sweet smut and fluff ⸝⸝ requested ⸝⸝ shower sex ⸝⸝
warm steam filled the bathroom, fogging up the mirror as Erik stepped under the water. his body was worn and tired, every muscle tensing as he adjusted the showerhead, water getting over his shoulders and down the curve of his spine. you stood just a few feet away shivering slightly against the tile floor. bra still on, panties riding low against your hips. Erik turned, his eyes met yours mouth twitching into a small smile that was just for you
“the water’s just how you like it” he murmured, his fingertips glided down your arm, then around to your back slipping beneath the thin strap of your bra
you didn’t even have to ask. the clasp clicked open with a soft snap, your bra falling forward to bare your breasts to him. his thumb grazing beneath one breast, before he moved lower, his hands tugging down your panties. he crouched as he did it, sliding them down your thighs his cheek brushed the side of your hip
“come here.” he said as he took your hand, pulling you gently into the water with him. he stepped aside the moment you came in, letting the water come down over your shoulders first, wetting your skin and running down your back. your breath deepened as the thick warm steam of the shower reached your breath. Erik stayed just outside the spray, body slick with sweat but untouched by the water, watching you softly.
you turned, droplets clinging to your lashes. he just stood there, his gaze roaming slowly from your collarbones down the soft slope of your breasts, following the trickle of water down wherever it went. you smiled, then reached for him wrapping your fingers around his wrist tugging him gently forward. the moment your skin touched his, he softened more into it
he followed without a word, stepping into the water with you, you tilted your face up letting it soak your hair, your eyes closing. Erik just stared.. he looked at you the way he had the first time he told you he loved you like you were something so beautiful he could barely hold it in
you blinked slowly, catching him staring “you’re not going to wash?”
“I can’t stop looking at you.”
Erik never failed to remind you of how beautiful you were. you leaned forward lips brushing the center of his chest and leaving a kiss there. he exhaled through his nose, hands staying low on your waist just resting there
you reached for the soap, worked it between your palms until it foamed, then began to massage it into his scalp. Erik closed his eyes at the first touch, breath slowing, his jaw unclenching. you smiled again, fingertips moving in soothing circles working the soap through his head
he was quiet and still, letting your hands wash away everything he’d carried home with him. you washed him with love in every touch. and he melted under you, face turning slightly into your shoulder, eyes shut in pure peace
when the soap suds had been thoroughly rinsed away and the water ran clear, you leaned in close to him “done.”
he blinked dazed and warm under the stream, water dripping down his cheeks. you didn’t have time to say more he leaned down and kissed you, lips pressing to yours tenderly in a small kiss. his hands moved up from your waist, one tracing the curve of your spine, the other rising to hold the side of your face, fingers tangling gently in your wet hair as he kissed you again, deeper this time tongue sliding in against yours
you drew back slightly lips still brushing, “I thought you just wanted to shower?”
his eyes opened head shaking, “I missed this” he said suddenly but honestly. “not just touching you or being touched by you. but being close like this.
you rested your forehead against his, and his arms tightened around you, chest rising and falling against yours as the warm water poured over both of you, you moved your hands up his back.
he leaned back down to kiss you, tongue teasing in lazy strokes before he deepened the kiss. his hands slid down your back slowly, over your waist, the curve of your hips, until they found your ass. he held you there, squeezed gently, pulling you flush against him. skin to skin, wet, warm and yours.
he kissed you like he hadn’t in months, like he’d spent every second of every night away imagining this moment, counting the hours until he'd have you like this again. and then he broke the kiss with a soft gasp, breath catching like he didn’t want to stop but had to. he left another kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the slope of your neck
he moved slowly, lips trailing down your body as he sank to his knees beneath the water. kisses left on your collarbone, the curve between your breasts, more down.
further still, pausing at your belly button, where he let his breath fan across your damp skin. beads of water sliding from his hair down his forehead, catching in the lashes of his closed eyes as he kissed lower still. then he pressed his cheek to your belly nuzzling there, his hands coming up around your thighs
“I missed you so much” he whispered, voice muffled against your belly
he turned his face, kissing just below your bellybutton, then again, slower this time “you don’t even know” he murmured
your fingers slipped into his hair short, damp, hair. the buzzed strands soft against your palms and you held him there, cradled his head gently not stopping him. he didn’t rush, he wasn’t trying to rush you. his mouth brushed over the curve of your lower belly, tongue flicking out just slightly as he buried his face there
the water fell over your shoulders while he knelt, hands caressing your thighs, the insides, the backs
you sighed, a soft breathy sound that came out of you as his cheek pressed into your belly, his stubble barely scraping your skin. your hand moved gently over his buzzed hair as he tilted his head back, eyes finding yours
“I missed you too” you whispered
Erik kissed your stomach once more, then rose body sleek and shining under the shower’s stream. he moved close again, wet skin pressed to yours as he leaned down, catching your mouth in a kiss. one hand reached for yours, guiding it between your bodies until your fingers curled around him
you wrapped your hand around his cock, still wet from the shower but warm now from your grip, and he let out a deep groan into your mouth as your palm slid once slowly over the shaft. “fuck I missed your pretty little hands on me” he rasped, forehead resting against yours, the water dripping down his face and trailing along his jaw
his hips gave the faintest twitch forward into your hand, chasing the friction, while his own hand moved down over the curve of your hip. his touch was respectful still, but hungrier now fingertips brushing the inside of your thigh, teasing the softest skin, until they found your pussy
he groaned again as his fingers slipped between your folds, parting you gently, finding you wet already. “goddamn” he whispered into your mouth, kissing you again
you stroked him slow, your thumb tracing the vein along his shaft while his own fingers moved in slow circles around your clit. your thighs parted slightly and he smiled against your cheek, that small smile that always meant he loved the way your body gave itself to him
his middle finger slipped lower, between the slick folds then back up again circling your clit softly. your hand kept moving over his cock, the head flushed pink and glistening with precum as he pressed into your fist, breath coming heavier against your skin
“love it like this” he murmured, kissing your neck now his voice ragged “you touching me… me learning how to touch you again…”
your moan was quiet, his mouth pressing kisses down the slope of your shoulder. his hand never left your pussy, and yours never left his cock
he slid his hand back from between your legs, fingers leaving you wet and wanting more, you gasped head tipping back, hips moving forward trying to chase his touch
you let go of his cock, he looked at you soft eyed surrounded by the warm shower steam, his breath still ragged and his hand rose to brush your cheek thumb grazing over your lips “turn around for me.”
you turned slowly, the water falling over your back now, hair clinging wet to your neck and face. the moment your chest met the cold tile you shivered nipples hardening instantly you pressed your palms to the wall, letting your body arch slightly, presenting yourself for him
behind you heard the low sound of Erik groaning, and then his hands were on your hips again, pulling you gently back toward him. his cock slid between the cheeks of your ass first, the tip dragging against your skin as he moved it down, up, teasing tracing your pussy with it. you moaned softly as the head nudged your clit, then slipped lower, brushing against your slick entrance
he leaned forward, chest pressing to your back, his breath warm on your neck “You okay?” he murmured his voice breathy, shaking just a little. “you ready for me?”
you nodded, your voice gone for a moment “yes” you breathed
his hands tightened on your hips, thumbs pressing into the flesh there as he aligned himself and then he began to push in, slow, so slow, letting your pussy take him at your own pace
“f-fuck…” his breath hitched, lips brushing your shoulder, then resting there as he bottomed out. your pussy clenching around him
“Jesus baby” he whispered voice low and trembling. “you feel like, like fucking-” he couldn’t even finish, just groaned again, his hands caressing your waist lovleying
he stayed there for a second, buried deep, chest rising and falling against your back, his lips trailing open mouthed kisses along the curve of your shoulder while your pussy tightened around him, trying to take him deeper still
he started to move slow at first, “Fuck” he moaned into your shoulder his voice hoarse, “so goddamn good.”
his chest pressed to your back with every forward thrust, skin hot and wet against yours, you gasped with every deep thrust, the stretch perfect only stinging slightly
his hands roamed, one holding your hip, the other slipping down, fingers finding your clit again. he rubbed soft slow circles there just enough pressure to make your thighs tremble
“You’re perfect” he whispered his voice shaking now, lips brushing your ear as his hips began to move faster. “missed you so much I thought about you every night your voice, your skin, this pussy”
you clenched at his words, and he cried out softly hips stuttering “baby don’t do that feels too good…”
he kissed your shoulder open-mouthed, his mouth sucking lightly on the skin as his rhythm picked up. the hand on your clit moved faster
then his hand came down landing a soft slap to your ass, more of a soft loving tap than rough but it made your body jolt, your back arching into him
“Mmm just like that” he moaned, breath coming harder now, his pace growing more desperate but never sloppy
he kissed the back of your neck, lips trembling. “I love you, I love you fuck I almost forgot what it felt like to be alive until now.”
his thrusts grew harder, but still held that sweetness, passion and love as if he was making up for every moment apart every sleepless night, every lonely thought
“You’re everything” he whispered “everything…”
and you felt him start to break his voice cracking, eyes glossy as his forehead pressed to your back, his cock twitching deep inside you
his hips kept moving deep and full, cock dragging along your pussy like he couldn’t bear to pull out too far, the soft slap of his hips meeting with your ass filled the steamy air
“you’re so tight baby” he whispered, eyes shut like the feeling of your pussy around him was too much to take in all at once. “so warm feels perfect…”
your moans became louder with every thrust of his hips, every perfect swirl of his fingers over your clit had you pressing your forehead to the tile, mouth falling open as you whined out softly “so so good Erik”
but behind you, he was coming undone
he was trying to hold himself together breathing hard, lips brushing your spine, but you heard it. the soft stuttering hitch, the deep shaky inhale, the trembling groan as he buried himself deeper
he was crying, not in sobs, not in gasps, but in quiet tears that slid unnoticed down his cheeks, mixing with the water
“I missed this, I missed you” he choked out his breath catching. “I thought about this every night. waking up alone hand wrapped around my cock, pretending it was you…”
you looked back at him over your shoulder, your eyes searching his. his face was flushed, wet with tears and water, mouth parted, lower lip trembling
“Erik…” you breathed voice trembling from how intimate and vulnerable he looked. but he didn’t stop
his thrusts grew quicker, a little harder now, hips coming up into you in a desperate needy pace, his hand on your clit never stopping, making your legs shake, your moans falling freely now
“say my name again” he begged panting. “please please say it”
“Erik”
he sighed and pressed his face to your back, “I’m close” he rasped. “I’m so close… baby is it okay can I finish in you?”
you nodded quickly, so fast he didn’t even need to ask you twice. “yes please Erik I want it- need it”
that was it
he groaned out a choked sob, his hips thrust forward, burying himself as deep as he could go. his cock twitched inside you as he came warm and thick, groaning into your shoulder as your walls clenched around him
his hand stayed on your pussy, rubbing you through your own orgasm as your body tensed around him, both of you coming undone together, joined, whole
he didn’t pull out, didn’t move, just wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, face pressed to your back, chest heaving with sob laced breaths
“I love you” he whispered, trembling against your back “I love you so much”
Summary: Erik’s been gone a few months. You’re eight months pregnant, sick every day, and terrified he won’t make it back in time. He’s scared too—that you’ll have the baby alone, and he’ll lose more than just time
Pairing: Complicated! Remorseful! Erik x Pregnant! Alone! fem! reader.
Warnings: 18+, swearing, graphic details of pregnancy complications, mentions of sadness/ depression, marital problems due to career, mentions of sex. MDNI
WC: 3.4k
*This highlights the military life and the toll it can take on relationships, the missed milestones and the anger it can cause. It’s also nowhere near 100% accurate, don’t shoot me pls*
*It’s not meant to be a happy fic either.
Erik has been gone for a few months now and you’re just counting the days until he comes back. You miss your husband, but you worry yourself crazy about him too. How things are going, if he’s okay, what could go wrong, what if he’s changed and more. He always tells you to stop that, but you can’t help it— especially now, since you’re 8 months pregnant.
This pregnancy has been hard, you’re sick constantly and diagnosed with Hyperemesis gravidarum. It’s been hell, you’ve lost weight instead of gaining and had multiple doctors visits in such a short time. Your son is healthy and growing, but you’re drained.
Erik worries about you too. No matter how intense the situation was, he is always worried about you— constantly thinking about you. He hates being away during this time, your first pregnancy and he’s gone most of it.
His biggest fear is you delivering the baby alone, without him at your side. He worries that this would make you resentful, even though it’s out of his control. He fears that this could ruin your marriage.
You clean the house as you always did on Saturdays. It’s hot today and not cooling down anytime soon, you make sure to have the ac on, blasting cool air. You look outside as you stand at the sink in the kitchen—cleaning baby bottles and your cat Soku running in between your legs. The sun beaming down in your backyard, trees moving with the wind and the smell of the cinnamon rolls you made lingering in the air. It was quiet in the house, just you and your thoughts.
This pregnancy was supposed to be a loving experience, but even on the good days it wasn’t and you were alone. You felt the baby kicks by yourself, discovered the gender by yourself, had doctors visits by yourself, went to the hospital by yourself. You wouldn’t have tried for a baby, if you knew it would come to this. He was supposed to be done, he went back on his promise.
The military has already cost both of you so much and you just wanted him to stick to his word, but that still comes first no matter what.
You hold back tears as you’re scrubbing the bottles, scrubbing harder than you should. You accidentally make your nail bed bleed.
“Damn it!” You shout, tossing the scrubber and bottle back into the water.
Walking to the bathroom to get ointment for your fingers.
You sit on the edge of your bed and feel a kick. You jolt up slightly, his kick was hard this time. He kicked you in your ribs, which he had been doing a lot lately— it never made it any easier.
You can’t help but laugh a little, rubbing your belly.
“You’re gonna have to go easy on the kicks. Your mama can’t handle any more.”
You clean your finger and apply a bandaid, catching a glimpse of your wedding pictures with Erik. A simpler time for the both of you, a happier time.
Erik sits there talking to Elliot about you, trying to pass the time.
Elliot finishes chugging the water, handing the bottle to Ray.
“What’s the gender of the baby again?”
Sam shouts, “it’s a boy, babyyy!!”
Erik smiles, fidgeting with his gloves.
“Yeah. We’re having a boy, I’m going to have a son.”
Elliot nods, leaning back against the wall.
“Congratulations dude. You’re the first out of the group to become a dad.”
Ray giggles, catching everyone’s attention.
“Most of you fucks can’t hold down a relationship, of course he’s first.”
Erik smirks, knowing deep down inside he agrees.
Elliot, Ray, and Sam start throwing jabs at each other and laughing. Erik makes his way into the other room.
He sits in a corner, pulling out a picture of you. Holding it close to him, so ready to have you in his arms. He will be home in a few days, but he hasn’t told you yet— he doesn’t want to disappoint you if something changed.
Elliot comes into the room and shuts the door, Erik can still hear Ray and Sam being loud in the next room.
Elliot sighs, debating on asking this question.
“Man, are you okay? You’ve been quiet and distant.”
Erik hesitates to respond, thinking on his answer.
“Uh, yeah. Just worried about my wife is all.”
Elliot sits in the chair near the door.
“Is she okay? talk to me man.”
Erik’s lip twitches, he feels guilty.
“She has Hyperemesis gravidarum, a condition that makes her sick. She’s been sick this entire pregnancy and I haven’t been there.”
Elliot just sits there, watching Erik and listening to him vent.
“I’ve missed most of the pregnancy and I think she hates me for it.”
Elliot shakes his head, disagreeing with that statement.
“Nah, there’s no way she hates you. She adores you, you two are the happiest couple I’ve ever seen.”
Erik chuckles, because that is probably true— which is saying something.
“I was supposed to be out, man. We were trying for a baby—because I said I was done. Said I wouldn’t take another contract. But I knew I wasn’t. And I didn’t say a word.”
“Damn, dude— that’s kinda fucked”
Erik fiddles with your picture, understanding how bad it is.
“Tell me about it.”
“I haven’t even been able to talk to her for a few weeks now. She might’ve already had him for all I know.”
Elliot chews on his crackers, talking with his mouth full.
“You would’ve gotten the message from Red Cross, if that was the case.”
Erik responded, feeling defeated.
“This has to be my last contract, I can’t lose her over this.”
You took a nap and when you woke up it was dark outside. You got up to feed Soku, who was screaming at you for his food.
“Soku, calm down. I promise your food is coming.”
You shake your head, laughing. He always acts like he’s starving.
You waddle into the living room, then the bedroom and by the kitchen sink— closing all the curtains. Debating on what you will eat for dinner, it’s late and you don’t feel like cooking anything or cleaning dirty dishes. You immediately think of Chinese food, something you haven’t ate in ages. You call and place your order of lo-mein, generals chicken and egg rolls— your go to.
The food arrives 30 minutes later and you eat just about all of it. You were starving, but now you hope that it all stays down. Normally you get sick after eating food, not always— but often enough that you keep a bag near you.
Your belly feels like it’s expanded a shit ton, now that you’re full. You sit on the couch propping up your feet and call your friend Jessica, Ray’s wife.
The line rings a few times.
“Hello.” Jessica answers.
“Hey, girl!”
“How are you mama? How’s my nephew?” Jessica laughs.
“He’s fine, kicking me to remind me that he’s fine.” You let out a playful sigh.
“What have you been up to?” Jessica asks.
“Not much. I’ve been preparing for his arrival— cleaning bottles, having my dad set up his crib, painting his room and washing his new clothes.”
“Are you excited? He’s almost done baking.”
You laugh.
“I’m ready for it to be over, this pregnancy has not been fun at all. I’m also preparing myself to do this alone.”
“You won’t have to do this by yourself, don’t be dramatic. You have Erik, me and the rest of the family.”
Tears fill your eyes, because what she said is what you needed to hear.
“Who knows when they will be home. I’m just so damn frustrated.” You cry.
“I know, it’s okay to be frustrated. Just know that you are never alone, no matter what.”
Your line buzzes like there’s another call trying to come in.
“Jessica, I’ll have to call you back— someone else is calling.”
You disconnect that call and respond to the call coming through.
“Hello?”
It’s loud and muffled at first, almost making you hang up.
“Hellooo?”
The line clears up.
“Hey, baby.” A familiar voice says on the other line.
Your heart skips a beat at the voice.
“Erik?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
You’re unsure of what to say next, it’s been so long.
“How are you and the baby?” Erik asks, trying to ease the awkwardness.
“We’re fine. He’s been kicking me a lot lately.”
“He’s strong already. I can’t wait to see you two.” Erik chuckles.
“Mhm.”
“I’m sorry it’s been so long since we last talked. There’s been alot going on and I—“
“It’s fine.” You interrupt him, being short with your response.
Erik sighs, realizing very quickly that he’s in the doghouse with you.
“Baby, look I love you and we will be home soon. I’m done then, I promise.”
You rub your belly, tears running down your face.
“I.. love you too.” You say, getting choked up.
“Sweetheart.. don’t cry.”
“It’s just.. it’s been so hard, Erik. I don’t want to do this without you.”
“You won’t have to. You won’t.”
“What has your doctor said? Is everything okay at the check-ups?”
“I’ve gained 10lbs and he’s measuring a little small, but everything is healthy.”
“Okay, good.”
Erik abruptly stops the conversation.
“Oh, shit!—“
“Baby, I’ve got to go and I’ll call you back at another time. I love you.”
The call disconnects before you can respond.
“Fuck!” Erik shouts, getting up from the table. So irritated, that the one call he gets with his wife is interrupted.
There was a situation outside that needed his attention. Normally, the guys would handle it on their own if they could— but this time they couldn’t.
He’s trying not to get emotional, but the call was barely five minutes— after weeks of not talking. He wanted to hear more about you and the baby.
He could tell that you weren’t happy during the phone call and once again, he couldn’t be there for you. This whole situation was starting to worry him tremendously.
You just sat there on the couch, trying to calm yourself down. You couldn’t help but sob after that phone call. The navy comes first with everything you do.
You run lukewarm bath water, so you could maybe relax before bed.
You sit in the tub and rub your belly, humming a lullaby your mom would sing to you as a kid. You start feeling pressure on your lower belly, it’s enough to make you sit up in the tub. You’re thinking that maybe the baby had moved, but as you sat up in the tub— you see blood and a lot of it.
The sight sends chills down your spine and sends you into a panic. You carefully stand up to get out of the tub and the cramps start coming, the first one almost making you drop to your knees. You’re able to throw on the pajamas you had waiting and you try to quickly walk to the phone. The breathing exercises weren’t helping and you’re scared.
Something is wrong.
You get to the phone and dial the emergency number that Erik called you from, it rings and rings— no answer.
you call again and again.
Finally someone answers, it’s Elliot.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Elliot. It’s me, is Erik around?” Your voice filled with panic.
“Um, he’s busy. Is everything okay?”
“Ow! Ow!” You cry into the phone, the pains getting worse.
“I need to talk.. to him. Something is wrong.”
“Fuck! Okay. Okay. Hold on for one minute.”
You stand there holding your belly and you start to feel worse, just different than normal. All of a sudden, everything goes black and you’re on the floor seizing.
In the background you hear Erik on the phone, panicking and out of breath.
“Baby?”
“Baby, are you there?”
You black out.
Elliot runs to get Erik, who was still in a bad mood from his interrupted phone call.
Erik is tapped on the shoulder from an out of breath and worried Elliot.
“I need you to come here.”
Erik is confused by the statement, “what’s wrong?”
“Your wife is on the line.” Elliot huffs, bending over to catch his breath.
“What? Why would she call that number?”
“You’re sure it’s her?” Erik asking Elliot, still not understanding why you would call that number. It’s something you never did.
Elliot catches his breath.
“She’s crying on the phone and said there’s something wrong.”
“Oh, god!” Erik takes off running faster than he ever has.
He gets into the room and grabs the phone, putting it to his ear.
“Baby?”
“Baby, are you there?”
You don’t respond and he feels sick. He points at Elliot to leave the room and shut the door.
He hangs up the call and immediately calls your parents.
“Hello.” Your father answers, seeming like he just woke up.
“Hey, it’s Erik. Can you go to our house and check on her? She called this emergency number and said that something was wrong— now, I can’t get in touch with her.”
Your dad jumps out of bed, scaring your mother and hanging up the phone.
Erik paces the floor. He’s so scared, terrified of what could’ve happened.
Your parents rush in the house using their spare key. They scan the room looking for you and find you on the floor in the living room, by the phone.
Your pajama bottoms are soaked in blood and you’re still seizing, foaming at the mouth.
“Oh, my god!” Your mother screams, trying not to cry.
“Help me get her on her side!” Your dad demands as he rushes over to you.
“Honey, can you hear me?” Your dad asks as he holds your head.
Your mother frantically dials 911, letting them know about the situation.
She checks your pants to see if you had delivered the baby, there is so much blood. She couldn’t tell what had happened.
They rush you to the hospital and prep you for an emergency C-section. Your son, Emerson— is born early, but still relatively healthy. He was in distress, due to the umbilical cord being wrapped around his neck— he will need further observation.
You’re in and out of consciousness, not remembering what was happening. The doctors don’t know the cause for the seizure, but your labs look okay.
Your parents had a Red Cross message sent to Erik.
Erik continues to pace the room for hours, until he gets a call.
“Hello, is this the Officer in charge?”
“Yes, this is he.” Erik struggles to spit out.
“There’s been a Red Cross message sent through for Erik. His wife has been rushed to the hospital in critical condition and their baby was delivered early.”
“Does he wish to return home for this matter?”
“Yes, he does”
“Okay, we will put that in the system and notify his command.”
Erik holding back tears, his heart dropped in his chest.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Have a good day.” The lady hangs up.
Erik starts sobbing holding his head in hands.
How could this happen? He should’ve been at home. He could lose both of you. This can’t be happening.
Erik rushes out of the room, startling the guys. His face is red and wet from crying.
Sam looks kinda scared at the sight, “what’s going on? are you okay?”
Erik’s grabbing his things and stuffing them in the bag.
“I don’t—“
“I don’t know what happened. All I know is my wife has been rushed to the hospital in critical condition and they had to deliver our baby early.”
The guys collectively gasp, all of them saying things— trying to be there for him, but he tuned them out.
Erik manages to pay for his flight and get his commands approval to leave.
You wake up— groggy, sore and confused on how you got here. You’re hooked up to a few machines and Erik is laying beside you in his uniform.
How the hell did he get here? Are you dreaming?
“Erik?” You mumble, voice hoarse and throat sore.
Erik opens his eyes as they adjust to the light, just waking up.
You start to panic, still confused.
“What’s going on? What happened?”
Erik looks at you with relief, jumping up and kissing you on the forehead.
“Honey, something happened and they had to take to baby early.”
The realization of what he said hits you and you start crying.
“No… No..”
Erik holds you, trying to comfort you as you’re now sobbing in his arms.
“Shh.. shh.. he’s okay— Emerson came out perfectly healthy and you will heal nicely.”
Your doctor comes in and addresses your concerns, telling you that if everything goes right— you’ll be going home in 3-4 days. Emerson has to stay longer, maybe 1 week— just to make sure he’s okay..
You feel so upset and defeated. You almost died and in your mind, almost killed your baby. Erik wasn’t home until after the fact. This is a nightmare.
Today is the day you go home, you’ve been cleared. Emerson is still staying at the hospital and that crushes you inside. He should be going home with you and getting used to you.
The drive home is silent, you didn’t have much to say to Erik and you haven’t since you woke up. He has his hand on your thigh as he drives, rubbing his fingers along it— like he used to always do.
You make it home and into the house, Erik helps you upstairs and into the bed.
He tidies up the bedroom as you sit there.
“So, when do you leave?” You question Erik, breaking the silence.
“Huh?” Erik responds, not understanding the question.
“When do you leave? Duty first and all.”
“I’m not leaving again. I’m home for good.” Erik replied, moving the folded baby clothes off the bed.
You wish you could believe that, you so badly do.
“You’re always leaving.”
“I know that I haven’t been able to be here, but I will be now. I will be here for you and Emerson.”
Erik checks his watch, making sure that he keeps an eye on it for your medicine.
“I almost died and you weren’t here, doubt that will change now.”
Erik finds himself getting frustrated, not at you— but the situation.
“Babe.. I didn’t have choice in the matter. I had to go for work.”
You laugh at what he says, showing that you don’t believe him.
“No choice—“
“Did you not have a choice when you fucked me and wanted to make a baby? Did you not have a choice when you broke your promise to me?” Your voice cracks as you start crying.
Erik’s heart breaks at the sight of you crying.
“I should’ve told you how I felt. I’m sorry for that, I am.”
“Sorry? You led me to believe you were done, you had me trying to make a baby with you and then doing the pregnancy by myself.”
Your tears turn into anger. You sit there watching him clean the room and avoid looking at you.
“Once we get Emerson home and I get back on my feet, I want a divorce.”
Erik’s head snaps your direction.
“Honey.. what?” Erik feels ill, almost like he wants to throw up.
“I can’t do this shit anymore, being picked second to your job-“
“If I hadn’t gotten to the phone in time, you would’ve had a dead wife and son. You were halfway around the world, when you could have at least been here with me. I gave you the baby you wanted and you couldn’t give me honesty.”
Tears fall down Erik’s face.
“Baby.. the job is complicated. I’m done with it now and I’m here from now on, you won’t have to go through anything else by yourself.”
“Complicated? Erik, you lied to me. You weren’t ready to be done.”
“Yes! Complicated—“ Erik raises his voice a bit.
“That job is the one thing I’m good at. Outside of starting my life with you, it was the best decision of my life. It’s all I’ve known for a long time. I made a mistake and I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know how to tell you that I wasn’t sure what to do.”
You sit there listening to what he says, realizing that how he would feel never crossed your mind.
“You could’ve said something, Erik. I would’ve waited on the baby.”
Erik stands there with his hand on hip.
“I didn’t want to wait.”
“I didn’t want to wait due to my career. I wanted to start a family with you.”
Your heart aches, you have a good reason to be mad— but maybe you should’ve considered his feelings.
“Babe.. I’m sorry. It’s just been a rough time.”
Erik crawls in the bed beside you, kissing you passionately and rubbing your head.
“Don’t apologize to me, I’m sorry. Your pregnancy could’ve been totally different if I had spoken up.”
“Please, forgive me..”
Deep down, you had already forgiven him. Your emotions are just all over the place. You can’t imagine your life without Erik, but the hurt feeling still lingers.
Erik fell asleep, his hand over your belly— almost like it was a natural instinct. If only he could’ve felt Emerson kick and rub your round belly.
He’s finally home and finally able to get rest in the place that brings him the most comfort.
The room is silent, your mind is racing and your body is sore.
Emerson is still in the hospital, hours away.
Nothing is perfect here or even close to fixed, but at least you’re no longer in this alone. No longer dreaming of the day Erik is back at home.
A bittersweet reunion as Erik struggles to adjust to his new normal
Warnings: suggestive, no smut, crying, panic attack, angst
A/N: I was writing a smut but then it turned angsty, not sure how that happened lol but enjoy
This feels unreal. Like he's about to wake up from a dream and find himself back there, laid out on a sleeping bag in the safehouse, the memory of you fading as he's pulled from sleep. But you're here. He's here. And your hand is cupping the side of his face, warm, gentle, loving, touching his face, as you trace his skin with your fingers.
His breath is heaving, hands propping himself up as he hovers over you, straddling your hips as he takes you in, your face, misty-eyed and loving, staring back up at him. He's sure he looks the same, own eyes filled with emotion as he stares down at you, lips parted as if to speak, struggling to find the words as he just leans down and kisses you.
The kiss is gentle, chaste. Nothing like the ones you shared when he first walked in, when he couldn't stop his mouth from devouring you, desperate. Now he's not desperate. He's nervous.
As his lips press against yours, soft and shy, he can't help but sigh into your mouth when he feels you move against him, your hands trailing down to the side of his neck to hold him close as your lips move against his, guiding him, teaching him again how to kiss you.
How to love you.
He lets you lead, following you as he kisses you, his body slowly remembering that this feeling is what his normal was, what it will be again. You, under him, invading his senses.
All he can feel is you; your lips on his, your soft breath on his lips each time you pull away slightly to breathe, minty and sweet, your delicate hands on him, the soft plush mattress under his shaky hands. He hadn't even realised he was shaking until your hand is trailing down his arm, gently finding his.
"You're shaking," you whisper against his lips when you pull away, eyes fluttering open to look up at him. He just swallows hard, looking down at you as he struggles to find the words to say, sitting back slightly on his knees, he lets you take his trembling hand in yours. "If you're not ready yet..." you trail off, fingers trailing across his cracked knuckles as your eyes trace down his arm.
He swallows hard, before it breaks, the tears trickling down his face, as he sits there frozen, almost embarrassed, as he turns his head and looks away. He hears your breath catch as you watch him cry, he squeezes his eyes shut tighter at the sound, as he tries to rid his chest of the ache that settles deep in there, the hollow feeling that he's trying to let you fill.
He lets your hands find his shoulders, lets you gently pull him down to you until he collapses, hands working their way around your waist as he pulls you into him, holding you with bruising force as he sobs into your neck. He feels your hands around his shoulders as he heaves, breathing out gasps as he lies atop you, his weight pressing into you as he pulls you impossibly close.
"I've got you, baby," you murmur into his temple as your lips find root there, soft and gentle against the side of his face, his heart aching with how gentle your words are. He feels stupid, he feels weak, he feels pathetic. Finally, after all this time, he's back here with you. He has you under him, in your bed again, after all this time away, the way he dreamt about every night, and all he can do is cry.
The feeling is suffocating, closing in on him as he drowns in it all. All the emotions he's been holding back, everything he saw, the feeling of you against him. The good and the bad. It all overwhelms him. He just sobs.
"I'm sorry," he chokes out, voice horse and stuttering, "fuck I'm sorry, god this is fucking stupid."
"Don't say sorry," you say firmly but gently as you hold him, easing him down off your hips onto the bed, cradling him against your chest, "you have nothing to say sorry for."
Pairing: Sam* (Warfare) x OFC Jolene Johnson *Walsh is the last name I gave him for purposes of this story
Series Warnings: mentions of life in the military/active duty; mentions of death; mentions of cancer; parental loss; PTSD; mentions of childbirth (of another female character not the main OC); smut; dominate in bed kind of smut; oral sex, outdoor sex; family dynamics; loneliness
Rating: NSFW (18+) no minors allowed!
Word Count: 10,909
Author's Note: Hey everyone! Before you jump in, please take a quick look at the disclaimer, listed on the series masterlist below. This story isn’t meant to glorify the military or injuries in combat. It’s about the messy, complex realities that come with service, and the ways those ripples reach the people waiting back home. This fic was inspired by real stories and experiences shared with me by people I care deeply about, whom I’m incredibly thankful for their honesty and trust. I also want to acknowledge that Warfare is based on real-life events and Sam being based on a real individual. This story is meant to exist separately from that. It’s my own exploration of the fictionalized version of Sam as seen in the film. That said, the real man behind the inspiration has shared his experiences with incredible candor and reflection, and I’d honestly encourage everyone to seek out his perspective and listen to his story firsthand. Since there’s not much canon info on Sam (we don’t even get a last name!), a lot of what you’ll see here comes from my own interpretation and imagination. This story also started from an anonymous request, so to that anon: thank you! You unknowingly kicked off something I’ve become really proud of. As this fic grows and evolves, I’m excited to keep exploring these characters, their flaws, and all the chaos and tenderness that comes with them. Thanks for being here at the start of it all. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I’ve loved bringing it to life. Peace and Love ~ Mae
Series Masterlist | Trailer | Next
Sam
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
An unpaid babysitter. That’s exactly how Sam felt. Like an unpaid babysitter.
It wasn’t that he lacked a bond with his squadmates; far from it. They had been forged in fire, traveled to hell and made it back, with their shared survival being a hard-won badge of honor. Their deployments had plunged them into the deadliest corners of the world, but nearly all had come back intact. That was the point, wasn’t it? To endure. To survive.
So when the rare gift of a one-month reprieve arrived, Sam had thrown himself into it with a hunger born of exhaustion and relief. He went home.
He spent long, days back home in the proximity of his mother and father, and with his grandparents who still smelled faintly of pine and old leather. He returned just in time to catch his baby sister coming back from her first semester in college. A moment frozen in time, his smiling face catching her tears as she sobbed into his arms, overwhelmed by his safe return home from deployment. The annual blue fish festival came and went like clockwork, and Sam kayaked out to Cedar Island every day, tracing the shoreline, drinking in the unspoiled beauty of a world untouched by the chaos he’d left behind.
Every second of it felt like an odd liminal space. Time to allow for physical healing, such as that bum shoulder that continued to flare up every now and again from when his arm came out of socket. It was also nice to get a brief sanctuary from the constant gunfire, drills, and endless heavy lifting. A life he’d knowingly signed up for, yet never truly imagined he’d have to endure.
Sam had enlisted in the Navy back in January 1998, a decision born of quiet desperation. College wasn’t for him. No matter how much his mother hoped it would be. Sure, he’d always been good at math, exceptional even, but the idea of a life behind a desk, crunching numbers in starched pants, felt suffocating. It was the opposite of what he craved. Intensity.
From boyhood, athletics had been his refuge: Football, baseball, lacrosse. Fields where he thrived. After a long conversation with his grandfather, a stoic World War 2 veteran who shared Sam’s love of the outdoors and quiet strength, he marched straight into his college’s recruiting office. Then to his advisor, to officially withdraw from classes. Twenty-one years old, Navy SEAL training bound.
He was deep in his first real deployment when the news came. They allowed them to watch the footage, a grim silence settling over the barracks. Few moments in his life had made his stomach drop like this. Sure, there had been the Tower of Terror at Disney World on his sister’s birthday, or that nerve-wracking first kiss from a girl in biology class. Those had been thrilling in a different way. Exhilarating even.
But nothing could have prepared him for the cold, unyielding truth: five more years locked into a contract with Uncle Sam, and a nation shattered, still reeling from a terrorist attack that changed everything. The ground beneath his feet had shifted, the world he knew rewritten overnight. His mission was now stark and unforgiving. Seek retribution, or die trying.
And yet, despite the weight of it all, Sam loved his job.
There was something inherently him about it. The relentless challenges, the physical barriers that pushed his body to the edge, and the mental battles that demanded he stare down doubt and failure only to prove himself wrong again and again. The isolation that came with grueling training or distant deployments, the sharpened instinct to think fast and act faster. Skills he’d been honing since he was a boy racing through the woods behind his grandfather’s cabin.
There was also comfort in the routine. The uniform chosen for him, the simplicity of a life stripped of needless fuss and pretense. Sam was a straightforward man. Never one to waste energy on appearances or tangled relationships outside the Walsh family. He’d been respectful enough, sure, but his high school romance faded before he left for college. Prom pictures were never even printed.
He’d had the difficult conversation with Rachel. The girl who had once been everything to him. He was bound for Yale, she for Duke, and neither had the patience or will for long distance. Worse, by senior year, she had grown possessive, her jealousy suffocating. The night she slapped him across the face still stung, but it was the cold shoulder she gave him at graduation that cut deeper.
College held little respite. There was the girl in his Latin class. Well-bred, polished, from a family whose wealth had bought her a place he’d earned through raw grit and high SAT scores. She had a patronizing charm, dismissing his hometown as “charming,” which in her world meant run-down and insignificant. Worse, she acted as if he were a stranger to the world outside his bubble. As if he’d never glimpsed life beyond the school walls. Maybe her nanny and butler had shielded her from real people growing up. But just like Rachel, she had eventually suffocated him with expectations and condescension. He ended things before the walls closed in completely. Not that she wouldn’t have ended things herself the day he’d dropped out of college. She certainly would’ve.
And then… there was his truest commitment: The United States Navy.
He’d watched too many of his brothers-in-arms buckle under that relentless pressure. The weight so many men in uniform carried silently. He understood the practical reasons behind it all. Marriage brought better housing, extra pay, a touch of normalcy in a life ruled by chaos. Having someone waiting for you at home softened the edge of danger, made the thought of dying a little less unbearable knowing you’d been loved. It offered a tether to the world beyond the battlefield, a promise that life might continue, even if you didn’t.
But for Sam, it was wholly unnecessary, not to mention, deeply unfair.
He could never, ever live with himself if he tangled someone else’s heart in the storm of his existence. His life was a minefield of risk, passion, and obsession. Not the kind of world you brought someone innocent into. The brutal reality of his job – the kind nobody outside the military could understand – meant that any hope, any love, could be shattered in an instant. A poorly made bomb under the desert sun, a stray bullet halfway around the world, a mission gone sideways. It was sickening to even imagine some pretty girl waiting for him at the end of the day, only to be met with a solemn knock on the door, a folded flag, and a letter from his superior.
That kind of heartbreak wasn’t something he’d subject anyone to. Not a sweet daughter, not a hopeful sister, not a woman brave enough to love a man built for war. Loneliness was a small price to pay compared to the burden of dragging someone else into that. Sam Walsh refused to be the man who gave loneliness as a gift, and loss as a legacy.
Which was why he couldn’t help but roll his eyes every time one of his squadmates eagerly launched into plans to find a girl during their scheduled training at Little Creek. Their initial training had taken place in California, but this latest cycle was stationed on the East Coast, six long months in Virginia before they’d be redeployed to the Middle East. At least it had the silver lining of keeping him in the same time zone as his family, a small mercy in a life defined by distance and unpredictability.
But it also meant the familiar weight of responsibility settled heavier on his shoulders. The steady, weary burden of supervisor to a group of young men who drank away their worries every night at the same bar. While they sought oblivion in cheap beer and reckless laughter, Sam remained the reluctant anchor, watching over their foolishness, constantly preventing their irresponsibility from turning into a larger issue. He wasn’t interested in distractions or fleeting connections; not when the lives of his squadmates depended on his vigilance. The role wasn’t glamorous, but it was necessary, and it left him isolated.
So, he settled in for the thirteenth straight night at the same bar just off base, exactly as he had every night before. The place wasn’t flashy, but it had character. An older joint with walls lined by faded photographs and relics of a bygone era. The worn leather seats, the faint scent of spilled whiskey, the faint hum of old rock on the jukebox, all unmistakable signs of a sanctuary for those who’d seen too much.
Behind the bar stood Randy, an older man with a gruff demeanor, the kind of presence you couldn’t miss. His skin was weathered, leathery, and marked by an anchor tattoo. The silent emblem of a former SEAL. Randy owned the place and had never quite managed to leave the military behind. It took him all of ten seconds to read Sam’s posture. The tightness in his shoulders, the quiet exhaustion behind his eyes, before sliding a free drink his way.
Their conversations were terse at first, the kind of tight-lipped exchange only soldiers could understand. No need for unnecessary words when experience spoke volumes. But over the past two weeks, something had shifted. Randy’s edges softened, and a more personal warmth crept into their talks.
Randy’s wife, Loretta, was a force of nature. She had gone to high school with Randy and stood steadfast through his trainings and deployments, a pillar of strength in a brutal world. Somewhere along the line, ovarian cancer had struck her down, and she fought the battle mostly alone. On top of that, she’d taken in the child of one of Randy’s squadmates after the girl’s mother died from a hemorrhage during Randy and her father’s deployment. A quiet act of compassion that echoed in the bar’s worn corners. Loretta reminded Sam eerily of his grandmother. Full of sass, unbreakable strength, and a warmth that wrapped around you like a well-worn blanket. They were infinitely more worth his time than an alcohol driven exchange with a woman he’d never see again.
Sam sat at the bar, nursing no more than two beers, exchanging quiet moments with Randy and Loretta. Meanwhile, the rest of his men drank themselves into oblivion, chasing loose girls who haunted the bar’s sticky floors looking for husbands, or simply making fools of themselves around the pool table in the next room.
He was mid-conversation with Randy, casually recounting the day’s grueling task. His skin, no longer salty from the morning’s plunge into cold bay water, now carried the faint scent of Old Spice as he wrapped one hand around a cold beer bottle. The other hand animatedly traced the memory of their jump from the plane into the churning water below, when the bar door swung open with a soft creak.
Normally, his eyes would have snapped to the entrance without hesitation. Years of training had wired him to scan every room, constantly assessing threats, reading every shadow and silhouette. But tonight, surrounded by familiar faces, his fellow soldiers, and in a place where the owner’s reputation for looking out for the downtrodden was well-known, Sam didn’t bother. He barely registered the footsteps growing louder in his peripheral vision.
That is, until Randy’s attention shifted abruptly.
Sam had come to know the man’s playful stoicism well. The kind of gruff exterior that lasted all of five seconds before it melted into teasing ribbing or quiet kindness. So when Randy’s rough face broke into a warm, almost tender smile, his mustache twitching with amusement, it caught Sam off guard. Randy stepped over and settled just to Sam’s right, leaning in close with a gravelly voice that carried a hint of affection.
“You take a wrong turn gettin’ back to the Creek, lil’ missy?”
It was the kind of greeting that meant you missed me, coming from Randy’s mouth.
The voice that answered was unmistakably feminine, yet edged with a roughness that was rare. A touch deeper than most women Sam had known, carrying a hint of grit and resilience like someone who’d been tempered by life’s hard lessons. She had that kind of presence that could hold her own in any room, standing toe-to-toe with men without flinching.
“I was gone for all of two weeks, old man,” she scoffed.
Sam’s head whipped toward her like his mother’s lazy Susan spinning at Sunday lunch after church. What he saw nearly sent his beer bottle tipping over.
All auburn hair. Wild, curly, and impossibly vibrant cascading down past her shoulders, framing a face dotted with pale freckles that caught the dim bar light. Her wide green eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint, and her full lips curved into a smile that was equal parts challenge and invitation. She stood a good head shorter than him, a fact that made his palms sweat for reasons he didn’t fully understand. There was something about women who were smaller, something primal, protective, almost like a deep-seated cave-man instinct that stirred inside him.
She wore tight boot-cut jeans that hugged her toned legs, the obvious outline of worn leather boots just peeking out from beneath the cuffs. Her tank top clung snugly to her athletic frame, revealing lean, defined muscles beneath curves that hinted at strength rather than softness. Her nails were kept short and practical, with no frills or polish. Her makeup was minimal, subtle shadows and a light sweep of mascara, nothing flashy or overtly artificial. Something he figured most of his squadmates wouldn’t even notice, and he only had the eye for given he’d grown up with a sister. The only note of femininity was her fiery red hair, a wild cascade that seemed to have a life of its own. She was every bit a tomboy, unapologetically tough and real, the kind of woman who didn’t need to soften herself to fit in.
“Retta’s gonna wanna know all about it, you know,” Randy said, his voice low and teasing as his gaze settled fully on the woman.
Sam might as well have disappeared. The moment she stepped into the room, Randy’s world shifted its center of gravity. As if everyone else blurred into the background, Sam included. Their familiarity was unmissable. The kind of closeness built over years, not months. They spoke with glances more than words, and for a brief moment, it was as if the rest of the bar didn’t exist.
That’s when Sam noticed it. The resemblance. It was subtle at first. A strange sense of déjà vu, but then it hit him all at once. The same wild curls. The same sharp, glinting green eyes that danced with mischief. The same tomboy swagger, like she’d grown up climbing trees and outrunning boys twice her size. His gaze drifted behind the bar, to the cluster of old photographs near the register, tucked just to the right of the liquor shelf. He’d seen them a dozen times in passing, but hadn’t really looked at them. A couple of Christmas snapshots. One of a grinning teenager holding a fish half her size on a kayak. Another, much older image of a toddler perched on a much younger Loretta’s lap, curls like wildfire and eyes already full of trouble.
He hadn't paid much attention before. Observation was instinct for him, even when he wasn’t actively scanning for threats, he still registered details. That’s just how his mind worked. But in that moment, something clicked into place.
Loretta had mentioned her goddaughter once or twice in passing, in that offhand way older women do when talking about someone they hold close to the heart but don’t want to make a fuss over. Sam recalled the story in fragments. How Loretta watched over the baby for nearly a year while going through her own cancer remission. How she and Randy took the girl in at seventeen, after Randy’s best friend and former squadmate succumbed to cancer and left her behind. A girl they helped raise like their own. And now, seven inches to Sam’s right, stood that girl. All grown up, wrapped in denim, boots and a quiet, commanding fire.
Sam took another sip of his beer, already half-planning his exit. He figured he'd slip away quietly, give them the space they clearly hadn’t realized they needed. Sure, he’d grown to enjoy the quiet companionship of Randy and Loretta. Steady, salt-of-the-earth people who didn’t ask questions they didn’t need answers to. But he understood family. Wanted to understand what it could mean to reconnect after time apart. Even if said time was no more than a few weeks. He was just about to excuse himself when the woman let out a short, sharp laugh and pointed toward the specials board on the wall. Her voice cut through the low hum of the bar. Her voice was smoky, low, and steeped in Southern drawl.
“The hell is a Jolene?” she scoffed, brows raised as she shot a look back at Randy.
Sam blinked, caught between the sound of her voice and the curve of mock horror in her smile. It wasn’t a question so much as a challenge. Randy’s face immediately stiffened. He rolled his eyes like a man already caught red-handed. “Retta wanted to try it out while you were gone. See if it’d catch on. I told her you’d object, whole-heartedly–” he started, already reaching for a glass behind the bar.
The woman’s eyebrow lifted with a sharpness that said don’t even think about it, but Randy poured anyway. By the time the drink landed on the sticky varnish in front of her, she was eyeing it like it might grow legs and walk off the counter.
“Peach Crown and ginger ale,” Randy muttered, almost apologetically.
“For fuck’s sake,” she muttered, picking it up like it offended her on principle. She took a sip and immediately grimaced.
Sam watched the whole thing unfold like a well-rehearsed comedy bit. The moment her face puckered, Randy burst out laughing, a deep, chesty sound that filled the space like thunder.
“I told Retta that peach Crown and ginger ale were sure as shit not our Jolene,” he said between chuckles. “But you know how she is. Gets something in her head and rides it all the way into the ground, JJ.” Sam couldn’t help it, his lips twitched.
Jolene.
He’d only ever heard Randy call her “JJ,” like he’d just done now. Loretta, on the other hand, had always referred to her more distantly. Our goddaughter, even when she’d once pulled a photo from the collage behind the bar and handed it to Sam. The woman beside him now, sharp-eyed and wry-smiled, in an image where she was perched next to an overgrown german sheppard with a massive underbite.
“You seem just as stubborn as that girl,” Loretta had said at the time with a fond, knowing smile. Then she’d gone on a rambling tangent about her god daughter’s refusal to settle, her habit of running off men before they ever got too comfortable, and her fierce insistence on independence. There’d been no judgment in Loretta’s voice, just pride dressed up as exasperation. The kind that said “I’m glad she knows how to take care of herself,” in one breath but “I’d love grandbaby’s” in another.
And Sam had understood. That desire to be alone. The satisfaction in solitude. The quiet kind of self-preservation that came from not dragging someone else into the whirlwind of your life. It was the same thing that kept him here every night since he got to town. Sitting at the bar with a pair of old souls instead of chasing cheap hookups like the rest of his squad. He wasn't avoiding intimacy as much as he was protecting others from it.
He stole another glance at Jolene, who was still glaring at the fizzy drink like it had insulted her personally. Just then, Randy reached out with a chuckle, sliding the offending glass away and replacing it with a cold Sam Adams. “There,” he muttered, amused. “Let’s not pretend you’re a cocktail girl.”
Before she could reply, a familiar voice cut through the space. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Loretta’s voice rang out as she appeared from the hallway near the back, apron tied around her waist, hair pinned up in a no-nonsense bun that still managed to look elegant. “You didn’t even say hello before runnin’ your mouth.”
Jolene turned with a grin, her whole face lighting up. “I was ambushed by the board,” she said, jerking her thumb toward the specials chalked up on the wall. “You named a drink after me? A foul, fruity one at that.”
Loretta laughed as she came around the bar to wrap Jolene in a one-armed hug. Jolene leaned into the embrace with the ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times before. Their banter was seamless, practiced. A soft rhythm built from years of chosen family. “How was Baltimore?” Loretta asked, pulling back just enough to study her goddaughter’s face.
“Crowded. Loud. Full of assholes,” Jolene replied, deadpan. “In other words: Baltimore.”
Loretta gave her a light swat on the arm, shaking her head, “Everything went okay?”
Sam watched the exchange quietly, nursing the last of his beer, feeling like he was seeing something private. But not in an unwelcome way. More like he was peeking in on something maybe he shouldn’t be, but not having the strength to tear his eyes away. Then, for just a moment, Randy glanced his way. His expression was unreadable, until the corners of his mouth tugged into a wry, almost smug grin. “My goddaughter,” he said simply, voice low, eyes twinkling with quiet pride. Then he turned back to the two women without another word, fully re-immersed in their conversation, leaving Sam alone with the warm hum in his chest and the growing awareness that he was watching a hurricane of a woman.
“Victoria’s good. Baby’s good. Healthy and cute as a button,” Jolene said as she took a sip of her beer, the glass bottle balanced easily in one hand while the other reached into her back pocket. She pulled out a weathered leather bifold. Well-loved and broken in. The kind of wallet that looked like it had been sat on, sweated on, and dropped in the mud more than a few times. Sam clocked the detail absently, recognizing the same type of no-nonsense utility he lived by.
She slid a single photo out and passed it to Randy without ceremony. From where Sam sat, he couldn’t make out much. He wasn’t trying to snoop anyway. That would’ve been obvious, and the last thing he wanted was to get caught ogling over a stranger’s baby picture like some nosy neighbor. Still, curiosity tugged quietly at the edge of his attention.
“Damn, that’s a big kid,” Randy said with a short laugh, holding the photo out for Loretta.
“Twelve pounds, five ounces,” Jolene replied, deadpan. Though the way her eyes widened ever so slightly told a whole story of secondhand horror.
“Good Lord,” Loretta muttered as she took the photo, blinking at it. “You said Victoria was okay?”
Jolene leaned against the bar, raising an eyebrow as she recounted the tale, her voice dripping with dry humor. “I told Victoria not to date the linebacker in high school. Flash forward and she was screaming about a vasectomy while he was crowning.”
Sam choked on a breath. Not a full laugh, more like a stifled snort that punched out against his will, sharp and involuntary. Three sets of eyes turned to him at once. His face flushed instantly, heat creeping from his neck to the tips of his ears. He tried to clear his throat, lift his beer, act casual. Anything to disappear into the wood grain of the bar. “My bad,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.
But Jolene just smiled. Wide, amused, and undeniably dangerous. “I didn’t know we had an audience,” she said, voice laced with mischief, green eyes flicking over to him with interest.
Randy, ever the instigator, let out a low chuckle and clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “This one’s become a regular. Rolled in the day after you left. Been keeping your spot warm while you’ve been away.”
Sam rubbed the back of his neck, still red. “I wasn’t trying to listen in.”
“But you did,” Jolene hummed, taking a slow sip of her beer before leveling him with a look that was part challenge, part amusement. “You can’t help it, can you?” She tipped her head at him knowingly. “Your job’s to be observant.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “How’d you–?”
She grinned before he could finish, one of those are you serious right now kinds of expressions that made his stomach twist and his heart trip over itself. “Oh, come on,” she teased, lowering her beer and leaning one elbow on the bar. “I grew up in a SEAL household. I know one when I see one.”
Sam blinked.
“She’s not wrong,” Loretta chimed in from behind the bar, already half-laughing.
Randy smiled, clearly proud of both women. He gestured between them lazily. “Sam Walsh, meet Jolene Johnson. Our goddaughter. She’s got a talent for sniffin’ people out and sending all the men who try and look in her direction running for the hills.”
Jolene gave a mock salute, eyes never leaving Sam. “Nice to meet you, Walsh. You always eavesdrop when strangers talk about their friend’s childbirth trauma, or am I just special?”
Sam shook his head with a dry laugh, finally letting himself relax. “You’re definitely special.”
“Charmin’,” Loretta said, grinning wide now. “This one’s real charmin’ Jo, so please be a peach, and don’t run him off. I was just starting to like him.”
“Take that damn cocktail off the board and I’ll think about it,” Jolene said, gesturing to the board.
Randy chuckled as he reached for a bar towel, slinging it over one shoulder with the casual ease of someone who’d spent half his life behind a counter. “That one’s a spitfire, boy,” he said low, leaning in just slightly while the women launched into a playful debate over the drink named in Jolene’s honor. His voice dropped a notch, gravelly and knowing. “If I were you, I’d tread carefully.”
Then he straightened and looked away, giving Sam no chance to reply. But the message hung heavy in the air, sinking in deeper than any shotgun-on-the-porch, “have her home by ten” kind of warning Sam had gotten back in high school. This wasn’t about protecting some fragile girl from the big, bad sailor. This was a warning for him. Not laced with threat, but with understanding. The kind that passed between men who’d seen the world at its ugliest and knew exactly how rare women like her were. It wasn’t about guarding her heart. It was about guarding his.
Because it became obvious to him, with his limited knowledge, and now only few minutes of observing her, that Jolene Johnson obviously wasn’t delicate porcelain in need of a pedestal. She was barbed wire wrapped in beauty, and Randy, through the lens of old Navy instincts and godfather wisdom, was giving him the kind of heads-up a man only offered when he respected you enough to tell the truth: She’ll wreck you, son. And you’ll thank her for it.
Jolene smirked as she turned back toward Sam, her tone still light, but there was a flicker of something more thoughtful behind her eyes now. “So,” she drawled, propping an elbow on the bar. “What exactly did you do to charm both Loretta and Randy? Randy’s got a soft spot for anyone who’s worn the uniform, sure, but Loretta? She’s a bit more skeptical of sailors.”
Sam huffed a quiet laugh, tapping the neck of his beer bottle against the bar before lifting it. “Not really sure,” he said honestly.
Jolene didn’t reply at first, just took another sip of her own beer, her eyes scanning the room lazily. Like she wasn’t entirely invested in the conversation but also hadn’t walked away. Loretta drifted toward the back, and Randy had moved down the bar to greet someone else, leaving the two of them in a small pocket of space that felt quieter than the rest of the bar.
She didn’t look at him when she asked, “You come here to drink alone, or...?”
Sam raised a brow, reading between the lines. “Squad. Officer. You can do the math.”
Jolene grinned, turning back to him. “Ah. So you’re the responsible one.”
“Something like that.”
“Or the married one,” she said, eyes dancing as she tipped her beer to her lips again. “Playing designated wingman for the rest of the idiots while he tries not to feel guilty about his ring tan if he flirts for a few hours.”
Sam shook his head, the reaction immediate and firm. “Not a fat chance.”
That made her pause. She studied him now, properly, like she’d just decided he was worth a closer look. “No wife back home?” she asked, but there was no flirt in it. Just blatant curiousity.
“Nope,” he said, setting his bottle down. “Never had one. Never planned to.”
Her brows rose slightly, not in judgment, but something more like appreciation. “Huh. That so?”
He nodded, leaning back slightly, arms crossed over his chest. “Never felt right dragging someone into this life. Lots of my guys talk themselves into it. Better pay, better housing. Someone to come home to. Makes sense on paper. But in practice? You’re just gambling with someone else’s peace if you ask me.”
Jolene went still for a second, her smirk fading into something quieter. She tilted her bottle in a silent toast before taking another sip. “I get that,” she said, softer now. “People don’t always realize how easy it is to wreck someone when all you know is chaos.”
Sam’s eyes flicked to her, and for a beat, neither of them said anything. Something about what she said just lived there, in the space between them, mutually understood. Here were two people who had learned, maybe the hard way, that solitude wasn’t loneliness. It was survival. It was doing the right thing for another person, even if it meant you got used to the silence. A selfless act, even if it seemed unconventional.
“Well,” Jolene said, turning slightly in her stool to face him more fully, “you probably know more about me than any man should if you’ve been perched up at this bar for two weeks. Randy’s got a heart the size of Texas and a mouth to match.”
Sam chuckled under his breath, swirling the last sip of his beer in the bottle. “He does like to talk.”
“Mhm. Especially when it’s about me.” She tilted her head, watching him with those sharp green eyes. “So how even the score a little?” He raised a brow. “Let me buy you another beer, and you spill your guts so I don’t feel overly exposed here by my godparents” she offered, nodding toward the empty bottle in front of him. “After all, at least I can do to support our troops.”
That stopped him. Not because he was offended, but because he was surprised. He blinked. “You don’t strike me as the ‘buy a guy a drink’ type.”
She grinned, already waving down Loretta with two fingers. “What can I say Brown Eyes, I’m full of surprises.”
Just then, the scratch of a record starting up echoed through the bar’s old jukebox. A familiar guitar riff filtered into the space. More than a Feeling. Low, steady, and unmistakable. Jolene’s eyes flicked toward the sound, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Oh, hell yeah,” she murmured, half to herself. Shoulders slowly moving as if she was already lost in the song.
Sam glanced sideways at her. “Boston?”
“Yes sir,”
He gave a short laugh. “Didn’t peg you for the type.”
She leaned forward just enough to narrow the space between them, her tone easy. “And what type is that, exactly?”
He met her gaze, smiling softly. “The kind that listens to country.”
Jolene raised her eyebrows, clearly amused. “Well, you aren’t entirely wrong there.” She smiled and looked around the room. “Namesake and all,”
Loretta slid the two beers over without a word, her expression suspiciously neutral as she moved back down the bar. Sam took one and lifted it in a quiet thanks. Jolene clinked her bottle gently against his. “To classic rock bands, the blabbermouth bartenders I call family, and a night not playing wingman or getting thrown up on by newborns.”
He smirked, tapping his bottom towards hers and taking a drink. “I gotta be honest, I am not really understanding why Randy gave me a warning when it came to you.”
“Give it a few more minutes,” she said, settling back into her seat with that same calm confidence. “Eventually they all go running for the hills faster than that Naval regime can carry them,”
He didn’t answer right away, just took a slow sip of his beer, eyes fixed on her. There was something about Jolene, something that pulled at the edges of his thoughts. Beneath that playful, teasing spirit lay a quiet stoicism. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there. “So,” she said, a sly grin tugging at her lips, “gonna fulfill your half of the bargain now that I’ve properly supplied your beer?”
He leaned back, considering. “What do you wanna know?” Sam braced himself for the usual. The generic questions he was tired of hearing: Where’re you from? Why’d you join the Navy? What’s your family like? But Jolene’s next words threw him off balance.
“What scares you the most?” she asked, her voice dropping low, eyes fixed on his like she was searching for something buried beneath the surface.
Sam blinked. This wasn’t the usual small talk. No easy, surface-level banter here. It was a quiet challenge, wrapped in casual conversation. A test he hadn’t been prepared for. He held her gaze. “I’m starting to see why they slap a ‘stanch warning’ label on you,” he said with a shaky laugh, nodding toward her.
Jolene smirked, the ghost of a sigh escaping her lips. “I just love watching you boys squirm.”
Sam’s eyes flicked down for a moment, then met hers again, steady and searching. The words didn’t come easy, but maybe here, now, they could be spoken. “Losing control,” he admitted quietly.
She nodded slowly, eyes sweeping around the bar as if taking in all the chaos in the room. “Which is understandable,” she said. “But honestly, you could’ve just said snakes, and I’d have accepted it.”
He let out a dry chuckle. “That would’ve been a lie.”
She smiled, sharp and knowing. “Sure, but if Indiana Jones can be manly and afraid of snakes, it would’ve been the perfect cop-out.”
“I’m not really one to cop out,” Sam said flatly, “You asked. I answered. Nothing to hide here.”
“Interesting,” she murmured, almost to herself, then turned away to glance at the jukebox.
Something stirred inside him. A quiet swell of pride. That simple exchange, the raw honesty beneath the banter, had done something unexpected. And in that moment, he realized he’d found a sliver of ground, to get under her skin, just enough to make her see him differently.
“Alright, I got one,” Jolene said, a wicked glint in her eye as she leaned in close. Sam felt her breath before he heard her words. Soft and sultry right against his ear. “What kind of porn you watchin’ back on base, Sailor?”
His spine straightened like he’d just taken enemy fire. Eyes wide. Beer nearly slipped from his hand. She burst out laughing, clearly delighted by the reaction. “Oh my god,” she wheezed, brushing a hand down his arm as if to apologize, though the grin on her face said she wasn’t sorry at all. “You should’ve seen your face.”
Sam shook his head, laughing despite himself. “You just ask every guy that, or am I special?”
She shrugged, still chuckling. “Depends. Do you always react like you just got caught in church with a Playboy under your hymnal?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, the flush in his cheeks rising. “Wasn’t expecting that one.”
Her hand lingered on his arm a moment longer than it needed to. Warm through the soft cotton of his t-shirt, before she pulled away and reached for her beer again. “You don’t have to answer,” she said, eyes flicking sideways with a smirk. “Although, now I’m dying to know if you’re a romantic type or more of a no-plot, guy.”
Sam leaned on the bar, recovering his composure with a slow sip. “That’s classified,” he deadpanned.
“Uh-huh,” she teased, crossing one leg over the other, boot tapping lightly against the footrest. “Guess I’ll just have to use my imagination.”
The jukebox shifted songs again, something grittier and low. A Tom Petty tune this time. Sam let out a breath. “You always this chaotic?”
Jolene lifted her bottle in a lazy mock-toast, green eyes gleaming. “I like to keep people on their toes.”
“You’re doing a hell of a job,” Sam said, his voice edged with a grin.
“I try,” she hummed, then let her gaze drift back to him. “You were the good boy in school, weren’t you? Top of the class, neat handwriting, real smart kind.” It was more of a statement than a question.
He smirked and ran his thumb over the label of his beer bottle. “Salutatorian.”
Her brows lifted like she’d just hit the jackpot. “Knew it.”
She glanced around the room, as if searching for examples. “Most guys I’ve met in uniform? Athletes. Brawlers. Or the kind who wouldn’t have made it elsewhere. Not a knock, just how it usually goes.”
Sam nodded. “I was at Yale. Accounting. Really broke my Ma’s heart when I called to say I dropped out and enlisted.”
Jolene turned fully toward him then, her posture relaxed but her expression suddenly became serious. “Why’d you do it?”
There was no teasing behind her tone. No smirk hiding in the corner of her mouth. She asked it like someone who genuinely wanted to know. He took a breath and answered. “I couldn’t stand it,” he said quietly. “The idea of dress shoes and staring at spreadsheets for the rest of my life under fluorescent lights. Felt like dying in slow motion. I wasn’t made to live like that.”
Something softened in her expression. She gave a small nod, almost to herself. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I get that.”
He chuckled. “So, what do you do?”
She tilted her head, studying him with playful suspicion. “You mean Randy and Loretta haven’t told you my full life story, including my home address and occupation?”
“They mentioned you existed, not what you did for a living,” he said, watching her closely. “Should I be nervous?”
Jolene grinned and leaned an elbow on the bar. “I run my dad’s old auto shop. Took it over when I turned eighteen and the deed got passed to me. Been mine for the last nine years.”
Sam blinked. That wasn’t the answer he expected. “You’re a mechanic?”
“Yes sir,” she said with a smirk.
He laughed, shaking his head. “Didn’t see that coming.”
“Most don’t.” She took a sip of her beer. Sam’s smile lingered as he glanced at her. Boots scuffed, jeans hugging her curves, hands strong but nimble. The curls spilling from her head being the only wildly feminine thing about her. And yet she was still effortlessly beautiful. “Let me guess,” she said, tipping her bottle slightly in his direction, her green eyes narrowing with mock-serious focus. “You’re a…” She let the moment hang, scanning his face like it held all the answers. “…Mustang man,” she declared, sitting back with a smirk, satisfied with herself.
Sam blinked, and for a second he was sixteen again. His childhood bedroom, now half-overtaken by his mother’s holiday decorations and storage bins. But on the one untouched wall, still hanging by old thumbtacks and curling at the corners, was that damn poster. A ‘69 Mustang. Canary yellow. Black racing stripes. The kind of car that felt like freedom when he was a boy dreaming of escape.
He let out a soft laugh and shook his head. “Damn.”
Jolene grinned like she’d just sunk an impossible pool shot. “I know cars,” she said simply, as if that explained everything. And honestly, it kind of did.
“That obvious?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Little bit,” she teased, taking a slow sip. “You’ve got Mustang energy. Classic. American made. Requires a lot of maintenance so they aren’t everyone’s cup of tea. Which, is great for keeping my lights on.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, amused. “So is that how you pick your men? By what kind of classic car they’d like?”
“No,” she drawled, tapping a nail against her bottle. “But it does help to weed out the Corvette guys from the pool. Too high maintenance. I don’t like pretty boys.”
He laughed. It wasn’t just her confidence, or the way she talked like she didn’t owe the world an explanation. It was that strange, electric comfort between them, the sense of being understood without having to explain too much. “So,” he said, glancing at her over the rim of his bottle. “What kind of car are you?”
She tilted her head and thought for a moment. “‘72 Bronco. Matte blue paint job. Dog hair in the back seat. Radio’s a bit wonky, but the engine runs like hell.”
He smiled. “Sounds about right.”
“Damn straight it does,” she said, bumping her shoulder lightly into his. The jukebox clicked again, this time rolling into Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Simple Man.” Neither of them spoke for a moment, letting the lyrics drift over them, the melody threading into the space between. “You know,” she said quietly, “I’ve always loved this song.”
He nodded. “Hard not to.”
“Yeah,” she murmured. “I prefer people who tell it to me straight. No bullshit.”
Her voice had softened, losing its playful edge for a beat, but then she looked back at him with a spark in her eye. Before Sam could come back with some dry remark, Randy’s voice cut in from the other side of the bar like a grenade tossed into their calm little bubble. “Well I’ll be damned,” he said, setting down a bar towel and squinting like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You’re still sittin’ here. And he’s still breathing.”
Jolene didn’t even blink. “Brown Eyes hasn’t given me a reason to send him packing. Yet.”
Randy let out a wheezing laugh, clearly delighted. “Brown Eyes, huh?”
“Shove off, Randy,” she said, shooting him a look, but the edge in her voice was dulled by the faint curl of a smile tugging at her lips.
“Terms of endearment,” Randy grinned, eyes dancing with mischief as he turned to Sam. “I think little Jo might actually like you son.”
Jolene arched her brow. “Keep talkin’ and I’ll sic Loretta on your ass. You know she’s still mad about you forgetting her birthday last year.”
Randy raised both hands in mock surrender. “Now that’s just playing dirty.”
Sam watched them with a faint smile. The back-and-forth carried that undeniable thread of history. Years of bickering and belonging, the kind of bond you didn’t earn overnight. There was nothing forced about it. Just love, worn in like an old leather jacket. And Jolene, for all her fire and sharp tongue, fit into it like she'd always been part of the frame. Like she was carved out of that same solid stuff. Randy gave Sam a knowing look before wandering off down the bar, shaking his head and chuckling under his breath. Jolene turned back to Sam, raising her bottle in a mock toast. “Sorry about him. He’s been impossible since 2002”
“I like him,” Sam said, resting his forearm on the bar. “He reminds me of my Grandpa.”
Jolene turned to him, a sly brow raised. “Is your grandpa also nosy as hell?”
“Not exactly,” Sam said with a short laugh, lifting his beer. “But he’s got that fake sternness. Gruff voice, arms crossed like he’s gonna lecture you, then turns around and slips you a twenty.”
Jolene nodded toward Randy, who was now fussing over a glass rack like it had personally offended him. “Yep. That’s Randy. Barks like a dog, but he’s made of marshmallow.” She paused, taking a long sip of her beer, then glanced at Sam from the corner of her eye. “And, I assume your Grandma keeps asking where the kids are?”
“Every time I go home,” Sam muttered, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter how short the trip is. That woman finds time to pull me aside, ask if there’s ‘a nice girl’ back at the base. That would imply I’ve got time and interest, and everyone knows that’s not happening.”
Jolene let out a low chuckle. “God, thank you. Finally, someone who gets it.”
Sam turned, amused. “Let me guess. You’re dodging the same questions?”
“Like it’s a national sport,” she replied. “Retta still thinks I’m going through a ‘rough patch’ that’s lasted, oh… five years and counting.” He laughed, and she grinned as she continued. “They all think you’re broken if you don’t want the white-picket fence. Husband, kids, minivan. That whole suffocating checklist.”
Sam swirled the last inch of beer in his bottle, watching the amber swirl in the glass. “Yeah. Like wanting something different means something’s wrong with you.”
Jolene leaned her chin into her palm, expression softening. “It’s not that I’m against love or anything. I just don’t want to compromise who I am to have it.”
“That’s it,” Sam said, more earnest than he meant to. “I’ve seen what happens when people build a life around someone else. Then that person leaves, or dies, or just… disappoints. And suddenly, they don’t know who they are anymore.”
Jolene nodded slowly, and for the first time, her playful mask slipped. “Yeah,” she said, voice quiet. “Been there.”
They didn’t speak for a moment. “You know,” Sam said after a moment, glancing sideways at her, “this isn’t how I expected my night to go.”
Jolene arched a brow, playful as ever. “That a good thing?”
He gave a slow, honest smile. “No complaints here.”
She held his gaze for a beat, eyes steady and expression unreadable, before turning her attention back to her beer. Her fingers trailed lazily along the condensation on the bottle. “You’re an honest man,” she said softly. “Maybe that’s why I haven’t sent you packing yet.”
Sam tilted his head, smirking. “But we should give it time, right? At least that’s what you keep telling me.”
“You catch on fast, Brown Eyes,” she hummed, lips curling in amusement.
They settled into something easy then. A rhythm that didn’t require effort or posturing. Just good beer, low music, and conversation that flowed as naturally as the tide. Stories from childhood. Quick jabs and playful teasing. Shared complaints about the current state of politics and civil discourse that left little room for nuance. A mutual reverence for the moment the Red Sox had clinched the World Series last October.
When she told him her dad was a born-and-raised Masshole, Sam laughed out loud. It made perfect sense, despite her Southern drawl and dusty boots, because it was still there. That same dry bluntness. That defiant charm. The kind of woman who could fix your carburetor, out-drink you in whiskey, and still steal your heart with a crooked smile. She had that New England backbone, and being a Connecticut coastal kid, Sam recognized it. He knew people like her. Only, he’d never met someone quite like her.
And it was nice. There was a stillness in him tonight that he hadn’t felt in a long time. The kind of quiet that usually came only in the wilderness. Like after a long hike, at the edge of a cliff, watching the sun disappear over pine trees and silence settle over the earth. That voice in his head, the one that always warned him to stay clear of pretty smiles and kind words, that reminded him women like this had no business waiting around for someone with boots always halfway out the door, was quiet. Maybe for the first time in years. There was no tension clawing at the back of his mind. No guilt for enjoying her company. Just the comfortable weight of now. Of this.
He found himself watching the slope of her collarbone as she tilted her head and laughed at something he’d said. Nothing lewd. Just… appreciation. A man admiring a woman who happened to be sitting far too close, whose smile came far too easily. She didn’t even seem to notice the way her boot had casually settled on the bottom rung of his barstool. Tucked right between his knees. It just moved there. And he didn’t mind.
Somewhere between stories and another round of drinks, they’d both turned their stools fully to face each other. The noise of the bar faded to the edges. His knee brushed hers every now and then, neither of them acknowledging it. Neither of them moving away, either. That subtle pressure of her boot resting between his knees should’ve meant something. Should’ve stirred that reflex he’d honed so carefully. The instinct to retreat before things got too personal, too close. But it didn’t. Instead, he felt still. Not weighed down, but settled. And God, when was the last time he’d felt anything like that?
He watched her laugh again. Head tossed back just slightly, a curl falling from behind her ear, and it hit him harder than it should’ve. Women like her weren’t supposed to exist. Not in real life, anyway. The world was full of too many illusions. Too many paint-by-numbers girls, looking for men to fill a space in their life instead of walking side-by-side with them. Too many forced conversations over cocktails he couldn’t pronounce in bars that smelled like burnt citrus and bad decisions.
But Jolene? She was as real as the engine grease stains on her jeans and sea air outside. She was all bare skin and calloused palms. Boot-cut jeans that hugged her hips just right. A tank top that wasn’t trying to be sexy, but was. Short nails, a laugh that was quick and unfiltered. Hair like wildfire and a voice that could gut a man if she wanted to with one lewd comment. He hadn’t built her in his head. She wasn’t some soft-focus fantasy that existed only on lonely nights in bunkrooms or base showers.
She was flesh and blood. Sharp wit and strong shoulders. The kind of woman who probably preferred fishing on a quiet lake to getting dressed up for dinner downtown. Who listened to Skynyrd and Zeppelin and didn’t just name-drop it to sound cool. Who changed her own damn oil and wouldn’t care if his hands were rough when he touched her. And somehow, against all odds, she was sitting here with him. Not batting lashes. Not trying to impress. Just being herself. Just existing, like it didn’t even occur to her how rare she was.
She didn’t need rescuing. She didn’t need fixing. And she sure as hell wasn’t looking for a hero. She was just a woman who knew who the hell she was. And Sam, who had spent his entire adult life learning to stay a step removed, to never get too close to something he couldn’t keep, felt something stir in his chest that he hadn’t let himself feel in a long, long time. Not infatuation. Not lust. Just a kind of… quiet recognition. A sense of, Ah. There you are. Suddenly, the jukebox clicked again, gears shifting audibly before a familiar swell of melody rolled through the bar. Jolene let out a groan, her head falling back with theatrical exasperation.
“Oh, come on,” she sighed. “I swear Randy is behind that one.”
Sam recognized the tune the moment the first notes lilted through the speakers. Dolly Parton’s unmistakable voice floating over the hum of conversation and clinking glass. He smiled, slow and knowing, as the lyrics took shape around them.
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene…
It was impossible not to look at her. This woman with that unmistakable head of long, wild auburn curls, skin kissed by sun and freckles, and those green eyes that narrowed as she gave the bar a half-hearted glare. A living, breathing embodiment of the song’s muse. Except she wasn’t the one stealing anyone’s man. Sam sure as hell wasn’t anyone’s to steal. Still… the words felt suddenly personal. The imagery, too fitting. Like the universe was in on a joke it hadn’t told him yet.
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her tank top, clearly aware of his gaze. “If you make a single joke about my ‘flaming locks of auburn hair,’ I’m dumping this beer in your lap.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured, lips twitching. But his heart was a different story. Kicking harder in his chest than it had in months. He set the beer down, leaning forward just a little. “You hate the song that much?”
“I don’t hate it,” she said, voice dry with the weight of long-suffered teasing. “I just hate hearing it every time I walk into a bar with a jukebox. You’d think being named after a song would be romantic or something. It’s not. It’s just… predictable.”
“Nothing about you strikes me as predictable.”
That earned him a brief pause. A flicker in her eyes. Not quite surprise. Not quite disbelief. But something softer. “You’d be surprised,” she said quietly.
“Try me.”
For a second, neither of them spoke. The song played on, background noise to a growing current neither one of them had planned for. And maybe that’s why it worked. Why it didn’t feel heavy or loaded or like some moment either one of them had to pretend to want or resist. It just existed without need for explanation.
Usually when a woman looked like that there was something underneath it. An edge. An expectation. Demands of him that he wasn’t willing to make, nor did he feel was morally right to lie about. But something that curled around her smile said don’t get too close. More than that, she just let him be, and that… that was something new.
“You know,” she said suddenly, chin tipping toward him. “You’re staring.”
He didn’t even try to deny it. “I know.”
Jolene didn’t laugh or deflect this time. She just looked at him. Her green eyes tracked over his features slowly. Starting at the eyes, lingering on his jaw painted with two day old stubble, the faint scar at his temple, the way his T-shirt clung across his chest and shoulders. Her gaze wasn’t lewd, but it wasn’t shy either. It was the kind that could pull a man apart, piece by piece, and catalog him with the same ease she might use when identifying the engine block on a ‘73 Camaro.
Sam felt himself shift slightly back in his seat. Not out of discomfort, exactly. Just… unfamiliarity. It wasn’t often a woman looked at him like that and made him feel like the one being seen. Because the truth was, he didn’t think of himself as particularly noteworthy. Sure, he kept in shape. It came with the territory. But he wasn’t the biggest guy on base, not by a long shot. There were plenty of men in his unit who were broader, taller, and had a muscular structure women went nuts over. The kind of guys women threw themselves at in bars. Sam had never been that guy.
His strength lived quiet in his frame. Coiled muscle that didn’t advertise itself. Shoulders that carried weight without complaint. Hands calloused from years of weapon drills. His face was… fine. Average. Probably looked a tad bit older than he was in reality, due to that unfortunate way a soldier’s fine lines set in young. The only thing he’d ever heard women consistently compliment were his eyes. Dark, almost black in low light, but much lighter when the sun was out. Something about them made people think he was serious, even when he wasn’t trying to be.
And now, here was Jolene, taking her sweet time like he was a painting she was deciding whether or not to hang in her room. “You done?” he asked softly, a half-grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Not yet,” she murmured, just as soft.
He blinked, caught off guard. A beat passed. Then she leaned forward, elbows on the bar, and her voice shifted into something a little warmer, a little more sincere. “You’ve got those eyes,” she said, tapping the side of her beer bottle. “Still. Quiet. But not empty. Just like you’ve got a lot to say but are choosing not to.”
Sam didn’t know what to say to that. No one had ever said anything quite like it before. It felt like a compliment, but it didn’t land like flattery. He tilted his head, watching her with new appreciation. “That’s quite a compliment.”
Jolene smirked. “I’ve been told I’m a little intense.”
He nodded. “I’ve been told I’m a little boring.”
“You’re not boring,” she said simply. “You’re calm. That’s different. Calm’s rare. I like rare.”
“Does that mean you like me?” he asked. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the need to prove anything. Not his job, and the reasons he chose it much to his family’s disdain. Not his perpetual singlessness which suffered teasing with his squadmates. Not his physical strength, as he fought to prove himself worthy of his title. Not even his interest in her. It all just simply was.
And somehow, she made that feel like enough. From somewhere near the end of the bar, Randy let out another loud chuckle, clearly still eavesdropping. “You better be careful,” Jolene said without looking up, eyes still locked on Sam’s, “He’s gonna start planning a wedding.”
“I can handle Randy,” Sam replied with a grin and a raise of his right eyebrow.
She leaned back, taking a long pull from her beer, the corners of her mouth curving as she studied him once more. “Yeah,” she said quietly, “I bet you can.”
Sam sat back, the conversation and the warmth of Jolene’s gaze settling deep in his bones. He caught himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, he should ask her out. Not the typical “date” loaded with all the usual pressures and expectations, but something simpler. A chance to see her again, share some more quiet nights talking about cars, music, and the small things that made life feel bearable.
He knew both of them wore their independence like armor. A shared understanding that relationships could be messy, complicated, and sometimes more trouble than they were worth. But maybe that was exactly why this could work. Someone who understood the value of space, who wasn’t going to demand more than he was willing to give. Someone who could be a friend, a companion through the next six months in Virginia. A steady presence he could trust, not a whirlwind to disrupt his carefully guarded calm. He swallowed the sudden nervousness rising in his chest. What’s the harm in asking?
Just as he was about to muster the courage, the side door banged open and a familiar voice cut through the mellow hum of the room. “Sam! Frank’s getting rowdy again. Probably best to pack it up before someone loses a tooth.” Erik stumbled in, eyes bright with the kind of rough energy that didn’t fit in with the quiet atmosphere Sam was enjoying.
Sam sighed, the moment slipping away. Jolene caught his expression and gave a half-smile that seemed to say, next time. He stood, trying to flag down Randy to close out as she looked at him. She rose as well, tucking her hands into her belt loops and for the first time during the evening she looked unsure how to proceed. She nodded her head towards the door.
“I better get back home. Loretta dropped by round 4 but I’m sure Chewie’s gotta go out.” she said. He recalled her mentioning her German Sheppard, earnestly named Chewbacca, that was waiting at her home. Same one from the photo behind the bar.
“Right,” he nodded behind him. “And I got some SEALs to wrangle back to base before someone breaks something or gets us banned from the bar,”
“Of course,” she replied, with a forced smile.
The bar buzzed around them. Raucous laughter, the scrape of chairs, the clatter of glasses, yet everything blurring into a noisy background hum. Sam’s throat felt tight. His mind raced with the usual self-doubt, the quiet voice that told him to keep his distance, to not get involved, to protect her from himself. But something about Jolene, her easy confidence and sharp humor, was pulling at him. Softening that guard. He swallowed hard and finally blurted out, voice rougher than he expected, “Maybe… maybe I could see you again?”
She glanced toward the door like she was weighing how much to give, then back at him with a small smile. “There’s a car show tomorrow. Maybe I’ll see you there?”
Her words hung in the air, inviting, but vague enough to keep him guessing. Sam felt the familiar itch of uncertainty creeping in. Should he just let it go, chalk it up to a fleeting moment? But something inside him urged him to try just a little harder.
He cleared his throat, nerves tightening his chest. “I should probably have your number just to make sure.”
Her eyes flickered with surprise, and for a second he thought she might say no. Instead, she pulled out a worn flip phone. Holding it out, she said softly, “If you are certain about it Sailor,”
His hands trembled slightly as he took the phone, fingers fumbling over the buttons. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this exposed. Asking for something, wanting something, without his usual protection of sarcasm or distance. Jolene watched him, her gaze steady and patient, and it made his heart beat a little faster.
When he finished, he handed the phone back, trying to keep his voice even. “There. I’m sure.”
She slipped the phone away, a shy smile playing at her lips. “Alright, Brown Eyes. We’ll see how tomorrow goes.”
She turned on her heels, ready to leave. The moment felt fragile, like a breath held too long, ready to shatter or soar. Without quite knowing why, he found himself blurting out, “Mind if I walk you out to your car?”
Her head turned around, eyes flicked up, wide and surprised. Almost like she wasn’t used to being offered such a simple kindness. She hesitated, shifting in place, and he could see the brief flicker of uncertainty in her gaze. Was it the chivalry? The attention? Or maybe just the unexpected notion of someone wanting to stick around a little longer. Then, almost shyly, she gave a small nod.
Sam’s heart skipped. He’d never been the smooth type, and moments like this usually ended with him retreating quietly. But something about Jolene made him want to push past that familiar hesitation. He turned to his squad, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the low hum of the bar’s closing crowd. “Alright guys, settle your tabs and meet me outside in five.”
The rowdy laughter and clinking glasses from inside faded as they stepped through the door, replaced by the crisp night air wrapping around them. His eyes scanned the lot and landed on an old red pickup truck, dust settled on the hood. Jolene caught his gaze and pointed with a grin. “That one’s mine.”
They started walking toward it, the silence between them comfortable, charged with something unspoken. Sam’s mind wandered. He was usually so used to keeping people at arm’s length. Jolene glanced at him, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Thanks for the company tonight,” she said quietly, her voice almost hesitant, like she wasn’t used to moments like this either.
“No, thank you,” Sam replied, voice low but steady. “It’s been... more than I thought it would be.”
Their eyes met. No games, or smirks, just an honest connection that felt rare. The kind of thing you didn’t often get to share with someone new. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the worn leather strap of her keys, jingling softly. “I guess this is goodbye, for now.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, feeling a subtle but genuine hope rising inside him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said confidently.
She nodded, that same faint smile lingering as she turned toward her truck. Sam watched her settle in behind the wheel, the warm glow of the streetlight catching the fire in her hair. As he stepped back into the night, watching as she offered a small wave out the open window and took off down the road.
summary: A simple movie night with your boyfriend whom you haven’t seen in five months due to being long-distance ends up, you riding him for the first time
warnings: 18+ ONLY, make out session, unprotected sex, cowgirl position, frank being shirtless, slight marking kink, soft!frank, frank being a boob guy, established relationship, the reader straddling frank’s lap, aftercare, frank reassuring the reader since she’s slight nervous, reader’s description of body is not described nor mentioned, reader’s race is not described nor mentioned, praise kink, frank talking her through it. also i’m still getting the hang of writing smut, so please bare with me if this isn’t the greatest
word count: 1.4k+
a/n: a huge thank you to @auroralightsthesky for proof reading this for me! and allowing me yap about this fic to her! also the moodboard is just for aesthetic purposes. also, i kept on listening to the morning by the weeknd on repeat while i was writing this, and it helped me so much to stay motivated to finish this fic so quickly!🙂↕️
You have been in San Diego for the past few days visiting Frank. You and Frank were a long-distance relationship couple. You two have been doing long distance for around a year and a half now. So, when you can, you either visit him or he will drive up to Seal Beach where you live, and visit you. This time you decided to take the drive and visit him. So far, during your visit, you have visited Old Town San Diego, Seaport Village, La Jolla Cliffs, and so on.
For tonight though, you and Frank just decided to stay in bed and order dinner and watch a movie. Frank allowed you to pick the movie for you both to watch. You went ahead and decided to watch “I Know What You Did Last Summer.” Frank has watched the movie with you before, but it’s been a while since that happened.
“I have missed this,” Frank spoke up.
“I have too,” you smiled up at him. You were cuddled up on the side of his body. Your arms wrapped around his waist. “I hate doing long distance,” you pouted.
“I know, baby. I do too,” Frank said as he planted a kiss on your lips. When Frank kissed you, you craved more from him. You wanted to feel his touch. Most likely, you felt like that because you haven’t seen each other in five months.
Something in you made you move from your spot next to Frank and straddle his lap instead. You kissed Frank again. He kissed you back. Neither of you was paying attention to the movie now. Frank’s hands found themselves on your ass.
“I need you,” you said between kisses.
Frank smiled against your lips. He pulled back from you kissing him. “I do, too,” he said.
Frank moved his hands from your ass and grabbed the hem of your shirt. He pulled it off your body and tossed it to the side. Frank pulled you a lot closer to his chest. He wanted to feel your bare chest against his. Frank went ahead and went back to kissing you. He made his way down to the nape of your neck. Frank knew how much you loved to be kissed in that area. It’s one of your many weak spots.
“That feels so good,” you whined. You could feel Frank's smile against your neck. You knew that he loved hearing that. He loves how much you come undone by his kisses or his touches. Also, you could start feeling a wet spot form in your underwear.
“Frank,” you started to breathe heavily.
“What, baby?” he asked as he stopped kissing your neck and looked at you.
“I need you now,” you repeated. You wanted him inside of you. You were so eager about it. Frank didn’t mind it though. He was eager too. Being apart for five months made both of your sex drives so much higher than usual. “But I wanna try something different though.”
“What is it, baby?” Frank asked you as he put all of his focus on you.
“I wanna try and ride you. Can you guide me through it?” you asked softly.
“Of course,” Frank nodded his head.
You just nodded your head, lifted your hips, and took off your underwear. Frank went ahead and slid his boxers off. When he did, you could see that he was already hard and leaking precum from the tip. You have seen Frank's cock before, but not in this situation. It felt like you were seeing it for the first time. It probably felt like that since you have never been the one in control when it comes to the bedroom. It was always Frank.
“Now, go ahead and sit on it,” Frank guided you to sit on his cock. Frank could sense your nerves starting to get to you. “I’m right here. Okay?” Frank reassured you.
“Okay,” you gave your boyfriend a light smile. You went ahead and sank onto Frank. You could feel your walls clench around him when you did.
“Oh shit, baby. You feel so fucking good around me,” Frank moaned.
“Now what?” you asked as you got situated.
There was something so innocent that Frank loved about you asking questions about what to do next. Frank then placed both of his hands on each side of your waist. “Okay, I’m going to leave my hands here and you can just start going up and down slowly. Okay?”
“Okay,” you nodded your head.
You started doing slow up and down movements on Frank’s cock. The feeling felt a little different to you. You knew that over time you would get used to the feeling though, as you continue moving up and down slowly on Frank’s cock. Frank went ahead and started placing kisses between your breasts. His lips then made their way to your right breast. He just started sucking it. You knew that you were going to have a mark now because of him, but you couldn't care less.
After Frank left a mark there, he went back to putting all of his focus on you. “Are you doing all right?” he asked you.
“Yeah,” you nodded your head. “But I think I wanna pick up the pace. Is that okay?”
Frank removed his hands from your waist and placed them on both sides of your cheeks, “That’s totally okay with me. As long as you are comfortable with doing that, that's all that matters.”
After Frank said that to you, you went ahead and picked up the pace a little bit. You didn’t want to go too fast since you didn’t want to tire yourself out by doing that. You just wanted to go at a steady pace.
“Just like that, baby,” Frank praised you. “You’re doing so well,” he threw his head back against the headboard. Something about Frank just becoming undone under you was attractive. You loved the look of pleasure he had on his face. As you continued riding Frank more at a steady pace. You could start feeling the knot forming in your stomach. You knew that sooner or later that you were going to cum.
“Frank, I’m super close,” you said between heavy breaths as you continued riding him.
“I am too,” Frank said.
Not too long after, you felt the knot in your stomach snap and you reached your orgasm. You collapsed against Frank’s chest. Shortly after, Frank reached his orgasm too. You two were catching your breaths. Frank started to smoothly run his hand up and down your back as you two did. Frank was still inside you too. You didn’t want to move, but you knew that you should get up, so you could clean both of you up.
“I should get up, so that I can clean us both up,” you spoke up after your breathing went back to normal.
“No. Let me,” Frank objected.
You pushed off his chest, “But-.”
“No, buts,” Frank stated. “Yes, I know that even though you were the one who took charge tonight, and want to take care of me. I wanna do the same and take care of you since it was the first time doing it,” Frank explained. “So, let me clean us up. Okay?”
“Okay,” you nodded your head.
You got off Frank. Frank got up from his spot and went to his bathroom. Frank came back with a damp washcloth. He cleaned you up first, then himself. Afterwards, Frank went to his drawer and quickly slipped on a new pair of underwear. He then grabbed a pair of your underwear for you. He walked back over to the bed and helped you put them on.
“Can I wear your shirt instead of my pajama top?” you asked after Frank helped you put your underwear on.
“Yeah, of course,” Frank said softly.
Frank grabbed his black shirt from the edge of his bed. He wore it earlier in the day, but ended up taking it off right after the two of you got into bed. Frank helped you put on his shirt. Afterwards, you both got under the covers.
“Is there anything you need?” Frank asked you.
“Can we start the move over since we ended up getting distracted?” you asked as you lay your head on his chest.
“Of course, we can,” Frank said.
Frank restarted the movie from the beginning and for the rest of the night, you watched it. You couldn’t ask for a better night than this.
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Words: 2.4k TW: Mentions of intimacy. Tags: Fluff/Angst. Disclaimer: This isn't about the real Elliot. This has nothing to do with the real person, just Cosmo Jarvis in the movie with the name 'Elliot'. That's it. That's all.
The usual babyfaced redhead in her Taco Bell uniform was waiting for the bus outside the window. The regular bikers in their leather vests and lightwashed jeans had taken up the biggest table toward the back right under the dimming Dos Equis sign and the three U.S. Navy Seals who came on the weekends for a good time and weekdays to watch baseball were holed up with grit teeth ardently watching the game. In fact, the only outliers on this Thursday night were that the Cubs were losing to the Cardinals, and the phone behind the bar would not stop ringing.
“You guys in trouble with the mob? Who the fuck keeps calling?” Zawi hissed before taking the last sip from his Corona, leaving only the carcass of lime lifeless at the bottom. Over the neck of the bottle, he showed off how annoying the incessant sound was with widened eyes so dark they needed a candle to guide your way through.
“Ask her.” Behind the bar, rubbing at the bottom of a beer glass with a damp rag like it owed him money, the owner arched his head back to nod in your direction.
The air shifted, like someone asked to change the channel or something, and you felt an unusual set of curious eyes studying your profile suddenly. It was one thing to have Jake or Zawi look at you. They were regulars. Hell, you considered Zawi to be a friend, but Elliot’s stare hollowed out your chest like a hunter would to open up and gut its kill. It was the first time you wondered if they knew about you and Elliot. Zawi had referenced the tension between you both before a long time ago, but had Elliot told them any details? Did they know he had laid awake with you as the sun rose above the building outside your bedroom window, fingers hopelessly brushing over your hair, heartbeat like a steadfast lullaby in your ear? Had they known you two had done more than just make each other laugh with the cherrywood between you?
You picked up the phone and put it back down, just as you and your boss had been taking turns doing since the fourth call, “It’s just some guy.”
Elliot’s eyes were still more occupied with you than the game on the screen above your head.
“Must be down bad.” Jake mused as the phone started to sing out again after only a forty-five second break.
“I think I’m going to report him for harassment.” Your boss came up behind you, lifting his arms to add the clean glass to the row hanging above. Once free, he gave your shoulder a polite squeeze. He was old enough to be your dad and, thankfully, that was how he behaved. “And make a No Dating Patrons rule for all staff.” It wasn’t a shot just at you. Last summer, Gavin had flirted for tips with every single mom who came in for Margarita Mondays and the cops had to be called after one hurled glass after glass at his head, layers of black Maybelline mascara staining her face.
Zawi’s elbow jabbed Elliot’s ribs, “I guess you’re screwed then.” He teased and winked at you right as you removed his bottle and instantly replaced it with a fresh Corona.
Elliot’s gaze followed your fingers from the bartop to the recycling bin under the sink, barely registering the clang of glass on glass. He missed your hands most, not just the way they held tight around his neck in the throws of passion, but the soft graze of your nails over his chest, the way they would animate a story as you two talked on the couch while whatever chosen movie went ignored.
“You going to tell us what this loser did?” Jake pushed, smirking like the cat that ate the canary.
“It’s not a very exciting story.” Coming forward to lean over the bar, hands together, you tried to ignore the sound and think of how much to say, “We went out, like, three times. It was fine. He asked to get together again and I said that I wasn’t really feeling it…I didn’t want to waste our time anymore…”
For the first time since the Cardinals gained the lead on the Cubs, Elliot smiled. It was small and without teeth, but you saw it flash by like sneaky lightning.
“Whoa, had no idea you could be so heartless.” Jake teased, but his interest was already back on the TV.
In the key of C major, the phone's ringing bled through the bar three, four, five more times while you worked, moving through tables with a tray in hand. It didn't matter how diligent or kind you were, the noise was beginning to irritate everyone in the place. It wasn't as if your boss hadn't picked up and told the guy that if he didn't cool it, he would call the cops. He had when the calling began.
“I have told him to stop.” Shoulders up to your ears, you defensively explained yourself as soon as you were back behind the bar to Jake and Zawi who were glaring at you as if you were the mastermind behind all this. “I swear I have.” Putting the tray down by the ice bin, your whole body deflated as you sighed.
Your hand was inches from the black phone that hung on the wall when it was snatched away. Elliot had reached over the bar and practically ripped it off its station.
“If you do not stop calling her, I will reach into this phone, push my entire arm down your throat, grab you by your pathetic sack, then pull you out to shove my foot so far up your asshole, you taste my shoelaces, alright?”
It was so vivid and direct that you worried if you made a sudden movement that you would wind up in the scenario he just described. Unlike most people who spat out crazy threats, Elliot was pretty capable of messing someone up. It wasn't until you put the phone back down that you exhaled and allowed yourself to register how hot it was.
The break from the ringing made it seem like the announcer was describing the game from inside the bar. You could actually hear the ice in Jake's whiskey glass as he mindlessly sloshed it around in the sepia liquid.
“Thank you.” Sincere, but soft, you told Elliot, but all he gave you in return was a nod with a split second of eye contact.
You had expected the bar to explode with applause, but that would have actually bothered him. Perhaps, his throat to the guy you had dated had effectively frightened everyone to be on their best behavior.
Hunched over the bar, yawning as you counted your tip out, the bell attached to the door rang out.
“We are closed!” The sign was switched off ten minutes ago, but you couldn't allow yourself to sound upset. Clearly, you hadn't locked both doors.
Spinning around on the stool to assist the patron with exiting, you saw Elliot. His hands were deep in the pocket of his jeans which made his arms seem larger somehow, like they didn't fit against his side. He looked shy, a new kid on the first day of school, not at all like the guy who threatened a stranger's life earlier.
“Did you forget something?” Me? You didn't want to make things weird. In your experience, men spoke through their actions. Elliot had made it clear that he had got what he wanted from you and had no further interest. It wouldn't change anything if he heard how that made you feel. “I didn't see anything.” You pushed off the stool in order to go look behind the bar.
“No.” Elliot stopped you, gruff and clear all at once. He shook his head, “I didn't want you to be closing alone in case that creep came around.”
“I think you successfully scared him off.”
“Well, you can never be too sure.” Relief loosened Elliot up. It didn’t seem like you were cross with him even though he thought you probably should be. “I want to walk you home.” He didn't pose it as a question because it wasn't one. Elliot was going to walk you all the way to your building's door and wait until you were inside. He would be the creep following you if you didn’t oblige.
Back and forth, like a ping-pong ball, you wondered whether you should argue with him about it, but your body couldn't deny that a walk with Elliot. It was only two blocks anyway and your muscles yearned for time with him after a long stretch without so much as a high-five or wave across the bar.
“Yeah, I just have to do a few more things.” Swiping your apron off the table in one motion, you fled to the backroom. Had you always been this attracted to him? Your stomach felt uncomfortably tight when you two had been standing in front of one another alone in the bar. Heat clung to your body so immediately that you thought to check if the AC broke. A ripple of arousal had formed under your skirt without your approval.
Sweater on and hair down, you came back and turned off the lights. Locking the door behind you both, it was like a magnet was trying to pull you together by the hips despite your resistance. You had to push your feet into the ground to keep yourself in place. He was doing his best to distract himself with the passing cars instead of how well you filled out your pencil skirt. He had seen you in it at least a dozen times, but it was still a sight to behold. He once said a Polaroid he took of your ass in red mesh underwear belonged in the Louvre and he meant it. It was what he pictured underneath your skirt right now.
“So, you good?” Elliot's hands were back in his pockets as you two started to walk. His voice was layered beneath yours as you spoke at the same time.
“That was some game, huh?” The Cubs had pulled through in the last inning and saved everyone in the bar from a bombastic Zawi tantrum.
As natural as it felt to laugh with Elliot, the rigidity that had newly introduced itself didn't suddenly vanish. He hung his head down and pulled out his hands, adjusting to his own discomfort.
“I should have called.” He finally said, owning it after clearing his throat.
“Why didn't you?” Nodding, you confirmed before busying yourself with rifling through your purse for keys to your apartment. In case his answer didn't sit well, you wanted to be looking anywhere, but at him.
Elliot swung his arms out in front of him, groaning as his palms slapped together. It was hard for him to explain things to himself sometimes. He wasn't totally sure how to do it to you.
“It got a little…” Once he started, he winced and tried again, “Sometimes…” This didn't sound right either. He cleared his throat and thought about how he had left things with you. He remembered dropping you off for your afternoon shift and saying that as soon as he was back from Frank's bachelor party/fishing weekend, he would be right back at your place. He was such an idiot that he even promised he would make you dinner that night. Elliot knew that he meant it. He'll, he still wanted to make you dinner in your kitchen that desperately needed a fan. “Sometimes it gets a little dark in here.” Pointing to his head as he managed to finally say it. “It might not be a very good excuse, but that's what happened. It wasn't you, it's me. Something about being out there for Frank's…thing, I don't know, and then I just kept my distance because I don't to put that evil on anyone -”
“You could -”
Elliot wasn't done, “Then we left and I still should have called from overseas, but I didn't and I've been avoiding the bar ever since.”
“Yeah, I know.” Jake and Zawi had come in plenty of times without him. You had even served his mom on one particularly rowdy Margarita Monday.
“I did miss you.” Right in front of your apartment, Elliot stopped with you and swung around in order for you to face one another. The light from inside the small mezzanine of your building illuminated his earnestness.
“I missed you too.” A large part of you wanted to invite him up, but there was also a voice insisting you stay vigilant for the sake of your head and heart.
“The drinks at Three Arms suck.” He deadpanned, earning a snort of laughter so honest from you that it made his shoulders wiggle with his own laughter. “I understand if you don't want to hang out anymore especially after the night you've had with that guy calling you all fucking shift, but I'd really like us to get back on track.”
The moon behind his head, inviting itself in through the thin branches of a tree, stole your attention so you would not find yourself lost in his eyes without a compass or any way back. Elliot was carefully studying you in return, trying to deduce what was going on in your mind.
“I'll think about it.” Humming, you decided and started up the three brown polyester carpeted steps of your building. Once you put your keys in the lock, you looked over your shoulder and caught him clearly deep in a self-deprecating thought. “You owe me a dinner."
Elliot was surprised for a second, returning to reality after a few seconds of beating on himself mercilessly, but once he realized, his whole face lit up.
“I do, yeah. I was gonna make you crab cakes.” He called out, the moon cheering him on as it overcame the bur oak.
“Throw in some roasted artichokes and I'd be willing to give you a second chance.”
“Saturday?”
“Don't let me down.” You sang, popping open the door and then blindly fighting your key until it was removed.
A man of action and not talk, Elliot took the assignment seriously as he watched you go inside and then wait for the elevator. The whole time he was reminding himself to go home and look up “roasted artichoke recipes”. He was not going to screw this up again.
ത new—Ray x f!reader, Elliott x f!reader, Sam x f!reader
— 𝐑𝐚𝐲 ❤︎
𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍 your last night with your boyfriend Ray
𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐘 Ray is about to feel a whole lot closer to home
𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 Ray is about to feel a whole lot closer to home again
𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐄 horny calls with Ray
𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 Ray knows exactly how to take care of his girl
𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 Ray was always disciplined, proud and careful. but one night, one mission, tests both of you.
𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 munch!Ray who loves eating pussy
𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 Tommy and Ray’s turn with barracks bunny!reader
𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 & 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 moving is hard especially when your boyfriend can’t keep his hands off you
𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 Ray’s favorite part about being on watch duty is being able to indulge in sweet thoughts about you.
— 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲
𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 Ray wouldn’t mind Tommy using those sweet pictures you send him would he?
𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐘 Ray finally comes back home but not without bringing along a couple friends. for Tommy this was going to be harder than he expected.
𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 the only place your not Ray’s is in Tommy’s dreams
𝐁𝐀𝐆𝐒 a simple encounter with Tommy in a grocery store leaves him love struck
𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 Tommy loves finding new ways to fuck barracks bunny!reader
𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 Tommy gifts you something BIG and he can’t wait to watch you use it
𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 Tommy and Ray’s turn with barracks bunny!reader
𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧 Tommy shows you just how strong he is
𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 virgin!readers first time with tommy
— 𝐒𝐚𝐦
“𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲” Elliott, Sam & Erik filling up barracks bunny!reader
𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐞 waking up horny and needy with Sam right next to you
𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 a small joke turns into you laid over his lap.
𝐭𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐨 helping Sam adjust mentally and physically
𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 sucking Sam’s dick for the first time
𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 lazy morning sex with sam
𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐰 sam loves his girl head to toe and he’s not afraid to show it
— 𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤
“𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲” Elliott, Sam & Erik filling up barracks bunny!reader
𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 Erik and his growing feelings for barracks bunny!reader
𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 Erik coming home to his sweet wife who can’t help but become a emotional mess
𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 welcome home sex with Erik
𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 introducing your slightly older boyfriend to your parents for the first time
𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐲 watching Erik become a father was one of the sweetest things
𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 Erik is always torn into a thousand pieces, torn in a thousand ways when he’s fucking you so sweetly.
— 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐭
“𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲” Elliott, Sam & Erik filling up barracks bunny!reader
𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚 Elliott can’t help but get horny and all riled up after watching the “call on me” music video. needing a little extra help from his fiancee
𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐎 Elliott shaving off the mustache you love so much, but he makes it up to you.
𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐦𝐚 your last night with Elliott before he leaves for good
𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 after an argument Elliott shows you where that mouth belongs and how to properly apologize
𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 Elliott figured if something sweet wanted to find him now, even if it came in a envelope from someone years younger than him, he’d be damned if he turned it away
𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 purposely making the handyman’s job hard or making him hard?
𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 your husband Elliott starts feeling the distance of deployment weighing in.
“Tommy” you mumbled between kisses, your voice breathy and interrupted by the way he nipped at your lower lip
“Hmm” he hummed in response without breaking the kiss
“I need to tell you something…” you barely managed to mumble, the words muffled against his insistent lips. your palms found his bare shoulders, fingers splaying across the warm muscle as you gently pushed him back
Tommy finally pulled back, his eyebrow slightly raised in confusion as his chest rose and fell with quick breaths. “Yeah? What is it?” he breathed softly, his lips wet and glossed from your kissing.
this was the moment you’d been dreading, worrying about for longer than you wanted to admit. you knew he’d be kind, Tommy was always kind with you. “I just…” you swallowed, eyes flicking away for a second before forcing yourself to look at him. “I’m… inexperienced. like really inexperienced. I thought you should know before we…” your words drifted off, the implication there.
Tommy's eyes widened slightly before searching yours as he processed your words. he didn't pull away completely.. instead, his hands stayed planted on either side of your head. you could feel the heat radiating from his bare chest mixed with the faint scent of his cologne.
"Hey” he murmured, his voice low and reassuring, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. "That's nothing to be embarrassed about. really." his lips curved into a soft smile, and he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your forehead, before hovering just above your mouth again. "I'm glad you told me"
his words eased the knot in your stomach a little. still, embarrassment clawed at you, making your fingers tighten on his shoulders. beneath him, you were exposed, your body bare.
"I just... I don't want to disappoint you" you whispered, as you traced the line of his collarbone with your eyes "I've never... you know."
he shook his head, shifting his weight to one arm so his free hand could cup your face "Disappoint me? never." tho, what he really wanted to say was ‘baby, are you seriously a virgin?!’ but he decided it was best to keep that to himself.
he looked a little shaken despite his calm demeanor. you felt his heart racing even faster under your palm. Tommy was experienced and confident, but now he stood there rubbing the side of his neck like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
“Tommy..” you murmured again, softer, needier this time
“I just…” his voice cracked “I don’t want to hurt you.” his fingers ghosted over your hip, light, hesitant.
your legs tightened again, hooking behind him, dragging him flush against you “with you, I want to.” you reassured him
his eyes locked onto yours then. slowly, he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours “Okay” he murmured softly
his hands finally settled on your hips, big and steady. he shifted his weight, letting his body press you into the sheets, carefully. “You tell me if I go too fast” he said, low and serious, even as his lips brushed your jaw “If you need to stop. If anything hurts.”
you nodded, but he shook his head lightly “No, baby. say it.”
your fingers ran through his buzzed hair pulling , just enough to make him grunt “I’ll tell you.”
that seemed to be what he needed, his shoulders relaxed. he kissed you then, slow but deep, his mouth warm against yours. one of his hands slid higher, spreading over your ribs, your chest, the heat of his palm making your back arch for him.
you felt him breathe out against your lips, a shaky sound, like he was the one overwhelmed.
“this feels different.” he murmured as he dragged his lips down your throat
you felt him press closer, hips settling between your thighs perfectly “Feels like my first time too.”
Tommy’s mouth parted, just a second before it curled into that shameless, cocky little grin he only got when he was worked up and trying not to show it. his eyes flicked down between your spread pussy and the very obvious outline of his cock straining against his boxers.
“look at you.” he exhaled, almost laughing under his breath
he hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband of his boxers and dragged them down slowly, teasingly and then his cock sprang free, flushed and big, bigger than you had even imagined when you’d felt him grinding against you before.
your eyes flew wide immediately
“Tommy!” you squealed
“What?” he chuckled low
“You’re- you’re that big!?” you stared, eyebrows scrunched in genuine worry and a little awe.
“Mhmm” Tommy hummed, pleased. wrapping one large hand around the base and lifting it just slightly so you could really see the size of him. his thumb stroked along the underside, showing off, making you swallow hard.
he watched your expression with a small grin that softened into pride, yes, but also it was also tender.
he released his cock, letting it bob free. before leaning down to capture your mouth in a reassuring kiss while one hand slid between your bodies, fingers parting your folds to stroke gently along your wet slit. you gasped into the kiss, hips bucking up instinctively as he circled your clit with his thumb, spreading your arousal.
'We'll take it slow” he promised against your lips, pulling back just enough to watch your face as he dipped a finger inside you. you were tight, he added a second finger slowly, scissoring them to open you up, his free hand kneading your breast, pinching the nipple to distract from any discomfort.
he worked you, curling his fingers slightly. 'Fuck” he groaned, his cock twitching against your thigh, leaving a smear of precum on your skin "I’m gonna take good care of you”
he kissed down your jaw, sucking a mark into the hollow of your throat while his fingers pumped steadily, until you were writhing beneath him. “Tell me when you're ready” he murmured, as his hips rocked forward, seeking friction against your leg.
you nodded frantically “now... Tommy, please.” he withdrew his fingers with a slick sound.
Tommy braced one arm into the mattress and stroked himself with the other, his thick hand working slowly up and down his cock. the sheer size of it made your stomach twist with nerves, his cock already glistening from the head as another bead of precum formed. his gaze stayed between your thighs, jaw flexing as he exhaled hard through his nose
"Okay. ready baby?"
your fingers dug lightly into the sheets beside you, brows knitting together "slow please" you whispered. you glanced down at yourself, at your body beneath him, and then back up at his face
"I will." he replied with a soft smile. he shifted closer, the bed dipping with the weight, and slid his big palm along your thigh. his hand alone dwarfed you, fingers wrapping easily around the curve of your leg as he pressed it wider, nudging you open further. he rubbed his thumb over your skin in slow circles, warming you up, trying to give you just a little more space for him to fill
the bed creaked beneath him as he hovered himself over you, his hand still resting heavy on your thigh. he'd given your clit a slow, coaxing rub, big thumb circling you in lazy strokes until your hips shifted up instinctively, earning a soft gasp from your lips. his cock twitched in his hand as he guided it down, thick head pressing right at your entrance, slick with his precum, nudging insistently against your tight opening
even with the slickness, the first push burned. that fat head stretched you, and the sharp sting of it had pain flashing across your face before you could hide it. "Ahh-" your body tensing as he tried to push deeper, jaw locked, lip caught hard between his teeth as if sheer force could make him fit
your hands quickly flew up, pressing against his chest, your small palms barely doing anything to stop him. "ah, Tommy- wait, wait! it hurts" you whimpered, eyes shutting tight as your legs gave a reflexive squeeze around him
immediately he froze. concern coming across his whole face in an instant, his brows drawn tight, and he pulled back until only his slick tip rested against you again "It hurts?" his voice was rough, but full with worry
"mhm" you nodded quickly, chest rising and falling quickly as the shame grew from admitting it "slower, Tommy... please."
you expected frustration maybe even disappointment from him, but instead he just looked at you "I got you" he murmured, his lips twitching in a faint small smile
and then he adjusted. instead of going in fully, he started to tease you, the fat head of his cock gliding just barely into your opening before sliding back out. he fucked you with the tip, short little strokes that never went deeper than you could take, each thrust spreading you just a bit more. the movement dragged over your clit with every push, the friction building up a sharp mix of sting and pleasure until your mouth fell open, a shaky moan escaping
"Mmhh.. ahh! Tommy..." you breathed, clinging to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he kept working you open inch by inch. he groaned above you, forehead dipping low
"God, you feel so damn tight" he panted, voice cracking from holding himself back. his hips moved slow, and careful, your body trembling as it adjusted around his size
his jaw was tight, every muscle in his neck straining as he rocked his hips shallowly, just the fat tip of his cock pushing inside you and sliding out again. the sensation had little cries slipping out every time he nudged your clit on the way in. your chest rose and fell fast, nipples brushing his skin, the size of him overwhelming you even when he hadn't given you more than a few inches
"Tommy..." you whined, your eyes closing shut as your pussy tried to suck him in deeper than you could handle
he groaned low, forehead pressing against yours as sweat dampened his face "Baby.. fuck" his voice was hoarse, his breath coming ragged with every little thrust "You're so damn tight like this….. swear I could cum just from this."
you felt the way his cock twitched against your pussy even without being buried, the fat head swelling as if he was seconds away from cumming. his big hand still held your thigh wide open, thumb stroking your skin, grinding a little faster against you.
you whimpered, the mix of pleasure and ache. "Tommy don't" you gasped, though your nails digging into his back told him the opposite "Not yet..."
he let out a rough laugh, lips brushing your ear, his voice trembling "Trying baby. fuck, I'm trying but you feel so good, just the tip."
the head of his cock slid in and out of you with wet little sounds, each thrust dragging slick across your clit. your pussy clenched hard around him, and a broken "fuck" came out from his throat as he forced himself to pull almost all the way out
his face hovered above yours, sweat dripping down his temple "If I don't slow down I'm gonna cum without even being inside you" he admitted, breathless, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as his cock twitched against your entrance, soaked and throbbing.
his tip dragged back in and out of your tight entrance.
your body was clenching without thought, squeezing around that fat tip as though begging to swallow more of him, but the stretch made it impossible. it was too much and not enough at the same time
"T-Tommy.. ohh-"
he dropped his forehead to yours, groaning "Fuck baby, I can't." his voice was strangled, hips slowing as the thick head of his cock throbbed inside you. he pulled back, just the swollen head slipping through your entrance, and then pushed forward again, grinding it against your clit in the process. his eyes shut tight, sweat dripping down his face as he hissed "gonna cum just like this, just from your pussy squeezing my tip-"
and he did. with one more thrust his whole body tensed, biceps straining, his cock against you "fuck, fuckkk" he groaned, spilling cum across your folds and clit, making you messy with it. his hips twitched, his breath ragged, as the head of his cock pulsed hard against your entrance, finishing until it dripped down your slit. the sight of his cum covering you, thick and sticky, had your body trembling, overwhelmed by the idea that he hadn't even gotten inside you before cumming.
he fell forward slightly, catching himself with a grunt, his face hovering over yours, eyes glazed "Shit, baby... i told you" he panted, kissing your cheek, your jaw, trying to catch his breath as his cock softened just a little against you. his big hand soothed over your leg, thumb stroking in apology
but Tommy wasn't done. even half hard, he rubbed himself along your slick folds, smearing his own cum over your pussy, coating your clit until you whimpered and squirmed under the friction. the sight of your pussy glistening with cum, open and needy, had him back to full hardness in minutes. he lifted his head, lips curling in a slow smile "you wanted slower, baby... we'll do slow. i'm gonna get all the way in this time."
he lined himself up again, your pussy already wet and messy from him, and pressed the tip back inside. this time the sting was dulled, your body looser, wetter, better prepared for him. inch by inch he sank into you, groaning with every stretch, your nails digging into his back as you gasped and trembled
"Yesss, that's it" he breathed, eyes locked on your face, watching the way your lips parted, the way your brows furrowed at the sweet ache. his cock throbbed inside you, stretching you wider than you thought possible "taking me so good, baby. so fuckin' tight still..."
your pussy clenched around him, and he groaned against your neck "Mmmhh, I'm not stopping this time. gonna stay in this pussy."
