cw: fauxcest, daddy kink, pervy jack, size difference, reader in a sub drop kinda
your daddy jack asks you to answer the door for him as he's currently busy with something. "hey lovebug, can you get that? must be the man i called to fix the greenhouse for us."
being the good, obedient girl you are, you immediately ran to the front door, calling out, "okay, daddy!" the soft footsteps of your frilly sock clad feet could be heard against the hardwood floors of your house.
as you begin to open the door, getting ready to let out an excited "hiii!" when you saw who's in front of you. your big smile faltered a little, did your best to remain respectful, like your daddy taught you when greeting guests.
standing in front of you, is a big man. a really big man. maybe even bigger than your daddy. he's so handsome, older. . . and has longer hair. you bet it's soft. would he let me put pretty clips on it? you thought. and his eyes. . . oh his eyes are so pretty and kind, like your daddy's.
you were looking up to him in awe, with your mouth slightly ajar. "howdy there, is your daddy home?" that question caught you off guard. you shook your head a little to bring yourself back to reality. huh? how does he know i have a daddy? but that's impossible! you've never seen this man in your life and jack would've introduced him to you a long time ago.
"uh uh, but my boyfriend's here." "my apologies. where are my manners? my name's joel, joel miller. it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. i'm here to fix up your greenhouse."
he held out his ginormous hand in front of you. you looked down to stare at it instead of taking it and giving it a shake, like every normal person would. but joel is patient, he finds the pretty little thing endearing, clearly shy but still polite.
your frozen state must went on for an eternity, you were thankful when jack jumped in from behind you, lightly admonishing you for your current behaviour. "lovebug, are you not going to shake the nice man's hand and invite him in?"
"oh uh, sorry!" you took joel's hand, you didn't fail to notice how it dwarfs your hand. almost swallowed by the size of him. "it's nice meeting you, da- i mean, mr. miller."
"just joel is fine." he says with a quiet chuckle. even his voice is pretty and kind. you wonder what it would be like to fall asleep to his voice as he reads you your favourite bedtime story.
the whole interaction didn't go unnoticed by jack. he's been watching you two since you opened the door for joel. he recognises the dazed look in your eyes, your heavy breaths, and your shy demeanour. his ears perked up at your little slip up. hmm. he knows you're slowly descending to that headspace. he's not jealous, not at all. which surprised him. he's more curious than anything. he decided to step back and observe for a little while.
you would usually sit on the couch in the study room to read or do a bit of crocheting but you went out to the backyard taking a book you've read probably fifty times by now. you really didn't go out there on a mission to read, you just want to watch mr. miller. you slyly observed how he barely fits into his plaid shirt, wondering how he managed to fit his beefy arms in the sleeves. you listened to his grunts when he needs to bend down to his knees to pick up something from his toolbox, a proof of his age. you gulped, hiding your face using the book you're holding. you can't look anymore, it's too much.
"sweetheart, why don't you offer joel something? he looks like he could use a cold drink." you snapped your head up to the sound of your daddy's voice, he's towering over you with amusement in his eyes. "be a good girl, just like how i raised you."
you stood up and went inside to get a drink for joel. but before you could come back out, jack stopped you in your tracks. he gently took a hold of your shoulders, caressing them, rough warm hands massaging you down to your arms. he leaned into your ear, "i've been watching you, little miss." you shivered at his gruff voice.
"you think he's handsome, don't you? greedy girl. one daddy isn't enough for you? i think i've spoiled you too much."
"i-i'm sorry, daddy. i didn't mean to look! i-" your lip wobbled, tears welling in your eyes because you didn't want your daddy to get mad at you and send you away. you don't want to leave him! but jack immediately quelled your worries. he embraced you from behind, turning you both around to the view where your backyard is.
"shh shh i'm not mad, lovebug. didn't i tell you i'll give you everything? and i'll do anything you want? i mean it, baby. you want two daddies? i'm happy to give it to you. your heart is too big for all the love you feel, hmm? that's one of the many things i love about you. you're the sweetest thing, baby." jack peppered every inch of your exposed skin he could reach with kisses.
"daddy..." you whimpered, how did you get so lucky to have such a loving and kind daddy? "you're still my number one daddy, daddy! i promise!" crossing your heart.
jack laughed at that. "i love you the most, lovebug. now go and get to know your new daddy." he gave your butt a little pat.
he watched you start a conversation with joel, not missing the way joel looked at you subtly rubbing your thighs together. ♡
꒰ ⟡ 𝟣𝟪+ blurb — ❤︎ 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐎𝐓 & 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐅𝐅 . . It’s longer, a gleaming silver, gilding over his chin and jaw, while you’re forced to feel it. That thickened, rough, unshaven texture alongside every thick, wet lap he makes at your little puffed-up pussy. His tongue, licking and slipping through sticky folds, soft and sweet in contrast to the sharp texture of his facial hair, which is unintentionally marking up your thighs. It has just grown so much, prickly and nearly white, rubbing against your tender, pulsing hole while his tongue licks up in languid glides. His chin firms itself on your perineum to feel your pulsing little slit rubbing against the coarseness; to feel his baby grinding up on his own face. Jack just wants you shuddering, helpless and humping his silvered, rough-fuzzed jaw. His lips part to slick you up with saliva, allowing a thick, wet string to connect his face to your needy, swelling pussy. The wetness pools up in the seam of your clit, and he spreads his tongue onto you, flat and demanding, stiffening it for a moment on your needy bud, before licking and kissing into where your clit hood is exposed — pulled back, alit, and inflamed, all from his face between your thighs.
"Gonna lick you 'til you're raw." Jack admits hoarsely into your little cunt. "Just need to have my mouth on you, honey."
He wraps himself on the thickened flesh of your bulbed-up clit, suckling wildly and coating his chin in you during his latch. His thicker scruff frictions right against the skin of your chubby and delicate pussy lips, before his tongue swirls hard, just once more, and retracts away from where you're spread. His fat, aged and freckled hands keep your soft thighs speared wide open, just to observe your desperate, aching hole. You’re beard-burned and sensitive, a soppy little cunt rubbed raw from his face; chafed up, creamy, and fluttering wetly around nothing. Jack's jaw is steeped in you, wet on the growth that shrouds the curve of his face and neck. He takes a long, rough breath, an open-mouthed aspiration to taste your sweetness through the air, swallowing the scent as his head lilts in working condescension. Silver curls, dampened with his own sweat, swath over his lined forehead with the tilt.
“Aww, pumpkin… does she like it? Little pussy likes my scruff? I think she does…" Jack coos, his voice enough to make your legs quiver under his pinion. He inhales, puckers his lips, and effuses a jet of his hot breath, runneled right to your needy hole. His lips upturn, thumbs pinching deeper into your thighs.
"Look at her. She’s already clamping up – just ‘cause Daddy had his mouth on you…”
A finger glides through the mess, thick and seeping down irritated, velveted flesh, clinging to the sheets below your puckered hole. Jack can't halt his hand, which lifts to press his thumb pad to the cleft of your ass, like he's surveilling the vicious throb of you through your puddle of arousal.
“Is it all stingy, baby? Should Daddy shave so he doesn't hurt your little pussy anymore?”
Your head shakes violently, writhing on the sheets, whimpering as you gush out more between your forcedly spread thighs.
“No? You like it? I can tell. My baby’s already too close…” Jack sighs with a sated grin, and his digits ascend back up to your throbby little hole.
“Should we let her, hm? Let your little cunt just cum – all messy on Daddy’s beard?” It’s rhetorical, plainly mean, and Jack completely rescinds a response from you when his jaw presses right up against where you're pulsing. He fucks his tongue inside, driving it in deep, without warning or clemency.
Jack adheres his face and stubbly bristles to your soft, sloppy folds, prompting you to leak, fresh and hot, all over him. The strong muscle licks inside at inner walls, his fingers rubbing at your quivering clit to feel you grip onto him in tighter, cinching pulses. He pulls away just enough to watch your tiny hole cling to his tongue, his scratchy fuzz slick and sticking to your slit, and then he's lapping at you, from entrance to bud once more. He curves his lips onto your swelled clit, suckling and licking into the fleshy rift. Your whines crack open to sharp-pitched moans when your orgasm torments every nerve ending, muscle, and cell. Your belly swoops, warming in your release, riveting the heat through to your trembling thighs. Your eyes shimmer with tears through the cascades of pleasure and the prickle of his chin, which Jack rubs over your poor pussy well into the aftershocks. And he still doesn’t stop – his silver hair is lambent and streaked with your cum, and he strokes his mouth down you to elicit a shiver, patting your hip in coax. “That’s it – My good little girl. Daddy’s just gonna get you real clean now.”
pope cody who, even though he doesn’t know much about women’s fashion. never having looked twice at the scantily dressed ladies perusing the streets. skirts above mid thigh and low cut tops not having any remarkable effects on him the way they do his brothers. all until it came to you and suddenly he’s just that much more drawn to the feminine style.
when you wear said short skirts he just can’t take his eyes off you. the expanse of your legs on display, covered in sheer black stockings doing everything in their power to draw in his gaze and keep it there. him wanting nothing more than to tear the material open with the sharp of his teeth. to skim his way between your thighs and nip at you until you’re soaking through your panties just enough for him to inhale your scent. or when they’re bare and shimmery beneath your mini denim shorts doused with your gold flecked body oil that smells just like vanilla. the kind that has your gorgeous skin reflecting the light drawing him in like a moth to a flame. he physically feels his body react at the sight and smell.
with you he begins to notice the smaller things. how smooth the skin of your midriff looks when you wear cropped tees. how the curve of your ass peeks out the smallest bit when you sport shorts that look more like panties than anything else. or dresses so tiny he’s not sure theres anyway you could bend over without flashing the room.
you make him feel like a perverted dog with how he wants to get his hands on you. to lap you up and crush you between his teeth. the sight of your bare skin making him weak every time you come around and considering he lives in the hot, sunny and humid california that’s more often than not.
it’s amazing really, how you manage to snatch his attention up like it’s the easiest thing in the world. even in sundresses that flow down to your ankles he finds something to oogle at, must be a talent of his.
at least that’s what his brothers say.
the way your breasts are held up by the ties at the top of the garment that he now knows as a halter style. the swell of them damn near hypnotic as your sweat beads down their valley, disappearing down beneath where the fabric covers you. there it is again that unmistakable feeling of saliva filling his mouth coating his gums and threatening to spill over the fine line of lips. it frustrates him, how easily he’s affected by something so simple.
his body seems to have a mind of its own around you. skin warming, flesh growing clammy as he stares you down. a dull heat settling into the lower half of his body, making his cock twitch to life impatiently in the confines of his jeans.
weirdly enough you never seem to have an issue with it, the staring. unfailing to give him a bright smile accompanied with a wave when your eyes meet. even after he gives you a curt nod in return. continuing to gaze at you with that unreadable set expression of his.
that smile, all pretty and wide. your glossed lips forming a perfect grin. just for him and that makes him feel..funny. he knows what it is or rather has an idea but he’s unsure if that’s something he has time for—or even wants to unpack.
so for now he’ll settle with watching, writing it off as lust. when he’s sure it’s something more than that
being drunk and silly with your boyfriend jack abbot !!
had some tipsy jack talk with @mochapuppy and got to work!
! mdni ! smut below !
date night had been successful as always. the only hitch in your romantic plans was you getting accidentally wasted.
jack had insisted that the two of you could go to bed when you got home. that he wasn't expecting anything from you and didn't need anything besides you cuddling up in bed beside him.
but drunk you was persistent. you put on a tiny dress after all, did your makeup and wore a matching lacey set you knew he'd love. and by the time you pushed him onto the couch and dropped to your knees in front of him, he was already hard from your sloppy kisses and whispered dirty words in his ear. you couldn't just leave him hanging!
as you took his thick cock out of his boxers, you tried very hard to stay serious, even though everything got slightly fuzzy and realllyyy funny. so you decided not to look into your boyfriends eyes as you tried to suck his dick while shit faced.
you lean down to place a kiss to the head of him, then another. then another and another while giggling as you think about how cute his pink tip is. you hear him sigh impatiently and you blink up at him through bleary eyes. "s-sorry *hic* soryy jackie- 's jus sooo pretty."
he runs a hand through his silver curls before reaching down to try and haul you off your knees. his arms grip under your armpits like how a parent picks up a toddler. " 's alright baby you don't have to. lets just go to sleep alright?" but you squirm out of his hold and firmly plant yourself on your knees. pouting all serious now. "no! i can do it *hic* promise!" after a second of scanning your face for doubt, jack nods and settles back into the couch when all he finds is determination.
you wrap your manicured hand around his pretty cock, a lopsided grin forms on your face when you hears jack's breath catch. you prop your elbow on one of his spread knees and rest your cheek against your fist as you stroke him way too slowly due to time meaning nothing to you in your buzzed state of mind.
you don't even realize you're eye lids drooping until jack thrusts up into your hand with a rough, "cmon baby." you jolt upright instantly, swallowing down a drunken yawn before forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand. sweetly saying "sorry jackie."
you bend forward to lick him, a long stripe from base to tip that has you smacking your lips with a "mmmm tastes good." jack huffs a laugh thats snuffed out by a groan when you take him in your mouth. one languid suck of his length has you feeling dizzy. but not the usual kind of dizziness that blooms from pleasure, the intoxicated kind. when you bob back up the world spins, you mumble jacks name weakly before your hands shoot out to grab at his thick thighs.
he straightens instantly, cursing as he grips your biceps, hard cock still standing at attention inches from your face. "no more." he grunts with a grimace on his wrinkled face, looking like he's about to try and move you from your spot again.
but he's so hard! and you told him you wanted to do this. and you still do. you love making him feel good and getting drunk was not going to stop you from doing so. you start to whine and shimmy out of his hold. " 'm jus too dizzy. *hic* help me please?" your lower lip wobbles and tears brim at your waterline. jack gives you a doting smile and strokes your hair, not being able to say no to you. "course i can sweetheart."
thinking he's gonna fuck your face, you form an 'o' and go to take him back in your mouth. you squeak in surprise when jack grips your hair and gently tugs you back to look up at him. he chides "nuh uh baby. dont wan't you gettin' nauseous." before you can even argue he lays his thumb on your tongue and drags it outwards. "lemme do all the work. stick that tongue out. good girl- just like that."
you giggle at the praise, shifting on your knees so he has a better view of you all glossy eyed and pliant for him. jack takes himself in his vein covered hand and starts to leisurely stroke. watching him touch himself has your cheeks heating and thighs squirming. "jackiee" you whine, for nothing in particular.
but he just shakes his head as his movements speed up, grunting as he twists his wrist at the tip. "don't worry baby. just sit there and look pretty- fuck- y'so pretty sweetheart." after however long -you're so wasted you couldn't say- his jaw clenches and his thighs tense and you can tell he's getting close. you see his aged face pinch as he squeezes the thick base with his hand while staring at you wide eyed for him. your hands start to feel real useless. so you reach out to grip his balls to help! he groans loudly as you start to massage them in your soft palm.
"fuck- just like that- doin so good-" his praises have you sober the tiniest bit, enough to lean forward and dribble some spit onto his glistening tip. jack throws his head back in a broken moan before gluing his blown out eyes back to yours. "gonna cum- tongue out f'me. now."
you obey him, instantly rewarded by the sound of jack cumming, groaning your name along with a string of lewd praises. "oooh fuck- fuck baby- so good. you're so good-" he tilts his hips forward as his hand jerks himself rapidly, his salty release spraying you from your extended tongue, to your smudged mascara covered cheeks, to the tip of your nose. he only collapses when you're entirely painted in his cum, slowly blinking down at you. his chuckle at your huge grin and sticky face is weak and satisfied.
you stick your tongue out to start to lick up his release but he stops you by successfully picking you up and dropping you on the couch. "leave it." he demands as he makes his way down your body to spread your legs with his large palms. he tugs your panties to the side and sucks a hickey to your inner thigh after you nod at him as a yess, then rasps onto your skin, "want us to match by the time im done, baby."
idc if it's not woke to say this. pope cody would loooove a controversially young gf that calls him dad and sits on his lap. his wires are all crossed, that man has so many wounds that need to be healed, and i can heal all of them with an i love you daddy and a kiss on the cheek <3
ough ohhh my gd especially after baz hits him w the "no one is ever going to have a kid with you" ): | cw: 18+, daddy kink, age play, fauxcest
baz had just torn into him and for what ? for showing concern for lena ? for pointing out baz was being a shit, absent damn near neglectful father ? acting like pope didn't know how to be a dad ? bullshit. total fucking bullshit. pope knew damn well how to be a dad, he had a babydoll of his own to prove it.
and prove it u do, even when u're completely unaware ur doing it. he walks in the door w the weight of the world on his shoulders as it so often is n there u are... laying on your tummy on the floor, legs kicking dazedly in the air and one of pope's nature documentaries playing at a low volume on the tv. u're engrossed in one of ur colouring books, the one with all the complex patterns that make him antsy but bring u a sense of calm, only turning when u hear the door open n let in the soft sounds of the ocean beyond.
u're jumping up, sprinting over to him with nothing but love in ur eyes, "daddy ! hiiiii ! welcome home, daddy !"
no one is ever going to have a kid with you.
baz was right, partly, nobody would ever have a kid with pope. bc two other people that pope had never met had his kid for him. his sweet girl who is always excited to see him, who cuddles up in his lap like there's nowhere else she'd rather be, who kisses him like it's the first time every time. and sure, all his wires are crossed and his love map fucked beyond recognition thanks to smurf, but why the hell would any of that matter when u're here.
u're here n wrapping ur arms around his neck, planting kisses all over his face n bouncing on ur toes.
"hi to you too. thank u, baby. why don't we sit down ?" pope murmurs all low n warm making ur whole body buzz. u nod excitedly, pulling him to the couch n nudging him down with nails he pays for in clothes he watched u swipe his card for.
u drop urself into his lap n cuddle up against his chest, kissing whatever skin u can reach until his arms wind around u to keep u still.
"missed u soooo much today ! i love u, daddy."
how could pope have ever known those four little words would settle his soul like nothing else in the world ? how u looking up at him, eyes crinkling in the corner n smile pulling at ur mouth so wide he thinks ur love for him will invent a whole new category of smile line would make small parts of his heart click back into place ?
u can sit still for a bit, but later after u've gotten too wiggly n squirmy he'll indulge in his favourite meal. laying u out on the couch, pulling off ur jean shorts to bury his face against ur cute cotton panties... licking over the wet patch already forming, his own eyes fluttering shut n the moan he lets out makes u squeal. ur hands find their rightful place in his hair to tug at auburn curls when he sucks at ur clit through the fabric. desperate n dizzy, that's how he likes his girl.
no one is ever going to have a kid with you.
good. pope's got the only girl he needs right here.
may i present stoner!pope who’s obsessed with seeing readers lip gloss all over the blunt 🤫🤓
♡ WARNINGS : pretty weird age gap (reader is ideally 19-20, and pope is in his 40’s. if this isn’t your thing pls keep scrolling), flirting, heavy petting, suggestive language
pope was never fond of deran and craig throwing parties at smurf’s house, mainly because he believed one should never bring pleasure to a place where business was conducted— or at least that’s what he believed before he saw you sitting by yourself on the couch in the living room. you were babysitting a smirnoff you had yet to take a swig from, your facial expression morphing into one of boredom as you watched the pool party festivities happen from behind the glass window. he stared you down before making his presence known, his eyes running down the swells of your breasts, to the plushness of your thighs, your baby pink bikini surely engraving itself into his mind as one of his favorite sights to have beheld.
pope didn’t have a thing for feet, considering anything broadly perceived as unsanitary didn’t pique his interest, but after eyeing your white pedicured toes in your wedged sandals? he could make an exception. crossing one leg over the other, pope knew he couldn’t help himself as soon as the imprint of your folds showed through the flimsy material of your bikini— his gaze darkening before clearing his throat and drawing your attention. embarrassingly, you had jumped in surprise when you heard pope in the kitchen, his shadowy figure making your heart race as he stalked towards you. “the party’s outside.” you watched as he leaned against the wall frame, a tight black t-shirt hugging his body to perfection.
straightening up, you smoothed your hair over your shoulder. “sorry, i hope i’m not intruding—!” you were just about to get up before pope stepped down into the den, a whiskey glass in his hand as he motioned for you to stay where you were sitting. taking a seat not too far away from you, you suddenly felt exposed as pope’s eyes ran down your oiled legs, his tongue wetting his bottom lip before he took the neatly rolled blunt from behind his ear and held it up in offering. “i won’t lecture you on the dangers of being a pretty girl and welcoming yourself inside a stranger’s house if you spark this with me.” your skin burned hot at his words, your acrylic nails digging nervously into your palms.
“you think i’m pretty?” pope smiled, knowing he reeled you in right where he wanted you. he hoped you’d entertain him for a while, maybe even give him a little peck on his cheek if he asked nicely. “i do. you’re the prettiest thing that’s been in this house in a really long time.” you studied the man sitting in front of you, deciding that his lap looked rather empty as he manspreaded before you. holding his stare, you slowly uncrossed your legs, catching the way his eyes drifted down to the apex of your thighs. “you live here?” pope offered his hand, your palm finding his as you stood up and walked over to him. guiding you to sit on one side of his lap, your knees stayed tucked in between his legs— his rough palm resting on the soft curve of your ass.
taking the lighter out of his pocket, pope handed it over to you, motioning for you to light the end of the blunt that currently sat in between his fingers. you watched as the light illuminated his face in orange flickers, the scene being enough to get your stomach erupting in a fit of butterflies. he was even more handsome up close, the curly tufts of his hair more noticeable than before. blowing the smoke away from your face, he hummed deeply. “not really, i just stay here from time to time.” pope shrugged, his eyes zeroing in on your glossy lips. “that means craig and deran are your brothers?” you looked up, the clouds of smoke lingering heavily in the dark space. not taking his eyes off of your face, he nodded.
“..so that makes you???” realizing you were asking for his name, pope cleared his throat, snapping out of his trance. “andrew.” he replied curtly, his cock stirring in his pants at the sight of you bringing the blunt up to your lips. “andrew? aww, i like that.” pope loved the sound of his name rolling off of your tongue, his mind running wild with the possibilities of you saying his name in a different context. “how do you know deran and craig?” he couldn’t hold back the bite in his tone, jealousy suddenly coursing through his veins at the fact that he wasn’t the one to meet you first. “they came up to me and my friend on the beach yesterday, ‘invited us over,” you smiled sweetly, “parties aren’t really my thing, but my friend really wanted to come. she has a crush.”
pope nodded, his curiosity getting the best of him with his next question. “do you have a crush on one of them too?” you studied his face, shrugging. “they’re cute,” you whispered, feeling against the stubble on his cheek, “not my type though. i like men who are more.. mature.” pope felt his chest bloom with pride, the blunt now being passed back to him. just as he was going to take a drag, a small glimmer in the corner of his eye caught his attention. looking down at where your lips had just been, pope felt a carnal-like desire once he saw the leftover remnants of your lipgloss adorning the cigar wrap. it was your own personal mark, and something about it just drove him crazy.
“that’s cute.” he held the blunt up for you to see. “what lipgloss is that?” you couldn’t help but giggle, the sound like music to pope’s ears. “why? do you want some?” you teased, rubbing your thumb over his bottom lip. the action was more intimate than pope anticipated, his jaw clenching as you shifted your weight in his lap. the soft strokes against your skin turned more rough, his hands working your flesh as your smile dropped. “no,” he leaned in, “i just wonder what it would look like smudged against something else.” your breath hitched in your throat, a wave of both excitement and anxiety washing over you. as much as pope’s age intimidated you, the urge to be on your knees for him overpowered everything else.
18+ ⫶ SADLE UP SHY GIRL ℘ requested
timid, yet needy reader rides jack abbot for the first time.
this typically isn’t how things would go.
you wouldn’t be barricading either side of your boyfriend’s hips with your thighs, slowly rocking your hips in his — watching the way his dick disappears between the folds of your pussy before peeking back out as the blush colored tip grazes sweet against your clit.
“what happened to waitin’, sweet’art?” jack grunts, steadying himself against the mattress, propping onto the back of his elbows. his eyes fixated on just how desperate your movements really are, while grinding flush against his cock and whimpering softly.
“i can’t wait …” you whine, almost too desperately as you rock your hips deeper into his. it honestly felt as if your clit was about the burst. the way it throbbed with each passing friction of skin to skin contact — you need it, you need him.
you pulled one of your hands underneath your body, soft palms fumbling at jack’s length, trying to grab at it. earning a groan from jack because what a fucking sight to behold — his pretty girl, you… trying so hard to make yourself feel good on his cock.
he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t harder than ever before, watching the same girl he’d fuck into mattress missionary-style while hiding her face with a pillow on top of him right now.
“tryna’ be a big girl, huh?” he teases with a grin, flashing one of his canines as he reaches a hand underneath you — dwarfing your hand that’s holding the base of his length as he wraps his hand over yours.
“gotta lift those hips up a bit more.” he rasps low and gruff, giving your ass a soft tap with his free hand. “yeah— that’s it, baby.” he praises as you raise your hips while he positions himself in a way that’ll make it easier for him to ease in. “and, juuusttt like that.” he drags out the vowel as he guides your hips down before you’re pushing his hands away from your hips.
your palms pressed flat against his chest, trying to find an equilibrium of balance while tucking your under his thighs. “oh? guess you know what you’re doing, yeah?” his eyebrows raise, and the corner of his eyes wrinkle once he lets out an amused chuckle.
a warm buzzing feeling runs through your body when you nod your head. your lips pursed together as you slowly allow yourself to sink further down into jack’s lap — such an overwhelming stretch, feeling the way he stuffs you full almost immediately as the head of his dick nudges against the hilt.
“oh—f-fuck ..” a moan escapes your throat, before catching your bottom lip in-between your teeth in attempt to stifle the sounds you’re making. you lift your hips, your walls involuntarily squeezing around jack’s length as you drop your ass against his pelvis with a broken moan.
you’re raising your hips again, finding that perfect rhythm as you drop right against that sweet spot inside of you over and over again. completely conscious of how sloppy and inexperienced your bouncing may be, but it feels too good to stop.
“mmh, jack.” you whimper, lashes fluttering open when he doesn’t respond because he’s usually vocal and praising you.
your movement comes to a slow halt once you realize that his eyes are already on you — feeling the embarrassment kick in once you see how his eyes drag from your face, down to place where you two are connected making your tummy folds.
the way he’s just lying there, hands rested alongside your ankles, fixated on you fucking yourself dumb on his cock like an animal in heat. his jaw locked tight, letting out guttural groans that sound closer to growls as he restrains himself from doing things his way.
“stop looking at me like thaat.” you dragged, averting your gaze somewhere else because you’re too shy to hold eye contact. breaking jack out of his trance, “lookin’ at you like what, baby?” his eyes are low, pupils blown wide unable to control his aching lust as he twitches inside you. “like that, stop!” your eyes flicker elsewhere — reaching your arms out, an the last thing jack’s seeing is that pretty pout displayed on your lips as your hands close in near his face.
your palms press above his nose, covering his eyes. “hmm.. this your solution, yeah?” jack’s lashes flutter against your palms with a big grin plastered across his face, he loves when you get like this. too shy to let him watch you bounce on him, yet there you are. picking back up from where you left off as if he hadn’t already seen you before.
“y-yes.” you moan in response, rocking your body back and forth against jack — trying to find back your rhythm, though failing miserably while losing balance. “what’s the matter, hun’? having trouble?” he asks, feeling your staggered movements about his hands slide up your forearms, down to hold at your wrists until you’re pulling away and pushing his hands towards his face instead.
“keep your hands right there.” you instruct, halting your movements ensuring that he’s actually listening before continuing. your hands finding its place against jack’s chest, stabilizing your position — feeling jack’s diaphragm vibrate against your palms as he lets out a low groan. “s—shit.” he curses underneath his breath. “you’re gonna be the end of me, y’know that?” he murmurs, gravely tone slick in lust.
you can barely respond. not when his cock’s stuffing you full, nuzzling perfect against that sweet spot inside of you. “mmph, j—just keep your eyes… off me.” you pant, feeling every inch graze your sensitive walls.
“whatever you say, sweetheart.” the words came out gruff as jack tosses his head back, throwing an arm over his eyes to keep them covered — deciding to indulge in your cute, yet silly request even if he’d already seen every inch of your body seconds ago.
and as impractical as your request could get. it didn’t change the fact that his vision was capped, voluntarily granting your wishes with you on top, riding him as if there were no tomorrow.
summary: robby’s sabbatical was meant to be peaceful, some time away for him to relax and clear his head. that is until he picks up a hitchhiker, who seems to want to stick around for longer than he anticipates.
word count: 2.5k
warnings: smut (18+ mdni), sleazy!robby, oral sex (m receiving), age gap, use of the word kid/kiddo, naive!reader, semi-public sex (i mean they’re in a truck on the side of an empty highway lolol)
a/n: this went longer than i anticipated but i’m lowk not finished so there’ll probably be a second part to this soon
after everyone at ptmc insists that his sabbatical is purely just a midlife crisis, robby decides that maybe the motorcycle trip isn’t such a good idea, especially after it took damage from the ambulance—so he takes his truck instead. driving along long empty highways north of pittsburgh, windows down and rock music blasting out his radio. he’s got one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the door, fingers tapping along to the music. he’s concentrating on the road, which is how he almost misses you standing at the side of the road, bag at your feet and your hand out. robby manages to slow down just in front of you, watching as you grab your bag and walk up to his window.
“hi, uhm, are you able to give me a ride? just to the nearest town?” you speak so sweetly, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. robby smiles and nods, gesturing for you to get in. you thank him numerous times, opening the door and sliding onto the front seat, placing your bag at your feet and clicking the seatbelt in.
“so, what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ out here? you get lost or somethin’?”
“i didn’t have any change for the bus.. so had to hitchhike my way to the next town, but you’re the only person who’s stopped.. so thank you..”
“no problem, kid..”
you smiled at him, before settling more into the seat and staring out the window, mouthing along to the words of the song blaring out his radio. robby caught you out his peripheral and swallowed thickly—he’s trying to be good, to not want to just pull over and pounce on the first pretty girl he sees. but here you are in a white crop top and some short denim daisy dukes, silently singing along to life in the fast lane by eagles. he has to squirm slightly in his seat, trying to adjust himself in his pants as his dick twitches against the material. all he has to do is get you from a to b, just the next town over, which according to the map on his phone, is only a 15 minute drive. he can do that, he can contain himself for 15 minutes—he just has to focus on the road, the trees surrounding it, the birds screeching outside the car, the warm blue sky above him. anything but you. you, who’s now taken your shoes off and tucked your legs up on the seat, still staring out the window and tapping your fingers to the music.
robby’s hands slip down the wheel slightly, his hands suddenly all sweaty and clammy. he grips it tighter, knuckles going white as he blinks rapidly a few times, trying to zero in on the road ahead, making sure he doesn’t hit anything—but there’s not a single car for miles and he knows he probably won’t see one until he enters the next town over.
robby then notices you turn your head to face him and he swallows thickly again, trying to rid any perverted thoughts in his brain before he answers whatever question you’re about to ask him.
“do you think you’d be able to take me to an atm when we reach the next town? i have my card on me but no cash..”
“yeah, sure thing..“ robby somehow manages to keep his composure as he glances over at you, smiling as you nod at him, before turning your head back to the window, slowly closing your eyes.
the drive to the next town felt like it went on forever, but thankfully there was a gas station just on the outskirts and robby pulled over to let you get some cash. he refuelled before heading into the store to grab some water and pay for his gas. when he returned, you were in the front seat and he dropped a bottle of water onto your lap through the window. you thanked him and took a sip while he rounded the car to get into the drivers seat. he drove through the town, trying to find a good place to stop and let you off, before he pulled into a motel nearby.
“this okay? you didn’t really specify where you wanted to be dropped off and i’m staying the night so..”
“no no, this is perfect, thank you..”
robby gets out the car, before opening the backseat and grabbing his bag, heading over to reception and silently praying there’s still rooms available. he hadn’t notice you following behind him until he opened the door to reception and saw your hand keep the door open as you walked in. he huffs out a laugh as he turns to face you.
“you followin’ me or somethin’?”
“oh yeah, totally..”
robby raised an eyebrow at you before you spoke again.
“i’m just gonna ask someone in here for directions..”
robby nods and steps aside to let you go to the front desk first, watching as the receptionist points out the door and helps you on your way. you smile at her before thanking her and walking past robby, but you stop at the door and turn round.
“i never got your name..”
“michael..”
“well, michael, thank you for the ride.. hope the rest of your trip goes well..”
“same to you, see y’around kid..”
robby walks up to reception, pays for a room and then heads up to get some rest. he doesn’t even realise how exhausted he is until he lays down on the bed, yawns and closes his eyes. his mind wanders, thinking of back home, the hospital, everyone he misses, knowing he didn’t really leave on good terms. he knows he was self-destructive, but he won’t ever admit that to anyone, he doesn’t want to come across as weak. then he thinks of you, but he shakes the thought away, trying to think of anything else. but he keeps coming back to you, how soft you looked all tucked up on the front seat of his truck.
in his dreams, he pictures you so vividly, can hear you so clearly and he’s quite glad you’re out of his life because he’s not sure he could ever face you again—not after he imagined your sweet little voice, begging to have his cock in your mouth as payment for the ride he gave you into town. not after he pictured you with his cock down your throat, one hand on the wheel and one hand on the back of your head, encouraging words falling from his lips as he drives along the highway, blunt head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. and especially not after he comes in his pants, dreaming of coming down your throat, thanking you over and over again as you splutter around his length.
he stirs awake a few hours later, staring down at the wet patch on his jeans and groaning, tugging them off and throwing them on the floor, before he notices the bigger wet patch on his boxers and pulls his now soft dick out. he grabs a tissue and wipes himself up, throwing the used tissue in the trash can next to the bed. he grumbles as he gets up and walks to the bathroom, turning the shower on and stepping in under the water. resting one hand on the tiled wall, he drops his head and closes his eyes, letting the water drip down his back. it’s cold, stings his back slightly and he hisses, but he tries to push through, hoping that the cold water burns away any thoughts he still has of you.
you were too pretty for him, and way too good for him. he’s rough around the edges, and you’re so sweet—but maybe that’s why he’s drawn to you. maybe, he thinks, you’re exactly what he needs to turn his life around. something so sweet, so soft, so gentle, so kind.
he turns the shower off, grabs a towel to dry himself off, then slips into his pajama pants and gets back into bed. he tosses and turns for around an hour before he finally settles down, facing away from the window.
the light shines into his room in the morning, forcing him awake. he stumbles slowly around the room, grabbing the clothes he discarded last night and shoving them in his bag, before he slips the bag over his shoulder and exits the room. he jingles his keys in his hand as he makes his way down to his truck, but stops in his tracks when he spots you standing by his truck. you fidgeted nervously with your hands, your bag slipping off your shoulder as you occasionally pulled it back up. robby swallows, or tries to, his mouth suddenly going dry when you look over at him slowly walking towards you.
“hi.. again..”
“yeah, hi.. is everything okay?”
“i uhm.. got a little drunk last night.. missed the last bus.. can you give me another ride?”
robby huffs out a laugh, stepping beside you to open the back door of his truck, throwing his bag in before turning to you with his hand out. you look up at him, slightly confused before he nods to your bag.
“oh, sorry..” you mumble, handing your bag to him before getting in the front seat once again. he shuts the door before quickly walking to reception and handing his key back. he comes back to his truck and gets in the drivers side, before he sighs and looks over at you.
“you look like you got somethin’ on your mind..”
“‘m fine..”
“yeah?” robby questions you, putting the truck into gear and driving off, pulling out the car park and down the street. occasionally he would look over at you, your eyes looking down at your hands in your lap, still fidgeting nervously. you kicked your shoes off again, tucking your feet under you and getting comfy as you stared out the window. it wasn’t until robby had driven out of the town and onto the next highway that you finally looked over at him, the vice-like grip he has on the steering wheel and the laser focus he has on the road ahead—and just for a second, your eyes flick down to his crotch area, gaze lingering longer than you wanted to as you watched his dick twitch slightly in his pants. you quickly glanced back out the window, hoping robby didn’t notice. but then you felt the truck slow to a stop, pulling over to the side of the road. you suddenly felt small sitting tucked up in the front seat, watching robby as he unclips his seatbelt and turns his body to face you.
“wh-why did you stop?”
“why did you come back? i want you to be honest with me..”
“i told you.. i missed the bus..”
“mmhm.. not because you want something else?”
“n-no..” you squeaked out a response, eyes flicking down to his crotch once again, watching his hand as he made an attempt to stroke himself through his jeans. you looked back up at him, eyes glassy and wet, as your hand subconsciously unclipped your own seatbelt. you’re not even entirely sure what you were doing, but you didn’t stop robby when he reached over and grabbed your hand in his, pulling you across the front bench to sit next to him and placing your hand over the bulge in his jeans.
“you feel that, honey?”
“y-yeah..”
“s’all because of you.. so sweet, makin’ me all hard while i’m drivin’..”
“m-me?”
“mmhm.. want to touch it?”
you open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out, voice lost as you nod meekly, pulling your hand back as he unzips his jeans and pulls his dick out. he lets you reach over yourself this time, hand barely fitting around his girth, hissing slightly when you tug at his cock.
“is.. is that good? am i doing good?”
“shit.. yeah, kid.. feels so, fuck.. so fucking good..”
“can i taste it? please?” robby feels like he’s been hit by an 18-wheeler when you ask him that, your voice all sweet and innocent as you continue to jerk him off. only last night did he have this exact dream, and he told himself he shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t let you get close to him—but he can’t say no, not when you’re asking so politely. so all he can do is place a hand on the back of your head and nod at you, letting you bend forward, licking at his tip a few times.
“s’that good?”
“yeah.. why don’t you try puttin’ it in your mouth, sweetheart..”
“o-okay..”
robby groaned as he looked down, watching your mouth open, tongue hanging out as you bent forward again, gagging when he was only halfway in your mouth. you immediately pulled off him, wiping up the trail of saliva dribbling down your chin as you look up at him again, eyes wet and wide as you blink back tears.
“wanna try again, kiddo? you were doin’ so well f’me..”
“hurts..”
“s’just because it’s big, honey..”
“n-no.. my knees hurt..”
“swing your legs down.. that’s it, that better?”
“mmhm..”
robby smiled, patting your hair as you moved back forward, taking him in your mouth again, bobbing your head up and down. robby tries to keep an eye on the road ahead, occasionally glancing at the rear view mirror for any other vehicles passing by. he struggles to keep his focus when you keep bobbing your head further down, getting more than halfway before coughing and spluttering. he coos at you, muttering little phrases of encouragement and telling you you’re doing such a good job—and you’re still not entirely sure what you’re really doing, but robby’s telling you it’s good so you try to keep going. it’s only when you finally manage to take all of him down your throat—blunt head hitting the back of your throat, his voice straining as he curses, his hand gripping the back of your neck tightly—that you realise what makes him feel good. so you go again, nose hitting his plush stomach, over and over again.
“fuckin’ hell, kid.. fuck, fuck, fuck! gonna make me cum.. shit.. that what you want? want it down your throat?”
you swallow him down again, nodding as you let him hold you in place, squeezing your eyes shut as your nose is squashed against the soft of his belly. you hear him curse a few more times before he exhales, feeling the warm liquid of his cum drip down your throat—the taste is weird, funny but you swallow it down, blinking back tears as he pulls you off him.
“good?”
“so good, kiddo..”
he leans forward to press a soft kiss to your lips, hand gripping your chin. you sit back down on the front bench, leaning into his side, looking down and watching his dick slowly go soft in his lap. you both sat in silence for a few moments, robby tucking himself back into his jeans as you nuzzled your head into his arm. he tilted his head, leaning his cheek on the top of your head, before you decided to say something.
“i uhm.. does this trip of yours have maybe.. room for one more?”
“you wanna come with me?”
you just nod, pulling slightly back to look up at him, as he turns his head to face you with a smile.
making out with jack and he has to keep reminding you to slow down…
MDNI 18+
based of this perfect ask from my sexy hot mootie 🫶🏽
Jacks got you perched on his lap on his couch, his big hands resting on your hips, slowly guiding them back and forth on his bulky thighs. Your arms are draped over his shoulders, tangling in the curls that rest at the nape of his neck.
You’ve been making out on his couch for about a half hour now, and it’s agonizing. You’re sure if you were to get up there’d be a wet splotch on his jeans from how wet you are.
But every time you try to speed things up he’s slowing you down again. Both of your chins slick with saliva, you move your lips quicker against his, pushing your head forward to get impossibly closer.
But he’s raising a big rough hand to your chin, pinching it between his fingers and manually slowing down your movements. You can feel the sleazy smirk he’s wearing as you whine and your hips buck up once more, his hand finally sliding off your face back down your body.
“Stop whinin’” he’s growling roughly from the time his voice has been idle it’s gone a little raspy, “got all the time we want, promise I’m gonna make you feel good, just wanna kiss on you a little” he’s whispering against your mouth before sloppily licking his own saliva off your chin and shoving it back into your mouth with his tongue.
Every time you speed up, even if you don’t notice it, he’s grabbing you and easing your jaw, pulling it down as he licks into your mouth, and slowly pushing it back up to connect with his own lips to yours, setting a speed, a rhythm. He’s nodding when you finally catch onto the speed he’s content with “theeree ya’ go” you can feel his teeth against your lips when he smiles and lets out a little “you’re learning now hm?”
And you’re just nodding and whimpering, hips grinding harder against his jeans.
I think this schedule could be very nice / Call up the boys and crack a Miller Light / Watch the fight / Us girls are fun but stressful / Am I right? / And you got a right hand anyway
Overview: You knew it was a risk, dating a cop and all, but Sammy is different. Or, he was, at least. He was probably the best boyfriend you've ever had, the only one you ever saw yourself getting serious with. But then, he had to go and make buddy-buddy with the assholes in his department. Now your sweet boyfriend is gone and you're left picking up the pieces.
a/n: I actually got pissed at myself rereading this because she let him off way too easily at the end. So it's been revamped and, in my opinion, I think she gives him a proper amount of hell (Also, note the lyrics of this song, it’s going to be following those slightly misogynistic points for the first section of the plot)
more at: Belle’s 3k Extravaganza
wc: 12.7k
By no means are you the type of woman to throw on an apron and go all June Cleaver for a man. However, Sammy seems to be the exception to your rule. The first time you surprised him with dinner, there had been such earnest gratefulness in his eyes that you couldn’t help yourself. Every time you think of how stressed he gets at work, how much hell he receives on patrol, you just get the urge to take care of him.
It’s bad enough you’re spreading it for a cop, now you can add traitor to feminism on the list. Who can blame a girl, though, when he’s got biceps like those? Every time you see him, you just want to sink your teeth in him. Mark your territory for any doe-eyed woman that tries to flirt her way out of a ticket.
Most of your time is spent at his place so you can cook for him like you are tonight. Usually, while you wait for the food to finish, you find yourself cleaning up a little. The way he practically drops to his knees every time you take care of him has your sixth sense going off.
You know it’s coming soon, him asking you to move in with him. Your female spidey-senses are primed to go off the second you find a man ready to commit. It is such a rare trait nowadays.
It would be smart to say yes to him; you practically live with him already. But something is holding you back. No matter how much you care about him (maybe even love him), there is this gnawing thought that’s been plaguing you. Everything's been going good.
Perfect, even.
You’re crazy about each other, your fights are always resolved quickly, and he does anything he can to make you happy. But things are too easy, too conflict-free. Something bad is coming, you just know it.
The lock clicks on the door, and you find yourself smiling, already untying your apron. Turning the heat down on the stove, you turn in time to see Sammy walking in. His face lights up as he sees you.
He drops into your embrace the second you open your arms. You laugh a little, shifting your hips so his holster isn’t digging into you. He mutters into your neck how much he missed you, and you feel the rest of your carefully enforced independence shrink away.
It’s inevitable. You’ve gone full housewife.
“How was work?” You ask, dragging your hand through his hair as he pulls back. He shrugs you off, and you sigh, realizing this is going to be a man-no-talk-about-feelings night. He huffs and tosses his jacket on the kitchen island.
Your gaze narrows, and you click your tongue once. Sammy’s eyes widen before he picks it up, moving it to the entryway closet. Where it belongs.
“Good boy,” you murmur, smirking when you see the color that grows on his cheeks.
He comes up behind you, arm winding around your waist. You glance down at his thick forearm and physically hold back the urge to dig your teeth into him. “God, sweetheart, this looks amazing,” he lets out a breathy exhale as he watches you finish up dinner. You grin, making him a plate as he lets go and takes a seat at the island.
“Beer?” You ask, already getting it for him. I’m a traitor to my people, you think as you hand your man a cold one to go with the steak dinner you’d cooked. You’re making yourself your own plate when you catch him frowning at the stove.
“What’s wrong?” He finally looks over at you and raises his brows. “I thought you liked this,” you tell him, nodding toward the food.
He lets out a scoff and gives you an incredulous look. “‘Course I do, are you kidding? I love anything you cook.”
You fight back your smile at such simple praise. “Alright, why do you look like someone pissed in your beer, then?”
His face screws up and you can’t help but laugh. Almost sheepish, he rubs the back of his neck, no longer meeting your eyes. “Got a couple guys from the station coming over.”
Shrugging, you finally take a bite of your dinner. Compliments to the chef, you think smugly. “What’s the big deal? Ben comes over all the time.”
Sammy moves his food around his plate and you glare down at the action. “They might be a little hungry.”
You let out an astonished scoff and he shrinks back with that boyish grin on his face that makes it nearly impossible for you to be mad. “Jeez, what am I, Sammy? Your girlfriend or maid? You know I don’t cook for any man.”
He glances down at his plate and then back at you with a pointed look. Rolling your eyes, you wave him off. “This is a rare exception because we have such amazing chemistry in bed. I swear, if you were an inch smaller down there, you’d be nuking stouffers.”
Sammy lets out a small huff of laughter that makes the constant tight feeling in your chest ease ever so slightly. “Glad to know what I’m worth. I’ll just order a pizza.”
“Shut up,” you tell him, already digging around in the fridge for some food to make his friends. You cut open a pack of kielbasa and toss it in a pan, your dinner going forgotten on the counter. Pointing a spatula at Sammy you warn him, “Don’t get used to this.”
He laughs at the sharp look on your face, his smile dropping when you pinch your lips, openly glaring at him. “Of course, sweetheart.”
You turn back to the stove with a weak sigh. “I’m only doing this because you’ve got that pathetic kicked puppy look on your face.” Quietly, he makes his way up to you, arms once again tugging you into his firm chest.
“I promise,” he mutters into your neck, pressing a soft kiss there that has your stomach flooding with warmth. “I’ll make this up to you with my amazing bed chem,” he mocks. You laugh but it trails off as you melt further into him, an ache between your legs getting stronger the longer he kisses you.
“You play dirty,” you mutter, and he smiles against your skin, knowing exactly what he’s doing.
The guys he invites over seem nice enough. They’re loud, brash, and a little abrasive in the way your dad’s old friends used to be. Nothing you can’t handle or don’t expect from a group of off-duty cops.
Though, your skin does crawl when you set the food out in the living room and you realize just the type of men you’re currently serving. Never ever again, you swear to yourself. There’s a knock at the door and you go to open it.
A little piece of you relaxes when you look through the peephole and find Ben waiting on the other side. He smiles as you tug open the door. “Hey,” you greet, already pulling him into a hug. He presses a brief kiss to your temple and wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you back into the apartment. “You have no idea how relieved I am to see you,” you tell him.
“Yeah?” He lets out a low whistle as he takes in the disaster area that is Sammy’s kitchen. “When’d you have time for all this?” He chuckles, plucking some of your leftover steak and popping it in his mouth.
“When I skipped dinner,” you grumble, ignoring the concerned look he shoots you. “It’s just a one time thing,” you tell him. “Sammy’s seemed a little off lately, I figured he needed an easy night.”
“Yeah,” Ben walks up to you, hand once again finding your shoulder. “I’ve noticed that, too. Was getting a little worried.”
Any further conversation is interrupted as someone shouts, “Beer!” from the living room. You shoot Ben an astonished look that he only laughs at.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Sammy trails off, eyes narrowing at Ben’s completely platonic touch on your arm. He walks over and swats his grip away, tugging you back into his chest.
You let out a short chuckle at the amused look on Ben’s face. “I’ve been designated the beer wench,” you tell Sammy. He scowls, brows furrowing as he scoffs.
“I’ll take care of it.” He reaches over for the dinner you’d abandoned and places it firmly in your hands. “Finish eating, sweetheart.” He doesn’t leave any room for argument, redirecting you to a seat as he points at Ben. “You’re with me, come on.” Ben shoots you one last grin before he helps Sammy carry the beer into the living room.
The living room gets louder the longer they stay. For the most part, you manage to ignore it, flipping through your book as you pick at your dinner.
“We need more dip!” Your brows furrow and you look up with a scoff. There’s no way they think you’re actually going to bring them any. Right?
Shaking your head, you settle back into your seat and resume reading. “Dip!”
“Fuck me,” you mutter, shoulders tense as you work to ignore the assholes in Sammy’s living room.
It’s not much longer until Sammy’s walking into the kitchen. His brows raise when he spots you at the table. You give him a tense smile that’s met with a confused frown. “I thought you were in my room.”
You shake your head, “Nope. Been in here the whole time.”
Sammy glances between you and the living room with a cute little furrow between his brows. “Can you hear us in there?”
“Oh yeah,” you scoff. “Loud and clear.” Your point is almost instantly proven by a loud round of jeering laughter that makes your skin shrink back.
“Oh, well,” he hums, digging through the fridge to grab the dip. “How come you didn’t bring this?” He asks, holding up the container.
Your eyes narrow sharply. “Maybe because it’s not the fifties and they’re grown men who can walk their asses into the kitchen themselves. Besides, you’re the only one I’m sleeping with, you’re the only one who gets to ask for it.”
A grin breaks out on his face as he walks over to you. You lean forward, chin tilting as his hand slides around your shoulder to cup the back of your neck. “I’ll get them under control,” he promises, pressing a lingering kiss against your lips.
You just nod, head tilting as you admire his ass as he makes his way back into the living room. With a heavy sigh, you force yourself out of your chair and start cleaning up the disastrous array of dishes.
Your hands are pruny and dried out by the time you’re done. So, with the most reluctant gait, you force yourself out into the living room to fetch your favorite lotion. A football game is playing on the TV at an obscene volume, but they seem to be ignoring it in favor of whatever card game they’ve got going on.
Ben shoots you a small smile as he catches you creeping around the perimeter of the living room. Just as you’re about to sneak out, he calls your name, cutting through the buzz of chatter. “Gonna join us?”
His smug grin is met with a stare that promises death. “Oh, sure,” you grit out, wishing you could choke him out. Sammy waves you over and you perch on the edge of the couch’s armrest. “You winning?” You ask, glancing over his cards and finding yourself completely lost on whatever game it is they’re playing.
One of his buddies lets out a loud laugh and Sammy’s cheeks go red. You’ll take that as a no. The guy reaches over, slapping Sammy’s shoulder. “Hey, who knows, maybe your little lady can be a good luck charm.”
“Don’t love that,” you whisper to Sammy as he takes you by the waist and pulls you onto his lap.
“What,” he teases, “you don’t like being my little lady?”
You slap at his shoulder and he just laughs. You make yourself comfortable, head resting in the curve of his neck as you watch a few more rounds of this odd game play out. It doesn’t seem that anyone’s particularly good at it. Every turn ends with someone muttering something obscene under their breath.
When your brain has reached its threshold for drunken cheers, you turn your lips toward Sammy’s ear. “I’m going to bed,” you tell him. Already struggling to keep your eyes open.
He peers over at you, eyes a little wide. “You’re staying the night?”
You pull back, slightly offended by his tone. “Don’t I always?”
Something shifts on his face, this fleeting emotion that he doesn’t let you get a decent read on. “Yeah, yeah,” his tone is too light, so casual you don’t believe it. “I just don’t want us being loud and keeping you up.”
You just shake your head and press a firm kiss to his cheek. “You know I sleep through anything.” Balancing slightly on his shoulder, you push yourself up to your feet.
“Calling it quits?” Ben asks, looking just as bored as you are. You just offer him a tired smile and move to head to Sammy’s bedroom.
“Hey, sweetheart, you mind clearing some of this away so we can use the table?” Turning, you’re shocked to find one of Sammy’s buddy’s addressing you. Although, you’re not sure how you can be certain considering he doesn’t even look at you when he’s speaking, eyes too focused on his cards.
“Excuse me?” You mutter, so taken aback you forget to tell him off.
“You’re a doll,” he dismisses, swiping one of the other men’s cards. Stunned by the audacity and such blatant dismissal, you actually find yourself doing what he asks. It feels wrong as you bend down and scoop up the plates. You practically made them a feast, the least these assholes could do is help you clean up.
With a low huff and a pointed glare at Sammy, you take the dishes into the kitchen. You don’t even want to clean them. You’ve already spent half an hour doing that tonight. But the idea of all this food being dried on the ceramic tomorrow disturbs you just enough to grab the sponge.
Ben walks in from the living room, a couple of plates and glasses in his hands. He drops them by the sink and you send him a grateful smile. “Thought you were going to bed,” he muses, digging around in the fridge for another beer.
A little bit of shame curls in your stomach as you clean up after the men in Sammy’s apartment. “Yeah,” you shrug. “I just don’t want to worry about this in the morning.”
He lets out a snort which snags a laugh from you. “Why would you worry? This ain’t even your place.”
Your hands still, soap and soggy crumbs dripping beneath your fingers as you hesitate to meet his eyes. “Well,” you force a cheeky smile and shrug. “Not yet, at least.” God, how pathetic are you?
He holds his hands up, surrendering even though you can see there’s more he wants to say. You watch him as he heads back into the living room and drop the dishes in the sink. You’re done for the night, you’ve done far more than you even wanted to. Sucking in a sharp breath you dry your hands and try to head back to bed.
A quick, “Beer!” has you pausing at the threshold of the kitchen. It pains you, but you’re already in here and you don’t feel like looking petty in front of Sammy’s friends. Grumbling under your breath about men and getting off their fat asses, you pluck a beer from the fridge and plop it in the first outstretched palm you see.
The man chuckles while Ben shoots you a surprised look. “Nice, Sammy. You’ve got her well-trained. Must’ve learned from the first marraige.” Your jaw actually drops as you stare at the balding man addressing your boyfriend.
Another one pipes up, his laughter making your skin crawl. “Everyone knows the first is just a starter. It’s not until, at least, the third that you actually land a decent broad.”
You suck your teeth, staring pointedly at Sammy while you wait for him to pipe up. When he doesn’t, a low chuckle leaves you. “Hear that, baby? You got one more after me.”
Sammy finally meets your eye, just barely. His head ducks down as he shrugs. “They don’t mean it like that.” You let out an astounded gasp, looking around for anyone to support you on just how insanely backwards this whole conversation is. But the only one who will meet your eye is Ben and his stupid face just says “I told you so.”
“Right, okay.” You finally make your way into Sammy’s bedroom, just to grab your bag and turn your happy ass right around. “I’m going home, Sammy,” you call over your shoulder.
“Wait- What?”
You hear Ben let out a little laugh while you grab your coat from the hook. “Hope you’re ready to get reacquainted with your right hand, man.” His tone is malicious.
It’s strange, going to your own place after work. Not immediately starting on dinner. It’s a slight wake-up call that you’re committing too much of your time to a man who hasn’t even asked you to move in yet.
Still, that doesn’t make you miss the smile he always greets you with any less. Tossing your coat on the back of your couch, you head into your kitchen. Your cabinets are hardly stalked, the majority of your meals taking place at Sammy’s apartment. Meaning your dinner tonight is going to be expired ramen and some saltines.
You’ve had worse.
Your phone rings just as you toss the ramen in the microwave. Glaring down at the screen you watch Sammy’s picture light up. Crossing your arms, you lean back on the counter and wait for it to stop. He immediately calls back and you decide to let him stew a bit. You allow three ignored calls before you finally pick up on the fourth.
“Hey, sweetheart, where are you?” He’s doing a horrible job at masking the stress in his voice and it almost makes you smile.
“I’m at my place. Where else would I be?” You turn to the microwave, watching as the water bubbles and froths over the lid of your ramen cup. Grimacing, you redirect your attention to Sammy. More importantly, the leftovers you know he has and you really want to dig into.
“With me,” he supplies, laughter light and uneasy.
You hum a little and shake your head. “I don’t know. Is this because you miss me? Or is it just because I’m so well trained?” You make zero effort to hide the venom in your tone. He should know he screwed up. He should have also already figured out that he was going to be put on a week-long sex probation after last night.
Sammy lets out a low groan and you can picture the way he probably slides his hand across his jaw, eyes clenching shut. “I’m really sorry about that, honey. I swear, I told them off the second you left. I just got drunk and…”
“And… acted like the sort of jackasses I’ve already spent a lifetime dumping?” You supply for him.
He lets out another low laugh and you hate how you find yourself smiling at the sound. “Exactly. So, would you come over? Let me make it up to you?”
You let out a sharp breath, eyeing your boiling dinner with disdain. “You’re lucky I don’t have anything to eat over here.”
You let yourself in with the key Sammy gave you. Not an invitation to move in, just an easier way for you to get in before him and have dinner ready. Maybe his friends were right, he does have you trained.
Shaking away the disturbing thought, you narrow your eyes as Sammy walks out of the kitchen. He gives you that familiar smile of his you love and it takes every iota of self control not to return it.
He frowns when you don’t reciprocate. “Really, sweetheart?”
“What?” You take your coat off, kicking the door closed behind you.
Sammy shoots you a flat look, palm finding a spot on your lower back as he guides you into the kitchen. “Is this how we’re playing it tonight? You want to be passive-aggressive?”
You scoff, some of your anger easing as you realize he’s made dinner, tonight. “I actually just prefer aggressive-aggressive, you should be happy I’m being passive.” Sammy just laughs and presses a firm kiss to your temple.
“You’re impossible, you know that?” You hum, watching as he grabs two plates and drops them on the dining table. You follow him, moving to take a seat when his hands snake out and take a hold of your waist.
“What’re you-” There’s no stopping the laugh that bubbles out of you as he tugs you onto his lap. And that knowing smile he sends you means he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “Yeah, I’m the impossible one,” you scowl, but it’s defeated by the smile tugging at your lips.
He reaches up, brushing some hair over your shoulder as he shifts you in his lap. He’s got a better view of your face now, his expression softening into something sincere. “I really am sorry about last night, hun. There’s no excuse.”
You bite your lip, arm lifting to wind over his shoulders. Inside, you’re still fuming, raging at him for not even attempting to defend you, just letting those guys speak to you like you were some maid. But you’ve spent years being the “cool” girlfriend, always letting shit slide so that guys don’t get tired of you after a month.
So, instead of doubling down, you lean down and kiss him. “It’s fine, Sammy,” you tell him.
Unfortunately, the cool girl syndrome has and always will be a chronic blight on your life.
“We, uh, have a schedule, now,” he tells you. His eyes drop from your face, fiddling with a stray thread on your sweater, instead.
You swat his hand away before he ruins the hem. “What do you mean?”
“Every Thursday night,” he tells you, head resting against your shoulder as you pick at the food he made. “There shouldn't be any more surprise drop-ins for you.”
You let out a huff that he tenses at. As much as you want to object, you’ve been on the receiving end of one of his rants when he was first divorcing Tammi. She had never wanted to go to his office functions. Never wanted to meet any of his cop buddies. She was always so neurotic and steadfast in being as separated from his work as she could be.
You didn’t want to do that. You weren’t looking to be the girl that shit on her man hanging out with his friends just because you don’t like them (cool girl strikes again). You don’t want his friends to be right, you don’t want to just be the stepping stone while he looks for the third wife.
“Alright,” you acquiesce and he perks up. That stupid, crooked grin almost makes it worth it. “But that bar-wench shit isn’t ever happening again,” you warn him, tone icy as you pull him back by his hair, forcing him to meet your eyes.
Sammy nods eagerly, “I know, baby. We’re just gonna order pizzas from now on, you won’t have to do a damn thing.” Your gaze narrows into something sharp and he offers a timid smile. “And for the rest of tonight, I’m at your beck and call, promise.”
Slowly, you loosen your grip on his hair, running your fingers through the curls. And the way he preens when you call him a “Good boy” almost makes you think his friends won’t be a problem.
There’s a game on the TV, soccer or football, you don’t know. Sammy’s got it turned down low so you can focus on your book. He’d dropped onto the couch an hour ago and hasn’t found the energy to move since.
Peering over the edge of your book you watch as he pulls your legs into his lap, eyes never leaving the TV. A little smile curls on your lips as his hands idly stroke over your skin. He doesn’t even look like he’s aware he’s awake and he still needs his hands on you.
You hide behind your book as your smile grows. Asshole, making you all flustered over something so small.
Really, though, it’s not your fault that all your exes were pieces of crap. That now your standards are so low you think a man respecting your “no” is a sign of saintliness.
Just as you settle back into your book, Sammy’s door slams open, loud footsteps sounding through the entryway. Your heart jumps to your throat, legs jolting as you try and get a look over the couch. Sammy’s hands tighten around your legs, stopping you from bolting. Despite the way you can feel your heartbeat in your abdomen and are about to soil yourself, Sammy looks utterly unbothered.
“Where you at, man?”
“Shit,” you hiss at the unnecessarily loud voice coming from the door. Grabbing your phone you check the date and, sure enough, it's Thursday. Like an idiot you’ve already forgotten that he and his buddies are now on a strict schedule. You’ve been getting good at staying away or making yourself unavailable during his Thursday night games. Not tonight, though.
The bald cop, Tony, you think his name is, makes his way to the living room. He eyes you and Sammy, cackling when he sees your legs in Sammy’s lap. “Shit, man,” he slaps Sammy’s shoulder. “She’s got you whipped.”
It’s almost subtle, the way Sammy brushes you off, reaching up to greet the man with one of those bro hugs. But you know him too well, you’ve gotten too good at recognizing the slight flush on his face is embarrassment. As if showing your girlfriend affection is something to be ashamed of.
No wonder they’re all divorced.
Curling completely into yourself, you watch Sammy jump up, heading into the kitchen to greet the rest of his friends streaming in. At the very least they’ve decided the dining table is a better place to play than the living room. That way you don’t have to sneak past them when you try to head into Sammy’s room.
With something venomous burning inside you, you pick up your book again. You’ll just ignore them, read, and go about your night like they aren’t a newfound plague on your peace. As they all settle, it grows increasingly difficult to try and drown them out.
They’re filling the apartment with expletives and insults straight from the eighties, clearly none of them are any good at whatever they’re playing. You’re not even sure why they get together. You’ve never witnessed one successful game.
Through the tin of rowdy men, you manage to make out a knock on the front door. You can’t imagine it’s anyone from this group, they prefer just busting through like the Kool-Aid man.
Sitting up, you tilt your head, trying to hear if anyone’s moving toward it. Another knock and then Sammy’s shouting, “Babe, can you get that?”
“Babe?” You scoff, nose wrinkling as you push off the couch. Sure, you’ll get the door he’s five feet from. You send him a glare he doesn’t bother acknowledging as you throw open the door.
Ben’s waiting on the other side with an easy grin. He’s balancing an obscene amount of pizza boxes as you pull him inside. “Glad you’re here,” you tell him, taking half of the stack from him.
“Thank you,” he mutters, trailing after you into the kitchen. Without even thinking, you’re grabbing plates, already pulling out slices for the others.
Ben gives you an odd look, leaning against the island, head tilted as he watches you. “You’re turning domestic.” His tone is teasing, but it’s not friendly. It seems like a warning.
Swallowing thickly, you shrug, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal.” You pause, finally looking up at him and he offers you a knowing smirk. “Right?” You whisper, suddenly unsure of yourself.
“Sure,” he grins, taking some of the plates for you. “Whatever you say.”
“You’re such an ass,” you hiss, following him into the dining room. His shoulders shake a little as he laughs and you roll your eyes. Sammy gives Ben a brief greeting, smiling up at you when you pass him his plate.
You toss Tony’s plate on the table with barely enough control to not have the glass shatter. Just as you begin to walk off, his arm snaps out, hand wrenching your wrist back. “Ow,” you curse, frowning down at the tight grip.
“How about a beer, sweetheart?” He doesn’t even look at you.
You’re just about to tell him off when Sammy’s voice cuts through the chatter. “How about you keep your hands to yourself, Johnson?” The rest of the guys go quiet, looking up from their cards with nosy intrigue. Sammy’s just staring at Tony, and you swear you’ve never seen him so angry.
You’ve heard him yell before, sometimes into the phone, a lot of the times when he’s ranted to you. But this was a lot colder than what you’ve experienced. Too calm to be safe. Slowly, Tony’s disgusting, clammy hand releases your arm.
Sammy doesn't look away, cards splayed carelessly on the table as he leans forward. “You touch her again and we’re gonna have a problem. Got it?”
God, that’s hot.
Tony cows under Sammy’s glare. He shrugs, picking up his cards and muttering how he didn’t mean anything by it. You just scoff, glaring down at the bald bastard. Then, just as you’re thinking about dragging Sammy into the bedroom for being so commanding, he laughs.
Your lips part in astonishment, Ben’s head snaps to him with a furrowed brow. Sammy reaches over the table and slaps Tony’s shoulder. “Ah, come on, man. I’m fuckin’ with you. No big deal.” The other men let out stilted laughter, trying to get over the sudden tension.
Sammy looks over at you, “Right, babe?”
No, it’s a big fucking deal. If I feel those clammy palms one more time, I’ll cut off his fat fingers and serve them to you all on the next game night.
And stop fucking calling me that!
“Whatever,” you mutter, eyes narrowing at him as you swallow every venomous word down. Your dignity burns as it tries to crawl its way back up your throat. But, you force it down, making yourself turn around before you say something you regret.
But, then, Tony chuckles. “Well, the beer, sweetheart?”
That fraying thread of self-control unwinds just a little more as you turn around to glare down at Tony. “You got legs, don’t you? Go get your own fucking beer.”
One of the other guys pipes up, snickering at you like you’re just a little dog yapping at them. “You on the rag or something? Just bring us another round.”
At this point, you don’t even look to Sammy for help. You already know he’s not going to do jack shit. He’s clearly too much of a pussy to snap back at guys with seniority over him. “Pigs,” you mutter, not caring if they hear as you storm off to the bedroom.
The door to Sammy’s room is closed in a poor attempt to block out the noise that’s starting to give you a migraine. You can still hear them, laughing and making fun of each other like they didn’t just humiliate you. Like they didn’t just drag your sweetheart of a boyfriend to the dark side.
You glare down at your phone, an article about that jackass Tony glaring back up at you. You’ve seen multiple bodycam videos, smaller articles, all about this asshole who uses excessive force and has been involved in multiple internal affairs investigations. Sammy might have a shorter temper than most, but he’s not corrupt and he doesn’t just casually hang out with pieces of shit like this. He definitely doesn’t play about someone putting their hands on you. There’s something about this whole situation that seems wrong. You just haven’t figured out what, yet.
The door slowly creaks open and you look up with a scowl. Sammy never checks on you when these guys are over. So, it’s not much of a surprise when you see Ben poking his head inside. “Hey,” he offers a tentative smile.
You sit up, patting the spot on the bed by the footboard. “What’s up?” You ask, anger simmering down slightly as he drops himself beside you.
“So,” he flexes his hands, gaze darting to the door before landing on you again.
You give him a shaky smile. “What’s up, Ben? You’re acting weird.” You tilt your head and shrug. “Weirder than usual.”
He lets out a low laugh, nudging you with his elbow. “Shut up.” For the first time since game nights began, there’s a genuine smile on your face. “What do you think of Sammy’s new buddies?” He nods toward the dining room and you scoff. Whatever face you make clearly says everything you haven’t because he sucks his teeth and nods.
“Yeah, I’m not much of a fan, either.”
“What the hell is going on? I’ve never even heard half their names before and suddenly they’re infesting our apartment.” Ben’s brows perk at the slip up and you shake your head, brushing it off.
He rubs the back of his neck, shifting further up the bed. “I don’t know, there was a change in the shift rotation, we’ve been seeing a lot more of them lately. I can’t believe he’s actually getting along with the assholes.”
“Yeah,” you laugh, but it does nothing to mask the hurt in your voice. “How the hell do you think I feel?” He looks over at you, expression softening at the pain on your face. Carefully, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in for a brief hug.
He seems hesitant to even touch you, probably out of respect for Sammy. But you’ll take whatever comfort you can get, as small as it may be.
Just as you rest your head on him, the bedroom door creaks open completely. Sammy walks in, brows furrowed and a scowl on his face as he takes in the both of you. “Was wondering where you went,” he mutters, glaring at the arm Ben has around you.
Ben lets out an awkward sigh, slowly letting you go. You almost complain, but you don’t feel like dealing with any more machismo drama tonight.
“What’s going on?” Sammy asks, closing the door behind him as he steps into the room. He stands in front of you both, arms crossed in that way that usually makes you want to bite him. But your attraction to him tonight has been severely and utterly depleted.
“We were just discussing the impeccable manners of our guests,” you joke, trailing off when he doesn’t even crack a smile.
“My guests,” he corrects, tone painfully sharp.
“Right, well,” you stutter, completely unsure of yourself. You’ve had too manny slip ups tonight. You’ve allowed yourself far too many moments of delusion thinking that Sammy might actually take the relationship a step further.
Ben jumps in, a scowl on his face as he gets to his feet. “You’re acting like she doesn’t practically live with you, man. Cleaning the place and-”
“Butt out,” Sammy snaps, taking a step closer to Ben. You can feel it brewing, the tension that always seems to linger between them. They’re one pissing contest away from just beating each other bloody.
“Hey, you know,” you get up and stretch with a dramatic yawn. “I’m pretty tired, think I might go to sleep.” Sammy’s eyes dart toward yours before he takes the hint, scoffing as he storms out of the room.
Ben shoots you one last look before he follows after him. In the wake of their absence, something like shame seems to fill you. Your relationship is deteriorating right before your eyes, slipping through your fingers. It feels like you’re just letting it happen. Should you be doing something more?
Is this just a phase he needs to go through?
He did skip the whole bachelor pad thing after his divorce, pretty much already ready to date you. Maybe some part of him never got to expel that chauvinistic resentment of Tammi and he’s doing it now. Not that it makes it any better.
Turning off the lamp, you lay down over the comforter and force your eyes to close.
Barely a few hours later, you can feel the bed dipping behind you. Sammy’s arms wind around your waist, careful as they pull you into his chest. He’s trying not to wake you, completely unaware that you’ve been up the past few hours debating the future of your relationship.
There's a part of you that thinks you've figured out why he's acting like this, why he would ever possibly hang around these clowns. But it's not good enough to excuse how he's been behaving.
“They gone?” You grumble, holding stubbornly to your pillow so you don’t give in and turn around to hug him.
“Yeah,” he hums, the noise vibrating against your back. He pulls you closer, lips slowly trailing along your neck, hands dipping to the waistband of your shorts. Your eyes narrow and you bite back a scoff. He can’t seriously think he’s going to get lucky tonight?
“Just need to clean up,” he tells you, hands pausing their descent. The silence between you is loud, it takes a moment before you catch his meaning.
“When the hell did I turn into your maid?” He stiffens behind you, arms tightening around you. “Not my guests,” you spit out, “not my fucking problem.”
“Oh, baby,” he rolls you over and you hold tight to the pillow. He frowns down at it as it pushes him back from you. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he promises, attempting to tug the pillow from your hands.
You kick out at his ankle and glare. “What did you mean it like? And what was all that with Tony? You’re just going to pretend like it wasn’t a big deal?”
With a low grunt, he wrenches the pillow from your hands. You scowl as he pulls you into him. “I’m really sorry, honey,” he whispers, brushing some hair off your cheek. “That was just…” You raise your brows, so fascinated with whatever BS excuse he’s got this time.
Sammy just sighs, forehead falling against your own as he gives up entirely. “Pathetic,” you whisper. “You’ve got nothing?” Your finger digs into his side and he lets out a low laugh.
“No, nothing.”
“Well then-”
“‘Cept this,” he cuts you off, lips finding yours as he rolls over, taking you with him and settling you comfortably on his lap. You can’t help the little moan that slips out, hips Pavlov’d into immediately moving against his.
His hands drift down, palms finding your ass as he pulls you tighter against him. “You do not play fair,” you mutter against his lips. He just lets out another laugh, thrusting up into you and shocking another moan from you.
“Never said I did,” he teases, hands already reaching for the hem of your shirt. With a defeated sigh, you relent, sitting up and peeling off your top. His hands trail up your body, rough callouses ticking the sensitive skin as he cups your breasts.
You fist his shirt in your hands, dragging him up to meet your lips. “Off,” you demand, tugging at his t-shirt. Sammy’s quick to oblige, soft muscles of his abdomen flexing as he tears it off. What little patience he has snaps as you finally take off your bra. You can't help the laugh that tears out of you when he grabs your waist and flips you over, pressing you into the pillows.
His lips carve a path down your body, skin igniting under every touch as he hooks his fingers into the band of your shorts. “Let me make it up to you?” He asks, shoulders already parting your thighs.
You consider it, he does look handsome between your legs like that. But there’s a barbed hurt in your chest, and humiliation from earlier tonight that makes your tongue knot.
Mouth souring, you shake your head and pull back. “No,” his face falls and you can’t help the cruel laugh that slips from you. You tug him up by his chin and offer a sharp smile. “No sex until you get your little buddies under control.” His jaw drops before his head is falling to the crook of your neck.
“You don’t play fair,” he grumbles, and you can feel just how unfair you’re being by how tight his boxers are.
“Never said I did,” you hum, pressing a kiss to his temple and rolling over. Sammy follows, arms winding around your waist as he mutters to himself.
He can clean his apartment by himself. He can cook his own meals and talk shop with his friends as much as he wants. But he does not get to disrespect you and think everything’s going to be fine and dandy.
You’ll just have to discuss this with him when you’re both not pent up and disappointed.
Your head is resting on his lap, his hands idly stroking along your spine when he laughs. You peer up, curious as you try and catch a glance at his phone. “What is it?”
“Come here,” he pulls on your arm and you sit up, curling into his side. “Just some stupid shit from the guys.” He offers you his phone and you take it, stomach already burning with anticipation. Please just be Ben being a sweet dumbass and not something horrible.
T > Rookie lost it on me today
J > That one’s got a stick up her ass
T > I swear to God I can’t even get through a goddamn conversation without her calling me a Pig.
Your stomach knots itself completely as you glance over at Sammy. He’s already turned his attention to the TV, completely unaware of your internal meltdown. Then, the kicker, Sammy, replying to J’s message.
Pretty sure it’s just a tampon
It’s immediately followed by one of those morons sending a gif of Miss Piggy losing it.
Not only did your man just make a goddamn period joke, they dragged Miss Piggy into this. How the fuck dare they?
You toss Sammy’s phone onto his lap and he lets out a slight groan as it nails his groin. “What,” he trails off at the look on your face. “Oh, come on, sweetheart. It’s not that big a deal.”
Crossing your arms, you put as much space between the two of you as you physically can. “You really think that’s funny?” Sammy rolls his eyes, turning back to the TV and ignoring you. “Fuck that,” you hiss, reaching over and turning it off.
Sammy’s glare is sharp and for the first time he looks like he has no interest in you. That look on his face is just flat, empty as he waits for you to get your rant over with so he can go back to his game.
“So, you agree with that shit?” You demand, heart pumping a little too fast.
Sammy’s head sinks back into the couch cushions with a heavy sigh. “No, come on, leave it alone. It’s just a joke.” Tears sting your eyes as you're reminded of every failed relationship. Every moment you were dismissed or appeased so they could just go back to whatever they want, not giving a damn about how you feel.
“Seriously, Sammy. When I’m upset and just happen to be on my period, do you just dismiss how I’m feeling? Pretend to give a shit so you don’t have to deal with me? When I’m upset do you just think I’m being ridiculous?”
You’re honestly not trying to start a fight. But you’d grown up around the type of men who knew blaming it on your cycle was the best way to shut you up. The most effective way to invalidate your feelings and make you feel so small. You need to know if the man you care so much about has secretly been that sort of man this whole time.
Sammy scrubs his hand down his face and lets out an incredulous laugh. “This is different,” he defends, staring at you like you’re overreacting.
And maybe you are, maybe you aren’t. At this point, it doesn’t matter, because there is no excuse for just how much he’s changed over a few weeks. “How is it different?”
Sammy just shakes his head. He gives you a flat look and scoffs, turning the TV back on. You purse your lips, biting your tongue so the tears don’t spill. “I don't like your new friends.” He either doesn’t notice how choked up you sound or doesn’t care.
“Good thing you’re not my mom,” he mutters.
“No,” you stand up and he sighs. “Just your live-in maid.” Sammy lets out another tired sigh, head sinking into his hand as you collect your things.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going home, Sammy. “ And as the door slams behind you, he doesn’t try to stop you.
As you head to his apartment, making sure it's not a Thursday, you have to build yourself up. Give yourself a dozen pep talks before you manage to crawl up the stairs.
You’re going to sit down. You’re going to have a conversation. After a copious amount of research on his new friends, you've come to your own conclusion. This has to be some sort of undercover shit he's doing for internal affairs to try and bust these asssholes. But that doesn't change the fact that prolonged exposure to their behaviors has shifted who he is as a person. Changed him into a man you want nothing to do with.
He should have given you a heads up. Told you to stay clear for a few weeks while he works on this. Anything other than throwing you into this deep-end blind.
By the end of the night you’re either going to be single, again, or have the man you care about back.
Tonight, you knock instead of using your key, just needing another minute before you face him. When the door opens, you’re caught off guard by the wide smile on his face. “Oh, thank god.” He reaches out, arms wrapping around your waist as he tugs you into him.
“Uh, hi,” you smile, taken aback by the sudden surge of affection. You barely have a moment to hug him before he’s pulling back.
“Guys are coming over tonight,” he tells you, and your heart drops to your ass as the door closes behind you. “Think you could whip something up for us, baby? I didn’t have time to call the pizza place.”
You’re stunned, absolutely gobsmacked by his audacity as he pulls you into the kitchen. While you’re frozen, jaw permanently dropped, he pulls off your coat and positions you in front of the stove. He even goes so far as to tie on your apron for you.
“I thought you guys meet on Thursdays?” You mutter absentmindedly, blindly pulling ingredients out of the fridge.
“Had a change of plans today,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, and then he’s gone. A minute later you hear his shower start up. You stare down at the stove for a long time before you finally move.
You whip up a feast for him, a last meal if you will. Because you don’t need a conversation anymore. You know exactly how this night is going to end. Might as well give him something decent to eat while you dump him.
The guys start to flood in while he’s still in the shower. They don’t take their shoes off, tracking mud across the linoleum, something Sammy can look forward to cleaning up on his own. They don’t greet you, acknowledge your existence, just grab a beer and carry on.
Feeling numb, you dig through the fridge, finding an expired carton of milk that smells nauseatingly like sulfur. You pour it into your pan, expression flat as the clumps begin to slough out.
The door opens again, you can hear the person taking their shoes off and know who it is before he walks in. “Need any help?”
You don’t turn to face Ben, just toss a handful of vegetables into the pan. “Don’t eat the dip,” you warn him.
“Uh,” he lets out an awkward chuckle. You turn, eyes narrowed as you shake your head. “Well, shit, alright. You got Visine in there or something?”
“Might as well,” you shrug. Slowly, eyes a little wide, he backs out of the kitchen. You just swallow down another wave of fiery rage as you brew up a crime against cooking. But, it will absolutely give them diarrhea for the next week, so you’ll pardon yourself this one time.
Your anger and hurt just builds and festers with every call for beer. Every shouting bought of laughter that makes your shoulders jump and your head throb. By the time Sammy makes it out of the shower, your mind has been entirely made up. Humiliation has gone cold and turned your blood to ice as you stand in his kitchen.
No part of you melts or swoons when he comes up to you with wet curls and presses a kiss to your cheek. His hands hover over your waist, brows furrowing when you don’t turn to reciprocate. You quietly plate his food, giving him an extra serving of dip, and pass it off to him.
“Hey,” he puts the plate on the counter, voice low and soft. “What’s wrong?” He tries to get you to look at him but you stay stubbornly rooted in place, idly pushing the food around in the pan.
“Were you ever going to ask me to move in with you?”
He goes stiff, backing up with a frown that somehow breaches your walls and makes your chest ache. Never been good with rejection, you remind yourself, poorly attempting to build those walls back up. “It’s a little soon, don’t you think?”
You can’t look at him. The second you do, you know you’re just going to cry. You finally thought you were good enough for someone. That someone actually liked you, flaws and all. But, like every other relationship you’ve had, you were just deluding yourself.
Sucking your teeth, you just nod. “Are we okay?” He asks, taking the food and backing up.
“Fine,” you tell him, turning to bring the rest of the snacks to the dining room. Sammy takes his seat, still looking worried as you set everything up. Ben reaches for the dip and you swat his hand, his eyes widen slightly as he remembers your warning and he backs off.
The last plate you set down is with barely any care. You’re angry and hurt, about to leave the one relationship you really thought would last. So, a little sauce splatters on the guys shirts. Not enough to do permanent damage, but enough to have them bitching.
“Damn it!”
“What’re you blind?”
Smiling, you straighten up and let out a sharp laugh. “Alright, I’m done.”
Sammy frowns, hand tightening around his fork. “With the food?” Oh, and that poor pathetic ounce of hope in his voice makes something in you burn.
The TV is blasting behind you and it’s just another noise adding to the pain in your head. You pick up the remote, shutting it off for a moment of peace. Immediately, the grown men in front of you boo, one even tosses a napkin at you, hand reaching for the remote.
And you just… snap.
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up! Jesus Christ, I am so sick of this, of all of you.” They go quiet as you slam the remote on the table, plates trembling. “You are grown men, you want a beer, then you go get it your goddamn selves. And before any one of you fuckers says some shit about me being on my period… I want it to be very clear that I have never been dryer in my life than I am looking at you pathetic excuses for men.”
Sammy stands as you undo your apron, tearing it off and tossing it at him. But you’re not done, it’s just pouring out- everything you didn’t say. Everything you held back for a man who never really wanted you.
“God, you wonder why the female rookies don’t like you people! It’s because everytime she performs better than you, everytime she calls you on your shit, you undermine her and blame it on the ‘rag.’ You’re just pathetic little men who can’t handle a woman who is secure in her job because it reminds you of just how small you are.”
Your face is hot, chest heaving as you stand there, staring at them all. You’re sure they’ve seen this meltdown before. During their divorce proceedings, watching as their marriage fell apart or their daughters stopped talking to them. But, for once, they are blessedly silent and you feel like you can actually breathe again.
There’s laughter and you look up to find Ben leaning back with a grin. He surveys the other’s faces and lets out a low whistle. You’re almost tempted to laugh with him.
Then, Sammy reaches for you, hand hesitant as it lands on your shoulder. “Sweetheart-”
“No,” you snap, voice quieter now. He flinches as you slap his hand away, hazel eyes wide and shining with hurt. “I am done with you, Sammy. Alright?”
“What?” His eyes dart to the others and he takes a desperate step closer to you. But you just shove him back. “Hun, let’s talk about this.”
“No, no I’m done doing that. So, uh, enjoy cracking a beer with the boys without the drama of your untrained woman. You’ve got a right hand, what the fuck else do you need me for?” You grab your purse and shake your head.
Sammy chases after you but you’re not letting him weasel his way out of this again. You’d made a promise to yourself. You’re leaving single tonight, he’s had far too many chances to get his act together.
Just as you’re running into the parking lot, you hear footsteps racing toward you. You whip around, watery glare turning confused when you see Ben catching up with you. “Hey,” he calls out your name and you let out a tired sigh as you stop.
“Look,” he darts in front of you, slightly out of breath. “As entertaining to watch as that was, what’s happening… It’s not what you think.”
“I know,” you interrupt him.
His mouth droops before snapping shut again. “Huh?”
“It’s got to do with an investigation, right?” Slowly, he nods, infuriatingly surprised by you connecting the dots. “Yeah, I figured that out a while ago, Ben. But he didn’t give me any warning before he turned into this Don Draper wannabe. He didn’t prep me or just keep me out of this. This all being a part of something bigger doesn’t change or excuse how humiliated he made me feel.”
Ben wants to say more, you can see it on his face. His arm lifts before falling limply to his side. With a sigh, he runs his hand over his face and offers you a sorry smile. “Do you need a ride home?” He asks softly.
“No, but I appreciate it.” He nods, and you blink, eyes burning as you stare down at the pavement. Hesitantly, his hand lands on your shoulder, softly squeezing before he backs up.
“Take care of yourself.”
You hum, throat too tight for words and wait for him to go back into the building before you let the tears fall.
When you wake up the next morning, your eyes are crusted from crying too much and your head is throbbing from, again, crying a ridiculous amount. Blindly, you grope around your nightstand until you find your phone.
It shouldn’t be a shock that Sammy’s reached out, but the amount of missed calls on your screen is a number you didn’t think you could ever reach.
He’s also blown your messages up. The majority of them promising to explain his behavior. Asking you to call him. Give him one more chance (he’s had plenty). And then there are ones where you can tell he’s starting to get pissed off that you’re just ignoring him.
Serves him right.
Your thumb twitches against the call back button. Almost wanting to hear how he’s going to explain this away. But you force yourself to put the phone down. You swore to yourself, no more cool girl BS. You’re not going to just let him treat you how he did and get away with it.
So, as difficult as it is, you mute his notifications. You don’t have it in your heart to block him, not yet. But you can at least spare yourself the misery of watching his picture light up your screen every ten minutes.
Occasionally, though, throughout the week you have a moment of weakness. You’ll check to see just how much more he’s reached out and then listen to a few voicemails. They all relatively sound the same:
“Please, sweetheart call me back” and then you’ll hear Ben in the background “Man, this is pathetic” Sammy will tell him to shut it and, again, plead for you to just give him a minute of your time.
When you start to feel really lonely, when your bed is just too cold and too big, you almost do it. You’re so close to just calling him so you can hear something other than the quiet of your apartment. This space that has become foreign to you because Sammy’s place was becoming home. And then, you’re reminded of how he treated you, what he took from you both by not just giving you a heads up on the investigation. And you put your phone down, hurt and angry all over again.
By weeks end, your friends call you out to go to a club with them. They don’t know you broke up with Sammy, they think you’re still the perfect couple. Which leads to a night filled with painful, barbed reminders of how alone you are now, while your friends bemoan how perfect and sweet your relationship is.
You should have told them the truth before you went out with them. But they’ve witnessed so many messy breakups from you. They’d probably just blame you. If you can’t keep a decent guy like Sammy than it has to be you whose the problem.
So, after a long night of playing the designated driver (because you’re the only one happy and dating someone, in theory) and being reminded of how amazing your relationship used to be… You’re already in a foul mood when a passing cop decides it’ll be funny to get a handful of your ass.
Not just a slap or a quick squeeze, either. This man puts both palms, cups your cheeks, and nearly lifts you in the air he squeezes so tight. And you, completely ignoring his badge, treat him how you would any other creep.
You deck him.
Suddenly your face is pressing against the hood of a patrol car. Your friends are shouting “We’re recording this, babe!” And you’re being cuffed and thrown into the back of their car.
But, hey, at least your friends recorded it.
“Whoa!” Ben is the first one to see you as you’re pulled into the station. You’d consider yourself lucky if seeing him didn’t mean Sammy was around somewhere.
“What the hell are you doing?” He snaps at your arresting officer while the piece of shit jerks your arm out of socket.
“She assaulted an officer,” his partner pipes up. Your gaze goes to the deep black bruise ringing his eye and you grin.
“All right,” you huff. “Like he didn’t assault me first.”
Ben’s eyes dart between the both of you, his jaw clenching when he sees the marks on your arm from your rough detainment. “What happened?” He asks you, holding up a hand when the cop tries to talk.
“I was out with some friends and this asshole thought he could just stick his hand up my dress.”
“Didn’t take much,” that bitch smirks. “Look at the length of that thing-”
“Hey!” Ben snaps and it catches the attention of some of the others milling around. “That’s enough. Now let her go.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Ben pushes the guy away, taking his key and working off one of your cuffs. “This is Sammy’s girl, you’re lucky I’m the one that found you, not him.”
The guys eyes widen and he backs off with a huffy sigh. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“Oh,” your stomach rolls with disgust. “But if it were any other woman, you’d still somehow make yourself the victim? I see I only hold value when there’s a man attached to my name.”
“Alright,” Ben puts his hand on your back, turning you before you provoke another fist fight. “I’m sorry about that.”
He sits you down at his desk and watches you carefully. “I should file a lawsuit,” it’s an empty threat but you seriously considered it on the ride over.
Ben snorts, eyeing you up and down carefully. “How’ve you been doing?”
“Fine,” you shrug. “About as well as anyone is after a breakup.”
Ben leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, a seriously concerned look on his fac. “He’s falling apart.”
“Ben…”
“Seriously, and not just because you poisoned him with spoiled dip,” that brings a small smile to your face. Ben returns it for a moment before his face settles into something more serious. “I don’t know how much more I can take. He’s snapping at any little thing. He won’t stop bitching at me. I’m losing my mind.”
“Look,” you rub your wrist and look away. “Am I being booked or not? I want to go home.”
Ben sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “You’re not getting booked.”
“Thank you,” and before you can even get up, he’s grabbing the loose handcuff and snapping it to his desk. Your eyes widen, stomach sinking as you tug futilely at it. “Ben,” you hiss. “What the fuck?”
“I’m sorry,” he shrugs off his jacket, laying it over your lap so your dress doesn’t ride all the way up. “But I can’t take this anymore.”
Your jaw drops as he walks off and you know exactly where he’s going. “Traitor!” You shout at his back, he gives you a sarcastic thumbs up that almost make you wish you had a gun.
You’re sitting there for about ten minutes before Sammy’s rushing up. Most of the guys in here know you, but the few that don’t keep asking how much a night will cost. You’re starting to think it might be time to retire this dress.
“Hey,” your name rushes from him in one panicked breath. “What’s happening? Why are you cuffed?”
You suck your teeth and give him a sharp smile. “Your partner decided to play Cupid.” Sammy’s brows furrow, his hands already working on taking the cuffs off.
“Yeah, but why are you here?” He asks, thumbs brushing over the split skin of your knuckles. You jerk your hand back before his soft touch weakens your resolve. Sammy frowns and you can’t make yourself meet the hurt look in his eyes.
“Some asshole grabbed a handful outside The Strip tonight.”
“What the hell were you doing over there?” His tone is far too sharp for a man you’ve already broken up with. Eyes narrowed, your face snaps to his.
“Tone,” you snap. Sammy’s jaw clenches but he backs off a little. “I was out with some friends. Still, being near that place doesn’t just give guys an excuse to grope me.”
Sammy takes a hold of your arm, pulling you away from Ben’s desk and leading you toward an empty room. “I’m not saying it does. I just thought I’ve told you a lot about staying away from there. You know how many half-naked girls we’ve had to pull from their alley?”
“Jesus,” you huff, pulling your arm away as he closes the door. “I got it. I was trying to go home, anyway.”
“Why-” Sammy stops himself, taking a deep breath as color grows on his cheeks. You wait for another lecture but he seems to love proving you wrong. “Why haven’t you called me back?”
Your jaw slacks, an unintelligible garble of words stuttering its way free. “Seriously?” You land on, voice pitched with anger. Sammy’s eyes widen, glancing through the windows of the room to make sure no one’s paying attention. Taking in a deep breath, you force yourself to keep your voice mellow.
You really don’t need to be arrested tonight. Again.
“Sammy, that’s why you dragged me in here? Not because a cop copped a feel?” His expression falls flat at your poor excuse for a joke. Fuck me, then, God forbid you try and ease the tension.
“Obviously I’m upset about that, sweetheart. But it’s not your fault and it’s not you I’m going to be telling off for it. I’ll deal with him later.” You’re sure that means Sammy’s going to beat the guy half to death and Ben will have to clean up the mess.
“Right now, I want to know why you’re just pretending I don’t exist. Like we haven’t been dating for six months.”
Your feet are aching from the obnoxiously tall heels you took out tonight. Not bothering to look at him, you take a seat at one of the desks and peel them off, letting out a low sigh of relief. Sammy just watches with his arms crossed, clearly at the end of his thread.
“Look, babe, I don’t know what you’re not getting about me being done with you, but we’re through. No sex. No calls. No texts. This is what happens when people break up, Sammy.”
Sammy lets out a stressed sigh, lips pulling down as he drags his hand through his hair. “You don’t understand. I had to act like an ass, baby, I’m-”
“Working on an investigation?” You finish, giving him an unimpressed glare. “Yeah, Sammy. I’m not a moron, I figured out why you were acting like a chauvinistic pig all of a sudden. The problem here isn’t that, it’s the lack of communication that led to me being completely humiliated.”
His arms drop to his sides and he just stares, mind spinning as he struggles to figure out a way out of this. Spoiler, there isn’t one.
“I don’t- What do you want me to do, hm? What can I do to make this better?”
You’re ready to dismiss him when you catch an officer’s eye through the window of the room. They’re all out there, his buddies, the asshole that arrested you. Watching and trying to pretend like this isn’t the most interesting thing that’s happened tonight.
Slowly, you drag your gaze back to Sammy, a cruel smile pulling on your lips. “Beg.”
He stills, eyeing you warily. “What?” His tone is incredulous, slightly taken off gaurd.
You shrug, “You really want me back?”
“You know I do.”
“Aright, beg.” You tilt your head, wondering if he’s actually capable of swallowing down his pride.
Slowly, Sammy takes another step closer. “Please, sweet-”
“Hm, no,” you click your tongue, shaking your head in disappointment. “Do this properly, Sammy. On your knees.” His jaw clenches and it's audible how he swallows. Sammy turns toward the blinds and you sigh. “Blinds open. Unless you’re just full of it?”
“You know I’m not,” he grits out, cheeks flushing as a few officers fail to hide their peeping. You almost think he’s going to give up. Before you can scold him for taking too long, he’s dropping to his knees in front of you.
Your eyes widen imperceptibly and it’s an effort not to give away your shock. Sammy’s hands skate over the smooth skin of your legs, squeezing around your calves. “I fucked up, honey, I know that. I will do anything I can to make up for it, just, please, give me another chance.”
It’s a power rush, having such a domineering man on his knees in front of you. That boost to your ego is almost enough to make you cave. But you know Sammy, he can certainly do better than this. He just hates the idea of any of his men seeing it.
Pursing your lips, you lightly kick your leg out. “Put my heels on for me.” He huffs, clearly upset by the lack of response, but he listens anyway. Getting to your feet, Sammy follows, expression expectant.
You pat his shoulder in that condescending way men always do to you. “That was cute, hun. But I’m not changing my mind. You want to fix this, you’re going to have to work a little harder than that.”
Sammy doesn’t object, just scratches at his jaw and lets out a disbelieving sigh. You give him a sharp smile before you make your way to the door. “You're unbelievable,” he calls after you. You shrug, not bothering to look back as you make your way out of the station.
A week after your “arrest,” you’re flipping through channels when a familiar face catches your eye. Tony, the crapbag that Sammy had around, has been arrested. As well as a bunch of other game-night regulars. Extortion, violation of civil rights, spoliation, and a list as long as your arm that just keeps on going. Truly, they are the epitome of scumbags.
You can understand why Sammy was so bent on getting them put away. Even if it came at the risk of your relationship. As much as that makes him a good cop and an honorable man, it doesn’t make him a better boyfriend.
Still, you find your hand inching toward your phone, finger hovering over his contact. You bite your lip, debating the risks when someone knocks on your door. Frowning, you toss your phone on the couch and get up to take a look through the peephole.
It’s like he’s got a sensor for when you’re feeling weak.
Sammy stands on the other side, hands shoved in his pockets as he rocks back on his heels. You step back with a huff and glance down at yourself. Taking an extra minute to hike up your shorts and adjust your boobs, you throw the door open.
“Can I help you, officer?”
He scoffs, lips pulled in an endeared grin. “Still mad, I take it?”
You pause, taking inventory of emotions. The sting of humiliation has eased slightly since you practically put him on a leash at the station. And you do genuinely understand the motivations behind his behavior, you just wished he hadn’t executed it all so stupidly.
“No, I’m not angry, Sammy. I just wish you a happy life of erectile dysfunction and involuntary abstinence.” Pulling back, you go to close the door when he slips his boot inside. Glaring up at him, you frown. “Got a warrant?”
“Enough,” he scolds, pushing the door open. You stumble back with an affronted noise. “You’re not breaking up with me.”
If it were any of your other exes, you’d probably be terrified right now. But he’s not being malicious or threatening to stalk you or take out your family if you don’t unblock him. Instead, there’s almost a slight thrill coming to life in you.
“What?” You scoff.
“I’m not agreeing to this,” he says simply, eyeing your skimpy pajamas with an appreciative gleam in his eye.
You scoff and cross your arms,“That’s not how this works, Sammy.”
He shrugs, “Tough.” When he takes another step closer, you’re almost tempted to run, to drag this out a little longer. But his arms are already winding around your waist and he’s heaving you over his shoulder before you even get a chance to blink.
“Uh, Sammy,” you grasp at his shirt as he marches through your apartment. “What the hell are you doing, you neanderthal?”
“I’m going to make it up to you,” you lift your head and peer around him to see he’s walking you straight into your room. Oh, that’s how he’s going to play this. “Then,” you let out a shocked laugh as he drops you on your bed.
His grin widens at the sound as he grabs your ankles, pulling you even closer to him. “I’m going to ask you to move in with me.”
Your heart races as your expression falls. Your gaze darts to his eyes, trying to figure out if he means this or if this is just a last ditch effort to get you back. “What?” You shake your head, but he doesn’t let you pull away. “Sammy, do you really mean this?”
“‘Course I do, sweetheart,” he brushes a strand of hair off your cheek and leans down to kiss you. Your arms wind around his shoulders off muscle memory.
But you force yourself to pull back, noses brushing as you take a good long look at him. “I’m not playing housewife anymore,” you threaten.
He lets out a little laugh and nods. “I’m gonna take care of you, honey. Don’t you worry.”
And god help you, you actually believe him, but it still doesn’t feel right. “No,” you whisper. Sammy draws back, brows knit in hurt as he shakes his head. “No,” you scramble back from him, arms wrapping around your stomach as you shake your head.
“This isn’t how it’s going to work anymore. You don’t get to fix our problems with sex. Or just decide the course of our relationship. You fucked up, you made me feel like shit. For the first time, I felt safe with someone, and you just took that from me.”
Sammy’s face falls and he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. His head falls into his hands as he lets out a broken sigh. “I’m so sorry,” you believe him. There’s shame, disgust with himself in his voice, but that doesn’t fix this.
“I’ll move in with you, Sammy,” you promise, and his head lifts. “But not anytime soon. I think… I don’t think I’ve been honest about who I am. I’m so used to putting on a show, to trying to keep someone’s attention, I haven’t been myself. I want you to be with the real me. To actually see me, not this glamorized version of myself perfectly made for your gaze.”
“Honey,” he reaches over, taking your hands in his. “Of course I see you. You’re not as good actor as you think,” you let out a watery laugh while he rubs his thumbs across the back of your hands. “But I’m a patient man.”
You shoot him a look and he offers you that boyish smile you love. “I can be patrient,” he swears.
Nodding, you lean forward, brushing your lips against his. “Okay,” you whisper.
“Okay?” he questions, not quite believing you. You smile and let your head drop to the crook of his neck.
“But if you ever treat me like that again… Not even Ben will be able to find your body.”
Sammy lets out a little chuckle, it cuts off as you pinch his side. “Trust me, I believe you.” You lace your fingers with his and let out a small sigh. A fresh start might be the best thing for both of you. The both of you could do with learning to be independent outside of your relationship. And he really needs to know what you look like not being the cool girl before he makes such a big promise as being with you for real.
You’re not planning on making it easy on him. But you have an odd suspicion he might be into that. And anyways, how were you ever expected to say no to a man with arms like these?
18+ mdni thinking about. sloppy oral with robby. laying on your back n he’s behind your head, sliding his dick down your throat, his sack hanging heavy against your nose… getting drool n slobber everywhere, when he pulls out there’s a shiny string connecting his tip to your tongue…. him rubbing his big shaft all over your face, smearing your saliva around n making a mess of you, slapping his heavy cock against your cheeks n lip n tongue, squatting down a bit to stuff his balls in your mouth…….. him groaning n growling at the look of you all slack-jawed and obedient, eyes wide and needy, letting you do whatever he wants to your pretty face while your pussy gets wetter n wetter… “look how fuckin cute you are with that old man cock in your face,” him lining up his balls with your hairline n measuring your face with it, smirking at how his tip reaches well past your chin, “so fuckin little”
reader who likes to suck on something because it helps her sleep and gets fussy when dadbf / uncle pope pulls his thumb out of her mouth :‹
𓊆 cw: fauxcest, dadbf / uncle pope, slight ddlg, he calls you 'little girl', fluff, suggestive themes, oral fixation 𓊇
you'd whine and throw little tantrums whenever he so much as adjusted his position. pope couldn't bring himself to scold you because it was his fault for spoiling you in the first place.
when he did have to put his foot down because he had to make a quick trip to the toilet, he'd give the back of your hands little 'taps' — not hard enough to cause you any pain, just a reminder to listen to him.
when pope had to use both of his hands to work on something, you'd opt to nibble on the muscles of his forearms or biceps. you'd drool all over his shirt and jeans and he wouldn't mind, as long as you're happy. he'd just gently stroke your forehead, praising you.
"does that feel good, sweet girl?"
"you're being such a good girl, sugar — letting dad / uncle do his work."
"so cute. . ."
and when pope would get call from baz (he's already annoyed — what could be so important that he's calling at this time?) telling him to come over smurf's for a family meeting. he'd glance at you currently suckling on his thumb, your hands encircled around the thickness of his wrist, and your legs wrapped around his torso. your eyes were fighting to stay open to keep watching your tv show.
pope shook his head, his mind already made up.
"i can't, man — got a little girl to look after." ♡
“can i open my eyes now?” you asked excitedly, kicking your feet as pope held up the diamond anklet he stole from his recent job with the guys. pope lived for your reactions every time he brought you back something and surprised you with it, his own small smile playing on his lips as he answered with a hushed ‘yeah’. removing your hands from your face, you gasped as soon as you saw the twinkling gems reflect off of the light from your bedside lamp, your eyes widening ever so slightly. “oh, andrew!” you stared in awe, the small ‘p’ pendant catching your attention as pope’s chest bloomed with pride. “do you like it?” he couldn’t help but ask, needing the reassurance that he did something good.
you nodded, a high pitched squeal leaving your lips as you threw your arms around him and littered his face with kisses. “it’s perfect, i love it so much!” pope felt relieved upon getting your approval, his skin flushing as you swung your leg over his lap and straddled him. handing over the anklet, pope watched as you inspected it— fascination written all over your face. “you’ll only be able to wear it around the house for now since people will be on the lookout for it, so don’t forget not to go out with it on or anything.” pope explained, his rough palms skimming the tops of your thighs as you hummed. “can you put it on for me?” you asked, handing the anklet back over. “i’m glad you asked, i was hoping to see it in action..”
at his words, your eyebrows knitted in confusion. “what do you mean?”
“andy—!” you cried, choking out a sob as pope forced your knees to be pinned to your chest, your ankles on either side of his head. hiccuping with each harsh thrust inside your cunt, pope eyed the diamonds clasped around your ankle, a groan rumbling from his chest as the pendant winked back at him in the form of a twinkle. you gripped your bedsheets, your eyes screwing shut at the pleasurable force his cock was hitting your cervix. “ah, fuckkk,” pope drawled out, his chest heaving up and down, “are you sure you like it?” you didn’t know if he was talking about the absolute pounding he was giving you right now, or the string of diamonds adorning your ankle, but to say you loved both would be an understatement.
“yes— i love it so much!” you screamed when he repositioned your knees to the mattress, his body now flushed against your own as his lips rested by your ear. “i thought about you all day.” pope said through gritted teeth, his lips ghosting your earlobe as he spoke. “did you think about me?” he asked, his voice carrying a small hint of insecurity. tangling your fingers in his curls, you made sure to look him in the eyes when you said your next words. “i think about you all the time, andrew.” his thrusts slowed down, his gaze flickering over the features of your face. “you worry me sick every time you go out on a job,” you stroked his flushed cheeks with your thumbs, “i’m scared one day you won’t come back to me.”
pope can’t remember anyone who truly worried for him and cared for him like you did, your words doing more than just tugging at his heartstrings. you gasped when you felt his cock twitch inside of you, thick ropes of hot cum filling you up in no time as pope grew desperate to give you an orgasm of your own. aching with overstimulation, pope shuddered as he continued rocking into you, the long, slow strokes of his hips paired with his rough fingertips on your clit making you tremble and shake. studying you closely, pope watched as your teeth pulled on your bottom lip, your skin growing hot as the coil in your tummy grew tighter and tighter. “andrew..” you whispered breathlessly, gazing up at pope through your lashes.
pope knew that look all too well, his fingers working relentlessly as he brought you over the edge, your thighs clamping tight around his hand. “keep them open, baby, just let it happen.” pope forced your thighs open, his lips ghosting over yours as tears slipped down your cheeks. you could never get used to the size of him, his length hitting you in places you had never felt before he came along. your blood was rushing through your ears, your limbs falling weak as you gave into pope and let him have his way with you. nails digging into his flesh, you tapped out as soon as the pleasure subsided and a dull ache began to form on your sensitive clit. “no more, no more!” you cried out, your hips instinctively backing away.
pope pulled out with a slick pop, a groan leaving his lips as he watched you clench around nothing, the sight of your abused cunt making him curse under his breath. you laid there, fucked out into oblivion and brainless, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. leaving you for a moment, pope went to get something to clean you up with, his hands working gently to put you back at ease. eventually, your breathing slowed and all you can feel was pope tucking you against his chest, his large hands running soothingly down your back as he brought your comforter up to cover both of you. “please don’t get into that pretty head of yours so much,” he kissed your temple, “i’ll always come back to you.”
kissing on popes neck while dragging your nails through his hair when you're drunk and needy. you often did this when you had a few too many drinks, it didn't matter the place but as it stood now in the backyard of smurfs place as a party raged, pope believed you're were innocently unaware of your own neediness. he was enjoying it too much to stop you, no matter how obscenely whiny you got sucking hickeys into his freckled neck. at some point, you'd managed to straddle your self into his lap. your body was the only thing hiding the rock hard tent in his pants despite being the exact cause of it. pope finally pulled you back by your hair, lips pouty and plump from the intensity in which you had just been kissing his neck, eyes twinkling with need as a coquettish grin tugged at your lips. at first he thought your drunken stupor had slipped you into innocent need but the moan that slipped out when he tugged your hair a little harder, indicated to him that this is exactly what you'd been working towards.
"how many?" you bit down on your lip as he kept a firm grip on your hair.
"n-not that many– ah!" his free hand had come down on ass over the tightly fitted jeans.
"really? so if we go inside and i count 'em, you're gonna let me spank you for just as many? hm?" he tutted.
"n-no... m'sorry, pope–" your hands were bawling at his shirt, brows knitting together in an innocent plea, shaking your head with your lip jutted out almost trembling.
"no, no whining," he's lifting you up by the back of your thighs, you're quick to wrap yourself around him as he walks towards his room. "you can apologize with that pretty little mouth of yours when we're inside and on your knees."
SUMMER’S IN THE AIR AND BABY, HEAVEN’S IN YOUR EYES ✺
when you end up drunk and alone on a beach, pope drops everything to bring you home and tries very hard not to want more than he should.
bet u wanna MEET THE READER! ── .✦ °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
MASTERLIST | RULES | INBOX
PAIRING pope cody x bunny!reader
WARNINGS 18+ MDNI dark themes, obsessive behavior from pope, stalker like behavior (tracking location), morally gray relationship dynamics, pre-relationship pining, pope has thoughts of killing people, alcohol usage, drunk!reader, reader has shitty friends, sexual tension, implied nudity, reader wears a bikini and a dress, erection mention, inappropriate thoughts, caretaker!pope, coercive attachment undertones, boundary issues, reader is a ditz!, romantic if you ignore the psychological warefare
WC 2.9k
You were never the type to make friends easily. And you’d never been quite sure why, exactly.
You were friendly. You smiled at strangers in grocery store lines and remembered people’s coffee orders and laughed when you were supposed to, even when you didn’t always understand the joke.
But somehow girls your age always seemed to know something you didn’t, some secret rhythm to being casual and clever and wanted in groups, while you lingered at the edge of things with your lip gloss in your pocket and your hands folded too neatly in your lap.
Most of the time, people liked you in passing. They liked your clothes, your laugh, the way you listened with your whole face. They liked you best in small, shiny pieces.
So when a couple of girls you’d met in the boutique dressing room downtown, squealed over your sandals, asked for your Instagram, and invited you to their beach party, you said yes before you could talk yourself out of it.
You didn’t have any work to do for Smurf tonight and even though you aren’t really the party type, the thought of sitting alone in your apartment on the Fourth of July just seemed pathetic.
Now you’re standing on the beach with your bare feet half-buried in the cooling sand, drawing idle, uneven patterns while the tide breathes in and out somewhere ahead of you.
The party had spread out around you in noisy, glittering bits: someone laughing too hard near the waterline, music crackling from a speaker, fireworks popping somewhere down the coast.
You’re perched on the low wooden stoop of the lifeguard tower, knees tucked close, a melting liquor-infused red-white-and-blue bomb pop dripping steadily down your left hand and into the crease of your wrist.
With your right, you try to type Pope’s contact name into your phone. This is a much larger undertaking than you expected. Herculean, even. Pope was only four letters and, frankly, you have managed harder things. Probably.
But your vision blurs every time you look down, the letters doubling, then swimming apart.
Alcohol, you decide solemnly, is not the friend to women that those girls made it out to be.
When you finally manage to find his name, it only takes two rings for him to answer.
The line crackles, wind and distance swallowing the first half of his greeting.
“Yeah?”
You picture him blinking at the ceiling, sheets still tangled around his hips, and at once feel terribly small for plucking him out of whatever peace he’d managed to find.
“Oh. Hi, Pope.” Your voice comes out rounded at the edges by the cold and the awful, floaty feeling behind your eyes. “Were you sleeping? I hope you weren’t sleeping. Well, no, actually, I hope you were sleeping because you don’t sleep enough and that’s bad for your brain. I read that somewhere. Or maybe Smurf said it. Wait, no, Smurf said a woman sleeps better when somebody wears her out first, which I thought meant, like, exercise, but she laughed at me, so maybe not —”
“Where are you?” Pope cuts in.
Something shifts on his end of the line: sheets, you think, then a rough little bed-creak, then breathing harder through his nose.
“At a party,” you say, then hiccup, then wince like he can see it through the phone. “At the beach. I was with some girls, but I don’t… I don’t really see them anymore. So I thought maybe you could come get me? I was gonna walk, I promise, but I wore those wedges with the little bows, and they’re cute, but they hurt to walk in.”
There’s silence for a long second. You chew at your bottom lip to compensate.
“You telling me nobody’s with you right now?” His tone is ice-cold, all the softness ripped out. A door slams on his end. “Listen carefully to me, please. Stay put. Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll be there in ten.”
It takes him five.
It might’ve taken three if he hadn’t spent the first two tearing through his apartment in a blind fury, shoving his feet into boots without socks, grabbing the wrong keys, then the right keys,
then patting himself down for a phone already pressed hot against his ear.
If worst-case scenarios hadn’t kept unspooling in his head faster than he could outrun them. You on the beach at one a.m. You at a party with people you barely know. You drunk, which he could hear plain as day in every hiccupy little detour your voice took.
You don’t drink. Which means your tolerance is low, your judgement’s lower, and you’re out there with fucking strangers. Strangers who might look at a sweet tipsy girl alone on the beach and see opportunity.
He would kill someone for less. Anyone who touched you. Anyone who followed you. Anyone who smiled too long and stood too close and mistook all that sugary softness for permission.
He thought it while pulling up your location, that you don’t know he has, on his phone.
And he thinks it now while cutting across the beach, while fireworks split open over the water, while people move past him in flashes of red cups and flip flops and cheap cologne.
Continues to think it until he sees you sitting where you said you’d be.
You’re wearing a tacky little red gingham sundress. One that makes you look a little like a holiday decoration someone forgot to bring inside.
His boots sink and crunch in the sand as he gets closer, close enough to see the blue bikini straps peeking out beneath the dress where the neckline gapes.
Your name comes out rougher than he intends it to when he calls out for you, scraped low from the back of his throat.
You look up with a delayed little flinch, eyes unfocused before they find him. Drunk, his mind supplies. Too drunk. But then you light up, and the whole beach seems to tilt around it.
You hop down from the stoop, nearly catching your foot wrong in the sand, and he’s already moving, already reaching, already annoyed with you and everyone else and the impossible fact of distance.
You crash into him with arms wide open, pulling him into a hug before he can decide whether to grab your shoulders or your face or shake sense back into you.
His body locks around the impact.
Candied pears and vanilla rise from your hair, pretty and familiar, ruined slightly by the bite of vodka on your breath.
He closes his eyes, lets one hand unclench, then the other. When he finally touches you, it’s with a restraint that feels violent, palms spread over your back, nose buried at your crown.
Fine, he tells himself, breathing you in until his lungs hurt. You’re fine.
When you pull back, there’s a lopsided smile on your face.
“Hi,” you say, like the two of you have bumped into each other at the grocery store and not after he drove through three red lights to get to you. Your fingers curl in the front of his shirt. “I’m so happy to see you. Like… sooo happy. I’m always happy to see you. D’you know that?”
Your lipstick has slipped into a red half-moon near the corner of your mouth, and his thumb twitches with the sudden need to wipe it clean before anybody else notices. Before anybody else gets to think about your mouth at all.
There’s also glitter freckling your temple like spilled sugar, catching the firework light in sharp little flashes, disappearing and returning every time the sky blooms over the water.
He sees you in pieces: mouth, cheek, lashes, throat, the blue string at your shoulder. Each piece intact. Each piece his mind checks and checks again.
His expression doesn’t change, his hands do. One tightens at your back. The other catches your wrist, careful around the sticky mess of what he assumes to be leftover popsicle drying between your fingers.
“Don’t say shit like that.” His eyes flick over your face again. “Makes it hard to stay mad.”
“You’re mad at me?”
“No.”
And he means it. Mostly. He’s mad you came here with girls whose names he doesn’t know, girls you must not know well either if you’ve never mentioned them before.
He’s mad the world keeps proving him right for wanting to keep you close. For wanting to shrink your life down to manageable dimensions: his truck, his apartment, Smurf’s house, the short walk between places where he can see you. It would be so simple, really, to make everything the size of his reach. To make himself the first call, the last stop, the wall at your back and the lock on the door both.
“Good,” you sigh, shoulders dipping in visible relief. “Your mad face is scary, and I like your normal face. Let’s stick with your normal face.”
“Let’s get you —”
You barrel over him.
“And you have such a nice face, Pope.”
Your sticky fingers rise before he can dodge, thumbs skating across the hard shelf of his cheekbones. He ought to flinch at the tacky feeling, should mutter about germs, but all he feels is the lightning of your touch detonating under his skin. Twenty-thousand wings beating stupid fast in his gut while the world shrinks to the warm smudge of your palms.
His eyes drop to your mouth again.
Bad idea. Bad, bad fucking idea.
Christ he really wants to fucking kiss you. Wants to bend, gather the sweetness off your lips, swallow every sloppy little giggle you’re trying to hold back. He wills himself against it.
Because right now, you’re loose-limbed and glass-eyed, floating in the aftermath of other people’s bad decisions, and he refuses to make the next one.
So he breathes, counts to four, lets the want settle into a promise instead of an action: another night, another version of the two of you where you’ll remember exactly how it felt when he finally let himself kiss the innocence away.
“Truck,” he mutters finally, voice stripped to the bone.
One arm bands around your waist to keep you steady while he stoops, plucks your abandoned wedges from the sand, and shoves them under his elbow.
You sway against him, and he has to half-lift you the last few steps to the passenger door.
The hinge groans and he sets you on the seat, then decides to buckle you in himself — click, pull, tug — because he’s not sure your coordination is cut out for it.
“Keep this on,” he instructs.
“Okay, okay,” you whisper, smoothing the webbing flat against your dress. “I’ll be the best seat-belt wearer you ever saw.”
You offer him a solemn thumbs-up, eyes bright with earnest pride.
Pope’s mouth twitches. Barely. So small it could pass for annoyance if anyone else saw it.
Then he knocks the door shut with his hip and rounds the hood before the sight of you smiling at him through the window can soften him any further.
He ends up taking you to his place.
The thought of you drunk and alone three blocks away is worse than the thought of you under his roof, he decides. For your own good, he thinks.
But the second you cross the threshold with bare feet squeaking on the laminate and humming some pop song under your breath he regrets it.
His apartment has always been plain enough to disappear into. Blank walls, old couch, a singular chair, curtains that don’t let in much light even in the middle of the day. It’s a place for sleeping. For nothing else, really. He doesn’t need much else. And even that, he doesn’t get much of here.
Bad for his brain, you had said. You were bad for his brain. All this worry you cause. The wrinkles that now overtake his face since he’s met you.
You belong where color has somewhere to go. In gardens gone slightly wild. On porches with chipped paint and too many potted plants. In bright, warm places where things climb and bloom and turn their faces to the sun.
You don’t belong in the stale dark of his apartment, where everything feels like it learned long ago to survive without light.
His regret multiplies tenfold when you reach for the straps of your dress.
At first, he thinks you’re just fussing with them, your fingers clumsy at your shoulders.
Then one slips down.
Then the other.
The gingham loosens around you in degrees, revealing flashes of skin he has no right to look at and every reason to turn away from. His jaw snaps.
The dress slips lower, a slow collapse of red cotton and white trim, and he catches pieces of you in the corner of his eye before he can make himself look away. A shoulder. The curve of your hip.
What’s left is cobalt swim fabric and miles of soft body, the damp seat of your bikini practically winking at him as you wander deeper into the apartment.
“Jesus,” he mutters, turning his back. “Put that back on.”
You twist, one hand braced on the doorframe, and peer back at him over your shoulder.
“It was sandy, Pope. It’s driving me crazy — here, feel.” You scrape your nails along the back of your thigh like proof, then lift the leg toward him, all generous sweep of skin and reckless trust.
Pope’s head tips skyward as if the ceiling might hand down mercy. Wishful thinking.
“M’not touching you,” he grits out. “You can use the shower to wash off.”
Though he knows you’d probably hate the experience of using his shower.
There’s nothing in there except a military-grade bar of soap and some shampoo he stole from J’s bathroom months ago because his own had run out and he couldn’t be bothered to buy more.
There’s no soft towels. No good smells. None of the little things women seem to collect in bathrooms, the bottles and jars and razors and foamy stuff with names he never reads but still notices when they’re yours.
You probably have all of that at home. A whole routine. Something sweet-smelling. Something you rub into your legs after, standing on that little bath mat in your apartment with one hip cocked and your hair dripping down your back.
His cock twitches in his pants.
“Don’t wanna shower,” you mumble, already disappearing into his room. “Just wanna sleep.”
A moment later the triangle of your bikini top tumbles back into view, tossed to the ground with a wet thump. It’s followed by the matching bottom scrap that had covered so much less than it should. The mattress groans.
He can’t see anything else but the fabric on the floor, but that’s more than enough. Enough to picture the rest, and the implication that comes with it.
You.
Naked.
In his bed.
The floor tilts beneath him as adrenaline and hunger vie for dominance in his gut.
He exhales through his nose, forces every muscle into a calm he does not feel, and walks to the kitchen. One glass, ice-cold tap, aspirin bottle from the medicine cabinet. Keep your hands busy, keep your eyes forward, keep your thoughts off her skin. He repeats it to himself like a mantra.
He turns to walk down the hallway and when he gets to the doorway he pauses, counts three, then four, then five, as if numbers can blunt the sight of you warm and bare beneath his blanket.
Before he can step inside, your voice floats out from the dark, soft and slurred around the edges.
“Your bed’s really nice,” you murmur. “I thought it was gonna be hard because you’re all…” A pause. The blanket shifts. “You know. Like that. But it’s cozy.”
He clears his throat. “That’s great. You — uh — you decent in there?”
“I think so,” you say after a second. “Most of me is covered. Probably the important parts.”
The room is mostly dark enough that most of you are mercifully hidden, the blanket dragged high, the shape of your body blurred into soft suggestion.
But not all of you. Your bare collarbones catch the dim spill of light from the hall. One arm lies loose over the sheet, hair fanned wild across his pillow like the bed had been waiting all along for something prettier to happen to it.
“Got you water,” he says. He sets the glass and aspiring on the nightstand without looking too hard, then straightens, spine rigid, refusing to let his gaze drift lower than your throat.
You look too pretty for a night like this, too soft for a bed that’s never held anything but nightmares and empty hours, and part of him hates that the first person to see you here, sunk into his pillow and sighing like you belong, is him.
He forces his hands to his pockets. “Aspirin’s by the glass. Drink all the water. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
He starts to turn towards the doorway, but your hand snakes out of the dark and closes around his wrist.
The blanket sags with the movement, sliding off your shoulders, and he lunges to catch it with his free hand, fingers splaying across the warm slope just above your breast.
“Could you… maybe sit with me til I fall asleep? Please?”
He makes the mistake of looking at your face. One soft plea blooming in those eyes and every argument he’d rehearsed goes slack. A smarter man would draw a line right here. He’s not a smarter man.
“Five minutes,” he warns, easing himself into the chair beside the bed.
“Five minutes, promise,” you echo, voice sing-song as you shift.
You avert your gaze just long enough to settle onto your side, blanket clutched in one fist, then peek back through your lashes. Both hands disappear beneath your cheek, the coverlet resting scant inches above the peaks of your nipples.
Your eyes drift half-shut, lashes heavy against your cheeks. “Wish I could sleep in your bed every night.”
Pope doesn’t move.
A second later your mouth softens, your breathing evens, and he’s left alone with the sentence like a knife he has to pretend isn’t in him.
A lone firework bursts beyond the window. Silent through the glass but bright enough to paint pyrotechnic petals across the ceiling, for an instant crowning your form in color.
Pope exhales, lets the echo of that light fade, and settles in to keep watch until morning.
MARIA NOTE this was my attempt a 4th of july fic and somehow there are no pool parties, no wholesome firework kisses, just bunny getting tipsy off hardly any alc and pope having to fight for his life in a sad man apartment. whoops. thank u 4 reading ily!!! 🌀🍓💌
oh my god…. farmhead!jack x citygirl!reader perhaps?????????????
WAIT 🤚🤚🤚🤚 your brain 💥 because quiet confident hardworking farmer jack and the sweet slightly bratty city girl reader that somehow ends up in his care?????? with her clickity clackity sandals tiny purse n even tinier skirt shrieking his ear off when she finds a spider in his barn house.... and him finding her so funny but indulges her so bad :)))) oh im sat
baratheonpilled
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
prguitarman
gracieabrams
theartofmadeline
