks to make sure his system was cleared and his wounds would heal properly and without problems.

He was allowed to take two different pain killers, but not at the same time. He had come home with very specific instructions, so much so that (Y/n) had carefully written out a timetable of what he needed to take and when he was supposed to have them. The last thing they needed was getting confused and accidentally overdosing Sam on painkillers.

"Can I do your blood thinners?" (Y/n) managed a smile when she looked down at Sam.

He was leaning back into her touch when her hand moved to cradle the back of his neck. And when she rubbed and scratched her nails along his neck, he visibly shuddered and exhaled a shaky breath.

He turned his head to the right, leaning against her arm and nuzzling his nose against her skin for a few moments before he exhaled and nodded.

He was sad to feel her touch disappear and his darkening eyes followed her as she clambered off the arm of the sofa and moved to kneel in front of him instead. Sam parted his knees to the side without needing to be asked, and it cut into him when (Y/n) shuffled to the side and leant up against his left leg, clearly trying her best not to touch his right leg and cause him untold agony.

(Y/n) reached behind her to take the pre-filled needle from the table that she had retrieved from the kitchen. The hospital had given Sam a supply of blood thinners to self-inject and a sharps bin to dispose of them in, but Sam didn't like doing it. He loved how soft and gentle (Y/n)'s touch was when she took care of him, despite how he didn't always like having to be cared for.

He stretched his hand out until his fingers were dancing along (Y/n)'s shoulder and up her neck, and a smile pulled at his lips when he felt the way she shivered beneath his touch.

He stroked his thumb along the junction between her neck and shoulder while he watched her.

He watched how she slowly rolled up his shirt and pinched his waist so she could inject the needle into his abdomen. He barely hissed at the pain, compared to the feeling of fire biting at his thigh and metal chunks cutting through his thigh and into his vein, a needle was like a tap on the wrist.

His heart soared in his chest when (Y/n) leant forward and pressed her lips to his abdomen after removing the needle. Her lips left tingles soaring through his skin and Sam leant forward and attached his lips to the back of her head while his hand moved to cup the back of her neck.

He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent which seemed to flow through his veins almost as powerfully as the drugs he had just taken.

It wouldn't be like this forever.

He wouldn't be like this forever.

***

He didn't want to cry. He really didn't, but the urge was starting to become overwhelming.

He had done well out in the army not to cry, even when he saw his leg burning and fire licking at his skin and tearing through his army trousers. He didn't cry when he was dragged along the stone floor or when gauze and hands were compressing on his wounds or trying to tie straps around his leg to cut off his blood supply.

He screamed. God, had he screamed the walls down and screeched until his vocal cords were rubbed raw and he felt like his throat was bleeding. He yelled and fought and screamed, but he didn't cry.

But now, this pain was different. This wasn't an ungodly stabbing pain or the feeling of blood spurting out of his leg. It wasn't the feeling of his skin pulsing and throbbing with the layers that had been burnt off.

This was a raw itch. An awful scratching sensation that felt like nails were stuck beneath his skin, right into the muscle and they were trying to scratch their way to the surface. But no matter how often or how hard Sam dragged his nails along his skin, he couldn't free those sharp nails stuck into the muscle. He couldn't relieve the itch.

Sam wished he could submerge his leg in holy water and have the pains and the itching and the horrible pins and needles disappear. He wanted relief, and he wanted anything that would give him that relief.

His fingers twitched at his sides and his head tipped back on the sofa but it didn't stop the tears from trickling down his face like a fresh water stream. And once the tears began to jump free down his chin, Sam sniffed and moved his twitching hands.

He raked his hands up and down his thighs, scratching his nails through his loose joggers which were the clothes he was living in so they didn't stick to his wounds or aggravate his legs.

Ragged breaths and tortured hisses passed his lips when his fingers caught the stitches that twinged and made his leg jerk like his nerves had been severed.

He just wanted it to stop. Why was that too much to ask?

Lifting his hands from his legs felt like he had released a button that caused his legs to swell up. It felt like they were inflating like balloons and the pins and needles had become teeth sinking into his flesh and tearing it apart.

He couldn't take this anymore. He needed some sort of relief before this pain drove him over the brink of madness.

A rendition of "I can't," spluttered past Sam's lips and he clawed his hands along his face, leaving red marks and indents in the skin while he sat forward. His thighs and knees tensed up and his back arched forward as he tried to push up to his feet.

He stumbled, whacking into the coffee table with a shallow cry and cringes that tore through his body.

His hands fumbled for anything that he could use to steady himself, hitting the armrest, the side unit, a little table in the corner. Anything and everything that would support his weight and push him forward towards the kitchen. He needed some relief. He needed something to make the pain stop.

Sam didn't care if it wasn't time to take any of his medications yet, he was going to have to find something that would take away this agony. He would rather die than feel like this.

His elbows slumped down on the kitchen counter and he arched his lower back out, groaning through gritted teeth as he slumped to the left to gain some micro sense of relief in his right leg.

A new fire set ablaze throughout his leg from the very top of his hip down to the nerves in the end of his toes when he tried to straighten up. It was agony pushing up on his toes to try and look through the kitchen cupboard, but he was desperate.

And desperation clouded any other judgement and thought in his mind.

He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, whether he should be searching for boxes of pills or for a pill dispenser with the days of the week and times from morning to evening written on them. After all, he was on a regime, a schedule of pills now and (Y/n) might have organised them to better remember when he was supposed to take them.

Sam didn't care. He would raid boxes or dispensers and he didn't care if (Y/n) noticed or realised what he had done. As long as he got some sort of relief, he would be okay with her being angry at him. He was the one feeling this pain, this torture, he needed relief and he didn't care how he got it.

His fingertips barely grazed along a box and already his heart was soaring in his chest and surging up into his throat. But when he pulled the box closer, he gruffed. Antibiotics; and besides, it was empty. There had to be a pill dispenser in here somewhere.

"Baby what are you looking for?"

Confusion tore through (Y/n) when she stood in the kitchen doorway and lolled her head to one side as her arms folded over her chest.

If he needed something she would get it for him, he didn't look too well stood there with scrunched up features and lips tightly chewed between his teeth. It caused his nose to scrunch up and push out and the muscles in his neck were tensing and constricting like his throat was erroding.

(Y/n) jerked back against the doorframe when Sam managed to curl his hand around one of the boxes in there, but when he realised it was only throat soothers, he tossed the box against the nearest wall.

A gruff "Codiene." spat past Sam's lips and his nose scrunched again, but he didn't dare glance across at (Y/n). He simply tried looking through the cupboard again, but it was hard to try and find what he wanted when the pain was starting to cloud his judgement and make his vision blur. He could see the packets but he could barely read or register what they were.

(Y/n)'s eyes narrowed and she stepped forward and reached out for the piece of paper she had pinned to the fridge. The schedule she had so neatly written out which contained all of his medications and little boxes that needed to be ticked when he'd had whatever meds necessary.

"No, no look you've had tramadol. Baby you can't have both, you could overdose-"

"The pain's real bad…" Sam hung his head down while his hands dug into the counter until his nails started to scratch into the surface. "Sweetheart, please?"

Desperation and grief clung to Sam's tone as he finally angled his head to the left to look over at (Y/n). The pleading was all there in his watering eyes that had never looked so broken and agonised before. He was hurting worse than ever before and he needed something to make it stop.

Light trembles started to take over his body and a weak mewl left his lips when (Y/n) crossed the kitchen and stood behind him. He quivered and leant forward when he felt her hands on his biceps and her lips attaching to his shoulder over his shirt. Her chest pressed up into his back and she began to smooth her hands up and down his arms, doing her best to try and calm him down and help any way she could, but she wasn't sure what she could do in terms of pain relief.

He'd taken all the meds he could have, giving him any more would risk an overdose and then he would be worse than he already was and could end up back in the hospital. That was a risk (Y/n) wasn't willing to allow him to take.

"Oh baby," Her voice was soft and lulling and Sam wished that her words held some sort of medication and that she could talk him into a slumber of ease and relief. Her voice was so melodic and the anguish in her tone was almost enough to soothe his aching heart. But not his harrowing leg.

When she heard a pitiful "Please," leave Sam's lips, (Y/n) almost felt her heart breaking free from her chest to try and reach out for him.

"I'm not helping you overdose, you know it's highly addictive. You've had all the meds you can for the next three hours."

It had been a long time since (Y/n) had witnessed Sam cry. He usually bottled up his darker emotions until he either lashed out or decompressed on his own. Seeing him cry wasn't something (Y/n) was used to because he wasn't the type. He would get angry, he would go red like beetroot when he was upset or volatile, but crying was something that only happened when Sam felt like he was on the brink of an abyss he couldn't avoid.

His shoulders shook, his head hung forward like his neck had broken and his body started to quake as deep, choked sounds emitted past his lips. Tears poured down his face and his lips stuck together with spit as he bit his bottom lip until he could taste blood on his tongue.

Sam raised his right hand from the counter so he could swipe it beneath his eyes and nose, and a pitiful sound left his mouth that almost sounded like a cynical laugh.

He craned his head to look over his left shoulder at the one person he was desperate to find some help or understanding from. But the kind of understanding he found wasn't the one he was looking for. She was being kind, she understood his pain but she was still level-headed and unwilling to break the rules and endanger him to hurt him. He wanted her to break the same as him and throw caution to the wind to give him a small sense of relief.

"(Y/n), have mercy on me."

His words broke (Y/n)'s heart like her ribs had punctured straight through the organ they were supposed to protect.

There was nothing she could do, and that notion brought tears to her own eyes and had her shaking and quivering through her breaths against his shoulder.

Having mercy on him and trying to do the best by him were two completely different things.

"Sam you know I can't."

It wasn't often that (Y/n) used his name, only in very formal situations or when she was on the phone to the doctors on his behalf as Sam didn't like making phone calls or appointments.

To hear her say his name with that despair in her voice and that broken look upon her face, it brought him into another fit of tears that ended in a howl which shook him to his core.

His shoulders shook and started to shimmy until he was nudging (Y/n) off of him so he could stretch an arm up to try in vain to scour through the cupboard again. The moment his fingers brushed the medicine tray, (Y/n)'s hand was curling around his wrist and pulling him away.

When she shut the cupboard, it was like she had closed the door to his future in his face. She had shut him off from the one thing that would relieve his agony and save him from torment. She had just closed him off from Heaven and condemned him down to Hell when the fires of Hell were already consuming his leg and trying to reach for his soul.

He shimmied his shoulders again until he managed to shake (Y/n) off from him and he stumbled to the side until he was able to turn and face her properly. But even standing to face her meant slumping his right arm on the counter to prop himself up because his right leg was wavering and close to giving out, despite the tiny ounce of weight leaning on it.

"You weren't there! My skin's burned, ripped and torn up. This- this pain isn't worth it, I wish they'd took it off."

Spit foamed past Sam's lips as he pointed down at his leg that was more of a hinderence now than a limb. He knew he was lucky, they could easily have removed his leg if the pain was more severe and most people in his position would be thanking the stars for keeping their limbs where nature intended.

But this horror that came with it didn't seem to be worth it anymore. The agony he was faced with was more overwhelming than anything in Sam's life. It was as if he was still laid on that dirty stone floor with blood pouring out his leg and his trousers charred from an explosion fire. His body was here, but his nerves and mind were back there, captured in that moment each second of the day.

(Y/n) shook her head and moved her hands to rub up and down her arms as she looked over at Sam with harrowing, broken eyes.

"And if they did that, then you'd be in utter despair with honourable discharge. And the pain would still be there, even if that leg wasn't."

Removing his leg wouldn't make it any easier because then Sam would of needed to learn to walk with a prosthetic or on crutches. He would have to get used to a life without a limb, a life where he wouldn't be able to go back to the army and he wouldn't know what to do with himself then. And he would still be in agony, maybe even more so if he was recovering from that kind of surgery.

She watched Sam cower and drop his head while she brought a hand up to cover her mouth so she didn't make any sort of noise or whimper or cry.

"I'm still there, this pain- fuck (Y/n), this pain has me back there with Ray hovering over me, a-and gauze pushed into the muscle. I need… baby I need it to stop."

"An overdose won't help you. Sam you think I like this? You think I'm enjoying seeing you in agony? I don't know how to help you without potentially hurting you further-"

"Give me the fucking meds for this shit!"

His outburst caused (Y/n) to wince and coil in on herself as a silent croak caught at the back of her throat. Her eyes momentarily closed, despite the tears still pouring down her face and she pinned her elbows into her waist as Sam's scratchy, harrowing voice rung in her ears like a broken record.

She watched, unable to tear her eyes away as Sam shuddered and writhed on the spot, barely able to stand on his own two feet. But when he dug his trembling hands into his waist and yanked down his joggers to show the tattered state of his leg that had become a patchwork quilt.

Or Frankenstein's monster.

"Look!"

There was a sense of urgency in Sam's voice as he waved his shaking hands and motioned to his leg.

He pointed at the aggravated stitches that were reddened and swollen, even worse than before because of how he kept itching and scratching them. The swollen muscle and the red, blue and black splotches around the skin showing the various healing processes. The deep incision in his leg where they had to repair his vein and artery and keep the blood flowing down to his foot.

This tatty mess wasn't what it should be, and this wasn't what Sam wanted. This was the exact opposite of what it should be, and he hated it.

His watering eyes could barely focus on (Y/n) and he thought briefly that she was going to retreat and leave him to raid the cupboards and take as many pills as he wanted. And he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. But once she was in front of him, every part of him began to quiver.

He wanted to fight when she reached out for him. He wanted to scream and writhe and pull away, but all he could do was melt into her touch.

When her arm secured around his waist, he inclined forward and let her help hold him up. When her hand cupped the back of his neck and her nails scratched into his shaven skin, he quivered and loosened beneath her touch until he was putty in her hands.

He clutched at whatever part of her he could hold, dropping his face down into the crook of her neck which shivered with the howl he let out into her skin.

He let her pull on his waist and ease him into her chest so she could lower them both down to the floor with Sam's legs splayed out so the pain was lessened. The cold floor was somewhat soothing to his skin that was now overheating, but it was (Y/n)'s embrace that glued his broken pieces back together rather than leaving him hollow and fractured.

"It won't last forever."

(Y/n) wasn't sure how long she sat there on the tiled kitchen floor, holding her husband in her arms. Her legs had gone numb, her feet ached, her thighs were sore and her back felt like it had been broken in three different places.

But them both sitting there with Sam wrapped up in her embrace had done the trick in calming him down and settling his erratic, tortured state.

She wasn't entirely sure how she managed to get Sam up and back into the living room, but once she did she felt like collapsing too.

Her heart broke to stare down at him, lying on that sofa with one arm tightly pinned across his face to block out the light and the throbbing headache behind his eyes from shedding so many tears. He had his damaged leg propped up on a pillow, not that it made the blindest bit of difference to his pain or his state, but it was a hopeful gesture.

He had stopped trembling now and his breaths weren't shallow, but every minute or so he would take a deep breath. Or his leg would twitch. Or his lips would part and let a murmur or a moan escape when the pain washed over him in waves.

It almost felt like a trick when she looked at the clock and realised that it was time to give Sam his next dose of painkillers.

It didn't feel right, it felt like a trick and (Y/n) didn't want to give them to him when he was finally calming down because then it would dull the pain only so much and he would really start noticing it again. And once he realised the pain didn't fully leave him, he would be yearning for it to disappear and wanting another fix that he couldn't have.

(Y/n) moved quietly around the kitchen, finding the meds she had stashed in another cupboard to hide them away from Sam in case he went routing again. She was going to have to keep a closer eye on him until the pain was under control and he was feeling better.

She filled a glass of water and padded back through into the living room where she knelt down beside the sofa.

Her arm rested on the sofa and she gently nudged Sam's arm and held out her palm in front of him.

Shallow breaths escaped Sam's lips when he looked to the right and realised what (Y/n) was doing. He could feel his heart igniting in his chest when he saw the tablets resting in her palm that were like liquid gold to him and he was just about to snatch them until he realised that (Y/n) had tears in her eyes and one single tear tracing down her cheek.

"What?" His voice was coarse from all the crying and his throat felt like sandpaper, causing him to cough and try to clear himself enough to be able to speak properly.

He shakily took the pills when (Y/n) moved her palm closer to him and he popped them in his mouth, accepting the drink she held out only because his throat was as dry as the desert. But he found his lower lip quivering when (Y/n) looked at him with those eyes full of despair.

And when she nuzzled her cheek against his arm and rested her hand on his chest, he didn't know what to do or how to breathe.

"I don't want to hurt you, Sam, but I have to and deep down you know it. I'm doing whatever I can to help you."

The last thing (Y/n) wanted to do was hurt Sam and cause him anymore anguish than he had already been through. What he had suffered was more than anyone should bear, and it wasn't right. But there wasn't a lot (Y/n) could do for him. She was doing all that she could, regimes for his medication, trying to keep him settled and comfortable and help in his recovery. But she couldn't put his health at risk for the sake of his pain relief. There was only so much that she could do.

"I know, I know and- and I'm sorry sweetheart."

The way he tipped his head back and scratched his hand across his eyes made (Y/n) wince. She wasn't trying to upset him or make him feel guilty, she only wanted him to understand and see this from her point of view.

"We get prepared for this, but they- they don't tell you how bad the pain's gonna be, or how long it'll stay with you. It's like I'm stuck there."

Sam knew that there wasn't much the army could do in regards to preparing anyone for the pain they might endure. No one could tell him or get him ready for how hard it would be to have a limb be on fire or have an incision so deep into his thigh that it hit a major blood vessel. No one could prepare him for the untold agony, or how long the recovery would be or how stressful and painful that recovery would be for him.

And being so ill-prepared made Sam feel like he was forever stuck in that moment until the pain disappeared and he had control over his leg and his life again. He wasn't going to get out of that place or that state of mind until the pain was under control.

It felt like he hadn't left, like he hadn't come home.

"You're home now, baby. This pain won't last forever, we'll get it under control, together."

(Y/n) wasn't going to let him suffer, she was going to do whatever she could to stop his pain and keep it manageable. But Sam had to help her, he had to work with her and try and let her manage his pain. He couldn't take things into his own hands and take more meds or try and self-medicate.

They had to do this properly; together.

#joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn #warfare movie #warefare imagine #joseph quinn warfare #sam warfare #sam warfare imagine #sam x reader #sam warfare x reader

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icallhimjoey · 5 months ago

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#joe quinn #joseph quinn #warfare #pew pew

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warfaredoll · 3 months ago

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𝐭𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐨

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ warfare ⋮ Sam x f!reader ⋮ pure smut ⋮ requested ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

𝐒𝐚𝐦’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐝𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭. 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐦

(“paloma” fic but sam version), *mentions of his injuries from the movie

his breath hitched the moment your fingers grazed his inner thigh. Sam lay back against the pillows, legs spread, skin already prickled. his chest marked with faint tan lines and his skin still damp from his shower. he was watching you, watching as you knelt beside him on the bed, your lips parted, your eyes searching his for any hesitation

“I mean it Sam” you whispered again, softer now, dragging your fingers along his hipbone “we don’t have to, not if you’re not ready.”

but he exhaled in once real deep, like he’d been holding it in since he stepped through the door. his hand moved, palm brushing the curve of your breast in a slow upward drag. you felt the tension leave his shoulders the moment his fingers curled around it, thumb stroking gently over your nipple, and you leaned into him instinctively

“no” he said voice steady and clear, “no, I want to” he said before pulling you close and kissing you slow, a little desperate

your hands cupped his face as your tongues slid together, your bare chest brushing his as you leaned in. you could feel his cock twitching against your thigh, half hard and eager, straining upward like it remembered the feeling of your mouth even if the rest of him still felt like it was relearning what peace meant. you broke the kiss only to whisper against his cheek “still love this don’t you?”

he gave a breathy laugh “missed it more than I thought I would” he said, eyes meeting yours

you kissed down his jaw, trailing lower, your hand drifting to wrap around his cock, already twitching “then just lie back” you murmured, “let me take care of you”

he obeyed, shifting his hips, giving you full access. his legs spread wider apart, thighs flexing slightly, the veins in his arms twitching as he gripped the sheets like he was still trying to stay composed. but the second your tongue licked a slow stripe from base to tip, his head fell back, a soft moan slipping out of him “f-fuck…”

you smiled against him, tongue circling the flushed tip, tasting salt. your hand stroked what your lips didn’t take. Sam’s breath caught again, hips jerking up “god… I forgot how good you are at that” he murmured voice cracking halfway through, his hand sliding into your hair just holding, not forcing you to take him deeper

you looked up, your eyes meeting his as your lips slid lower, your throat relaxing to take him deeper. his eyes widened, mouth falling open “shit! baby ahh, fuck-” the groan cracked from his throat

his hips lifted just a little now, chasing the rhythm of your sucking, your hands stroked his thighs, feeling the slight tremble there as he let himself go under you

the way he moaned your name, “Yhh…you- fuck sweetheart” sent a thrill straight to your pussy. he was unwinding in your mouth, slowly but surely, and you loved the way his cock throbbed harder with every flick of your tongue under the shaft, every soft suction around the head. he didn’t have to say how much he missed it. you could feel it in every sound he made, every shaky breath

he whispered, “don’t stop” and that’s all it took for you to lean in deeper, cheeks hollowing, saliva spilling down your wrist as you worked him into your mouth. you wanted to erase every memory of war from his body, wanted his return home to taste like this wet, warm, welcoming

his breath hitched sharp the second your fingers brushed the jagged ridge along his thigh, a line of pale raised flesh that curved just below the hip and trailed down toward the knee. you hadn’t meant to. your hand was just gliding down the inside of his leg, soft and eager as your mouth worked his cock, cheeks hollowed. he was already trembling, his voice cracking into breathy curses “that’s it your mouth’s so goddamn perfect” until your fingertips grazed where his skin met the scar

he hissed sudden and loud “Ahh! shit, wait” his body jerking beneath you, and before you could react, his hand was in your hair, not rough but firm. he wasn’t pushing you off, not exactly, but he stopped you there, frozen mid suck, his cock still wet from your mouth but now flushed and twitching in the cool air

you blinked up at him, lips parted, confused, heart pounding in your chest like you’d done something wrong, but then you saw his face

not angry, not upset. never those things with you. his eyes weren’t hard but he had a distant look, like the present had slipped through his fingers for just a moment. he chest rose and fell fast, sweat beading on his brow that hadn’t been there moments ago, his grip on your hair trembling

“Sam?” your voice was a murmur, you shifted slightly, wanting to move back, but he held your head just there hovering inches above his cock

he didn’t answer right away. just stared at the ceiling for a long second, then slowly looked down at you, the corners of his mouth twitching, trying to soften “I-I’m okay” he whispered “Just… that spot. I wasn’t ready for it”

your hand settled on his thigh again, but this time far from the scar “I didn’t know. I didn’t mean-”

“I know you didn’t” he said almost apologetic, but still… he didn’t let go of your hair. his thumb stroked gently along your temple

you tried again, slowly, leaning forward, lips parting as you lowered your head, only to find yourself stopped once more. Sam’s fingers curled into your hair, not harsh. but he kept you just there, not letting you take him back into your mouth

“Sam” you whispered, breath warm against his skin, the taste of him still on your tongue “let me”

he shook his head once, barely “not yet. just… stay here a second”

you listened, staying still, your hand now resting on his belly, feeling it tense and relax beneath your palm. his other hand joined the first in your hair, stroking through it slowly like it soothed him

“I got hit by an IED” he said suddenly, voice distant and quiet “that leg barely held together after the blast. there was blood everywhere. couldn’t move it. thought I was done”

he stopped. eyes shut tight, his jaw clenched like he wanted to shove the memory back in whatever box he’d locked it in before he’d come home

you shifted closer, pressed a kiss to his belly, just below his bellybutton “you don’t have to say more.”

“no. I want to” he murmured. “you should know what that spot means. that place you touched? that’s where it ended and started again. it’s where I thought I was going to die”

your head still hovered above his cock, your lips so close, but neither of you moved toward pleasure anymore. he needed this more, needed this moment, needed to get it off his chest

“I’m sorry” you whispered “I didn’t mean to pull you back there”

his hands loosened in your hair, thumbs tracing your cheekbones now “you didn’t. it just surprised me. it’s not your fault, nothing with you ever is”

you kissed the skin above his scar, and watched the way his eyes softened again

“I want to keep going” you said gently voice almost pleading “but only if you want to sam”

he looked at you long and hard. then nodded “okay”

and though he didn’t push your head back down, he didn’t pull you closer either. his hands stayed where they were, trembling slightly, still figuring out how to let pleasure back into his body without letting the memories sneak in with it

you blinked, startled by the urgency in him now, the way he reached for you without hesitation, moving you gently up from your knees and onto the pillows, your back meeting the warmth his body had left behind. he didn’t say anything as he moved just looked at you with that unreadable face, the military attitude that never fully faded, not even here, naked in his own bed, cock flushed and heavy against his thigh

but when he climbed over you, settling between your legs, his body didn’t feel cold. it was warm

his cock dragged over your stomach as he leaned in, the slick trail of pre cum and your saliva smearing across your tummy, you opened your mouth to speak, to ask what he was thinking, but he gave you no chance because he leaned down and kissed your cheek, softly lips pressed there like a thank you and an apology in one. then lower, to the corner of your jaw, down your throat, where you tilted your head without thinking, offering yourself to him

his hands were on your sides now, as they moved in small, slow patterns, memorizing you all over again. every curve, every dip, as if your body had changed in the months he was gone. he worshipped you like it had

“you waited for me” he murmured into your collarbone “I thought about this. about you every goddamn day”

you gasped as his mouth moved lower, lips warm against the swell of your breast, tongue flicking out to tease your nipple before he kissed a trail down your ribs, he lingered over the soft curve of your belly, kissing it lovingly

your thighs parted easily for him, your breath catching when he kissed the inside of your left one, then the right, tongue tracing just enough to make your hips jerk. he didn’t rush. his hands slid under your ass, lifting you slightly so he could kiss the crease where thigh met pelvis, his nose brushing over the softest parts of you

he didn’t speak again. he didn’t have to

his tongue found your pussy like it remembered every way you liked to be touched, every flick, pressure and gentle suck. you moaned loud legs trembling as he licked deep and slow, hands pinning you in place

then he moved down to the next part of your body. he kissed down your calves, the arch of your foot, you let out a surprised giggle and he paused. for a moment you weren’t sure what he’d do, but then his face broke into a slow smile, the kind you hadn’t seen in months

“you still ticklish there” he said, kissing your ankle again teasing now “some things don’t change”

then crawled back up your body, slowly dragging his cock along your skin again until it nestled right at your entrance, his hands cradled your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he kissed you

then he looked into your eyes, and this time you saw it all the pain, the longing, the love. “I want to feel you around me” he said softly “I need it”

you lifted your hips, legs wrapping around him and whispered “then take me Sam.”

his eyes locked with yours, breath hot and uneven as he moved between your legs again, the weight of his cock heavy in his hand as he guided it down, dragging it through your slick folds. he paused right at your entrance, tip barely pushing past your lips, and you saw it again that flicker of hesitation, not from doubt, but from the knowledge of what was coming

not just the stretch, not just the tight aching feeling of him inside you. but everything behind it. the months, the loss, the rawness of being human again

he leaned down, forehead touching yours and whispered “I’m sorry. this is going to hurt”

you nodded, eyes wide, lips parted, and exhaled “slow… slow, Sam”

and he was

his cock nudged in, the thick head parting your pussy open. you felt it all, the soft burn of being stretched again, of being filled by him, this man who hadn’t touched you in so long. his jaw clenched tight, as he eased in further, your body clenching instinctively

tears pricked the corners of your eyes from the pressure alone, his cock so thick, every inch taking up space you hadn’t made for anyone else. you moaned a long broken sound, head arching back into the pillow, hands clawing at his shoulders as your pussy finally gave in and swallowed the last of him

“Fffuck” he groaned forehead pressing into your neck “you feel… so fucking tight”

his hips rested flush to yours, both of you shaking from it, both breathless. he stayed inside, letting your body adjust

when he finally began to move, it was slow

he pulled back a few inches and slid in again with that same deep pressure, hips bucking into yours, his elbows dropped down on either side of you, forearms caging your head, and his chest pressed flush to your breasts

it was much more intimate like this. his body covered yours entirely, his cock moved inside you with slow dragging thrusts making you feel stretched, full, owned

and the eye contact never broke. he didn’t look away not once, not even when his thrusts deepened, not even when your mouth parted with a needy moan and your hips began to roll up into him

you wrapped your arms around his back, holding him there, as he fucked you

“I dreamed of this” he whispered voice cracking “of being this close., of feeling you. I missed you”

you answered him with a kiss, lips crashing into his, tongues sliding together, breath mingling. you hummed into his mouth soft and needy and full of everything that had built up without him

he groaned low, grinding into you harder, his pace still slow but deeper now, pelvis pressing flat to your clit every time he bottomed out. and you were starting to shake, whimpering into his mouth with every stroke

your legs locked around him, drawing him deeper still, and you felt his whole body shudder as he buried his face in your neck

“I love you” he murmured there “I love you, fuck, I love you”

and the way he said it over and over, each word matched to a thrust

he was deep inside you so deep you could feel him in places untouched for months, places that knew only him. his chest was sweaty against yours, breath fanning over your throat, and everything should’ve felt perfect

but it wasn’t, not quite

because while your body held him close, hot and needy, Sam’s mind was wandering somewhere else

the pleasure was there, yes. the warmth of your pussy wrapped around his cock, the sounds of your moans in his ear, your legs tightening around his waist he felt it all. but then something slipped into his mind

he remembered the burning smell of metal, the dirt in his mouth when he hit the ground, the screams, the sound of gunfire. the silence after

he hadn’t meant to think of it, not now. not with you beneath him, looking up at him like he meant the world to you. but the thought hit him hard, and his body started to betray him. that tightness in his throat, the heat crawling up his neck, the familiar stinging in his eyes, a faint headache forming at his temples. his ears ringing, that high pitched static sound drowning out everything but the sound of his heart

his pace didn’t slow or stop. if anything his hips still moved, still sank into you desperately. but his mind had gone far away, his chest rose and fell deeply, muscles trembling, the memories coming all back

you noticed first

“Sam… Sam… Sam…” you whispered, your voice soft and steady, cutting through the high pitched static sound

he blinked. he hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes, hadn’t noticed how blurry they’d become. the wetness on his cheeks foreign until your hands cupped his face gently. your thumbs stroked his cheeks, wiping away the tears he hadn’t known were there

he looked down at you then. your eyes wide and worried, your pussy still gripped him tight, clenching around him with every stroke, but your face god your face. you were still here, you were real, you were his

his lips parted trying to say something, anything, but the words caught behind the lump in his throat. he choked on them, and then he dropped his head, nuzzling hard into the crook of your neck, hiding in your warmth

he sobbed

the kind of sob that came from deep inside. his arms wrapped around you tighter, pulling you flush, like if he let go even an inch he’d fall apart completely

but still he never stopped moving

his cock stayed buried deep, thrusting slow and shaky, hips bucking into yours as the tears fell freely down his cheeks

his face was still buried in the crook of your neck, lashes wet against your skin but then his mouth shifted, drifting lower, brushing across your collarbone until his lips found the soft swell of your breast. he paused there, and you felt his breath warm, shaky, fanning across your nipple before he opened his mouth and took it in, slow and gentle, like he needed it

you gasped, your back arching into the warmth of his mouth, a quiet moan escaping your lips “Aahh Sam!” your arms wrapping tighter around him. your legs locked tighter around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back, giving him all the closeness he so clearly craved

he sucked slowly, tongue flicking softly over your nipple while his hips kept thrusting into you. his other hand came up, callused fingers brushing over your other breast before he cupped it gently, thumb and forefinger rolling your nipple until it hardened

you were overwhelmed by how intimate it was. his cock buried deep inside you, his lips latched around your nipple, his body trembling as he held on to you

“I’ve got you” you whispered, your lips brushing his ear “you’re safe Sam., you’re home. right here”

he didn’t answer. just kept sucking your nipple like it soothed something inside him, his tears had slowed now

your fingers ran through his short hair as he sucked harder for a moment, then let your nipple go with a wet pop, a string of saliva stretching between his lips and your skin. he looked up at you face flushed, lips parted

and then he kissed you. wet, messy, desperate

his mouth crushed against yours, tongue pushing in immediately, teeth scraping yours. his hands were everywhere one on your breast still, the other gripping your thigh, grinding your hips up against his.

you moaned into his mouth, whimpering his name as the pleasure started building fast again

he groaned in response, swallowing your moans

you could feel it he was close, so close. his thrusts started slowing just slightly

he didn’t warn you, didn’t pull out, didn’t let out a frantic “I’m close” like he usually did. no, Sam just kept fucking into you with those slow thrusts, his forehead was damp against yours, his breath uneven, and filled with the little things he whispered “God, you’re perfect”, “I missed your pussy so much”, “Feels like fucking heaven inside you”

and then it happened. his thrusts deepened, hips pressing flush against you. his cock throbbed once, then again and you felt it. the first thick shot of cum filling your pussy, his whole body jerked with it, breath hitching into your open mouth

he came hard

you gasped at the sensation, at the way he fucked into you like he needed to bury every last drop, balls pressing against your ass, hips grinding down to keep himself inside. his head dropped to your chest, his forehead damp with sweat, eyes shut tight. his arms wrapped around you instantly

and that’s when the apologies spilled from his mouth

“sorry fuck- I’m sorry” he whispered, over and over “I didn’t mean to sorry, sorry, baby I love you, I love you so much-”

you could barely breathe with how tightly he held onto you, his mouth suddenly everywhere on your chest kissing the swell of your breast, the space between them, desperate little pecks like he was trying to make up for finishing before you did

you ran your fingers through his short hair again, breathing heavy, your body still slick with sweat. but you didn’t care that you hadn’t finished, you didn’t care that your orgasm was a few thrusts away, what mattered was him. how sorry he sounded, how much he clearly adored you

you cupped the back of his head, kissed the top of it, and murmured softly “it’s okay sam”

and it was. because he was buried inside you still his cum slowly leaking out around his softening cock, because he was here, on top of you, holding you like a man who thought he might never get the chance again, because every time he whispered I love you it sounded like it cost him nothing and everything all at once

you were filled, sam was finally home and you were his.

te juro que te amo by los terricolas

something abt writing warfare men w spanish songs is so ugh ❤️‍🩹 this came out sadder than i intended 😩

@https-junebug @ilovecheriies @sharpayslilo @iron-rot @cosmosbabydoll @joelmeller @willowpains @violetcamryn @meetmeatyourworst @f4nfic-lover @k-ilisi @iheartgrayson @glassbxttless @gallaghrh @samslvrgirl @vinecstasy @illyrianbrat @livelaughl0v3 @ilovecheriies @eddiemunsonsbabygirl @babble28

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

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fyeaheddiemunson · 6 months ago

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No one does it better

#joseph quinn #joe quinn #jq #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #a quiet place #a quiet place day one #eric #aqpdo #san #a24 warfare #a24 #warefare movie #warefare

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unkindnessesofone · 2 months ago

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Bunt [Sam x Reader]

Notes: After writing ROUNDING FIRST, I have decided there is going to be a collection of rec. league stories because it's fun and silly. Here is Sam's. Disclaimer: This has nothing to do with a real person. It's Joseph Quinn named 'Sam'.

Fingers around the chain-link fence, nose close enough to know where it was scuffed and where it was smooth, chew bitter and wet between his molars. Elliot was in Captain-mode and in fine form, gloves hanging out the back pocket of his baseball pants as he watched the game closely. It was rec league and he swore he did it as an excuse to hang out and drink beer with his buddies, but something happened when they all huddled together on the bench. Elliot became something of a sideline dad.

Hanging his head-low, a sub on the other team walked over to their bench after being struck out again by Sam. In his place, you skipped toward the base with the bat over your shoulder, waving at the pitcher who lost the menacing glare he had been exercising a second before and bashfully smiled as he waved back.

“Hold it. T-O. T-O.” Elliot barked as he released the fence so quickly that it shook in order to jog over to Sam, corralling him over with a wiggle of his index and middle finger. “Babe, you’re in.” He called back to his wife sitting between Zawi and Kelsey (a spot he had put her on purpose to keep them from making out mid-game). Elliot gave her ass a small slap as she walked past to go to the mound, wrestling her hand into a brown leather glove.

“What the fuck? Why are you taking me out?”

“Because of her.” Elliot spat out his chew away from Sam's shoes, nodding with the end of his chin at you as you swung the bat through the air, practicing.

“What about her?”

“What about her? She’s not any good at baseball yet always walks when you’re pitching, twice has got a home run…”

“You think I go easy on her?”

“Either you’re going easy on her or the cartoon heart eyes that fall out of your face whenever she’s up make your arms too mushy to pitch.” He was not mincing words as he pulled at the thick fabric of his uniform shirt, his fingers pinching the 'B' in Bastards.

Sam looked to his friends for support, but Ray was nodding in agreement and Tommy was pretending to find interesting clouds to look at while he polished off a cold beer.

“I don’t know what the Hell you’re talking about. I’m pitching.” Sam stuffed his fist into his glove, but when he turned around, Elliot’s wife was already in position and about to toss the ball. Instantly, you had your first strike.

“I’m not losing to the The D-Bags,” Diamondbacks. “Because you’re rockhard for a girl who won’t go out with you.”

Sweat flicked at Elliot’s face from Sam’s neck as he turned so quickly to shoot his buddy a glare rarely seen outside of old school western movies. It was Elliot’s cue to go back behind the fence, reaching out preemptively for more chewing tobacco from Ray.

Elliot stuffed the pouch of snuff into the back of his mouth and then held up two wet fingers at the side of his head.

“Two games you’ve gone soft on her and two games she’s turned you down.” He said before turning around. “Don’t embarrass yourself.” Elliot sat down, forcing his butt between the sudden sliver of space between Zawi and Kelsey.

Sam ripped his attention away from the team and looked out at the game. The umpire called ‘out’ and you walked by him, no skip this time, but still a friendly wave. Sam returned the gesture solemnly this time and went to the bench. Once his glove was off, he held open both hands and Mac tossed him a Coors from the cooler.

“I think she's going out with this trainer from the gym by my work. He's built like a gorilla. Maybe you're just not her type.” Kelsey offered with a voice that was as high as her ponytail.

After they shook hands in the field, Elliot trying not to gloat about being victorious over the Diamondbacks, Sam carried his bag over his shoulder back to his car. He looked up from the gravel parking lot when Erik shouted to ask who was going to be on beer duty next week. Tommy raised his hand and claimed it before Sam had a chance.

Elliot had just been calling him out, brother to brother. Kelsey had roasted him in front of the whole team and it made him feel two inches small. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see that Zawi was looking at him and mouthing, ‘She's so hot’. It was a good reminder that Kelsey didn't mean to bruise his ego. The beer helped him cool down anyway.

“Are you guys going out to celebrate?” Despite its lightness, your voice cut through the hollering and slamming car doors to steal Sam's attention.

He plucked the cap from his head and wiped at it, feeling his cheeks spread upward as he grinned.

“There's some talk of hitting up Buckley's." They sometimes referred to it as 'The Bastard's turf' and it was sounding less like a joke these days. What about you?”

“I don't think anybody wants to go celebrate our pitiful loss.” You laughed, holding the backseat door open with your bum and throwing in your backpack.

“It's just rec. league. It's an excuse to get together and drink.” That was how Elliot and Erik sold it to everyone on base, talking like used car salesmen who were equal parts excited and obsessed with selling someone a rundown minivan.

“I think I'm going to need something stronger. My favorite pitcher who makes me look good was benched today.”

You were flirting. He pierced his own face with the hook you were dangling and stepped forward. The setting sun met your glistening face with a delicate kiss, illuminating the glow Sam always noticed when you walked the bases. He swore it was because you were part-angel.

“Not my call.” He said like it was an apology. “Wait. What's something stronger?”

“Vanilla milkshake.” It felt like you were reeling him in as he watched your mouth enunciate the two words, making the popular drink sound like proof of God. He was so busy staring that he didn't see you were closing the car door and nearly nipped the tips of his fingers. “Oh! Jeez - are you okay?”

“Never better.” Sam attempted to laugh at himself, wiping the back of his hand at the red dirt down his pants. “This vanilla milkshake…is that strictly for losers or…”

“You can get in on it, but on one condition…” Holding up a finger, you prevented him from taking another step.

Please don't say your “gorilla boyfriend” is coming, Sam thought to himself. He felt that he still had a smile on, successfully keeping his concerns to himself.

“Batting cages this weekend? Could you give me some pointers so I am not the worst player on my team?”

Sam felt it. A shift above his nose. His eyes were becoming animated hearts like Elliot said. He felt like the clouds parted and the sunshine was blessing his face and not only yours.

“You aren't the worst D-bag. No sweat.” He said, barely listening to himself.

“What did you just call me?” Confusion contorted your eyebrows as Sam rushed to pull his keys from his pockets. The jingling was so spastic, they sounded like the calling card of a mall Santa.

“There's an ice cream spot close to my place.” He kept it going, glazing over the fact that he had indirectly called you a douchebag. He was not going to mess up this opportunity because the nickname Elliot bestowed on the other team was stuck in his head. He was smoother than this and Sam promised that he would be once the initial shock of the woman he'd been asking out finally asking him out. "I can meet you there, figure out the weekend plan..."

Internally, he swore to be cooler than any gym personal trainer at the batting cages. It was all he could do not to think about you in position, asking for his help.

Thankfully, you agreed with the same smile you always gave him when you approached home base.

He was not going to screw this up, but Sam knew that he was definitely going to let you walk next game.

#joseph quinn warfare #warfare fic #warfare imagine #sam warfare #sam joseph quinn #warfare joseph quinn #joe quinn imagine #warfare x reader #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn sam

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photos-for-fics · 18 days ago

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#joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #johnny storm x reader #johnny storm #sam warfare #michael hoard #michael hoard x reader #emperor geta #emperor geta x reader

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munsongirly · 1 year ago

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New Joseph Quinn photoshoot by Grace Difford for GQ Hype. 📷: british gq.

#joseph quinn #joe quinn #britsh gq #photoshoot #quiet place #gladiator 2 #fantantic four #WARFARE #relapse #hoard film #stranger things

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warfaredoll · 4 months ago

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“𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲” ft Sam, Elliott & Erik

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ warfare ⋮ x f!reader ⋮ smut w plot ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 4some, oral/double penetration

you lay on your back dressed down to just your panties and a soft-laced bra, as you rest against the pillows.

“What does Captain Erik want?” you murmur, he doesn’t respond. instead, he pulls back gazing down at you tenderly. you reach for him and he comes back down, his kisses soft, mouth moving slow against yours. you hold his face as you kiss him

Erik’s breath is ragged above you now, he’s giving in… you feel it in the way his weight settles more fully against you, the tremble of his fingertips not groping but feeling.. really feeling feeling you.

then the soft creak of the barracks door interrupts that sweet moment. you both freeze.

you glance past Erik’s shoulder and there’s Elliott leaning against the doorway, smirking like he just walked into a fantasy he didn’t know was real. his gaze looking over your barely clothed body laid out beneath Erik.

“Well, well” he says, “you’re finally giving into her, huh?”

Erik stiffens slightly, head turning, but you reach up gently threading your fingers through the nape of his neck to hold him there

you don’t pull away. you don’t cover yourself. instead, you lock eyes with Elliott and pat the mattress beside you.

he doesn’t need more than that. he closes the door with a soft click, he moves across the room and sits down first on the edge, taking his boots off casually, then slides up the bed behind you, his body warm as he presses in close to your back. his palm skims your thigh, slowly just a brush at first as if to check you want him here.

you do. you show him. your hand reaches behind, finding his wrist guiding his touch just as you had guided Erik’s. Elliott leans down, his lips brushing your shoulder before whispering, “Didn’t think you’d share, Captain.”

Erik’s jaw flexes above you but he doesn’t move away. he just looks down at you, a uncertain look in his eyes but not angry.

“Let him” you breathe, “I want both of you.”

Erik swallows hard and then nods, one hand still cupping your breast as he bends to kiss your collarbone, lips brushing the point where neck meets shoulder. his free hand slides down to your hip gripping gently

Elliott’s touch is different… bolder. he grazes your ribs fingers dancing across the edge of your panties, the pads of his fingers teasing just beneath the waistband before sliding back up again. his lips are at your ear now voice lower. “You’ve been holding out on us” he murmurs, kissing the shell of it. “Didn’t think you’d let me in this easy.”

you arch between them, you tilt your head back against Elliott’s shoulder letting his mouth finds your throat while Erik kisses down your chest

Elliott’s lips trail down the side of your neck, the gentle soft scratch of his thick mustache making you shiver as he nuzzles along your throat. the scent of his tobacco clings to him and it lingers in the kiss he presses to your jawline, behind you he’s exploring you one hand gliding from your outer thigh up to your hip, the other cupping your side. he palms you through the lace like he knows what you like, what makes your breath catch and your hips shift.

but then he pulls back. “c’mon…” Elliott murmurs, slipping from behind you with one last stroke of his fingers along your waist. “lie back. let us see you.”

you obey, chest rising slightly from all the attention, lips kiss-bitten and wet. your panties still cling low on your hips, and your bra barely covers your curves now, one strap already half-slid down your shoulder. you ease down flat on your back, as both men loom above you.

Erik is slower to move, but he follows. he settles on one side as he hovers close, and Elliott mirrors him on the other both of them watching your face, your chest, your trembling belly how you lay out for them, no shame

Elliott leans down first. his mouth connecting with yours again, and the texture of his mustache tickles soft against your upper lip and teasing when he nips your bottom one. you giggle breathlessly into the kiss and he hums into your mouth, cocky and pleased with himself. his tongue tastes like tobacco you kiss him back deep, your hands fisting in the sheets.

then Erik leans in, nudging Elliott aside. he kisses you slower, softer, lips pressing to yours his hand strokes the side of your neck, then down your arm, fingertips tracing every inch he can reach without rushing. his other hand cradles your side gently

he pulls back just slightly, his lips parted, “Can I…” He hesitates, hand sliding lightly beneath the loose strap of your bra. “Take this off?”

you nod slow and sure, biting your lip as you arch up slightly to help him.

“Please” you whisper.

Erik slips his fingers beneath the clasp undoing it slowly while Elliott watches from beside you, the lace slips free exposing your breasts to the cool air and to their eyes

Elliott lets out a soft whistle. “Damn” he mutters, his palm already moving to cup one, thumb brushing over your nipple as you moan softly, back arching into his touch.

Erik leans down again, and this time his mouth kisses the swell of your breast, his tongue barely flicking against the skin as he groans low in his throat. his hand strokes your side while his lips leave warm, wet kisses along the curve, slowly making his way in toward your nipple

they alternate, trading kisses between your lips, your breasts, your neck one always on your mouth while the other worships your body. their touches are different Elliott rougher, more teasing, his thumbs flicking your nipples as he smiles against your skin, while Erik touches you like you’re delicate, like every inch of you deserves attention.

your flushed between them, gasping when Elliott bites softly at your collarbone and Erik licks a circle around your nipple before taking it into his mouth.

both of them kneel lower, breath heavy as they slip your panties down slowly, revealing the slick proof of how bad you want this they're both visibly straining against their pants, thick bulge outlines. Erik sucks in a breath brushing your inner thigh with trembling fingers. “God, you're beautiful” he murmurs, while Elliott grins fingers grazing over your soft breast, voice low and rough “You've been hiding this sweet little thing from us, bunny?” they undress together, military pants and boxers discarded and only the sight of both of them fully hard

they’re kneeling between your spread thighs, your panties slide down slowly, peeled away by Erik’s careful hands, Elliott helping tug them from your ankles with a lazy grin as the cool air kisses your pussy and they see how wet you are your pussy glistening, lips parted. “shit” Erik breathes, fingertips grazing along the crease of your thigh, eyes locked on the way you twitch beneath the touch. “She’s perfect.” Elliott strokes a finger between your folds, slow and teasingly smirking as you moan. “and soaked” he mutters. “knew you were a mess for us, bunny.”

your gaze moves down Elliott’s cock is thick, veined, with a big tip already wet and flushed, Erik’s is longer a touch slimmer but hard enough that it bobs when he steps closer, precum glistening at the tip

you’re wide-eyed as you look between them “I’ve never…” you admit, cheeks getting hot. “two at once…”

Erik leans in, brushing your cheek with his fingers kissing you slow. “We’ll go slow” he reassures. “I’ll take care of you.”

Elliott grins at that, crouching beside your hips, hand palming your thigh. “shit We’ll both take care of you.”

Erik settles between your thighs, guiding himself with a shaking hand while Elliott moves to kneel behind your head, his cock swaying near your lips, brushing your cheek as he strokes the base. Erik pushes in first the thick head of him opening your hole. you gasp, gripping the sheets as he slides in inch by slow inch, stretching you around him your body opening willingly for him

“Fuck” he groans, eyes clenched shut. “you feel so- so tight..”

your mouth opens for a moan, but Elliott slips his cock against your lips instead, letting you taste him. you suck gently, looking up at him, watching his expression twitch his hand cups your cheek as he feeds you more, not forcing, just offering and you take him deeper, relaxing your throat while Erik moves into you below.

they find a rhythm Erik thrusting slow and deep into your pussy, while you work Elliott’s cock with your lips and tongue, your jaw aching in the best way, spit slicking your chin as he guides your mouth with soft praise. “That’s it fuck, look at you… taking both of us like you were made for it…”

Erik’s hands clutch your hips, his pace picking up as your body adjusts. the wet slap of skin fills the room, his balls tapping against your ass. above you, Elliott groans pulling out of your mouth and kissing you messy, tasting himself on your tongue.

“You ready to take both?” he asks, voice low “Want me behind while he fucks you deep?”

your legs tremble as Erik stills deep inside. you nod, panting. “Yes… I want it. I want all of you.”

Elliott shifts, lubing himself quickly with spit and slick from your pussy, nudging behind you as Erik pulls out just enough to make space. you hold your breath, heart pounding, as Elliott positions himself, his palms cupped the fullness of your ass and squeezed, thumbs spreading you open wide as he pressed up behind the fat head of his cock pressing to your other entrance, slow, careful, patient.

the stretch is painful, the burn real but your body stays put, inch by aching inch as he pushes inside. you’re so full you can’t breathe, both men buried in you groaning above and below

Elliot grunted as he pushed the first inch in, the stretch making you shudder around him, your thighs tensing but not pulling away

“Fucking tight” Elliott rasps, gripping your waist. and the slap he landed on your ass harsh

Erik kisses you again, eyes wide with awe. “You’re amazing… so good… so perfect like this…”

the door creaks open, and in the moment of your pleasure you hear a low whistle.

“Fuck. we taking turns on Bunny now?”

Sam.

his voice is thick with amusement, as he steps fully into view cock in his fist and already hard at the sight before him you spread, used, trembling between two of his closest brothers in arms.

Erik and Elliott don’t stop.

Elliott just grins, breath hot against your neck as he grinds in harder, slapping your ass again for Sam’s benefit. “Get in line, man. she’s taking both of us like a champ.”

Erik grunts, hands sliding up your body to cup your breasts, tweaking your nipples as he keeps his deep thrusts slow and exact. “She can take more” he pants, looking down at you “She wants it.”

Sam moves beside the bed, cock thick and flushed in his grip. he brushes the head across your cheek, smearing precum over your skin. “That true, Bunny?” he asks, voice low and gruff. “You got room for one more? mouth’s awful pretty and not busy…”

your answer is a whimper, already turning your head toward him, lips parting as he presses the tip to your tongue. you take him in without hesitation, eyes closing shut as you suck him slow and deep, the taste of salt and musk coating your mouth.

“Fuck yes” Sam hisses, his hand moving to hold the back of your head, guiding you gently not forcing. “That’s it, bunny. take me while they fill you up. goddamn, look at you.”

Sam’s grip tightens just slightly in your hair softly as your lips stretch wide around his thick shaft, the heavy weight of him pushing across your tongue and down your throat with every thrust. his precum smears against the back of your throat and you moan around him, gagging softly but welcoming it, drool beginning to stream down your chin, sticky and warm.

Sam’s thrusts grow sharper, groans deepening as your throat closes around him. “Shit, Bunny gonna cum in that mouth if you keep sucking me like that.”

you can’t speak you can only moan, eyes wet, fingers gripping the sheets as you take him deeper, your nose brushing the soft hair at his base with every thrust. and he watches you with his chest rising and falling as he pants

the wet sounds of your mouth around him blend with the slap of skin behind you,

Erik deep into your pussy, worshipping you with gasping praises, Elliott pounding your ass greedily, and now Sam in your mouth, groaning with every bob of your head every swirl of your tongue.

“Fucking beautiful” Sam groans, his voice husky, eyes locked on your spit-glossed lips wrapped around his cock. “She lives for this. look at her.”

and Erik does look eyes on you as he watches his cock disappear into your soaked pussy again and again, your slick shining on his thighs, his hips snapping into you

“She’s perfect” Erik murmurs, voice trembling. “so tight. so good.”

Elliott laughs against your back, one hand braced on your waist while the other grips your ass, fingers digging into the plush curve as he fucks into you. “Tightest fucking ass I’ve ever had” he moans. “she’s milking me fuck, Bunny, keep doing that and I’m gonna lose it.”

and then he’s slamming deep, hips flush against your backside as he cums with a choked groan, thick spurts of hot cum spilling into your ass.

you moan around Sam’s cock, as your pussy tightens down on Erik drawing a gasp from him as his hips stutters.

“Fuck- she’s coming she’s squeezing me so hard-“ Erik moans, pulling you tight to him as he buries himself deep and cums hard, his cum mixing with the first load still leaking from your ass

Sam’s groans turn ragged, and with one final thrust he holds your head still and spills into your mouth, cock pulsing as thick streams flood your throat. you swallow around him, he watches every second of it jaw clenched, eyes locked to your lips.

“Goddamn, Bunny…”

when Sam finally pulls out, your lips are slick, your chin messy with drool and cum. you can’t speak you just gasp, body twitching with overstimulation, still leaking, still spread wide as Elliott gently eases his cock out from your ass

gripping his shaft and tapping it against your lips. “Open up, Bunny. that mouth was made for me.”

you obey, already drooling again as he slides into the your mouth, moaning as your lips wrap around him. Sam strokes your hair slowly, fingers gentle even as your throat fills with cock again. “Good” he murmurs. “Let them use you, just like you want.”

every hole used, and you love it. Erik’s cock grinds into your ass now, making wet noises louder now as his cum mixes with Elliots previous load. Elliott fucks your mouth with a steady rhythm, holding your chin so he can watch the tears spill from your eyes and Sam’s hand slides lower again, between your legs, fingers finding your clit.

“Oh fuck” Erik groans, pace building, breath stuttering. “She’s clenching she’s gonna cum again.-”

and you do. your pussy tightness down around nothing, your mouth muffled by Elliott’s cock as you whine around him

Elliott pulls out just in time, stroking his cock fast and rough across your face. “Gonna coat that mouth, Bunny fucking take it open up”

you do, mouth wide and tongue out, and he groans loud as thick spurts of cum stain across your lips and cheek, dripping down your chin in messy streaks.

Erik’s cock jerks inside you as your walls pulse again, and he follows a second later, gritting his teeth as he cums hard, pumping your ass full once more. “God, fuck don’t want stop cumming in this perfect ass”

Sam’s fingers never stop moving, circling your clit as you ride out your orgasam, and his voice is smooth beside your ear. “that’s it, Bunny. don’t stop. we’re not even close to done.”

Elliott’s cum glistens across your face and lips, warm and thick, catching the flickering light as you tremble beneath them, used and absolutely full. Erik’s and Elliott’s cum leaks steadily from your swollen pussy and ass in hot, slow drips, coating your thighs and the sheets beneath you. you moan as Sam’s fingers finally still on your clit, his touch lingering only to rub gentle circles

you're splayed out before them naked, flushed, fucked raw, lips parted as your chest heaves, body painted in sweat and cum. eyes barely open, and completely cock drunk. you blink up at the three men standing above you.

“Look at her” Elliott breathes, running a hand along your back. “fucking masterpiece.”

Sam chuckles low, cock now hanging heavy and spent as he picks up a camera from the nightstand, camera already on. “hold still Bunny. gotta preserve this.”

you whimper but don’t resist in fact, you arch your back a little, thighs still spread wide, cum oozing from between them as your mouth parts just enough to show the tongue that still tastes of Elliott. sam crouches down, angling the shot capturing everything the tears dried at the corners of your eyes, the dripping mess from between your legs, your lips glistening

Click.

“Perfect” he says, standing. “we got to hang this up.”

Elliott laughs, leaning down to press a warm, sweet kiss to your lips not before landing a final sharp slap to your ass making you jolt and moan.

“Sleep tight Bunny” he whispers against your lips, giving your cheek a little pat before climbing off the bed.

Sam lingers, brushing your hair from your face with surprising tenderness. his thumb strokes your cheek and then he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “your fucking amazing” he murmurs. “next time, I’m not waiting so long to get my turn.”

and then it’s just Erik.

he hasn’t moved far still beside you, gazing at you with soft eyes, lips parted like there’s so much he wants to say but can’t find the words. his hands move carefully, brushing your damp hair back, wiping the sweat from your brow with the hem of a sheet.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rough from earlier but gentle now, full of concern.

you nod weakly. “mhmm..”

“I’ll clean you up.”

he disappears for a moment, and when he returns it’s with a warm, wet cloth. you flinch slightly at the touch, but he’s careful wiping away the mess between your legs, along your thighs, gentle and slow. he cleans your face last, tenderly wiping away Elliott’s and Sam’s cum from your lips and cheeks.

when he’s done, he eases you into his chest pulling you flush against him pressing a kiss into your hair as he whispers your name between the kiss.

“You were so good..” he murmurs. “so beautiful like that.”

his fingers trail lightly up and down your back as your breath evens out, and he doesn’t move even when your eyes drift shut and your body finally, finally relaxes.

you’re clean. you’re safe. and you’re full in every way.

Erik just a sweetheart & nervous to be w barracks bunny!reader 😩😩😣

@https-junebug @gallaghrh @okaycharr :3

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