The sooner yall remember that Hollywood is the propaganda arm of the US military, the sooner yall will stop fangirling over a bunch of your White boy faves making war criminals look good becos that's strategic too.
In Tip of the Spear: Black Radicalism, Prison Repression, and the Long Attica Revolt, Orisanmi Burton analyzes a wave of Black-led revolts within US prisons through archival records and interviews. He describes prisons as part of the larger mechanisms of "an imperialist war, a war of capture and conquest that had the production of slaves as its unspoken object."
Burton argues for an understanding of slavery as "a violent relation of domination that often involves, but does not require, the exploitation of labor for profit" which finds its basis "in war, not law." (pages 10-11). He interprets direct connection between war, slavery, and incarceration.
Olaudah Equiano (a man who was abducted as a child from the village of Essaka in present-day Nigeria and enslaved much of his life) wrote in 1789 that to enslave someone is to "compel them to live with you in a state of war." Burton argues that in this state, rebellion represents a "renewal" of the war, bringing forth "new movements towards freedom" and the creation of "ruptures and breaches through which repressed ways of knowing and being overrun violently imposed boundaries" (pages 11-12).
If you learned something, please donate to my friend in Gaza.
Porcupine-Fish Helmet from Kiribati, c.1800-1880 CE: this helmet was crafted from the carcass of a porcupine-fish
This helmet was made using the skin of a porcupine-fish that was killed and then carefully dried. The front edge is lined with vegetable fiber and human hair, and it's equipped with coconut-fiber ties that were used to fasten the helmet onto the wearer's head.
Above: another porcupine-fish helmet from Kiribati
Helmets with this design are also known as te barantauti, and they were created as part of a traditional costume that was worn by the warriors of Kiribati (an island nation located in the South Pacific). Most of the surviving examples date back to the mid-1800s.
Above: a porcupine-fish helmet displayed with a high-backed cuirass, wrist-guard, and sword, c.1800s CE
Te barantauti were typically worn with body armor that was crafted from coconut-fiber and stingray skin, along with braided wrist-guards covered in shark's teeth, high-backed cuirasses, and wooden swords, spears, and daggers studded with stingray spines and shark's teeth.
Above: wrist-guards and cuirasses from Kiribati, c.1800-1880 CE
In some cases, the warrior's helmet was crafted from coconut-fiber instead. The same material was also used to construct sleeves, belts, and "overalls" that effectively covered the rest of the body.
Above: a coconut-fiber helmet with a full set of armor
The porcupine-fish helmets provided very little protection -- they were primarily created and used as a way to intimidate enemies during ritual combat.
Above: an armored warrior from Kiribati, mid-1800s
As this article explains:
The men of Kiribati were famed for their fierceness, and when it came time for battle, they dressed the part, in head-to-toe armor made from coconut fiber and stingray skin. Their weapons were wooden swords lined with sharks’ teeth.
The crown jewel of Kiribati armor, though, was a spiky helmet made from the porcupinefish. A member of the blowfish family, a porcupinefish looks like an adorable big-eyed cartoon character—until it’s threatened. Then, it sucks water into a cavity between its body and skin and inflates to several times its normal size, stiffening the spines that usually lie flat.
Porcupinefish helmets, known as te barantauti, were made by capturing one of these agitated, puffed-up porcupinefish, killing it, peeling the skin away from the body, and drying it. The spiny skin that remained was reinforced with coconut-fiber padding and fashioned into a brittle helmet.
Though the helmets offered little in the way of actual protection, they instantly made their wearers appear bigger, taller, and more formidable.
For Kiribati warriors, this intimidation was more important than protection from death. That’s because in traditional Kiribati culture, a person who took someone’s life—even in a fair fight—paid with their most prized resource: their land. So instead of going for the kill, warriors sought to wound and humiliate their enemy. Fish-skin and coconut-fiber offered just the right amount of protection.
Above: a shark-tooth sword from Kiribati, c.1800s CE
Unfortunately, most of the surviving helmets, weapons, and pieces of armor are now housed in Western museums:
Over the years, dozens of these helmets made their way into museums across the globe, while few remain in Kiribati. The Smithsonian actually has three, the British Museum five, and Sweden’s Världskulturmuseerna “at least eight,” according to their digitization curator Magnus Johansson. One te barantauti even wound up at the Fairbanks Museum and Planetarium, in the tiny town of St. Johnsbury, Vermont.
Over the last four decades, since Kiribati gained its independence from the United Kingdom in 1979, the armor has taken on a new meaning—as a potent symbol of local culture. It features on tourist trinkets, but also stamps and school mascots. “The armor is not just a garment to me,” says Rareti Ataniberu, an I-Kiribati craftswoman. “It is a piece of art, a craft.”
Sources & More Info:
Hakai Magazine: Kiribati’s Porcupine-Fish Helmets were More about Drama than Defense
Atlas Obscura: The Mystery of the Puffer-Fish Helmets of Kiribati
Pacific Presences: Fighting Fibres: Kiribati Armour and Museum Collections
Time Magazine: Why Indigenous Artifacts Should be Returned to Indigenous Communities
All of its increasingly severe writing issues aside, it's a little bit funny how for the first five games the Trails series was developing this fairly nuanced through-line about how mechanised warfare is bringing about the end of the age of lone heroes, because yeah, it's very impressive that you can punch an armoured vehicle to death with your bare hands, but while you were having an epic twenty-minute boss fight the other 41 mass-produced tanks in the battalion just drove past you – then from game six onward everyone is piloting giant robots for some reason, and it's like whoops, forget all that, lone heroics are geopolitically relevant again! Yaaaaay!
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.
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.
Girl omg I neeeeeed to see fav pics of Will! gimme the eye candy
Girl you have opened a can of worms you're not ready for! Enjoy the frankly stupid amount of photos of Will I have save on Pinterest lol
My favourite flavours of Will are bleach blonde Will and long hair Will but that may just be cause I love a mullet and a weird 80s punk vibe so much!!!!
I highly encourage everyone to reblog with your fav pics! I wanna see lol
